OK... so last chapter I promised I'd take a break from making Daryl cry. When I sat down to re-write this chapter I had every intention of making it less moody for him. It was going to be full of fluff about their future. But alas, I found myself swerving in another direction. 5 steps forward and 50 steps back for these two but only for a little bit. He's keeping the secret of his feelings locked down tight right now but we'll get to the truth of it all soon enough.

I don't own these characters or TWD

Vibes for this chapter were inspired by "Wintersong" by Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson

Wintersong

On this particular morning, Daryl woke with a start, Carol clinging to his side tightly as she fidgeted, lost in a dream. Dim light from the morning crept around the edges of the blanket covering the bay window. Her brow was furrowed with unease; he stilled as her hand gripped his shirt tightly before releasing a breath. He rubbed her arm gently, waiting for her to rouse under his touch. He watched as her eyes fluttered open, bleary and puffy from crying the night before with him. "You okay?" she asked hoarsely.

He grinned, nodding, "Big day."

"Right, you wanna move." she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and unfurled from his side to sit up.

"We don't have to; just want to go look around." He lay there watching her as she slowly put on a few layers she'd absconded with in the middle of their sleep.

She paused halfway, putting on her sweatshirt, and turned to him, "what?" she smiled.

"Nothing," he blushed and began to sit up. He rubbed his chest, trying to pretend for a minute that he could soothe away the flutter Carol caused him there. He stood, walked over to the curtained window, and pulled the blanket aside. The sky was clear. He made note of the shadows cast from the eastern side of the house; the sun was still relatively low, and the time was early. "Road might be a bit bumpy from the new snow, but no clouds from what I can tell."

He heard the soft footfalls of her boots across the carpet as she approached from behind. "You need new socks, " she said. He looked down at the threadbare garments as he wiggled his toes, peeping through.

"S'pose I do," he grumbled, looking at her over his shoulder.

"Hmmm." She smirked and looked past him to the window. "Should be a good day for a drive, at least."

"Not too bad." he agreed and made his way over to his boots.

She grabbed the pan of brownies she'd left in the chair the night before, "Breakfast first!" she squeaked in delight, "Or... treats for the road?" she asked him as she walked to the kitchen. He shrugged and deftly laced up his boots, which he noticed also looked a little worse for wear. When she walked back into the living room, she was grinning ear to ear and clutching a plastic bag with the rest of the brownies. "They'll be better on the road, I think. Was thinking," she sat the bag down and reached for the olive green coat hanging off the arm of the couch near him.

"Yeah—bout?" he stood and began donning his own layers. First, a long-sleeved shirt and then a black knit sweater were pulled over his head. He straightened the sweater down over his waistline.

Holding the coat in one arm, she reached for him with the other and ran her hand through his unruly locks, "Your hair is everywhere," she giggled. Her gaze shifted downward to avoid the intense look staring back from his own when she noticed, "You need new boots too," she gulped. "How did I not notice before?" she muttered to herself.

"S'fine." he brushed her off, walking down the hall to the back of the house and entering the bathroom. He leaned against the sink and stared at himself in the mirror, and muttered, "You're a goddamn coward."

"Hey!" she called after him, but he ignored her. She huffed in frustration and began putting together her pack for the road. She knew the house they were visiting was loaded with supplies but it didn't hurt to go over there prepared. So, she shoved in a couple bottles of water, the bag of brownies, and two cans of- she turned the dusty cans over, trying to read the label- minestrone? Into the bag they went. She heard the door to the bathroom in the back of the house open and out walked Daryl, hair brushed, hat on, chewing his lip. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." He looked her up and down and smiled shyly. "Coat looks good on you." He stepped forward to touch the tan fur-lined hood. It was impeccably soft under his fingertips.

"It was a gift from someone," her eyes twinkled at him. You don't think it's a little... fancy?" She twirled a little in the outerwear.

He dropped his hand and shook his head. "Just right for you. Warm-way it should be."

"Very warm," she blushed as she pulled on the zipper. Thank you for that."

"Was nothin'," he turned and put on his coat, scarf, and poncho.

"I'll check the closets when we get over there," she assured him as she wrapped her scarf around her neck. "I bet there's a pair of boots there." She grabbed the strap of her bag and threw it over her shoulder. "Ready," she stated.

He grabbed his bow and donned his pack, "Let's go." He turned for the door but paused, turning back, "You got your knife?"

She reached for the sheath tied securely to her bag's strap. "It's right here."

"Get a move on then." he nodded and led her out the door.

Although capable, the truck struggled considerably through the fresh snowpack. Without the modern convenience of plows that had surely kept it clear in the past, Daryl spent the drive gripping the steering wheel and slowly hitting the gas to push forward through the drifts to ensure they didn't spin out into the ditch.

They pulled up to the other property about an hour later than they had planned.

