AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Carol served them both slices pizza on paper plates, arranged other assorted snacks on the table, and served soda while Daryl rolled through the channels on the television in search of one that would offer what he deemed a perfect movie for the evening.
Carol wanted to see something that Daryl liked—one of the types of movies that he'd choose if he were just lounging around at home, looking for something to watch. She wanted to experience something he enjoyed, and he liked the sentiment of that idea. While he was selecting the movie, it made him realize why she seemed so pleased that he was reading her books.
It was an easy way to say something about yourself without being forced to find any words that may be difficult to find.
They'd missed the first fifteen or so minutes of the movie that Daryl chose, but he promised Carol that wasn't a problem and explained to her what they'd missed as he figured it out. These movies were predictable, and that was one of the things that, maybe, he liked best about them.
"There's no worryin'," Daryl explained with a shrug. "You know shit's just gonna work out. Don't matter how bad it seems or—even if you think that there's no way they're gonna get there. They always get there. The shit always works out. You know, from the very beginning, that the endings gonna be good, so you can just…relax."
Carol had eased over closer to him. She was making her way, slowly, always checking his expression to see what he might say or how he might respond.
She was giving him permission to decide how angry he was with her for the truth that she'd told him.
Daryl had already made up his mind, though, not to be angry at all. The way he saw it, Carol had told him the truth—and it hadn't been an easy truth for her to tell—about her feelings and her perceptions, or misperceptions, as the case may be. She'd given him a piece of her life, and she'd shared how something in her past stayed with her and changed her perspective. She'd admitted fear to him. And she'd made it clear that someone's reactions—namely Ed's—had shaped how she responded to certain things.
She had apologized for any hurt her knee-jerk reaction might cause Daryl, and Daryl had accepted her apology—not that it was truly needed. She didn't have to apologize to him for having feelings or concerns.
Now the ball was in Daryl's court. Carol's ex-husband, Ed, had taught her that the only reactions to her truth were negative reactions. He'd taught her to expect anger and violence. It was Daryl's turn, now, to teach her how he reacted to her truth.
If he wanted to be immature about it, he could pout because the thought that she might see him as a monster, like Ed, stung. He could sulk and scowl and force her to apologize over and over again for something she couldn't change and couldn't take back anymore than she already had. He could rage or, even being quiet about things, he could leave to make sure she knew that he didn't appreciate her body's response to situations that reminded her of situations in her past.
But if he did any of those things, ultimately, he was teaching her that his response to her truth—and to any possible misstep she might make, even if it was one that caused him no true injury and for which she'd sincerely apologized—was negative. He was teaching her that, in some way, he would punish her for her truth.
If he did that, he couldn't really close his eyes at night and believe himself any better than Ed Peletier just because his punishment took a different shape.
What good would it do him to punish her if that wasn't what he wanted or felt?
Once their hands were free from pizza plates, Daryl had dropped an arm around her, and he'd invited her to lean against him. She'd come, willingly, and snuggled against him. He'd closed his eyes, for a moment, at the sensation of her affectionately brushing her face against his chest.
"I like that," Carol said. "I like happy endings."
"Me, too," Daryl agreed. "Hell—there's enough bullshit in life. I don't wanna sit my ass down to watch more of it."
Carol laughed quietly and snuggled into him a bit more. He felt a shiver run up the length of his spine at the feeling of comfort that it brought him—a feeling of peace washed over him.
They watched most of the movie in silence—the kind of silence that Daryl found relaxing, and not the angry silence with which he could have punished Carol if he'd been so inclined. They'd shared snacks, quietly offering each other this kind of candy or that one, or kernels from a bowl of popcorn that Carol popped while pacing back and forth during commercials.
"Well?" Daryl asked, when the movie was over.
Carol sat up from her position—she'd been curled against him, sliding a little further down with the passing of time.
"I liked it," Carol said. "I like those kinds of movies. They're…"
"Warm," Daryl offered.
Carol smiled.
"They're warm," she agreed. "They make you feel warm. And happy."
"That's one thing I like about 'em," Daryl said.
"What else do you like about them?" Carol asked. "The happy endings. The warmth."
"I like that they always end with love," Daryl said.
"Of course," Carol said. "That's one of the most important things. And it's part of what makes them happy."
"I like that you can just—breathe while you watch it," Daryl said. "I never liked scary movies or shit like that where you couldn't breathe."
