AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

Because I know that people sometimes have random squicks, and because most of y'all know that I don't back away from subjects that some people sometimes consider "awkward," I'll tell you that there's some discussion of period sex in this chapter. Nothing graphic, but if that's something that freaks you out that people would even consider such a thing while in a relationship, then you will want to tread carefully in the second section.

Also, I posted another chapter earlier today. If you haven't read it, please make sure you read it. (And consider showing me some love, because it's always appreciated to keep the muse cooperating!)

I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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"You don't have to wait," Carol assured him. "I can catch a ride with Jacqui and T. They'll drop me off."

She was tipsy. Daryl could tell it in the way she held herself. The slightly sleepy and relaxed nature that surrounded her told him what he needed to know. She wasn't drunk—not by any means—but she was definitely tipsy.

"I'm waitin'," Daryl told her again, this time putting a bit more sternness behind his words so that she would stop trying to argue with him. "I'd help if you let me."

"It won't take that long," Carol said, shaking her head. "Not with Andrea helping, too. Just—relax. If you're sure you won't go home."

"I'll be right here," he offered.

Merle wasn't leaving either. Everyone else had gone. Carol and Jacqui were insisting that nobody could help clean up—especially Alice and Sadie. They'd practically banished the two women to other parts of the house so that every move they made wouldn't be interpreted as trying to help. The leftovers were being put away for them to eat later, and the dishes were being cleaned up and packed away in T and Jacqui's car, where they would drop them by the café.

The man, T, who also liked to be called "T-Dog," was focused on carrying things out to the car whenever they let him get his hands on things—a clear move to get his wife to go home with him as quickly as possible, as far as Daryl understood it—and was almost taking dishes out, one item at a time, to speed things alone.

Outside, Daryl sat down on the porch swing next to his brother. He bummed one of Merle's cigarettes—too lazy to fish his own pack from his pocket—and Merle offered him a lighter.

"Andrea tell you that you could go home?"

Merle hummed.

"Catch is, if I go home, I'm goin' to our house," Merle said. "There ain't a lick of pussy at our house," he finished with a snort.

"I can see why your ass is avoidin' it. Still—ain't like you to wait on a woman, Merle."

Merle grunted at him. Daryl smiled to himself.

Merle had been on his best behavior—though there was a certain margin of expectation when it came to Merle's behavior versus, perhaps, the behavior of any truly civilized soul. Daryl had watched him, interested to see Merle in something of a truly foreign habitat.

Daryl's brother, who would sometimes wax poetic about not letting any woman get close enough to even inconvenience him, had certainly not pushed off the blonde that had, more than once, casually threaded her arm through his and, a few times, even, had hugged his arm tightly and stood with her head against him.

Merle had brought her drinks, and snacks, and, once, Daryl had caught him coaxing her to take some kind of rolled up dessert item from his hands. She had taken it, too, following his urging, and Daryl hadn't missed the smile that had flitted across Merle's lips—wiped away after only a second—at successfully convincing Andrea to literally eat from his hands.

He wasn't ready to admit, though, what he was trying to ignore—and what he seemed to believe that nobody else could see. And Andrea, for her part, didn't seem to be pushing him. She seemed content to live in the quiet little cloudy space that he'd made for their relationship—some kind of realm where it was there, when he wanted it, but ceased to exist when he needed or wanted to look away.

"Good pussy," Merle grumbled.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Long as that's all it is, right?" He mused.

"What about you?" Merle asked. "From where I'm sittin', you out here waitin' too."

"I ain't waitin' on just the pussy, Merle," Daryl offered.

"I reckon I know you ain't," Merle said.

"I reckon I know you ain't, either," Daryl challenged.

Merle snorted at him, but he didn't deny it.

"I ain't criticizing, brother, but…your woman's a lil' bit on the thin side," Merle said. "Skinny, really."

"Asshole ex got her real hung up on weight," Daryl offered. "But she's gettin' better about it. Don't stress near as much as she did in the beginning."

"You know my theory—if she don't like to eat good, she ain't gonna fuck good. All comes down to enjoyin' the pleasures of the body."

"Andrea ain't exactly overflowin' her clothes," Daryl offered.

Merle laughed to himself.

"Asshole exes and all," he muttered. "If you heard her talk, you'd think that we was in the business of lookin' to reinforce the damn bed frame just to hold her ass. Still—what she's got, she knows how to store in all the right places. Like you say, she's loosenin' up a little."

