AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
Daryl woke slowly and with the oddly distant feeling—forever like it was moving closer to him—that something wasn't as it should be. It wasn't the alarming feeling that he was in danger. It was simply the feeling that something wasn't as his brain initially expected it to be upon waking.
Daryl was warm under his blanket—almost too warm, really, given that the air wasn't too cold yet. He kept meaning to buy a lighter blanket from the store. He'd had one before. He'd liked it. Over time, though, it had gotten damaged one way or another and, eventually, he'd cut it into rags for his various needs. When he went to town to trade the pelts, maybe he would trade for a good blanket—lighter than the bearskin—for when the nights weren't so cold.
Upon remembering the pelts, his mind—heavy with sleep, since he'd stayed up far later than he'd meant to—stirred the rest of the way toward wakefulness. He would be going to town to trade the pelts. He'd be going to town to take Carol down among the newly-made homesteads and turn her loose to find a mate. He'd have to linger long enough to know she chose well—to know she chose a mate that would defend his territory well and would be able to tell her old mate that he had no claim to her and, certainly, no right or ability to kill her, since she seemed to fear that was a very real possibility that she faced.
Daryl sat up and shook off the bearskin blanket. He wiped at his eyes. He'd put Carol to bed under the blanket. He'd watched her sleep and thought about what she'd said until, finally, he'd moved a little deeper into the cave and fallen asleep himself.
Now, he was covered by the blanket. At first glance, Carol was nowhere to be seen, but he smelled the smell of coffee and a fire burning close. Looking out the cave, he could see her, then, near the fire.
Daryl got up, stretched to relieve himself of the stiffness of sleep, and walked out of the cave. Carol was bent close to the fire, tending it and keeping the coffee pot just close enough to stay warm without scorching or boiling over. Also near the fire was Daryl's heavy metal pot where he often made biscuits.
He needed to relieve himself, but he thought that he ought to speak to her before he wandered away to do so.
"You been up long?" Daryl asked.
He didn't mean to startle Carol, but it was clear that he'd startled her nearly into falling into the fire. He reached a hand out and grabbed at her even as she caught herself. She turned, quickly—too quickly on her feet—and might have fallen into the fire the other way if Daryl hadn't been holding her tight.
"Easy," he said. "Careful. Just me. Didn't mean to scare you."
Carol didn't say anything. She opened her mouth to him like she might, but nothing that sounded like real words came out. She was red-eyed, and her face looked streaked.
"You hurt yourself?" Daryl asked. "You get—ash in your eye or…somethin'?"
Carol took what felt like an uncomfortably long time to answer Daryl. She seemed to be thinking far too hard about whether or not she was hurt, and he'd finally pulled her up to her feet and pulled her away from the fire before she did respond. She responded by covering her badly marked-up face with her hands.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so—sorry."
She dropped down to her knees in front of him, and Daryl backed up a couple of steps. He was startled, uncomfortable, and a little afraid—all at the same time.
"What you so sorry for?" He asked. "You made breakfast. Coffee. You burn the biscuits or somethin'? It's easy to burn 'em if you don't know how that pot works. Damn fickle sometimes."
He had to wait a long moment to get an answer.
"I took something of yours," Carol said. "And—I plan to replace it. When I have the means. I do. But—it's just that—I don't have anything here. Nothing except what I've got on, and…I really needed it, and you had enough for now, I thought…"
Daryl's stomach ached, honestly. It wasn't because she'd taken something—he couldn't think of anything much that he had that was valuable enough for all this caterwauling and shedding of tears.
"Whatever you took," Daryl offered, "I'm sure it don't…mean that much to me…"
"I didn't have any right to take it," Carol said.
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"S'pose we can work out a trade," he said. "You—made my breakfast and my coffee. That seems like a trade, don't it?"
Carol seemed to consider it, and it kept her from being so upset. Daryl was pleased with just about any trade as long as it kept her from seeming so upset. Even if it was the big bear blanket she wanted, there would be other bears and, besides, Daryl was already pretty set on a lighter blanket from town for the warmer nights. He'd come across another disagreeable ass bear before the winter froze him to death in his sleep.
The idea of the trade seemed to calm Carol somewhat, though she stayed on her knees in front of him. Daryl decided he didn't care for that too much, so he backed up another step or two to give her some distance and to make it feel more like she just happened to be sitting on the ground than it did that she had taken any particular position.
"My courses are on me," Carol said. "And when my own rags were bloodied through—and I don't have anything else—I saw that you had plenty of rags that were clean but…looked plenty stained. I took them. For soaking up the blood. And washed my own to hang and dry near the creek."
Daryl furrowed his brow at her.
"Rags?" He asked. Carol nodded. "You—took rags?"
"Out of your bag," Carol said. "I'm sorry…"
"They're just rags," Daryl said. "They damn near give 'em to me in town for bringin' in good meat for 'em for trade. I just wash 'em in the creek. You bleedin'?"
Carol nodded. Daryl's stomach tightened.
"You got—like it tied good? The rag? So as to stop the bleedin'?"
"Tied?" Carol asked.
"The rag," Daryl said. "You need help—tyin' it?"
Carol stared at him, hard, and he moved away from her—partly because of her position, and partly to move the biscuits and the coffee far away from the fire. Having something to do made him feel better, and it apparently gave her a reason to get to her feet and come to try and help him.
"You don't know much about women, do you?" Carol asked.
Daryl felt like his stomach turned practically inside out.
"Enough, I reckon," he said. He faced her now that she was on her feet again. He preferred her that way—on her feet or seated near him like she'd been while eating the night before. He liked when they were more on the same level. He chewed his lip. She held a steady gaze on him. He shrugged his shoulders. "What's there to know, really?" He asked. "I mean—for me. Ain't like—it ain't like it's somethin' I need all that much. Don't—just don't really have no dealin' with 'em."
