AN: Here we go, another chapter here.
Sorry it's taking so long. I have a lot going on in real life and I'm just trying to write things as they come naturally to me rather than pushing them just to get them out. I hope you understand. I'll try to update as soon as I can.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Carol sat alone in the shed, the sound of her own breathing all that she could hear for a moment.
Once upon a time? She might have been terrified to be out, at night, in the blackness of a tiny storage shed outside of a house. It would have been made even worse by the fact that there could be any number of Walkers lurking close by and she was without any way to protect herself beyond the knife that she carried and a handgun loaded with six rounds only.
But this world?
It had taken away that kind of fear for her.
She didn't even jump when she heard the crunching outside. It was the clear sound of footsteps. She trained her ears and listened more closely. There wasn't any growling. There wasn't any indication that it was a Walker. It could be, of course, but if it was then the creature wasn't aware of her presence inside the shed yet.
When the door creaked open, Carol did feel her chest tighten, but immediately she knew it wasn't a Walker and the dancing beam told her that it was him—he'd come to meet her, just as she'd asked.
And she almost laughed to herself because, in a way, she felt no better than a teenager sneaking out to meet a boy and hoping her parents didn't find out about it—except for this time it was the group that she didn't want to know what she was doing, and this time, she wasn't even sure why they were hiding it. She hoped, though, to have some sort of answer by the time they left the small space.
"It isn't the Ritz," Rick said, chuckling at the end of his own statement.
"It'll have to do," Carol said.
Rick put the camping lantern down, somewhat illuminating their space, and before Carol could say anything else, he was practically on her. He was on her, in fact, with the same hunger that he'd seemed to have the very first time they were together. She mumbled a complaint when, in his rough pushing at her to kiss her as deeply as he wanted, he pushed her harder into a wall than she really desired.
He backed off at the sound.
"Sorry," he spat. "I'm sorry—I don't know what came over me."
Carol reached a hand up and touched her lips, wondering if they might even be bleeding from the kiss.
"It's OK," she said. "Really."
He took that as permission, and she didn't tell him he was wrong, to resume the kissing. She redirected it a little, moving her body around the space that she'd seen in the daylight enough to know what was there and what wasn't, until they were closer to the small worktable that she'd come in and covered with a tarp.
As soon as she bumped against it, he pulled away and noticed what had stopped the movement she'd introduced, and he reached and lifted her, sitting her on the edge of it and stepping between her legs to resume the feverish making out. Carol pushed him away with her hands on his chest so that he was at arm's length from her.
He furrowed his brow at her.
Carol shook her head gently at him.
"Rick—this has to do. This—this shed? It has to do…" she said.
He glanced around quickly and then moved toward her once more, but he realized that when she didn't move her hands, she was saying that she wasn't done speaking to him yet.
"It'll do," he said. "It's not the nicest place, but it's not that bad. It's as clean as the house, really."
Carol made a face at him.
"I'm not disputing that one place is as clean as another these days," Carol said. "But—Rick—what are we doing? Because I think we need to be clear. If this—if it's something? Then why exactly can't we just ask for a room together?"
Rick stared at her, clearly caught off guard and without the answer to the question. Then he sighed, backed away from her just enough to give them a comfortable amount of space if they were going to talk, and shook his head.
"Carl and Judith…" he said.
Carol hummed her disapproval and shook her head before he could even finish what he'd started.
"Don't," she said. "Don't use your children against me Rick. Not again," she added, her own breath catching with the words.
He stammered like he might have a response, but he didn't come out with anything.
"What do you want, Rick?" Carol asked. "Before we get to where we're going? Before—we end up with some new life? What do you want? Leave Carl and Judith out of it for a moment."
He stared at her again and then he shook his head.
"You know I can't do that," he said. "I can't leave Carl and Judith out of it—they're everything."
Carol sat there for a moment, wondering if she should take that as his answer or not.
"I think that—if we were to decide that this is something? Then you need to talk to Carl. Judith is too young. It doesn't matter to her. Whatever happens? Whatever it might be? It's just her reality, Rick. She'll take it all as something natural. But you'll talk to Carl. But, before that? You've got to decide what you want," Carol said.
"What do you want?" He asked.
Carol shook her head.
"It doesn't matter," she said. "That doesn't matter. Like you said, you've got to think about you. You've got to—think about Carl and Judith. I don't have anyone to think about. Not anymore."
She felt an ache in her chest that wasn't foreign to her at all, but it was brought on by a number of battling emotions at the moment. It was the reminder that she was, in many ways, alone in this world. It was also the anxiety of the feeling that came when you realized that something might be ending—even if it was something that was ending before it had officially begun.
