What started as a one-page chapter eight years ago has morphed into eight pages of angst. They deserve the biggest happy ending, but they will have to fight with each other a little bit to keep getting there. As Carol says in this story: five steps forward fifty steps back. This is true for a lot of relationships. Everything can progress, life together is going great, love is flowing freely, partners opening up to one another, and then BAM one of you is triggered and the whole thing sends you back, sometimes even farther than the start. I dug into that here. I also wanted to bring us back to really cheering on Carol's independence and her ability to keep going even when she's unsure what's happening with her soulmate. We get a little peek into Daryl's POV too.

I do not own these characters or TWD

Vibes for this chapter were inspired by the song "December Song" by Birdtalker and Joy Williams.

December Song

As the sun continued to set, they worked together in comfortable silence, sharing fleeting glances and quick smiles, wiping down the walls and other surfaces that had been long abandoned. Occasionally, one or both of them would sneeze, lost in a cloud of dust, and then yell out a hallowed 'bless you.' Pillows were fluffed, windows promptly covered to protect them from any wandering undead, and the sheets in each of the four bedrooms were aired out.

"All three rooms?" he grumped.

She rolled her eyes, "Why not?"

"Ain't like we're gonna get visitors."

"Will you just-" she pointed to his corner of the full-sized bed. "Grab that corner and pull down. You'll thank me when you're sleeping on fresh sheets tonight," she reasoned with him. She caught the subtle smirk on his face as they both pulled down on the corners of the bottom sheet. He was trying to cover the amused expression with a grumble, and it made her laugh softly. "What happened to wanting to clean up a little?"

"Feel like every time I turn around, ya add another thing to the list. S'haustin'," he stood and followed her directions as she pointed to the other corner on his side of the bed. "I'm goin'," he rolled his eyes.

"Hey, you'll be thanking me when you crawl into bed tonight, and you can spread eagle over the queen-sized mattress without me cramping your space." While it generally wasn't safe to assume, she had ascertained that one of the reasons he had sold her on this house was so they could spread out. He could regain his privacy if they were no longer sharing a bed.

"Ain't said we had to-." he paused, and their eyes met. His cheeks flushed pink.

"It's okay," she smiled congenially, but she was still sad as she reached for the top sheet, folded and clean on the dresser behind her.

"Hey," he called to her, his voice laden with concern. "When I said we'd have more space, I ain't meant-" Her heart swelled.

"Really, it's okay. " Carol whipped the sheet out in front of her. He caught the other side, same as in the other two rooms. She saw his worried glance and smiled to assuage him. He was always highly perceptive of her needs, always going above and beyond, making up for the long years when her own husband had mistreated her. That was a fact that couldn't be disputed, no matter how he argued he was no better. She knew all too well the game of minimizing one's desires to survive, and at this moment, she refused to let him do it. She refused to allow him to spare her feelings, only to force him into sacrificing his desire for space and isolation. A coping skill for him, no doubt.

"Are you sure?" he worried his lip as they moved in sync, pulling their respective edges and slowly tucking until they reached the very end of the bed, where he lifted the mattress.

She bit her lip in concentration as she worked to tuck the longer ends under with precision, moving from one corner to the other where he stood holding the mattress for her. "Why wouldn't I be?" she folded the remaining corner, "Okay, all done." He released the mattress, allowing it to slide back into the bed frame, the top sheet fully secured. She turned, her hands on her hips, and began to walk from the room. When she reached the hallway, she crinkled her brow in confusion and turned around to find him standing at the edge of the bed, a frown on his face. "What?"

"S'just-" he scratched his head and looked around the room. "I cain't-"

"It's okay to need your own space, Daryl." She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame, waiting for him to say anything. She watched the struggle burn behind his eyes.

"That aint- don't wanna be hurtin' ya feelin's- but I cain't figure out the right words to say it." He chewed on his thumbnail then, a sure sign of his building anxiety.

She gave him a watery smile. "I'm going to go and check the locks. Are you good with this room, or do you want one of the other ones up here?"

His eyes softened, "take this one s'pose."

