Work Text:
the kind of beauty that moves
“Ed never let me wear nice things like this,” he hears her as he strides by, intent on looking for some gas and a way the hell out of the traffic snarl they’ve landed themselves in. He thinks it’s a waste of time – but Rick is hell bent on heading to Fort Benning and fuck, it’s not like he has any better place to be.
Her words bother him as he works. They niggle at him for days, weeks, months after they leave that pathetic strip of concrete – the last place they saw that little girl alive. He thinks about it – the drab tans and browns that blend into nothingness that he’s seen her in. He thinks of the smile on her face as she’d pressed that red fabric against her chest and held it there. She’s quiet – pale and colourless since they left the farm. It’s like he can see the colour bleed out of her right before his very eyes. He wants her to smile again.
Ed never let me.
Well. Fuck that, he thinks. He’ll show that son of a bitch.
~*~*~*~*~
“This red or burgundy?” He shoves the fabric under Maggie’s nose and she jumps back, letting out a startled laugh of surprise.
“What? Why?” She shakes her head and his fist clenches the soft fabric tighter in his hand. It’s a material he’s never felt before – lord knows none of his shirts ever felt this soft, and the fabric brushes against his hands, catching on the callouses on his palms. “Maybe a maroon? Or a wine? Sort of purple,” She finally responds to his relentless gaze and he grunts and nods decisively.
“That’s close to red right?”
“I suppose, yeah. It’s in the same sort of colour family. It’ll bring out your eyes, Daryl,” Maggie teases and he rolls his eye in irritation. The top has long sleeves, with a pretty pattern along the bottom hem. Winter’s coming – it will keep her warm. “Thought you were grabbing clothes with the boys?”
“Done, don’t take much choosing when you don’t give a shit,” he answers her, rummaging through the rack in front of him. It’s a chain store – nothing fancy but lots of size selection which is what they need on runs like these. It will have to do, he thinks as he pulls out a light beige sweater. He hates the colour, but the wool is soft, like petting a baby lamb, and he eyes the size before he shoves it in his bag along with the top.
“Yet you’re perusing the ladies section?” Maggie counters, eyeing him across the aisle. “I’m on to you, Daryl Dixon. You’re not nearly so mean as you make out to be.”
“Shut up,” he mutters and she laughs.
“It’s okay. It’ll be out little secret. Well, and Carol’s,” Maggie smirks and he huffs at her in annoyance as Glenn shouts from the front of the store that they’re ready. His eyes light up as he spies something red finally – in a discount rack, a material even softer than the shirt – it is a deep red tank top with an odd open, lacy sort of back and looks to be just her size. He grabs it on the way out – despite the fact that it is well into November and she won’t be able to wear it any time soon.
It’s red, he justifies.
That’s reason enough.
He waits until everyone is gone to bed, long after dinner is served and T is on watch so they are alone in the tiny living room the three of them have been relegated to. The three amigos, T-Dog always teases about how it always seems to shake out to the three of them on their own. He’d seen her bring in some clothes out of the bag Maggie had let everyone pick through – a pair of black pants, sturdy and serviceable, some flimsy boots and three pairs of socks.
“Here, got you these,” he shoves the bundle of clothes at her as she is contemplating her sleeping bag and she blinks in surprise, barely catching them in time before they drop to the floor. “Ain’t nothing, was just grabbing shit,” he lies terribly, avoiding her gaze and then he lays down and rolls over, desperately not wanting to watch her look at them – just in case she hated them.
He can hear her move, rustle the fabric a bit as she gasps softly. He hears her hum, and sigh and finally it’s fucking killing him so he turns his head, just a bit and cranes his neck so he can see her reflection in the glass fire shield just above his head. She is kneeling, a wide smile on her face and the sweater pressed against her cheek. The sight loosens something in his chest, and settles down into his own bedroll with a little more ease. “Thank you Daryl,” her voice is soft and awed, like he’d given her diamonds or a fucking pony or some shit, and he shrugs, rolling on to his back to see her holding the red shirt to her, a soft smile playing on her lips.
