At the Window
A/N: Wow, you guys. You are all just…amazing. Thanks for the enthusiasm and reviews right out of the gate. I think this fic might have a slightly different tone than my other Caryl fics. Just hang on tight, and hopefully enjoy the ride. My prior readers will know I do rotating POV, so this chappie is Carol's, but the rotation is pretty fluid, in my mind.
The door clicks shut behind him at the precise moment something clicks in her throat, where her heart is stuck. Her bashed-up but still-beating heart. She's surprised herself today – a few times. She walks over to the window of her makeshift classroom, still clutching the knives. Looks down into the yard. Sees him, his shoulders tense and his face surly, swing his leg over his -his brother's - bike. He's not looking at anyone else in the scouting group – Michonne, Sasha, some other folks from Woodbury, Sam and Karen. Tyrese.
Tyrese, she thinks, and the beat of her heart picks up its pace, sinks lower in her chest, no longer wedged painfully in her throat. The group roars away, out of the prison yard below, and she rests her forehead on the windowpane, sighs.
She's not exactly sure why she said what she did. It was true, of course. Tyrese had caught her in the yard a few hours ago, after breakfast, the bag with her arsenal of knives slung over her shoulder.
oooOOOooo
"Carol, hey, Carol!" She spins around, watching his strong form jog towards her. He's a big man, but his demeanor is so calm, so staid, she often forgets his size. Until he's standing in front of her and she has to look up to meet his gaze.
"Morning, Tyrese," she greets him with a grin. "You all going on a run later?" Now that there are so many of them the supplies at the prison have been sorely depleted. Semi-weekly runs for supplies, to super stores and former shopping centers, have become the norm in the past few weeks.
"Yeah, we are. I was wondering, do you need anything?" He smiles at her, directly at her. No skittish averting of his eyes, which Carol is noticing are quite lovely. Dark brown, with thick black lashes. "We're gettin' the basics, of course, but if you needed anything in particular?" He raises his eyebrows at her expectantly.
Something bounces in her stomach, and she reaches her free hand around to her jeans' back pocket, fingering the short list, hastily written on lined notebook paper, that she'd planned on giving to Daryl, if he asks. When he asks, because he always does. Even if "asking" just means finding her, standing silently, until she passes it over to him without a word.
She feels the texture of the cheap paper on her callused fingers, looks back up at Tyrese, waiting, smiling. Makes a choice.
"Thanks, that would be great," she hands him the canary-yellow square, with her meager requests. She doesn't need much. But maybe…maybe she needs more than she thinks she does. His fingers brush hers as he takes it from her, and she wonders. That's all. Just…wonders. What does she need? What does she want?
He glances at the few items, nods, looks back up at her. "Big reader?"
She laughs. "Sure, in my spare time, such as it is."
"Me too," he rolls his eyes, gestures to the hustle and bustle around them. "In my spare time." He winks, smiles that slow, easy smile he has. He gestures to her sack. "Heard you're teaching some of the older kids basic hand-to-hand combat skills. It's a great thing, you know." His face clouds over a bit. She sees something on his face.
"How many kids did you have?" Her heart squeezes, sees Sophia's face. Her face before, before the barn.
"Just one. A boy. Frederick. Freddie. He was nine when…" he trails off. "You?"
"Sophia. She was almost twelve," she wonders if it will ever get any better. If not better, she'll take easier.
They regard each other for a moment, and he pockets her list. "I'll be sure to grab some books for you. Don't want our brains turning to mush. Then we're no better than the geeks, right?" He attempts a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
He shakes his head a little, and suddenly his warm hand is on her shoulder, gently squeezing. "You're really doing something special, teaching those kids," his voice is soft, but his eyes are bright with unshed tears. "Teaching 'em how to save themselves, each other, if they have to. Their mommas and daddies aren't around to, so I'm thanking you for 'em, Carol. Thank you." He releases his hand, and jogs away, swiping at his cheeks.
oooOOOooo
She made one choice in the prison yard that morning. And she made another, when Daryl showed up, disrupting her class, all scruffy, boyish charm and pensive shoulder shrugging. He loves the kids, and they worship him. Which he is completely uncomfortable with, she thinks, grins.
She was glad he came, glad he still thinks about her and wants to make her happy. She loves him, she knows. But what is the nature of that love? She knows she's a natural caregiver, for better or worse. Better, because people need her. Worse, because…because sometimes, she doesn't know when to stop. When to hold back, reserve a part of who she is for herself. For Carol, alone.
He had shown up here, sent her morning to disarray. Wanting to provide something for her, to her. She had made another choice, in telling him about Tyrese. She could have jotted another list, he would have left, pleased. But…
What do you want, Daryl? She's still looking down at the yard, as the scouting group roars quickly out of sight. She hits the glass softly with her palm, frustrated.
Maybe. Just maybe. She's been asking the wrong question, all this time.
What do YOU want, Carol? What do you want, and what do you need? She taps the glass again, smears it with her fingerprints. Pushes it open, to let in the fresh air.
What did she want, and what did she need?