"The comforter is clean downstairs in the dryer. I'll lock up and bring it for you when I'm done." She turned and walked swiftly to the stairs, leaving him no room to say anything more while she descended to the lower level. She supposed two nights in a row of being held in his arms was a luxury. She understood, but it still left an ache in her chest where she'd felt hopeful before. "Five steps forward and fifty back," she muttered as her foot reached the main floor.

She quickly checked the locks, turned off the lights, and adjusted the thermostat. The comforter was still tumbling around in the dryer. Convenience turned into a nuisance as she waited for the cycle to finish. She took stock of the rest of the house as she waited, noticing, for the first time, the curious notches on the door frame between the kitchen and the living room. The wood was marked all the way up to her own height. Each scratch and line across its surface is labeled with years, measurements, and names of people long gone- probably dead by now. Her hand traced over one name in particular, written in blue magic marker, worn with time. The height read 4 ft 3 right next to a familiar name in all caps: 'LIZ '03'. Her eyes watered suddenly, and she stood up straight, shaking away the pain of her last secret.

"Hey," she whipped around at his soft voice. 'When had he come down the stairs?' she wondered.

"Oh hey," she wiped at her cheek to clear any evidence of her sadness. "Didn't hear you come down the stairs."

"Said you'd be right up."

"Oh yeah, the dryer—" with perfect timing, the offending machine buzzed, "—wasn't finished—I mean, now it is," she rambled, walking back to the laundry room. The soft sounds of Daryl's footsteps followed her through the kitchen to a small alcove where the machines sat. She pulled out the toasty coverlet and placed it in his arms. "There."

"S'warm," he gave her a bashful yet guilty look, "Y' were cryin' again."

She reached down to pinch her thigh discreetly, trying to distract herself with physical pain. The tears that were brimming now waned. She blew out a breath of relief and turned off the laundry room light. "We should go to bed," she said softly, glad to be bathed in the darkness and shielded from his curious eyes. They said nothing as they climbed the stairs, her following him somberly. They parted ways at the landing, dim light pouring from the door to his room washed over her as he turned around to view her one last time. She could see a war waging in his mind. Her heart sped up in the hope that he might invite her in, but instead, he looked down at the floor awkwardly and said, "G'night."

She nodded and turned away to face the door to her room, her ears attuned to the sound of his door swooshing across the thick carpet and the soft click as it finally closed. The ache in her chest grew, and her lip quivered as she entered her room: dark, chilled, but clean. It was the master suite, the same room he'd thought she had been dead in; she laughed at the bitter irony. He had hardly wanted to enter earlier to clean and change the sheets with her, so in her own stubbornness and an act to reject him as he had subtly rejected her, she chose this room as her own. 'Who are you kidding?' she thought as she sat on the edge of the bed.

They shared a bond, yes. She even recognized that they loved one another. But maybe it was not to be in the way that her heart and mind wanted. She fell backward onto the mattress, wrapped the large comforter around, reached for a pillow, and curled up on her side. Tears streamed down her face, wetting the fabric of her pillow. She didn't want to care anymore. So, she laid there praying a promise to herself that she'd be okay and she'd take whatever love he'd be willing to offer her. Even if it was just a deep friendship.

The bed sagged under Daryl's weight. He set the blanket down beside him and rubbed at his eyes, feeling a headache slowly creep in. He'd spent all night trying to reassure her silently that they were okay. He had even tried his best to communicate his desire for more with her, but somewhere along the way, as they were making up this last room, the wires crossed. Without much confirmation, she had decided that he would stay alone in this room when all he wanted was her in his arms and his bed. As soon as she'd mentioned him sleeping alone, he had gone tongue-tied. And the longer the conversation stalled, the less he felt he could correct her or say the right words.

So now, here he was, pathetic, missing her touch and warmth. Something he desperately needed to re-center after the emotional turmoil he'd been in all day. A change he'd recognized in himself since reuniting with her. Before all of this, he had always sought solace in solitude. But, this morning, when he thought she was dead behind that door, he registered an ache of despair so deep that he'd rather die than continue without her at his side. He just couldn't find the words to tell her that yet.

