Thanks again, guys, for the awesome reviews!
Here's another Daryl-chapter; it's a bit short, but I'm notorious for such things.
Hope yall enjoy!
He was placed as cabin guard the next morning, and Rick offered not a word to him as Daryl relieved him of the duty. They nodded in silence and Daryl accepted the little chore with a grunt of disdain.
He wouldn't complain, however.
He never did.
The smell of breakfast cooking made his stomach growl and he came close to telling it to shut up out loud. He watched as Dale climbed halfway down the ladder of the RV to take the plate that Carol handed up to him.
He watched her start back to the fire to scoop more eggs into a half-cracked bowl.
And then watched her turn to head his way.
Another growl rumbled and he glared down at his abdomen, suddenly regretting the fact that he'd skipped dinner the previous night.
He just hadn't been hungry.
And keeping an eye on the new guy's cabin had been far more important.
Carol smiled at him as she approached, and he felt the urge to offer her a "Good Morning" for some dumbass reason. He settled instead for jerking his head at her and peering down at the bowl.
"Morning." She whispered, sounding strangely meek, but he figured she didn't want to wake the man that was probably still asleep in the building he leaned against.
He felt his lips pull upward and his stomach growled again.
And then she opened the door to the cabin and walked in with not another word.
Daryl blinked and gripped the gun in his hand tight.
Another growl.
"Shut the fuck up, stomach."
He was relieved when she exited the cabin just a few seconds later.
And he didn't even know why.
Glenn was heading their way to take over guard duty and Daryl was grateful for the opportunity to eat.
And to go out and hunt something down.
He thrust the gun into Glenn's hand as he passed, ignoring the confused look on the boy's face and rushing to catch up to Carol's retreating back. His fingers found her elbow before he even thought about the fact that he was grabbing for it.
"Hey." The gruff tone in his voice was harsh and she jumped, the muscles in her arm flinching under his hand. He chewed at his lip at the quick jolt of fear he'd caused her but brushed it aside to meet her concerned eyes.
"What?"
Jerking his head toward the path they'd just come from, he lowered his voice to prevent the nearby Shane and Andrea from eavesdropping.
"You oughta' let someone else bring him lunch."
Her lips pursed and she followed his head movement before a look of understanding dawned on her.
And then she looked at him with what he recognized as disappointment.
"Why?" She asked it in such an oblivious and innocent way, but Daryl knew better. She was challenging him because she thought he was being childish.
She didn't get it.
He leaned in closer to her face, felt her breath on his lips again and fought an urge to lick them instinctively.
"I don't want him thinkin' he's got friends already. We don't know this guy. You don't know him." He growled the words, which, as usual, garnered a whole lot of nothing as far as a reaction from the woman.
When the hell did she get used to him like this?
Instead, Daryl watched with narrowing eyes as Carol licked her own lips and her eyes flickered down at his, and the look she'd given him after his haircut the day before crossed her face for a moment before she pulled away from him and looked down at his hand on her arm.
He let go immediately, content to ignore the feeling of loss that struck him at the lack of softness under his fingers.
Carol smiled at him, soft and sad.
"He's hurt, Daryl. Exhausted and starving and alone. I don't think he's planning on hurting anyone…"
She walked away, and he let her.
He didn't know what to say to the look of compassion in her eyes anyway…
Two days later, and they were letting the man walk around like he owned the place. A guard on the RV and an escort around the grounds was not enough for Daryl's comfort level.
He stood just inside the doorway to the Winnebago, watching as Andrea hovered behind the stranger, gun tucked away in her pants as if she wasn't really expecting any problems from the guy. 'Mike' strode past and offered him a hesitant wave.
Daryl fought the urge to flick the man off in response.
In the distance he could make out Shane coming back from a patrol, shotgun in hand, machete strapped to his waist. The ex-cop glared at Mike at he passed, and Daryl could see the tension in his body language.
If it were up to Shane, Daryl knew the stranger would most likely have his blood spilling over the dock into the lake, a bullet in his head and a shallow grave waiting to take the rest of him.
He watched as Carol approached Andrea and said something to her before moving to step in pace beside the newcomer as the three of them walked the edge of the lake.
He caught Mike's subtle smile as the man looked Carol over.
Daryl had never wanted to promote a Shane Walsh idea so badly in his time with the group as he did in that moment.
He backed away into the RV to grab his crossbow.
Somewhere out in the woods that surrounded them, an animal was waiting to meet its end.
He'd stayed away from the camp the entire day: killed every squirrel he spotted, a hare on his way back, and even considered firing a bolt through the bullfrog that hopped towards the lake as he'd walked along its bank.
He'd cleaned his kills alone in the dimming light of the setting sun; brushed off Dale's offer to help him.
He hadn't asked the old man about Carol or Rick or Mike.
But he had felt a small weight lift from his chest as he had spotted T-Dog guarding the man's cabin. He felt better knowing Rick had not given the guy free range just yet.
The RV was black as pitch when he climbed in, his hair damp from a quick wash in the lake. The ceiling shifted above him, Dale moving in his chair atop the vehicle. The floor creaked under his boots and he settled onto the cushion at the table to untie and pull them off. He kicked them under the table, stood to push his jeans down to his ankles and shove them under as well.
The RV was warm, its windows cracked open to let the night breeze through. His skin was sticky with the humidity already, however, and he stood stiffly in place to ponder whether or not to remove his shirt.
He'd tried in the past to keep as much clothing on as possible while he slept; it was more practical that way, in the instance of a Walker attack….
And he was uneasy about the prospect of Carol waking up to find him practically naked on the floor beneath her.
His fingers fidgeted with the hem of the shirt and he squinted in the darkness to find Carol's sleeping form in the back bed. It wasn't that she hadn't seen him bare before; he knew she'd spotted his exposed skin that night in Hershel's farmhouse after the arrow-slash-gunshot incident. And hell…they were fucking adults, after all…
He peeled the shirt from his chest and maneuvered toward Carol's bedside, finding his pillow waiting at its usual spot on the floor just next to her.
He set the shirt beside his head and stared into the darkness of the ceiling.
Movement in the bed above him had him jerking to attention, and the shadowy form of Carol's head leaning over the side to look down at him took shape as his eyes adjusted.
"I was wondering when you'd come in."
The lack of sleep in her voice told him she'd stayed awake.
And waited for him.
Daryl rolled over, away from the bed, and pressed his face into the sweat-stinking shirt.
"Goodnight, Daryl."
He licked his lips and forced the image of her smile out of his head.
"'Night."