This chapter answers what happens in the hours after they reunite. They have to learn how to coexist. And in this, it only felt natural for me to shift from Carol's thoughts and feelings and write a little of Daryl's POV. I've always felt that where these two struggle most is their fierce hyperindependence even when they definitely need one another so this whole story explores that to a degree. A push and pull between them. And for awareness, I will likely not introduce any OC's. I didn't in the original version and I don't plan to now. In my head these two really need to figure their stuff out together (something we're not being given in the spin off) and the best way to do that is to give them time and some isolation with one another. Enjoy Ch.3 Silent Night!
I don't own these characters or TWD.
The song that inspired the vibes of this chapter is a rendition of "Silent Night" by Sufjan Stevens.
Silent Night
He stalled in the doorway and watched as she fluttered effortlessly about the place, covering the windows for the night.
"S'not a bad spot you got here," he motioned around them, throwing off his wool poncho and unbuttoning his winter coat.
"I got lucky." She replied as she busied herself with starting the fire.
He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "You and me both."
"You gonna stand all night in the door, or are you going to come in and sit down?" she turned from her task, a gleam in her eye.
He scoffed, "Jus' been on the road forever. Ain't used ta-" his cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, "How long ya been stayin' here?" he removed his coat and sat beside her on the floor.
She sat back on her heels in front of the wood stove. "Week and a half, maybe."
His eyes widened in shock.
"Got colder. Harder to move forward on foot, so when I stumbled on this place, I just stopped. Decided to take advantage. Not many people or walkers in these parts, from what I can tell." She shrugged and threw another log into the stove.
He hummed in response. "Thought with all this you'd been here longer."
She shook her head. "When I left-" she paused, searching for the right words, "I-" She looked down at her hands and picked at the cuticle on her thumb. "I wandered around aimlessly for months. Just waiting to die." She turned to him with glassy eyes.
He glanced at her, nodded, and stared ahead into the fire. "Still here, though. Same as me."
She nodded and wiped a tear that had made a track down her left cheek. "I thought it would give everyone their best chance. You'd be able to get your happy ending." She looked over at him, the fire setting his features aglow.
"Happy endings!" he scowled and released a huff of anger.
"You deserve one." She reached out her hand to touch his knee. He jolted under her touch. "Sorry," she apologized, withdrawing her hand.
"S'okay, just been a while."
"Me too." she nodded and stood. "Let me get you something to eat." She rested her hand on his shoulder before turning to the kitchen. He turned his gaze from the swirling fire behind the glass of the wood stove and grasped her hand in apology. Clearing her throat, she pulled her hand from his shoulder as the tension flaring between them broke. "I'll just-" she motioned to the kitchen and left him by the fire.
He looked over his shoulder and watched as she put a small pan on the camper stove and turned on the gas. A gentle silence filled the space between them. A slow, tumultuous wave of anger and pain simmered right underneath the ease and affection he felt for her—feelings he couldn't quite put into words yet and didn't know if he ever would.
"There's another house about three miles west of here; I figured I'd go over there tomorrow and see what's left." her voice interrupted his thoughts. She looked over her shoulder at him, "Do you want to come and sit at the table? It'll be ready soon." He nodded and rose sufficiently warm from his place in front of the fire.
He smirked and took a seat with a view of her at the counter.
"There's coffee." She nodded to the steaming cup in front of him. He watched as her hands deftly opened another can and dumped it into the small pot. "Stew's not much, but at least it's not expired."
"Ain't never been much to complain about your cookin'." He cradled the warm mug in his hands (half full after a hearty sip) to warm his fingers.
She turned from the stove, eyes shining with mirth, "Remember the stewed kudzu?"
He held up his hands in defense, "Ain't never said a word about it." his eyes gleamed with teasing affection.
"Your face right now says it all," she giggled. "Don't think I didn't notice how, after that, you tried extra hard to make sure I had game to cook instead of weeds." Her voice softened at the memory as she turned back to the simmering pot.
"Pffft!" He took a sip of his coffee to hide a small smile. He glanced at the wood stove, "You need more wood for the stove?"
He stood from his chair, and they both reached for the next log to throw into the fire.
She approached the woodpile, "Ah, I think we should be good. I'll just-
"I can-" Their hands touched briefly. Daryl pulled away from her quickly. "Sorry."
"I can take care of myself," she teased.
"Know that just trying to help-"
"I can think of a few other ways you could help with those hands of yours," she threw the log into the stove and giggled.
"Stahp!" He felt the heat at the tips of his ears spread downward and across his cheeks.
He ducked his head and decided to walk over to the bay window in the living room before he said something else she'd inevitably turn into a sexual joke. There he stood, rubbing the back of his neck nervously again before he lifted the fringe at the edge of the mauve and teal monstrosity obstructing the view of the property. It was a thick woven blanket with a leafy green and white floral pattern that reminded him of the Cherokee rose momentarily. His heart panged for her, Carol. He was reminded that she'd lost just as much as anyone in this world- maybe more. But like him, she'd been given another chance, and she'd chosen another path than the woman he remembered early on. She'd decided to keep going. And even though she'd left them all behind, he understood it. He maybe even admired it. He peeked around the edge of the tapestry and stared into the inky black. He could just make out the swirl of snow kicking up in front of the house.
"Saw some deer tracks not far. A day or two ago," she called to him.
"Saw the same." He flipped the edge of the tapestry back in place and made sure it was secure. "Saw you set a few snares around in the treeline." He returned to the kitchen, grabbed his mug, and joined her at the sink. She held out her hand as he handed it to her. "Smart."
