"Oh God," Carol sighed. "I forgot how this feels." They were sitting outside, enjoying the cool night air, still sipping on moonshine.
"You feel sick?" Daryl asked, more with amusement than concern.
"No, I feel great," she giggled.
Daryl smiled at the sound, "you're lucky you're a happy drunk. Some people can be real jerks when they drink." He shot her a sheepish grin and Carol giggled again. She couldn't help herself, alcohol had always made her giddy.
She settled down when he started to talk though. "Yeah, I'm a dick when I'm drunk. Merle had this dealer. This janky little white guy. A tweaker. One day we were over at his house watching TV." Daryl paused and checked to be sure that she seemed interested. "Wasn't even noon yet and we were all wasted. Merle was high. We were watching this show and Merle was talking all this dumb stuff about it. And he wouldn't let up. Merle never could. Turns out it was the tweaker's kids' favorite show. And he never sees his kids, so he felt guilty about it or something. So he punches Merle in the face." A smile crossed his lips at the memory. "So I started hitting the tweaker, like, hard. As hard as I can. Then he pulls a gun, sticks it right here." Daryl gestured at his temple. "He says, 'I'm gonna kill you, bitch.' So Merle pulls his gun on him. Everyone's yelling. I'm yelling. I thought I was dead. Over a dumb cartoon about a talking dog."
Carol waited a second but when he didn't continue she prodded, "How'd you get out of it?"
Daryl looked up at her, he seemed surprised that she cared but finished the story. "The tweaker punched me in the gut. I puked. They both started laughing and forgot all about it." He chuckled and Carol followed suit.
When Daryl spoke again his tone was more serious, "You want to know what I was before all this? I was just drifting around with Merle... doing whatever he said we were gonna be doing that day. I was nobody. Nothing. Some redneck asshole and an even bigger asshole for a brother."
Carol's response caught him off guard, "I know. I've always known."
Daryl looked confused. "Then why'd you waste your time with me? Right from the start?"
Carol flashed him a brilliant smile. "That's who you were. It was never who you really are." She let her words sink in for a moment. "I could ask you the same question you know? What was I before? A housewife. There's no shame in that, I know, but I had a child to look after and I pushed everyone else away for a man who beat me any chance he got." Carol stared at him, "you knew all that so why did you waste your time with me?" She was asking to prove a point, not because she wanted an answer. She needed him to know that he was every bit as good as her, just like she told him so long ago in reference to Rick and Shane.
"Because I knew you were strong, long before you figured it out." Carol listened as he kept talking. "No one can go through the shit you faced without being strong. You're a survivor Carol. And you make people around you better," he added, looking away shyly.
"We make each other better," she clarified. "I've been alone most of my life, just like you. Emotionally, I mean. I may be a survivor, but I don't ever want to be alone again. Neither do you," she finished, reaching for his hand. "I need you to stay who you are, not who you were. That doesn't matter anymore." Carol gripped his hand a little tighter. "Places like this, you have to put them away."
"What if you can't?" Daryl asked honestly.
"You have to, or it kills you," Carol said sternly. Her voice softened and she quietly added a bit more, "and that would kill me."
"We should go inside," Daryl said, cutting the silence that followed.
"I wish we could burn this place down, bad memories with it," Carol laughed. "But I know we can't, so we're going to use this hell hole for shelter, to survive. And appreciate the fucking irony of it all." The f-bomb caught his attention, and she laughed again. "I guess I have a potty mouth when I'm drunk."
By the time they were settled for the night, Carol on the couch and Daryl in the easy chair, she was exhausted and fell asleep quickly.
In the morning, other than a bit of a headache, she felt surprisingly fine. Hungry, but no real hangover. They packed up anything that looked useful and headed out.
"Why'd you never tell me you could shoot a bow?" Daryl asked as they walked through the woods quietly. "I coulda looked for one for you when I was out."
"I don't know," Carol replied with a shrug. "I guess at first I just figured it was important to learn how to use a gun. And then a knife. And after I got good with both, it just never mattered anymore."
"We should hunt," Daryl said. "Come on, try it again," he offered her the crossbow. "You're a natural," he urged. "'Sides, I like watching a woman who knows how to handle my weapon." Carol wasn't sure if he intended the flirt to sound as dirty as it came out. It wasn't likely, based on the look of shock on his face at his own words, but she was delighted that for once he was the one doing the flirting.
Daryl tapped her shoulder and pointed at a squirrel that had appeared. Carol lifted the crossbow and aimed. He was standing close to her, close enough to whisper in her ear. "Remember your breathing," he said calmly. "From here," Daryl gently touched her core as Carol inhaled. She held her breath and waited for the right moment to squeeze the trigger. Before she got the shot off a noise from behind startled them. Carol turned one way, but Daryl turned the other, catching her foot. She fell, twisting her ankle, but ignored the pain and aimed at the walker as she went down. Her shot went through his mouth and the decaying creature dropped. Finally, Carol released the deep breath.
