Disclaimer: I do not own or write for AMC or TWD. I make no profit.
OoO
Two Weeks Later
She stood in the backyard, tall and stoic.
He stood at the sink with Beth as they watched her silently. She washed, and he dried, and they didn't say anything.
They were leaving today, heading to Washington with Abraham and his crew. Eugene's hand - or, rather, lack of one - had finally healed enough that he could function and move around without too much difficulty.
When Rosita had first told the group that they were leaving, most had agreed to go with them, especially once the reason was shared. He had stood at the doorway, his hand clenching Carol's as Beth hovered nearby.
She had stiffened against him, and, without a word, had walked past them all to their upstairs room.
He wasn't sure if she wanted to go, to leave this horrible house behind, or if the thought of abandoning this house, those graves, to stand alone was panic-inducing.
When he had approached her a half hour later, she was laying on her side, not asleep but not quite awake either.
"You okay?" he had murmured as he slid in behind her, looped an arm over her stomach. She had reached a leg back and tucked it between his knees, had shuddered against him as she thought.
She had sighed, nodded. "Yeah," she had breathed. "Time to let go."
Four days later, and the cars were halfway packed. Him and Beth were washing dishes for no real reason; they wouldn't be taking them. No place for ceramic plates and soup bowls in a Chevy pickup.
He had started on the task when she had slipped out the front door silently, trailing behind her and slyly planting himself at the kitchen seat, had picked a dish out of the sink to give his hands something to do while he watched. He knew she needed space, needed some time to herself to cope, but the thought of leaving her without supervision sent waves of panic coasting in his gut.
She had gotten steadily better, but she was nowhere near normal yet. She was getting there; she would get there. He would make sure of it.
Beth must have felt the same foreboding fear, for she had followed after him in only moments. He didn't really know. For all she showed, she could be standing there just to make him feel better.
And, even if it wasn't her intention, he did feel a little better having her beside him, silently sharing the heavy burden of anxiety and guilt.
Their friends - family - were worried for her. Rick and Carl had watched warily from the yard most of the day, sending careful glances to him as he stood by her and packed. Michonne and Glenn were more forward in their concern; he had lost count of how many times the simple phrase "she okay?" had been uttered.
He heard the steady, quick feet behind him and half-turned to face their owner.
"How's she doing?" Glenn said under his breath, wiping his brow and breathing hard. Almost well.
Daryl shrugged. Beth shrugged.
"Better than Sophia," she breathed out, staring straight ahead as Carol stopped by a nearby tree and plucked a huge bouquet of wild flowers. She turned and looked at Glenn, and her blue eyes squinted. "She's accepted it. She's just grieving now."
Daryl felt himself nod in time with the man, amazed at how this girl had inherited the almost-scary intuitive powers of her father, reading people, himself included, like a book. It was one of her gifts, he supposed, and she used it well.
"That's good," Glenn answered quietly, hopefully, and in his tone Daryl was reminded of how much these people cared for her, truly did. How they were her family and had counted her as theirs since before Ed was even gone.
Their family. All of them.
Daryl looked back to the window just as Beth's hand landed on his shoulder.
He had spent so much time touching and comforting Carol that he didn't even think to brace himself, didn't have to breathe deep and force himself not to flinch. He felt the tension in her rolling off in waves, but didn't let it tense him up immediately, didn't let the nauseated fear of things to come to surface as her little palm tightened on his t-shirt.
He looked out the window and saw Carol yanking Lizzie's cross out of the ground, then laying it gently in the grass as she placed the flowers over its vacancy easily.
He handed the towel to the younger girl and moved swiftly through the back door, confusion and a small fear of oh God she's gone she's crazy it's just like Rick planting itself in his heart. Beth watched from the window, worry etching lines across her forehead.
"Take care of her, Daryl," she said quietly, not taking her eyes off the woman kneeling in the grass on the other side of the glass.
He grunted an affirmation, not trusting himself to say anything.
She was planting the flowers, had dug them up at the roots and was shoving them into the soil, covering them back over. He walked over to her and crouched.
She didn't look up, and he didn't say anything. Just waited.
And it took a minute or two, but just like always, she spoke. "I told you I hate them."
He nodded slowly, watched her as she straightened and turned to Mika's cross.
She pulled it out of the ground, then walked over to where Lizzie's lay and set it down.
She wiped her brow and took the other half of the purple and white wildflowers, set to planting them in the hole the post had left.
"I don't want them here," she breathed. "I don't want...a torture object...a sign of brutality...marking their graves, the only sign they ever lived."
He nodded again, set a hand on her back lightly and waited for her to relax.
She sighed, let her head hang loose, then finally looked at him with clear, intense eyes. "I want something beautiful for them, Daryl. Something pretty. Something that'll last."
"I get it. I understand," he answered. And he did. He really did understand not wanting another wooden cross with another etched name and another birth-to-death line. He understood the need for change.
She finished with a deep breath, then sat back on her shins to survey her work, mosquitoes and cicadas providing background music to fill in their not-uncomfortable silence.
"'S real pretty," he tried tentatively, letting his hand lower to her muddy knee.
She smiled at him, put her hand on his and thumbed his knuckles.
Carol nodded to him, brought a hand up to her nose to staunch the tears that appeared immediately, her eyes already pink and watery. "I never... I never really said good-bye," she whispered.