"Thank fuck." He grumbled as he threw the truck into park and exhaled loudly.

"Hope this was worth it," she muttered, hopping out of the truck. The sun overhead glared, and she threw up her hand to shade her eyes while looking up at the house.

He stepped out of the truck, "Look, okay?"

"Won't know until we go back inside." She walked ahead toward the back door, turned around, and squinted across the way at him. "Just our footprints, so we should be good. Head back around to the garage?"

"Yeah," he nodded and reached into the bed of the truck for his bow. When he looked up, Carol had disappeared to the backside of the house. His heart began to race. "Hey! Wait!" he began trudging forward, following her tracks through deeper snow. "Carol!" he called. When she didn't answer, his steps grew faster—frantic.

He rounded the corner to the back of the house, the door on the side of the garage was hanging wide open, and a walker lay at the bottom of the steps, recently dispatched by Carol's blade. "Carol!" he called again. Silence. He felt his body flood with anxiety as he stepped into the garage with extra care. His arms were rigid and kept his back straight- his bow at the ready as he walked straight up the steps and into the kitchen. There was a smattering of blood on the floor, a sign that something had gone terribly wrong in the few minutes they'd been separated. He was instantly on guard, trying to slow down his racing heart and mind as he started to fear the worst.

The house was dim inside, a few rays of light streaming in through the blinds as he crossed each door in the hallway, each clear- no sign of struggle, just dust on every visible surface of an office and bathroom. He came to an abrupt stop at the very end of the hall, his heart racing faster at the sight of a bloody footprint leading up the stairs.

THUMP

He looked up, swallowing nervously. He raised his bow and began climbing the stairs. As he reached the top, another THWUMP. He flinched, his hand squeezing the foregrip on the bow even tighter. His finger stayed poised on the trigger, ready to pull it at a moment's notice. THUMP. His body began to vibrate with anger and despair as the sound grew louder behind one particular door on the upper level. He dropped his bow to his side in defeat and let the tears slide down his face. THWUMP. His lip trembled, his jaw jutted out in defiance, and his eyes filled with intense rage and pain.

'Less than five minutes.' he thought as he stumbled back into the wood-paneled wall behind him and slid down to the blood-stained carpet. 'You stupid piece of shit. Of course.' He stuck the heels of his palms into his eyes as his body shook violently. His breathing grew shallow as he gasped through each and every sob that wracked his body. He was drawn back into another time, a memory of grieving where it hurt a little less to lose her as he lay a Cherokee rose on her empty grave. But now, the grief in him was all-consuming. There would be no laying of any flowers on her grave or his after today. His heart constricted at the memory of finding her alive, knowing now, as the tears fell fat and freely down his face, that she was behind the door in front of him, groaning and whomping, glassy-eyed- dead. And instead of being man enough to end it all for her and himself, he was frozen, 'sobbin' like a pussy,' as Merle would say.

"Daryl?"

He stilled, red-faced, teary-eyed. 'No.' he thought. 'She's not real.'

"What's going on?" her voice rang clear as day.

He looked out from beneath his trembling hands. There Carol stood- alive- plain as day in the doorway across the hall, a pair of boots in her hands.

THUMP

She startled. "Hate these assholes," she muttered as she glanced over her shoulder at the door behind her. Her gaze shifted back to Daryl. She met his eyes and saw his look of utter shock.

THWUMP

He flinched. Carol's face screwed up in confusion as she took in the sight of him crumpled on the floor in a heap of despair. Realization hit her squarely in the chest, and then the boots tumbled from her hands, the thud reverberating as they hit the floor. Everything else was an afterthought as she scrambled to join him on her hands and knees. "Daryl!" she called to him frantically.

THUMP

When she was within reach, he gripped the edges of her coat, frantically pulling her into him. His hands quivered as they roved over her shoulders, her face, and her body. He touched any part of her he could quickly as he gritted his teeth and furiously tried to drag in a breath. She grasped his head in her hands, brushed back the hair in his eyes, and looked directly into them. "Breathe," she demanded softly.

His neck and face strained, and his body began to reject her touch. "Daryl, stop! I'm here; I'm real." Her arms wrapped around him as he seized with anxiety. She squeezed tightly and rocked him. C'mon, breathe with me," she whispered calmly, bringing his forehead to rest against her collarbone.

A ragged, hot gasp tumbled from his lips, and her body sagged in relief against him. A ragged inhale, and his lungs filled with air. His rigid body began to relax. Slowly but surely, his breathing regained a steady rhythm. She tried to sit them up, but his arms, now around her, squeezed tightly, unwilling to release her. He closed his eyes tightly against her chest as his body now shook with relief.

"Okay, I think I got the generator going until we can go out and check the solar panels." She wiped her hands on a rag as she entered the kitchen from the back garage. "Bad news is the reverse osmosis won't work without the battery and converter, but we'll be fine for another day with the bottles in storage." Still shaken up, Daryl was drinking a bottle of water and smoking on the couch in the living room.

