Carol and Daryl return home to what is for one of them an unwelcome surprise in the aftermath of the Wolves attack.
Sweet smut warning.
Family
"When everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you without flinching-they are your family." –Jim Butcher, Proven Guilty
"Where else was he going to go? Carl n' Rick brought Ron here, n' that girl too. Boy should be with his brother...all the family he got left." Daryl said quietly as he watched Carol pacing back and forth at the foot of their bed.
She looked wired, but lost, vulnerable, the opposite of how she'd been since the crisis with the Wolves had begun.
Daryl had watched this morning while she calmly took down at least three of the invaders from her position at the cellar window and then when the all clear was given, immediately head out to do triage, quickly and efficiently working with Rosita and Maggie taking care of the wounded and then deciding who could go into the houses prepared for prisoners and who needed further treatment.
Sam had shadowed the women all day, carrying supplies and running messages for them. Rick had found him asleep on the steps of the Clinic at the end of the day, waiting for Carol to come out after tending to her patient, the woman medic who had been held captive by the Wolves. After her dark pronouncement about the necessity of killing all of the prisoners, she had passed out again. Deanna planned to question her first in the morning and Michonne was spending the night at the Clinic guarding her.
Daryl knew that Carol's ambivalence about the boy would come to a head when the dust settled. He also knew that Rick's guilt over killing Jessie to save Carl meant that he'd feel a duty to both boys and want to bring them into the fold. For the constable, it wasn't open to debate.
Carol and Daryl returned to the house to find Enid, Ron, Sam and Carl all sitting around the dinner table, Judith in her high chair, entertaining them by giggling and tossing her Cheerios onto the floor while Rick pulled a pre-made casserole out of the oven.
Carol took one look at the domestic scene and stopped short, almost causing Daryl, who she was supporting on one side, to lose his already precarious balance. He grabbed onto the door frame and swore, drawing the eyes of all the kids and Rick, who gave his friend a censorious look.
"Hungry?" Rick asked, bringing the dish over to the table. He was wearing oven mitts, a loose fitting sweatshirt and jeans, his strong jaw softened by the graying stubble of two days beard. He looked tired but content, a father at the end of a long day of work taking care of his family.
Daryl's stomach growled, making a verbal reply unnecessary, and Carol helped him over to one of the open chairs at the table and then stepped back as soon as he was seated. She pulled at the bottom of her shirt, looking down at the dried blood and other more unpleasant substances staining it and then murmured something about needing to get cleaned up before she fled upstairs.
Sam got up and moved one chair down, leaving the one between him and Daryl empty. Daryl frowned at him, wondering if the kid was scared of him, and then surreptitiously sniffed his pits, wondering if he stunk, but didn't think he smelled any worse than usual. He saw the boy look towards the stairs and realized that the chair between them was being saved for Carol...
"Enid—you can stay in 'Chonne's room tonight. You boys alright to bunk with Carl?" Rick asked as they cleared the table after everyone was finished. Carol hadn't come back down and Sam had visibly wilted when Rick had told them to start eating without her.
"I could stay with Miss Carol." Sam volunteered hopefully, looking again at the stairs.
"Sorry, buddy, Daryl already beat you to it." Carl said with a sly grin, making Daryl grunt and throw him a narrow eyed stare while everyone but a disappointed Sam smiled.
"Bed time guys," Rick said in a no nonsense tone. "Carl, take your sister up and change her if she needs it."
"I can do that, Mr. Grimes." Enid volunteered, rising and moving to remove the baby from her high chair. She picked up the child and cradled her to her chest gently, smiling a bit when Judith reached up and pulled on her hair.
"You sure?" Rick asked, sounding a bit unsure of the girl. She'd been a capable enough worker and Carl seemed attached to her, but they didn't really know anything about her.
"I had a baby brother...before..." Enid said softly, her stoic face softening in sadness.
Carl and Rick exchanged a frowning look, but then Rick nodded that it was okay. Carl went with her as they headed up to take care of the little girl.
"Come on, squirt." Ron said, rising from his chair, "Carl's got The Dark Knight and Spiderman you can read before bed." A weary awareness of his responsibility for his little brother showed in his tired eyes. Tomorrow they would bury their mother.
Sam looked at Daryl as if willing him to object, wanting to wait for Carol to come back down.
"You go on—all need some shut eye after today." Daryl said to Sam, nodding his head in agreement with the older boy.