When she tried to stand pain shot up her leg. It wasn't bad, likely just a mild sprain, but walking unaided was going to be a problem.
"I'm sorry," Daryl apologized, coming to her side immediately. "Can you move it?"
"Yeah," Carol replied, demonstrating. He helped her up and she took a few tentative steps while Daryl retrieved the bolt and slung the crossbow on his back. The next thing she knew she was lifted off her feet and into his arms.
"We gotta find you some damn food, you're way lighter than last time," he teased her as he started to walk.
Carol tried to protest but Daryl wasn't having any of it, so she relaxed to try and make it easier for him. She thought about the "last time" he was referring to and smiled. She didn't remember much due to the dehydration but Carol did remember looking into his eyes and knowing Daryl had saved her life.
They came out of the dark forest into a bright and sunny Georgia day. Carol squinted at the contrast but enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face. They had made their way into a tiny cemetery and Daryl finally set her down for a rest in front of a large grey tombstone. Carol looked to her left and saw two smaller stones side by side. The names seemed to indicate they were likely sisters, one died at the age of 7 and the other was 11. It hit Carol hard, being so close in age to Lizzie and Mika. Her chest hurt and it was suddenly hard to breathe. She still didn't know if they had survived or not, but the reality of the situation was that Carol may never know. She didn't grieve for them as if they were dead, but she did grieve for the fact that she may never see them again.
Daryl caught her gaze and quickly connected the dots. He picked two pretty yellow wildflowers and set one on the top of each gravestone. Carol was touched by his thoughtfulness as she brushed away a single tear. He had been right the night before. She hadn't grieved for them and she needed to. Carol just prayed they were safe, one way or the other.
Daryl reached for her hand, surprising her again. He knew she needed some comfort and linked his fingers through hers to offer it. They stood their silently, paying their respects to the children in the graves they didn't know and two girls Carol had accepted as her own.
Daryl carried her to the porch of a nearby home. They had to make sure it was secure before barging in so Daryl thumped on the door and whistled loudly, to draw any walkers who might be inside. "Give it a minute," he said, listening for any telltale growls.
When they heard nothing Daryl opened the door and Carol followed him inside, knife drawn. "Oh my God," she said in awe. "It's so clean." She scanned the room, unable to believe how neat and tidy it was.
"Yeah," Daryl muttered in response.
"Someone's been tending to it," Carol said, stating the obvious.
"May still be around," Daryl replied, as he surveyed the main floor quickly. When he was confident they were alone he grabbed a chair and had her sit down. "Let's get that ankle wrapped," Daryl said, pulling another roll of gauze out of his pocket. A tensor would have been better but the wide gauze, same as what was on her hand, would do. Carol removed her boot and sock and let him work. It throbbed a bit without the security and support of the boot, but once it was wrapped it would be okay. Daryl knew that Carol had a good deal of experience with sprains in her lifetime, and she realized that he also knew she could have easily tended to herself, which made it all the more special that he was taking care of her. "How's that?" he asked, tying off the gauze.
"A little loose," Carol answered truthfully. He shot her a look but pulled out a roll of tape and made several circles of her foot and ankle, crossing over in spots. When he was done Carol wiggled her foot. "Perfect," she said, gently putting back on her sock and boot.
It still hurt, but she was able to walk on it and she slowly followed as Daryl set out to explore the house. "Woah, looks like someone ran out of dolls to dress up," Daryl said, walking into what was obviously once an embalming room.
Carol looked at the walker laying on the table. It was dressed in clean clothes, and set up perfectly, just as a body would be for a funeral. She immediately got an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She had seen this a bit with Lizzie and it terrified her - people's inability to realize that walkers were no longer human. "We should leave," Carol said, feeling a sense of panic. "Whoever lives here is obviously crazy."
"Completely fucked up," Daryl echoed her sentiments in his own words. "But we need to stay, at least for tonight." She was about to protest. "You need to rest that ankle," he interrupted. "One night. I'll go set up some stuff outside so we know if anyone's coming and we'll secure it from the inside."
Carol didn't doubt his ability to keep her safe, even without the skills she had developed on her own, but the queasiness she got looking at the walker on display was hard to ignore. The second Sophia walked out of that barn, even though as a mother she wanted to run to her, Carol knew it was no longer her little girl. It didn't hurt to watch Rick put her down because it just wasn't Sophia. It was also the reason she wouldn't attend a funeral to bury something she had no connection to. Her own experiences were what made her so terrified for people who obviously didn't get it.
Carol reluctantly agreed. She knew he was right, it was too dangerous to wander around with her ankle the way it was. If they had to run she would be in trouble. "Okay, one night. But first thing in the morning we're outta here. Back on the road, trying to find the others." With one last look at the dead thing on the table she followed Daryl out of the room.