AN: Here we are, another piece to this story!
I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do let me know!
111
The frost came, just as Daryl predicted. The first snow came, too, close behind it. It wasn't as heavy as Daryl thought it might be. Just as he figured, they'd got a good thaw and a few days of clear ground, at least, before the next layer fell on them.
It was going to be a long and cold winter.
Daryl wasn't bothered too much by the cold. He'd spent so much of his life ass deep in icy water, trapping and looking for the yellow, among other pursuits, that he half-believed that he was numb to the cold. He wasn't, of course, and it did bite him something awful, but he could shake it off.
He was smart enough, at least, to know when he'd had enough. He knew when it was time to draw near to a fire or to seek cover. He knew when he ought to cover himself with another layer of warmth, before he took to shivering past the point that he couldn't come back from it.
He was also smart enough to know that whiskey lied and, while a swallow or two might be good for knocking off the chill, it didn't bring the kind of warmth a bearskin did, so it wasn't to be trusted in large quantities. He knew that whiskey lured many a man to his death in the cold.
Daryl had spent most of the morning and early afternoon gathering what he could. By the time he got back to the house, pulling the small drag sled behind him that he'd made to make his walks easier, he had a mess of beaver that Carol had asked for, specifically, and enough of the yellow that even he was surprised by the quantity he'd turned up.
Carol was outside their little house, as Daryl came well into view, loading her arms down with pieces of wood that they'd cut and brought to stack by the house.
"I'ma get that," Daryl offered.
Carol looked at him.
"You're gonna go in and warm yourself," Carol said. "That's what you're gonna do. I didn't pick a blue mate, Daryl."
He laughed to himself.
"You half-blue from what I can see, yourself," he responded. "Look like you got them painted lips like them whores."
Carol straightened up. Her hold on the wood that she'd gathered was slack—not so much a testament to her laziness in holding the wood, but much more a testament to the fact that she was growing much stronger than she had been before. As she filled out a bit, from having consistently enough food in her belly, she grew more and more able to handle, with ease, the things that had once winded her quickly and tired out her arms and legs.
Daryl was happy to see it, and it warmed him far more than he figured that whiskey ever could.
"You're callin' me a whore?" Carol asked.
There wasn't a bit of anger or hurt in her voice. There was a teasing sort of challenge that sent a shiver all the way up Daryl's spine. For a minute, he might've believed that she would throw some of the wood at him and, given that she'd gotten a lot stronger through the back and shoulders than she'd once been, she just might hit him at this distance.
"And now you're grinning like a mule eating briars?" She added, when Daryl didn't immediately respond. Her attempt to look serious and sullen broke, and she laughed. It was one loud pop of laughter, but it escaped before she could put her face back as it had been.
"Was thinkin' that—less a whore, you look more like one of the trappers that I used to know," Daryl said.
"You know a lot of women trappers?"
"No," Daryl said. "But—you just about strong as any man."
Her face fell, slightly.
"It's a good thing," Daryl said quickly. "Out here? Just you and me? It's a good thing, Carol. A real good thing. Kind of thing that—warms me up inside. You're strong, and you're fit…and I don't got to worry so much about you takin' ill with the winter."
She laughed. It was that musical kind of laugh—in fact, Daryl liked it more than any music he'd ever heard. Her smile lingered after the laugh faded.
"Come on in the house," she said. "I got some stew that'll warm you up more."
"I got your whole mess of beavers," Daryl said. "What you want 'em for, anyway?"
"The water don't get in their fur," Carol said.
Daryl took the yellow from the drag sled, and he followed her inside. The beavers, dead as they were and cold as they were, would keep just fine until he'd had a mouthful and warmed himself up enough that he wasn't at risk of losing anything to the cold that he had a mind to keep. He'd seen a couple of critters roaming about that might have a mind to take off a carcass or two, but that hadn't been for days, and he wasn't too worried about them coming this close to the house in the broad daylight.
"I'ma clean those shortly," he said.
"They'll keep for a bit," Carol said. Daryl closed the door behind him. Carol crossed and put what wood she wanted in the fire. She added the other to the wood stack. "You've got ice in your beard, Daryl."
He laughed and rubbed his face.
