AN: Here we are, another piece to this one!

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

111

Daryl never really realized how fast the world went until he stepped out onto the sidewalk with Carol on his arm and a car sped by, going far too fast down a narrow residential downtown street, and startled Carol. The truth was, it startled Daryl, too, and not just because he felt her emotional reaction coursing through his own body.

"People drive like they ain't got no damned sense," Daryl said, more loudly than he'd really meant, thanks to the fact that he was speaking from a place of surprise. "Sorry," he said, when he saw Carol's face. They had both stopped making forward progress.

"No—it's fine," she said. "It scared you. I can tell."

Daryl smiled, reminded that she could feel him as surely as he could feel her.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah—guess, I thought…you know…that damn easy, they could lose control drivin' like some kinda idiot, and then what? Clip you and…well…never mind. It don't matter. Here—you come over here, on this side. That's the side you ought to walk on anyway, if my ass was a gentleman."

Carol did move to the other side of Daryl, away from the curb, and she slipped her hand back into his. She smiled at him, and his heart fluttered. Immediately, he wondered if she could feel those things, too, and then his face grew warm.

Her smile grew in response.

"I think you're a gentleman," Carol offered.

That only made Daryl's face grow warmer. Realistically, he couldn't blame it too much on the weather. It was the start of a Georgia fall—not freezing cold, but cool enough that Daryl couldn't say he was overheating on such a short walk around the block. If that had been the case, they might have died by now in the house that didn't even seem to have a functioning or reliable window unit.

"You don't know," Daryl said.

"I think I know enough about you," Carol said. "At least enough to say you're a gentleman. You've been kind to me. Compassionate. Helpful. You're nice to Lenora. You haven't…beaten me or…or cut my head off with an axe."

Daryl hissed at her to quieten down, not that there was anyone or anything paying them any attention except, perhaps, a few squirrels gathering what they could in hopes of making it through the winter.

She laughed. A shiver ran through Daryl, dancing up each bone of his spine.

Her laugh was fucking musical. Everything about her made him feel drunk in the best way. The way she just seemed to take all this in and hold it close to her, like snuggling up in a comfortable blanket on a cold day, was contagious.

She was afraid, and rightfully so, but she wasn't only afraid. She wasn't letting fear stop her. She wasn't even angry at the man who had cut her head off—something Daryl had never really considered before, but he figured that, if that were something you managed to come back from, it would at least piss you off a little bit. She was just doing her best to grab onto every new moment and hold onto it.

And just walking hand in hand with her, Daryl started to think about how much damn time he'd wasted, in his life, being scared enough that he didn't do things—afraid to fail and prove himself the loser that people were quick to think he was just by the name he'd been given at birth. He thought about how damn much time he'd spent being angry, even though the anger never seemed to really change much except for how he felt about things.

He didn't think, not even for a moment, that Carol didn't have fear and, perhaps, at least a little burning ember of anger down inside her, but she wasn't letting it consume her. She wasn't letting it burn her away. She'd already lost one life, so she was going to try to wring what she could out of this one—whether it lasted only a moment longer or a whole ass century.

"Your standards are desperately low," Daryl offered with a laugh. "You list those things and say that—not doin' 'em makes me a gentleman. It don't take much in your mind."

Carol hummed and shrugged. She squeezed his fingers in hers. She lifted his hand, and hers together.

"You forget," she said. "I can feel what you feel."

Daryl found himself smiling and returning the little squeeze.

"And I can feel what you feel," he said. "It's weird. Definitely somethin' to get used to."

"I like it," Carol said. "I know your intentions."

"What do you mean? Here—let's turn here. See? We'll cut the block. That way, assumin' we make it back in the house OK, we can get Lenora and go see about…you know…figurin' out what all you ought to have."

"I guess I mean…well…for instance…right now, I can feel that you're calm. Are you calm?"

Daryl laughed quietly.

"Calm as I ever am," he said.

"I can feel that, too," Carol said with a laugh. "You're a little nervous, but…it's hard to tell the difference between what's mine and what's yours."

"You right," Daryl said. "When we're sharin' the same feelings, it's hard to tell where one starts and the other one ends. They just kinda blend up together."

"I guess—my point is that I don't have to be afraid," Carol said. "At least, I don't have to be afraid of you. I can feel that…I'm safe with you."

Daryl wondered if she could feel the sensation of his heart nearly skidding to a stop in his chest, because that's what it felt like. When it started beating again, the rhythm couldn't possibly be right.

Carol stopped walking and, since Daryl kept walking, tugged back on his hand until he stopped to face her. He brought his other hand up and nipped at his cuticle.

"What is it?" Carol asked. "You're shocked…but…happy? Why?"

Daryl stared at her a moment.

"Don't know exactly how honest I wanna be with you," he said. "And I don't have but so much choice, since it would seem that we're kind of connected—even if we don't even know how much, just yet. But—I can feel you're worried, and I don't want that, neither."

Carol laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. What he could feel from her, he could also see in her eyes.

"Of course, it makes me worried when you're talking about being dishonest with me," Carol said. "I want you to be honest with me."

"What reason do you have to expect that from me?" Daryl asked, not quite knowing why frustration rose up in him as quickly as it did—like water coming to a fast boil.

