Author's note: I agonized over this chapter, rewriting multiple parts several times because the emotional tone kept shifting. I think it's in a good spot, gearing up for what's about to happen in the final few chapters.

I don't own these characters or TWD

The vibes for this chapter are inspired by a few songs, but the one that really stuck in my head while writing was "Barcarola (You Must Be a Christmas Tree) by Sufjan Stevens.

Barcarola (You Must Be a Christmas Tree)

A day later, he was up and moving around a little better on his own, and Carol declared his fever finally broken. His cough is lingering but getting better. He'd opted to try showering himself. It was taking all of his energy, but he'd relished the feeling of warm water cascading freely down his back, his arms braced against the shower wall. His chest felt lighter, and his mind became less hazy as she'd weened him off of the cough syrup.

He lifted his head at her gentle rapping on the door as she opened it, "You okay? You need anything?" She called to him softly.

"I'm okay," he called back, his voice clearer- stronger- than it had been in days.

"Take as long as you need. The steam'll loosen up your chest. Fresh warm towels on the sink for you," the door clicked closed behind Carol before he could reply.

He relaxed his shoulders and rubbed his face. He reached for the bar of soap and began scrubbing. He had been thinking over their conversation about the dreams and timelines. The dreams, while some were fantasy and flashes of a future, also revolved around his past with her. This morning, he'd revisited their journey through Atlanta to find Beth. This time, though, it was Carol that had been blasted through the skull. That was why she'd woken him as he whimpered pathetically on the couch, his heart and mind reeling at the hopelessness of it all. It was also the moment he'd pulled her into him desperately, eyes meeting in panic, her soothing whispers and soft touches against his rough hands grasping around her body.

He hadn't planned it. Had only dreamed of it thousands of times before. But in that moment, in the dark of the living room, he'd wanted nothing more than to bridge the miles between their hearts and touch his lips to hers. So he did. A whisper-soft touch of their souls before parting in surprise, both eyes wide in shock. He'd felt her tense, so many questions in her eyes, but the only words that left her lips were, "You were having a bad dream."

"Sorry," he mumbled, an apology for the kiss and waking her. "Still half asleep, I think." He watched the disappointment flicker in her eyes.

She cleared her throat, breaking the tension, "Your fever-" she brought her hand up then, "Seems like it's broken," she sighed in relief, "That's- that's good," she fidgeted with her hands, she was still kneeling in front of him. She shook her head, standing, pushing away some dark thought before hurrying toward the hallway bathroom.

"Time is it?" he called after her.

"Very early. The power is out; battery must've timed out. I'll check the solar panels shortly." The bathroom door shut abruptly, leaving him to spiral in his thoughts.

When she'd returned later, composed and refreshed, she made herself busy in the kitchen, avoiding his glances and only replying to him matter-of-factly. Not the way he'd wanted their first kiss to happen. And now, under the spray of the water, he recognized how he'd fucked things up. The pipes in the wall groaned with him as he turned the shower head off. He wiped the wet tendrils of hair from his eyes as the water gushed from the tub faucet, swirling around his feet down the drain, and slid open the shower door. His body felt tired again, and he was suddenly aware that his stamina for any activity was extremely low. He stepped out onto the towel she had laid across the floor for him and noted the heat had returned. He toweled off slowly and took a seat on the toilet to catch his breath a little.

After a modest break from standing, he grunted and returned to the sink, his body still aching from illness and disuse. He wiped down the mirror with a hand towel and stared at his reflection. His eyes were drawn and tired, his beard looking a little gray. He sighed as he heard Merle's voice pop into his head, 'That mouse is gonna think you don't want her.' "Shut up," he gave himself a cold hard stare. "Want her just fine," he growled. 'Looked mighty disappointed this mornin'; can't even live up to the Dixon name.' He shook off the voice, growling even louder, "Ain't even no name to live up to, dumb ass."

Her gentle knock on the door startled him from the conversation in his head.

"Daryl?"

"What?" he said a little too sharply. He winced, "Fuck," he mumbled.

The door opened abruptly, her eyes frantic and worried, "Are you okay? I heard-" she paused then, her hand absentmindedly released the doorknob, letting it fall fully open. Daryl saw her widened eyes, her mouth agape as her gaze followed the droplets of moisture falling down his chest. He stood there frozen. Carol shook her head, closed her eyes, and stumbled over her words, "I'm sorry- I was just worried because I heard you-"

"I'm good," he cut her off, crossing his arms and leaning his hip into the counter. His face was no longer flush with fever but embarrassment.

"I'll just-" she waved behind her and closed the door. "Power's back on," she called awkwardly.

