His nap was only thirty minutes. He was antsy, and didn't want to sleep too long. He didn't really need to sleep that long, honestly - a quick nap like that would last him the rest of the day, as long as he slept well the next night. The sun was entirely up when he got up, but most of the others were still asleep. Rick was already out patrolling, as Rick usually did, and the house was quiet around him. It had been a long time since he'd been in a real house, and the sheer quietness of it was discomforting. He was used to trailers, and woods; floorboards that spoke to you when you stepped on them, creaked balefully at you when you tried to sneak; sticks and twigs and branches crackling under foot, birds calling and squirrels scrabbling to get out of your way. This place was still, so very still, and Daryl moved through it like he was being hunted, toeing every step carefully.

He padded into the kitchen, intent on finding what little medical supplies had been left with them, as he needed to patch up his wound. He paused in the doorway, hearing the quiet clink of pots and pans and dishes. Someone was awake. He shifted, awkward, clutching at his dirty, wet shirt like he should put it on. But he wasn't going to put something that full of mud over his now open wounds, as he had already taken off the bandages. He considered just going back to his own bed, tucked away in a part of the main room no one ever visited, and just getting his old bandages again until he could get the new ones.

He didn't really get a choice in the matter. The clatter picked up, and Daryl could tell immediately it was a signal that whomever it was knew he was there. He cleared his throat, stepping out into the room like he never stopped. Carol, who was shifting around the cookware like she intended to make something, chuckled, and immediately Daryl was more at ease. "Y'know where the bandages are?" He asked, staying back from the kitchen proper, because looking for them intently would just get him in her way. She put the pots down on the counter, and went digging under the stove.

"I put them down here, since we weren't storing anything under the oven anyway." She smiled, pulling out the miniature first aid kit and handing it to him. "You going back out?" She asked, putting her hands on her hips in a way that said she knew something. Daryl grunted a affirmative, sitting down at the counter so he could dig through the kit. Carol crossed behind him, picking up the disgusting shirt he put down and shifting it aside to sit next to him. Daryl sighed, already knowing she was there to help him clean the wound and bandage himself, as his wound was awkward and he couldn't really do it himself, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Look." Carol was firm when she spoke, but she had a smile, and a gentle touch. "If you're going back out there to see that boy again, I need you to make me a promise."

"You ain't gonna ask me t'be safe, are ya?" Daryl asked, half sarcastic, pulling a smile himself even though the pain of the cleaner was itching at his side.

"No." Carol chided with a half chuckle. "I want you to promise me I get to meet him." She looked at Daryl over his shoulder, an expecting mother tending a child. Daryl frowned. Carol was treating this meeting like Daryl was some love struck teenager, but when he expressed this in his face, the response was still the same - a motherly eyebrow raise. It was like she knew something he didn't, like she knew he had different intentions - which he didn't, god dammit! - and like she was amused by the puppy love she was reading on him. It was infuriating, but he couldn't be too mad, because it was Carol, and he couldn't be mad at her affection. Even if it was based on dumb assumptions. "And that you'll wear clean clothes. And not just the shirt." Carol added, tying off the bandage, making Daryl grunt slightly with the pressure on the wound.

"This ain't a date." Daryl grumbled, reaching for his shirt. Carol pulled it away, tucking it behind her. "Hey."

"Clean shirt." Carol pointed him in the direction of the laundry room, just down the hall. "And pants. And underwear." She smiled, still amused by his disgruntled attitude towards all this. "If you're going out there to see him again, he needs to know you're not living in a cave somewhere. You want him to trust you, right?" Carol smiled, and god, her argument was too good. Sometimes Carol was just too good at reading a situation, and Daryl couldn't help but appreciate it - and agree.

"Yeah." He eventually said, his voice already conceding.

"Well, you have to look trustworthy, then." Carol stepped forward, quiet, cautious, sincere. "If you look like you crawled out of a sewer, he won't want to be around you as much, and you can't get him to trust you. If there's anything I learned, it's that people fall for your presentation all the time." She whispered, like this was some secret, and boy, it was. It was everything Carol was, wrapped up in a single piece of advice. She dressed well, Daryl knew, and even though he thought it was shit, the people here liked her. She wasn't pulling at straws, this was her life, and Daryl respected that.

"Okay." He nodded, speaking softly. He didn't need to say more, because they both just knew. There was an aura of respect and appreciation between the two of them, much stronger than a person could hope to obtain with someone they weren't dating. They could just tell things about each other, read each other, and just know.

"There's some pants and a new shirt I know I just washed that should fit you pretty well." Carol smiled, leading him back into the laundry room. There was a hamper of clean clothes, and a small folded pile she had been working on in her spare time. She dug for a moment, pulling out a pair of men's jeans, a slightly dingy white tank top, and a faded, blue plaid collared shirt. "The jeans might be a little big, but I can scrounge up a belt if you need it. I think this tank-top was yours at one point, and..." Carol paused, looking at the shirt. One of the sleeves had fallen off, and the other was hanging limp, half unstitched. "Well, I was going to say you'd be warmer in the rain with this on, but I guess the dryer didn't take too kindly to the wear and tear it went through."