"Already melting," he said. "You keep my home so warm and comfortable. Dangerous—makes a man not want to leave a comfortable nest like this."
"That was what I was planning all along," she teased. "Sit. I'll get you somethin' hot to eat, and some coffee, besides."
"So—what you want with them beavers?" Daryl asked, sitting down and shucking off his boots to dry his feet a bit by the fire, before he went back outside and wetted them again. Daryl tucked into the bowl of stew that Carol brought him, after offering his thanks.
"Making you some proper pants for looking for yellow, Daryl," Carol said. "And for your trapping. The boots keep your feet plenty dry, but you're ass-deep in that freezing water, and the buckskins don't keep it off you good."
"You're makin' me beaver pants?" Daryl asked with a laugh.
"Are you making fun of me taking care of my mate?" Carol asked.
He smiled at her. He was always warmed by every single reminder that he was her mate, and she was his, for life.
"I think that it's the best idea I ever heard," Daryl said. "I'ma be proud to have me some beaver pants for keepin' out the water. And—more'n that, I'm proud to have me a mate that's smart enough to think of that and has a strong enough love for me that she's wantin' to protect me from the cold."
Carol looked at him sincerely. She looked at him so sincerely, in fact, that it made him shiver. If he didn't have a half a dozen chores to do before they could turn in for the night, he'd take her to bed right then. As it stood, he was wondering if she'd be willing to let him at least take her pants down for the fast kind of mating that helped to quell the need that did sometimes arise when it wasn't time for proper mating.
He figured he might ask her when he was done with his stew.
"You're everything to me," Carol said, simply. "I don't want you to be cold, Daryl."
Daryl swallowed, finding that bite of stew a little more difficult to get down than the others.
"You're everything to me, too," he said.
"I know," Carol said with a smile. He couldn't help but smile in response. She giggled, and he laughed.
She picked up what she had been working on a little along—a collection of mending—and sat across from him at the table and worked on it a bit.
"Daryl—I've been thinking, and you can tell me that you don't like my thoughts, and I'll accept that, but…"
"But you don't hardly ever say nothin' that I don't like," Daryl said. "And—if I had a mind not to do what you wanted, I guess we could figure out somethin' that didn't entirely displease us both."
"I guess we could," Carol agreed.
"What you thinkin'?" Daryl asked.
"I was thinkin' that—this is house is plenty big enough for us. We got that whole other space in there that stays just closed off. We don't even need it."
Daryl glanced toward the door that closed off the space she was talking about.
"Gonna be for later," Daryl said. "Ain't that what you said? We was talkin' about a proper nest. All we gonna need for the life we gonna have. And you said that…if we was to ever get us some pups between us, they was gonna need a place to grow and sleep. So, we got 'em a place, just so it's ready for when your time comes and we're set on havin' us a mess of pups."
Carol hummed and nodded, not looking up from her work.
"They don't come all at once, you know," Carol said. "Not—like a litter. Not like a bitch whelping in a den. They don't come like that. They come one at a time, most the time. It's only about one a year, if they're big and strong. And sometimes—oh—Daryl—sometimes it's just a terrible thing when they come. Sickly little things that don't make it."
Daryl winced. His muscles tightened in response to the change in her tone and the expression on her face. He raised up and reached across the table. He put a hand on her and squeezed, drawing her out of her thoughts and back to him.
She looked at him for the first time in a bit, and he shook his head at her.
"Our pups are gonna be big and strong, Carol," he said. "They gonna be fine. Gonna grow up to be somethin'…you'll see."
She gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded. The line between her brows didn't soften entirely, though.
"Just the same, we don't use that room right now, Daryl, and the winter's coming—we ain't hardly seen the start of it yet. It's gonna be long, and it's gonna be cold. We could use another set of hands out here. Between the animals, and you said you wanna keep on trapping and hunting through the winter. Lookin' for the yellow. I was thinking, if we brought Andrea out here, she could help us. She'd be a good help with the animals and busting up the ice in their water. She could help haul water, and melt snow, and haul wood. She's made of good stock, Daryl. You said it yourself that she ain't weak. She could chop wood, and help me with the cooking, cleaning, and mending. And when you wanted to go and do what you need to do, you would never need to worry about leaving me here, because we'd be here together, and together? Nobody would get to us, Daryl."