He removed his sweater and stood to lay out the comforter across the bed and turn down the rest of the sheets. He grabbed a pillow they'd left haphazardly on the floor and threw it into the middle. He flipped the light switch, blanketing himself in darkness, and crawled beneath the covers to start the most fitful sleep he'd have in ages.

"Dumb ass," he mumbled to himself and rubbed his face. He lay there for the next few hours, staring at the ceiling, in and out of dreamless sleep. At some point, the blankets became too heavy, too hot, and he was stirred fully awake by the sound of a shotgun.

"Sophia?" she called for the girl as she stuck her head out the back door and shivered, a chill coming in on the winter breeze. The distinct sound of a dog barking caused her to turn her head in its direction. Next to the blue healer was the young girl, bundled up in her sky blue coat, knitted yellow hat, and red woolen scar. Her hot breath wafted up into frigid morning air as she walked casually down the driveway to the house, a basket at her side, "Sophia!" she called again.

"Coming, Mama!" The girl sped up to a jog, careful to avoid slipping on the ice or spilling her basket. The dog trotted, tail wagging, behind her.

Carol smiled at the girl and laughed, "Careful not to fall. It's icy this mornin'!" Sophia bounded up on the back porch just off the kitchen, her breath panting. The dog, knowing better than to come into the house, ran off in another direction. She unwrapped her scarf as Carol reached for her hat. "Hot cocoa and oatmeal warmin' on the stove for you. How'd your girls make out this morning?" she asked, peeking into the girl's basket. Sophia, breathing heavily, nodded and handed her the basket.

"Only five eggs," the girl said, removing her coat. She leaned over the crock pot, taking in the sight of it, full of carrots, potatoes, onions, and meat, "Venison tonight?"

"Mhmm." Carol hummed, hanging up the coat, scarf, and hat in the laundry room to dry. The young teenager reached for the bowl beside the stove and served herself breakfast.

Carol walked behind her, ruffling her hair in a teasing but loving gesture. "Five eggs is still pretty good with this cold. Those new girls of yours must be settling in okay." She smiled sweetly and placed the eggs in the bowl on the counter.

Sophia shrugged, "S'pose so. Can I go over to see Lizzie and Mika?" she asked.

Carol laughed, "Once you finish your other chores, I'll call over to Aunt Andrea and see if it's alright. We can walk over; I wouldn't mind a visit with her." The oven timer buzzed, and she opened it to take out a fresh pan of cinnamon rolls. "Take some of these along."

"Where's Daryl?"

"Mr. Grimes called early this morning and asked if he'd check on Mrs. Grimes and the new baby- make sure their generator is good- have enough food and supplies to last 'em until the roads clear up." She explained as she placed the hot pan on the counter and put a loaf of sourdough in the oven.

"Why's he always do that?" she shoveled a spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

"Well, the Grimes' have always been kind to us, helping us out when we needed it," she said, looking out the window at the dog chasing bunnies through the fresh snow. It's the kind thing to do for your neighbors."

"And Daryl is the kindest," Sophia said around another mouthful.

A large smirk graced Carol's face, "He is." she agreed softly. "Don't talk with your mouth full, manners please." She turned to the stove, poured the girl a mug of cocoa, and placed it in front of her. "Forgot this." she doted.

"Thanks, Mama."

"Course," Carol wiped her hands on her apron and turned back to the kitchen window. "Any reading you can catch up on before winter break ends?" She asked, furrowing her brow as she watched a walker stumble out slowly from behind the shed. The dog started barking loudly, drawing the corpse closer to the house. Sophia answered her question, but the young girl's voice was suddenly muffled and drawn out; time stopped as Carol's eyes zeroed in on the corpse impaling itself on a tree branch and getting caught in a sudden gust of wind and snow. Its body clunked violently against the side of the shed, its head breaking open, leaving a gory mess on the snow and siding. Her shoulders relaxed.

She turned, the kitchen now bathed in darkness, and her eyes were blinking awake. She was standing in front of the kitchen sink. "Sophia," she gasped. The table was empty, the windows were covered, and the glimmer was gone. She looked down at her shaking hands and her bare feet. She gripped the edge of the counter and took a deep breath, trying to slow her pounding heartbeat.

