AN: Here we are, another chapter.

Again, this is a story that will have a lot of little time jumps throughout. We won't see the whole road trip, etc. You'll be able to fill in a lot of the gaps for yourself, I hope.

I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

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"I'ma tell you—I've been thinking about it. First thing we do when we get there—after we unload and all that, I mean, but…first thing after that? We build a smokehouse. Even before we start the barn. That way we can get it goin'. I'll start packin' it with whatever the hell I can find. That's the first thing. Then, at least, we'll have some meat to get us through the winter, because I know we ain't gonna get there at a time when we can just immediately start growin' shit, and if it's snowin' already? Who the hell knows what we gonna find? But if we got a smoke house, I can find somethin', somehow, to put in it if I gotta find a fuckin' cave or some shit and wake a hibernatin' asshole up to be dinner."

Beside him, Carol laughed. It was a genuine laugh. It was hearty. It made him feel good, and it tugged at his chest.

"We gonna pick up everything we find on the way up there, too. Everything we can reasonably carry, food-wise. Ain't nobody starvin' this winter. Not on my watch."

Carol smiled at him. She smiled a lot these days. Daryl felt like he smiled a lot, too. Her smiles seemed to naturally bring the same to his face. Beside him, she was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, and her hair was braided down her back. They'd stopped to check out a town and clear it out of everything they could, a few days back, and she'd been thrilled to find the hat. Daryl hadn't told her that he thought she was adorable in the hat—he didn't think he ever would tell her that, either, but he thought it. He thought it along with the other dozens of mostly-improper thoughts that constantly pinballed around inside his mind.

Her nose was slightly burnt—mostly peeling now that the hat was saving it some from fresh and continued burns—and her face was freckling from the sun. Daryl thought, with all the thoughts that he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to think, that he'd like to kiss those freckles. He imagined what it would feel like to have her eyelashes flutter against his lips as he made his way around, pressing his lips to her face. He imagined her laughing at him—giving him that happy giggle that he'd heard more times since they'd taken off to head toward Wyoming than he'd heard in all the years he'd known her combined.

He imagined what it would be like to be someone that she wanted to allow to kiss her freckles.

But he had to be careful not to imagine it too much—or far too often. Carol sat close to him on the wagon seat, her body touching his most of the time, and she leaned into him often while they rode. She leaned into him to get his attention and point out sights along the road, to tell him where to turn, or to suggest a camping spot or a place to go on a quick supply run.

Daryl's pants were loose, but they weren't loose enough to conceal a raging boner and, shameful or not, thinking of kissing Carol's freckles earned Daryl just that—since thinking of kissing those freckles led him to thinking of the ones that he saw dotting the parts of her chest that showed with whatever shirt she was wearing, and that got him thinking about where else the trail of brown sugar spots might lead.

"You OK?" Carol asked.

Daryl's heart missed a beat, and his muscles tightened. She was staring at him, now, with a furrow of concern between her brows.

"Yeah—why?" He asked, half stammering the words.

"You went away for a minute," Carol said.

"Just—thinkin'," Daryl said quickly.

"What about, Daryl?" Carol asked, clearly still concerned.

At least, Daryl thought in a flash, she was concerned about what he was thinking about—his facial expression, even—and she hadn't likely noticed that his dick was hard enough to make his stupid ass pants uncomfortable and to make even the slightest jolt of the wagon make him want to clench his teeth against the uncomfortable feeling.

He couldn't very well tell her that he had simply lost himself, for a moment, in wondering if she might have freckles all the way down to her…

"Just—thinkin' about supplies," Daryl forced out.

Carol's features softened and a hint of her earlier smile returned.

"Don't worry about it so much, Daryl," she insisted. "We've seen some lean times before, and you've never let us starve."

The praise made Daryl feel better. The fact that Carol had read the physical discomfort on his face as a visible manifestation of his concern over food was also a relief—she hadn't noticed where is greatest source of displeasure was located.

Beside him, her thigh brushing against his, Carol looked away and observed the passing landscape for a moment, then she turned back to look at Daryl.

"You didn't even let us starve on the road…seems like forever ago. I remember the owl that time we were in the house…and there was nothing. But you shot the owl."

Daryl laughed to himself at a memory from what seemed like another life—but still another life that he had lived with Carol beside him—as he recalled the owl that Carol was talking about.

"Weren't hardly a damn bit of meat on that thing," Daryl said. "Everybody else was content to eat—fuckin' dog food or whatever. But you ain't blinked for shit. You took that owl and you went outside—and seemed like the next thing, you had a big ole pot of stew boilin'."

"It was mostly water," Carol said. "The few edible greens I could find. That poor owl."

"I just remember it bein' delicious," Daryl said.

"It was hardly delicious," Carol said. "Dirty water."

"No—you sell yourself short," Daryl said, relaxing now with the ease of the back and forth. "You've always been able to work some kinda damn voodoo magic with whatever the hell you got. Couple damn field mice, a mushroom, and a handful of wild onions, and you got thirty people eatin' like damn royalty."

"The way I remember it, we were eating anything you could shoot and I could cook, but nobody was eating like royalty," Carol said.

"Lori was steady eatin' like a king," Daryl said. "Like a queen."

Carol gave him the same look that bordered somewhere between boredom and warning that she'd given him back then—so many years ago and in another life—when he'd made some kind of comment about Lori and the situation between Lori, Rick, and Shane that led to the somewhat murky parentage of Judith. Daryl laughed to himself at her expression.

"Behave," Carol said. The warning made Daryl's heart beat quickly in his chest. The memories the whole thing drudged up took him to a time where she'd teasingly asked him if he wanted to screw around and, later, had teased him about slipping and saying "he'd go down first," which she jokingly misinterpreted to mean that he'd go down on her first if they were to take part in the screwing around that she'd suggested.

