Disclaimer: I would hope it's obvious by now, but I don't own these characters or anything to do with The Walking Dead. But just in case it's not, I don't own these characters or anything to do with The Walking Dead.
"Well, I don't need you!"
An ice grenade burst through Daryl's chest at her words, numbing his body, and leaving his heart in pieces. He'd opened himself to her. Nutted up and taken a chance. And she'd made him believe she returned his feelings – that she might care for him as much as he did for her. In that moment, when she ripped that away from him, he fully understood how much he loved Carol. It couldn't possibly have hurt this much if he didn't love her.
But she didn't love him. Didn't want him. Didn't need him like he needed her.
Well, fuck this!
"OK, then. Guess I had a different idea of things. I'll just go and let you get on with bein' fine." He put as much venom as he could muster into the last word.
He grabbed the rest of his things from the floor and bolted down the stairs. He took enough time to get his boots onto his feet, then shoved aside the furniture blocking the front door. She called after him, but he couldn't bear to be near her anymore. It hurt too much.
"Thanks for the Spam," he said as he cleared the door. Sarcasm probably wasn't helping things, but he didn't care.
Once he was outside, he realized he hadn't even checked for walkers before blundering out. Fuckin' hell. He needed to get his shit together. Luckily, the street seemed clear. Throwing on the rest of his clothes, he shouldered his crossbow and headed for his bike. He intended to tear out of there as fast as he could, but once he reached the Triumph, he couldn't make himself leave. Looking back toward the house, he waited with a tiny spark of hope that she might come after him.
She didn't come.
After a few minutes, that spark fizzled, and he rode away, leaving behind the only thing in the world that mattered to him.
He didn't return to the prison immediately. Instead, he hid his bike off the side of the highway and disappeared into the forest. The woods had been a refuge for him for as long as he could remember. A place to think, a place to hide. A place to deal with the pain that seemed to be a permanent part of his life. But now it was no comfort.
For hours he paced the wilderness, letting his mind spin and his heart churn. Instead of slipping quietly through the trees, he stormed through loud enough to frighten game and attract walkers. He lost track of how many walkers came. As each one stumbled into view, he attacked with a brutal ferocity, stabbing eyes and bludgeoning skulls. He didn't use his crossbow at all. When his strength finally gave out, he climbed a tree and slept wedged in the branches of the old live oak.
When he woke, he trudged back to the highway, mounted his bike, and returned to the prison.
As he neared the fences, Carl ran down to open the gates for him. He rode past without stopping or acknowledging Carl at all. When he parked the bike, Glenn and Maggie approached. They looked at each other uncertainly before Maggie stepped close to his side.
"What happened? Did you find her?"
Daryl pulled his things from the saddlebags and ignored her.
Glenn stepped up behind Maggie and asked, "Were you able to track her? Where is she? Why didn't you bring her back? She's not...dead, right?"
Daryl whirled and stuck a finger in Glenn's face, anger surging up faster than he could control. "Fuck you! Just leave me the fuck alone!"
He pushed past Glenn and escaped to the far tower, the one they didn't use for anything. He didn't want to go into the prison. There were too many people who would have too many questions, and he didn't want to face them. He sure as hell didn't want to run into Rick. He wasn't sure what would happen when he did, so he chose to avoid the problem. Throughout the rest of the day, he could see people in the courtyard watching him, talking about him, and pointing fingers. He shifted to the other side of the walkway, so he wouldn't have to see them.
In the middle of the night, he made his way inside the cell block to gather up some blankets and snatch some food from the kitchen, then crept back out and returned to his tower. He tried to sleep, but only dreamed of Carol. They started as good dreams, where he held and kissed her, and she told him she loved him. But as he kissed her, the flesh under his hands turned putrid and she tried to bite him with teeth protruding from a rotting face. In the dream he tried to push her away, but she kept slipping past all his defenses, biting and clawing at him, and all the while, she stared at him with clear, crystal blue eyes. He jerked awake, sweating and flailing as he felt her teeth tearing at his throat and her nails ripping into his chest. He tried to pull his breathing under control, but it was difficult when he could still feel her rotting flesh slipping on her bones under his hands.
Scrambling to the edge, he threw up the food he'd taken from the kitchen. Shaking and sweating, he found his water bottle and rinsed his mouth, spitting over the edge. He crawled back onto his bedding, but didn't try going back to sleep.
He stayed up there for another two days. Early on the third day, he shouldered his crossbow and left the prison to hunt. If he was going to stay here, he still had to provide for the people who lived here. Carol had been right about that. They needed him.
A week later, he had settled into a routine. He would leave early and hunt most of the day. Returning to the prison, he would deliver the game to whoever was in the kitchen. Sometimes he would eat, but never with the group, and he didn't speak to anyone unless he had to. Everyone learned very quickly to stay the hell out of his way.
He ignored Rick completely.
When he wasn't hunting, he stayed in his tower and watched the treeline. Sometimes he slept, but not well.
Late in the evening one day, just as the sun had disappeared below the horizon, he heard someone approaching the tower. Footsteps echoed in the stairwell as the intruder climbed up. Eventually the door creaked open and Michonne appeared carrying a bowl and a bottle of water. She pulled her sword from over her shoulder and sat next to him, where he was resting against the tower wall. She set the bowl down by his hand.
"It's not very good, but you should eat it."
He looked down at the bowl and his throat tightened, thinking of other meals that had been brought to him. He didn't pick it up.
They sat together as the sky shifted from orange and purple to deep indigo. The first stars appeared before she spoke up again.
"Folks are worried about you."
He watched the sky without acknowledging her.
Michonne leaned her head back against the wall and turned her eyes to the newly visible stars. "You don't want to talk about it. I get that. But I know some of it."
He looked at her with narrow eyes.
"It's pretty clear you found her. You wouldn't have come back if you hadn't. She obviously isn't dead or you would have killed Rick already. Or at least beat the shit out of him. So you found her, but it went wrong. I can only guess about that, but it's clear you care for her."
He turned away from her again, not wanting to hear any more.
"It seems to me that if you love her as much as I think you do, you need to tell her. She loves you, too, you know. Anyone can see that."
His chest squeezed tight as memories of that night swamped him again. Without planning to, he blurted it out. "I did tell her. She doesn't want me."
"You told her you love her?" Disbelief colored her voice.
"I..." Daryl stopped. That night had replayed over and over in his head. She was right. He never said it. He kissed her, told her he didn't want to lose her. For him, that was the same thing as saying it. But he never told Carol he loved her.
"Doesn't matter," he said with a scowl. "She doesn't want me."
"Are you so sure about it that you'll stay up here until you starve to death? Seems you have a choice. You can go after her and make sure she understands the situation, or you can let it go, move on, and get back to your life here at the prison. But torturing yourself up here isn't one of the choices." Michonne stood up and dusted off the back of her jeans.
"Bring the bowl when you come back in," she said as she went back inside to the stairs.
Daryl looked up at the stars for a long time in the quiet. Eventually he picked up the bowl and began to eat.