A/N: I just want to say again how much I appreciate all of the reviews and enthusiasm for this story. It's been really fun to write, and I've loved exploring the characters this way. I've always been a fan of the slow burn (in fiction and IRL) and this has really just been a treat to share with you all. This story's got two more long chapters: this one and the next, the last. I really hope you all enjoy both the journey and destination. ~CeeCee
It's late and she's exhausted, but unable to rest. She'd hoped that the day's physical and emotional toll would allow her to collapse into a sound sleep, but to no avail. She walked Maggie back into the prison after they'd both calmed down, set her up in her cell with a cool compress, water, and soda crackers. Went to check on David, who was fussing healthily under Donna's careful ministrations. Ate a distracted dinner with some of the others, and headed for the haven of her little room.
Back in her cell, she tosses and turns, listening to the rustles, coughs and clinks of people bedding down for the night. When they first arrived, the noise and proximity of the Woodbury crew seemed invasive; now she finds the sound of so much humanity, nearby and prosaic, comforting. She gives up on the idea of sleep, sits up, leans against the wall behind her bunk. Turns the small oil lamp up, grabs the paperback mystery novel on her bedside, which she is nearly through.
A shadow appears in her doorway. Tyreese.
"Hello," she smiles at him, sets her book aside.
"Hey, Carol," he stands there, taking up the entire narrow entryway. "I've gotta head out on the overnight shift on the tower, but I wanted to see how you were doing."
"You're doing the overnight watch? After all the work you did today? You'll be asleep on your feet," her brow furrows.
"Nah, I came in this afternoon, caught a few hours. Besides, the guy I'm filling in for sliced his leg open pretty bad today messin' around with one of the cars. Hershel told him he should stay off of it for a coupla days," he shrugs, walks into the small room. Looks for her approval before he takes a seat on the small chair in the corner by the cell's bars. Sighs contentedly, tips the chair back a little, grins at her. "But I appreciate your concern." They sit there for a moment, in a silence that isn't quite awkward, but charged.
"You're almost finished," he nods at the paperback on her cot. "I should have gotten you two. So, who did it?"
"Not quite sure," she smiles over at him. "I know it's not the butler, though." They both chuckle a little, and her heart is thudding pleasantly in her chest. He has presence, this man; his body, and the sheer heart of him, fill her cell.
"You doing okay?" His question startles her. "Saw you with Maggie in the yard earlier."
"Yeah, I'm doing okay," she pauses. "Sophia. She's just…always."
"Yeah, always," he nods, rubs his hand across his face. He suddenly looks very tired.
"What was Freddie like?" She asks, toying with the cover of her novel, folding the corner back and forth.
"Fred? He was a little wild cat, that one," Tyreese laughs, and she looks up at him again. "Don't know how many times I found him up a tree or scaling a fence. No fear, and all boy," he pauses, thinking, remembering. "But he had a quieter side, too, that started showing itself, right before…before. He loved to draw, he'd sit for hours working on something, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. I told him we'd run out of space on the fridge if he kept it up." He stands up for a second, rummages around in one of his pants' pockets. Pulls something out: a child's drawing, folded and placed in a zip lock bag. Hands it to her.
She takes it out, looks down, lets out a small noise. It is a colored pencil drawing, very well done, of the face of a woman a little younger than herself with long caramel-colored braids and a generous smile. Her long nose is punctuated with a small, star-shaped nose ring and a smattering of freckles.
"He was very talented. And she is lovely," Carol hands the drawing of his wife back to him. "What was she like?"
"Darlene?" He laughs, wipes at his eyes. "Darlene was…epic. Larger than life. She was a southern funk and blues singer. First time I saw her she was belting a Dusty Springfield cover at this hole in the wall. I nearly dropped my drink. My friends had to drag me away. 'Fraid I'd make a damn fool of myself."
She laughs a little. "And did you?"
"For over fourteen years," he laughs too, palming his tears away. "Thank goodness she suffered fools well." He stands, pockets his son's drawing. "The two of them, they were everything."
She stands as well. "And you had them, for awhile. That counts. That means something."
"You bet it does," he steps closer to her, and her stomach flips. "And the craziest thing of all, is the heart keeps comin' back for more. I'm still a fool, Carol."
He touches her face, and she stands on her toes, gives him a chaste but lingering kiss on his mouth. "Thanks for stopping by, to check on me."
