A/N: Oh my gosh, guys! I'm so thrilled that you're liking this story and reviewing! Your words really meant a lot to me! :) Here's another chapter of comforting, semi-fluffy stuff before we return to the deep pits of angst and pain. Let me know your thoughts!
Chapter 14:
They sat in peaceful silence while the rain washed against the window. It was so dark in the room now that they could barely make out anything, except for each other. Carol couldn't remember the last time she had felt like this, comfortable in such close proximity to a man, encouraging his touch, feeling his skin against hers, breathing him in. There was no fear, no suspicion, no disgust; just a warmth in her body as if somebody had lit a fire. And perhaps he had.
Daryl hadn't moved an inch since she had guided his hand to her cheek, he hadn't protested against her words either. He had simply let her be, let her take charge, something so rare in her life, at least when it came to men – the outbreak had forced her into a leading role too many times than she was comfortable with. But men, she thought, those had definitely always been a different story.
She had met Ed Peletier in high school, a broad, funny guy who liked to entertain groups of students with his jokes. She'd been instantly drawn to him, just like the rest, and had been more than a little surprised when this big, strong guy had shown interest in return. With him by her side she'd figured she'd be safe, protected.
It was only a couple of years into their relationship when Carol noticed that the fun guy struggled without an audience which he had lost after leaving high school, a struggle that manifested itself more often than not in angry outbursts directed towards her. She was too plain, too boring, no wonder that people had lost interest in him. These words hit her, brought out the doubts she had had all along.
A quiet, shy person like her and a gregarious man like him?
So she let him go without protest, to bars and clubs and other joints. She didn't question it, didn't want to stand in his way. She hoped it would make him happier to connect to people again more interesting than her.
That's why the first time he hit her came as such a shock. The stinging pain in her cheek was almost deafened by the thundering of her heart.
What had she done wrong?
Why was she so wrong?
The reasons differed, ranging from an uneventful night to her prudishness. Her body still told the story of his accusations and her mistakes.
But in the end the outcome was always the same. When he broke down in tears, begging for her forgiveness, she couldn't help herself. She apologized for her shortcomings, promised to not make him angry anymore and they moved on.
This included a marriage that would mark the beginning of the real nightmare. Where she'd once been too plain, she now was too slutty. Every polite smile she shared with a stranger was seen as flirting. Every new item of clothing that showed as much as her collarbones or ankles was seen as provocative.
Punishment after punishment poured down on her, dyeing her skin in all colours of the rainbow. Only there was no hope at the end of it. She became his puppet then, a mindless dummy whose strings got frequently twisted around her own limbs, breaking them apart.
But even broken she followed except for one thing. Ed frequently expressed his desire for a family though she doubted that his motives were brought forth by deep, paternal urges. She knew what he craved was the last little trophy in his collection, the last thing separating him from creating the perfect image.
But she refused to comply, refused to bring another creature into the world that would be abused and mistreated or molded into a replica, taught to disrespect women similarly. She took the pill and kept it a secret, better he should break her bones for another failure.
But of course he found out, he always did. And the punishment was worse than anything he'd ever done before. Even in his wildest rages she'd never expected him to violate her so intimately.
She discovered new ways to be broken that year but she also learned how to put herself together. Resilience was a form of strength, even if she didn't realize it yet. Her child, her Sophia, was another one.
But how she wished she could've done more for her, back then and especially towards the end when the man who wasn't her father, the man who was now sitting opposite Carol still patiently waiting, had risked his life.
His eyes glistened in the dark, watching her. There was no greed in them, no expectation. Just mild curiosity and perhaps a little bit of hope. They hadn't mentioned the kiss at the lake anymore. Her mind had been too occupied with practicalities, plans and possibilities. Then Terminus had happened and driven any such thought to the back of her head. Survival was more important and ensuring that he'd be alright.
But now she could see that he'd perhaps been waiting for an explanation all along, a clarification at the very least.
What did the kiss mean?
It meant that Daryl was everything Ed had never been. It meant that he was the only one she simultaneously wanted to stay alive for but was also willing to sacrifice herself for. It meant that he was the only one who made her feel like she was back in high school: Jittery, fumbling and much too shy. But he also made her feel radiant and empowered. It meant that Daryl Dixon was the beginning and the end of her. But damned if she ever found the courage to tell him that.
