HRGHfan35 - I don't blame you for being pissed about that cut scene. They like to cut all the best scenes...dirty rotten dogs (to quote the Old Missy).

Emerald Kitten - I like the idea of having people living in little sheds on the convent property...they should build more...to accommodate more people...just in case. ^_^

JackAndHoney - There is no CARYL in this chapter...ever...at all...nothing...turn back...go home...(I like this emphasizing things with all caps...it's like yelling, but not). Thanks for the review and enjoy the chapter!

skittletitz - Haha, have you ever shipped someone you know irl? It's pretty hilarious...I was just thinking of how it'd be for the Merle and the Lt. Getting together, talking about how Daryl and Carol are just MEANT to be together. Bitching at life when things happen and they don't get their Caryl scene that week...

MollyMayhem84 - Aw, it's sweet of you to say that. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much. ^_^! *wary of the Dalebrows*

Lilone1776 - I like to think that when the Old Missy gets mad at the Lt. it's a form of flirtation on her side...

Satory - Thank you so much for clearing up some confusion on the translation in the last chapter, I was thinking coconut was a weird thing for a hen to lay, but just thought it was purposely ridiculous. And don't worry about your Frenglish, I'm Canadian, so I'm used to it (ah, the old CBC channel three where you watched late night movies and caught half of the plot because you only understood a certain amount of French)...

rebecca taylor - Thank you! ^_^

Supfan - I think they need a private place with so many people hanging around...everywhere...could you imagine trying to get your swerve on with people everywhere? Especially if you're skittish like Daryl?

GG - I like to think that while she protests a lot, the Old Missy just sort of expects the Lt. to disobey her orders and let himself in...especially where the Little Missy is concerned. Therefore, she wasn't at all startled or surprised he was in the room.

Brazen Hussy - Ah, spicy! (BTW, head's up, you'll enjoy the next chapter immensely).

MarionArnold - Thank you! And thanks for the other reviews! Glad to see you're caught up again! ^_^

carylfan - It didn't happen...yet...

Axelrocks - I know, the translation is pretty rough, but all I had to go on was the vocals of the video link and some French lyrics for the lullaby that didn't match the video exactly...good thing I know some French as well (not nearly enough to be cool like you, but enough to be able to maintain my Canadian citizenship).

Surplus Imagination - Ehehehe...confusing people with multiple names is my specialty. j/k No, if you notice, I do like to give people pet names (a habit especially prevalent in the Lt.) but also I tend to like to call people different names during different moments to heighten the mood...no, that's a lie...and sounds pretentious. I just like names! *crazy eyes*

There is no Caryl in this chapter whatsoever...it is a chapter about Andrea going on about how tough she is and how much of a bad ass she is and her tiny white thong and how comfortable that is to fight walkers in. Repeat. No Caryl.

...well maybe a little.

Chapter Forty-One: Nique

**Carol**

The storage shed was as clean as she supposed a shed could be, and filled with broken icons and pieces of stained glass that must have popped out of the church windows throughout the past, littering the heavy duty workbenches that lined the walls. Where projects that seemed like the nuns had at one time worked diligently on repairing, had long since been abandoned.

In the corner furthest from the door behind a half wall made of cinder blocks was two cots that had been pushed together and made up with military precision. Someone had lit a few candles to give them a proper view of their new home in the darkness before dawn.

She turned a bright grin on Daryl who stood behind her with his things. "Looks like he made the effort to make this place homey at least," she said.

"Candles make it kind of romantic," he teased.

Laughing, Carol made her way through the dressmaker dolls that held habits in various states of mending, heading for the bed.

"More romantic then I thought," he added, watching her perch on the bed, testing the bounce.

She laughed again and touched the bed at her side. "Think this is the comfiest bed I've been on in a while."

Setting his things down, he removed his crossbow last, placing it on a workbench beside a broken bird bath that doubled as an icon of Saint Francis of Assisi and approached her.

Slowly he eased down beside her on the bed and bent over his knees, clasping his hands together.

