Chapter 18: Maman Brigitte II

**Daryl**

He was making his way across the lawns from the church, when he came across Rick chasing butterflies in the middle of the ankle high grass.

Slowing, Daryl approached him quietly.

"Hey?"

Rick angled his head towards him.

"You with us?"

"Yeah, just…yeah."

The ex-cop turned to face Daryl and for the first time the youngest Dixon could see how the man had aged from the man he had been at the quarry. He looked twenty years older than he was and in desperate need for some good, solid sleep.

"The guys and I were talking earlier," Daryl began carefully. Worried he might upset the fragile looking man.

Rick swallowed thickly and shifted on his feet.

"We think you need to take a step back for your own good."

Looking around cautiously, checking his surroundings, Rick sighed. "I can't."

"You can and you will," Daryl insisted. "You need to…you need your rest, brother."

"I'm fine," Rick insisted. "I just…we need to just keep our heads down, stay hidden, stay safe."

"Yeah, I get that, man, but you have to let us shoulder some of the burden. The Lieutenant—"

"He what? The Lieutenant what? Does he want to lead? Because he's welcome to it. No one wants the responsibility, because everyone sees me doing the things they can't or won't and they don't want to become what I am," Rick snarled. "I went back to that place on the highway, I walked it for days looking for the right place where that man in our infirmary picked me up from and I counted the bodies, I retraced my steps and I counted the bodies and one was missing, so I followed him into the woods, right into the shack where he was hiding and I took a rusty blade off the wall and I hacked his head off. You think that was justice? Would you have done any different to protect our people? No, you and the Lieutenant pass your days hunting game and letting men like me do your dirty work! And then you all have the nerve to accuse me of being crazy, of being a bad father because I don't know how to talk to a teenaged son who's trying to cope with the world ending and having to kill his mother! I have to look at a baby who might not even be mine every day and you know something, brother? I'm sick of it. You want to shoulder the burden, fine. People will die, that's a fact. Are you ready for that to be on your head? Ask the Lieutenant how it feels losing people you're in command of? I have a feeling it's why he's been avoiding leadership."

Daryl let the man have it out, quietly standing there and being his sounding board.

"I'm not crazy," Rick insisted one last time. "I'm just acting on instinct now and my instincts tell me that if they don't belong to our pack, then they're the enemy and we destroy anything that comes into our territory."

"What about friends of our pack?"

"We don't have friends," Rick insisted.

"The Lieutenant does," Daryl said. "And old Marine buddy."

Rick nodded. "That's what everyone's keeping from me?" He demanded. "I thought it was odd whenever I asked about whether the others made it back from the mall."

"Apparently Alan didn't, but Tyreese and Andrea caught up with this group," Daryl said. "They want to meet the leader of our group, said they want to make allies."

"And the Lieutenant knows them?"

"He knows the leader."

"And?"

"He says he's a good man, gives him his seal of approval."

"Yeah," Rick sighed. "Shane was a good man too."

Daryl had never really cared much for Shane the cuckold maker, but at the mention of the man's name, he winced in sympathy for Rick. At lot of the man's irrational behaviour as of late was suddenly beginning to make sense. Time had slowed down enough for the events of last fall and the early spring to finally catch up with Rick. Everything he had done and had done to him was piling up on him without the distraction of constant survival looming over them.

Not sure what to say, usually preferring to keep his nose to himself about matters like the one he was facing, Daryl offered Rick a hand on his shoulder and a quiet.

"Get some rest, Rick. Merle's taking good care of the place while we're benched," he said.

Rick blinked. "Merle?"

"Yeah, he's…actually doing good according to people."

Rick smiled ever so. "Who would have thought?"

Daryl nodded. "I know. He's got to be doing it for booze or a woman, or both."

"Sounds like Merle," Rick replied, turning and heading for the dorms side by side with Daryl.

Parting at the door, Daryl gave the other man a quiet, encouraging look. "Get some rest, man. You'll feel better, fight harder, and be sharper."

"Yeah," Rick said. "Goodnight."

"Night."

She was sitting in their shed on the cot, with Clyde at her feet, sewing something in the near dark when he tentatively poked his head in.

Looking up, she flashed him a wide grin. "I thought maybe I scared you away for the rest of the night," she teased.

He stepped inside nervously. "Yeah, well…" he trailed off, picking at his calloused hand. "Hey—"

"It's okay," she stated with a nod. "I know you do, you don't have to say it. I did because I wanted you to know, but…I know. You're more of an actions speak louder than words type and I may have just shocked you with it."

Lingering by the door, Daryl continued to fidget, watching Carol as she worked. She was so pretty when she wasn't even trying. He liked that unlike other women she didn't need to doll herself up to be absolutely perfect, her eyes were always prettiest when they were open and honest, her mouth enticing when she was smiling softly to herself.

"Besides, I don't want you to say it because you feel obligated that I did, I want you to say it if and when you mean it," she went on.

Screwing up a little of that Dixon courage that his brother often used when it came to the ladies, Daryl moved across the shed and gripping Carol's chin tilted her head up so that he could lean down and kiss her.