“I know you can’t wear it yet,” he explains, making a farce out of his earlier lie as she looks up. “Was the only red thing.”
“I’ll sleep in it,” she insists, shoving at his shoulder as she rips the tags off. “Turn around!” He snorts under his breath, but does as she asks and turns again, listening to the rustle of clothing behind him. He tells himself not to look – but he’s a lying asshole, even to himself – and eventually he can’t help but look at that reflection. Her skin is pale, and her shoulders look sharp in the distorted reflection. He can’t even really see anything but somehow the sight of her arms above her head as the colour slides down over her body is the most beautiful thing he thinks he’s ever seen. “Okay, what do you think?” She nudges his shoulder again and he rolls once more, turning to see her smoothing the fabric against her skin.
“You’re gonna get cold,” he mumbles and she shrugs, one tiny shoulder lifting, her skin exposed to the night chill in the air.
“I’ll snuggle in. It’s so pretty, I’ve always wanted-” She pauses, biting her lip and he grunts in response.
“It’s nice,” he finally says and she beams at him as if he’s given her the greatest compliment in the world. “You should have things you want,” he adds softly, and when her eyes meet his – wide and so blue that he almost forgets to breathe – he panics. “End of the fucking world right? Want, take, have.” His voice is rough and her smile wans a bit at that.
“I suppose you’re right,” she nods. “But thank you all the same.” She lifts her sleeping bag open, slides into it with a small contented sigh, pulling the bag up around her shoulders tightly until he can’t see a bit of the red peeking through. But he knows she has it on, and he can see the small smile curling the corner of her mouth.
It’s good enough.
~*~*~*~*~
He finds the scarf by accident, in one of the houses they clear in February. It’s cold as fuck out, and they all have ugly assortments of winter clothes – if it keeps them fucking warm, it’s the best thing ever, no matter that they all look like hobos. He’s digging through closets looking for winter gear – scarves, gloves, hats. Any fucking thing.
It’s pink. Like, pink pink. There’s a bizarre pattern on it that reminds him of his poncho – bright splashes of green and white. It’s not a winter scarf, and not at all what he should be looking for, but he pulls it out anyway, folds it into a square and tucks it into the inside pocket of his own coat. It’s bright and he likes that, so he touches it for one moment more and then continues digging. He finds some mittens – definitely for Carl, he thinks with a sadistic grin – and some hats but that’s it.
He tosses them on the kitchen table when he gets in, but he moves over to stand behind her where she is using a can of sterno they uncovered to heat up some canned food. Everything tastes better warm, at this point. “Here,” he grunts, pulling out the scarf and looping it around her neck three times. “Only one I could find. Not very practical,” he mumbles the words, trying not to notice that her eyes look bluer with the bright colour wreathing her neck. She grins, and makes a soft noise of delight, transferring the cloth wrapped can to her left hand as she touches the scarf with a grin.
“A pashmina, god I used to wear these all the time. Sophia-” she pauses for a moment, her smile dimming and returning, but softer and sadder as she looks down at the fabric. “She got me one for my birthday god – two years ago? Showed me all sorts of ways to wear it – even on my head. It’s perfect – it’ll keep me plenty warm, Daryl,” she nods up at him and he steps back, looking around the room, uncomfortable with the way she pins such a hopeful gaze on him.
“Whatever, s’fine,” he waves a hand at her and shoulders his crossbow. “I’m gonna go see if I can find anything out there to eat. Don’t waste all the fuel.”
“You won’t get to eat anything warm, though,” she protests softly, her gaze concerned and he can feel the worry rolling off of her in waves.
“It’s fine. I’ll eat the meat I get,” he insists and she sighs softly, but nods in acceptance.
“I’ll hold something back for you – just in case,” she insists and he nods awkwardly, hesitating by the door. The pink glows against her skin and she turns back to the job she’d been doing before he’d come in. Cooking, cleaning, caring – it’s her niche within the group, but it leaves him vaguely dissatisfied.
