Note: This one veers away from the main story a bit, but next chapter we'll be back to reminiscing.

Part VII

Slow Your Roll

They winded their way through the forest toward the location where Beth had been abducted.

"I guess I wasn't meant to be a mom," Carol opined.

"It ain't too late."

"I'm fifty-one. It's technically still possible,but highly unlikely. I don't think I'd want to, anyway. Starting over? At my age? I couldn't stand to lose another one. How about you? Thought about it?"

"I'm forty-nine. It's different for guys, I know, but most men my age are becomin' grandpas, not daddies. 'Sides, who'd want to bring another child into this crazy world?"

"That's too bad. You'd be a good daddy."

He blushed at the compliment. Did she really think he was father material? "Naw. I didn't have any when I was younger 'cause I knew I'd suck at it. Look at my role model. Now that I think I actually could do okay, it feels too late."

A sudden strong gust of wind captured their attention as it bent the tops of the trees. They squinted at the unusual cloud formation above them.

"See them bands?" Daryl waved his finger at the sky. "But we ain't anywhere near hurricane season."

"It does look…" Carol searched for a better word, but at the moment all she could come up with was "…bandy."

"Well, we can't check the Weather Channel, so I guess we best keep alert for a place to hole up if need be."

The gusts of wind became stronger and more frequent as the day wore on, intermittent rain also rearing its head. The duo passed an abandoned tent after agreeing that it wasn't nearly substantial enough to afford protection from a severe storm.

"There's a little trailer park, maybe a mile or so," Daryl said. "I wouldn't be trustin' a trailer, but the manager's office is cement block. Gonna be wantin' cement If this thing starts spawnin' twisters."

"Lead the way."

As quickly as they could, they made their way through the increasingly heavy rain and wind.

"So you and Michonne canvassed these woods pretty well?"

"Mmm hmm. We was looking for the Governor, scavengin', recruitin'…but mostly lookin' for the Governor. 'Til I helped talk her into givin' up. Damn. We shoulda never gave up."

Through the next group of trees, a mobile home came into view.

"That it?"

"Yup."

They stopped short. From between two trailers, Carol had a clear view of the common area.

"Walkers."

"How many?"

"Too many. Two, maybe three, dozen."

"Son of a bitch!"

"They're just kind of milling about. The storm must have agitated them."

For the moment, the rain had stopped. But before long, the next band would roll in, and the rain and wind would be heavier, and last longer, than before. They were in desperate need of shelter until the storm abated.

Daryl glanced around and located a discarded hubcap.

"Bait or cover?"

She handed him her rifle and took the hubcap. She broke a piece of rusted metal off of the trailer.

"This'll do."

They stepped out into the common area.

"Hey!" Carol shouted, banging the metal on the hubcap. "Over here! Yep, come on. Follow me."

As hoped, the undead followed her and her noise maker out into the woods, with Daryl staying out of sight, but near enough to take action if any of them got too close to her. He kept the rifle trained on the herd. About a quarter of a mile out, Carol dropped the hubcap and ran into the woods ditching the walkers. They kept moving along in the same direction—away from the trailer park. Mission accomplished.

They scoured the park carefully to make sure that none remained, then set up a trip wire around the block building. The difficulty in making it taut enough to not be set off by the wind complicated jobs were done just as the next band of the storm rolled in.

A quick scan of the room revealed a fairly standard issue low-rent leasing office; a desk, with a wheeled chair, a couple of stationary chairs and a large sofa and coffee table. All a little worse for wear. An empty water cooler, a file cabinet and a few long-dead house plants rounded out the décor.

Daryl dumped out all of the potted plants and separated out the dirt. He placed the dry, dead foliage back into the largest pot.

"I think we can make a fire with this."

"Leave the door open for ventilation. The wind's coming from behind us."

"Until the eye passes."

"It can't be a hurricane in March."

"Sure looks like one." He propped the front door open. The porch area was shielded by the building.

Daryl fumbled through his pockets. "Shit! You got a lighter?"

Carol rolled her eyes playfully and tossed him her Bic.

Soon the fire was roaring.

"Me and Michonne already looted this place," he said as Carol rummaged through the room. "Wasn't much to start with."

"This place is a dump," she admitted.

"This place was a dump before the world went to shit," he said, leaning back on the couch. "Maybe that's why it's comfy to me."

"This drawer is locked."

"Yeah, we fought with it for a bit, decided it wasn't worth the trouble."

"Well now, my friend, now we have time to kill. So how are we going to open this?"

She got on the floor and studied the desk from every angle.

"You experts didn't find this?" She teased as she removed the key taped to the bottom.

"Damn. We suck," he broke a smile. "What if it's like Al Capone's vault? Ain't nothin' in it?"

Carol worked the lock open.

"It's nothing," she announced. Then her face broke into a grin. "Unless you like an unopened box of Girl Scout Cookies."

