AN: This whole idea has been bugging me and we all know that I have zero self-control. I had to play with it, so here it is. I haven't decided how much more I'm going to do with it, exactly, but I have some ideas and I will be incorporating more, here and there.

There will be a lot of characters from several different places that we come across in this one, but I hope to make it so that your knowledge of those characters will enhance your experience (perhaps), but not be necessary at all for your understanding of the story, (hopefully, no matter where you're coming from).

This is also written so that you can stop, comfortably, at the end of this chapter, or you can play along with me, if you want, for all that will be to come.

I own nothing from The Walking Dead or any Star Trek. I am just doing this for fun and enjoyment. If you choose to play along, welcome! I am thrilled to have you here!

Just as a stylistic note, I'm using * before the "being's" words in this chapter. That should help to distinguish voices for the first bit.

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

111

* "Somewhere at some time, someone once created the idea that time was linear and space was defined. Someone mistakenly believed that things were predictable, that there was an explanation for everything, and that every beginning moved in an organized fashion toward a given end—perhaps one that was known since the beginning of that linear time.

Of course, they got all of that wrong. Or, at the very least, they got most of that wrong.

The belief that everything in the universe moves from its start to its finish is nothing more than the creation of a small mind—or of many small minds, at many points in time and space, but that's a discussion for another time—a mind that, aware of its own mortality, sought to make sense of the wonders around it that it wasn't quite ready to fully comprehend.

The universe—or all the universes, but that's also something for another one of our visits—only begins to make sense, once you stop seeking for everything to make sense."

"Why?" Carol asked.

Her voice was hollow. No. It was solid. It echoed in a hollow space—a room without walls, a ceiling, or a floor. She existed in the room, entirely black as it was, without really being there.

She'd been there before.

And the being—because she was one of those small minds, perhaps, that needed to try to make sense of things—that had addressed her understood what she meant when her question fell short of expressing it.

* "There is a rupture."

"Where?"

* "Time."

"When?"

* "Since the beginning. Until the end. There is a tear."

"Where?"

* "Everywhere. Here. There. It's growing."

"Why?"

Carol always came back to this question. She had been here before. She'd been here a number of times before. She didn't know how she got here, or why she ended up here. She didn't know who the being was or what the being wanted.

The voice was soft and sweet. It was comforting. It lulled her. It made her feel warm and happy. It made her feel like she remembered feeling when her mother would wrap her in a blanket and hold her, humming to her and rocking her.

The first time she'd heard the voice, Carol had assumed she was dying.

It was always Daryl who found her in this place. Even now, she knew that he would come soon. She sensed it. She could feel him, hovering, somehow, just outside the edges of the darkness of the room that wasn't there. He would take her hand. He would hold onto her. He would bring her out of the room and back to his side.

She felt as safe, by his side, as she felt wrapped in the warm blanket of the being's comforting voice.

The first time that Daryl had heard her tell him about the voice, he'd thought she was dying.

The being assured her that she wasn't dying. Not here. Not now. She would, someday, die, of course, because she was mortal. But it wouldn't be here and now.

Of course, now Carol wondered if there was such a thing as here and now.

* "It's simply time, I suppose."

"Time for what?"

* "Knowledge, perhaps?"

"Tell me."

* "I can't. Not all at once. You wouldn't believe me. You couldn't. You have to come to knowledge yourself. You have to come to it when you're ready. It's really always been that way."

"Why me?"

Carol had asked that question a thousand times. She hadn't just asked it to the being that spoke to her, she'd asked it to other beings, other deities—or perhaps to the same being, the same deity. She didn't know if the mother-voice was a deity at all.

"Are you God?" Carol asked, before the being could answer her first question.

Laughter—warm, soothing laughter—rang around her. Carol laughed, too.

* "I am something other than you, but I'm no god."

"A human?"

* "No."

"An alien?"

Carol had asked the question as a joke. She'd expected laughter. Instead, she'd found a long silence. The silence lasted long enough that she looked around in the darkness, in search of the one pinpoint of light that would grow into a larger light. The light, when she was in this darkness, was always Daryl. When she saw the light, she would know that he was coming for her. She would feel his hand. She would feel his strength as he pulled her back to him and wrapped her in his arms.

The light didn't come, but a response did.

* "Everything and everyone is alien to those who are not like them. It isn't difficult to be alien, Carol."

Fair enough, Carol thought.

"Why me?" She repeated.

The question had been one she'd asked about everything bad that had ever happened to her—and the number of times that her life had given her an opportunity to ask it about things that she wished she had never had to endure was staggering. She'd never had an answer, though, and she wondered if this being—this alien—might be the first to actually respond to her.

* "Simply because you are you, Carol. And because Daryl is Daryl."

"Will you talk to him, too?"

* "When he can hear me."

"Why haven't you talked to him yet? Why can't he hear you? Is it because I'm…crazy?"

The warm laughter filled the space. It filled Carol. Her whole body tingled with it. She wasn't here—she couldn't be here—it had to be a dream. She would wake from it. She'd come back into her reality—her real reality—but it felt real whenever she was here. This place, or this absence of place, felt real.