"Predictability is relaxing," Carol confirmed.
"At least the good kind," Daryl agreed.
"Your movies are the same genre as my books," Carol said. "We have that in common."
"They're a little different, though," Daryl said. "At least—the ones I've read so far. I admit that I got a ways to go before I can call myself an expert."
"How are they different?" Carol asked, reaching for the bowl of popcorn. She offered it to Daryl, but he waved it away. Instead, he reached for the candy that he'd been eyeing for the past hour—not wanting to sit up to get it out of fear that Carol, once disturbed, might not come back to find that one perfect spot she seemed to have found against his body.
"You're serious, you want my opinion?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"I'm serious," she assured him. "I want your opinion. Analyze the differences between the romance novels and the romantic movies." She winked at him with a smile. "Talk nerdy to me."
Daryl couldn't help but laugh to himself. He felt his face grow warm, but he ignored the rising heat. He cleared his throat.
"All right," he agreed. "One of the biggest differences I see is that your books got some kind of adventure that's happenin'. My movies don't."
"There's an adventure in the movie," Carol said.
"Madison helpin' save her grandparents' small town bakery ain't the same kinda adventure as Maureen headin' off to Scotland on some kinda find herself vacation after her whole life falls apart," Daryl argued.
Carol laughed.
"OK—maybe they're a little bit different, but that's just one example," Carol said.
"I ain't read but two books, Carol," Daryl said, forcing playful irritation behind his words. "And the other book was like the wild west and that's like adventure all in itself…like survival against all odds."
"Madison was fighting for the survival of the bakery and her grandparents' legacy," Carol argued, a smirk on her face as she ate popcorn, one kernel at a time, nipping off pieces of each kernel instead of eating the whole thing in one bite.
"You ain't really gonna sit here and think that holds water," Daryl said.
"OK," Carol said. "OK. I'll give you the point. There's a bit more adventure in my books. But that's not all of them. I mean there are a few where it's more like the movie. Some small-town type books are in there. You just haven't gotten there yet."
"Yours are goin' off to find adventure," Daryl said. "Mine are—comin' home." Carol's smile was soft and faint. "What? Are you laughin' at me?" Her smile grew.
"I think we're both laughing at each other a little bit," Carol said. "Don't you think? Good laughter. And—to tell you the truth, I'm enjoying it."
Daryl smiled to himself. His heart drummed oddly out of its natural rhythm like it liked the sound of that.
"Me too," Daryl said. "To tell you the truth."
"Home is—very important to you," Carol said.
Daryl felt his chest flood and tighten. He felt his face flood and run warm. His breathing changed, almost instantly and without warning. He nodded, though. If he chickened out on her, how could he expect her to say things to him, in the future, that were hard to say?
"It's what I want more'n anything," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "A home full of—full of love like that. It's nice to see it in the movies. Makes it seem like—even if it doesn't exist? It could."
"You have a home, though," Carol said.
"Not that kinda home," Daryl said.
"You want the whole thing," Carol said. Daryl nodded. "The home. The…family."
"All that. And the predictability. The good kind. The happy endings." Daryl said. "Do you want the adventure? You think that's why you like the books?"
Carol licked some popcorn crumbs off her lips before raising the next kernel to nibble all the jutting pieces off of it.
"I like the home, too. Don't get me wrong. I like the idea of some adventure, maybe,too," Carol said. "The furthest I've gone in my life is Living Springs. At least—in my adult life. That I can remember. I vaguely remember going to the beach a few times as a little girl—a very little girl. But Ed never wanted to go anywhere on vacation. People are too nosy when you're on vacation." She laughed to herself. "Once I got divorced, I stayed busy with the café. Getting it off the ground. I got kind of stuck in a rut, maybe. Maybe I still am. Yeah—I guess…I'd like some of the adventure. I mean, I don't need to go all the way to Scotland, but it would be nice to pack a suitcase."
"I don't hate the idea of adventure or vacation," Daryl offered. "It's just—I like the idea of comin' home, too."
"Especially to that kind of home," Carol said. Daryl nodded his head. She didn't look too disapproving, though, so she wasn't judging him too harshly for his attachment to the idea of the warm and happy home that they'd see at the end of the movie when Madison, taking over her grandparents' bakery so that they could retire in peace and happiness, had married her high school sweetheart, Matt, and started a life together in the little farmhouse that appeared to be only a few feet away from the orchards where the fruit for her pies and pastries grew in abundance. "Are there other differences? Between the books and movies?"