"hmm?" she rinsed the mug and dried it quickly with a towel.
"You." he leaned against the sink and watched her contemplate his words.
She shrugged, "You taught me." She pulled two bowls down from the cupboard on her left and turned her attention back to the stew.
"Just like you." He growled. "Never giving yourself the credit."
She scoffed at him as she stirred the stew. "Can't think of who I learned that from," she winked.
"Smart ass!" He blushed, and she giggled. He shook his head and pushed away from the counter to retrieve his bow from the other room. When he brought them over to the kitchen table, she turned from the stew and threw a rag on the table for him. She walked over to another cupboard and pulled out a tin of WD-40. He looked up at her in surprise.
She placed it on the table next to the rag and smiled kindly, "Dinner will be ready shortly. A few minutes left to simmer should be good." She wiped her hands on a towel and set it on the counter. He got to work on his bow and watched her from the corner of his eye. She looked around nervously, unsure what to do with herself, "I'm- going to go scrounge up some more blankets while we wait."
He reached for the can and the rag, "Need help?"
"No, I got it." She passed him and disappeared down the dark hall.
A feeling of unease settled in his stomach as he took the can of lubrication and sprayed one of the joints on the bow. He chalked it up to his weary feelings at being safe and settled here. He didn't want to hedge any bets that this place could last, even though he felt safe with her. Nothing good like this ever lasted for them. He worried his lip with his teeth in concentration, only looking up when he heard the soft click of a door and a soft crash mixed with her muffled "Oh shoot!"
"Carol?" he called after her in the darkness of the back of the house. He felt adrenaline flood his senses and stood. He grabbed the kerosene lamp from the table and hurried down the hall after her. There were four doors, and only one was open. He called for her again as he turned into the room, "Carol."
She startled. "Oh my god, Daryl! You scared me!" She gasped, clutching her chest.
"Sorry." He held the lamp up. "Ya okay? Can't see shit in here."
She sighed, "Yeah—yeah—I know it was stupid." She crouched down on the floor to repack the shoe boxes that had fallen.
He stepped further into the room, set the lamp on the floor, and knelt to help.
"S' fine. Just glad you're okay."
"Thank you," she muttered, gathering up a set of pictures and tossing them back in the box. He mirrored her until he noticed her hand stall over a collection of images still strewn on the floor. "Looks like it's just a bunch of old pictures," she mumbled sadly. "Look like they were good people." He swallowed nervously as she swiped at her eyes suddenly.
"Nah, probably assholes." He tried coaxing a laugh out of her.
She didn't reply as he watched her lithe fingers caress one particular image for a moment longer than she had the others. He leaned over and picked up one of the pictures she seemed to be entranced with. Three gangly 12-year-olds sat on the open gate of a bright red Ford pickup. "Almost looks like your girl," he said softly, pointing to the one with strawberry blond hair and a laughing smile.
"Different life, maybe." Her voice was laced with despair as she swiped another tear from her eye. "Here," she said, holding out her palm in request. He placed the image in her hand, and she shuffled the remaining Polaroids together before throwing them into a box. He picked up the lamp, and they stood. "Thank you." She turned and reached back into the closet, pulling the blankets from the top shelf. She turned back to him and handed him a stack, "Here, more blankets." She closed the closet door and reached for his lamp, "I can take that."
He shook his head, "Can carry both."
She nodded, "Stew's probably ready." She brushed off her hands and walked out of the room and back to the kitchen without so much as a backward glance.
He blew out a small breath and followed her. He could feel how delicate things were between them.
She lazed on the couch, staring into the fire after they had finished dinner. A few more words were shared here and there about her cooking and some about Daryl's journey to find her, but more had remained unspoken. He sat on the floor in front of the couch, transfixed by the fire. They were content to enjoy the warmth and the comfortable silence until she decided to break it. "Daryl?"
"Hmm?" he turned, giving her a sideways glance.
"Earlier, when I mentioned happy endings. I know that my leaving hurt you." She felt it was better to get it all out now. No more speaking in secret code. She was ready to be honest with him.
He scoffed, "You don't know shit." he bit at her. There it was, the anger she'd been sensing finally rising to the surface in him. She could see him trying to steady the tide of emotion as he sat up.
"I want to talk about it. I don't want it to just sit between us and fester."
He reached for his discarded boots. "Should go out-check the perimeter."
She sat up straight on the couch, her hand stilled on his shoulder much like it had earlier after she lit the fire, this time as he was lacing up his boots. He froze and dropped the laces. "You could." she spoke softly, "or you could stay, and we could talk it out. Just this once."
He shook off her touch and picked the laces back up. "Not angry. Know it's what you needed, probably what we both needed..." He stood and flexed his hands into fists at his side for a brief moment.
"But?"
He shook his head and started buttoning his coat. "I'm not fool enough to start this fight." He wasn't ready.
She frowned and watched him pick up his bow. "Perimeter is fine," she assured him. "Not so much as a walker in days, at least not one that isn't frozen." He reached for the door handle, "Daryl, please?"
He paused at the door and hung his head. "Not leavin' ya. Not mad just-" He gave her a reassuring look, "-need fresh air- a smoke. Get my head together." She frowned as he opened the door and stepped out into the cold.
The door shut behind him, and she flopped backward onto the couch and stared off into the fire as tears threatened to fall again. Months without him and away from him had felt impossible. But the prospect of having him near but still hating her would be her end.