That night:
Daryl wouldn't let her out of his sight. He clung to her like a child to its mother. He was right behind her every step she took. They barely spoke; he just needed the closeness, she could tell. She needed it too. For so long she'd given up hope of ever getting to see him again. She hadn't expected it. Hadn't hoped for it. Hadn't prayed for it.
She gave up praying for things a long time ago. She gave up praying when she realised that you only got things in this world when you went and sought them out yourself. She gave up praying when her innocent blonde-haired daughter stepped out of a barn, a lifetime ago, inhuman and diseased, death in her eyes. She had prayed for her daughter to come home safe. She never did.
But here Daryl was, prayed for or not.
It was late. Sasha and Bob were on watch while the group settled down for the night in the forest that had unexpectedly become a kind of haven for a short while. It wasn't the prison, not by a long shot. There were no beds, no high walls or fences. But at least here they could hear the walkers. Here, in the wilderness, there were no painful reminders of how the world used to be. How far gone they all were.
They were in a little clearing, spread out between a few trees. Carol looked all around her at the faces, dimly illuminated by a new-born fire. All the faces she thought she'd never see again. Glenn and Maggie were in each other's arms, smiling contently as if the world around them wasn't in a state of unwavering horror. Michonne lay against a tree, already slowly slipping into unconsciousness. Carol couldn't see her katana anywhere; she looked almost incomplete without it. Rick's face was warm from more than the burning fire between them. He grinned, watching Judith in Carl's arms as she giggled at her brother and fought the tiredness that made her yawn. Carl muttered something happily to his sister, something that had his eyes full of hope, full of love. Carol observed the strangers too, the girl she'd never seen who stared emptily at the fire; the hushed murmurs between the other three strangers, one of which she was told, apparently could save them all. She was intrigued at this, but at the end of the day, making sure she lived to see the end of every day was her main goal.
And then she saw him. Daryl Dixon was staring right back at her, his expression unreadable. When her eyes found his he looked away.
After a few seconds, he muttered.
'I missed you.'
Emotions that she hadn't realised were lying dormant raged to the surface again. They were desperate to claw out of her mouth, to tell him how much she missed him, that she wanted to come back to the prison, thought of him, that she couldn't stop wondering. But she simply looked at him. She could tell from his expression that he must have thought he'd said the wrong thing.
'I-I still can't believe you did all that.' He went on, moving from sitting to lying with his head against the base of a tree. 'It...was pretty kickass. I mean you totally destroyed the place. Those people, they, we...we would've died...and-'
'Daryl.'
He stopped but didn't look at her. She could feel nothing but how far apart they were. How wrong that felt.
She didn't even realise it but the desire for closeness that had kept Daryl by her side all afternoon was driving her actions now. She moved and lay her head on his chest, holding him close to her. She felt him stiffen but slowly relax.
'Don't...' He started.
A little way away, they heard Rick cooing over his daughter and Maggie and Glenn laugh.
'Don't leave again.'
'...I didn't want to.'
'But you did.' He sounded rough, speaking in his usual redneck way.
She had no words of comfort for him. She felt at a loss to make him feel whole again.
'When Rick...when he told me about Karen and David, I couldn't believe he did that to you. I was ready to fight for you, go against whatever Tyrese thought, look for you, bring you home.'
'But then the prison...'
'Yeah.'
She felt his head turn away. She hadn't been there, but the pain of the news of Herschel, of their home destroyed, had hit her like a freight train. Carol couldn't imagine what being there must have been like. She didn't want to. She held on to him even tighter.
'I don't want to let this go.' She surprised herself; the words were coming from her mouth. 'This. Here. Right now.'
'You don't have to.' He muttered.
Carol risked a glance at him. His eyes pierced her with sorrowful intensity.
'I've lost you so many times before. Too many.'
Pressing her hands against the cold grass beneath them, she sat up and stared at him. She didn't want to make this promise. In the beginning she had had faith, hope. But now, humans were so much more fragile and fallible and temporary, barely keeping up with the world of horror around them. She was reluctant. She didn't want to make a promise she couldn't keep.
'I am not going anywhere.' She vowed. 'You won't lose me again.'
He looked at her, unsure of her promise, but her steely resolve, her luminescent blue eyes soothed him into comfort. Again, she leant against him, pressed tight, desperate yet strangely confident that really, they'd never part again.