AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
Carol took the walk with Lydia to wash out their buckets. Daryl and Beau had been up very early, and they'd trekked out some distance to where there was a decent thicket of ground covering plants that Carol wasn't sure she'd call trees, but for which she had no other actual name. They were hunting, and they wouldn't be back until they felt like they had a decent meat supply to go for several meals. They would be starting the process of settling their new "home" today, and it was bound to be hungry work. It was also bound to be a process that kept them busy, so there wouldn't be time to hunt throughout the day.
Muh had also been up for some time. She never seemed to sleep, though, for any long stretch of time. She preferred getting her rest in short spurts throughout all hours of the day, and it was nothing unusual to any of them for her to simply "disappear" when they were camping. She would slip off to her tent, nap, and then returned as seemingly refreshed after an hour as any of them might have seemed after eight full hours of uninterrupted rest.
Nobody else in camp was stirring just yet.
"We don't want to keep the secret forever," Carol said. "If we're going to build real relationships with these people, then we really should build them on a foundation of honesty."
She'd already explained to Lydia that she and Daryl felt it was time to come clean about the truth behind their situation and the fact that they'd told the earliest fibs they'd told simply because of the things they had experienced in the past and the fact that they'd felt the need to protect themselves until they got to know the new people around them.
She felt certain that Lydia could understand the concept, but she wasn't getting a lot of feedback from the girl. Lydia remained fairly tight-lipped about the whole thing.
"You understand, don't you, Lydia?" Carol pressed when it felt like she wasn't getting any sort of response from Lydia. She wanted to know what was on the girl's mind.
Lydia shrugged. The buckets were clean, and they could have gone back to camp already, but Carol thought it was best if they sort of lingered outside of it until they'd finished their conversation.
"I understand, but…"
Carol furrowed her brow.
"What is it?" She asked, a little irritated that she had to keep pressing Lydia to say what she clearly wanted to say or needed to say. Lydia sighed.
"I wouldn't say it, normally, because I don't want to upset anyone, but…it's just that…it's been nice," Lydia said. "Being your kid. Daryl's. Having a family, you know?" Lydia shrugged again. She looked, honestly, a little chagrined to be admitting her feelings. "It was just nice being a kid, I guess, and having parents—a family."
Carol found herself struck, even though what Lydia was saying wasn't exactly strange or terribly far-fetched. Lydia had grown up—because she was very nearly grown by conventional standards, even if it was clear that, emotionally, she was at least a little stunted—without a real family. She hadn't been nurtured by a traditional father and mother in any sense of the word. She hadn't experienced the things that people usually associated with childhood. There was absolutely no reason to find it surprising that she might have enjoyed a short while of pretending to be part of a normal, loving, nuclear family.
More than anything, though, Carol was surprised at the immediate response her own feelings had to Lydia's confession and her own buried realization that she, too, would miss the false-reality that they'd created and enjoyed for a few days.
She wanted to say something insightful and comforting to Lydia, but suddenly she felt overwhelmed with her own feelings and unable to come up with anything that might reassure the girl entirely.
"We'll come up with something," was all that Carol managed to say. It sounded hollow and empty, even to her ears. She had no idea what it meant, and she was sure that Lydia didn't either. Still, Lydia didn't press. She simply nodded, gave Carol another of the tight-lipped smiles she'd been doling out since Carol had started telling her about the plan that she and Daryl had to simply come clean over breakfast, and then she offered an arm to Carol for a sideways and half-hearted hug.
Carol put her now-clean buckets down and, instead of accepting the sideways hug, she offered both arms out in Lydia's direction for a genuine hug. Lydia dropped her bucket, gave Carol the first somewhat genuine smile she'd seen since they'd left the camp, and practically ran at Carol. She sunk into the offered hug, wrapped her arms tightly around Carol's body, and squeezed.
Carol closed her eyes. She rested her face against Lydia's and took in every drop of comfort the hug offered. She breathed in the clean air around them—enough air, it seemed, that there was room for even the latrines to air out and not offend her senses—and she inhaled the scent of Lydia's hair…a light hint of shampoo and a heavy smell of wood smoke from the fire that mixed with something that uniquely belonged to the girl.
Lydia could admit, out loud, how much she longed for a family and for parents—for all that she had missed in life. She could admit how good it had felt to have that for a few days and, in the silent pauses between her words, she could admit how desperately she wanted that to continue. Carol, however, wasn't sure that she could form the words to admit her own truths.
It had been, for her, a precious few days as well. For a few days, she had had a happy, whole family. She had been married to a man that she desperately loved and, together, they had a daughter that they had watched grow and had kept safe for all these years—a daughter that would soon be blossoming into a woman and, maybe, would even find love, herself, with the rough-around-the-edges young man that was just starting to rub his proverbial antlers all around the camp in small shows that, maybe, he didn't even understand, just yet, the reason he felt the compulsion to perform.
Carol had, for a few days, enjoyed the make-believe of being a happy, successful mother and a beloved wife.
And the realization that it was over, which came all too fast and all too strong, hit her like an unexpected tidal wave.
"We'll figure something out," she managed to say. She could offer no explanation of those words, though, and her throat tightened until she could say no other words.
As soon as Carol released the hug—something she was reluctant to do, but also felt was necessary—she snatched her buckets up and quickly turned to head back to camp. Lydia was behind her, probably practically on her heels, but Carol was alone for that moment with her thoughts and her feelings. Seeing how fast her feet were moving, Dog bounded toward her to check around her for any threat or anything that might cause her speed. Finding nothing, he circled around her and followed her. Alice, who was up and starting a fire as they reached camp, spoke to Carol, but Carol rushed past the woman without a reply. Upon reaching the tent, and ignoring everything and everyone around her, Carol slipped into the only sanctuary she had for the time being and zipped the world out.