This one had felt so real. Carol closed her eyes and let the tears fall silently. A familiar clunk brought her fully awake. She wiped her eyes and pulled back the curtain's edge, obscuring her view out the window. Dawn was near, and the earliest bit of the purple and blue morning light revealed what she had thought was the end of her dream. Next to the shed was a walker speared through by the branch of an evergreen. The wind, blowing fiercely through the trees, knocked the corpse against the structure with a steady thunk. It was dead-dead, having had its skull smashed.

She shivered. It wasn't clear how long she'd been standing there or how long the corpse had been rattling in the wind, but until she took care of it, there was a chance it would disturb Daryl's sleep. And God knew he hadn't had much of it lately. So, she set out to rid themselves of it. Carol quickly and quietly shuffled to the laundry room, where they'd left their coats and other outerwear hanging, their boots on the floor. Donning her outerwear, she wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck and face. She flipped up the hood of her coat and reached for the rifle sitting in the corner of the room, pulling the strap over her shoulder. She slipped quietly out the back door to brave the cold.

The repeated thumping would drive her mad if she didn't rip the offending carcass from the tree. As she trudged through the new snowfall, she realized for a moment that Daryl had been right. While the wind and snow swirled in and out of the trees, the shelter belt was doing exactly as he'd promised. The belt of evergreens sheltered the house from the harsh gusts, the trees taking the brunt of it all. Once at the shed, she quickly worked on the thing hanging lifeless from the tree. She pulled on its arm and lost her footing as it broke away from the body. "Listen, we can't all be falling apart here; you could at least keep yourself together," she mumbled sarcastically. The front half of its face stared back at her blankly. "Yeah, I know. That was a terrible joke." She stepped around it, reaching under its armpits, and pulled. "I'll be here all week," she grunted as it slid, with some difficulty, from the branch and sloughed into a pile of rancid skin and bones onto the ground.

She looked down to brush the ice and snow from the front of her coat and sighed, "Of course." A mixture of snow and blood had smeared down her front. "Can't have anything good these days," she mumbled. Her gaze shifted to the horizon in the east, where just a sliver of sun began to appear. She lowered her scarf from her face and took a moment to admire it. Maybe things between her and Daryl were complicated, but there were still small things in this world that she could enjoy.

Movement just ahead alerted her to something coming. A few lumbering corpses headed toward the tree-line. When she turned around to return to the house, three walkers moved slowly through the snowy yard. She ripped off a mitten with her teeth and reached for her knife. It wouldn't do any good to shoot her rifle. If this many were herding through, there were bound to be more, and they would undoubtedly hear her fire a shot.

'The only way back in is through,' she thought, and she pitched forward, striking the first one in the head. Her movements were lethal-efficient-knocking it to the side as the second re-animated body approached. A young woman with a half-eaten face covered in snow and ice, missing an arm. Carol grabbed her by her frozen hair, drawing her close, and with machine-like reflexes, plunged her knife up and under through the chin to the hilt of the blade. The walker sagged against her and dropped, taking Carol to her knees, the knife refusing to release. A growl came from behind as she sat in the drift, pulling on the grip of her knife. She turned, with ragged breath, to see four more corpses walking in from the tree line. It was the beginning of a herd, as she had suspected. Slow moving but still a threat.

She gripped the handle of her knife harder but struggled to leverage her weight backward enough to release the blade. Her face went red as she felt the pain of the biting cold prick her hands. She reached for the rifle on her shoulder and pointed it toward the walker closest to bearing down on her. Her hands shook as she cocked the gun and fired. Her cold hands made for poor aim as the shot hit the walker in the shoulder. It continued to advance on her. She cocked the rifle again and fired, more walkers drawn to the sound now growing closer.

"CAROL!" Daryl's voice shouted from the second floor of the house. He was standing at an open window, his bow poised and ready. "C'mon!" he yelled.

