A/N: Thanks again for the follows and thanks for sticking with this.
To the guest reviewer: I'm sorry if Daryl came across as a prick because that really wasn't my intention...I've never even considered him one. If anything, I'd understand it if Carol came across as a little...well...different here because she's more detached and struggling to connect. But I'm gonna be honest, I do struggle with writing Daryl and I totally appreciate your comment about him seeming out of character...I am trying to work on it.
Anyway, thanks to the other story followers for sticking with this. I know that the angst can be a little bit difficult to bear at times and I am trying to add some bonding moments...but it would feel wrong as well if it'd suddenly turn all fluffy. I hope you understand! I'd still love to hear your thoughts though and any pointers that'll help me improve are always appreciated!
Chapter 4:
The noise of rain mercilessly pelting the roof awoke Daryl from his deep slumber. It was odd to him that he had spent the second night in a row like this; completely out and unaware of his surroundings.
The realisation was worrying because he knew how vulnerable he had been and because it showed him just how deep his injuries ran.
His mind still felt foggy, one thought lazily chasing the other, interrupted by brief periods of darkness in which sleep overwhelmed him again. He was struggling to remember where he was. Where they'd found shelter.
Beth crossed his mind; their last hideout.
Contours and spaces of different buildings flashed through his brain while he was trying to categorise what lay in the past and what had happened recently.
And then, when everything started to become much clearer, he lost Beth a second time.
And Hershel.
Powerless and forced to watch.
Tears of frustration and exhaustion prickled behind his closed lids but he didn't allow them to break the dam. Beth wasn't lost yet, he could find her still and perhaps even make up for not being able to help Hershel.
When he finally did open his eyes, they started to ache. The whole building around him was dark except for one huge corridor of light that was bursting through one of the doors that hadn't been boarded shut.
He knew now where he was. Remembered gratefully that he wasn't completely alone. And when he focused very hard he could even still feel the weight of Carol's body pressed against his; her scent that seemed to cling to his neck where her face had been resting.
Why had she left?
He sat up abruptly and was instantly punished by a sharp pain in his side. Despite another full night's sleep his rib didn't seem to have benefited from the rest and was as sore and sensitive to movement as it had been before.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself upright nonetheless and slowly walked towards the opening. His eyes needed another moment to adjust to the light.
Outside, the rain had started to come down hard and heavy now which didn't seem to bother Carol.
"What are you doin'?" he called, with as strong of a voice as he could muster.
She turned surprised, her eyes sweeping up and down his body as if to assess the state he was in this morning.
"Collecting water," she then explained, holding up a bottle as if to prove a point, "we're running low and God knows when it'll rain again or we'll be lucky enough to scavenge some."
He nodded although he hadn't really been listening. His eyes still clung to her moist hair that the weather had dishevelled; to her sinewy arms that were covered in a thin film of water and to her top that hugged her body ever so slightly more now.
And for a split second it seemed like a perfectly good idea to barricade themselves back in the building and have her body pressed against his once more.
He watched her smile transform into a frown when he failed to comment and realised he'd been staring. Hurriedly averting his eyes, he tried focusing on the assortment of containers at her feet instead.
"I found them in the building and around the tracks. They used to be for paint so I let the rain wash out the remnants. I still wouldn't risk drinking from them but I thought we could use it to wash and to cool your injuries."
He instinctively touched his rib, had already forgotten about the bruises on his face.
"Alright," he then nodded and went to pick one of them up.
He ignored Carol's protest and the stabbing pain in his side that instantly increased and carried the water back inside the building.
She followed him a couple of moments later, setting down the water bottles and starting to loosely board up the door once again.
"Was stupid going out by yourself," he scolded her, keeping his eyes glued to her back, "the rain could've disguised the sound of their footsteps. They could've taken you down in an instant."
"But they didn't." She looked over her shoulder to smile at him. "Only a couple of walkers showed up. But uncoordinated movement and wet tracks didn't exactly work in their favour."
She sounded relieved and he nodded.
They both fell silent while Carol continued to shut off the doorway. When the board was somewhat attached again but loose enough to let some light slipping through the cracks, she joined him and handed him a water bottle. He took it wordlessly and took a quick swig.
"If you're in no hurry, I'm going to wash first." She then said, closing her hand around the handle of one of the containers.
"Go ahead," he hummed.
He'd endured enough hunting trips with Merle and his dad where they had camped out in the wild with no hot water or fancy shampoos to make him miss these comforts less than the average person. As a matter of fact, he only realised then that some time had passed since the last hot shower at the prison.
"You're even quieter than usual today," Carol remarked and he shifted his attention back to her.
She had retreated to another corner of the room and started to peel off her wet coat.
"Just thinkin'," he shrugged and tried to get into a more comfortable position.
"I gathered that much," she grinned amused and turned her back to him again.
He tried averting his eyes, tried to be a gentleman for her sake, but somehow they kept flickering back to her.
Her top was the next thing to go, followed by her bra.
He made another conscious effort at looking elsewhere but the pull of her exposed body was too much to resist. He hadn't seen as much of her in all the time that they'd been on the road together. Silently he shifted to his side, propping himself up on one elbow and resting his head in his hand.
He couldn't see very much but every now and again when she moved and bent down to scoop up some water, the half-darkness of the building rewarded him with glimpses of her bare flesh.