He worries about her. “Tomorrow – if we stay an extra day I’ll take you out. Show you a few things – get some gun practice in. Cold enough that there’s hardly any walkers around.” She turns at his words, about to open her mouth to what? Protest? Agree? Thank him yet again?
He nods once more and leaves before she can even fully turn back around, and the last thing he sees is the pink of that scarf touching the silver of her hair. Pink, he thinks as he pulls his crossbow over his shoulder, readies it in his hands as he strides off into the woods.
It’s a sort of red, right?
~*~*~*~*~*~
Maggie somehow just knows, when they’re on runs together. She never says shit – doesn’t ever plan for it, but she always always manages to let him find some sort of treat for Carol, no matter where they go. She’ll take them into a pharmacy, find formula for Jude and medicine and first aid supplies and then she’ll casually push him in the direction of lotions or shower gels and mention how nice they make skin feel.
And when he says he wants to go to a bedding store, or once even a god damn lingerie store – he’d been looking for pyjamas. Not that kind but the silky kind with the pants – she’d barely even teased him about it. Of course she had grabbed an awful lot of other sorts of things there, but he tried not to picture it. Any of it. Especially on Carol.
He likes making runs with Maggie, because she understands. Their little secret, and she remembers that. But finding shit when he’s out with Glenn, on the other hand, is damn near impossible. The kid is nosey as fuck. He’s poking through the dilapidated mom and pop store – sort of a catch all, they carry everything – or they did – before the turn. There’s next to nothing here, really – but Glenn digs through everything like he’s a fucking pirate digging for treasure, and Daryl will admit, the kid finds the craziest shit that way. He’s mostly standing guard by the till, one eye on the street and one eye on the counter, shoved bare of shit in someone’s rush to get to everything else. He glances down, spying a soft leather piece by the corner of the cash drawer, and he wiggles it out of the way, pulling out a soft brown braided leather bracelet. It looked like it had some sort of charm on it at one point – but it had long since fallen off, but the material is soft against his fingers as he thinks.
Carol doesn’t wear jewelry anymore. She’d long ago removed her cross, and her wedding ring had disappeared at some point over the winter – he hadn’t been sad to see either go. She still wore her earrings, always, but other than that, she didn’t really wear any other sort of decoration. The bracelet was plain, but he thinks he could find something later for it – a charm or something, something with colour. And she might just like this anyway.
He glances around – no walkers in the street and Glenn is hollering from the back that he found something, so Daryl slips it into his pocket without a word.
He doesn’t give it to her until nearly three days later, when she is bringing him his supper in the watch tower, complaining that he doesn’t eat enough, and does he want her to watch while he does? He grunts in agreement and she takes her position, rifle settled and in hand as she leans against the railing, ignoring him eating quickly.
He licks his fingers as he finishes, eying her from under his fringe before he sidles up to her quietly. He wipes his hands on his pants before he shoves his hand in his pocket, pulling the bracelet out and reaching toward where her left hand cradles the barrel of the gun. “Here,” he says the same thing every time, and her mouth twitches, as her eyes jump over to his in delight. “Pay attention,” he growls and she huffs in irritation, but returns her eyes to the treeline.
“Yes, Moody, constant vigilance, I know,” she mutters with a chuckle, clearly amusing herself as he frowns – he doesn’t have a fucking clue what’s so funny. He ignores her though, and ties the bracelet around her wrist, careful not to tie it too tight, his fingers brushing against her pulse point as he works. He swallows at that, the skin behind her wrist is so soft, it makes his heart race and his ears grow warm as he lets go of the leather and pulls his crossbow back in front of him with a cough. He watches her relax, her eyes dropping to her own hand, and he can see the curl of her mouth in the corner of his eye. “We exchanging friendship bracelets now?” she teases him softly, her shoulder bumping in to his as she fingers the leather on her wrist. “I like it, it’s soft,” she mumbles and he nods without saying anything. “I never get you anything.” She sighs as her fingers pluck at the material and he makes a negative sound, shaking his head as his fingers clutch his weapon.