Daryl considered her words. He considered her sincerity, too. Another set of hands would be good for them, and he didn't have to worry about Andrea trying to take Carol away from him or telling their secrets to anyone.
"You thinkin' we could put her in that room," Daryl said.
"I'm thinking she'd sleep in the barn, if that's what you told her to do," Carol said. "But a pallet in that room would be a blessing to her. I could teach her better, here, and she could decide what she wanted to do—if she wanted to go to town and sell her skills later." Carol shook her head. "I don't like the idea of her sleeping cold in that place, Daryl, selling herself like an animal and running the risk of being beat by some asshole until we get there and find out that…that he stoved her head, in or something, and they buried her in some unmarked grave while we were away."
Daryl felt something ripple inside him. He felt it spread out, inside his body, like the ripples on the surface of a pond when someone threw a rock in it.
"You been worryin' about this," he said.
Carol nodded.
"You been worryin' about this…but a whole lot, Carol…" Daryl mused. She nodded again. "Why ain't you said somethin' 'fore you let it crawl around in your brain all this time? Thoughts like that? They're like weevils. Mess things up. Drive you mad. I seen people go mad, Carol. I don't want you to go mad."
"I'm not going mad," she assured him. "But—Daryl—I never had a friend before. And I don't know why, but…it's heavy on my mind right now. I can't seem to shake it. I'll be happy and busy…and then, out of nowhere, it's like I feel…heavy and sad. Makes me sick to my stomach, I can hardly stand the idea of eating anything when it comes into my mind. I get—I get the taste of salt in my mouth, and it'll make me gag if I think on it too much. I don't know why I keep feeling so…much. But I think that part of it is that I keep thinking…we're gonna go back to town, and they're gonna tell me some man broke her neck, Daryl, and they buried her, alone in a hole somewhere—and didn't mark it with a stone."
"You got some heavy thoughts, Carol," Daryl said.
"I always thought—Ed was gonna kill me, Daryl," Carol said. "Figured—he'd bury me in a hole somewhere."
"And he wouldn't mark the grave," Daryl said.
"Wouldn't matter," Carol said. "What good's a grave marker when…there ain't nobody that's going to mourn you?"
Daryl finished up the last bite of stew from his bowl. He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief.
"Gonna be a late night," he said. "Chores still gotta be done before we go down to sleep. Still—oughta go faster with three sets of hands."
Carol straightened up, slightly. Daryl bit back his smile. There was very little in life that he loved as much as he loved making Carol happy. He'd give her anything she wanted and, arguably, she wanted so very little from him that he was happy when there was something he could give her. He'd give her anything he could to make her life better.
"You better bundle up. It's gonna be cold."
"You mean it?" Carol asked.
"How soon can you be ready?" He asked.
"No time at all," she assured him.
"Fine," he said. "I can put them beaver in the barn for safe keepin' for now. It's cold enough they'll keep fine. I'll get the mules ready."
Carol hopped up on her feet, quickly putting her mending away.
"Just one thing," Daryl said.
"What's that?" Carol asked.
"I had a thought of my own—if you was willing to hear it," Daryl said.
She smiled at him sincerely and came over to him. She wrapped her arms around him as he stood, and she kissed his face.
"Daryl—I'll hear anything you've got a mind to say to me," she declared, enthusiastically.
He squeezed her, noting how much healthier she felt in his arms, even now, than she had when he'd first held her. He was happy for it. It warmed him every night to know that she was strong and healthy—and he would rest well, too, knowing that he had made her as happy as he was capable of doing.
"Real quick, 'fore we leave," Daryl said, "how would you feel about—lettin' me take down your pants and mate you once? Just real fast like, and then we can go to town. I just got an itch that's about drivin' me mad."
Carol giggled at him and backed up, already working loose the laces on her pants. He assumed that was answer, enough, to his inquiry.
"I don't want you to go mad, Daryl," she teased. "Smartest man I know told me that some thoughts can be like weevils on the brain…and I don't want you to have that. So-you just…get your prick out, Daryl, and decide which way you think is best for mating me so you can scratch whatever's itching."