AN: Here we are, another piece to this one!
If you missed the chapter yesterday, please do go back and read it before you read this one (and, as always, please consider leaving a few words if you enjoyed it and want to see more).
I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
"I'll cook it."
That's what Carol had said when Daryl had prepared the beavers for cooking. Daryl had almost felt reluctant to hand over the meat for her to prepare.
"You ain't gotta," he'd managed to get out.
She'd given him a smile—a broad one. It was warm, and welcoming, and it made his heart flutter.
"You caught it," she said. "You cleaned it. The least I can do is cook it. You provided for me—isn't that what you said? I can cook it for you. It's my way of providing for you." She'd marveled at the meat available to them—a good deal of meat, since Daryl didn't like anything to go to waste and he'd trapped the beavers in the creek. "Oh—and you provided well. There's so much here!"
"It's—just beaver," Daryl offered, almost feeling uncomfortable with how happy she felt about the beavers. "I was gonna take their pelts anyway. Don't want 'em to got waste. They'll eat for breakfast, too."
"They will," Carol said.
While Daryl had been gone, he noticed, Carol had done some rearranging of his things. She had, with a piece of a branch she'd either found on the ground or torn from a nearby bush, also swept the floor of the cave so that it was cleaner than it had been. When she'd taken possession of the meat, she helped herself to his cooking supplies and carried them to the fire.
"Did you say you like biscuits?" She asked.
"I like biscuits," Daryl confirmed.
"Have you got—supplies for making biscuits?"
"In that bag," Daryl said, indicating the bag that had been moved in the process of straightening his space. Carol seemed to already know that's where she'd find what she wanted. She was headed straight for it when he told her where to find what she wanted.
"You—moved stuff," Daryl said.
"You mind?" Carol asked. "I put it all back. I didn't take anything. Honest. Everything seemed to be taken care of, as you say, so you could keep it. I just—thought you might like it a bit cleaner in here, and I had time while I was waiting to make it more suitable for you."
"It's fine," Daryl said.
"You're welcome," Carol said. "For that matter."
Daryl understood that she was, in a delicate way, scolding him for his lack of manners.
"Much obliged," he offered. She smiled in response and turned her back on him, heading for the fire to, presumably prepare the meal. He watched her, out of the corner of his eye for a bit. She worked like she enjoyed the work. She hummed to herself. He liked the sound of the humming. He closed his eyes, a moment, and simply listened to it. Having no need to prepare the food himself, he went about carefully scraping the beaver pelts to make them more desirable to the men in town. He lost himself, for a bit, in the comforting repetition of the scraping and the sound of Carol's humming as she cooked their supper for them.
When, finally, she told him the meal was ready, Daryl was surprised to be served his meat and biscuits on the tin plate that he kept in his bag. Carol, for her part, ate from the overturned lid of the pot.
"You oughta have this for yourself," Daryl said, trying to offer her the plate.
"I have plenty," she assured him. "And I'm not too delicate to eat such a good meal from the lid."
Daryl felt his face grow warm at the thought that she was so appreciative of the meal that he'd provided.
He cleared his throat against the choking feeling that was making the biscuit stick in his throat, and Carol offered him the tin cup from which they were sharing water she'd brought in from the creek.
"You're to eat your fill," Daryl said. "I mean that."
"I know you do," Carol offered, tearing at the meat with her teeth. She ate like she was half-starved, and Daryl thought that, maybe, his suspicions hadn't been wrong at all. Maybe her mate had been depriving her of food, taking the best and the most of it for himself. Of course, it was possible that he was just a poor provider—maybe he was a failure at hunting, like some men that Daryl had met—but that wasn't an excuse for keeping his mate half-starved. Daryl had seen him. He hadn't been half-starved himself, and Daryl figured it was only right to feed your mate as much as you could while still retaining just enough strength to provide for her. That didn't mean, though, that he should look like he gave way to gluttony. "What will you do with the skins?" Carol asked, dragging Daryl out of his contemplation of her full mouth and the juice running down her chin.
