Chapter 30

"A little to the left." Carol stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, head cocked to the side as she watched Carl and Daryl center the tree just perfectly in the corner.

"Don't see the point," Carl muttered. "Can't plug it in. Gotta save the generators for cooking."

"The point," Carol began, "is that we're going to surprise Jenna in the morning with the biggest, prettiest Christmas tree she's ever seen, and it has to be perfect." Carl rolled his eyes.

"It's stupid and a waste of time."

"And what about those comic books you been readin'?" Daryl asked, taking his hands off the tree, watching Carl falter before gaining his balance. "Exactly how is that useful?"

"Whatever," Carl muttered. Daryl glanced at Carol, who gave him a hopeful smile. "It's stupid. You do it this year, she's gonna expect it every year."

"She's four-years-old, Carl," Carol said softly. "She just lost her parents, and…"

"Yeah. She's not the only one," he said quietly, letting go of the tree. "My dad's dead. Judith's never gonna remember him. Or mom. I have to do that for both of us." Carol could see the tears welling in Carl's eyes, and she reached out to him, but he ducked away, heading upstairs to his room. Carol sighed and pulled her fingers through her hair.

"Shit," she murmured. Daryl moved toward her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "I fucked up."

"He's gonna be mad for a while," Daryl said quietly. "But we can't tiptoe 'round it. He's dealin' with it."

"Yeah," Carol said gently. "I wish there was something." Daryl nodded. "Can you talk to him?"

"Won't talk to me."

"Can you try? Again?"

"Can't guarantee nothin', but I can try."

"Thank you," Carol murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him softly. When he headed for the stairs, she gave his behind a little pat before turning back to finish decorating the tree.

"Go away," Carl muttered as Daryl knocked on his door.

"Ain't goin' away."

"Leave me alone."

"No," Daryl retorted, rolling his eyes on the other side of the door, suddenly feeling very juvenile. He opened the door and saw Carl sprawled out on his bed with one of his comic books opened. "Nobody's forgot 'bout your dad."

"Don't talk about him."

"Rick was a good man."

"Fuck you." Carl's eyes were cold on his.

"You watch your mouth boy."

"You can't tell me what to do. You're not my dad. Just leave me alone!" Daryl was across the room in two quick strides, and Carl scrambled to sit up as Daryl got about two inches from his face.

"I'm not your daddy. Ain't tryin' to be. But you're just a damned kid. You wanna act like you can take care of yourself? Fine. Try it. Be my guest. You go pick out your own fancy little house down the street and see how long it takes 'fore you come runnin' back for somethin' to eat and someone to talk to. Trust me, kid. Bein' alone ain't nothin' to hope for." Carl huffed and looked away, blinking back tears, hoping like Hell Daryl hadn't seen them. "Look, I didn't have a good daddy. Mine was a piece of shit that knew how to make kids but not how to take care of 'em. Your daddy? Your daddy was a good man. He tried to do right by you and your sister."

"It's not fair," Carl said softly, sniffling. "He should still be here."

"I know," Daryl said quietly. "But he ain't. And that's the problem with this shithole world we gotta live in."

"He trusted you," Carl sniffled. "He told me he did. He said he thought you and Carol were good people. He said if anything happened to him, I should listen to you." He wiped at his eyes. "I don't want another dad."

"I don't need another kid," Daryl snorted, getting a half smile out of Carl. "We got too many of 'em crawlin' 'round this place anyway."

"Judith likes you. And Carol." Carl sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I guess it isn't so bad for her to have you guys. She needs a mom and a dad. I don't."

"That's ok," Daryl said quietly. "And you're her big brother, so you're gonna tell her all about Rick and your mom. She's gonna know where she comes from." Carl nodded, as Daryl clapped him on the shoulder. Daryl got up to cross the room, stopping before he reached the door. "Don't matter how old you are. Sometimes ya do need a mom and a dad. Wished my old man had'a been the kinda dad I could count on." Carl went to pick up his comic book. "Hey, kid." He looked back up at Daryl. "Wanna go huntin' with me tomorrow? See if we can't find a turkey for Christmas dinner?"

"Really?" Carl asked, perking up a little. "You're not taking Tyreese?"

"Whaddya say?"

"Sure." Carl said with a smile. "Thanks." Daryl nodded and walked out of the room, feeling a little better, though he knew nothing he said or did would make up for the fact that that boy's father wasn't here. It was just something they were all going to have to live with for whatever time they had left together.

"Santa came?! Santa came?!" Jenna asked excitedly, bouncing up and down as she admired the beautiful Christmas tree with silver and red and green and blue decorations.

"Not yet, sweetheart," Carol explained to her. "We just figured we'd put the tree up so Santa would know where to look." Jenna furrowed her brows at Carol.

"Are there other boys and girls out there waiting for Santa?"

"I hope so, sweetheart," Carol murmured. "I really do." Jenna smiled with glee, and paced back and forth in front of the tree, admiring the decorations and the angel on top.