After the kids were gone, Daryl sat alone at the table drinking a beer, his bad leg propped up on a second chair, while Rick busied himself washing the dishes, his back to the other man.
"I get it—you feel responsible." Daryl drawled, setting the bottle down on the table with a small clunk of glass on wood. "But you didn't think to ask me n' Carol if we wanted to live with the fuckin' Brady Bunch?"
Rick didn't reply. He continued to wash, rinse and then place each plate and glass in the dish drainer, one after another, methodically, mechanically focused on the mundane task.
"Carol told me what you said to her." Daryl said, taking a long draw on his beer. "That day you left her."
The clink-clank of the silverware going into the plastic pocket of the drainer signaled the end of Rick's task. He put the crusty casserole dish in the soapy water to soak and then dried his hands on a dishtowel before turning to face Daryl.
"We both said a lot of things that day." Rick replied, resting his ass back on the counter and crossing his arms over his chest.
"About your kids." Daryl gestured at him with the bottle before raising it to his lips and draining the last of it. He rested the empty bottle on his chest, picking at the label, peeling the paper from it while he waited for Rick to say something.
Rick looked down and nodded, a brief look of shame and pain flashing over his face.
He remembered.
"She can't think I still feel that way." Rick finally said, raising his head to look at Daryl and then looking towards the stairs where Carol had gone. "After she and Ty saved Judith, all of us; what we've all been through—."
"You don't know..." Daryl muttered, sitting up and putting the bottle on the table in front of him. He didn't want to betray Carol's confidence, but felt a surge of anger about how much she had sacrificed to bring Rick's daughter back to him—those girls' deaths weighed on her soul—he felt anger that Rick couldn't see how hard it was for her to be around the kids.
"She knows I trust her—I don't want—does she really think I don't want her here?" Rick asked, growing upset.
"You never asked; how me n' her ended up out on that road that night back at the church; to see the Grady car go by." Daryl said slowly, tilting his head and looking over at Rick through his bangs.
Rick stared at him and then shook his head in confusion.
"She was leavin'. Had the car we found already runnin'. Walker hadn't slowed her down I'd've missed her." Daryl sighed and chewed on his lower lip.
"Leaving?" Rick asked, still not getting it, how much what he had done to her, how everything that she had gone through as a result of her exile had damaged her.
"I'll talk to her; see what she wants to do. Ain't no housing shortage. Maybe it's time we get our own place." Daryl shrugged, bracing his hands on the table top to help him stand, wishing he hadn't refused the crutches Carol had offered back at the Clinic. Wasn't like he'd broken or lost the leg—but it had been a good eight hours since he'd had a pain pill. The beer had just barely taken the edge off and now it hurt like a son of a bitch.
Rick came swiftly to Daryl when he saw how wobbly his friend was. He stood by his side, but didn't try to touch him. Daryl caught himself, balancing with both hands gripping the back of the chair.
"You'd move out?" Rick asked, frowning at the possibility. He'd gotten used to having his closest friends—his family—around him, there as support. The idea of living in a house with three teenagers, a tween and a baby without Carol's steady presence or Daryl's built in bad cop personae was a daunting prospect.
"Said I'd see what she wants to do." Daryl said while taking a hopping step back, swaying unsteadily.
"Suppose you want some help up the stairs then." Rick said dryly, putting his arm under Daryl's, steadying him.
When they made it to the door of his and Carol's room it was closed, so Daryl knocked.
"What?" Carol asked in a tight voice.
"Climbed all the way up here—think you could sound a little sweeter." Daryl growled.
The door came open and a concerned but exasperated Carol looked at the two men like they were crazy. Her hair was a bed head mess and she wore her sleep clothes, a practically see-through white tank top and navy shorts. Her eyes were also swollen and red, as was the tip of her nose. She'd been crying.
"What is wrong with you? You could've popped your stitches—perfectly good couch downstairs—" Carol chided in a low angry voice, pushing Rick back out of the way to take his place supporting Daryl.
"G'night." Rick mumbled just before the door shut in his face. He stood there listening for raised voices, but gave up after a minute or two and ambled down the hall to his room.
Carol helped Daryl over to the bed and made him sit down so she could examine him.
"I would've come downstairs to check on you." Carol said, all business, feeling his forehead for a fever as a sign of infection and then reaching for his belt buckle to take off his pants and look at his wounded leg.