“You do plenty for me.” He finally says inadequately. How can he ever tell her that he could give her every pretty thing left on this planet and it would never measure up to the sheer breathtaking beauty of the faith she’d placed in him so long ago? There was nothing more beautiful in this world than her eyes, looking at him like he was someone. Someone good and worth something.
“Thank you , Daryl,” she always thanks him, in that soft little voice that seems constantly surprised that he’s given her anything at all, and each time it makes his chest squeeze tighter.
“It’s nothing,” he shrugs and nods over to the empty bowl on the railing. “Thanks for dinner.”
“You on late watch tonight?” She asks, and he nods, so she squeezes his arm gently with her left hand, the bracelet brushing against the skin of his forearm as he swallows. “I’ll bring up a hot drink later, and your poncho. It’s getting chilly at night.”
He can only nod, and finally she lefts his arm go, his skin tingling from here her hand had curled around it, and his heart beating a rapid tattoo in his chest as he watches her pick up the bowl – her right hand playing with the leather at her wrist as she smiles and exits the tower, leaving him on his own once more.
Something with colour for it, he thinks as he shifts his crossbow and watches the fence line carefully. He’ll come up with something.
~*~*~*~
The stone is smooth in his hand as they drive home, the light catching the soft green as he stares at it. Mrs. Richards had asked him to keep a lookout - that was true enough, what he’d told Michonne. But that’s not why he’d picked up the stone.
Jasper was common enough, but the natives used it in rituals – saw it as a healing stone and thought it could bring rain to the land. Rebirth for nature – he thinks of her as he plays with it, rolling it across his fingers. It’s easy enough to polish, with some wear, it would be perfect he knows.
Green and gold, it glimmers in the sunlight, and he almost wishes he’d found some red jasper instead. Green isn’t really a colour she wears – but it is a colour he likes. It reminds him of the woods, the sunlight through the canopy of leaves. It is warm and calming, and maybe if he can somehow say all of that to her – she’ll learn to love green too.
It’s time, he thinks, to stop bringing her inconsequential things – time to try to give her something as beautiful as what she gave him, so long ago.
The sunlight catches the stone in his hand and he curls his fist around it, feeling it warm his palm.
It’s time.
~*~*~*~*~
It’s a long time before they can breathe again, after Terminus. He doesn’t forget the jasper, shoved into his pocket and carried with him this whole time, but first there is Bob and the city and then Beth and Carol goes missing again –
It isn’t until they’re back on the road to Washington that he remembers it. They’ve got Gabriel’s bus, but Daryl refuses to ride on it, so he scouts out a truck. For supplies, he tells Rick, but he puts Carol’s pack on the seat next to him and her tight smile eases when she sees it. It’s been difficult, he knows, for her especially. She’s different now, but not really either. She’s still the same, really. Like he told Rick that day at the prison. It was her – but not her. As soon as Rick had said it, he knew that it made sense. She’d killed them. But not for any of the reasons Rick had guessed.
“This alright?” He asks her thirty minutes into the drive, and she glances over at him with a small smile and a nod.
“Yeah, I prefer it actually,” she fishes a water bottle out of her bag, and mimes tossing it at him, making him flinch as she laughs. “Wanna carry it for me?”
“Shut up, woman, I’m driving,” he grumbles as he roots in his jacket for the pack of smokes he’d found in the city. “Can I smoke?” He grunts the question out and she laughs, her shoulders shaking.
“Well it’s not gonna kill you, so go ahead.” She waves and he rolls the window down, digging in his pants pocket for his lighter, when he feels the small stone. He pauses, but pulls out the lighter and leaves it where it is as he lights up. He darts a glance at her, looking at where her sleeve is pushed up and she’s rolling the water bottle in her hands rhythmically and he can see it – still on her wrist, right where he’d put it that day in the tower. That leather bracelet.
