This started out as a role play between myself (gunslingerdixon) and my Carol rp partner untapdtreasure (nolongeraxburden), and it was mutually decided upon to share with the rest of FF as a fanfiction. So here it is! Enjoy!

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Also: we own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

Daryl:

"I'll take watch." He replied roughly chewing the inside of his cheek. It wasn't that he didn't trust Carol with guard watch. He just knew he couldn't and wouldn't sleep while being trapped in some cage all night long. The dead banging their claw-like hands and stumpy remains of limbs against the door trying their best to get in for the entire duration of the night— not a chance in hell would he find enough respite to sleep. When the morning light came, he would find a way out. Daryl was sure of it.

The twisted pang of hunger was eating away at him, but he said nothing in regards to his own standing on food. It wasn't that he didn't mind pork and beans, he frankly enjoyed them, he just felt the need to forego food as he'd rather she eat in spite of himself. It was how things worked. The women were taken care of first along with the children, old and sick; the men were then able to eat once food had been rationed out to everyone else. Only in recent months had it been different otherwise with food being much more plentiful with the raising of livestock and Daryl's usual hunts every morning.

He waved her off at the offer of food, not letting on that he was in fact hungry. "I'm fine." He grunted adjusting on his haunches for better posturing. The prickle of pins and needles ebbing down his calves from sitting crouched for so long.

When she leaned in close trying for her pack, immediately he caught the scent on her skin of fresh earth and what he could only assume was a light floral smell— a mixture of blood, sweat, earth and flowers. He wrinkled his nose not sure why he cared to catalog the scent or make sense of what it was he had caught a whiff of. Again Daryl could feel the insane roiling feeling in his gut and the incessant need to be out of the current space threshold he had with her. It wasn't that he didn't like it. He just didn't know how to deal with the sudden brushing and touching and hand-holding and chaste kissing— even if it was just his cheek. His head was spinning and swirling with things he didn't quite understand and he wasn't sure if it was okay to be this conflicted… Especially considering the present circumstances that they had befallen. His breath caught in his throat and he made no movement that what she was doing was an invasion of his space. He kept still, frozen almost like a statue, as her fingers found her strap and yanked her pack over closer to her his eyes following her movement as she retreated back to her spot.

As she rummaged through her pack his mind immediately set off in different pathways a jostle of mixed emotion and survival instincts kicking in. Her sudden excitement for the Gatorade and the nonchalant attitude in regards to the small stores of food left in her pack triggered something inside him. He felt his eyes narrow in slats and his hands ball into fists at his knees.

He sprang from his coiled position a bundle of anger and seething teeth grinding. He paced the small four foot space from the door being clawed at to where she sat— up and down a few lengths before stopping to turn and kick in one of the stall doors. A loud slam and a grunt echoed in the dark and he was sure the noise would draw any walker to them in a manner of hours; they'd have a cluster on their hands in the morning. He didn't care. He was furious.

Rough hands raked through the sweaty shaggy tendrils of hair, as he felt anger towards everything. Daryl looked to one of the sinks, slamming his palm against the knob to be greeted with a loud groan and whine; an ominous pause of pipes left too long abandoned and water long gone encompassing the now present silence held between them. There was no water to be had here. He huffed dropping his head again, the warped foiled sheet of plastic that was a mirror pressed against his head as he was lost in thought, jaw working in a repetitive rhythm.

He kept himself grounded against the cool of the ceramic, hands placated at each side of the basin, fingers wrapped tight trying to hold himself steady to keep from imploding even more. He was sure he was frightening her with this sudden surge of anger and maybe she would ask and he would explain, but right now he had no words— not for her right now.

She wasn't gon' t'survive out here. Ain't no way she'd make it.