Daryl captured her hands in his to stop her.
"Hey now—I ain't that easy—buy me a drink first." he kidded, leaning in for a kiss.
"Smells like you already had one." Carol leaned back with a nose wrinkling grimace.
"One beer—made me feel less like asking Rick to do a Hershel on my leg." Daryl said wryly.
"You're in that much pain?" Carol asked, "Why didn't you say something sooner?" She pulled her hands from his and went to the low dresser across the room, grabbing her triage back pack off of the top of it and digging through it. She took out a blister pack of pills and a water bottle and returned to the bed.
"We sorta had a busy day." Daryl understated wryly, looking at the pills and water but not taking them. His leg was on fucking fire, but still he hesitated.
"You'll heal faster if your body isn't fighting the pain too." Carol said, knowing his reluctance to use heavy duty meds was because of what he'd seen drugs do to his brother. "We need you back at full strength as soon as possible." she reasoned and then added in a gentler tone, "It'll be okay."
Daryl sighed and accepted the pills and water, downing them quickly.
"Now relax and take off your pants." Carol ordered.
"You can have one or the other—not both." Daryl grinned at her, his hands going to his belt.
"I need to check the stitches." Carol said forcefully, raising both eyebrows at him and pursing her lips. She knelt in front of him, helping him take off first his knives and then his pants.
Since he'd been sequestered in the Armory basement during the battle and most of the clean-up operations, his clothes weren't corrupted with the same gore as hers and the others had been, for which Carol was grateful. She knew he was frustrated that his injury had kept him out of it, but for her it had been one less thing to worry about today.
While she unwrapped the dressing, Daryl continued to undress, removing his vest and pulling his shirt off over his head and then settled back to enjoy the view. He had the perfect vantage point above to look down the front of the slightly oversize tank top she wore. As she worked he started to feel the pills kick in, giving him a zinging buzz of relief from the pain. They also loosened his tongue.
"I like your boobs." Daryl drawled with satisfaction. "They's pretty."
"I'm going to leave the dressing off—let it get some air overnight." Carol told him, ignoring the compliment. She was pleased there was no sign of infection and all of the stitches seemed intact, but there was still some swelling and colorful bruising all around the injury site.
"You gonna take your dressin's off?" Daryl said leadingly, smiling lazily and leaning back on his elbows as she stood and looked down at him.
"You're injured; you need to rest." Carol told him in firm denial, tempted none-the-less by his long lean form draped across the bed, casually seductive, but suppressing a smile because he looked just a tad goofy in his loose fitting old man boxers. She was used to him in briefs, but these days you took what you could get.
"You my nurse?" Daryl asked, squinting up at her.
Carol considered the question and then slowly nodded yes with a little side-eye, knowing he was up to something.
"This bum leg—couldn't take a shower—how 'bout a sponge bath, nursie?" and he gave her a little boy pout. She seldom saw this mischievous side of him and was torn between taking advantage of it and going downstairs to take the couch for herself and letting him sleep it off.
"What's my name?" she asked, checking to see how out of it he really was.
"Nurse...Carol. My Carol." Daryl responded with a sly smile, sitting up and reaching out his right hand to her. "Com'ere."
"Thought you wanted a sponge bath..." Carol said, putting her hands on her hips and pursing her lips at him.
"Thinkin' a tongue bath'd be nicer..." Daryl purred wickedly, winking and thrusting his chin forward with a grin. He beckoned her forward again with a small motion of his hand.
Carol shook her head and chuckled, giving in, the desire to be close to him winning out over any worry about aggravating his leg injury.
Taking his hands Carol let him pull her in so that she stood between his open legs, his thighs to either side of hers. He leaned forward and rested his head against her warm belly, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Smell so damn good." he murmured, making a slight snuffling noise as he inhaled deeply and then inched up her tank so his lips were pressed to the soft flesh, nuzzling and kissing.
Carol's hands slid from his shoulders to his back, the rough slick texture of his scars and his heat comfortingly, achingly familiar. When he pushed the shirt up over her breasts and used his tongue to map them, settling in to suckle lustily at one tight hot nipple, she moaned and lifted her hands to burrow under the long hair at his nape, holding his head to her.
"Taste like strawberries..." he grunted as he lifted his mouth from her only to latch on to the other side. He pushed under the waist of her shorts and cupped her ass with both hands before stripping them down her legs.