"S'okay." Daryl chuckled, taking the shirt and ripping off the sleeve in one deft motion. "Woulda been too tight anyway." He put the shirt with the other things Carol had rounded up, reaching out for her and bringing her into a soft hug. He liked being close to Carol - she smelled like baked goods, even when she hadn't touched an oven in months, and her hair was silky against his face. She made him feel safe, and protected, and honestly, that's all he wanted. Maybe, he thought, he could make Warren feel just as safe if they met. He'd like that.

After a second, Carol pulled away, holding Daryl's shoulders with her hands and keeping him at arm's length. "Before you put those on, you need a shower." She smiled, bundling the clothes into his hands and pushing him out towards the bathroom downstairs. "You won't be any more trustworthy in new clothes if you smell like a skunk."

"I don't smell like a skunk." Daryl batted back the insult, heading for the bathroom anyway. He wondered, briefly, if he could just hang out in the bathroom until he was "done" and then change, but Carol shattered that thought in a second.

"Don't try and fake it - you're the only one here who hasn't showered yet, and it'll be good for the community and your friend." He could hear her smile when she shouted none the less, and he knew she wasn't trying to force him to do anything that was unnecessary. Besides, he thought, stepping into the cramped bathroom, he did miss hot water.

~o~o~

Carol had fixed him eggs and toast for his trouble, so the shower didn't seem like that much of a punishment. Daryl came out of the bathroom looking much better than he did going in, the drip in his hair from clean water, and the dark tinge from his skin slightly lessened. The pants were a little large, a little saggy, and while Daryl stuffed his face, Carol found him a belt.

"I feel like I'm goin' to prom." Daryl muttered, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder.

"Look at it this way, you won't have to shower again for a long time unless you want to." Carol laughed, putting a comforting hand on his back. "You remember what you said."

"Yeah, I know." Daryl chuckled, heading down the stairs two at a time, the clean weird under the shirt. "Not gonna be me who decides it, though. He's pretty skittish. Don't like this place." Daryl nodded, and cast off a wave, leaving Carol in her sweater on the porch, and feeling far too closed in behind the walls.

Once he got outside, he felt much better. The blue blended in with the green, and he didn't feel like he stuck out anymore, like the sheen of his clean skin gave off a reflection in the daylight. He felt at home, and the haze of pollen and dander and nature in the air settled on his skin and he felt right. He was careful, making his way through the rain swollen underbrush, gentle with his new clothes, like if he touched something wrong he'd ruin the whole charade.

He reached the hidden doors pretty quickly, following the path through the woods he'd nearly memorized by now. They were closed, and the windows were dark. Daryl stalked the premises quietly, checking in the windows, seeing the one at the end was lit with a light, and peering into it. Warren was inside, rummaging around, but definitely awake. Daryl couldn't see a whole lot, but he knew he would be answered if he knocked. So he did. He went right around to the doors and he set his boot to the wood and it was loud enough to call anything around right to him.

The door creaked open a moment later, and Warren peered out like there was something outside that would kill him. He pushed the door open just slightly, just enough, to stick his head out. "Yeah?" He asked, and he was hiding, and it pushed a button in the wrong place.

"Heard some shit." Daryl said, quick, sticking a boot into the creak of the door to keep it open even if Warren tried to force it close. He could tell the boy was trying to hide away, looking fragile and upset. "Talked to Aaron a bit, said you lived in Alexandria, said somethin' happened." He bent down, kneeling at the door. "Wouldn't say what. Said that was yours to tell."

He didn't get a response, besides the tugging of the door closed. It slammed on his foot, making him yelp and pull back, and he heard it latch once it closed. "You fuck!" He shouted, pacing outside the door like a dog on the hunt. God, fuck. He went from mildly irked to livid in ten seconds. "You fuck!" He kicked at the door, slammed it hard with his boot, and it bounced slightly. He paced, dragging a line in the dirt in front of the door. "Just wanted t'talk t'you, can't you see that? Just want some fuckin' answers! Ain't gotta say shit, but don't leave me hangin' when I ask questions! Just wanna find out what th'fuck happened!" Daryl huffed, kicking at a rock and sending it flying, only making his squished toes hurt more. "I made a promise!" He snapped. "I don't break promises!"

He stilled, watching the doors, hearing nothing. He growled, grumbled, and let his grumpy disposition release itself on a nearby tree, bloodying his knuckles on the hard bark. Once he was thoroughly finished, he plopped down on the ground outside the doors.

"I ain't mad." He said, once he was settled. His voice was soft, gentle. "I just... I ain't mad or nothing." He paused, picking at the scabs on his knuckles. There went his presentation. He sighed. He might as well wait there, honestly, he thought. Warren would have to leave at some point, and it was worth waiting. "I'm just... gonna wait here then." Daryl called. He knew Warren could hear him. "Come out whenever."

And he settled down on the ground, clean pants be damned. He'd wait forever, if it meant Warren would eventually explain.

.