"One big one," Daryl said.
"Which is?" Carol asked.
Daryl felt his face get warm again, but he was growing used to the sensation and it was easier to ignore—it also felt like the heat passed quickly. Maybe his body was recognizing that Carol, though she was paying him very close attention, wasn't teasing him mercilessly for his thoughts on the genres they were discussing.
"Sex," Daryl said. "Now—you know good as I do that men have a reputation. And I'ma be the first to admit that some men live up to that reputation more'n others do, but we have a universal reputation for bein' some kinda hounds that are always sniffin' around and tryin' to scare up pussy wherever we can."
Carol laughed at his words and her whole face blushed red. Daryl's stomach caught and clenched. It immediately reminded him of their earlier discussion—something he'd very nearly forgotten about with the progression of the evening. For a moment, he wondered if he should have thought before he'd spoken and avoided the conversation entirely. Carol didn't object, though, and her expression didn't indicate that he'd done anything genuinely wrong.
She cleared her throat and washed down her popcorn bits with some of her soda. When she sat back on the couch, still facing him, she stretched and rested her legs across his lap. He caught her expression—mostly around her eyes. She asked him if it was OK without ever opening her mouth. He responded by dropping his hands to her legs to squeeze the muscles gently. She relaxed, letting go of the tension that had kept her back somewhat straight for a moment. Daryl dared to work his hands further down, catching her bare feet to massage them, and she didn't protest.
"I'll agree," Carol said. "It's a reputation that men have."
"But it's a stereotype," Daryl said. "We don't all live up to it. We're not all guilty of bein' sex-sniffin' hound dogs."
Carol tipped her head to the side like she was considering it. She hummed at him and smiled softly.
"I'll cede that some of you are innocent."
Daryl's chest tightened. He cleared his throat to try to loosen the muscles in his chest.
"But your books? They're way on heavier on the sex than my movies. There were—shit, I can't even remember all of the stuff that was written, but…there were a lot of lusty looks, heavings, and throbbings, and all that going on in Scotland."
Carol's cheeks ran pink.
"I told you…some of them are…"
"Cheesy porn," Daryl supplied. He laughed to himself. "And I believe you."
"You don't have to read them," Carol said.
"I don't mind it," Daryl said. "I'm just sayin'—after readin' that, I don't even know where women got the idea that it's just men."
"It's not just men," Carol ceded. "You're right about that."
"You just like your cheesy porn written out for you," Daryl said with a snort. "There weren't a single bit of sex in my movie."
"OK—but you know they were having sex," Carol said.
"Didn't say you didn't," Daryl said. "Hell—they had a baby in that last little shot of them walkin' through the orchard. They either had sex to get it or…they adopted it."
"And that night on the porch," Carol said. "It might've just gone to the next day, but you know what that moment insinuated."
"Insinuated," Daryl agreed. "But it weren't some lusty ecstasy by the seaside or somethin' like that."
Carol laughed to herself.
"It's romantic," she said.
"Sex on the beach is romantic?" Daryl asked. "With the way sand sticks to everything that's even the slightest bit wet, Carol?"
"In a book it is," Carol said. "Where the sand is imaginary and there are no tourists. It's fantasy. Adventure—something different." She sucked in a breath and let it out. Daryl didn't mind the sound because it was the relaxed kind of sigh and not the stressed kind. He continued to work the muscles in her feet, happy to have an excuse to touch her and to have something to do with his hands all at once. "You want to know the truth?"
"I swear to you that I ain't never gonna want to know another damn thing, except the truth," Daryl said. "And that's the truth."
Carol laughed quietly to herself.
"First—I don't just read the books for the cheesy porn, that's just part of the book. But, secondly? I started reading those books a long time ago, and I think I liked it because everyone always seemed to be enjoying the sex. It was good sex. You know? They really—liked each other. They wanted to be with each other. They're enjoying being with each other."
"It was a vacation," Daryl offered. "In more ways than one."
Carol smiled to herself and nodded.
"I guess you could say that," she said. "About this weekend…"
"You don't gotta apologize no more," Daryl assured her quickly. "I mean it. It's done. It's—water under the bridge. No harm, no foul. There's no damage done to anybody, OK? I just don't want you to get stuck thinking you've got to apologize over and over again."