Carol backed up a half a step, but she didn't let go of his hand. He shook his head.

"Sorry—didn't mean to say it that way," he apologized. "Just…this is lot for me too, you know? And I didn't read no guidebook that said I was gonna have to tell you absolutely everything I was thinking and feeling."

"You don't," Carol said. "You don't have to tell me anything, really. But—if you're my soulmate, don't you think you ought to?"

"What if it ain't real?" Daryl asked. "What if none of this is real? What if—it don't last, and you don't stay here…and we ain't soulmates…and whatever the hell this is? What if it just stops?"

Carol stared at him, wide-eyed. She didn't let go of his hand. If anything, she tightened her grip slightly, and he thought about how hot his hand was. How sweaty it was. It wasn't hot—not hot like it was in the dog days of summer—but it was hot enough that his hand was sweating, and so was hers, but she still didn't let go of his hand.

"If it doesn't last," Carol said, after a moment, "and if it isn't real…it seems to me that I've got a lot more to lose than you do by just telling me what made you happy." She laughed, quietly. "And…now sad."

Daryl swallowed. He was feeling sad. He hadn't even realized it. He'd been feeling so many things in the moment that his brain hadn't even sat down to sort them all out. But now, there it was. He was feeling said. He'd made his own damn self sad.

And knowing that she knew it, and that she acknowledged it, without looking at him like she was judging his ass for feeling sad, made Daryl's eyes prickle slightly. He felt himself tap into the feeling of anger and frustration to push it away. This time, she either didn't feel it, or she trusted him enough not to pull at his hand or put some distance between them.

Daryl felt his shoulders relax. He drew in a breath and let it out with purpose. He wanted to be calmer. The breath worked, and a second worked even better.

"Not a lot of people have ever really felt safe with me," Daryl admitted. "That's all. I'm not the kinda person that just makes people feel good—especially not random ass women."

"Why?" Carol asked.

"Because I'm Daryl fucking Dixon," Daryl said. "And I'm a son-of-a-bitch. And if you knew my name, back where I was from? You just knew that shit. You knew where I came from. You knew who I was. Who my people were. You knew I weren't worth shit. You knew you better just watch out for my ass. You knew me—right away."

Carol smiled at him, but her brow was furrowed, and the smile she gave him wasn't one of humor. It was one of care—the genuine kind, not the over-the-top artificial bullshit pity kind that made his blood boil.

Carol's care made his eyes prickle, and his throat ache, and it made him want to tell her not to look at him like that—except he didn't mean it at all.

"Are you from here?" Carol asked.

"You know I ain't," he said. "Bought the house. Moved out here. Wanted a new life."

"So, nobody here knows you," Carol said. "Nobody knows that they're supposed to think all those things about you. Right? You can just…have that new life." She shrugged her shoulders and her smile grew slightly, but he saw the twitch of her cheeks. He saw the flare of her nostrils. He saw when the sunlight hit her eyes.

Whether it was her feeling alone, or her response to his, he knew that her eyes prickled, too.

"We can both have that new life," Carol said, practically breathing the words out.

Daryl reached in his back pocket. He found the handkerchief he carried there. He always had one tucked in a pocket to clean his hands when a job got messy or to wipe his face when a job got too hot. The only way he'd ever really put any money in his pocket was being a handyman. He was a jack-of-all-trades. And even though the people that hired him for shit didn't really like him or trust him—as was usually evidenced by the awkward silence and the uncomfortable way they watched him when he was near their stuff like he might just grab their television set on the way out the door from fixing their leaky ass sink—he'd always made enough to get by and put some away for a rainy day…or the need to buy a haunted old house in a small ass town.

"This don't look clean," he said, offering the handkerchief over to Carol, "but this one is. Promise. I put it in there fresh this morning."

She took it, smiled at it, and then thanked him as she dabbed at her eyes.

"I don't know who you were, Daryl," Carol said. "But I know who you are now. I can feel you…remember?"

Daryl smiled at her.

"I don't know who the hell you are, either," he said. "Don't know your ass from Adam." He laughed quietly. "Figure of speech," he offered, when she made a face. "But—you know what?"

"What?" Carol asked.

"I'm lookin' forward to findin' out who the hell you become, Carol," Daryl said. "And—I mean that."

She laughed and nodded her head.

"Me, too," she said. "I'm looking forward to finding who you become. And, now that you mention it, who I become, too."

Daryl scratched at his neck where some asshole mosquito bit him.

"Guess we got a lot of shit ahead of us," he said.

"If it lasts," Carol said with a shrug. She laughed at her own poor joke. "I hope it does," she said sincerely.

"Yeah," Daryl said, his stomach aching with the word. "I hope it lasts, too."

"We better not waste any time," Carol said. "Just in case it's temporary."

"Wise damn words," Daryl said. He tugged at the hand that he'd never released. "Come on. Let's go see if Lenora's ready. I think you're pretty safe outside the house. Let's go see about getting you what'cha need."

Carol didn't complain. She didn't hesitate. She simply started walking again, as relaxed as she had been before, beside Daryl. He couldn't help but smile to himself as they walked, squeezing her fingers at intervals.