AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
This one took me a bit to work out, but here we are! For some of you who have been with me for many years and many stories, there will be familiar faces to follow. For those of you have not, I hope you don't mind meeting a few new people along the way!
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
When the road was straight enough that the horses would follow it without too much hard driving from Daryl, he moved all the reins to one hand and reached over to catch Carol's hand with the other. She'd been looking out at the horizon with a serene expression on her face and the almost constant hint of a smile on her lips. She glanced at Daryl when he took her hand, and he smiled at her. She mirrored it with only the slightest growth to the smile that she was already wearing.
"This OK?" Daryl asked.
Carol squeezed his hand back.
"Considering where these—very, very talented—fingers were when I woke up this morning, I think it's fine for you to hold my hand," Carol said. She laughed quietly at her teasing.
"Was that OK?" Daryl asked, his face growing warm—a heat he couldn't blame on the sun. "This mornin'?"
"You're sincerely asking me that?" Carol responded.
"Yeah," Daryl said. "I didn't know—I mean—I didn't ask, and I should have, but you were asleep, at least when I started, and maybe that weren't OK, so…was that OK?"
Carol laughed quietly again. She patted Daryl's hand, entwined with her own, with her other hand.
"We'll just say that, as a general rule, if you want to wake me up with an orgasm, that's usually OK with me."
"But you'd tell me if it weren't," Daryl pressed.
The smile she gave him, this time, was sincere, even though it was also tight-lipped. She nodded.
"Yeah," she said. "I would tell you if it weren't. Because you care and…I'm not sure anyone has ever truly, truly cared before if I thought it was OK what they did with my body, for good or bad."
Daryl's stomach ached. She didn't say it for pity, or even for him to make some kind of comment. It was just a passing statement. Some small piece of her experienced truth. Daryl squeezed her hand.
"I care about everything that happens to your body," he said, equally as sincerely. "Any part of it."
She smiled and nodded.
"I know you do," she said. She raised his hand and kissed his fingers—his rough, calloused, cracked fingers. It was a strange, tender feeling. It made his stomach feel like it turned inside out in the best possible way. "And I care about everything that ever happens to you."
Daryl felt the renewed warmth in his face that had nothing to do with the air around them. He responded to her only by squeezing her fingers again as she brought their hands to rest against her thigh. Still, his response was enough for her, and she went back to happily taking in the beautiful scenery that unrolled around them as they made progress toward their final destination of northern Wyoming.
Among the many things they had in common, one thing they both had was that they loved each other entirely, and they respected each other, and neither of them had ever been quite so thoroughly loved and respected before.
In its current form, this was new. It was very, very new. It had only been a little over something like seven or eight nights that they had spent their quiet hours together, in their tent, with nothing between them under the covers. It had only been a short period of time since Daryl had truly had permission to love Carol's body in any way in which it occurred to him to do so. It had only been a few days since he'd lived in a haze of inexplicable happiness and slept with a peace that he had never imagined knowing.
Still, it felt like it had been forever already, and it only gave Daryl hope for the forever to come.
And true hope, really, was a wonderful thing.
111
Any time they chose a town to clear, Daryl preferred to be the one who went on the run looking for supplies. His argument, of course, was that Carol was better at arranging the camp and taking care of the chores that needed to be accomplished there, and he was better at lifting some of the heavier items—like bags of dried supplies that could still be somewhat salvaged—that, if they were lucky, they came across when they were looting stores, barns, and houses.
His other reason, of course, was that he simply felt like Carol was safer at camp. Even though he regularly took Lydia along with him to help, and that meant Carol was left alone, he felt like she was safer at the camp. At the camp, she had Dog for whatever protection she offered. She was armed, and she was usually in a pretty open area so that she could be more easily aware of her surroundings and any possible approaching threats.