Carol smiled at him gently. For as fearless as he seemed, Daryl was often just like a little boy when it came to social situations. Like he didn't really know how to act during certain situations, so he just kind of shut down.

Reaching over she took his hands in hers and leaned against him shoulder to shoulder.

"Too much for you?" She asked.

He looked at her, before shaking his head. "Naw."

"I can go back to the dorms if you want," she offered.

"Hell no," he stated. "You're best here with me."

"It's still early," she suggested. "We could get some more sleep in before you have to set out with Rick."

"Do you like it here?" He asked suddenly. "At the convent?"

Easing back further onto the bed, she scooted until her back hit the wall. "I don't know," she admitted. "I love it, but…it feels like the farm. Some days I feel like I'm just waiting for this good thing to go to ruin. I don't want to get too attached."

"So you want to go back to the prison?" He urged.

"I want to finally feel like the place I grow to love won't be ripped away from me," she said. "I know I shouldn't be so ungrateful for what I do have, but I want a home. Stop running, stop living like animals in hiding."

Crawling towards her, Daryl pressed against her right side, his hand tentatively resting against her cheek.

"Okay," he whispered.

He didn't have to say anything else. Carol knew that tone of voice. That was his 'everything-will-be-okay-because-I say-it-will-be' tone. The same tone he used to reassure her about Sophia, the same tone he used in the cold winter months when they were near starving and freezing and downright miserable.

She loved that tone. It meant more to her than any words of comfort anyone could ever find to assure her. Because when he said it, it may not have been true, it may not have been definite, but it meant that he would do everything in his power to make things happen.

Wrapping her arms around him tightly, she nudged her head under his chin and listened to his heart. Months ago she wouldn't have even managed to get him on the same bed, let alone in the same room with her alone, but now that he was relaxing in her presence, now that she had him to herself, she wanted to abuse the privilege as much as possible.

There weren't even proper words she could find to let him know just how much he made her feel secure, she couldn't formulate anything that would get across to him how much he meant to her, not just because of his undying efforts to find Sophia, not because of the way he rode up on his bike and whisked her to safety in the nick of time, not because of how day after day he made sure her and everyone else had food in their stomachs, not just because his was the face that peered down at her in that dark room where she thought she'd die, but because out of everything he had ever done for any of them, he still didn't think he was worth anything.

She wanted to cling to him and never let go.

"You know we have about three hours before sunrise," she said with a cheeky grin. "All this candlelight, a bed and a shed to ourselves…"

Sometimes she liked to place ideas in front of him just to see his reaction, to test the waters by leaving the rest to him. She wasn't some hormonal teenager, to be sure, she didn't need to have sex all day every day, but it had been so long and the man in bed with her was so handsome, she wasn't averse to the idea at all.

Pulling away from her, Daryl slid to the end of the bed quietly.

Carol watched in a slight panic as he made for the door, but relaxed when he didn't take up his crossbow. He never went anywhere without it.

Watching as he used the simple hook and eyescrew lock the Cajun must have installed on their door, she grinned and flopped onto her back on the bed.

Daryl returned to stand at the foot of the bed, hand rubbing nervously at his chin scruff. Slowly he eased onto the bed and stooped to remove his boots.

Crawling up behind him, Carol stuck her arms under his and wrapped him in a hug, leaning over his shoulder to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

He tensed for a moment.

She realized he probably didn't like people coming at him from behind, in her fervour to climb back into his arms, she had jumped the gun.

"Sorry," she said.

He wrapped his hands around hers on his chest to prevent her from pulling away. "It's okay."

Figuring she must be getting old, because by this time as a teenager she would have been halfway through her second round, she smiled and leaned her cheek against his back, just enjoying holding him tight.

She could recall another time when she lay against his back, when they were fleeing the farm, leaving behind the memories of Sophia and Dale and Shane, leaving behind the RV and the summer kitchen where Daryl had made his camp.

