All right, bear with me because it's about to get all angsty up in here as Daryl and Carol try to understand the slow progress of their relationship in separate talks with Aaron and Eric. Also Carol has a troubling encounter with Tobin and we learn what was in the package Glenn and Maggie brought to Daryl the day he left on his first run with Aaron.

The chapter alternates between Daryl out on a run with Aaron and Carol back in the ASZ.

Trigger warning: brief allusions to child sexual abuse and spousal abuse.

Craftsman of Destruction

"A liar knows that he is a liar, but one who speaks mere portions of truth in order to deceive is a craftsman of destruction." - Criss Jami

Daryl

"How did you know?" Daryl asked the man sitting across the fire pit from him.

"Know what?"

"That it was... that you went for guys...men...not women."

Aaron chewed thoughtfully on the granola bar that was their usual breakfast out on the road. Since they'd left the Zone three days ago Dixon had been his usual taciturn self, but he sensed an underlying current of discontent in the Archer. He thought he knew why, but hadn't pressed Daryl about it.

"Why do you ask?"

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, wincing a bit as he fiddled with one of his bolts, a sign of his restlessness.

"It ain't all about the fuckin', is it?" Daryl's question sounded more like a statement.

Before he replied Aaron paused, hiding his bemusement at the personal nature of Daryl's line of questions with a fake cough masked behind his hand.

"No, I guess not. If I couldn't make love with Eric I'd still be in love with him." Aaron agreed, looking thoughtful. "That attraction has always been there for me though—I can appreciate a beautiful woman—like a work of art—but men's bodies are what interest me."

Daryl's head came up at that statement, but instead of the discomfort Aaron expected to see, there was curiosity.

"So Brad Pitt would get ya hard, but Angelina would just be... like ...a pretty statue?"

"Fight Club Brad Pitt?—definitely." Aaron said wistfully and then chuckled, wondering if any of the beautiful people from before the turn were still alive somewhere, asking: What the hell, God? We had it all and you set loose the Horsemen? What the hell?

It was Daryl's turn to look thoughtful, frowning a little and nodding.

"So what gets you hard, Daryl?" Aaron asked off handedly.

Daryl threw him a side eyed glance.

"Ain't talking 'bout me." He said quickly, evasively, angrily.

"Aren't we?" Aaron said quietly.

Daryl abruptly stood and snatched up his bow, stabbing the bolt back in the quiver that he slung over his shoulder.

"Goin' North." He grunted, grabbing up his small day pack and heading for his Scrambler. The new bike was better built for off road than Merle's Triumph had been, a more versatile machine for their forays into the outer world beyond the wall.

"Rendezvous at sundown. Use the walkie if you-" Aaron called after him, but the roar of the bike cut him off.

Carol

"I said I'm too busy, Tobin. This is the third time you've stopped by here in as many days and you keep getting the same answer." Carol said, working hard to keep her voice modulated to a pleasant only slightly more annoyed than flattered tone at his attentions.

The man wasn't taking no for an answer though. He'd shown up again after the last of the household had gone off to work, when she was alone, putting the breakfast dishes away.

"I checked the duty roster—you're not on for lunch deliveries until eleven—that gives us what? Three hours?" the big man said, giving her a lop-sided grin.

He was standing too close. He was as big. He was as big as Ed and he was too close.

Carol was feeling penned in, herded to where he wanted her, towards the back porch door. Her hand went to her waist, but her trench knife wasn't there. It didn't fit in with her new clothes; would be the wrong kind of fashion statement. She sidestepped him, putting the kitchen island between them. The knives in the butcher block next to the sink were in her peripheral vision and her hand itched to take one, hold it behind her back, ready...

...ready for what?

She needed to placate him, stay on his good side, never let him suspect she wasn't what she seemed, that to save the ones she loved, she was the fire that could consume him...

She inched closer to the butcher block.

"I have a lot of other work to do—the deliveries are just the end result of the cooking, you know that." Carol pointed to the ingredients for the apple bread she was making arrayed on the island.

