Chapter Text
Carol can feel beams of sunlight tickling the exposed skin of her neck and face, warming her comfortably. It's different from the humid heat of Georgia, gentler and more welcome. A blush blossoms beneath freckled, pale skin, and Daryl catches himself mesmerized by the sight for just a moment too long.
Do you really have to go? If she has noticed him staring then she keeps any smart comment about it bottled up. Concern seeps from her voice instead, blue eyes twinkling in the sunlight. The silver curls of her hair reflect the rays much like the lake, little diamonds scattered all around (when has her hair grown out this much? Daryl wonders, still thriving of the memory of her curls tickling his face when he woke, wrapped around her, weeks ago).
Runnin' low on everything, he explains. She knows this, which makes his reply as redundant as her question.
I know, Carol sighs, worry flaring inside if her. How often has she waved him goodbye? Countless times. Until now, he has always returned, sometimes triumphant, other times battered and bruised. Could this lucky streak go on forever? Without the crossbow slung over his shoulder, he looks unusually naked and exposed. I understand you need to be out there. I do. His eyes drop towards his boots, nudging the tips against the warmed asphalt. I know you. Her words from the clearing still haunt him until this day, and despite the familiarity with them he feels the dreaded blush that crawls up his neck.
This is a cage, no matter how much electricity or warm water they have left. Around them, new walls are erected, and he can feel them closing in on him already. He wants this place to work, to stay standing, to be the home the children deserve. But he can not be chained to it. Carol understands that, so aware herself of the dangers that loom within the warm coat of shelter and comfort. This place still holds the power to weaken them, even after everything they paid to earn it.
Gotta go, he mutters, but he does not move despite his words. Inside of him, he fights the tug in two opposite directions. Carol. Freedom. Her arms. Open roads.
Stay safe. Her smile illuminates her face, melts away fine lines of worry and sleepless nights. Proof of the horrors she has lived through, both before and after the world came to its untimely end. Both of them were born again in the ashes and debris, a bond that is as thin as it is strong.
Without a second thought, Daryl reaches out for her, calloused fingers curling gently around her wrist. She has rolled up her sleeves, and so there is nothing to hide her brief shiver at his touch from him. He offers her a smile in return, knowing it could never compare to hers. But it seems to be enough for her.
Chastely, heart setting an erratic pace, Daryl allows his thumb to circle across her pulse point, surprised to find that her pulse has adapted to his own restless rhythm.
Carol sighs when he eventually and much too quickly drops her hand, the sound of it stirring a fire inside Daryl that sets every fiber of his body ablaze. With a curt nod, he quickly turns away, unwilling to let the sudden heat distract him.
She watches quietly as he walks away, wrapping her own slender fingers around her wrist, cold and too soft and no comparison. His wings glow a little in the sunlight, and she is proud of her handiwork, nothing to show for the cut that had spoiled them. They span and move as he walks, until eventually, he disappears around a corner.
Brisk steps carry him, but his fingers still tremble when he takes out the list of medical supplies that Denise had written. His skin still tingles where it has touched Carol's, distracting him even as the heat in his belly resigns and turns to embers. His eyes scan over the last item on the list with confusion.
The hell?