This time was much more optimistic. Sure they still didn't know just where they were heading, whether their plans for Woodbury and the Governor's assassination would be successful, but she didn't care, somehow this go around felt different, it felt less like a funeral march and more like a country stroll.

Daryl's large hands pulled hers away from his chest and he held them out for a moment, before carefully leaning his face down to rest his cheeks in her palms.

Beaming, she crossed her arms to properly hold his face from behind, leaning up to press a kiss to the nape of his neck.

"You need a haircut," she murmured.

"Good luck holding me down to do it," he remarked.

Pulling him backwards, she flipped around him to straddle his waist, pressing her hands against his chest with a grin. "I think I could do it." She teased, sliding her hands just under the open collar of his shirt. She could feel the scars of his hard life beneath her fingertips, but it only softened the look in her eyes, not her resolve to keep the man in her bed and in her arms. Ducking her head, she caught his mouth with hers, finding him just as tense as he was the other night, but just like the night prior it took a little coaxing, before he relaxed enough to return the kiss.

His rough hands slid up her bare arms, circling around her shoulders and pulling her down against him.

..-~-..

..-~-..

Resting his head on her bare chest, Daryl idly rubbed his scruff across her breast almost playfully.

Running her hands through his hair, Carol was sizing it up for the trimming she had planned. If he thought distracting her with sex was going to get her off topic about his hair cut, he had another thing coming.

He wasn't the smoothest partner a woman could ever have, but she had only ever had two of them other than the hunter in her arms and one of them was Ed and the other was a teenage boy who fumbled more with her bra than with her body. What Daryl lacked in grace and charm in the bed he made up for in passion and intensity. Besides, she was always the pragmatic thinker that when it came to sex. It wasn't whether you enjoyed it, but who you were with at the time. She'd rather a bad lover than a nasty man in her life. Not to say Daryl was bad, just just lacked confidence at times.

Trailing her hand down from his hair, she idly stroked the scars of his back.

He looked up at her with that furtive, boyish look he sometimes got and she removed her hand from his scars to playfully tug at the grey patch of hair on his chin.

Dropping his head, she could feel him burying a shy smile in her ribs and she laughed softly.

"I know, I'm getting old," he muttered into her flesh.

"If you're old then I must be ancient," she replied. Her hair had started turning grey about five years into her marriage with Ed and by the time the world went to hell it was nearly completely pewter. He never let her dye it, said only harlots and whores dyed their hair. Deep down she always figured he didn't want her to pretty herself up and run off with a better man.

He settled his chin on her sternum lightly and eyed her. "Not much older than me."

"How do you know?" She asked.

He gave her that tiny little roguish smirk that he sometimes acquired at the corner of his mouth where his beauty mark sat. "The first night at the quarry Merle ripped off your wallet. I took a look inside it before I tucked it back into your bags."

"How'd I look on my driver's license?" She asked.

"Like an angel," he replied with a slowly growing grin.

She threw her head back on the pillow and laughed. "Smart man!"

"I may not have much experience with women, but I'm not completely stupid," he shot back. Reaching up he played with a spit curl that was forming at her temple. "I liked your long curly hair."

She beamed. "Me too."

Daryl eyed her quietly. She knew that look. He was looking right through her. He knew exactly the reason why she cut her hair so short in the first place, why she missed her long, beautiful locks. "You gonna to grow it back?"

She smiled at him. "Yeah."

Re-energized, Daryl crawled over top of her to press his lips against hers.

It was the first time he initiated a kiss.

When he pulled away, he beamed at her proudly, before dropping his head to hide the grin. Rolling onto his back, he settled beside her and they eyed the light that was beginning to come in through the small window's black makeshift curtains.

If they were going to stay there, then she'd need to find better curtains, the black one's just made everything seem draped in funeral finery.

Scooping her into his arms, Daryl pulled Carol against him and buried his nose in her hair. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple, before withdrawing.

"I'd better get up," he said.

She yawned and reluctantly followed him out of the little nest they had made, looking forward to the next night they both had off from their duties when she could curl up beside him again.

The Cajun Dialect

Nique - Nest