"My point is that—maybe your theory ain't right," Daryl said.

"Andrea don't eat enough, maybe, because she's scared of it," Merle said. "But when she does eat? She gets all into it. Same as she does with everything else."

"Carol loves food," Daryl offered. "When she eats it." He left it at that. It was enough for Merle to understand his point.

"She's a pretty lil' thing," Merle offered.

"She is," Daryl agreed.

"Pretty eyes."

"Real pretty."

"I can see why you'd like her," Merle said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You ain't been around her but an evening," he said. "You can't even see the half of it."

"When you givin' her the box?" Merle asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Ain't done," he said.

"The hell you got left to do?" Merle asked. "You ain't hardly done shit else except work an' go to her house when she calls. All your other time's been spent with that box."

"Gotta stain it," Daryl said. "Get the hardware on it. Maybe this weekend if I can get it done."

Merle laughed quietly.

"Scared to do it?"

"Damn near gives me the shits to think about it," Daryl admitted.

Merle slapped him on the back and squeezed the back of his neck roughly—one of the few signs of affection that Merle allowed himself, and those were only doled out on occasion.

"She's gonna like your box, brother," Merle offered. "Hell—prob'ly gonna throw her box at'cha in response."

The comment, at least, untangled some of Daryl's worry.

"You're a pig, Merle."

"I know," Merle said. "But your ass'd be surprised at how fuckin' popular bacon is, brother."

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Carol stood holding Daryl's hand between both of her own. He moved in to kiss her again and boldly swung his free hand closer—allowing it to brush against her. She swallowed back her smile so as to not break the kiss, but she knew that he knew exactly what he was doing. Brushing against her dress, he let his fingers find the juncture between her legs as they kissed. He swept his fingers quickly, back and forth, against her—just enough to rub her and tease her through everything that separated him from her clit.

She moaned when he found the perfect spot, and she swayed forward, silently requesting a touch more pressure and attention. He obliged, but pulled away too soon.

He smiled at her in the light of her front porch.

"Asshole," she said. His smile only grew.

"What?" He asked, poorly feigning innocence.

"You can't just do that," she said.

"I didn't do anything," he said.

"How'd you like it if I did that to you?" She challenged.

"Do what?"

"Touch you like that," Carol said. "Just—touch you and try to…leave you on go."

He shook his head at her.

"You don't even have to touch me to leave me on go," he said. "I'm hard any time I'm around you. I'm hard right now."

Carol's face ran warm. Her whole body was hot. She could have easily convinced herself that it was the dead of summer—noon even—for the heat she felt radiating through her body. The slight chill around them couldn't even begin to penetrate the feeling that boiled up inside of her at the moment.

Ed had never made her feel this way. Not even when she was young. Not even when the relationship was new. Not even when she still loved him and he hadn't hurt her yet.

She'd heard women talk about being hot for men before—or for women, in the case of her friends who were so inclined—but she'd never actually felt that sensation. She'd figured it was a nothing more than a turn of a phrase or a figure of speech. She was hot for Daryl, though. She would actually sweat—as unladylike, perhaps, as that might be—from little more than her desire to be with him, and her body would be soaked and slick after their efforts to satiate each other's desires.

There was an almost painful throbbing between her legs, where his fingers had teasingly brushed her.

"Asshole," Carol teased. "You are not."

"Mmm…" He hummed, moving in to kiss her again. As soon as she brought her lips to his, he took her hand, pulling one free from the hand she was holding, and moved it against the obvious bulge in his pants. "I'm always hard for you," he whispered.

She gasped into his mouth, almost sure that she could spontaneously combust—or that he might see steam rising off of her in the light of the front porch light.

"Unlock the door," Daryl offered. "Before your neighbors call the cops on us or somethin'."

Carol laughed to herself, thankful for the teasing. She kept holding his hand tight with the one that he hadn't pulled away. Realization and reality flooded her mind with a heavy sinking sadness.

"I can't," she said.

"Lost your keys?" Daryl asked.

"I mean—I can't do anything," Carol said. "I can't—invite you in, Daryl."

Daryl frowned at her.

"Merle say some shit to you?"

"What?"

"The hell'd he say?" Daryl asked.

"What are you talking about?"

Daryl pulled his hand away and, when Carol held tight to it, her stomach knotting with concern and confusion, he pried his fingers out of hers.

"Are you serious? Just like that? You're fuckin' with me one minute and—what? Breakin' up with me the next?"