* "It's because of your psionic abilities—untrained though they may be, they must be stronger than his. I can reach out to all of the guides placed throughout the matrix of universes, but not every guide can hear me. Not every guide can respond. You responded."

"Guides?"

* "You're a guide. Daryl is a guide, too, though he can't seem to hear me just yet."

"What do you mean guides?"

* "It's difficult to explain."

"Nothing else has been?"

* "Guides guide—people, beings…even events and actions. They guide whatever it is they're supposed to guide to the proper cosmic alignment."

"Like—guiding a wagon train?" Carol asked, laughing at the thought of it.

* "If that's what you were chosen to guide."

"And I'm a guide? And Daryl's a guide?"

* "Yes. You are."

"Why?"

* "I don't have an answer for that. It was determined to be so, I suppose."

"At the dawn of time?" Carol asked, still looking around for the point of light, though she was really in no hurry for Daryl to come for her—and, perhaps, he could sense that, despite his obvious lack of psionic powers…whatever the hell that might be.

* "There is no dawn of time, really. There really is no beginning and no end. Time just is. It just continues."

"Like a wheel?"

* "Have you ever seen a kaleidoscope?"

"Of course, I've seen a kaleidoscope," Carol said. "It's been a while, but…"

* "Time is a kaleidoscope. Space. The universes. They slide and shift constantly. Most beings are never aware of it. The only time they become aware of it is when there's a rupture or a tear, of sorts, and the pieces come together in surprising and unexpected ways. Sometimes they call it things like déjà vu or jamais vu. Some say its ghosts—or aliens. Dreams or visions or hallucinations. The impossible, they say, seems possible—or becomes possible—if only for a moment. Sometimes the pieces can be put right, and other times they can't."

"Walkers?" Carol asked.

* "What?"

The being laughed again. This time it was a confused laugh. Carol reminded herself that the being, though she had identified herself as an alien, was not a god.

"The Walkers," Carol said. "The walking dead. Are they part of this…time is out of joint and the world is out of joint thing?"

* "There was a rupture, yes."

"Can it—be put right?" Carol asked.

* "I don't know. I'm not omniscient or omnipotent. I am only a simple being, Carol."

"But you know all of this, and I don't," Carol said.

* "I have existed longer than you, and I will exist longer than you. I am, perhaps, more complex than you are, but I am no god, and I don't have all the answers. I am able to move between the universes. That's all. For that reason, I know more than those who have spent most of their lives in primarily the same universe, believing in linear time and definite space."

"Can I move between universes?" Carol asked.

* "You're a guide."

"What's that supposed to mean, though?"

* "It means you go wherever you're moved. You go where you're needed."

"Like a pawn, then?"

* "Exactly like a pawn."

"Are you moving me?"

* "I am only meeting you. Here. Between one universe, and another."

"Why?" Carol asked, aware that she sounded like a small child.

* "Even guides need a little guidance, from time to time. I'll offer what I can, when I can."

"Why?" Carol asked again.

* "It's my job. It's my role. My fate—destiny. Whatever term you like best is applicable here. Just as you have your role, I have mine. I'm a guide of sorts, too. There are a lot of us, and we all have different roles at different points of existence. Besides, I enjoy talking to you, and I enjoy order. I would like to see things put right."

"What things?" Carol asked.

* "Not even I know that, yet. The pieces are falling, Carol. They haven't landed yet."

"What am I supposed to do? What is Daryl supposed to do?"

* "I have to believe you'll know, when the time comes. I have to believe that you'll figure it out, together."

"I thought you could tell the future," Carol said. "Or that you knew the future. Or—however that works."

* "This isn't about the future, or the past. It's about a rupture in the universes. The time is out of joint, as you said. Not even I can know what's going to happen. It's bigger than me."

"Will you help us?"

* "If I can."

"Will I ever actually see you?"

* "We've already met, and we'll meet again. I know it to be true. Somewhere, at some time."

"I thought you said time and space don't exist?"

* "They don't, but your perception requires them and, therefore, the universes provide them. Don't try to understand it. I've existed for centuries longer than you have, and I'm never really certain that I do. Just let go and accept things."

"What if we don't know what to do?" Carol asked.

* "You'll figure it out, together."

"How will I know you? If I ever see you?" Carol asked.

* "You'll know me. You always do, even if you don't remember. I'm called Guinan. I think—someone's looking for you."

Carol smiled when she saw the spot of light. She felt a warmth spread through her. She reached her hand out, toward it. The spot grew, as it always did, and she closed her eyes in anticipation of the blinding light that had once stunned her, before she'd known what to expect.

She felt the strength of him all around her, and she felt like she was being pulled toward the surface of water. Suddenly, she anticipated the first sweet breath of air after having been submerged, even though she'd been breathing all along. She felt herself break the surface.

"Holy fuckin' shit," Daryl said, drawing Carol the rest of the way out of sleep. She hummed at him, wishing he'd let her wake a little more slowly and hold onto the sweet feeling of deep rest.

"Don't be so loud," she said, quietly. There was nobody for them to disturb. They were alone. They'd been alone for some time now.