Rick had sent her with supplies, but none of her things. She’d lost it all in the fall of the prison, just like everyone else – that red shirt, her pink scarf, the soft sweater – those pyjamas. All the small things he’d brought her. But she still has the bracelet, and he feels a smile tug at his mouth to see it. He still has the stone, and he promises himself – there will be plenty of time to work on it on the road.
And there is, during night watches especially. He doesn’t have any of the tools he needs to carve it, but he finds olive oil and some sandpaper and solder flux in the house they stay in the very first night. It’s not much, but he manages to tuck all of it into his pack; spending his watches polishing the surface of the stone as best he can, and building a cage for it with the flux so he can attached it to the bracelet.
All in all, after a week on the road, when she joins him on the front steps of a dilapidated old house somewhere in North Carolina he’s able to tug her left hand into his carefully. She doesn’t say anything when he pulls her hand across his lap, pushing her shirt sleeve up and touching the braided leather there carefully. “I was so happy I had it with me that day,” she whispers to him and he nods. She doesn’t say that she’d thought it was all she’d have left of him, but he knows.
“Here,” he unties it quickly and she makes a noise of protest but he shushes her, sliding the stone on to the two bands until it is suspended between them, and then he secures it to her wrist again.
“Daryl?” Her voice is a whisper and he fidgets, letting her slide her hand back close enough that she can inspect it as he watches her face quietly. Her skin glows in the moonlight, and her eyes light up as her fingers traces over the pattern of the flux wrapped around the stone.
“Found it that day, on the run,” he finally speaks and she looks up at him carefully. “Was looking for something for it you know – jasper was thought to have healing powers by the Indians. They used it in rain ceremonies. I was gonna go back, find you, give it to you. I was gonna… tell you – what I wanted it to mean. For us,” his voice is thick and she makes a noise of surprise as he shakes his head. “Was trying to all along, you know.”
“I knew, Daryl,” her whisper is soft and she pulls her hand from his so she can cradle his face. “I knew all along. You kept bringing me all these pretty things…”
“You deserve nice things. Nicest things I can find, Carol. Nothing I ever bring you is gonna be more than the gift you gave me. Nothing. I wanted to tell you – to say it that day.” He stumbles over his own words and she shakes her head, smoothing a hand over his cheek as she smile up at him.
“I don’t need gifts, Daryl Dixon. You’re my gift – in this world, as ugly as it can be, I got you. And you never needed to say it – you still don’t. It’s okay. It’s just words, Daryl, we don’t need those.” She is inching closer and closer as she speaks until she breathes out at the end, the air tickling his lips and she kisses him there, softly, the moon up above and the jasper stone pressing in to his cheek where her palm lies.
It is heady and exhilarating, but it is also comfortable and warm, like slipping into a favourite sweater. It feels right down to the very soles of his boots, and nothing about it scares him at all as her mouth moves over his. Nothing’s changed, nothing’s altered, the earth still turns and she is in his arms right where she’s always belonged.
They are breathless when they part – his eyes dart around the yard anxiously before sliding back to her and she smiles up at him beautifully. “I love it though, thank you.”
“I’m still gonna bring you things,” his voice is gruff as she laughs softly. “Hell, the thank you’s are getting better and better.” She laughs out loud at that, sticking her tongue out at him as she giggles and it’s a look on her face he wants to keep there forever. His arms wrap around her and she pulls his crossbow into her lap as she sighs with content.
He’s going to make sure those smiles outweigh the frowns before they get to Washington. He’ll raid every house and store from here to D.C. to make it happen.
~*~*~*~*~
The label says cashmere, and he frowns down at it, knowing without even asking Maggie or Rosita who are wandering the store with him that it is impractical in the extreme. Cashmere is a word he’s really only seen on toilet paper rolls before now – and even then it wasn’t the sort of shit that ever touched his ass. But he knew it was supposed to be soft, and the shawl did feel like nothing he’d ever touched before.
Damn near the softest thing he’d ever held, if he didn’t count Carol.