A week ago when the loss of Mika and Lizzie had still ruptured freshly through her whole body, her attachment to him, her attachment to anyone had seemed terrifying. Now she wondered how she'd ever thought she could fight it.
"Whatcha thinkin'?" he asked, his voice was calm.
Her eyes met his and she broke into a small smile.
"Where we'll go from here."
"And?"
His thumb started to trace her jawline.
"Somewhere safe," she replied, resisting the urge to let her eyes drift shut.
"Like what?"
His fingers smelled of tomato sauce.
"A big city, maybe, perhaps we'll be better protected there."
"I dunno," he frowned, "could be really stupid, too. Overrun by walkers or controlled by more maniacs."
"True," she agreed, placing a last kiss on the palm of his hand before slipping off the mattress, "let's think about it. It's our future."
She took off her wet coat completely that had started to heavily cling to her skin. She began to shiver as if she'd only just noticed the cold the water had caused.
"Alright," he nodded as he swung his legs over the side of the mattress as well, letting his boots come into contact with the floor, "I'll booby-trap the front door, just in case."
"Be careful!" she called, while he picked up the backpack and his knife and then retreated through the door.
Carol watched him go and then turned towards the wardrobe. Perhaps she could find some dry clothes there. It was funny which things had become a luxury now – like warm water, food or a change of clothes – and which actions once deemed inappropriate had turned into habits.
She remembered the first time she had scavenged through someone's belongings. It had been on the highway, just before she'd lost Sophia. For a long time after she'd seen her daughter's death as punishment for her greed. After all, if she hadn't been so focused on the material treasures she wouldn't have been separated from Sophia when the small herd appeared. She'd felt guilty for being drawn in by something as trivial as a shirt – one that Ed would never had allowed her to wear – that it would distract her enough to lose sight of her daughter. She'd scolded herself harshly for having given in to her own wants and wishes, for having hoped and required, for the same perfectly human emotions her husband had always punished her for.
Nowadays she didn't feel much of anything anymore. Nowadays there was only indifference, at least when it came to finding and keeping things that didn't belong to her. Nowadays she wasn't herself.
Most of the clothes smelled musty and damp but they were dry at least and so she gathered as many of them as she could find. A pair of trousers, some sweatshirts as well as a T-shirt.
She paused and listened out for the sound of Daryl's footsteps but all was quiet. So seizing the opportunity she pulled her top over her head and dropped it on the floor, followed by her bra. She could hear wood creaking below and quickly put on the T-shirt. Then, when there was still no sign of Daryl, she kicked off her boots and dragged her wet trousers down. The skin underneath was reddened and cold to the touch. She put the new pair on and then tried to hang up her wet clothes as best as she could. With a little bit of luck they'd be dry in the morning.
She glanced towards the doorway a last time, feeling some uneasiness prickling in her stomach because he hadn't returned yet, then crawled onto the bed and tried to settle down.
Tyreese's machine gun remained on the floor, close enough to grab it in a second should the need arise. But her knife stayed closer to her body; that was the only way if she wanted to try and get some sleep.
Finally, the sound of the front door closing indicated Daryl's return though it still took a couple of minutes before he entered the room. His hair was soaked and little droplets of water were making their way down his face, arms and chest.
"Walkers outside?" Carol asked, breaking into a frown.
"Nah," he shrugged, setting her backpack down on the floor, "thought I could put that snare trap to some use. Woods nearby and soft soil, easier to hide it, easier to catch somethin'."
Noticing her glance he self-consciously wiped his dirty hands on his trousers.
"Good thinking," she smiled, "I've found some clothes-"
"Yeah, I noticed," he interrupted her, smirking suddenly, "you look ridiculous."
"Well, better ridiculous than wet." She shot back, her eyes glistening playfully.
He chuckled – although he tried passing it off as a snort and remained routed on the threshold.
"Come here, I'm not gonna bite," she said and then added with a grin, "unless you want me to."
What was it about him that brought out this side in her?