And it was the realization that no one had ever asked her what she wanted when she felt that her wants or desires were truly important enough to vocalize. There was always a reason for someone else's to be more important.
There was an ache there because she realized that she'd never truly felt that important—not even to herself.
Rick reached and put a hand on her thigh. He simply rested it there for a moment. The expression on his face said that he, too, might be dealing with some of his own issues at the moment.
"You don't want to do this?" He asked.
Carol considered it. Finally, she shook her head.
"No," she said softly. "I don't—if by this you mean—have sex with you in this shed? No, Rick. I don't."
He nodded his head slightly.
"What if my answer had been different?" He asked. "What if—what if I hadn't hesitated? What if I'd known what I wanted? What if I'd said to you that—that—I don't even know—that I wanted this to be something? Something real? Something serious?"
Carol swallowed and shook her head again.
"I don't need to answer that," she said. "Because you didn't say that and that's not what you're thinking. And—that's OK, but I'm not going to tell you it would change everything. I don't want you changing your answer because of sex. I just want your real answer."
"Lori was my first real relationship," Rick said. "My only real relationship. She was the first woman I ever loved."
Carol nodded her head slightly.
"And Ed was mine," she said. "But—thank God he's not coming back. And Lori? She was my friend. I like to think—I don't know—but I like to think that she wouldn't begrudge me this, if this is anything. And that she wouldn't hold it against you either. Not after Shane."
A pained expression crossed Rick's face. Of course it did. Shane and Lori were still a soft spot for him. Perhaps they would always be a sore spot for him. Maybe he'd always look at his daughter and wonder. At the very least he'd look at her and remember.
"I thought whatever this was, was enough," Rick said. "At least for now? At least until…"
"Until what?" Carol asked quickly.
And the truth of the matter was that she'd thought it was enough. She'd ran the gauntlet in her mind a few times and more than once she'd settled on the fact that this could be enough. It could be just what it was. There wasn't a need for definitions and there wasn't a need for more. They could simply enjoy the sexual relationship between them—stress relief among friends even—and that was enough.
But now she was realizing that, even if that was enough, she needed to know what it was. She needed to know that's all it was. One way or another, she needed to know. From there? She could decide if she was really as "fine" with it as she thought she was. But there needed to be some kind of definition there.
"Until we get somewhere?" Carol asked. "Until you make sure there's nothing better? No one better? Until Carl's eighteen? What's are we waiting for? Because I might be willing to wait, Rick, but I want to know what I'm waiting on."
He was already shaking his head at her.
"I'm not looking for someone better," he said. "It isn't about that. It's about…"
She cut him off.
"Don't tell me it's about Carl and Judith," Carol said. "Not until you've let Carl speak for himself, don't tell me it's about him. And I know—it's not about Judith."
He sighed and Carol could see something of the storm that was always raging inside him. He was conflicted. He was torn. There was more going on his mind than there would have been if he'd been able to shrink down a hurricane and hold it safely in his own skull.
"Are you afraid?" Carol asked.
He looked at her. It was quick. The flash was there and it was a quick flash, but Carol saw it when it happened. He dropped his sight quickly to look at the ground that she was almost certain he couldn't see at all in the semi-darkness.
She felt another catch in her chest. He was afraid.
Rick Grimes was afraid of her. Or he was afraid of what was happening here. But she didn't really know exactly what it was that he was afraid of.
And, suddenly, she wondered if he even knew.
She hummed at him.
"You don't need to be afraid of me," Carol said.
He shook his head slightly. It was a silent negation of the fact that he was afraid, but it was one that she wasn't buying at all.
He was a confident man, but much of his confidence was false. It was a show that he put on. Really? He was frightened.
And she thought that, maybe, if he confronted some of those fears and figured out what they were, he might figure out what he wanted to do about them. He might come closer to figuring out what was important to him.
And Carol already knew she had the patience to wait it out. After all, she'd waited for Daryl all this time—even if she'd finally realized he was never coming. She could wait for Rick to figure out what it was that he feared and what he wanted to do about it.
She pushed him enough to slide off the table. She walked to the door of the shed, pulled her knife to be prepared to make her way back through the darkness to the house, and decided to take a chance, even if it bit her in the ass one way or another, and push him a little closer into confronting those fears.
She tossed him a final parting thought as she slipped out of the shed, letting the door fall closed behind her as she finished her words to him.
"I'm going to bed, Rick," Carol said. "You—you think about things. You'll know where to find me, OK? Just—if you are waiting until you know if there's anyone else? Think ahead and be a little more careful? You've already got Carl and Judith to think about. You don't want any more on your plate."