His hand dropped from her chin, moving to wind around her waist, pulling her up against him.

Hissing sharply in pain, he pulled away and looked between them where the needle was stuck into his stomach.

Carol placed her hand to her mouth. "Oh God, sorry!"

"Great," he growled, "survive being shot in the damned spleen to get stabbed in the liver by a needle."

Shoving the needle into the little stuffed pillow looking thing she had in her kit, Carol tucked away the sewing quickly, shoving it into the little space between the wall of concrete blocks and their bed.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, pushing his shirt up to survey the damage.

She thumbed away the droplet of blood that was all that remained of his wound and clamped her other hand over her mouth, trying hard not to laugh.

"Jesus, woman," he snarled, half teasing. "Don't even know how to properly gut a man."

"Are you okay?" She asked sheepishly after getting all her laughter out.

He smirked and pulled her back against him. "Yeah, I don't think I'll bleed out."

Carol wrapped her arms around him, still smiling. "I didn't mean—"

"It's alright," he replied, "you didn't succeed, so there's no worry."

She rested her forehead against his shoulder and hid her smile against him.

Holding her tightly against him, Daryl allowed himself to just enjoy the moment, to find some kind of peace with the woman. He imprinted the scent of her in his memory, associating it with the end of the world and acceptance, love and a reason to care for others.

Maybe Rick had every right to hate the world right now. Daryl didn't know what it felt like to be married, but he knew if he lost Carol like Rick had lost Lori, he wouldn't be so eager to accommodate people.

Hell, he'd go back to being that miserable little shit he used to be.

Holding Carol, Daryl thought of things past that he couldn't change, but didn't regret any less.

He thought of how he must have really terrified Carol and Sophia when he and Merle rolled into the quarry, how he should have taken the two of them then and there and protected them from Ed, he could have done it easily, Ed was a coward who only beat women and kids.

Daryl thought of Sophia and how he had threatened her at the old folks home, how Carol cried when they lost her, how hard he looked.

Maybe he should have been the one having a breakdown.

In his arms Carol shifted and he looked down to find her smiling up at him.

"You okay?" She asked sweetly.

Furrowing his brow at the woman who seemed to think he was the one who needed comforting when he was the one who had been such an ass, Daryl dipped his head. "Yeah."

"You know," she said, pulling out of his arms. "If we could maybe get one of those little camp stoves for in here, we could shelter the winter out, make it nice and cozy."

Daryl watched her flit to a corner filled with stacks of old boxes. "Grace says we could move most of these old things into the root cellar, it would free up a corner for a small stove."

"Good Lord, woman," he returned, flopping gently onto the bed, holding his wound. "It's not even summer yet and you're thinking about weathering out the winter in this shack?"

Carol beamed at him, going through the boxes idly. "Never hurts to think ahead," she said. "Besides, this isn't a shack, it's our home."

"It's a shed," Daryl growled.

"Hey, I'm very proud of our shed," she insisted. "It's got character."

"It's got rot, I'm sure."

Moving across their home, she eased onto the bed beside him and laughed. "Glenn said that when we get the time, he'll take us to that fabric store the next town over and we can pick up some things to make clothes with. I want to find something nice to make curtains out of, maybe with sunflowers or…something yellow to brighten this place up."

"Sounds like you're settling in," Daryl pointed out.

Carol eyed him quietly. "This is our home," she stated. "And I'm never leaving. No more running."

Leaning up on his elbows, he kissed her forehead. "We won't leave. As long as you want to be here, this will be ho—" he was cut off by the shaggy grey moose-dog climbing onto the narrow cot with them.

Laughing, Carol moved to accommodate the dog as Daryl grudgingly stroked the big baby's muzzle.

"Great, the Cajun gets a kid to distract his damned dog and ours likes to think it is our kid," he muttered.

..-~-..

..-~-..

**The Lieutenant**

Ambling through the half dark, the Cajun prolonged the moment when he'd have to face Maman Brigitte and her fury, holding his wounded ribs and pacing the dark graveyard area behind the church.

He was in so much pain it nearly winded him, making it impossible to breathe properly.

The cold Georgian night air was beginning to chill him, so he decided maybe it was time to face her. He could easily charm his way out of anything, given the proper chance, but she called him on his bullshit constantly and it terrified him.

Tucking his arm against his ribs tightly, he wandered through the abandoned flower garden at the back of the dorms, heading for the back door, mindful of the unkempt vines that fell from their lattice, the thorns catching his pant legs.

Inside the kitchen was dark and he had to use his good arm to feel his way through it, avoiding the table, but slamming his hip into the corner of the counter.

"Foutre," he growled, sliding his arm across his torso to rub his hip as he hobbled into the hall, mindful of the chance he could really hurt himself in the dark of the dorms.

Prowling the hall like a cat, he found the dorms eerily still for once and peeked into the open rooms just to check on the inhabitants. Most of the Sisters went to bed fairly early if they weren't on wall duty, as they still got up early for their morning mass.