"Hmmm?" He hummed at her.
"The skins," she said. "That you were cleaning. What will you do with them?"
"Beaver pelts," Daryl said. "Take 'em into town. Trade 'em for what I want or the money that they'll accept for what I want later."
"People buy them?" Carol asked.
"They good pelts," Daryl said. "Beaver's fur—it don't get wet. Not like you think. Stays dry. The water don't soak through. Good pelts to have. And they'll buy 'em in town because them that comes to trade and haul things back to the east'll pay a lot for 'em. I don't have the patience to wait and deal with them, so I deal in town for what I want, and they can do what they got a mind to do with the pelts."
"What do you get from town?" Carol asked.
"Told you," Daryl said. "Flour. Tobacco. Coffee. Sometimes they got other things I want. If I want it, and I got the goods to trade for it, I get it."
"Whores?" Carol asked.
"What?" Daryl asked.
"Whores," Carol said. "Women. Do you—trade for whores?"
"Painted women?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded. "No. I don't got a taste for 'em. Never have."
"Why not?" Carol asked.
Nobody had ever asked Daryl that before. Jim knew he didn't have a taste for the painted women, but neither did Jim. Some men did, but those that did weren't too concerned about whether or not Daryl shared their enjoyment of the women.
"Just—don't like tradin' for matin', I guess," Daryl said. "Don't seem to be the way of things—at least not for me."
Carol barely inclined her head to indicate that she'd heard and understood him. He didn't know why she stared at him like she did, but he looked away frequently to keep from being made uncomfortable by the intensity of it.
"Have you ever—had a mate?" Carol asked. "Of your own?"
Daryl shook his head.
"Prob'ly wouldn't be no good at pickin' one," Daryl said.
Carol licked her lips before biting more of the meat. The way she was eating, now, had slowed to a point that Daryl could practically feel that she was growing full. She'd eaten ferociously, tearing at the meat, and now she was eating like she feared it, but wasn't quite ready to let go of it.
"Don't'cha get sick," Daryl offered quietly. "Sometimes—you don't eat good, and then you do? Eat too much an' get sick. Like drinkin' too much water, too fast, when you done gone and got all the way parched."
Carol almost seemed to appreciate his permission to slow down eating. She put the meat on the lid and pushed it away from her so she wouldn't be tempted to take it back up again. She looked around, wiped her hand on her arm, finally, and then sat hugging her legs again.
"Some animals—it's the females that pick the mates."
"What?" Daryl asked.
"I thought it was you that said we wouldn't get anywhere if there was a constant repeating of what's already been said," Carol said. "Some animals—the way they do it is they let the female pick the mate."
"So they do," Daryl agreed.
"So—it wouldn't be you that picked poorly," Carol said. "Not if it was a female that picked you for being her mate."
"Wouldn't nobody pick me," Daryl said.
"Why not?" Carol asked.
Daryl frowned. He'd said the words, but saying them made his stomach ache—and he wasn't sure why.
"You done eatin'?" He asked. Carol nodded. "Fine—you oughta go to bed. I eat breakfast when the sun comes up good. After breakfast, I'll take them pelts to town. You can come along and I'll let'cha loose down around where them homes is goin' up. Bound to be somebody good in there for you to pick."
"Someone—as a mate…" Carol said.
"Like I said," Daryl responded.
"When you turn me loose in the morning," Carol said.
"You got a mind to be turned out tonight, I told you that you was free to go."
"If Ed, my husband—my mate—if he was to find me," Carol said, "he'll kill me. You do know that, don't you? He won't turn me loose. He'll kill me."
"You're free to pick a better mate," Daryl said. "Humans don't mate for life. You ain't a beaver or somethin' that's gotta wait for your mate to die. That ain't how humans mate. You pick you a better mate than what'cha had, and he ain't got no claim over the other one's territory if he's takin' care of you. He'll just—run him off. That's what they do. The better mate—the bigger mate—he just runs off the old one from his territory."