"Did you have a mama?" Carol asked.
Daryl frowned at her.
"All people's got mamas," Daryl said. "They was borned from somewhere."
"You knew her?" Carol asked.
"Not—not really for all that long," Daryl said. "Not—really all that good. She died."
Carol nodded her acceptance of that.
"No other woman? An—aunt or something to bring you up?"
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"Was Merle that brung me up," he said. "For a while, at least. After she was dead and—we left. I knew the Doctor's wife."
"She raised you?" Carol asked.
"She learned me some things like reading and writing," Daryl said. "And I could cipher her numbers real good."
"But you—never had a mate?"
"Told you I ain't," Daryl said. "I thought we were talkin' about you. Half bleedin' to damn death or somethin' and you wantin' to bother me about my life."
Carol laughed quietly.
"It's my courses," Carol said. "My bleeding. It comes—once a month. It means that—well—that I won't have a baby any time soon."
"Like—matin' failed?"
"Like mating failed," Carol agreed.
"You can't stop it?" Daryl asked.
"The bleeding?" Carol asked. Daryl nodded. "Not without a baby," she said, laughing quietly. "The rags slow it down, though. You—aren't mad that I took them?"
"They're old rags," Daryl said.
"It's blood, though," Carol said. "It's—dirty."
"I know what blood is," Daryl said. "Damn near everything I own has blood on it now, or it has at some point and time. I trap. I hunt. I clean shit. I know what blood is, Carol, if I don't know a thing else."
Carol looked like she relaxed. She crossed her arms over her chest. Then, she chewed at her bottom lip. Daryl looked at it, trapped between her teeth, and he found that he couldn't really pull his eyes away. He didn't want to. He wanted to look at her bothering her lip with her teeth like that. She released it, and smiled. His eyes drifted back up to meet hers. They weren't red now, like they had been before. They were blue and pretty—maybe even prettier for having been washed clean of whatever was bothering them earlier.
Daryl certainly hoped it hadn't been the rags that had had her so worried.
"I didn't say last night," Carol said, "because—well—I didn't know what was going on or…what you thought to do with me."
"Didn't say?"
"About my courses being on me," Carol said. "But—you don't know much about women, and I guess I have to tell you what it is that you need to know, but…you can't take me down to the town and turn me loose to look for a mate. Not today."
"No?" Daryl asked.
"No," Caryl said, shaking her head. "My courses are on me."
"That's—the blood?" Daryl asked. Carol hummed and nodded. "And—you don't want a mate who's got a weak stomach for blood…or you do?"
Carol laughed and clearly tried to swallow it down. Daryl's stomach twinged, and he wished she'd either stop laughing entirely or manage to swallow it before it came all the way to the top.
"Men don't want to mate with women who have their courses," Carol said.
"I'm fuckin' turned around, to be honest," Daryl admitted. "Don't—all women have 'em?"
"Unless they're having a baby," Carol said. "Or—sometimes you get old enough that they just stop coming on you when there won't be any more chance of babies. I mean to say, though, that men don't like when women's courses are on them. They don't like when you're bleeding. And they won't want to take a mate whose courses are on her."
"Because they got weak stomachs for blood?" Daryl asked.
"Because it's unclean," Carol said.
"It's blood," Daryl said. "Cake of soap ain't too hard to make with fat and ash. Don't cost much to buy it, neither, at the store. Most blood washes off skin, at least."
"It's just the honest truth, Daryl," Carol said. "The mating that has to take place? Well—men don't want to do that when a woman's bleeding. Don't want that blood on them. So—there won't be a mate there for me. Not while I've got my courses on me. You can't take me to the town until the bleeding's stopped."
"How am I gonna know when it stops?" Daryl asked.
"I'll tell you," Carol said. "But until then—I can't go to the town, because there won't be a man there who wants me as a mate, less likely one that's going to be willing to stop Ed from killing me the minute he sees me. I'm just going to have to stay here until the bleeding stops."
"This is why the hell the damned meat trades so good," Daryl said. "You know that? They can't hunt and clean their kills 'cause they got weak stomachs for blood."
"I suppose that must be so," Carol agreed.
"I gotta take them pelts," Daryl said. "And—I had a mind to buy a blanket. A light one. For as long as the nights aren't too cold."
"It's a good idea," Carol agreed. "While you're gone—I could…earn my keep. Wash your clothes, if you like. If you've got clean to wear. And I'll hang them up neat in the trees to dry. And—I can cook your food. I can fish, too. I can make a spear with a knife and a stick, and I can spear fish in the water."
"I like fish," Daryl admitted. Carol smiled.
"I'll make you fish for your supper," Carol said. "And wash your clothes. And—you'll let me stay here."
"Until the bleedin' stops," Daryl said. "Then, you can pick a mate."
Carol smiled at him and nodded.
"Yeah," she agreed. "As soon as the bleeding stops, I'll pick a mate."
"Fine," Daryl said. He remembered how upset she'd looked to simply take the old rags for him. She had nothing here, but he'd figured her stay would be temporary. He'd figured she'd already have a mate—maybe even by now. She'd have someone to provide for her in all the ways that it was that women needed providing for. As it turned out, though, Daryl would be responsible for providing for her a bit longer—and he figured he might as well get her what she might need, so he didn't wake to find her quite so tense as he had this morning. A few nice things of her own, he figured, wouldn't be that much to mention. He had, after all, a decent supply of the yellow that he never really needed for all that much anyway, and the beaver were plentiful in the nearby waterways. "I'ma head into town after breakfast. I reckon—two blankets is just as good to have as one. You got any other needs when I go to town?" He shrugged at her. "After all—you said it yourself, I ain't too familiar with what women might be needin' from the town."
