So... in the process of the rewrite the story accidentally expanded to include Daryl's POV which then became a whole new chapter that never existed in the original iteration of this fic on . I really have to credit eight years' worth of show and spinoffs for getting me to this place where I can write both of them with a little more complexity. He's so flipping angsty but so in love with her in this fic and I should probably add it is a bit of a slow burn but we're getting somewhere. They both have a lot to process. Carol is probably a little ahead of him. But don't you worry readers. He'll catch up in time.

I don't own these characters or TWD.

Song which inspired this little chapter is "Rest" by JOSEPH

Rest

He pulled the ratty box of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his coat, quickly lit one, and took a much-needed drag. His shoulders sagged on a long exhale. He watched as the smoke rose from his lips and drifted into the night sky. The stars looked the same as always but somehow brighter tonight. Low-hanging clouds rolled in overhead, obstructing the moon and blanketing everything in a strange diffused haze. A cold breeze crept up on him, lifting the fine topcoat of snow and swirling it around in the yard. He took another long drag of his cigarette and turned to look back at the house.

He'd been truthful when he said he didn't want to start a fight with her about any of it. But even now, he scoffed at her, bringing up that damn 'happy endings' bullshit. If he was being honest, her leaving hadn't made him angry. His anger came from her talking like he was better off without her. He took another long drag of his cigarette as that thought sunk in. And he'd done fuck all to convince her he didn't want another damn day if it wasn't with her. They'd danced around one another since Sophia.

Another can of worms he hadn't wanted to open but had somehow managed to with the pictures. There was a lot of work to be done between the two of them. He just hoped they'd get the time, rest, and space to do that now.

He was road weary, having looked for her for the last three weeks. And in all that time, he wasn't sure how he'd stumbled across the country and found her. A particular feeling in his stomach and chest had pushed him forward until he had come across a few travelers on the road. It had not ended without a skirmish, but before he'd had reason to kill them they'd hinted at an "old bitch." He'd rolled his eyes at that because she wasn't old. The twerps he'd dealt with were just assholes; embarrassed she had roughed them up and had given them the slip. It was his first sign she was alive and sent his heart soaring with hope. He suddenly went from a man who had lost everything to a man who still had Her.

It had been the sixth house he'd checked that day. 'Just one more,' he'd told himself. 'One more, and then I'll turn back to where I last tracked her.' He took a short puff and closed his eyes, relishing in his dumb luck. And instead of being inside with her trying to make good, he was freezing his ass off outside because he was afraid. Afraid of her rejection, afraid of his feelings that he couldn't quite name yet, and afraid he'd lose her all over again or that she might not even be real. He let out a chuckle and flicked the remnants of the cigarette onto the snow. "You're a real idiot," he scolded himself, adjusting the bow on his shoulder while trudging across the snow to the front door.

He let himself back in with a gentle push of the door, and the first thing he saw was Carol bundled in blankets on the couch facing away from the door. He looked to the floor beside the couch and noticed she'd made him a pallet to rest on. In his minutes outside reflecting, the fire had died down a reasonable amount, but the cottage was no less warm. So, he grabbed one more log and threw it inside the stove to give them a little more radiant heat until morning broke.

"There's water in the kitchen to wash up with." her soft voice startled him.

"Thought you were asleep."

"I'm Trying to. S' hard sometimes." She sighed and turned back to face him. Sometimes, I have dreams... glimmers... as I fall asleep, and sometimes," she yawned, "I have nightmares."

He set his bow by the door and began removing his coat, "And tonight?" he asked.

"s'quiet." she yawned again.

"That a good thing?"

She nodded and smiled softly. Daryl could tell she'd most likely been crying on his account. He kicked off his shoes.

"Should' wash up." she slurred and rubbed at her face.

He nodded and found his way to the kitchen, where she'd left him a towel, a bucket, and a kettle of warm water next to a soap bottle. He opened the bottle, sniffed curiously, and shrugged at the generic fresh scent. 'Better than nothin,' he thought and began scrubbing as hard as the sink and bucket would allow without making a complete mess. Once done, he wiped up any water he'd spilled and dumped the dirty suds down the sink before shuffling quietly back to the living room.

He gnawed on his cuticle while considering putting his boots back on. As he reached for them, he heard Carol say, "You don't need those for bed."

"Just thought-"

"Just sleep, Daryl," she demanded. He set the boots back down.

"Wanna keep 'em nearby." he reasoned.

"Whatever helps us get to bed faster."

"Pfft! Could fall asleep whenever ya want. Don't gotta wait on my account." he gruffed softly, taking in the precious image of her, alive, breathing in the glowing light of the fire. She gave him a half-lidded smile, and he sat on the pallet. "This whole thing kinda doesn't feel real," he spoke honestly. "Feel like it's all about to go to shit again." he sighed and reached for the few blankets she'd left him to use as covers.

"It won't. Not with us together."

"Hmm." he hummed and turned his head to look at the fire.

"Morgan told me what happened before I left." she reached her hand out to weave her fingers through his hair. He preened against her like a cat at her affectionate touch.

"S'pose I lied to you too, then," he admitted.

"The nightmares since I left? I expected them to be bad. And they are. But you know what's hurt worse?" she asked him.

He turned to look at her again, casting a questioning glance as she pulled her hand and adjusted it, curling it under her pillow.

"The glimmers."

He nodded. He understood. "Wishing things to be different."

