AN: Here we are, another piece!

I am going to pretend this is something of a choose your own adventure kind of story. If you're one who wanted "off" the trip, then please feel free to consider the last chapter the end of the story. I hope you enjoyed! If you're not, then please feel free to continue along with me (and Carol and Daryl). Welcome aboard!

I hope you enjoy the chapter! If you do, please do let me know!

111

Daryl sat there a moment—a long moment.

Carol finished dressing, ran her hand through her hair, combing out any tangles there with her fingers and somewhat tossing what curls were starting to form where her hair was slightly growing out from the last time she'd nearly shorn it entirely off, and then she looked at him.

She wasn't looking at him with any particular expression on her face—at least, not one that Daryl could pinpoint, and he was thankful for that.

He started working his way into his clothes. He cleared his throat, when he even felt confident enough to do that.

"You…uh…you…you said…"

"Whatever you think I said," Carol countered, "is probably what I said."

Daryl nipped at the hard skin next to his thumbnail, working methodically at removing the small piece his teeth had located and identified for just such a purpose.

There was no hint of aggression or venom in Carol's tone. It was soft and even, and she stood there with almost a hint of a smile on her lips. There was no line between her brows, even.

Daryl felt his shoulders relax. He hadn't paid attention to the fact that he'd drawn them up in the moment.

"You mean it?" He asked.

A small pop of laughter escaped Carol, but she swallowed it back, quickly.

"Yeah," she said. "I—I meant it."

Daryl digested the thought for a second, and then he nodded gently, half acknowledging to Carol that he'd heard and comprehended, and half telling himself the same, really.

His body was swimming with strange feelings and sensations—most of which, he was pretty sure, he couldn't attribute to this being his first night on this ship, and his first night on a boat like this in some time. Among the sensations, he felt a little choked, as though his throat wasn't as entirely open as it was before, and air wasn't coming and going as it once had. He cleared his throat to try to rid himself of the slightly disturbing feeling that, if it continued on as it was, he might find himself choking on absolutely nothing identifiable.

"It—uh—you—is it—is it—mine?" Daryl asked, when his mouth and his brain seemed to finally find their stride together and agree to work in something akin to unison.

Daryl could tell, from Carol's expression, that he had, perhaps, touched a nerve—maybe, even, the first one since he'd seen her in the cargo hold.

They locked eyes for a second in the dim light of the room. Daryl was trying to decide how he should explain himself—or if he should explain himself—and it looked like she was trying to make a few quiet decisions of her own. There was something of a stalemate as it became clear that both of them were choosing not to rush into saying anything that might not be what they really wanted to say.

In a way, Daryl felt like they communicated that to each other with nothing more than the silent look that passed between them.

Carol spoke first.

"I crossed an ocean for you," she said.

Daryl didn't know why, but he felt laughter bubble up inside of him.

"That a yes?" He asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him. He felt her challenge, but it also felt somehow playful. There was the slightest hint of a smile still playing at her lips, and nothing in the air around them felt truly tense.

"You ain't no vestal virgin," he offered with a laugh, letting her expression be the only response she gave.

Thankfully, she laughed, too.

"No," she said, "I wasn't a virgin. I haven't been one since I married Ed. But—neither are you."

Daryl hummed at her.

"Was the first time," he said.

"Well, I was the first time, too," Carol said. "That's the whole idea of a virgin, Daryl."

"I mean with you, asshole," Daryl said. "But you had…what's his face…Tobin. And then the good king, himself."

"You had Leah," Carol said, her voice soft and really void of the accusation for which Daryl found himself listening.

"You married him," Daryl said.

"You never asked me," Carol countered.

"If I had've?" He asked.

"I think you know the answer, Daryl," Carol said. "I think—you've known the answer would have always been the same." She shrugged her shoulders. "It would have always been you. I would have always chosen you."

"But you didn't," Daryl countered.

"Because you never chose me," Carol said.

"Never wanted no damn body else," Daryl said.

"But you never told me that," Carol said.

"How many times were we…?"

"It was sex," Carol countered, just a touch of sharpness to her tone. Daryl didn't take it personally. He'd heard those exact words before. He'd heard that exact tone. She didn't mean it. That was what she said, he knew well enough now and with so many years of loving Carol under his belt, when she was hurt by the sex—or the rejection—and she wanted to convince herself that it didn't matter.