"Did a good job," Daryl said quietly against her ear as he pressed up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She relaxed against his chest and made a soft humming sound. "You must'a stayed up late."

"I did," she admitted. "I'm a little tired. If Judy and Jenna will let me, I'm going to try and get a catnap in while you boys are out hunting."

"You sure you don't wanna go along? You're 'bout as good as I am with a bow these days."

"No, you take Carl. I don't want to break up the manly hunting experience." Daryl snorted and nudged the back of her neck with his nose. "You just find us a bird, and I'll take care of the rest."

"A'right. I'll go check the generator. Make sure it's still plenty full." He gave her a chaste kiss on the side of the neck, his stubble bristling over her skin, and she giggled, biting her lip before he released her and hurried off to check the generator.

Beth came wandering down the stairs, looking about twice as tired as Carol. Baby Judith was on her hip, and she yawned as she stumbled into the living room.

"Nice tree," she murmured.

"Sweetie, you look awful."

"I was out late." Beth's eyes darted around nervously.

"With Noah?" Carol asked, ducking her head and smiling. Beth's smile widened and she nodded. "Look, I know it's absolutely none of my business, but you two…you're being…careful?"

"We're not…I mean…no! I mean, yes!" Beth's face turned a few shades of pink before she took a calming breath. "We haven't. Not yet, anyway."

"Oh. Ok." Carol smiled to herself. "You want some coffee?"

"Yes, please," Beth said with wide eyes and an eager grin. Carol chuckled, and she took baby Judith in her arms. The two women headed into the kitchen, where Carol went to work at making a hot pot of coffee. Judith chewed on a baby biscuit from her high chair, and for a few shining moments, it felt like the way it used to be, before the turn, before the world outside was a wasteland filled with walking corpses.

A knock came to the back door.

"It's open," Carol called out, placing a few coffee cups on the counter. Michonne came walking through.

"Morning," she said with a smile.

"Good morning," Carol replied cheerfully. "Where's Andre?"

"Sasha's watching him. She says she needs the practice. I tried to warn her that he's got more energy than all of us put together, but she doesn't think it'll be a big deal."

"Well, you warned her at least," Carol said with a shrug. She poured the first cup of coffee for Beth, who blew over the top of the cup before taking a little sip. It was when the sun glinted off the diamonds on Carol's ring that she choked and nearly spat out her drink. As the girl sputtered, Carol instinctively patted her on the back, as she'd done for Sophia many times over the years. "You ok?"

"What…is that?" Beth wiped her mouth on a napkin as she insistently jabbed her finger in the direction of Carol's ring. Michonne's eyes widened as she moved across the kitchen.

"Good question. What is that?" Carol smiled and held her hand up for the ladies to get a better look, and she bit her lip nervously.

"Daryl gave it to me. We…kind of got married."

"What?!" Beth asked. "When?"

"A couple nights ago. After we made that run for supplies." She gave Michonne a little nod.

"Oh my God! Daryl has good taste." Her jaw dropped a little. "Wait. This isn't 'cause of what I said is it?"

"No," Carol laughed. "He already had it picked out before. But I do have to thank you for pushing us to have that…very awkward conversation."

"So…get to the part where you got married," Beth insisted, taking another sip of coffee.

"Yeah, that's what I'm waiting for. I never got an invitation."

"Well, we don't…things are different. There aren't ceremonies. There aren't marriage licenses. There's just…us."

"So, he puts the ring on your finger, and that's it? You're just…married?"

"Pretty much," Carol said with a little shrug, pouring a cup of coffee for Michonne and for herself.

"And he's not completely freaking out?" Beth asked, eyes wide.

"What do you mean?"

"It's Daryl," Beth laughed. "I mean, he blushes when you kiss his cheek." Carol noticed Daryl walking around the side of the house, heading toward the door. She smirked a little.

"We'll see." As soon as he stepped through the door, she moved over, giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. He blushed accordingly and nodded his hellos to Michonne and Beth. "Morning, husband."

"Mornin', wife," he murmured, before she gave him a peck on the lips. And then he was off to do whatever it was he was doing. Carol turned to Michonne and Beth, who both looked at each other like they'd woken up in the Twilight Zone.

"Nope. Not freaking out," Carol replied with a grin.

"Oh my God," Beth laughed. "So…do we call you Mrs. Dixon from now on?"

"Just…call me Carol." The three of them sat around for a while longer chatting about the ring and this new change. It wasn't long before Beth was encouraging Michonne to help her plan a party. After all, any good news was something to be celebrated these days. And before long, a belated wedding reception was in full swing of being planned.

Shane cursed as he tugged his torn glove off of his hand and whipped it across the cab of the truck. He huffed a hot breath against his fingers, trying to warm them as he drove through the snow in an old car with no working heater.