Daryl didn't tell Carol that he preferred her at camp because he preferred her to be safe, because he didn't want to offend her or stir up some sense of foolish pride that might make her act recklessly just to prove a point. He suspected that she had some idea of his motives, but as long as he didn't blatantly insult her abilities—and it wasn't, in any way, that he thought her incapable of protecting and taking care of herself—she was content with doing the things she enjoyed most and leaving him to scour the surrounding countryside for things they may find useful as they progressed in their travels.
They were getting closer to their destination and, as a general rule, it was starting to seem like everything was more spread out. The distance between locations that seemed to have anything to offer was greater than it had been. The air seemed fresher. The world around them seemed somehow bigger. But, with all of that space, everything seemed very far from everything else.
Because of this, they never passed up the opportunity to explore what locations might have to offer, but they also always built their camp at some distance from any established location because they knew that the likelihood of someone seeking shelter in a place was greater when there were fewer places to be found.
The town had been picked clean like Daryl hadn't seen for a while. He and Lydia had slowly made their way down the main street, stopping anywhere that might have anything that would prove interesting, and the entire place seemed to simply be empty. The only thing on the shelves, in most places, were cockroaches and dust.
They'd gone just a little piece out of town where there was a farm that they'd seen on their way in from their camp. Daryl had pretty low hopes, but he figured the barns and the house were worth at least a glance. After all, there were often a few things—like blankets and sheets—that they could always use.
Hook and Duchess were pulling the wagon today, and Daryl pulled them to a stop in the middle of what would have once been the "yard" directly in front of the farmhouse. It was overgrown to a point where it vaguely resembled a jungle more than a yard. Still, the fact that he could see some clear evidence of the vegetation having been disturbed got Daryl's heartrate up.
"You just keep 'em here," Daryl said. "I'ma check it out. Make sure it's clear for now. OK?"
"I'll come with you," Lydia said.
"I'd rather you stayed on the wagon," Daryl said. He indicated, with his finger, the trail that he could clearly see in the grass—a trail that led to the slightly wooded thicket near the house where, if he wasn't mistaken, they would find a water source. He didn't know if Lydia could see it or not, or if she would notice it. Whoever had passed through there had either last passed through there several days ago—giving the plant life time to revive slightly—or they'd done their best to cover their tracks as they went. "Keep your eyes open and your weapons handy."
He still couldn't tell if she saw what he saw, but Lydia looked properly serious as she nodded. Daryl passed her the reins, and he dropped down from the wagon. He had his crossbow and a knife, and he hoped he didn't need more than that. Instead of heading toward the house, he eased his way toward the wooded area.
"Daryl…" Lydia said, the one word loaded with question. Daryl turned back to look at her and held his finger to his mouth. She nodded her understanding. As he passed him, Hook nickered and nipped at Daryl in an affectionate manner, using his lips instead of his teeth. Daryl patted him to satisfy and calm the animal who was, perhaps, stirred up by his ability to sense that Daryl was on edge.
Daryl eased into the thicket, following the faint trail of whoever had passed through there before him. He found what he expected to find. The little watering hole in the ground was, without a doubt, natural, and it was fed by a wide creek that, more than likely, led to a much larger waterway at some distance from the farm. Daryl also found something else that surprised him.
The deer was heavy-set. It drank freely of the water. It was calm and serene. It had come to this very spot, before, to eat the grass—likely having been at least one of the animals to crop it in that area—and to drink its fill undisturbed. Daryl almost feared that his stomach might growl and alert the animal to his presence before he was able to do anything about it.
Daryl consciously softened his breath. He moved as slowly and as carefully as his body would allow. He raised and prepared his crossbow, and he took careful aim. Just as the deer looked at him, licking its lips to catch some water, perhaps, he let the arrow fly. Daryl reloaded and made a second shot as quickly as he could, no longer being careful to keep from making noise as he pursued the deer that—injured—would follow its instinct to try to run for its life. His second arrow hit home.
The third and final arrow that finished bringing down the heavy deer, however, did not come from Daryl's weapon.
He froze for a moment and turned when he heard the heavy thud of someone hitting the ground behind him. His weapon wasn't loaded, now, and he couldn't load it stealthily enough that whoever was with him wouldn't notice and stop him before he finished.