He knew she wasn't talking about Lizzie and Mika. Knew exactly who she was thinking of in this moment.
"Even when I should've... I just couldn't do it." She swallowed roughly, and he did what he'd done a thousand times in the past few weeks. He leaned over and he pulled her into his chest, let her settle against his heart and just breathed. Just breathed and waited, trusted that the words she needed would come to him.
"It didn't matter, Carol," he placated, letting his fingers mingle in her soft, damp curls. "It wouldn't've changed a single goddamned thing."
She nodded against him, looked up at him with something he wasn't sure he knew how to respond to. Something...deep. Different. Good.
And before he could say another word, extricate himself slowly to figure out what that look meant, her hands were on his jaw and her forehead was resting against his.
Her eyes were closed, and he felt his heart quicken, vaguely registered that Beth was probably still supervising from the kitchen sink.
She sighed, threaded her hands into his hair and he knew what she was going to do, because she'd tried it half a dozen times. Each time, he had had a solid reason to pull away. It was solely out of grief. It wouldn't help anything. She would regret it. It might lead to something they couldn't undo.
Each time, he had found his courage and his cowardice and had removed himself. Had pushed her away with a sad smile and a demure shake of the head.
But this was different.
He felt his resolve slipping as her breath fluttered over his lips. His hands tightened in her hair and her breath hitched and he wanted to, he wanted to more than anything he had ever wanted in his whole damn life.
Her bright, ice blues opened wide to match his own, and he just had time to breathe in before her mouth had finally, dreadfully, blessedly, painfully pressed to his.
His heart pounded in his ears as her hands tightened in his hair. He held her flush against him as her lips moved softly, sad and yet assured, against his own.
She pulled away first, their mouths making a strange sticking sound as they separated. She leaned back, her hands loosening only barely as she searched him.
He didn't know how to tell her it was okay, how to say that this time, now, it was right. His brain was addled and he was mute. So he leaned in again.
He kissed her softer than he had ever kissed, knowing they both needed this but also knowing he could screw it up so monumentally, so easily. He couldn't afford that anymore, not now, not a week ago, not three weeks ago. This was important. This meant something.
His heart pounded as he breathed her in, tried to put as much of that feeling he saw in her eyes into his actions. He knew what he saw there now, felt it. Couldn't put a name on it, didn't quite have the strength, but he knew. He knew and he wanted her to feel that.
Where he was tentative, she was assured. At the rate she was going, he half expected her to straddle him, Beth or no Beth.
And then it was over, and she was crying, something she hadn't done much of since that first night. He let her, sat with her, tried to push away the unnatural panic that was overtaking him. This was Carol, his best friend in the entire world, the person he cared more about than anything. And she had started something, something new and strange and he knew he wanted it, knew it was good, but also knew that good things never lasted, and the only people who had ever loved him before had done so out of their selfish needs and desires, Merle slightly aside.
And even here, with her in his arms with kiss-swollen lips, letting her hold him, he felt such hatred towards his father and even his mother for allowing him to grow up with such pain and guilt, such self-doubt. They had taught him to have this bleak outlook, this distorted view of relationships and trust. They had scarred him in more ways than one.
But it was their fault. It was their fault. Because if Carol could love him, than his father had no reason not to love him, love him right and not in the perversion of an alcoholic widower. If Carol could try and protect him, then his mother should have been obligated to.
Their fault. Their sins. Not his.
He swallowed hard and hugged her close, tucked his face close to hers and just let it happen, let it happen and didn't think, didn't worry, didn't breathe a wisp of uncertainty as he held her close and rocked her slowly.
But still she cried. He wasn't certain if what she had done was contributing to this very sudden, if relatively reserved, breakdown, but either way, he felt pride, holding her. She was so strong, so much stronger than him, and she was dealing with this. She wasn't brushing it under the rug and trying to forget, like before. She was crying and she was grieving and she wanted comfort. She was moving on.
Some time later, the back door creaked open. He turned, and saw Beth, covered in sweat and grime and speckled with little scratches.
He jolted, his sudden fear shocking Carol into hiccupping away her tears. Her head jerked up as he turned around.
Beth didn't say anything, walked past them both to the two little graves.
They were silent as she rooted around quietly, each waiting in sick curiosity.
She finally stood, and walked to the door with a half-hearted whisper of ,"Time to go."
They both looked in unison at the graves.
He felt her stiffen against him, clutched her tighter as they both took in the sight before them.
"She's such a good girl," Carol choked out, moving away to stand. He nodded, pushing down memories of a flower that had bloomed for someone he hadn't wanted it to, staring at the three white flowers, a Cherokee Rose in each grave, and one in the middle.
She leaned into him and he leaned into her.
"Bye bye, babies," she breathed. "Sweet dreams."
He kissed the crown of her head, and then they left, rejoined their family for the journey ahead. Interlinked fingers and breathed in smells of a new start, a new life, a new hope.
oOo
AN: *sniffle* Well, this is it. The real end. Daryl and Carol are off to start a new life together, and I'm left here with a little bit of end-of-story-blues. Okay. A lot of end-of-story-blues. I just want to thank every single person who has left beautiful reviews, and all the other support y'all have gifted me with. It means so much to me that anyone at all enjoyed this little fic, and that alone was worth it all to me. : ) So thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you guys so much!