"It was more than that for me," Daryl offered. "And I think it was more for you, too. At least—I hope to hell it was."

"You certainly didn't say so," Carol said. She laughed—this time with a touch less humor behind it. "You were gone as fast as you could get your pants on."

Daryl felt a sinking sensation in his stomach and his chest tightened. He couldn't challenge her on that one. He couldn't call her out or pretend that she was lying. She was telling the truth, and he accepted it with a nod.

"Yeah—you right," he said. "I was a damn coward. I won't lie. But—you run, too. You run from me, too."

"I can't run from you, Daryl, if you never let me know you're trying to catch me," Carol said.

"Maybe you're right about that," Daryl ceded. "You married him, though. And that…I don't know, Carol. That…it…" He stopped and shook his head.

"I would've married you," Carol said. "I would have. Any time you had asked, Daryl…but you never asked. I kept waiting, and you never asked. So—I got tired of waiting."

He nodded, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. It wasn't like this was the first time they'd had this conversation—at least, not exactly. This conversation had come up in bits and pieces a thousand times. The problem, perhaps, was that neither of them ever seemed to stay until they saw it through. They never seemed to reach the end of the conversation. At some point—and it always seemed to be somewhere around the moment that Daryl felt like this, most like he was about to choke to death—one of them always seemed to leave.

They walked away, and the conversation remained unfinished.

"There ain't a lot of room for runnin' on a ship," Daryl said.

"What?" Carol asked.

Daryl looked at her. He realized that he'd been thinking, but he hadn't really been speaking. She wasn't privy to his private thoughts.

"There ain't a lot of room to run on a ship," Daryl said. "You and me—we're here now. There ain't no room to run."

"I'm not trying to run," Carol said with a sigh that sounded a bit like it came from down in the very depths of her soul.

"Me either," Daryl said. "So—at least we got that in common."

Carol laughed lightly.

"We have a lot in common," she said. "More than we've ever had before."

"I ain't goin' nowhere again," Daryl said. "Not if I can help it. You gonna try to run again?"

She laughed again.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said. "Except—of course—where the ship goes next."

"We go there together, so I don't care," Daryl said. "We do go there together, right?"

She smiled and nodded. She raised her hand and swiped at her eye. There were a few tears dotting her lashes, but she wasn't actively sobbing or anything of the like. It seemed as though the tears were more like an afterthought of her eyes and not something to which she was fully dedicated.

"We're going there together," Carol said.

"So—we'll work on the rest," Daryl said.

"Yeah," Carol said, breathing it out. "We'll work on the rest."

"So—whatever the hell it is that comes up…whatever the hell we gotta deal with…we'll just do that. We'll deal with it, because there ain't nowhere to run," Daryl said.

"Nowhere to run," Carol agreed. "And, I'll tell you the truth, Daryl. Once the ship leaves port, we've all got our chores every day, but there's really not a lot for us to do besides that."

"Gonna have a lot of time together," Daryl said.

"A lot of time," Carol said. "Especially if—we tell Máible there's no need to rush. We moved as quickly as we could getting here. I told her it was important, but…"

"Don't matter if we take our time," Daryl said.

Carol shook her head.

"Not unless…you've got something you're rushing back for," Carol said.

"The kids…they OK? Judith and RJ?"

Carol smiled.

"Rick and Michonne are back, Daryl," Carol said.

Daryl had heard that when he'd talked to her on the radio. He'd heard that just as the call between them was breaking up. He'd held onto the thought for all this time—wondering if he'd heard correctly and finding some kind of solace in the fact that, at least, they were back there where Carol was and everyone could be looking out for each other.

Daryl had always found comfort—no matter where he was or what he was doing—in thoughts of Carol being somewhere safe. He was most ill at ease if he wasn't sure of her safety.

He had never imagined, in all the time he'd been finding what comfort he could in thoughts of her being safe and happy with the people they'd come to call family, that she'd actually been off on her own, making friends with pirates and crossing the sea on a ship.

"They're gonna be OK," Daryl said.

"We can hurry back," Carol said. "I know—you probably want to…"

"Don't wanna do shit except what the hell I'm doin' right now," Daryl interrupted.