"Anytime," he heads out, to guard duty. She stands there, thinks, stay. She knows how responsible he is, but she also knows if she said it, he would. He'd stay. The word is in her mouth, and it tastes delicious. She hears his footsteps receding, goes back to her small bed. Looks at her nightstand, where a sliver of soap rests in a nest of flowered paper. Stay, she thinks again, chewing the word. Stay.
oooOOOooo
The next morning is as beautiful as the day before, cool and bright. She sets up her classroom, popping the dormer windows open to let in the breeze and the faint sound of birds. She's carefully arranging the weapons on the floor when the kids tumble in. Sarah and Ellie come in together, linked hands swinging. Thane, Daryl's crossbow apparently forgotten, kneels reverentially next to the array of weaponry, with the other two boys, Shai and Michael. The only one hanging back is Conner. He meanders over, but Carol can see he's unenthusiastic. She walks over, places her hand around his shoulder.
"What's up?" She whispers. He took Marie's death so hard. She remembers his exhausted form draped over Tyreese's shoulder.
"What's the point?" He says listlessly, no trace of his usual sass in his voice. "We're all gonna die anyway. Why bother?" The blank look on his face scares her more than any tears could.
She crouches in front of him, so she can look directly into his far-away eyes. "Conner. Yes, eventually, everyone dies. That's part of life. But…but if we all take care of each other, and learn to take care of ourselves, that's living. That's part of it. Opting out of doing stuff is a little like dying, because then you don't care about anything, see? Your heart is what reminds you that you're alive." She places her hand over his chest.
"But…but…it hurts, Carol. It hurts real bad," and suddenly, he is sobbing, crumpled against her. "M-M-Marie, she used – she used to sing – the songs my mom would, at night. Who's going to sing them now, Carol?" She strokes his curly head as the other kids stare, with the mouths hanging open a little.
Ellie walks over to them, pulls Conner by the hand. Holds it. "Come on over, Conner. Let's learn about the knives," she says encouragingly, and they kneel before the bounty of weapons solemnly.
"Okay," he concedes. "Okay, Ellie. But I want to try the biggest one first."
Carol stifles laughter and walks over to the group. That's more like it.
oooOOOooo
Ellie is handling the knife beautifully and - more importantly to Carol – without fear. It's almost like watching a different child from the one that shunned weapons a few weeks ago. She holds her breath as Ellie, with growing skill and confidence, wields the knife calmly. She and the class offer her a round of applause afterwards.
"That's it, guys," she announces. "Let's end on a high note. Great job, Ellie. See you all tomorrow. Go on and get some lunch, everyone." The boys scatter, but Ellie and Sarah help her pack up the knives carefully.
"Ellie, you did really well today," Carol tells her. She and Sarah exchange a glance, grinning at each other.
"We had help," Ellie replies, and Sarah rolls her eyes.
"He said not to tell, Ellie," she interjects. "He said it would be our little secret, so we could trounce the boys."
"Boys aren't here anymore, just Carol," Ellie responds.
"Who said?" Carol asks. They exchange grins again. "Come on, ladies, 'fess up."
"Daryl, silly," Sarah responds, as if it's obvious. Something warm blooms in Carol's chest. "We found 'im working on his motorcycle last night, but he stopped and helped when we asked him."
"Yeah, and he said he'd only help us for fifteen minutes, but it was a lot longer," Ellie nods, confirming. "He helped us forever."
"Is that right?" She responds, her voice lodged in her throat.
"And you know what else? He said no messin' around, because he wasn't as nice as you," Ellie continues. "And I told him that he is. And it's true," she pauses, looks up at Carol, then laughs. "Well, he's almost as nice as you. I fibbed a little."
She giggles some more, and Sarah joins in. Then Carol. Their laughter floats out of the windows, into the beautiful day.
oooOOOooo
She eats lunch with her students, then spends the rest of the day checking up on she and Hershel's patients: baby David, in the care of Donna and another elderly woman, Rose; Maggie, whose energy is still low but who looks and seems much better than she did yesterday, relegating herself to lighter tasks for the moment; and Jimmy, the guy who cut his leg whose watch shift Tyreese kindly took over. The stitches are setting nicely, but Hershel's right – he needs to be off the leg for a few days.
As she leaves Jimmy's cell, she nearly bumps into Tyreese himself.
"Hey," he says. "Hershel told me you were checking up on him. Wanted to give you this before I headed out on watch again." He hands her another mystery novel, this one very worn. "It's a good one. You'll never guess the ending."
"Maybe if I pass close enough attention, I can figure it out," she replies, taking the book. "Thanks."
There are people coming and going around them. He kisses her cheek. "See you tomorrow. Sleep well."
"You too," she responds, watching him go.
oooOOOooo
She brings her dinner plate with her to her cell and cracks open her new book as she's eating. She finishes, settles back against the wall, letting herself relax and becoming absorbed in the story. As she hears the bedtime noises start up around her this evening, she feels content. It's been a good day, a completely good day. Those are somewhat rare anymore.
She realizes suddenly someone is there, in her doorway. She looks up, and her heart leaps.
Daryl.
In her doorway.