"You won't get any better with the rifle if you don't practice." Tobin said, coming closer so he could lean on the side of the island right next to her, close, too close...

Carol reached behind her, one hand closing over the handle of a carving knife.

Picking up one of the apples, then a second and finally a third, Tobin tossed them into the air, one after another, keeping them suspended there.

He was a juggler. A foolish clown.

"Gotta practice if you want to get good at a thing." he grinned a goofy grin at her. "Learned it in high school—thought it'd impress all the pretty girls. So what do ya think Carol? You impressed?" he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

The fool was flirting with her.

Carol released her grip on the knife and crossed her arms in front of herself.

You're quite a lady. Poor sweet Axel's face and then a sudden splash of blood flashed in her mind's eye and she gritted her teeth.

"I'll be impressed if you don't bruise those apples." she said with just the right tinge of sarcasm. "I need them for my baking."

"Focused on the task at hand—okay, I get it." Tobin sighed, "Heads up!" he warned and one of the apples came flying towards her.

One handed she grabbed the apple out of the air, just snatched it up before it could fall any further, reflexes honed stiletto sharp.

"Impressive." Tobin raised an eyebrow and then set the other two apples down on the island as he stared at the one caught in her upraised hand.

Carol realized what she had done and let her face fall into a surprised look of bemusement, staring down at the apple in her hand.

"Maybe I should look into juggling lessons too, eh?" she gave him an over bright gummy smile, imitating light flirtation and then set the third apple down next to the others.

"You know where I live..." Tobin said easily, backing towards the door. "...And that I'll be back." he gave her a little salute and closed the door behind him.

Carol's carefully crafted mask of affability slipped off of her face. Her heart pounding, making an animal noise of frustration, she forcefully swept the apples off the counter onto the floor with both hands, listening to them drop and thud and roll away; realizing that she expected the worst of everyone...

Even herself.

Daryl

The rabbits Daryl had killed for their dinner were skinned, spitted and being turned slowly over the fire before Aaron returned to the spot where they had agreed to meet up.

He knew enough not to push Daryl for so much as a hello in greeting after the way he'd fled their conversation that morning. Instead he took the water Daryl had heated and used it to mix with the vacuum dried broccoli and pasta packet.

By now, a month into their assignment together, they had learned to efficiently work together on all of the necessary mundane details of life like setting up camp, preparing a meal, or taking out walkers. When the food was ready they sat and ate in silence.

Aaron paused enough times in eating to stare at Daryl that it was starting to make the Archer squirm.

"You just gonna keep eyeballing me?" Daryl grunted around a mouthful of bunny.

"Just wondering if you were ever going to answer my question." Aaron said noncommittally, scrapping the bottom of his bowl with his spork.

Daryl scowled at him and tossed down his empty bowl, looking like he was ready to bolt again.

"I mean I've seen it—what she does to you—makes you even more tongue-tied than usual. Makes you happy..." Aaron said gently, all traces of teasing gone.

Daryl eased back down onto the ground, his body tense and stiff, staring at the fire. He ran a weary hand down over his face and started stroking the graying tufts of hair on his chin, another one of his self-comforting gestures like chewing his thumb nail or lip.

"When you said...if you couldn't...that you'd still..." Daryl said, barely a whisper, his misery seeming to overwhelm him.

"Daryl—whatever's...whatever you need to talk about I'm here." Aaron said, leaning forward and matching his friend's quiet tone.

Daryl hesitated for a long moment, his battle with indecision evident on his face.

"Carol n' me...we... we tried." Daryl final got out. "She's like...part of me...n' I want her, but we get close and then we both...just freeze up..."

"Her husband?" Aaron asked, wanting to confirm what he and Eric had suspected about Carol's past life, before the turn.

"Yeah—he hurt her—that's some of it." Daryl nodded.

"But not all."

"No."

"So what about you? What's it been like for you? Before this?" Aaron asked, as circumspectly as he could, about Daryl's sexual past.

"You were born that way right?" Daryl asked, picking up a stick and poking at the edges of the fire with it, avoiding looking at Aaron.

