A/N: So…this is it. End of the line. I am so sad to be finishing this story! But when it's done, it's done, right? Thank you all for your insight, your excitement, your reviews. It's great to be able to share these musings with you. Hope you enjoy. ~CeeCee
"And if you come around again,
Then I will take, then I will take, the chain from off the door."
"The Chain," ©Ingrid Michaelson
He stands there, in the common area, a plate of food in his hand. Someone – some harmless dude from the hunting party yesterday – is jawin' at him, but he doesn't hear. He's staring over at the pair of them, standing outside one of the ground-floor cells. Tyreese hands her a book, and she looks up at him, pleased. They pass a few moments of conversation, then he leans over, kisses her cheek. Kisses her…in a way that tells him he's done it before. And the way she receives the kiss tells him something more: that maybe those other kisses weren't quite as polite.
Tick tock, Glenn had said. Tick-fuckin'-tock.
Time to jump, man, he tell himself, and he wonders for a second if his dinner is going to come back up. Time to jump, before the water's gone.
oooOOOooo
He waits until he sees Tyreese leave for guard duty, watches her walk lightly up the stairs to the catwalk with her dinner. She looks serene, her eyes clear and peaceful. She doesn't glance around. She is Carol, on her own, in this moment. She walks up and away from him, without noticing him there, mere yards away. She looks so beautiful he feels like something's crumbling softly inside his chest.
He waits until she disappears into her cell, walks to the foot of the
stairs. Others are starting to settle in for the night, and some people greet him, wish him good night, as they pass. He's just standing there, looking up at the catwalk, his heart thundering in his ears, his mouth dry. He itches for a cigarette.
He sees Maggie standing at the entryway of she and Glenn's ground-floor cell. She looks tired. She sees him, raises her hand in greeting. Glenn walks from the kitchen area, carrying a sleeve of Saltines. He goes up to her, wraps one arm around her waist. Looks over, notices Daryl, just standing there. Confusion fills his face momentarily, and Daryl's worried he's going to come over, try and talk to him. He's not sure he can handle it right now.
But something on Glenn's face changes when he reads something on Daryl's. Glenn cranes his neck, looks up at Carol's cell, where the soft glow of gas lamp flickers within. Now he grins at Daryl, waves good night, turns away with Maggie.
He turns back to the stairs that may as well be Mt. Everest. He focuses on the wobbling light of the gas lamp. Remembers those damned little girls from last night, asking him for help. His model airplane, crushed to shit but his very own. The smell of lavender and mint when she leaned into him the other night.
These things make him more afraid. These things make him think maybe life should about more than just gettin' by.
He puts one foot on the first step, starts to climb.
oooOOOooo
He gets about thirty seconds to look at her, unawares, before she notices him. She is sitting on her bunk, propped up against the wall, reading a tattered dime store novel. Her empty dinner plate rests on her small side table. And next to it: the remains of the soap he gave her, nestled in its delicate packaging.
She looks up at him, startled. Smiles. He ignores every cell in his body, which are all hollerin' at him that he really needs to get the hell out of there. He hangs onto the doorway of the cell.
"Hey," she says, and continues, but then the roar of his heart overtakes any comprehension. Before he's fully aware of it, the press of her small hands are on his arm, pulling him down onto her cot. He sits there, for a moment, trying to breathe. Glances up at her quickly. Thinks of a tiny, perfect propeller spinning with a touch of his finger. Something loosens in his chest. He is still terrified, but takes a breath. He glances at her, sitting next to him. She looks concerned.
"Hey," she says again. "Okay?"
"Yeah," he chokes out. "Fine."
She stands up, pour him a small glass of water from a plastic bottle. Passes it to him as she sits back down. Their fingers touch. Her hands are cold. Her leg is pressed against him now, and he can feel it: she's shaking.
She's scared too. Well, damn.
There's something in the air of this cell, with the two of them sitting side by side. It feels like right before a storm. He feels terrified, yes, but maybe…also...
"How was the knife class today?" He asks, trying not to grin.
"Oh, I see," she replies, her voice full of laughter, and now she is back to herself. Well almost: he's not sure he's ever notices every single smile line on her face, or every curl of her hair before. But now he does. "I see," she nods, grinning hugely at him. "Since you ask, out of the kindness of your heart and with no ulterior motivation, the class went really well. The girls especially have improved."
She leans back against the wall, still smiling at him. He settles himself as well, rests his head on the concrete next to hers.
"Those girls," he says. "Those little goddamned girls shouldn't have to learn about knives."
"No, they shouldn't, none of them, boys included," she responds, sighs. "But this…this is life, now. And thankfully, they have someone like you to help them out." She tilts her head towards him, and her face is less than a foot and about four thousand miles away from his. His heart begins thudding in his ears again. But somehow, the sensation is pleasant, not terrifying.
"Though," she continues, "Though Ellie says I'm much nicer than you."
"Hell, no! She said I was at least as nice as you," he responds
"She fibbed," she shrugs, and it's the most appealing thing he's ever seen. Pieces of his heart are slowly loosening from his chest. He looks down at her plain white sheets, nearly expects to see them lying there, scattered around them.
They sit there for a few moments, neither speaking. The silence is perfect but incomplete.
"But Ellie's just a kid," she finally sighs. "She doesn't understand that you are as nice as me. As good. Better." She turns again towards him, and the teasing is gone from her face. Her eyes are luminous. He cannot keep looking into them. She sits up on her haunches, scoots a little closer, so her knees press into his thighs. He looks down at where their bodies are touching. He cannot seem to tear his gaze away.
"Daryl," she breathes.
He risks it. Looks up. Into her eyes. Those eyes.
She lifts a hand, and it hovers over his cheek. He can feel the heat from it, it's so close. A moment, and it alights like a bird on his stubble, her thumb brushing softly, and he shudders. Another piece of his heart breaks open, flutters, wakes up. Her hand is trembling.
She leans in and before he knows, her mouth, soft but insistent, is on his. Her lips are soft and a little chapped. She smells like the soap he gave her. She smells like home. He doesn't know how it happens, but his hand is finally stroking her soft curls. She is pulling him down, with her, onto the small cot. He opens his eyes and hers are there, inches away. And he sees all of her. All of the beautiful, broken pieces of her. And it's too much.
He jumps up, panting like a rabbit caught in a snare. Too much. Too much. He's jumped into the water and he's drowning. He has to go, now, or he will be pulled under. He clutches the metal on either side of the doorway to her cell.
"Okay," her voice from behind him, on the cot. "Okay, slower. Yes. That's fine. But don't go." Her voice holds no threat; it doesn't have to. He knows if he walks out of this cell, that's it: this door will be closed. This, right now, is the chance he didn't knew he had. The chance that he didn't know he wanted.
Now she is on her feet, and he small, warm hand falls onto his back. She gently turns him around. He hangs his head, looking at their feet pointing towards each other. Hers small and bare, his large and clad in heavy work boots. They look right together, there, on the floor, and he's wondering if he's lost his mind.
"Stay," she says, places her hands on his chest. "Stay."
And then he realizes that the water might be deep, but he has her to hold on to. He looks up at her. Holds her gaze for a long minute. She smiles. He steps towards her, wraps his arms around her middle, places his head on her shoulder. She strokes his hair tenderly.
"Stay," she whispers, a last time. So he does.