Carol heard the sharpness in his voice—the hardness. The pain. She heard his voice quiver, slightly, as he forced a bit more strength into his words. The sound, alone, tore at her chest and closed up her throat.

"What? No!" She spat, choking on the words as her throat constricted. "No…no…" she stammered, reaching for him again.

He let himself be caught, and Carol wrapped her arms around him. Suddenly, her heart was pounding in that way that followed fear—absolute, real fear. For one brief second, she'd lost him—was losing him—and it had instantly created a truly profound feeling of loss, sadness, and emptiness. That realization, slowly seeping over her, was frightening in itself.

Carol only realized her face was damp when Daryl wiped his hand across it.

"I don't understand what the hell is goin' on," Daryl said. "I'm confused as hell. You just told me you don't want me here."

"I said I couldn't invite you in," Carol said.

"That don't make no sense," Daryl said. "Unless you're tryin' to break up with me or something."

"Why would I do that?" Carol asked.

"Why the hell would you tell me you can't invite me in—like I never been here before. Like you're sayin' I'm not welcome here. I can practically hear some shit like—I like you, but not like that or it's not you, it's me."

Carol frowned at him. His hurt was painful to her, and it was plainly on the surface. She hadn't seen it much before. She hadn't paid it enough attention. She reached her hand up and touched his cheek.

"I like you like that," she offered. "And—there's nothing wrong with you, though…I'm sure there's plenty wrong with me."

For the moment, he didn't negate what she said. He looked at her with sadness in his eyes and a hard crease between his brows—the kind that seemed put on like he was building a wall between them.

He was protecting himself from her.

She never wanted him to have to protect himself from her.

"I only meant, Daryl, that…I can't have sex with you tonight."

His whole body relaxed so instantly that he almost looked, for just a brief second, like he might melt into a puddle right there on the porch.

"That's it?" He asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I just told you that—I'm not having sex with you tonight," she said. "And it doesn't bother you at all?"

"I mean if you're askin' me if I'd rather have sex with you or not have sex with you, then I guess the answer is I'd rather have sex with you," Daryl said. "But in the grand scheme of things, it don't matter like—me thinkin' you're about to tell me to fuck off."

"For the record," Carol said, still feeling a little tense from the lingering effects of the hardness that Daryl seemed able to wrap around himself as protection, "I've never thought of telling you to fuck off."

"You just—tired…or…'cause it's Wednesday?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled at his sincerity, and the change that took place as his features fully softened to her again.

"You really want to know the truth?" She asked. "Even if—it messes up your image of me or whatever?"

Daryl laughed to himself, a little nervously.

"You makin' human sacrifices on account of the moon or some shit like that?" He asked.

Carol was amused—mostly because he didn't exactly sound like that was a complete deal breaker for him.

"It's got to do with the moon, maybe," Carol said. "But no human sacrifices. I'm on my period, Daryl. It started this morning."

"Oh," Daryl said. "And I guess—you don't feel like it when you're…doin' that? Makes you like—not horny?"

"Oh—it makes me a different level of horny entirely, Carol said with a laugh.

"Then—why the hell we discussin' it?"

"Because you'd be—disgusted," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Carol—I ain't gonna push. I'ma respect whatever the hell you want. But—I been guttin' deer since I was able to stay on my feet and not just fall the fuck in their bellies. The last damn thing I am is squeamish about a little blood. Besides—it's natural, ain't it? I mean—just what the hell happens."

"You've done it before?" Carol asked. "With some woman?"

"No," Daryl said.

"Then how do you know it doesn't bother you?"

"Because—nothin' about you bothers me," Daryl said. "Look—last damn thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. And—it's kinda late. So—I'ma go home. OK? You don't gotta worry about it no more. You just—tell me when you want me to come back."

Daryl touched her face. He slipped his fingers under her chin. She closed her eyes as his lips touched hers. Immediately, her body lit up—the fire inside her instantly ignited again. The kiss was soft, and sweet, and hungry all at the same time.

And Carol's chest ached at the thought that, as soon as s the kiss broke, Daryl was going home.

She loved her home. She loved her solitude. She had made a place where she was happy.

But, suddenly, she ached to think of him leaving.

She caught his hand when he pulled out of the kiss.

"Please don't go. Stay?" She said, surprising herself at how desperate the words sounded as they escaped her.

He smiled to himself.

"Nowhere I'd rather be," he offered.