111
The hunt went well, in Daryl's opinion.
He'd walked through the cool morning—because mornings were quite cool, even if busy afternoons weren't—with Beau until they'd reached the thicket. Neither of them talked. Talking would have spooked the animals, and Beau was a seasoned hunter. Daryl didn't have to explain any of the basics to him. He didn't have to teach him anything. Beau already knew what he was doing.
Beau favored a nice recurve bow, but he had several in his possession—including a crossbow that was smaller than Daryl's favorite one, but similar otherwise. He'd chosen his favorite for the morning, and in silence, before heading for the thicket, he and Daryl had both checked over the arrows in their quivers and the rest of their equipment.
Daryl would have normally put out snares after a hunt, but they were moving on. Today, they would head toward the family plot where they thought to actually make a home—maybe even one that would last for the rest of Daryl's lifetime.
The thought of having a home, and of finally reaching a place where he could comfortably say "we aren't moving anymore," gave Daryl an inexplicable energy to face the day ahead.
With any luck, he would sleep in an actual bed tonight. He would sleep in a farmhouse—he had already, silently, picked out the one he most desired when they'd found the plot the day before. He would fall asleep, if he was lucky, with the smell of Carol's body and the love that they made together surrounding him, and her warmth against him—a promise that they would never be apart again.
For the first time, he would sleep in his bed, in his home, with the woman that he loved beside him—a woman who had promised to marry him as soon as they had spoken their truth to the people around them and were settled enough to allow an evening ceremony and the luxury of a quiet evening in which to celebrate their honeymoon.
He would have everything he'd ever dreamed of and, maybe, even a bit more. He'd meant what they told Carol. They could have it all, and that promise felt possible now.
Daryl's daydreams about the rest of the day had kept him warm even before the sun came up and finished knocking the chill off the morning. Together, he and Beau had gotten enough meat to make it through two days of non-restrictive eating for everyone in the group. They would clean the meat and prepare everything they could easily prepare for cooking—there were more scraps, these days, than there would be when they were settled and had more time and ability to use every single scrap of everything they hunted. Then, the prepared meat would be cooked and wrapped in cloth for the upcoming meals. After breakfast, the camp would be packed, and they'd head toward their new home to unpack and take inventory of everything that needed to be done.
The anticipation and excitement of it all was enough to have Daryl feeling an extra hop in his step as he helped Beau carry the meat back to camp. At camp, and just outside of it, everyone was starting to stir and smoke rose up from the fire they'd started in a column. The horses, mules, and donkeys—assorted livestock that had come with the new group mixed in with their own drafts and horses— whinnied and knickered as Sadie tended to them outside of camp, readying them for the work that awaited them all.
As they approached camp, they were met by Alice coming out toward them. Her walk had a certain purpose to it. As she met them, she turned and, matching her pace with Daryl's, walked almost in step with him.
"I'm giving you a heads up because I would want it," Alice said. "Man to man, so to speak."
"I don't like your fuckin' tone," Daryl said quickly. Immediately, he'd felt a certain sense of panic wash over him the same way water might if she'd splashed him. With that kind of introduction, it would have been cold water, too.
"No," she said. "No—nothing like that. It's just I figure you might want a heads up that a storm or something is brewing."
Daryl glanced up. The day was clear.
"You ain't talkin' about the weather, so spit that shit out," Daryl said.
"I'm talking about at home. Carol and Lydia went out early this morning to wash buckets," Alice said.
"That's shit I already know," Daryl said. "And last time I checked, it weren't reason for alarm."
"I don't know what happened," Alice said, "but I was just getting up when they came back. I was starting a fire for coffee, actually. Carol looked upset. Like teary, upset. I offered her coffee, but she didn't speak to me. She went straight for your tent, and she closed herself up in it. Lydia came by, too, but all she said was 'morning, Alice,' before she went to her own tent. Now—after the coffee was ready, I tried to check on Carol, but she just told me she was fine and wanted to be left alone. She never opened the door to the tent. I didn't bother either of them again because I figured they'd be fine until breakfast, and we could handle any other chores and shit."
"She said she was fine, though," Daryl said. It was half a statement, and half a request for more information. Luckily, Alice took it as such without the need for too much clarification on his part.
"For a man that's been with his wife for—like…Lydia's gotta be sixteen or seventeen years old…I can't believe that you don't know that fine doesn't always mean fine," Alice responded. "Especially when a teary-eyed woman is the one saying it."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"I do know that," he said. "You got any idea what the hell's going on, though? How not-fine fine is?"
"Not a clue," Alice said. "I'd say fine is medium not-fine. Not severe, but there's definitely a not-fine element to it. I figured you'd be more equipped to handle shit if I gave you the heads up here and let you get ready before you walked into things."
Daryl's stomach squeezed slightly with realization. Carol was going to tell Lydia, that morning, that they intended to tell the truth about their little "family" over breakfast. He didn't know what, but he could bet that something hadn't gone exactly according to plan.
"Much obliged for the information, Alice. You any good at helpin' Beau clean?" Daryl asked.
Alice smiled at him.
"It just so happens I'm like a semi-pro," Alice said. She winked at Daryl. "What can I say? I'm good with knives."
"Take over?" He asked.
"Sure thing," Alice said. "But—you might want to wash up first."
"I was just on my way," Daryl assured her, shifting over his part of the morning's load so that she could finish carrying everything to camp with Beau and get it ready for cooking.
Daryl, for his part, figured he'd wash the blood off and find Carol first. If she needed him, he wanted to be there for her to help solve whatever was wrong. And, if she didn't, he felt like he was always a little bit better at handling problems—like a possibly upset teenaged girl—when Carol had his back.