He raised his hands in surrender as he turned. He had no intention of really surrendering at all. If it came down to a fight, he would fight, but at least he could somewhat disarm his company by making them believe that he'd come peaceably enough.
He found himself face-to-face with a dirty blond boy that was probably not much over the age of Lydia. Daryl could hardly bring himself to call someone a man who probably didn't have to worry too much about how frequently he shaved. The boy was equally unarmed, at the moment, since he held a composite bow not entirely unlike one that Carol really favored, and he had made no movement toward his quiver. At his side, he clearly wore a knife, but he'd made no move toward that, either.
"Just so as you know, that's my deer," the boy said.
Daryl almost laughed. He relaxed.
"I don't think so, Junior," Daryl said. "I shot the damned thing. It's my deer."
"I shot it last," the boy said. "Was my arrow that took it down. And I been out here waitin' on him half the damn mornin', so it's my deer."
"Listen—I got a family to feed," Daryl said, deciding to switch gears. He wasn't going to stand out here and argue with a kid. "I'll help you field dress him. You take meat for yourself, and I'll take what's left for my family. Ain't nobody gotta lose shit here."
"Except that's my damn deer!" The boy barked, going red in the face. "And I got—well, I got me people, too, and they gon' eat that deer!"
The boy was clearly not concerned with how loud he was. Any other deer in the area—and anything else they might have eaten—had cleared out. If there were any Walkers, they would hear them. Still, Daryl couldn't actually recall the last time they'd seen a Walker that hadn't been emaciated to the point that it could hardly be considered much of a threat.
The red-faced boy looked like he was caught somewhere between crying over the situation and being mad enough to draw his knife over it. In fact, Daryl saw the flinch in his muscles as his hand made a move toward the blade. He wasn't committed to the movement—it had happened almost involuntarily as the thought had flicked across his mind. He was willing to kill for this deer.
It also dawned on Daryl that this boy, as he said, had people. Very likely, those people were in the house from which the thinly disguised trail had run to the thicket. They were over there with Lydia—and Carol didn't know where Daryl and Lydia had stopped, and she wouldn't be alarmed by their absence for hours.
Daryl held a hand up toward the boy.
"I'm sure we can work this out sensibly," Daryl said. "Ain't no need to draw our knives for no reason other than to be sure that meat don't get spoiled. You got my word—I won't hurt you or your people. And there's plenty meat to go around. Do I got your word for the same?"
The boy relaxed. He seemed troubled as he considered it, but then he nodded.
Daryl gestured toward the deer.
"Let's get him cleaned and move him outta here. Where we can see what we got."
The boy nodded and walked past Daryl. He only drew his knife when he reached the fallen animal. Daryl noticed, though, that the boy never fully turned his back to Daryl. Daryl wasn't offended. He had no intention of fully turning his back to the boy, either.
"What's your name?" the boy asked.
"Daryl," Daryl said. "You?"
"Beau," the boy said.
"How many people you got, Beau?" Daryl asked.
"Four," Beau said. "I'm the youngest, but I'm the man of the group."
Daryl bit the inside of his mouth not to smile.
"We got somethin' in common," Daryl offered, helping him with the cleaning despite the fact that it was pretty evident that Beau could field dress a kill nearly with his eyes closed. "I'm the man of my family, too. But I only got two. You and four women?" Beau hummed in the affirmative.
"I call one of 'em my grandma," Beau said. "But she's not. Not for real. Still, she don't seem to mind."
"You're a lucky…" Daryl hesitated, "man. Ain't too many people got grandmas these days."
"I do," Beau said. "And I don't wanna threaten you any more'n I gotta—but you understand, she's gonna eat her some of this here deer."
"Point heard and understood," Daryl said. "And I wouldn't have no damn respect for you if things was different. But—you understand that I got me a woman and…and a daughter. And they gonna eat at least a steak a piece, same as me."
"I respect that," Beau said with a nod.
"Then, we ought to get along just fuckin' fine," Daryl said with a laugh.