Work Text:
Daryl knows.
He knows that every night, like clockwork, at the same time, Carol is waken up by a nightmare and he knows that it's the end of the night for her. She will get up, and go out on the porch, or do some knitting in the living room. There's just no going back to sleep for her once she has been waken up.
Every night, he hears her get up, and every night, he acts like a coward, and stay in his bed. Every night he wakes up at the same moment she does, and every night he decides that she would talk if she wanted to.
Except, she wants to, he can see it in her eyes, in her whole demeanor. He isn't sure she knows what she's broadcasting, but he also knows he's probably the only one picking up on that vibe. There's something eating Carol alive, and it's nothing he can make disappear, like those walkers back at the shelter.
They have their routine in Alexandria, and he hates that it keeps him away from her. He misses her during the day, and he knows she misses him too. It's not cockiness, it's something deeper. Kindred spirits was an expression used by Morgan once to depict something, and it stuck with Daryl, because that is exactly what he and Carol are.
One night, he wakes up as she does, and he hears her go into the living room to knit. There's a pregnant chick somewhere in the zone and Carol has decided to knit stuff for the baby. He supposes it serves her persona at Alexandria, the nice lady who does cookies and knits. That same nice lady could probably kill you ten ways till Sundays using only her thumb.
She's so tough, and strong, yet there are demons keeping her awake.
He hears a sound he never heard before when this was happening; Carol is crying softly.
He gets up from his own bed, and goes in the living room, feeling like this time, he can't pretend, and he can't let her suffer. He makes noise so that she will hear him come, so that she can wipe her tears.
He comes into the living room, and he makes a show of picking a chair and coming to sit in front of her, as she is on the couch. He turns the chair around, so that he can put his arms on the back.
He says nothing, and watches her knit for a while. That's all he knows how to do, listen. Actually it's not true, he knows when to speak up too, but this feels like something she needs to be willing to share, and not something he should demand from her.
She smiles at him, and he can see the redness, faint but there, in her eyes. His stomach is a ball of nerves.
He just sits. Silence is an old friend of theirs.
After a while, she starts crying again, discreetly, and he put his hand on her wrist, awkwardly, wanting to tell her he's there, beyond a doubt.
"Maria, the one expecting?" Carol finally says. "She thinks she's having a girl. She wants to call her Lizzie, like her mother."
And while he doesn't have the full story, some things click in to place.
Another tear runs down Carol's cheek, and she seems annoyed with the display. He knows she's suffering way too much for a few tears to take away her ache. He wishes he could do something.
He caresses her wrist, and wipes away her tear.
She looks at him, and he can read "If I talk, will you judge me?"
He looks back, hoping she can read in his eyes that he would never judge, and he just wants her to be able to get a full night of sleep, for once, among other things.
"When we were on the road, with the girls..." She starts.
And he hears it all, as she whispers about the pain eating her inside and what caused it to be there. He keeps his hand on her wrist, and never judges. Never. He has no words for her, only love to convey the only way he knows how. He listens to her burden, and hopes for anything, and nothing.
She wakes up at the same time after her nightmare the following night, and the one after that. However, he gets up each time, and goes in the living room with her. They mostly say nothing, which for them is saying everything.
They do this, because that's what they know how to do. And one night, a few weeks later, she doesn't wake up until Rosita and Tara make some noise in the kitchen. He wakes up to then. When they meet in the kitchen, still half asleep, she smiles at him, and he smiles back. The road is long and will be so, but for once, they can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Together of course.