She looked around and kicked a walker backward. Daryl easily downed the three walkers closest to her, making it possible for her to reach the back door. She grit her teeth together as her painfully frozen hands fumbled with the door handle. Carol looked up briefly; four more walkers alerted to her movement and sound and a sliver of sun on the horizon beyond the trees. She struggled with the door, the groans getting louder, the precious time Daryl had given her getting shorter. Finally, the door gave way, and Carol found herself on the other side, sliding the lock into place as her tired, aching body slid to the floor in relief. She bowed her head, trying to catch her breath for a moment, and then let out a short giggle. Her heart was racing, and her hands were on fire, but for the first time in months, she felt exhilaration and a desire to keep living.

Panicked footsteps on the stairs alerted her to his presence. She turned her head to meet his gaze as he stood in the hallway, with heaving breath and a feverish look in his eyes. She smiled wryly, "Thanks. It was kind of cold out there."

He scowled, "The fuck?"

She rolled her eyes and got to work, removing her boots. "I don't have to explain myself." She stood, carrying them back to the laundry room, and hung her coat next to his. She turned and found him still standing, looking pained with his fists clenched at his sides. Her shoulders slumped, "Sound from outside woke me up; when I checked, a walker had lodged-"

"Know. Heard," Daryl grunted. Carol noticed his eyes were dark, sunken in. "Watched you do the whole damn thing." He turned toward the stairs, and she saw him rubbing his forehead. "Goin' back to bed. Feel like shit."

She watched his form retreat from her and decided to make good use of her time now that they were both stuck inside. The solar panels and reverse osmosis system needed to be addressed. The generator was still running, but with the herd moving through the property, it wouldn't be smart to risk going to the shed again. She made a mental checklist and got to work.

Daryl hadn't stirred from his room since their confrontation a few hours earlier. The generator had died while she moped about the lower level of the house, pushing her to get to work on the solar panels. Perhaps it was the best way to distract herself from the ache of his distance. She spied them up on the roof from another room on the second floor and made it her mission to climb up to the attic and roof to re-engage them. If she was quiet enough, he would be none the wiser.

And so, an hour after they'd lost power, she stood on the roof, bent over, checking the connecting cables and pushing in any loose wires as she hissed through the pain of her frozen fingers. After pushing in the final cable, she flexed her fingers, rubbed her hands together quickly, and breathed into them. She paused and took a moment to look down over the yard, filled with a few frozen walkers slowly meandering in and out of the tree line. Snow had started to fall gently an hour ago, and from this vantage point, she could see the full scope of the herd. It had increased tenfold, but the trees and fencing had done a remarkable job of forcing the walkers around the property rather than through it. It reminded her that once the weather and the threat of the herd cleared, she needed to set up an alarm system.

She crawled back up to the attic window and slid inside, quietly shutting the window behind her. She stepped carefully upon each cross beam until she made it to the ladder, where she quietly lowered herself to the house's second level. She would revisit the attic later to snoop around the boxes and items. She paused at the ladder's bottom rung to listen for any sounds from behind Daryl's bedroom door. She breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't stir. 'Just focus on your next task,' she thought.

She made haste to the garage, where, with a few button pushes, she was able to activate the DC converter, bringing the whole house to life with power. The water had been a bit more challenging to figure out. Still, after a little tinkering, she heard the telltale gush of water flowing into the filtering reservoirs and out through the pipes into the house. She went from each bathroom and into the kitchen, switching on the water valves, silently pleased when fresh water flowed easily through each tap. And if this place was built anywhere similar to Hershel's old farmstead, the toilets would flush directly into a septic tank buried somewhere on the property.

She thought back to Hershel's farm, those early days when emotions were raw, and the world of the undead walking out of barns was a fresh wound.

"Ma'am?" she turned around to the specter in the mudroom doorway. Her heart clenched; this was a new one for her. Lizzie stood with questioning eyes, her long blonde hair in a braid over her shoulder.

The young girl turned toward the sound of a giggle behind her. "Aunt Carol!" Mika shouted.

Carol shook her head back and forth, willing the glimmer to leave. But there they both stood on the threshold of the house.

"We came over to see Sophia," Lizzie said meekly.

"She's—" her fist clenched at her side. She was aware that what was happening in front of her wasn't real, but her brain wouldn't stop.