Daryl sagged over the sink and took a few deep breaths to gather himself. A pleased feeling had bloomed in his chest at the idea he'd made her flustered. He opened the cabinet over the sink and looked at the remaining toiletries. Toothpaste, shaving cream, and a pink razor. He shrugged and got to work on himself.

Carol sat on the windowsill in the attic, looking out over the north side of the acreage. The sun was hitching toward mid-afternoon, and Daryl was down on the first floor of the house, taking a shower. She could see for miles from her view as she pondered that curious kiss. Her fingertips drifted up to touch where they'd met in the dark. She reveled in the feeling of the featherlight pressure of his lips against hers all these hours later. 'Too bad it had been the last dregs of a nightmare for him,' she thought. They'd been dancing around one another all morning after 'the incident' (as she'd decided to refer to it.)

She'd done her best to keep busy with chores- especially due to the power outage. After inspecting the panels, she found that the wiring to the DC converter had failed, leaving the house on the battery, which was only designed to last for ten hours. It had been a simple fix: a little electrical tape around the frayed wires and shoving it back into its socket. Voila! Power had been restored. So now, with nothing else to do, she sat staring into the wide open sky and hoping maybe, while he'd brushed it off as a dream, she hadn't imagined the desire in his eyes.

She gave an exasperated sigh and wiped her hands on her jeans. "That's enough pining for one lifetime, Carol," she chided. She pulled her legs back through the window and closed it, taking a moment to stare around the attic at the labeled boxes. She smirked at a few labeled ROMANCE NOVELS in big, bold black marker and decided to investigate. "It couldn't hurt," she mumbled as she flipped open and rummaged through one of the boxes. She pulled out a book from the 'Denim Dreams' series and giggled. "We'll save that for later," she shoved it into her coat pocket.

She picked up another book, the cover adorned by a man and woman in some kind of Amish or pioneer clothing, caught up in a passionate embrace. She blushed at the title, The Widow and the Huntsman. She turned the book over giving the back cover a glance.

"When Caroline Spencer is widowed on the wild plains of Missouri, she finds herself falling into the arms of a rugged survivalist and fur trader, Dirk Jacobson, who is as untamed as the land. A bond formed out of necessity to survive the harsh winter of the prairie stokes intense flames of passion and desire. Dirk and Caroline may learn that some things are worth taming and being tamed."

"Is this friggin' real right now?" She giggled softly, looking around nervously for any prying eyes, and opened to a page in the middle of the novel. Her eyes widened. 'Dirk grunted like a wild animal as he set a driving pace, reaching up for her breast-' she slammed the book closed, her ears and cheeks suddenly hot. She paused, took a deep breath, and opened it again, looking at it warily through one eye, 'her lithe hand grasped his rigid-' her eyes went wide and she gasped. Another giggle tumbled from her lips. She plopped the book back in the box unceremoniously, "We don't need to be thinking about that right now," she scolded herself.

She closed the box, forbidding herself to look at the book any longer, and turned back to the rest of the attic. A glint of something shiny and foil caught her eye, taking her away from thoughts of romance. There, in the corner behind another box of romance novels, was an open tub with the label, 'New Year's Eve Party.' Inside, she was pleased to find silver hats that said Happy Y2K, a bag full of noisemakers with a set of white string lights, and a few other New Year's Eve party odds and ends that could be put to good use. An idea suddenly formed in her head, making her smile.

A New Year's Eve party for her and Daryl- Tonight.

Knowing that there was a new moon tonight meant the New Year was coming in, so in Carol's mind, the timing couldn't be more perfect. She reasoned that even if the year didn't match on the hats, and the noisemakers couldn't really be used, the other things in the box would make for a bit of fun. Already, she was thinking of a few things she could pull from the pantry to whip up a celebratory meal for them.

Her eyes shone brightly with anticipation and joy as she grabbed the tub and carried it down the ladder. She quickly looked about on the landing and over the stair rail, "Daryl?" she called. She was met with silence. She frowned but hopped softly down the stairs, stopping on the bottom step. "Daryl?" still, no answer. She quickly stowed it away in the pantry for later. She furrowed her brow when she noticed the bathroom door in the hallway was still closed, and Daryl was nowhere to be seen elsewhere in the house.

She passed the bathroom on her way to the upper level to close the attic door and heard his deep voice speaking. She flinched at the distinct phrase, "Dumb ass," reverberating through the door rather loudly. He sounded- angry. Her brow furrowed in confusion. She gently rapped the door and called for him, "Daryl?"

"What?" he grumbled aggressively. A beat, and then she heard him mumble out a staccato, "Fuck."