He'd once left her with the belief that he was going looking for something—she wasn't even sure if he knew what he'd hoped to really find—and she'd stayed with the belief that she was going to somehow change the future.

It hadn't taken her very long to realize her mistake—there was a future, without Daryl, but it wasn't one she wanted.

And it hadn't taken him very long to realize his mistake—the only thing he'd ever really wanted to find, he'd already found in Carol. If there was something worth finding out there, they'd find it together.

He'd come back for her, and they'd left together. Some might say they were wandering aimlessly, and maybe they were, but they were dedicated to simply going, together, to see what life might bring them for as long as it was theirs to live.

At the moment, they were sleeping in the hayloft of an old barn in some unknown-to-them location. Time and space, perhaps, didn't matter all that much, after all. And, perhaps, the universe—or universes—had a great deal in store for them.

Daryl was leaning over her, but seeing that she was awake, he settled back down, behind her again, and fitted his body to hers. The camping lantern that burned near them had been freshly lit—Carol knew that, instinctively. It was Daryl's practice to light it any time he woke her in the middle of the night. He needed the light, it seemed, to come looking for her in the dark and guide her back to him.

Carol snuggled back into him, and he held her, tightening his grip a little so that she felt the strength of him surrounding her. She settled into the comfort of it, relishing even the smell of old hay that mixed with the scent of the soap he'd last used to bathe and the smoke from the fire they'd extinguished just before settling in for the night.

"Wouldn't be so damn loud, but I was startin' to think you wouldn't wake up," Daryl said. "You were sleepin' sound, all except for you kept mumblin' and shit."

"I was talking to her again," Carol said.

"Her?" Daryl asked. "That voice or whatever…God or somethin'?"

"She's not a god," Carol said. "She's just…a being."

"A being? Like a…like a what?"

"I think she's an alien," Carol said with a laugh.

"See—now I know that it's somethin'. We ain't repeated them mushrooms, and I don't think we had nothin' out of the ordinary. It's gotta be the water. Somethin' like all that we've been comin' across is out of tributaries all comin' out of one contaminated source or some shit."

"I boil the water, Daryl," Carol said.

"Every time?" He asked.

"Every time," Carol said. "Besides—if it were the water, you'd hear her, too. Or the mushrooms…or the…whatever you said it was last time."

"Scares me to death to think of what the hell else it might be," Daryl said. Carol smiled when she felt him kiss the back of her neck. He worked his way down to her shoulder. She hummed and squeezed the arm that he had wrapped around her.

"I'm definitely not going to ask you to stop that, Pookie," Carol teased. "But—I am going to ask you to stop worrying. I'm fine."

"Just hallucinatin' like hell," Daryl said.

"Maybe it's real," Carol said.

"Some divine message?" Daryl asked.

"Something like that," Carol said.

"What the hell she tell you this time?" Daryl asked.

"There's been a rupture in the veil of the universes…or something like that," Carol said.

Daryl laughed and made a noise. He blew a raspberry against her skin and Carol couldn't help herself. She howled out in laughter and he pulled her tightly against him once he'd let her have her laugh. Her body shook with the residual effects of his own laughter.

"Now I know you're on something," he said.

"No," Carol said. "She can't talk to you because you lack—psionic something or other."

"Psychedelic something or other?" He asked. "Because it sounds a helluva lot like that's what you got goin' on…some kind of wild ass trip. You know—I think Merle used to see and hear all kind of shit. Some kind of cosmic awakening when he was on different shit."

"I'm not doing drugs, Daryl," Carol said rolling over to face him. "I don't know if I believe they're dreams or…what."

"OK, so the universe is broke or torn or whatever," Daryl said. "So—I'll bite. Hell…I never thought I'd see half the shit we've seen—and I know I saw that Chupacabra. So—now what?"

"I don't know," Carol said. "We're…guides."

"Guides?"

"Mmm…hmmm…you and me," Carol said.

"The hell does that mean?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed.

"I don't know," she said. "Apparently—we'll just know. When the pieces fall into place or…maybe it was when we make them fall into place. I don't know. Apparently, we'll just—figure it out."

"Together?" Daryl asked.

"Together," Carol said. "Always."

"Then—that's fine," Daryl said. "I don't care, then. Whatever's fine. Torn universes or…psychedelic trails or tours or whatever."

Carol laughed and moved forward so that she could kiss him. He returned the kiss. It was long and lazy. There was no need to rush it. There was no need to rush anything. They weren't at the mercy of anything, really, except time itself—and, perhaps, time didn't even exist.

Carol smiled at him when the kiss broke.

"You're not worried about any of that?" Carol asked. "Not aliens or…torn universes…or even multiple universes?"

"Nah," Daryl said. "I'm down to do just about anything…go any damn where, as long as I'm going with you."

Carol hummed, happy to hear the words and happier, still, to know they were true. The future, whatever it may hold, didn't really matter as long as they were spending it together.

"We'll figure it out together," Carol agreed.

"Always do, Woman," Daryl said. "Go on back to sleep—get us some answers to the universe, or whatever. I'll be here, if you need me."