She stepped out of them and then felt his hands on her again, the left at the small of her back and right palming her mound before sliding two fingers up and into her wet heat.
"Oh God." Carol gave a little cry, her knees going weak as his fingers fluttered over her light and fast until she was writhing in pleasure. She felt the rumble of his low laugh against her breast and then he lifted her off her feet to straddle his lap. As she settled down onto him she realized that he still had on his underwear, his cock straining against the thin cotton.
"Wait—Daryl!" Carol protested, pushing against his chest, but he just laughed again and pulled her against him, breast to chest and then sighed happily, smiling down at her.
"Just kiss me, Chero-kee." Daryl said lightly, enjoying the rhyme, lowering his mouth to hers, a luscious long wet meeting of lips and tongues. His hands cupped her face as he bumped his hips up, making her whimper with need.
Raising up by planting her knees on the bed on either side of his hips, Carol reached and pushed under the white cloth, drawing his strong silken length out, her hand closing firmly around it and then sinking back down onto him with a sigh.
"Shit..." Daryl groaned, grabbing her upper arms and then falling back onto the bed, bringing her with him. He started to roll to the side, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest.
"Your leg—" she cautioned, but he shook his head from side to side.
"Nothin' hurts..." Daryl assured her, but then looked up at her with a lazy grin, those blue eyes dark, and pupils wide. His hands moved from her arms to her shoulders in a slow caress, the right closing around her neck, feeling her rapid pulse while the left traced the curve of her cheek.
Carol closed her eyes and leaned into the gentle touch, rubbing against his work roughened fingers. His thumb drifted to the seam between her lips and she opened for him to push inside, sucking down hard, swirling her tongue around it.
Bracing her hands on his chest, she pushed back on him with her hips, sheathing his full length, taking him deep just as she did the same to his thumb, holding it there with her teeth lightly biting down just behind the knuckle.
"Fuuuck..." Daryl muttered, long and low, his left hand moving to cup her right breast, kneading the soft weight of it reflexively, pinching the stiff nipple and then sliding down her abdomen and through the soft thatch of curls to find the center of her arousal, as erect and hard as the nipple had been.
He took a bit of time to match his finger's strokes to her rhythm moving on him, muttering something unintelligible, and then grunted in satisfaction when she released his thumb from her mouth so she could cry out in pleasure.
"Need you closer." he begged, using his wet thumb on her breast to rub against the cherry red center and she adjusted her arm position, leaning forward so that when he raised his head, he could lick and suckle there, supporting her above him with his big hand firmly clasping its soft weight.
All of the worry and fear of the last few days was pushed down, sublimated to this, the need to reassure each other that they were alive; safe and alive and together. They lost themselves in each other, for those brief moments of total communion forgetting everything else.
Carol cried out loudly in an agony of joy, the physical and emotional release, the opportunity to show Daryl how much she loved him almost too much. As she floated back down from the intensity of her orgasm, Daryl's arms firmly around her, her face cradled against his neck, she became aware of a faint pounding noise and someone out in the hall urgently calling her name.
"What th'hell?" Daryl mumbled from underneath her.
"Miss Carol!" The bedroom door slammed open and there stood Sam, his small knife drawn, a look of panic on his face.
Daryl sat up, keeping Carol held against him, dragging the quilt up around their still joined lower bodies.
"Sam—this ain't none a'—" Daryl began, but the boy came closer, afraid, but determined.
"You were hurting her! I heard!" Sam yelled fiercely, the tremor in his voice and tears in his eyes making Daryl's throat go tight. His eyes met Carol's, full of sorrow, as she leaned back and then slid off of him, keeping the covering around her as he tucked himself back inside his boxers, wincing a little.
"He wasn't hurting me, Sam." Carol said evenly, standing and walking over to him, putting her free hand over his, lowering the knife and taking it from him.
Rick suddenly appeared at the door, looking only half awake, his white t-shirt and baby blue boxers wrinkled from sleep.
"Everything okay in here?" Rick asked, looking at the three upset people in the room.
"I went to the bathroom..." Sam said, looking up at Rick, his brows drawn together in confusion. "...and I was comin' back to Carl's room an' I heard Miss Carol screamin'..." he looked over at Carol, "...like my mom used to when..." and then he began to cry in earnest and flung himself at Carol, gripping her tightly around the waist and sobbing.