Pausing outside the door to Grace's room, the Lieutenant settled in the shadows as the girls went about inside chattering and settling for the night.

It was such a domestic scene that he didn't want to disturb it with getting yelled at just yet.

Or maybe a part of him was still terrified of the woman's wrath.

"My water, mommy," Annie chirped, the final sign she was tucked in and ready to sleep.

"I remember, just lie still. I'll be right back," Grace replied.

Grinning, Lafayette booked it as fast as his war torn body could manage back into the kitchens, slamming his hip into the corner of the counter again, opposite side for matching bruises. Swearing gently, he hobbled the last leg of his race to the counter, where he eased himself up beside the water jug. Perching there with a small grin, waiting for his nun.

Presently she entered with a votive in hand to light her way through the dark room.

She faltered when she spied him, before stubbornly continuing on her journey, setting the candle in the centre of the table in order to give the room some light.

Grabbing a glass, she moved towards him and the water jug, but he pulled the jug closer to his hip with his good arm.

"Oh, no you can't drink this water," he teased, "I'm pretty sure it's been poisoned. Found a bunch of cattle skeletons around it."

"Lafayette—"

"Think it was the foreman from Circle F," he whispered conspiratorially.

Grabbing the jug stubbornly, Grace poured a glass of water. "I'm not giving you anymore western novels to read."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the keys he swiped and held them up for her to take by the long simple string necklace they were on. "Sorry I grazed your right breast while swiping these," he murmured apologetically.

She snatched them back and tucked them into her jean pocket.

"I know it wasn't the backseat of a LeSabre," he went one with a cheeky smirk. "But a good boy always apologizes for accidentally getting to second base without consent."

"How you even got them off past the veil is what has me stumped," she growled.

He beamed at her. "Oh, I cut it with my pocket knife when you were talking to Daryl. Made it seem like I was stroking your pretty face, which by the way was nice too, thanks for letting me do that."

Eyeing the place he had re-tied the string, Grace tsked. "You're the worst man I—"

"—don't say that," he interrupted worriedly. "It's not true."

Glancing at him apologetically, she shook her head. "No, it isn't."

Easing off the counter, he carefully arranged himself so his broken ribs wouldn't rub each other. "I'm sorry I disobeyed you," he stated like a little boy in trouble, "I won't do it again."

"Yes, you will," she stated. "I know you, Lieutenant, and you like to push your limits."

"Only with you…and Daryl because the cabri is too serious."

"Do you think that's a bad thing?" She inquired. "Not laughing at the world constantly?"

Lafayette blinked at her. "If I stop smiling, cher, I won't ever start again."

Grace looked up at him in the near dark with eyes glittering in the flickering light of the candle and he realized he may have accidentally spilled some of his broken soul out, so he flashed a wide grin.

"You know, there's a Grand Prix parked outside," he teased.

His tiny magpie raised a hand and pressed it to his chest, over his heart and he stilled, his free hand sliding up to rest over it in order to keep it there.

"I'd kiss you now," she whispered. "But I don't think you could bend for me."

Before he could attempt it, she pulled away, leaving him bereft without her little hand against him, pinning his heart in place.

Placing her glass of water on the table by the candle, she slid a chair over roughly and mounted it, standing a little higher than eye level with him.

Lafayette beamed at her impishly. "Clever little nymph, aren't you?"

She smiled proudly at him. "Well? It's not the backseat of a Monte Carlo, but…we must make do, I'm afraid."

Wrapping his good arm around her to prevent her toppling from the chair, he leaned in and kissed her, his mouth finding hers willing and very forgiving.

Grace tiny hand moved to rest over the bandaged wound on his neck, before she wrapped both of her arms around his neck tightly, almost like she was afraid he'd pull away too soon.

He wasn't going to come up for air until his head got fuzzy and full of cotton, too interested in the taste and feel of her.

Eventually he felt her push against him gently, mindful of his wounds and he released her, hand falling to rest on the top of her bottom, just where it began to curve out from her back.

She didn't miss this touch at all, quirking a dark brow at him.

"Come to bed, Fate," she purred.

"You know if I were any other man—"

"I know, honey, I regretted it the instant I said it," she cut him off, hopping from the chair and moving it back in place. "Unluckily enough for you, there's a little girl, her doll and a dog in our bed."

"Our bed?" He asked on the way out. "I like the sound of that."

Again, I'm just going to cover the reviews that need replies. Still grateful for every single review I get though. You guys are pretty fucking special as far as reviewers go, I appreciate that you don't nag me about minor things. I really do. ^_^

Merle's Right Hand - Would you expect any less than awkward from Daryl. The poor man is a ball of uncertainty and nerves with Carol.

Brazen Hussy - I can assure you that I love Milton and would rather pull out my own teeth than hurt that adorable little nerdy rabbit man. And I agree with you on the last episode thing.

HGRHfan35 - 'His little nun' is perhaps the cutest thing I've ever heard. I'm going to start using that. ^_^

GG - Aw! Merle does need him...Merle needs to be a pain in someone's ass...why not Milton's? XD