She turned the handle and swung the door open, "Are you okay? I heard-" the words drifted away from her at the sight of him leaning against the sink. Her hand slipped from the door nob, and the door swung all the way open. She still had those romance novels on the brain. Her eyes strayed, immediately following the drops of water dripping slowly down his chest as they disappeared into the low-slung towel around his waist. Her cheeks flushed, and she realized her mouth was hanging open.

She tried to shake off the attraction, internally berating herself for lusting after him when he was still recovering, so she closed her eyes, "I'm sorry- I was just worried because I heard-"

He cut her off, "I'm good." A look of shock and embarrassment on his face as he crossed his arms, his biceps bulging-

She swallowed nervously, lost for words, "I'll just-" she waved to the kitchen behind her and quickly closed the door. "Power's back on!" she called awkwardly in a high-pitched voice as she scurried to the pantry and shut herself inside. She leaned back against the door and took a deep breath as she berated herself, "You are ridiculous and terrible and-"

First the kiss, now she was openly ogling him. She slumped to the floor pathetically. "You really gotta pull yourself together." She looked at the shelf gra, grabbed a can of peaches within arm's length, and popped the top off, popping one in her mouth. Eating for distraction.

She was startled at the sound of knocking on the pantry door. "Carol?"

"Shit," she mumbled, wiping her mouth and setting the canned peaches to the side. She stood, staring at the locked door with panic.

"Why ya in there?" he jiggled the door nob, "An why'd ya lock the door?" The frustration and concern were clear as day in his voice.

"Just a minute," her voice shook. She took a deep breath and nervously ran her fingers through her hair. She opened the door, "Before you say anything, this will not become an 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' type-" she waved her hand nervously, "-situation," she stammered.

He stood there, dressed in a clean T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still freshly wet from the shower and his beard trimmed. His eyes were clear, and his gaze shy. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he scratched the back of his head, "You already seen everythin'," he shrugged.

"I was just tryin' to tell ya I'm gonna go lay down. Kinda tired. Shower took it outta me." Daryl cleared his throat and let out a small cough.

"Oh." her mouth held the shape of the vowel for a moment. She nodded, "That- that makes sense; you need me to get you anything else?" Carol's eyes followed the movement of his hand as he rested it on his pectoral.

"Carol?" She was too busy staring to notice him looking at her with confusion.

"Right," she looked around nervously, clearing her throat. "You go-"

He bit his lip, waiting for something. Then, "I forgot to apologize- bout this mornin' with them," he motioned vaguely around his face and lips.

"Oh," she frowned, turning to the kettle and busying her hands to hide her disappointment. "You want tea?" This isn't how she'd imagined this conversation. Her hands trembled, reaching for a bag of chamomile tea and a mug.

"Sure." She heard the scrape of a kitchen chair, and a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed he'd taken a seat. She pulled another mug out of the cabinet.

"You don't want to rest?" she asked, filling the kettle with water and facing away from him to avoid making eye contact.

"Can rest right here." She heard him strumming nervously on the surface of the table. She ripped open another packet of tea, laying the bag in the mug as the kettle slowly came to a boil. "You're avoidin' me now."

She stilled and turned, leaning her back against the counter. "No," she shook her head, trying to lie convincingly.

"Cain't really bullshit me," he smirked.

"You want a snack? I opened a can of peaches while I was in the pantry-" she tried walking past. He snaked his arm, grabbing her elbow, giving her pause. "Hey-" she tugged her arm away from him.

He tugged back, "Don't care about the peaches," his eyes softened, his gaze suddenly drifting over her lips.

Her breathing sped up, "Daryl-" the rest of her thoughts dying on her lips as they got lost in a staring contest.

"Carol," his voice suddenly low, wanting. He stood, coming toe to toe with her.

She felt her breath hitch, "I-"

"Don't know if ya can tell, but m'not real good at this," he breathed, his hand never leaving her elbow. "S'what I was bitchin' at myself over earlier when you heard me-" he bit his lip.

The kettle chose that very moment to beep loudly, startling them both. "The tea," Carol gasped. Daryl released her elbow and returned to his seat. She poured the boiling water into each mug, slowly swirling the tea bags around, getting lost in her thoughts as the water slowly turned into a pale yellow elixir. 'Thank God you picked chamomile; lord knows you need to calm down,' she chuckled a little.

"What?"

She turned at his question, her brow wrinkled, "Huh?"

"You just laughed. What's so funny?"

With both mugs in her hand, "Oh, just had a funny thought about somethin'," she slid into the chair across from him and handed him his tea.

One of his hands gripped the steaming mug, and the other continued to thrum gently against the wooden top. "Yeah?"

She pursed her lips and blew gently over the surface of her drink, "Mhmm."

"We gonna just sit here all awkward the whole damn afternoon?" he teased. The kiss from the morning hung heavy and awkward between them.