"Mama?" Lizzie called into the house, "I think Aunt Carol isn't feeling too good!" She heard the sound of a third pair of footsteps in the mudroom. Andrea appeared behind the girls, pushing them out of the way and entering the garage. Carol felt faint.

"Oh, hells bells." Andrea's hand touched her forehead, and the woman's face flashed with concern. Carol began to sink to the floor, and Andrea's hand caught her by the elbow and guided her back into the house. "You eaten' anything this morning?"

"What?" she looked at them all in shock.

Andrea's firm grip guided her to sit at the kitchen table. "Hold on, I'll get you somethin'." She quickly grabbed two slices of bread. Mika, honey, can you pull out the PB&J for me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Carol shuddered at the words. She watched as Mika and Lizzie walked to the pantry and pulled out the requested items. "Daryl know you been getting sick?" she asked.

Andrea slid an open water bottle into her hands, and she drank greedily. Next, a plate with a PB&J sandwich cut into fourths was set down in front of her. "Thank you."

"Eat up." This time, the voice was deep, gravely. Daryl. She looked up into his worried gaze. "I-"

"Don't say nothin'; just eat." he nodded toward the plate.

'Is any of this real?' she thought as she reached for a piece of the food.

"Depends if you think I'm Andrea or not." he pulled out a chair and took a seat with her at the table as he crossed his arms. The concern on his face was clear as day.

"I said that out loud?" she asked him.

He nodded resolutely.

She nodded and took a bite of the sandwich in her hand; she looked down at the plate, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

"How long you have been having these-" he gestured to her.

"Glimmers. That's what I call them."

"How long you have been havin' 'em?" he asked again.

She shook her head, taking another gulp of water. Her tremors began to subside. "I thought they'd gone away when you found me. They came back this morning. Found myself sleepwalking in the kitchen." she swallowed a bite of her food. She looked up at him; his brow was furrowed with worry. She reached a hand across to touch the elbow he was leaning on the table. "I'm sorry. I didn't think-"

"So ya been sleepwalkin'?"

"I think this morning was the first time. The visions—dreams—aren't bad or good. I mean, when they end and I realize they aren't real, they feel bad." She pulled her hand back and rested it in her lap. "It doesn't matter."

"Matters to me, the things about you. I care," he spoke hoarsely.

"I think I'm just really tired. I was trying to distract myself, maybe worked myself a little too hard in the process." She grabbed another slice of the sandwich from her plate. "Thank you for this- s'good," She mumbled from around a bite. "Are you okay?"

"Gotta headache that come on late last night couldn't sleep much." She looked at his face and noticed the tired lines that had formed around his puffy eyes.

"I think there's some medicine in the bathroom," she said. She went to stand, and his hand grasped her arm, stilling her. Their eyes locked, and he pulled her into a shaky, unexpected embrace. "Daryl?"

"These glimmers? They got better when we shared a bed?" she felt his question reverberate through her chest. She looked up at him and nodded. "Missed you next to me last night," his voice warbled. I didn't know how to tell you."

"I didn't want you to feel obligated-"

"Didn't." He paused. "I don't. I'm just not the best with my words sometimes," he bit his lip.

She reached a frail hand up to smooth back a lock of his hair and cradled his jaw. "Well, it's a good thing then I can read your mind," she teased.

He rolled his eyes and gave her a shy smile, "Pfft! Can barely read my own sometimes. I'm sorry," he spoke sincerely. "Don't wanna be scared of losin' you, don't wanna fight, don't wanna be without ya, an don't wanna be the reason you're sad." He brought his hand up to smooth back her hair. She leaned into his touch. Her eyes became watery, "See? Feel like I'm always 'bout to make you cry." he wiped his thumb over a fresh tear building at the corner of her eye. "S' the last thing I wanna be doin'," he said his voice full of remorse.

"Right now, I'm not cryin' because I'm sad. This right here, no matter how this goes?" She poked his chest with her finger to emphasize her point. "It's better than any glimmer."

He nodded, a smile in his eyes, "Good then." He grabbed the plate and thrust it between them. "Now eat ya' sandwich for ya pass out on me again."