"Gay? I think so, yeah." Aaron frowned at the questions unexpectedly shifting back to him.

"So it wasn't someone...made you that way...doin' stuff to ya." Daryl's voice had gone whisper soft again and he was staring at the flaming end of the stick he'd been sticking in the fire.

Aaron bit his lip so hard he could taste the bright copper tang on his tongue, felt a flash of quick tears, swallowed hard before he trusted himself to speak.

"No." he said quietly but adamantly.

"Had to whip me. He had to. To make me take it. Till I was big enough to fight back. Keep 'im off me." The monotone sound of the words in the dry rasp of Daryl's voice belied their devastating content.

Aaron closed his eyes against the anger that bloomed within him for whoever had destroyed Daryl's trust and innocence. That there were people out there, people who enjoyed acting as craftsmen of destruction, who thrived on it, was an unhappy truth he'd learned at an early age.

"Ran away. When I was eight...got lost in the woods for nine days. I was scared, but I was free." Daryl looked up at the trees overhead and the side of his mouth lifted a little into a smile, "Love the woods. Even now. Feel safe here." he looked to the edges of the circle of light created by their campfire. "Even with the walkers and shit. Seen worst monsters in the dark."

Aaron had seen Daryl's scars, evidence of some scourging evil that had been visited upon him.

"I don't want... I don't want to hurt her." Daryl murmured. "All it ever was for me...was just... pain. Ya know? And she has her pain too...and...We like our pain...our pain kept us safe, taught us to keep the walls up...stay safe...n' they just got... thicker."

"But you let her in. You found a door or a ladder or a sledgehammer and you let her in." Aaron reminded him.

"She's the sledgehammer ..." Daryl huffed out a chuckle and then sighed and ran his hand back through his shaggy mess of hair. "Wouldn't let me give up."

"And you want her—you're attracted to Carol that way?" Aaron asked.

"She ain't no statue." Daryl said in a way that let Aaron know he was mentally tracing every line, every soft womanly curve of Carol in his mind's eye.

"Have you ever been with a woman?" Aaron asked the question he and Eric had debated back and forth the whole time they'd been getting to know Daryl.

"Shit, man." Daryl scowled, rolling his shoulders in discomfort. "Fucked some women, yeah, mostly when I was drunk, when my brother..." his voice trailed off. "Ain't somthin' I'm proud of...weren't that different than jerking off when it came right down to it. Never kissed 'em...didn't hold 'em...barely touched 'em...just got off and got out."

"But it's different with Carol?"

"Since that night—at spaghetti? We sleep together...in her bed... talk about our days... laugh like kids... 'n kiss like horny teenagers until we ache, but then... then we stop n' then in the morning we wake up all tangled together."

The beatific, frustrated confused smile on Daryl's face was breathtaking.

"Never had that...never wanted that...closeness before. But she's...she's home to me and I don't want to fuck that up." The last two weeks had been heaven and hell all rolled into one. He'd risked it, letting her know how he felt about her, but didn't know what to do next. How to do it right.

"So when I said if I couldn't make love with Eric I'd still be in love with him..." Aaron said leadingly.

Daryl looked off into the distance, shook his head in frustration and winced.

"What if I can't be what she needs?"

"You already are." Aaron said, brushing away the tears at the corner of his eyes. "Daryl Dixon—who never talks about his feelings or his past—just... just bared his soul to someone he would've probably crossed the street to avoid before the Turn. All to try and figure out how to love her better."

Daryl seemed to mull this over for a bit and then reached over to his messenger bag, the one that fit in the bike's saddle bags.

"I got this book—found it in a Women's Shelter when Carol n' me were in Atlanta. Been carrying it around...said I should talk to somebody who'd understand."

"May I see it? The book?" Aaron asked, his curiosity piqued.

Dixon pulled out the rolled up large form paperback book, covered in a brown paper sack and held in its cylinder shape by two thick rubber bands at either end. He'd almost forgotten it the first time they'd set out on a recruiting trip. Glenn and Maggie had seen it laid out where he'd been packing and brought it to him that morning, figuring if he'd taken that much trouble to squeeze it into better portability, it must be important.