She paused, "Well..." she set down her mug and ran her finger around the rim. "I did find something while I was up in the attic earlier," she began, trying to change the subject.

"S'right?"

"Couple of things, actually," she picked up the mug and blew again. "Like four boxes of romance novels," a light chortle left her lips, "and-" her fingernails tapped softly on the side of the mug in her hands as she tried to think of the right way to tell him.

"And?" his eyebrows rose in question, amused, as he lifted his mug and tested the temperature with a small sip.

"I realized- we haven't really celebrated the New Year."

He huffed, "That all? Previous owners like raunchy sex books and that got you thinking of celebratin' New Years?"

She laughed brightly and swatted in his direction, "No! That's not- Daryl," she stared at him tersely. Carol stood from her chair and retrieved the box of New Year's Eve party supplies. "I thought maybe we could have a party tonight, as much of one as we can have under the circumstances." She dropped the box with a soft thud onto the table between them, opened one flap, and began pulling out several items.

His hands were drawn immediately to silver and gold noisemaker. She smiled as she placed a hat on her head. "What do you think?" she raised her hands to vogue as she turned side to side. "Is it... fashion?"

"It's somethin' alright," he perched the noisemaker between his lips and blew out a loud honk reverberating in the kitchen, startling them both at first.

"I think it suits me," her hand stroked up the side of the hat, and she tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear as she pouted.

"You poutin?" he sounded annoyed, "Just a damn hat. Not even the right year."

"Not even the right year-" she mocked him, "Of course, it isn't. It's not like they had time to print out the right year for you; everyone else is dead, " She looked at him, a stoic anger replacing her laughter before. She reached for another silver hat, pulled the string down and wide, placed it over his head, and let the strap snap against his chin. The mood suddenly low, "There. Happy now?" She bit out harshly and crossed the kitchen floor with her hands stuffed under her armpits, "Happy fuckin' New Year to me, I guess," she muttered as she shoved her feet into her boots angrily and stomped outside.

He sat at the kitchen table, eyes wide, stunned at how quickly the mood had shifted in the last five minutes. He reckoned it was mainly his fault for multiple reasons now. He sighed, resigned, removed the hat from his head, and set it aside. He pulled the box toward him and tilted it to look inside. Plastic champagne flutes and napkins emblazoned with the text Y2K were flanked by fireworks. Underneath it all was a string of white Christmas lights. He slumped forward and groaned, "Ya goddamn idiot," he muttered.

All she had wanted was to share her joy and excitement with him like he'd done for her with Christmas. And now, she was outside somewhere, mad as hell at him because he'd been too stupid to let her have it. He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and let out a big exasperated breath. There was only one way to fix this.

The chair scraped across the floor, and he made his way outside. He found her sitting on the front porch, legs crossed casually across the porch swing. She was shivering but stoically reading a book. He glanced at the cover, 'Denim Dreams: Love Reigns.' He blushed a little at the cover and looked back up at her. She refused to acknowledge him.

"Guess you found a book?" he asked, sitting against the porch railing.

She flipped a page angrily, "YUPP!" she emphasized the 'p' with a popping sound.

"Kinda cold out here; maybe ya can come back in, drink our tea, and talk some more." His heart was beating wildly as he tried to navigate

She glared up at him, "You do whatever you want." She turned another page aggressively.

"I'm sorry, I was being a dick inside, know I hurt yer feelin's an you were just wantin' to do something fun-"

She closed the book and held it in her lap as she stared at him with irritation. "What are we doing here, Daryl?"

He reeled back in surprise at her question, "I-"

"This morning I let whatever THAT was that happened between us slide. You were obviously still asleep-" Carol stood and dropped the book on the swing, crossed her arms, and cocked her hips to the side as she looked at him expectantly.

"I said I was sorry for that-"

She cut him off, exasperated, "I don't want you to keep apologizing; I want-" she paused, hope in her eyes as she waited for his response.

"Go on, tell me," he nodded, his body hot with anxiety, his heart beating at an agonizing speed inside of his chest as he waited for her to say the words he could tell were sitting just on the tip of her tongue.

She slumped her shoulders forward, resigned, "I just wanted to celebrate the New Year with you and- oh, just forget it." She turned and walked toward the edge of the porch to stare out to the yard full of dead grass and ice. The alarm sounded, and they turned to the sight of a walker stalled by one of the fences. Her shoulders slumped, and she pulled her knife from its sheath. "You should go back inside- shouldn't be out in the cold while you're still recovering- just go rest," she descended the porch steps and marched across the yard toward the alarm.

"Carol!" he yelled after her. She didn't turn around; she just kept on ahead, finally disappearing into the line of trees.