THUMP

They both looked up at the sound. "The only thing I can think is it must've gotten in after we left. Must not have latched the door properly," she stated as she walked over to the sink and flipped a switch. Warm light flooded the kitchen. "Hallelujah," she whispered.

"Or-" his voice cracked, "Someone came in after they got bit, explains the walker you took out by the door. All the blood on the floor- upstairs..." He cleared his throat and brought the cigarette to his lips, his hand still trembling.

THWUMP

She looked at him over her shoulder as she started rifling through the drawers, "I'll go up and take care of it in a minute-"

"No." he cut her off, his tone clipped, "Take care of it myself,"

Her back went straight as a rod, and she turned to him, wringing her hands nervously. "We can go and do it together."

He shook his head harder, "I said, just give me a minute."

She sighed, "Okay. I'm going to go and look at the thermostat, see if we can get the heat going." she swished past him to the hallway. She needed a distraction from the extremely heavy aura that seemed to settle in when she found him stricken with panic upstairs. Since then, he'd been almost despondent, shaking, and irritable. Flinching at the lightest of her touches after she held him and pushing her away verbally at every turn. Five steps forward and fifty steps back.

She paused at the entry to the living room and leaned against the door frame. "You gonna be okay?"

His head slowly turned up the sound of her voice. She could barely make out his eyes from all the hair hiding them. "Just scared the shit outta me," he exhaled.

That much had been evident in his clamoring hands and fierce grip. It had taken him almost an hour to let go of Carol after his breath had returned to normal. "Sorry for that."

"Ain't your fault." He looked away from her, staring ahead at the blank TV screen in the corner of the room.

She stepped forward slowly and found herself standing in front of him, reaching out her hand and gently swiping away the hairs hiding him away from her. He flinched away at first, and then-

THUMP

"There you are." He closed his eyes as her hand grazed the side of his face, and her thumb swept a line up his jaw. She sat boldly in front of him, on the coffee table, between his knees, as her boots knocked his own. He did not pull away from her. She looked down at his worn ones. " I should go back up and grab those boots I found." She tried diverting the conversation.

"You and those goddamn boots!" he grunted and lifted a hand to clutch his chest.

She stole the cigarette from his hand and nestled it between her lips. His eyes followed the trail of smoke as she exhaled. He reached out to steal it back, "Tell me what this really is?" she said while holding the cigarette out of his reach.

"What it really is?" he huffed out a half-hearted laugh. "Ain't in the mood to be therapized right now is what it is. You gonna give me back my cigarette?"

"Daryl." her gaze darkened.

THWUMP

"Goddamn fucker is gettin' on my last nerve," he gruffed.

She flicked the butt of the cigarette over the makeshift foil ashtray next to them and handed it back. He held it in his hands a moment, staring, pondering.

"What?" she asked in the gentlest tone.

He released a long breath of the smoke. "Already told ya- scared to death- thought you were dead."

"This is just life Daryl. This kind of thing is going to keep happening. We have scares, we almost die, and then we get up and keep going. But this- I've never seen you like this."

His hand shook as he took another puff of the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. He exhaled away from her, his eyes dark, "You think I'm keepin' secrets from ya?"

"I think we're both keeping secrets," she admitted.

THUMP

"Tell ya when I'm ready." he looked up from nothing into her eyes.

"Suppose that's fair." she met his intense gaze.

THWUMP

"I should—" she pointed to the hallway and stood. She backed away from the living room and vanished from Daryl's line of sight. She eyed the thermostat at the end of the hall by the staircase and bit her lip.

THUMP

She could easily take care of the walker, and it would be over, but she didn't want to cause Daryl to spiral any further.

THWUMP

So, instead of pushing or causing him further panic, she punched the up button on the thermostat, and the screen lit up a bright, beautiful blue. OFF. She hit the ON button and waited for a beat. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she fiddled with the heat settings. 'Floor Temp" popped up on the screen. She pursed her lips. Floor temp? On a whim, she set the thermostat to heat at sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit and returned to the kitchen. She felt his gaze follow her as she passed him.

She rustled around through the kitchen drawers. 'If I were the owners of this place, I'd keep the manuals in the junk drawer.'

THUMP

She flinched and looked over her shoulder at Daryl, anxiously bouncing his knee up and down. Her hands reached into another drawer, shoving aside pens, markers, and a smattering of odds and ends until she finally hit pay dirt. She thumbed through the small stack of manuals. The original owners had kept almost everything from their coffee maker to an electric toothbrush. On the last flip through the stack, she pulled out a small paper pamphlet with a line drawing of the thermostat on the cover. The other manuals plopped back into the drawer, and she opened the one still in her hands with a discerning focus. Words like 'radiant heat' and 'thermal coils' jumped at her. "If I take my shoes off," she mumbled to herself. She removed her boots and planted her feet firmly on the floor. A subtle smile formed on her face. She peered into the living room, "Take your boots off," she demanded.

