Work Text:
So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as you like
Just promise me we'll be alright
ghosts that we knew, mumford & sons
Where've ya been?
Her feet freeze on the first step of the stairs, the short hairs at the nape of her neck rising as her pulse momentarily picks up. The rush of adrenaline last only briefly, though. She knows this voice too well.
Daryl is leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, hands tucked into his armpits. It shocks her a little that she has not noticed him looming in the shadows, her senses failing her.
Outside, she replies, choosing to omit the sarcasm that could have accompanied the simple word. Her fingers are curled around the banister, still a little tingly, her legs feeling as light as her steps. It has been a long time since she felt quite this... calm.
No shit. Daryl chuckles, but she can tell that his heart is not in it. Instead, the dim light reveals just how utterly tired he looks. It awakens a familiar urge in her. The need to tuck him away, keep him warm, make him see who he really is: so much softer and vulnerable than he'd ever admit.
But she can not be that person for him anymore. So, with a halfhearted roll of her eyes, she begins her ascent up the stairs, knowing that sleep is still out of reach.
You been smokin'? His question catches her off guard, and for a heartbeat, she feels a rush of fear that he saw. She does not regret it, and truthfully, it is none if his business. But no matter how hard she tries denying it, deep down she understands it would tear at him if he knew. He looks curious, though, and far from hurt, and so she assumes that he can simply smell the stale smoke on her.
What if I have? With raised eyebrows, she meets his stare. In it, she can see everything she has tried to ignore and avoid for weeks now.
Mercifully, he spares her another moment like that on the porch just the other night. A moment during which she allowed herself to slip, to fall into the footsteps of a different woman. One who burned, was banished, and who she left behind for good in a field of wildflowers.
Daryl shrugs, still glued to the spot. She can not do this again, tip toe along the fine red line they have drawn. Not tonight, not when she finally feels a glimpse of comfort, of reassurance and validation that she is not yet another monster on a long list of lost souls.
As she quietly climbs the stairs, she touches her fingers to her lips, the echo of Tobin's kiss still reverberating against chapped skin.
Daryl has never made her feel like a monster. And physically, she knows he could have given her the same thing, perhaps with a little more initiative on her part. But it would never have quite the same effect. Unlike Tobin, Daryl can never offer her the type distraction that she craves. With Daryl, it would always mean too much and reach places of her heart that are too deep.
Daryl knows her too well. Sure, Tobin was able to see what she needs, longs and pretends to be. And he even found his way behind her walls enough to catch a glimpse of the darkness hidden there. Still, he will never quite understand her the way Daryl does, and always has.
Daryl can see through her every lie. She can only be herself with him.
Her bedroom door falls shut quietly, and her eyes immediately find the notebook open on her bed.
She can not be herself, not when herself is somebody she does not understand, someone she fears and loathes.
The initial sensation of calm, and even a brief reminder of happiness that have followed the chaste kiss fade, and in their wake, she is left as restless as ever. Still, no guilt or regret forms inside of her, not when, for just a short moment, she has allowed herself to hope.
Leaning against the back of the RV, Carol can hardly make him out until she comes to a slow halt right in front of them. She is standing a little too close to him considering how fragile their bond has been lately. Everything that has happened has chipped away at it, and she can feel the raw nerve that twines at its core beginning to wail in agony, aching to hold it together.
He does not say a word, balancing the tip of his shotgun against the cracked asphalt, following the lazy circle it draws in the dust with his eyes.
Stay safe. She keeps her voice quiet, because even though she can only see him right now, they are not alone out here in the middle of a nameless road. There are curious eyes and ears, and if this is all they can have, then she needs it to be as private as she can make it.
His only reply is a breathy grunt, and perhaps it was once meant as laughter. It's purely him, but her heart aches for him to take her words seriously. Her palm burns when she lifts it to cup his scruffy cheek. For a splinter of a second, he moves to flinch away, but then he steadies himself, finally meets her eyes.
Delicately, her fingertips hover over his cheekbone, searching the depths of his eyes for an answer to a question she can not articulate. I mean it, she whispers on a sigh.
The air between them is as charged as it always is as of late. Faintly, almost as veiled as her memories from before the Turn, she recalls how easy being around him has been once. There is no use in dwelling on it, however, and before her fingers drift too close to the untamed strands of his hair, or the slightly parted curve of his lips, she drops her hand.
Her boots scrape against the road as she turns and walks away, watching the night sky unfold above them.
Carol? Craning her neck to look over her shoulder, her eyes struggle to make out the contours of Daryl's face in the darkness. It is a fruitless effort, but where her eyes fail her, her memory fills in the blanks. Stay safe.
She can not smile, no matter how desperately a small part of her wants to, one that is reminiscent of simpler days. That woman, small and cowering inside of her where she has hidden away the ashes, wants to say nine lives, remember? But the words never pass her lips this night. How many of those lives has she used up already? By now, numb and fractured, it feels more like none of them are left.
Daryl pushes himself away from the RV then, walking away with wide strides and the shotgun strapped to his back without another word. Oh, how the times have changed.
We've got a Carol and a Maggie.
The world shifts. Tilts. Wavers. Finally stops spinning. He grows deaf to everything around him. Blind. For a century, he wanders in darkness.
Within that, he listens to himself bravely uttering all the words he has never spoken. Some of those are new and unfamiliar, and he has never considered them before now. He floats away and feels a phantom hand within his own, a little cool, incredibly soft, and he intertwines his fingers with hers and squeezes so tight for all the times he has failed to do this before. In the end, her bones shatter within his grasp like glass, star dust carried away in the wind.
He closes the distance now instead of then, is drawn to a small light (a star or the sun or maybe the end; he does not have a clue and what's it matter now?) like a moth to a flame. Perhaps that is all he will ever be, and all she ever has been. A moth and a flame. A flame that has flickered and braved the storm, but lately has slowly faded away.
As the world around him reemerges, Daryl struggles to hold on to the memory of the light. She has slipped away for such a long time, but now she is finally out of reach.
He looks at Rick, every muscle in his body on the brink of snapping in two from the unbearable tension. It requires all his strength to pull the bastard back onto his feet, even with Glenn's help. His hand curls around his neck to hold him steady, panic seeping from his every pore.
All he can feel now that the colors and the sounds and the stenches are back, is cold.