"What kind?!" Suddenly at full attention, Daryl scooted to the edge of the couch.

"Peanut butter."

He reached for the box, and she playfully snatched it away.

"Hey, slow your roll, pal! Finders keepers."

"Not gonna share?"

"Maybe."

He sat back on the couch, at the same time enjoying her playful mood and being confused by it. Perhaps it might be fun to play along. He crossed his arms.

"What I gotta do for a sleeve of them cookies?"

"A whole sleeve?"

"Hey, peanut butter is the best cookie in the whole damn world! I may never see another one again."

Note to self, Carol thought, make the man a batch of peanut butter cookies.

She plopped down next to him and handed him the box of cookies.

"Anything for you. Anything." She wondered if he realized that behind her joking tone was honesty.

He opened the package and offered her a cookie and a sideways grin.

"Thanks," she said as she bit into it. "Oh my God, after eating squirrels for days, this is orgasmic!"

"Stawp."

They forced themselves to stop after eating half of the box, stashing the remainder in Daryl's bag. Outside, the storm intensified. The pair passed the hours with idle chatter, carefully avoiding any discussion of their friends.

Deciding to let Carol have the couch for the night, Daryl set up his bedroll on the floor beside it.

"Hey," she called out. "Look—this is a sofa bed." She pulled it out to reveal a full sized mattress. "No need to sleep on the floor."

Daryl found himself a bit hesitant. They had shared beds and close sleeping quarters many, many times over the years—hell, even every night of this trip—but somehow, this just felt different. He considered bowing out, but given the fact that co sleeping was a common occurrence for them, it would be odd for him to decline now. So, he made himself comfortable on the left side of the bed.

They lay side by side listening to the wind and rain.

"We're gonna be here awhile," Carol observed.

"Yep."

Carol decided to give it one more shot.

"If only there were something to do to pass the time besides stare at the ceiling."

Daryl turned his head to look at her. Her gaze remained fixed on the tiles above them. Was she joking? She said before that she wasn't really kidding when she says these things. What about now? He wanted so much to believe that she wanted him. What if he tried it and found out she was joking? Well, there was only one way to find out.

He moved so that his body covered hers and took her lips with his own. It was immediately obvious that she was, in fact, not joking as she returned his affection. Kissing her, touching her, holding her…it was like jumping into a swimming pool in the desert.

( )

Daryl sat on the floor of the porch, back against the wall. The wind and rain roared by around the sides of the building. He nervously fired up a cigarette. He couldn't believe he'd blown it again. How had he not realized that might be a problem? What a dumbass he was. It was going so well, she tasted so good; on the surface, it was perfect. But he had a nagging sense that what he was doing was wrong. The moment it hit him why it felt wrong he abruptly put an end to it before it could go too far.

It struck him that in the heat of the moment he'd forgotten that Carol didn't know. She didn't know about Glenn, and his role in Glenn's death. Surely, she wouldn't want him if she knew. And yet he couldn't tell her. And now, because of this dumbassery, she was going to be even more hurt and confused. Which would hurt more? Going forward knowing that he was misrepresenting himself to her? Or being rejected by her when she found out the truth? Or allowing her to feel like he was rejecting her?

He became acutely aware that she had joined him on the porch. She sat next to him.

"What was that about?"

"I'm sorry. I couldn't. Not with you not knowin' everything."

"I know enough."

"No, you don't," he said sadly. "You don't know what I done."

"No," she conceded, "but I know you. I know what's in your heart. What kind of man you are."

He took her face in his hand and gently caressed her cheek.

"So damn beautiful." His voice was barely a whisper. "You deserve better."

"You're the best." She out her hand over his. "Tell me, what is it that I don't know?"

"You sure you wanna know?"

Yes. No. I don't know. Okay, Carol, but once you know you can never un-know. "Yes. Tell me."

He exhaled, and fought back the emotions.

"Glenn's dead," he said. "I fucked up, and Negan punished me by killing Glenn."

Carol couldn't stop the tears that came. Her tears brought his.

"Glenn? No," she shook her head as if denying it would make it untrue. "No."

Damnit, Dixon! You fuckin' dumbass! Shoulda kept your big mouth shut. He bit his lip in disgust for himself.

"I'm sorry. I'd give anything to change it, to take it back, anything…but I can't. Nothing I ever do or say will make it right. Maggie lost her husband. The baby lost its daddy. You lost a friend. All because of me."

When the porch stopped spinning, she was able to gather her composure a bit.

"I don't know what happened," she said slowly and evenly, through forced breaths, "but if Negan killed Glenn, that's on Negan, not on you."

"There's a lot more," he said brokenly.

"I don't think I need more. Not yet."

They sat quietly, side by side, sharing cigarettes and watching the storm until late into the night.

...TBC