Rick had been repeating that he'd given her a car and food… A weapon— just enough for her to make it. But… For how far and how long? The rambling that had come forth from the ex-Sheriff's deputy had set him off in the first place in search of Carol— no reassurance from the man had made the harsh reality any better than it was that he'd sent the only other person he felt trust for out on their own. If there was a need to repeat something to almost make it true, appear true, hell even sound true— he'd be damned sure to bet that it wasn't and that was the case about her stance out on her own.

Carol was no hunter. She'd only been taught how to skin and gut what he brought back on a given basis. Even then, Daryl took it upon himself do it when he knew he hadn't shown her right proper how to do it. He glared into the sink, a definitive scowl set on his face. This had been a death sentence— not a means of escape from being ostracized by the others or death from Tyreese. Rick had known that. She could scavenge and that would do her some good, but that was always how it had been before. Scavenge until stores ran dry and mouths parched. He absently shook his head eyes still fixed at the bottom of the sink, scanning over the mix of blood and grime stained from time past.

Carol was strong, there was no denying that, but not survival instinctive strong as he was. He never needed nobody to take care of him. And he still didn't. He was a self-sufficient hunter and tracker. A jack of all and master of none.

Daryl growled low deep in his throat glancing up into the twisted image of himself in the mirror. The evident curl of his lip, the knit of his brows, and the harsh glare of his steel eyes staring back at him. He snapped his fisted hand forwards and into the fake glass shattering it before stepping away head angled to the ground in a huffy fit of anger.

He was sure his hand was bleeding but he didn't care. He uttered no words beyond a low hoarse grunt of: I'll take watch.

Carol:

Carol's entire being shrank back as small and tight to the wall as she could get. His sudden outburst hadn't been expected. And it sure as hell wasn't welcome. She wasn't sure what had set him off, and she wasn't about to open her mouth and ask now. So she watched him, listened to him, trying to find any clue as to what this was all about. Her heart hammered louder and louder. It was so loud that it drowned out the slamming of the stall door as he kicked it as hard as humanly possible. She clenched her eyes tight, reminding herself that this was Daryl and his anger would forever be directed at something inanimate. Never at her. Never at her, she repeated to herself.

She heard the whine and moan of the empty, rusted pipes, and knew that she needed to do something. She didn't want him to get too far into himself that she couldn't find him again for hours. She needed him here with her even if they didn't speak or touch or even look at one another. She pushed herself up silently, slowly creeping forward. The air in the bathroom got thicker and thicker, making it damn near impossible to breathe, and she wanted desperately to open the door and run outside. She wasn't good at this. She feared she never would be, but she had to try. She had to try and reach him.

She moved her hand out, about to touch his rigid back. With lips parted, she was posed to speak, but before she could his hand raised and rushed forward, thrusting it deep into the mirror that had been staring back at him. The sound caused her hand to pull back, almost as if he had burned her himself and her other hand clamped over her mouth to stifle a startled cry. She watched as his body and head angled in the opposite direction of her. Did he feel ashamed of what he'd done? His outburst was definitely warranted, but all she cared about was that he'd hurt himself. Everything else had been forgotten.

She rushed forward, eyes locked on him and reached to take his arm. "Daryl, you're bleeding," she stated firmly, not wanting to give him room to retreat and remove himself from her grasp. She had to get through to him. Her memory flashed back to that of the time he'd used those very knuckles to bask that young punk back at the farm. Randall was his name. She couldn't see very well in the darkened room, but she managed to lead him toward a sliver of light that the moon had given them.

She shook her head as her fingers moved slowly over his hand, feeling for anything that could be broken. She knew the light wasn't good enough to know if there was glass still wedged into it or not. "What did that mirror ever do to you?" It was the only way she could think to diffuse the tension, and hopefully bring him down from that huge ball of anger that she'd just witnessed. They'd talk about the real reason for his assult on the room around them once she had his hand bandaged and his temper down.

Please review and let us know what you thought! Cheers!

*Note: This is also not 100% written by myself. I owe a lot of credit to my wonderful partner as she is Carol and does a phenomenal job. Send her some love too at untapdtreasure here at FF!