Chapter Text
His cigarette glimmers in the dark, smoke gliding from his mouth in smooth waves. They swirl and disperse in the air. It is a comforting sight, one that is never changing. It reminds him of long forgotten nights, sitting in the bed if his truck with Merle, beer bottles in their hands and sharing the last smoke in his pack. Drifting. Always drifting. Still, it is one if his sweeter memories of his brother; he chooses to hold on to it, not allowing it to disperse into the night, as well.
Soft steps alert him, but he remains still, leaning against the wall. It's no walker.
Daryl is surprised when Carol comes into view. She has a robe wrapped around her pajamas, tied neatly in the front. Her boots are strapped around her feet, striped pajama bottoms stuffed hastily inside them. The sight makes him chuckle.
I heard you're back, she notes, slowly stepping up onto the porch. She has her arms crossed in front of her chest despite the mild breeze. He has a feeling she waited up for them to return, but he keeps his theory to himself. He has seen the way her hair usually sticks out in all possible directions after she has slept. Right now, however, it is smooth and silky. Inviting.
Daryl does not bother with a reply, dropping the cigarette onto the floorboards, suffocating the last heat with his boot. Ash spoils the spot, and it earns him a disapproving look from Carol.
How did it go? She takes the spot next to him, pressing her shoulder blades against the wall, crossing her ankles. With this little space between them, Daryl can feel his skin prickling, the echo if her touch still strong enough to raise the hairs on his arms.
Found a truck full o' supplies. The disappointment of losing such a gold mine rests heavily on his bones. An' some prick who stole it. Carol scrunches her eyebrows, obviously concerned. Lately, new people have brought them nothing but bad luck, death and destruction. Got the prick, ain't got the truck, he sighs, nodding towards the closed door. Doc's lookin' at him. Gonna put him in the cell.
Briefly, he wonders if he should tell her why. Mention that their prisoner saved his life. He decides against it rather quickly, not wanting to worry her. Not tonight.
He turns his head back towards her, the wall cool against his cheek. Carol has done the same, and suddenly there is next to no space between them. Her minty breath dampens his skin, prickles against his lips.
Are you coming back home? she whispers, every syllable humming and vibrating in the scarce inches between them.
He is not sure if she is simply asking him to sleep in his own bed tonight, get some rest after an eventful and exhausting day. Maybe walk her home (he has never walked a girl home in his life, and while that has never once bothered him before, daryl suddenly feels cheated for not getting the opportunity with her). His own thoughts embarrass him. In his mind, he can here Merle telling him to grow some balls. But the heat that rises in his cheeks is unrelated to his embarrassment. Instead, it is entirely to blame on the hopeful smile on Carol's lips.
To hope for the alternative seems foolish. That she is asking him to share his bed with her again. Never would he make assumptions, but he can not help his thoughts from wandering. They haven't slept in the same room since that night, but he can not stop thinking about it. Despite having spent many nights so close together during their long winter on the road, and even during those bitter days on their journey from Atlanta, it is all new and uncharted territory. Then, it had been out if necessity or coincidence (although he found himself drifting towards carol far too often for it to be by chance).
That night had been different.
He has never slept more peacefully in his entire life, neither before nor after. At least, he does not believe he has. Usually, he puts all his effort into erasing memories of before (with very few exceptions). They are unwelcome, and feel detached. Almost as if they belonged to a different man. Daryl knows that Carol feels similar, that she holds on to barely anything that still connects her to life before.
Longing to savor the calm and peacefulness that her arms offered, his eyes drift down towards her lips. They are slightly parted, glistening in the moonlight. When their eyes meet again, he knows he has been caught, but her steadfast smile does not waver.
Can't, he mutters, disappointed. His sigh fills the space between them. Have ta keep an eye on him.
Silently, he curses the son of a bitch – what did he say his name was? Jesus? - for ruining this. He never should have let Rick talk him into bringing him back. It eats him up, the wish to walk back home with Carol, if only to tell her goodnight.
Her smile fades away, and he mourns the loss of it almost instantly. In one smooth movement, she uncrosses her arms, allowing them to fall gracefully towards her sides. It might have been a coincidental move, but when her hand brushes the back of his just so, Daryl remembers that nothing Carol does is ever by coincidence.
Her fingers, clever and gentle and soft and everything that his own will never be, curl almost non-nonchalantly around his wrist. Just like his own have done this morning.
Daryl's throat constricts when he finds her crystal clear blue eyes focused on his lips, a shiver running from the tip of his fingers all the way to the nape of his neck, rushing like a blaze of wildfire. They are so close, too close. His imagination runs wild when her finger draws elegant circles against his skin, smooth and delicate compared to the smudged sketches he has left behind on her pale skin before.
Her lips call for him, his heart moaning against the restraints he has tied around it. She pulls at them with each swipe of her thumb, with every flicker of her eyes towards his lips. Something seems to linger between them, words that he can almost see at the tip of her tongue when it slips from her mouth to wet her lips. That only stirs the fire in his guts, and the onslaught of bravery and confidence that it brings drives him a bit closer to her, inch by inch.
Their noses are almost touching, his own fingers fumbling to grasp for hers, aching to slip them in the empty spaces between. Carol denies him that, a firm hold on his wrist keeping him in place. Instead, she leans forward as well, just the breadth of an inch, her eyes finally abandoning his lips to meet his.
Whatever it is she can not say is holding them back.
The tip of his nose nudges hers, and Daryl can no longer contain the huff of breath he has been holding in. Carol sighs in response, a little voice to it, almost too much to bear.
When her lips part, Daryl is almost certain that she is ready to say whatever has been on her mind.
We'll take him to the cell. Rick's muffled voice breaks the silence, and gives them both enough time to jump a few feet apart, startled, before the door is opened and Rick steps out onto the porch.
He's fine, he states, greeting Carol with a nod to which she does not respond. Let's take him to the cell before he wakes up. He eyes Daryl expectantly, hands propped against his hips, before stepping back inside, leaving the door open for Daryl to follow.
When Daryl turns back to Carol, she is already making her way back down the porch, boots thudding quietly and hurriedly against the steps.
The goodnight he wanted to say dies on his tongue.