"Ed won't be run off," Carol said. "He won't see it the way you do. He won't see it as something that can be undone like that. He sees me as his. His possession."
"If he wanted what the hell he had, he oughta took better care of it," Daryl said. "Your new mate'll explain to him that humans don't mate for life. He ain't got no claim to you if he can't defend it. That ain't what humans do."
"But it is," Carol said. "At least—it's how some humans mate."
"You serious?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded.
"We take vows," Carol said. "We say—right in the vows—that we're mating for life. If I break that vow? Ed'll consider it punishable by death. He'll probably break my neck."
"And—so you broke a vow. What's a vow anyway, but words? What about what he done? Markin' you like he done and not providin' for you like he ought? He's a poor excuse for a mate."
Carol shrugged her shoulders.
"Doesn't matter. Not to Ed. He won't see it as anything, but…I'm his. And if he catches me down at the town tomorrow—he'll kill me."
Daryl stared at her. He gnawed, half-heartedly, at a piece of meat that he didn't really want. He wanted to keep his jaws and his hands busy, though, so he ate even though his heart wasn't in it anymore. His stomach, really, felt a little sick and he thought he ought to heed the same words he'd given to Carol about not eating more than her stomach could hold or had a mind to digest.
"Well—he can't do that," Daryl said, finally, pushing his own tin plate away in somewhat the same manner that Carol had used.
She laughed and looked around like there might be something to see in the cave. It was growing dark, quickly.
"Well—he will, whether or not you think he can," Carol said.
"You'll just pick you a mate that'll make it clear to him that he can't do that," Daryl said.
Carol stared at him. A hint of a smile touched her lips. Daryl got to his feet and turned away from it. He started toward the little fire.
"I'll clean up," Carol said, following after him quickly and beginning to do just that.
"Ain't much to worry about 'til after breakfast," Daryl said, helping her round up what there was and take care of it enough to be ready for the morning. "I'll kick out the fire. There's some candles in my bag. You ought to get one for readyin' for bed."
"Does that mean you're—sending me to bed?" Carol asked. "Or…?"
She sounded hesitant, but Daryl wasn't sure why.
"You can use my blanket," Daryl said. "It's plenty warm, not that the nights is gettin' too cool just yet."
"I couldn't do that," Carol said.
"It ain't got fleas," Daryl said.
"I didn't suppose it had, but…"
She trialed him like a pup while he prepared the camp for night. She'd distanced herself only long enough to bring the candle stub he'd requested. He lit it from the fire before he doused it with some of the water.
"But what? That's a nice blanket. Bear. I killed it myself."
"You killed a bear?" Carol asked. She only went toward the blanket when he somewhat herded her in that direction. Daryl laughed to himself at her tone of voice.
"Ain't like it's the only one," Daryl said. "Nice blanket, though. You can sleep there."
He went about getting his things out of his bag to roll himself a good smoke—or two—for digesting his meal and readying himself for the passing of the night.
"I couldn't," Carol said. "Where'll you sleep?"
"Don't'cha worry about me," Daryl said. "Wouldn't be my first night sleepin' on the ground."
"Mine either," Carol challenged.
"Take my blanket," Daryl said. He put enough behind his voice that she understood that he was tiring of going over the same subject more than once. She nodded and went for the blanket that he'd put in a nice spot in the cave.
He sat, with his back to the wall, and watched as she settled in.
"You aren't going to sleep?" Carol asked.
"Don't'cha worry about me," Daryl said. "I'll sleep plenty enough."
Carol watched him a moment longer, but she finally settled down to sleep. He smoked and watched her as she settled and, eventually, the sound of her breathing evened out to indicate that she was sleeping well enough. Daryl, for his part, realized that he might not have told her the whole truth. He wasn't sure, really, that he was going to get much sleep at all.