Carol stood stiffly, neither pushing away nor embracing the boy.
Rick saw the struggle for control on her face, but she wouldn't look at him either, she just focused on some spot on the floor. Daryl met Rick's questioning eyes and he shook his head.
"Sam—son—you know Daryl would never hurt Carol, right?" Rick finally said when the boy started to calm down.
"Then why was she screaming?" the boy asked, still clinging to Carol, but he looked up at Rick.
"Coz I was...I was ticklin' her." Daryl said after clearing his throat, a blush staining his cheeks. "Ain't you never been deviled till you squealed?"
Sam thought about it for a bit and then finally nodded, still looking somewhat skeptical.
Rick put his hand on the boy's back until he released Carol, who then stepped back.
"You want me to stay to make sure he don't hurt you?" Sam asked solemnly, looking up at Carol.
"Daryl loves me, Sam, he won't hurt me—I promise." Carol said, handing him back his knife.
"Hey buddy?" Daryl said, drawing Sam's eyes to him. "Thanks for coming to save her—that was a brave thing you did."
Sam nodded, standing taller as Rick started to usher him back to Carl's room. Then Sam stopped and looked back at Carol again.
"But do you love him?" the boy said, his worried eyes shifting quickly to Daryl, who made a little surprised noise at the question, wondering what his parents had told him about their problems. Had Sam's asshole father blamed his abuse on a lack of love from his wife?
"With all of my heart." Carol said without hesitation, her voice warm and sincere.
Rick's breath caught at the raw look of love on Daryl's face as he heard her answer to the boy.
Sam gave a sigh of relief and nodded, saying his goodnights and letting Rick take him back to bed.
As soon as the door was shut Carol searched for and found her shorts and pulled them on, dropping the quilt, and then walked over to the bedroom door and locked it, resting her forehead against its cool surface.
"You okay?" Daryl asked carefully. What had just happened had been embarrassing, but he thought they'd handled it fairly well. The way she'd shut down was much more than just embarrassment though.
"I won't do this, Daryl. I can't." Carol said. She ran her hand through her hair in agitation, unknowingly making it stand up on end in stiff Medusa–like tendrils.
"Can't do what?" Daryl asked, gnawing on his lower lip, unsure, "Me or the kid?"
Carol turned towards him. Seeing the look of uncertainty and fear in his eyes, she moved swiftly to the bed and sat next to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He breathed her in, cradling the soft curls at the back of her head in his right hand and wrapping his other arm around her just as tightly.
"He's a good kid—was just tryin' to protect you." Daryl finally said when he felt some of the tension leave her. She dropped her arms from his sides and looked up at him.
"Why is he staying here?" Carol asked, standing again, too antsy to sit, "There have to be other people in this place they've known longer—since this started—friends of their parents to take them in."
"Where else was he going to go? Carl n' Rick brought Ron here, n' that girl too. Boy should be with his brother...he's all the family he got left." Daryl said quietly as he watched Carol pacing back and forth at the foot of their bed. She looked wired, but lost, vulnerable, the opposite of how she'd been since the crisis with the Wolves had begun.
"I already have all the family I need." Carol said, infusing her words with a decisive firm coldness. "If Rick and Michonne want to take in strays, that's their business, but I'm done."
Daryl stared at her thoughtfully, understanding completely, knowing what had happened with the girls, even with Beth and Noah had shut down her ability to accept another child into her heart.
"I'll talk to Maggie tomorrow—see what other houses they got open—get our own place or maybe shuffle some people around to share." Daryl said, nodding, but then held up a finger in warning, "Ain't livin' with the Mullet though, tell you that right now."
"Daryl?" Carol stopped in front of him, her mouth slightly open in surprise that he wasn't going to argue with her about this; tell her she was running away from her problems; that she needed to resolve her feelings or that it was unacceptable to refuse the boy's obvious affection for her.
"Come to bed." Daryl said, holding out his hands, "Been a long day n' tomorrow is gonna be another one."
Carol helped him stand so she could replace the quilt and then turn down it and the sheets. When they got settled under the covers she laid her head on his chest and he rested his cheek on the crown of her head.
As he reached over to turn off the bedside lamp his hand knocked against the small cardboard box resting on the surface of the night stand and the dozen or so unopened square foil packets slithered out and fell to the floor in an almost silent rain.
No flinching, Daryl...
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