It’s a sky blue sort of colour – even more impractical – but he takes it anyway, shoving it in his bag with a nod. “Find something for her?” Maggie teases him from across the room and he grunts and rolls his eyes as Rosita glances over at them.
“For who?” she asks, shifting her weight from foot to foot by the door, her gun held ready across her body. She’s a good fighter – and she’s on watch at the moment as they loot the store.
“None of your damn business,” Daryl growls just as Maggie speaks over him.
“It’s the sweetest thing – he always finds little special things for Carol every run we do. Though I thought before it was him courting her, but the fool’s got her now, and he’s still doing it.” Maggie sighs at that and Daryl shakes his head at her, heading to the back of the store to avoid the bullshit talk.
“I ain’t got her,” he grumbles. “She’s not like a weapon or a car, shit.” He heads toward the back section of the tiny touristy shop, hoping to find something good to scavenge and he can just hear Rosita hum approvingly.
“God damn right. Archer knows what he’s doing.”
“Who, Daryl?” Glenn’s voice is at the front of the store now and Daryl can hear Tara chiming in as he kicks at the fucking empty shelving before heading back to the front.
“Sweet fuck all left here, any luck?” he asks Glenn who nods with a grin.
“Fishing store up the road – had loads of jerky, bottled water – place had barely been touched. Grabbed us some poles and tackle too – and they had a ton of filet knives. Bit of camping gear too – it’s in the truck.” Glenn grinned and Daryl huffed.
“Good, let’s get the fuck out of here then. There’s a stream not too far from the house. Couldn’t find shit for animals when I hunted this morning – but I can take Carol fishing this evening,” he nods, shouldering through the door and leaving them to follow him. “Did you get a red one like I asked?”
“Yes, I got a red pole, calm down,” Glenn laughs. “Thought black was your favourite colour?”
“Not for me,” he jumps in the truck and turns the engine over with ease as everyone climbs inside. Five isn’t so bad in the crew cab.
But he’s still sick of their inane chatter by the time they pull up, and he barely manages to get through unloading Glenn’s haul before he bolts into the house, spot-checking the rooms downstairs before he leaps up the stairs, two at a time.
She’s glaring at him as he rounds the corner, her face the picture of a reprimand as she eases a sleeping Judith into the playpen they’d found three weeks ago. The baby’s arms drop heavily, dangling as Carol slowly puts her down, instantly pressing a finger to her lips and creeping out into the hall to meet him. “God she’s been a bear today – I think she’s getting more teeth. I’ve been trying to get her to take a nap all afternoon,” she whispers and he can see the tension in her shoulders so he rubs his palms up over her back, running along her spine and to the base of her neck as she drops her head back against his shoulder and groans. A faint whimper emits from the room in front of them, and they both tense, but it remains quiet.
Carol grabs his hand and drags him downstairs until they’re in the office – the room they’d taken for themselves – with the door shut. She sighs in relief, her arms around his waist as she leans against his chest. “How’d it go?” Her voice is muffled in his vest and he rubs his hands over her back gently as she sinks her weight into his frame.
“No luck for me, but Glenn found some good shit. Fishing poles. Wanna come with me – see if we can catch supper?”
She looks up at that with a smile. “That sounds amazing. Just let me grab my gun.”
“Fuck, it’s hot when you say that,” he grumbles, teasing her and she laughs, shaking her head as she pulls away from him. He pulls the shawl out of his jacket. “Here,” he offers it forward and she blinks at him in surprise.
“Oh god that’s gorgeous,” she breathes the words out, her hands stroking the wool lightly.
“Know it’s not very practical for doing much in, but it’s pretty. Thought you’d look good in it.” He shrugs and she smiles up at him, taking it and wrapping it around her shoulders, pressing her cheek down into it with a happy sigh. “I was right,” he grins at her – the light colour makes her eyes glow and she beams at him happily.
“Thank you, Daryl,” she presses against him, the soft wool in between them as she kisses him properly, her arms winding around his neck as she tilts her hips into his with a needy whine.