"Feels like I'm peeking into the window of another timeline. One I can't have, one I don't deserve, for all the bad things I've done to survive- not just back after the prison- but since I left the kingdom." He heard the long-suffering ache in her voice.

"We've all done things. Sacrificed. Know you had to and it's okay." he tried to reassure her.

She closed her eyes and exhaled, "You trust me after everything?"

"With my life." He watched her close her eyes. He slid onto the pallet and pulled the blankets over his tired body. He paused, took a deep breath, focused on the patterns on the ceiling, and listened to her breathing even out.

"Daryl-" she sighed with a yawn. His heart sped up momentarily when he felt her hand dangling from the couch, palm up with one simple request.

He pulled his arm from his blanket, grasped it in his hand, and squeezed gently. He listened to her sigh, momentarily content. "You know earlier when I got mad about what you said? The happy endings?" he asked.

She hummed in acknowledgment.

"Finding you feels like one almost. Like a miracle or somethin'," he explained. "I kinda- when I's out lookin' for you, I thought, once I found ya, I- you said earlier I deserve one."

"Mhmm," she sighed.

He closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his ears at what he was on the verge of telling her. Vulnerability was not his strong suit. "Well, I want you to know I think you deserve one too. And I-" he was cut off abruptly by the sound of her soft snores.

He tried to remove his hand from hers, but she squeezed harder. He rolled onto his side to face her as she lay on her stomach. He took in the delicate freckles across her face, the shape and color of her lips, and tried to commit it all to memory in case it should all disappear when he woke. Slowly, his body began to relax, and he felt the gentle pull of sleep. "night." he whispered. He lifted his other hand and traced lightly from her brow down to her jaw with his fingers, then closed his eyes.

Hours later, he awoke to the birds chirping and morning light streaming through the kitchen window. He rubbed his face and looked around the room. He realized he felt rested for the first time in years. He sat up, working on stretching his arms and back, and rested his elbows on his knees. He took another moment to pop his neck and run his hands through his hair to scratch an itch as he finally gazed at Carol. She was lying peacefully on her back, her forearm resting casually over her eyes, still breathing deeply.

He shivered, noticing the slightest chill in the air. He glanced at the wood stove to find it had gone out sometime in the night. He scratched his chest as he contemplated his first course of action to start the day. They'd need more from outside to warm the cottage for the night. He added it to his mental list of chores already stacking up. He knew he needed to check out the barn and see if it could be a suitable spot to hide the truck just in case anyone else stumbled into the area. Next to the cottage with her stockpile, the truck was their most valuable asset for moving around efficiently. Losing it might mean losing their lives if they needed to get out in a hurry and it wasn't available for a getaway.

He crouched over his pallet and quietly folded the blankets, checking occasionally to ensure he hadn't disturbed her. After so much time fending for herself, he wanted to give her time to rest. So, he would make sure she slept as long as her body needed her to today.

When she didn't stir, he padded into the kitchen and quietly prepared some coffee with the kettle on the camper stove. He turned away while it brewed and peeked through the tapestry covering the kitchen window. The morning was bright, with the icy snow glistening and sparkling in the dappled sun streaming through the trees. He watched, content for a moment, as he spied a pair of mourning doves hopping around in the snow. Their frantic chirps were melodic as they dug down here and there for their meal before taking off and flying back up into the trees. He closed the curtain and checked the kettle.

Before venturing outside, he'd left her some coffee (warming on the wood stove that he'd re-lit). His morning tasks in the cottage were accomplished with the most hushed sounds so as not to wake Carol. As he walked to the barn, he took in the fresh, cold air and enjoyed the feel of it cooling his cheeks and nose. He pulled out his pack of smokes and pondered what she'd said about it being so quiet here. She was right about the walkers being completely frozen, if not sparse. He hadn't heard or seen one try to crawl or bumble its way through the trees and across the property. And as he stepped further toward the barn, he made no notice of any tracks, aside from Carols, of course. "Huh," he muttered, taking a swift drag of his cigarette. There was a slight twinge of hope in his chest. 'Maybe,' he thought, 'this could work for us.'

The door to the barn opened easily but not without a loud creak. Pausing upon entry, Daryl readied his bow for any undead that may have decided to stow away inside. Neither of them had much luck with barns in the past, whether it was Carol watching her undead child stumble out of one or having to sleep in a muck-filled stall to wait out a violent storm. Both memories he could, frankly, do without. Daryl banged on the open door with one hand, the bow poised in the other; nothing. He relaxed, lowered his weapon, and walked the rest of the way inside.

It was a reasonably clean barn. No sign of animals in some time or people (besides the lowest rung on the ladder that someone had broken recently). Carol. He turned and saw the workbench covered in some twine and old razor wire. He bit his lip. 'Could be useful,' he thought. He wondered if she'd been in here, why she hadn't used the wire on the perimeter. 'Hafta asker later." he wiped an itch from his nose and looked up. The sun streamed through the rafters from a hole in the roof. Dust motes danced through the air on the beams of light and settled gently up in the loft. Thought obstructed, he could see there was something up there. More food? More supplies? He took in a deep breath. On second glance, there wasn't much else left inside, but it would suffice to hide the truck from would-be visitors and anything else he might find in the loft? He remembered what Glen and Maggie had always joked about on runs. 'There's nothing left in this world that isn't hidden.' Daryl scratched his chin curiously, approached the ladder, and began climbing.