A few thousand times, Daryl had kicked himself for not having the balls to call her on it back then. A few thousand times he'd thought that—though he doubted he'd be any good at it—he'd absolutely go down first…and as often as she liked…if only given the chance to do just that.

Moments in time passed, though, and when you let things like that get away, it always seemed impossible to get them back. Back when that moment had happened, if Daryl had met Carol's challenge, at least he would know. Maybe she would have scoffed, admitted that she hadn't really meant it, and that she couldn't dare to think of him that way. Maybe, though, she might have thought it was worth a try, and maybe they might have found something wonderful. Maybe Daryl would have spent more nights sleeping beside her than he had already—and, maybe, he would know what it felt like to hold her, and whether or not she had freckles everywhere like the ones that dotted her nose and cheeks when she spent so much time in the sun.

Now, though, if he were to say, out of nowhere and just as casually as he possibly could, that he'd been thinking about something they'd talked about years ago—something she probably didn't even remember—and he was just thinking that he'd totally go down on her first, if she was into that, she would probably think he was a creep at best and some kind of super asshole at worst. They were too far into this trip for her to easily go back to the community, but it might be enough to make her want to strike out on her own.

He'd rather have her beside him than under him, if he had to choose.

The thought of it, though, made his stomach ache. At least the other aches and pains seemed to slowly be working their way out and some of Daryl's problems were dissipating. There was something to be said for the sinking feeling of realizing that a moment in time could never be retrieved—at least it brought down other things along with Daryl's mood.

"Daryl…?"

Daryl jumped when he felt the affectionate rubbing at his shoulder. He turned to see Carol looking at him, again, with concern on her features. He gave her the best smile he could muster in a hurry. She slipped her hand across his shoulders and hugged him from the side.

"What's wrong, Daryl?" She pressed. "Are you still—worried about food in Wyoming?"

"Lil' bit," he said. It wasn't a lie. He did worry about food in Wyoming. They'd get there at the wrong time of year. They would have to wait to plant, and that meant waiting for things to grow. They would, without a doubt, weather hard this year. That did worry him, mostly because he worried about letting her down. He worried about failing her. And, more than anything, he worried that his failure might somehow lead to a loss that he wasn't able or willing to withstand.

Carol hummed at him affectionately and leaned against him. He closed his eyes for a half a second and drank in the comfort of it.

"Daryl—you can stop worrying. Lydia hardly has a thing in her wagon. We'll store every bit of food we can find on the way there. Everything we don't need to eat. We'll build the smokehouse first thing, like you said. While you're filling it, I can start on a barn. Lydia can help me. Better yet—I'm sure there are places with barns in Wyoming. We'll find one that's perfect. Ready to go. You'll hunt and Lydia and I will get things ready. Daryl—I'll ration out the food. We'll figure it out. We'll stretch it far enough. I can make it work."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"I know you can," Daryl said. "If anybody can make that shit work…you can."

Carol smiled sincerely. She was clearly pleased with the compliment. Still, Daryl's melancholy mood had bled all over her and her smile wasn't the same radiant and beaming smile it had been—the one that made him tease her, just this morning, that she'd never go hungry because she could just eat all the bugs that were sure to get stuck in her teeth if she insisted on grinning like that all the way to Wyoming.

Daryl's stomach still ached slightly over—what, exactly? Missed opportunities? His pulse picked up, and his breathing naturally followed as his mind kept plaguing him with "what ifs?" and the wish to go back and redo things—but if he couldn't go back…

"Carol…" Daryl said, before his mind could talk his mouth out of it.

"Hmmm?"

"You ever think about—you know—what else'll happen in Wyoming? I mean—once we get there?"

"You mean like—what we'll plant and…if we'll find any livestock?" Carol asked.

Daryl felt frustration in his stomach where the ache had been earlier. He sat up straight, stretching his back. He couldn't be frustrated with her. She thought he was concerned about food so, naturally, she would think this was just an offshoot of that conversation. She had no way of knowing what the hell his brain brought up when it got bored for even half a second.

"That," Daryl said. "But—like…you said we'd find a house. Somewhere with a barn…"

"Makes more sense than building one from scratch, don't you think?"

Daryl hummed in agreement.

"We'd live in the same house?" He asked. "Forever?"

"I guess—maybe Lydia might someday want some privacy," Carol said. "But—why? You don't want to live in the same house?"

"No, I do," Daryl said quickly, before anything could slip away from him again. "I was just thinkin'—we're talkin' about forever. And that's a…you know…a long time."

Carol fell quiet beside him for a moment—a long moment. He nudged her with his elbow to finally pull her back to him.

"Are you regretting that you came?" She asked.

The heaviness to her tone, having so suddenly appeared, surprised Daryl. It made his chest ache. He wanted to take it all back and give her back the smile that she'd had earlier. He hated that he'd taken that.

"No," he said. "There ain't nowhere else I'd rather be than here—except, maybe, Wyoming when we get there." A hint of the smile returned. "I just…" He started to say more, but he chickened out. His insides nearly felt like they'd turned to soup at the thought of screwing up his courage really quickly, like preparing to jump off a cliff, and just taking a flying verbal leap of faith. But he didn't quite make the jump. "I just want us to…stay together. That's all. I want us to…stay together."

"That's the plan," Carol said, lightening slightly. She leaned her face against Daryl's shoulder, again, with all the affection that she'd used before. "You and me, together forever, in Wyoming."

Daryl hummed at her. Then, despite the lingering ache in his stomach, he smiled to himself.

Maybe he wasn't ready to jump of the cliff right this minute—but forever was a pretty long time to work up some courage.