The next day she slides into the passenger seat of the truck with it wrapped around her shoulders and he can’t help the smile that crosses his face to see it. She tosses a packet of beef jerky on the dash and puts her pack in the back – there is barely enough room now with all the supplies they’ve accumulated. They’ll need a third vehicle soon, he’ll have to talk to Rick.
“Try not to drive us into a herd, I’d hate to get it dirty,” she laughs at him as he pulls away from the house, the church bus following behind them. He reaches for her hand, his fingers brushing against the jasper stone here as he pulls it up and presses a soft kiss to the skin there.
“I’d just find you another.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
When they hit Alexandria finally, it’s almost unbelievable. The walls and the gate seem surreal, but it’s nothing compared to the emptied houses, and repurposed parks growing crops. They all stay together, at first. Homes have been repurposed for some things – a clinic, a school, storage and training – but there is enough room for them to all spread out, and eventually they feel comfortable enough to do so.
He and Carol take a small, newly constructed home when they finally do spread out. The new homes built are small, built for functionality and they both feel better in them then in one of the cleared suburban homes. Plus they just don’t need the room. Space is a foreign luxury to them now. But then so are a lot of things here in the safe zone.
When they’d registered at the gates, she’d given her name as Carol Dixon without blinking an eye. Afterwards, she’d confessed to him in whispers that she just didn’t want to chance getting separated from him, to which he’d shrugged and teased her about getting a ring. She shook her head, her fingers worrying the piece of jasper at her wrist as she’s dredged up a smile and told him her rock was plenty big enough already.
It takes time to get adjusted – to the people, to the sound, the noise, the idea of permanence. Neither he nor Carol do very well with it at first. Even long after the rest of them ease, unpack, settle – she and he sleep with their bags packed, weapons on hand, ready.
It’s harder for her than him, he realises one day. He’s always been a bit of a loner, never social – he finds it easier to accept than she does. But after everything she’d had to do to survive this world – she can’t seem to ever settle down. And he wants her to – to feel safe, even when he’s not there.
So he buys sheets, for their bed. ‘Buys’ is a relative term of course – everything is back to a barter system now, but Daryl finds himself in a somewhat affluent position, because he can hunt. Fresh meat is a hot commodity, and he has more bartering points that he knows what to do with, really. So when he’s at the goods storage one day, looking for a better knife to carve bolts with, he spots them. Deep wine, Egyptian cotton sheets. He doesn’t know anything about that shit, but he remembers a line from a song on the radio about those kinds of sheets. Fuck if somebody wrote a song about them, they had to be good right?
So he grabs them, finds a knife he likes and puts it all against his account. When he gets home, she’s still on wall duty, so he strips their bed – which she’s only finally started sleeping in in the last few weeks or so – and rips open the sheets. They’re cool to the touch, and smooth in a way he’s never felt before – not in bed sheets anyway. He makes the bed quickly, thinking about how these are the sorts of sheets you want to sleep naked in. And then he gets distracted by that thought – nothing but him and Carol and these sheets and skin. “Fuck.”
He doesn’t say a thing to her when she gets back, he greets her with supper, she looks over the bolts he’s been working on before he grabs their stuff and they head off to the shower houses. He takes her hand walking back, mostly because he can do shit like that now, and never has to seek permission first. He likes it. Not that he’s interested in the sorts of displays Glenn and Maggie put on in public – but still. He likes her hand, small and cool in his.
“C’mere,” he stops her when they get back – usually she cleans up, or they’ll read or just enjoy the god damn quiet as curfew settles over the camp but he wants to show her. Wants to spread her out on those red sheets and let her know it’s okay to settle in. Just a bit. He’ll make it okay.
“Oh frisky tonight, are we? This is what I get for robbing the cradle I suppose,” she sighs, her voice lilting in a teasing manner and he roll s his eyes. Four fucking years – she’s never let it go since they finally got around to exchanging birthdates when they registered. Who the fuck needed that information before really? Wasn’t any way to keep track of time – but they were doing it here and when they’d registered they’d realised – she was four years older than him. She’d pranced around calling herself a cougar the whole damn day.