"Stop," he remarked like he always did when he didn't know what to do with himself and so she waved him closer.
"I still have a sweatshirt left. Might fit you better than it does me."
His eyes nervously darted across the room and momentarily grew wide at the sight of her bra, draped across the edge of the wardrobe. His hand started fidgeting at the side of his leg and she knew how embarrassed he had become.
"Nah, I'm alright."
He suddenly developed an interest in the floor.
"You're wet and cold," she shook her head and then tossed the sweatshirt towards him which he barely managed to catch, "I promise I won't look."
She hoped that he understood that she wasn't teasing him any longer, that she was simply trying to demonstrate that she respected his boundaries.
Daryl had always been very careful not to bare his body, even when he was injured and in considerable pain. He never spoke much about the life with his father and Merle but they'd instantly recognized a survivor of abuse in each other. She'd never forget the way he'd flinched when she'd tried to extend her thanks to him for the very first time.
With her eyes still averted she heard him shift, heard how his shirt and the heavy vest hit the floor.
"Won't dry like that." She told him, her eyes directed towards the wall.
She was certain that he rolled his eyes.
"Yes, mom."
She chuckled and turned towards him when she felt his weight on the mattress. It was difficult not to laugh at how foreign he looked in the sweater.
"Found this while I was lookin' round downstairs," he began before she had a chance to comment.
Curiously, she took the item he had extended to her. A pocket sized but still crinkled A-Z road map of the United States that had his wet fingerprints all over it.
"Thought it'd be handy picking our next location."
Her fingers stopped leafing through it and she looked up to meet his eyes. "Thought you didn't think it was a good idea."
"It ain't," he shrugged, "there ain't no good ideas left anymore. But perhaps you're right and we'll find better shelter in a city or at least some stronger drugs, this fucking rib's kickin' my ass."
Carol's gaze instantly shifted towards his torso and she guiltily realized that she hadn't checked up on it in a while.
"N maybe…" she heard the hesitation in his voice and knew what he was about to say, although it made her marvel at his ability to keep hoping, "maybe we'll find out what happened to Beth. Maybe they didn't take her to Terminus. The car that took her had crosses on the window. Ain't seen anything like that there."
She saw now that the demons that haunted him plagued him differently than her own. Where hers were full of warnings and threats, his seemed to drive him forward one moment, then paralyse him with despair and guilt the next. A dangerous combination that sooner or later couldn't only cost him his sanity but also his life.
And so she couldn't bring herself to tell him about the crosses that she'd seen at the strange altar room which the fire had almost devoured; she refused to become another player in a game that could damage him so.
"Yes," she nodded instead and tried staying busy by flipping through the pages once more, "Augusta seems like the closest big city…or Columbia."
"What I thought," he agreed, "can't make it by foot though."
"Gordon is less than 4 miles away now. We could search there for a car, gather supplies and gas as well?"
He nodded and for a moment the shadow of a smile passed over his face. Just like her he needed to stay busy.
"Well, in that case…" she offered another smile to him to ease the nervousness that still had him frozen on his spot on the mattress, "we better try and get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day."
The sentiment sounded laughably normal, as if she was just ushering her daughter off to bed before a new school week began. Memories of Sophia washed over her features and aged her for a split second, long enough for Daryl to notice the change.
"Saw a blanket downstairs on the couch…seen better days. But I can get it if you're cold."
It was a clumsy attempt but he didn't have to say the words for her to understand him. She nodded thankfully and watched him go while she settled back against the pillow.
He didn't take long to return this time and cautiously lay down next to her, spreading the blanket over both of their bodies. Outside, the worst of the storm had subsided and only the trees continued to sway in the lingering breeze.
"Sleep, I'll keep ya safe." He promised her, drawing her carefully towards him so that she was curled up against his body.
And unlike Ed she knew that these weren't empty words. Almost instinctively she buried her face against his neck that was still wet from the rain, and wrapped her arm around his torso, making sure that it didn't rest on his ribcage. Unknowingly he had handed to her another luxury: peace. And as her eyes drifted shut and her body relaxed she swore that one of these days she would tell him just how much this meant to her.