Carol looked at him. She was waiting him out. She seemed to think he had more to say and, honestly, he had a great deal more to say, but he was having a hard time putting everything into words.

"I've wanted to find you since I ended up here," Daryl said. "Missed you since I left. Rick and Michonne can take care of theirs. Everybody there is OK. I don't want to do shit, Carol, except what the hell I'm doin' right now. This—whatever the hell it is—I wanna do this. Hell—New Mexico is still out there."

Carol laughed.

"I don't want to go to New Mexico, Daryl," Carol said.

"Then, we don't go to New Mexico," Daryl said. "We go wherever the hell you want. Because I don't give a damn, Carol, where we are, or where we go."

She nodded.

"OK," she said.

"Long as…we go together."

She laughed quietly at his addition.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said. "And—I missed you, too."

He stood up from the bed, and she practically fell into his arms. Everything—every single part of his body, all the way to his very soul—felt like it ached for the love he felt for her. He closed his eyes, inhaled the scent of her, and focused a long moment on what it felt like to hold her. He focused on exactly how his arms felt as they wrapped around her, how his body felt as she pressed against him, and how his elbows bent, even, to accommodate the shape of her.

He buried his face in her neck, and she simply squeezed him back.

He let his consciousness drift and notice the slightest bit of new pressure as she pressed against him—the slightest shift that was different in the way she'd felt in his arms before. He had thought she was simply healthy. He had thought, simply, that Máible was a benevolent leader making sure that all her people ate well. Although he didn't reject that idea at all—because he hadn't seen a single person that truly looked as though they'd suffered during their trip—he realized that there was a bit more to the slight weight gain that pushed Carol's tummy out just a little and, at this moment, pressed it against him.

He tensed, slightly, and she pulled away.

"What?" She asked, suddenly looking worried.

He instinctively tightened his hold on her just enough to offer her what comfort he could, worried that she had mistaken his tensing for the normal panic that, following something like the love that they'd just made, would normally send him slinking away as quickly as he could.

He tensed again, unable to control it, but he didn't let go of her. Daryl held her eyes.

"So?"

"So?" She echoed, half-shaking her head to say she didn't understand.

"Is it mine?" He asked.

He watched her face, but he would've been hard-pressed to describe exactly what happened as she seemed to settle on her final expression—one of amusement.

"You are such an asshole," she said, an almost musical giggle escaping at the end of it. She made a growling sound that Daryl didn't believe at all, but it made his heart pound in his chest. His knees felt, all at once, like they were made of gelatin.

"You're serious?" Daryl asked.

"That you're an asshole? Absolutely, Daryl," Carol said. She pulled away from him. "Of course, it's yours," she muttered, moving toward the door.

"Wait—where the hell you going?" Daryl asked. "I don't think we're done talkin' about this…"

"I'm going to get my food," Carol said. "It might be a long night, and I'm hungry."

She stopped at the door. She turned around, leaned against it, and looked at Daryl. A soft smile turned the corners of her lips up. He could see the smile in her eyes, too. She shrugged her shoulders slightly.

"Come on, Daryl. Your…" she hesitated, and Daryl clearly noticed her tensing. She was hiding it. She was doing her best to hide it, the same way she hid her pain when he knew she felt it. She was afraid—maybe not of him, but of something, perhaps, from her past. There was time for that. There was time for all of it.

And Daryl's stomach twisted upon realizing that she was dealing with things she wasn't sharing yet.

He nodded his head gently. He hummed at her.

"Go ahead," he said, just loudly enough to press her into saying what she'd started to say—what was playing on the edge of her tongue, but what clearly frightened her a bit, too.

She drew in a breath, renewed her soft smile, and nodded her head slightly to mirror him.

"Come on," she said, her voice catching just slightly—something that Daryl liked to think that only he would notice. "Your baby is hungry, Daryl."

She looked at him expectantly. He wondered if her heart was pounding as much as his was. He wondered if her stomach felt slightly uneasy and her knees felt a little weak. He finished buttoning his shirt quickly, and he gestured toward the door where she was leaning.

"Come on, then," he said. "Let's go…" He stopped. He forced himself to continue, despite the fact that the words felt so strange in his brain and tasted even more unfamiliar on his tongue. "Let's go—get it somethin' to eat."