The rubber bands snapped and the paper thickly crinkled as Daryl unwrapped it reverently and then handed it to Aaron. It was a bit worse for wear from its treatment, the cover and pages curled in on themselves.

Aaron silently read the title: Treating Survivors of Childhood Abuse: Psychotherapy for the Interrupted Life. He flipped it open and saw that someone—Daryl?—had used a pink highlighter and pencil, filling out the questions and exercises in about a third of the book. The last chapter completed was about narratives of sexual abuse. He read through the preface, aware that Daryl was watching him intently, gnawing on his thumbnail.

"You kept this—carried it on the road all the way from Atlanta?" Aaron asked. How important had this been to him that Daryl had held on to it when they were on foot, walking miles daily, literally starving?

Daryl nodded.

"I'm not a therapist, Daryl—but I've been in therapy." Aaron said, looking up at Daryl. "I think working this program? The one in this book? Maybe it could be something...maybe you and Carol can do it together."

"She knows I took it." Daryl said slowly, as if contemplating the suggestion.

"What you two have? What I know of it?" Aaron asked. "Even if it never gets sexual, it's more than most people ever have. You love and trust each other. That's real. That's important. Especially now."

Carol

"And that's how you lost your husband?" Eric said, after waiting several minutes for Carol to finish her thought.

She'd brought his dinner and he'd asked her to stay, as he often did, especially on Tuesdays. The rest of her group had been making new friends, slowly breaking off into smaller units for meals, though they all went to Rick's house twice a week for the equivalent of a strategy meeting, disguised as a "family" dinner.

Carol had been explaining a little about how she had met the original Atlanta group, carefully emphasizing the domestic duties she'd been accustomed to doing at the quarry camp, how she'd ironed Rick's uniform and washed clothes in the quarry, leaving out the grenade she'd found that saved them at the CDC, instead waxing poetic about the heroic efforts of Rick, Glenn and Daryl the night the herd attacked the camp.

"They just came out of the dark." Carol nodded in response to Eric's question about Ed and then added solemnly. "That's when we knew we'd never be safe again."

The only safety, the only peace she found any more was in the shelter of Daryl's arms when he held her at night.

She knew the work he was doing with Aaron, bringing in the lost ones, was important. Already they'd found and brought back a nurse and engineer; a pregnant woman and her wife who had come from New York with tales of a mega-herd inhabiting Manhattan after the bridges were blown.

It still didn't mean she'd stopped hating every second he was away. Didn't mean she'd come to terms with the regular loss of the only peace she had in her life now, at night in her bed in his arms.

Eric saw the faraway look in her eyes, reached across the table and took Carol's hand before he spoke.

"When they're out there I feel like I'm stretched so thin...as if the best part of me is tethered to him and the fibers of my being are pulled tight across the miles." Eric said and then continued, "As long as I can feel that pull? That constant tug at my heart? Means he's okay—alive and okay—and I just have to keep it together long enough for him to find his way back to me."

Knowing Eric was trying to comfort her as if she was a damsel in distress, fearing for her knight errant off on a crusade suddenly made Carol feel exposed and weepy. She tried to pull her hand from his grasp and looked away.

"Hey—I didn't mean to upset you..." Eric squeezed Carol's hand.

"I'm just tired." Carol said, brushing away an errant tear and trying to smile, feeling ridiculous.

"Fighting off suitors will do that to a gal." Eric teased, trying to lighten the mood. "I saw Tobin make a beeline for your house this morning when I was having my tea out on the porch."

Carol flashed on a smiling juggling Tobin morphing into a leering menacing Ed, then somehow turning into a walker, pushing her back against the counter, then her trench knife was in her hand, grabbing at his throat with the other hand while stabbing through his temple, apples falling from the counter, from his hands, rolling onto the floor, her hands covered in black walker blood as his body fell among the apples...

"That kind of hurts." Eric said calmly, but with a bit of an edge to his voice.

Carol blinked, coming back to herself. She looked down at her hand, gripping Eric's fingers so tightly his fingernails looked blue and she gasped, releasing it.