Being told to get the hell out by his fellow survivors had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and while he'd thought good and hard about going back and killing them all in their sleep, he'd decided they weren't worth the trouble. No. He was going to save his energy for Dixon and his whore.

He'd kept his eyes on the road, searching for any sign of tire tracks, any sign of life, but so far, he'd found nothing. When he took a wide turn down a new highway, he felt a bitterness rising up in his throat thinking back to that night, the night he'd killed his best friend—his partner.

He'd watched the color drain from Rick's face as he'd begun to bleed out and fall to the floor. He'd watched as something flickered in Rick's eyes, something of recognition and horror that he was being put down by his best friend. What was worse, he hadn't stayed to see him die. He hadn't even done the right thing by shooting him in the head. No. He'd left him to turn out of anger, out of not having his back.

Shane slammed his hand on the steering wheel just as he hit a slick patch on the road. The car swerved and ended up nose down in the ditch.

"Fuck!" Shane hissed, grabbing his pack out of the passenger's seat. He slung it over his shoulder and crawled out the door, pulling himself out of the ditch. It was then that he noticed the glint of sunlight off of the steel of a pistol.

Sitting in the snow with his back against a tree was a middle-aged man with a reddened face, chapped by the freezing wind. The man passed the gun back and forth between his hands, and Shane eyed him, taking his own gun into his hand for protection.

"You alright, friend?" the man asked, eyeing Shane as he brushed the snow off of his pant legs.

"Friend?" Shane asked. "I'm alright. Car's a piece of shit anyway. I'll find another."

"Just go pick yourself out another one, huh?" the man asked, unscrewing the lid of a flask before tipping it up to his lips. He winced at the flavor before groaning in pain. Shane noticed the bite mark on his hand and promptly lifted the gun. "Was gonna do it myself, but I used my last bullet putting that motherfucker down." The man nodded to the corpse on the ground. "God damn things bite hard."

Shane stepped closer, aim tightly trained on the man's forehead.

"You gonna pull that trigger today, son?"

"You got a group?"

"Me?" the man asked, letting out a sigh that came out more like a wheezing laugh. "No group. Been on my own from the start." He snorted. "My wife. She always said I didn't know how to get along with other people. Guess that's the damned truth. Guess that's why she's my ex-wife now. Guess that's how you end up all alone at the end of the world." He tightened his hold on his hand, blood spurting out from between the fingers on his good hand.

Shane took a step closer to the man, seeing the way his breaths came out in quick, sharp puffs as the heels of his boots dug into the ground, offering him some sort of leverage as he arched into the tree, a sharp knot digging into his back as he tried to take the focus off the pain in his hand.

"Can't count on anybody. That's how you get yourself killed at the end of the world," Shane murmured, eyes trained on the wounded man.

"Damn right about that."

"Where were you headed?"

"Don't rightly know," the man said quietly. "When it happened, I tried calling my wife. Tried to get her to answer, but she was gone. Went to her house. She wasn't there. Thought, even if she hates my guts, having someone's better than not having anybody. But she was gone. Packed herself up. Packed my kid up. Left. No idea where."

"You ever think they might just be dead?"

"If they're dead, they didn't die at home. No, she'd have gotten out quick. Wouldn't wanna be stuck in the middle of it when all hell broke loose. Would've gotten distance from the city. Wherever she is, she ain't with me. Guess it's my fault anyhow. Didn't treat her right. Didn't treat our girl right." Shane flinched at that. "You got a woman?"

"She's dead," Shane spoke shortly.

"Too bad. You gotta find something. Find something you're willing to hold onto with your life. That gets you through this. My daughter. She needs a father. I was trying to get to her, but I think…she's dead now. I think it's better to believe that." Shane thought about the rest of that group, about how Daryl had swooped in with his ideas and got Rick's attention. How Rick had been willing to listen to this stranger instead of his own partner.

"I gotta tell you somethin', buddy," Shane said with a dry chuckle, "when shit gets real, that's when you see who you can trust. You can't trust nobody. Not one fuckin' person in this world has your back when it comes down to it. You only got yourself to take care of."

"Amen to that," the man chuckled, taking one final swig from his flask. Shane raised his gun again.

"You got a name, man?"

"Ed," he choked out, wincing in pain. "Just Ed."

"Ed, I hope you find your peace, man. Maybe the next life'll be better to ya."

"Next life," Ed snorted. "Fuck all, I hope not. Ain't about that comin' back business. The devil can keep me." His eyes were clear now, trained on Shane's. "You shoot me, you do it right. Ain't comin' back as one of these bastards."

"Trust me, Ed. I know how to put a man down." He cocked the gun and emptied a bullet into Ed's skull, standing still, eyes trained as the man's face drained of color and life, as he body went slack against the tree trunk, as blood began to spill into the snow, soaking it through.

Slowly, Shane lowered the gun and adjusted his pack over his shoulder. Holstering his gun, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and headed off, putting distance between himself and the dead man before the walkers came. They always came after a gunshot.