"I don't want the goddamn boots," he growled at her.

She rolled her eyes, "Will you just listen to me?"

Daryl stared at her, confused, "what?"

"Just take your boots off," she motioned.

He looked down at her socked feet, and his face was bewildered.

"Just trust me." her eyes full of mirth.

THWUMP

"Ain't takin' 'em off," he grumbled and returned to smoking.

"Well, you're a real ray of sunshine," she said, blowing out an exasperated breath and throwing up her hands as she walked down the hall.

THUMP

"God's sakes," he growled and stood, following her, "I thought you fuckin' died up there-" THWUMP "and you're going on about takin' my boots off? Hell, are you on about?"

"I got the heat on. It might take a little while to feel it coming off the floor, but—" she looked down at her feet "—if you take your boots off, you should feel the radiant heat coming through your socks," she reasoned, bumping up the heat a few more degrees.

THUMP

They both looked up the stairs.

THWUMP

He puffed out an irritable breath. "Should probably-" he motioned up the stairs and pushed forward.

She turned back, gently laying her hand on his chest to stop him from going further. Her compassionate gaze met the troubled look in his eyes. "Are we good?"

He clutched her hand. "Tryin'."

THUMP

"We do this? We do it together, and then it's done," she assured him one last time.

It only took them a matter of minutes to take care of the unwanted tenant upstairs. A young man changed mere hours before their arrival by a bite to his cheek, his gaping jaw and growls silenced once Daryl had lodged an arrow through its temple.

The moment it was done, she watched his shoulders slump forward in relief. "I should take care of 'em before he starts to stink up the place," he peered inside the room—a master suite.

She walked in, stepping over the body gingerly, and opened the windows, letting the cold winter wind in to clear out the stale air. "This'll help." she nodded. "I'll take heads. You take tails." He set his bow off to the side, and they made quick work of clearing out the re-dead corpse.

Dusk settled over the house without much preamble, blanketing the outside and some of its interior in warm amber light. Carol and Daryl sat across from one another at the kitchen table with two steaming bowls of soup and some freshly baked bread she'd whipped up with the stockpile in the pantry. They'd long removed their outer layers and now sat comfortably in the heated space. "Well, you're right," she slurped. It's nicer than the cottage."

He worried his lip between his front teeth, "Still got a few things to clean."

"You want to rip out the carpet in the hallway upstairs so you don't have to think about it?" she offered.

He shook his head and took a bite of his bread, "Just mean, there's dust everywhere."

"Well, my days of being a lowly housewife are over, but I guess I can help with a few chores." she winked, sassing him. She cleared her throat and stood to retrieve another slice of bread.

"Can do it together. S'fine," Daryl shrugged.

"God, it's nice to have bread again, but it really makes me miss butter."

"Could always try findin' a cow for ya."

She chuckled, "If we're dreaming, how bout some chickens, too? Fresh eggs, anyone?" He didn't reply; he just watched her every move as she bit into her slice of bread and took another slurp of her soup. "When I was out with the generator, I noticed the barn was cleared," she stated, trying to keep him engaged in conversation. That you?"

"The barn- the shed," he nodded.

"That's good."

"Yeah," he said, dropping his spoon into the bowl. "I can't eat this anymore."

"That's okay. I know it's not much, but I figure tomorrow I can take inventory. See what's in the pantry; check for any other storage." She reached for his bowl, collected it and hers, and placed them in the sink.

"You think you might want to stay?" He eyed her at the sink, lifting the curtain to peek outside. She heard the scrape of his chair and felt him suddenly behind her, his arms braced on either side of her, his chin floating just above her shoulder, their bodies only inches apart. Her breath quickened, and she turned to look at him with hope and longing.

"Depends," she spoke softly.

He nodded toward the window, and her eyes followed his hand as it pointed to the yard, "See that spot back by the shed?"

"Mhmm."

"Well, was thinkin' it'd be perfect for a garden."

"A garden?" she asked in surprise.

"Grow whatever we want," he nodded, a glint of optimism in his eyes.

"More?" she closed the curtain and turned around in his arms, coming face to face with him.

He backed away a step, "Yeah," he reached up to scratch the crown of his head.

She was startled for a moment at how domestic they had become. It was no longer about just surviving with him. They had already agreed they had a future. But deciding to stay meant they were deciding to settle down- to live and pursue that future. She pondered this dream he had, the garden, a home, more? What if it worked out for them- here in this place? "Think, I realized again today if we don't try, it won't ever happen.

"Okay," she whispered and felt something like hope beginning to bloom in her chest.