"I'm so sorry..." Carol stammered, her hands rising, bird-like to push her short curls behind her ears in a nervous gesture and then awkwardly falling to her lap.

Her face had gone slack, her eyes had been glassy and vacant. Eric knew a flashback when he saw one.

"I'm not going to ask you if you're okay, because obviously you're not." Eric said carefully, "What I will ask you is if Tobin hurt you."

Carol looked up sharply and Eric saw a brief glimpse of something in her eyes so dark and razor sharp steel cold that he thought he must've imagined it when her face fell back into its usual passive calm lines.

"No." Carol said. "Not Tobin. He's persistent but harmless."

"But your husband—"

"Was an asshole. Died in the herd attack on the camp. Got a pickax through his head so he wouldn't turn. He's buried back in Atlanta." Carol said dryly as if she was reciting from a script. "Anything else you need to know?" she asked icily, again downplaying any hint of her true strength.

"I'm the one who's sorry." Eric said, shaking his head, "I didn't mean to pry—"

"I just... miss Daryl...feel stretched too tight, snapping back at you like that. I worry and that gets me thinking about everything we went through out there and knowing he's out there and what else is out there...I worry. It's all I can do." Carol shrugged helplessly.

"I know that powerlessness, Carol. I understand it intimately...but I don't think it's all about Daryl." Eric said gently.

Carol stared at him, this kind well-meaning man, wishing she could open up to him, feeling the weight and multitude of her secrets and sins clawing at her mind, trying to push their way into the open air: the woman she was hiding under floral prints and cookies, the deaths of a poor mad little girl and four innocents, two by her hand, two by her too late realization of their vulnerability in the world the way it was now, too late in understanding the truth about the monsters...all of them...living and dead...

Sometimes the best way to hide a bigger lie is to tell a smaller truth.

"You're right..." Carol said, "I had a daughter."

AN: Two people as emotionally traumatized as Carol and Daryl would likely have a hard time making themselves totally vulnerable. Two weeks sleeping in the same bed, they have yet to have sex.

At this point Daryl is actually in a better place than Carol in the process of working through the reasons they haven't pushed the consummation of their feelings for each other. Daryl is doing the work necessary to start to heal, using the book and asking Aaron for advice.

From the author's statement of purpose for the very real book Daryl took from the Women's Shelter in "Consumed": "The concept of the 'interrupted life', which guides this treatment, refers to the disruption caused by abuse to self-regulation and interpersonal capacities that otherwise would have been expected to develop. The treatment is intended to provide the survivors with emotional and social skills they did not have the opportunity to obtain due to the diminished presence of a competent, caring, nurturing parent and the burden of managing the abuse, often alone or in secret."

Carol isn't there yet. As she told Daryl, "I can't let myself... but you... I know you...you have to let yourself feel it..." She fears that it's only the tight control she has over all of her emotions and impulses, both good and bad, that allows her to keep functioning. Her impulse to violently preemptively defend herself from the attack she expects from Tobin scares her. When she realizes he's not another Ed, that perhaps he's as harmless as Axel, only wanting to get close to a pretty woman he likes, she wonders if she will ever be able to let even the man she loves, Daryl, get close to her. Letting go of her control enough to allow the total emotional and physical intimacy that she needs to have a sexual experience isn't something she thinks she can handle.

She still hasn't told Daryl about Mika and Lizzy and that secret weighs on her. It's an invisible barrier between her and not only Daryl, but the rest of the world. Just like her threat to Sam about the guns, killing Lizzy was a necessary evil to protect her family, but she still feels it as a black mark on her soul. She feels the guilt for Sophia and Mika's deaths even more because they were innocents who she failed to protect.

She likes Eric, but she doesn't trust him enough to explain the true depth of reasons for her little mental flashback/fugue that he witnesses. Telling him "a portion of truth," the story of losing Sophia, reinforces her mask because it happened before she became the woman she is now and so it adds another layer to her disguise.

Thanks for sticking with me! Let me know what you think if you have time.