She laughed to herself.
"I appreciate you saving me from myself," she said. "Because I was going to apologize again. But—I was also going to say that—I really enjoyed…everything. I enjoyed being with you." She raised her eyebrows at him. "Both times. And just because I needed some time to get used to things, and just because I…got scared of old patterns? Daryl—I don't want you think that means that I didn't enjoy the rest of it. Because I did. And…" she broke off, laughing quietly to herself, "that's the truth."
Daryl's heart picked up. It beat rapidly at the reassurance that, even if she'd had a moment of fear and concern, she'd truly enjoyed the rest of the weekend. He kept his hands busy with her feet, but then he stopped and patted her leg.
"I liked it, too," Daryl said. "A lot."
Carol smiled at him.
"Maybe we can do it again sometime?"
Daryl squeezed her muscle and nodded.
"I'ma tell you what," he said. "I'ma leave that box here. You keep it. Hold onto it. There ain't no rush. Whenever you're ready to use it again—really ready, and not just thinkin' I might be ready—you let me know."
"Are you saying you want me to—ask you for sex?" Carol asked, blushing at the thought.
Daryl nodded, his stomach tightening.
"That's exactly what I'm sayin'," Daryl said. "And you can't ask me tonight. At the earliest? You gotta wait until next time I see you. Because I'ma go ahead and tell you that—I'ma say no tonight. And I might say no then, too."
"Because you're upset about what happened?" Carol asked.
Daryl shook his head.
"Because—I just don't wanna have sex tonight," Daryl said. "And—I got the right to say no if that's what I'm thinkin', don't I?"
Carol smiled to herself. She nodded.
"You do," she said. "When's the next time I see you? Just—so I know."
Daryl licked his lips.
"A little bird told me there's a restaurant you might like—it's about an hour and a half from here. We could do that on Friday, if you want. Since we might get back late."
"Is the little bird named Andrea?" Carol asked. Daryl's heart nearly stopped in his chest. Carol smiled. "She told me she swore you to secrecy until she talked to me."
"That OK?" Daryl asked.
Carol nodded her head.
"I think that's fine," Carol said. "But—I hope your brother's kind to her. She's my oldest friend, Daryl. She's been seeing Shane Walsh on and off for years and—he's a real asshole. She deserves better than that."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"I don't know what Merle's got to offer her," Daryl admitted. "But—maybe one kind of asshole is better than another. If it makes you feel any better, she seems to like him."
Carol nodded her head as if to say that it did make her feel at least a little better.
"So—I won't see you until Friday?" She asked.
Daryl felt struck for a second. Then the feeling of surprise turned into a warmth that spread through his chest. He thought he was making it up, at first. He thought it couldn't be real. Finally, though, he'd settled on the fact that his senses weren't lying to him. There was genuine disappointment in Carol's tone and on her features.
"You wanna see me before Friday?" Daryl asked.
"I mean—it's kind of a long time," Carol said. "Don't you think? Do you—think?"
Daryl's heart beat wildly and his breath involuntarily came in smaller, quicker breaths. She was absolutely disappointed, and it was an unexpected reaction.
"It is kind of a while," Daryl said, not wanting to sound too anxious. His hands were still resting loosely on her calf. He wondered if she could feel the slight tremor that he was sure was running through them. "Maybe we could—think of somethin' else before then. You could think about…somethin' you might like."
"You know I don't like to pick that kind of thing," Carol said.
Daryl laughed to himself. He had a feeling that, honestly, there was another part of her life there—behind that statement—that he would eventually uncover in all its glory. Tonight, though, wasn't the night. Tonight, she'd already shared her truth, and he wasn't going to force her into sharing more. He knew how exhausting it could be, sometimes, to share even a little piece.
"You right," Daryl said. "Maybe I could think of somethin' then, that you liked, too. That suit you?"
"I'd like that," Carol confirmed. "I know you said—that you'd absolutely say no to sex tonight..."
"I meant that," Daryl offered interrupting her before she could say anything else. Carol laughed to herself.
"I know. But—would you say no to…turning some of these candies into sundaes or making floats with the soda? I bought some vanilla ice cream when I was buying all this junk food."
Daryl smiled to himself.
"Are you invitin' me to dessert—ice cream, no less, this late in the evening?" He asked.
"Is it too late?"
Daryl laughed to himself.
"No," he assured her. "It ain't too late. Not for me."