His eyes traced the contours of her body, wondering – not for the first time – if she like him had scars lining her skin. He wanted to touch her, needed to. Desired to explore every single inch of her body and kiss any mark that had made her the woman she was today.
Involuntarily, his thoughts drifted back to his brother.
Merle had never been shy around women. He had watched their father carefully and learned to imitate his dominant ways. But Daryl had never managed to be like that. He'd always been more about the observation than action. But even observing could be dangerous.
He had learned this lesson the hard way one summer when his brother had noticed him staring at a girl repeatedly. She'd been nothing like the women Merle usually spent his time with. This girl wore finer clothes and never even seemed to have a speck of dust on her. She was almost boring in her perfection but there had still been something that had drawn Daryl to her.
One day, when he had gotten back to the house, his brother had welcomed him with a broad grin on his face.
"Got a present for you, baby brother!" he announced.
And Daryl felt a sense of excitement until he entered the next room and found the girl tied to a chair.
"Ain't got no manners, this one." Merle said, still wearing that unbearable grin.
"Just let her go," Daryl tried but his brother only laughed.
"Why? I've seen you ogling her. You're hard for her but since you ain't got the balls to get her, your big brother helped you out."
Daryl was only capable of staring while the eyes of the poor girl darted through the room in absolute panic.
"Ya gotta thank me at least, Darleena." Merle snapped, his tone changing before he shoved him towards her.
When Daryl found his balance again, he muttered a few words of thanks and then busied himself untying her.
"No, no, no!" Merle laughed, "Come on now. I didn't catch her for nothin'! Let's have a little fun."
This time he got shoved aside so roughly that his head collided with the wall. Nausea rushed through him and by the time he had clambered back to his feet, Merle had pressed her against the wall.
"Come on now, princess, old Merle's never had any complaints before."
Daryl took a step forward but swayed on his feet while the girl fought hard to push his brother aside. She must've scratched him or kneed him or something because the next thing he knew was that Merle let out a yelp of pain. The girl tried to make a run for it but he caught her, smacking her harshly across the face.
"You think you can humiliate me, huh? You think you're better than us? Rich bitch!"
And he hit her again.
Daryl flung himself at him, knocking them both off their feet. In the squabble that followed, the girl slipped out and Merle punished him by kicking him repeatedly in the stomach, in the face, in every possible place that would inflict great pain.
When Daryl begun tasting blood and his vision was fading anew, Merle suddenly towered over him.
"This is the last time I'm getting you a woman, Darleena."
And he spat on the ground.
The splashing of water drew Daryl back to the present and he blinked. He knew that Merle would've wanted him to make a move. He would've wanted him to take what he desired. But Carol had been right. He wasn't like Merle, he was his own person.
Shifting to lie on his back, he let out a deep sigh and stretched out.
"Have you eaten yet?" he called after a while, still staring up at the ceiling.
"I wouldn't know what."
He heard the rustling of clothes and then her footsteps drawing closer. Droplets of water hit his bare arms and made him look up.
"I found some pecans back at the bungalow and stuffed them in your pack before I left. We could share 'em?"
He watched her swallow before she sank down next to him.
"Sure."
He could tell that she was reluctant but since he couldn't understand why, he reached for the backpack instead and withdrew a handful of nuts from the front pocket. Cracking two in his palm, he looked up at her again.
"Could use that hammer of yours."
She nodded and slowly pulled it loose from the belt she was wearing.
The buzzing in her ears had started again, triggered by the crackling of the shells when he had squeezed the nuts in his hand.
She knew he was still talking to her but couldn't make out another word. Instead the thud of the hammer as it landed on the remaining pecans reverberated through her.
Through the cracked shells she could see the rich meat of the nuts, red and fleshy. And when he pressed a couple of them into her hands, the fatty, bloody mass spilled out and onto her skin, tainting her again and exposing her for who she really was.
The buzzing in her ears increased and was only occasionally interrupted by the deep gulps of air she took in order to keep breathing.
Surely she was just dreaming again. Sitting perfectly still next to Daryl.
Invisible.
Surely she couldn't be the source of these deep panting sounds.
Her body shook and the nuts tumbled to the ground, painting it with splatters of red.
"You gotta breathe, you hear me?" his voice was in her ear again, low and breathless; comforting.
She felt his body now, his chest against her back, his arms around her middle. He was holding her again. Except this time he couldn't possibly know what he was protecting her from.
The scars around her heart tore open once more when the unwanted thoughts about her daughter infiltrated her mind.
Tears cooled her cheeks but didn't wash away the pain.
In the end the attack seemed to last forever, wearing her out until her body couldn't produce a single rapid breath. She was forced to inhale slower, trying to match the rhythm that Daryl's body was dictating.
He didn't let her go, not even when she sagged against him, utterly exhausted.
She thought about his rib fleetingly and how the pain must be killing him. But she was too tired to move.
"Don't you think it's time you talked about it?" he asked after a while.
She fought to keep her eyes open, tried to concentrate.
"About what?"
"Karen and David…what you did…at the prison." He sounded uncertain not accusing and she found some relief in that.
But her lids were growing heavy nonetheless and the image she had seen in the mirror at the grove flashed through her mind again.
You can't tell anyone, Carol.
Who'd believe you?
Perhaps Sophia left her toys lying around again and you tripped.
"Nothing to talk about…" she whispered and fell asleep in his arms.