“No,” he protests – but then he pauses. “Well, I mean hell yeah, but that’s not why. I got you something,” he pulls on her hand as she giggles and trots into the other room dutifully. “Here,” he waves a hand over the bed and she blinks in surprise.
“You got us sheets?”
“Red ones. But come here, feel them.” He honestly feels more than a bit stupid as he pulls her closer, but the delighted smile that crosses her face when she touches the sheet makes any idiocy on his part more than worth it. “Come on,” he tugs at her shirt, unbuttoning it swiftly and she blinks at him in surprise.
“What?” She pauses for a moment before she shrugs, her hands lifting to slip under his own shirt and skimming it over his head. “Christian them, I like this plan,” she laughs breathlessly before she kisses him and he wraps his arms around her, as her skin presses against his.
His plan had been to get in bed naked, but he decides he likes hers better, so as usual she leads the way.
Afterward they are curled around each other, waiting for their breathing to slow down as she giggles into his shoulder. “I love these sheets,” she mumbles and he nods, humming in agreement as his fingers trail down over her spine, tracing the rise and fall of her vertebrae carefully – she still needs to eat more. He makes a mental note to see if he can’t bring home more traded goods. They have their own small garden that she’s started, and they get vegetables from the exchange, to go with whatever meat he provides – but none of those things will put a little extra on her, he knows.
When she moves to get dressed, he tightens his arms around her, shaking his head. “Nah. These feel best on bare skin, come on.”
“What if something happens?” She asks him in a whisper, a small smile gracing her face but her eyes serious.
“Then we run naked and I kill any asshole that looks at you too long. Come on. Ain’t anything going to happen tonight anyway. Go to sleep woman.” She takes a moment to relax against him, her arms slipping back around him as she snuggles back into his side. When her body relaxes with sleep and her limbs grow heavy he smiles, smoothing her hair back as he presses a soft kiss to her forehead.
It ain’t much but it’s a start.
~*~*~*~*~
“I’m not saying the arts and crafts bracelet isn’t cute, it is dude, but there are like… a lot of dudes around here. More come in every day. And not all of them realise that you’re like, a scary angry asshole with a wicked aim,” Glenn is rambling as they wander the strip mall they’re making a run to.
“Fuck, what is your point Glenn?” He finally snaps at the kid, glaring.
“One of the new guys was looking at her the other day. I am just saying. Like looking. A ring would solve that problem. Is what I’m saying.” He shrugs as Daryl stares at him. “There are like four jewellery stores in this strip mall. I mean it’s an opportunity, it what I’m saying.”
“She don’t want a ring,” he grumbles at Glenn with a frown. “Don’t need one either – hell they can look at her all they want but if they touched her, she’d kick their asses and tell them what’s what. Rings ain’t ever been no promise of something good to her before Glenn.” He watches the younger man’s face fall as he listens, but then he smiles at him – a full grin.
“Dude, you are like, so the man to go to for this shit. How the hell do you do that? I never would have guessed that you’d be the relationship example to look to two years ago,” Glenn laughs and Daryl shoves at him, eying the jewellery store they were standing in front of. It had been looted some, but not much – no long after people realised that none of this shit was worth anything anymore. “What? I thought you said no to the rings.” Glenn frowns as Daryl opens the door and shushes him.
There is only one walker – in the back, that they take out easily. “Not looking for a ring, shut up and find something nice for your wife, god Glenn.”
“We’re supposed to turn in everything we find,” Glenn frets as he stares at the jewelry.
“Yeah, I’m all about the rules myself,” Daryl grumbles, rolling his eyes as he moves quickly to the section he’d been looking for. He pours over the natural gemstone section – it’s incredibly small compared to the cases upon cases of glittering diamonds and gold that Glenn is perusing currently. But he likes this stuff better. It seems more Carol to him than anything else in the store.
He knows he’s right about the ring – that’s not something they’ll ever need. All a ring has ever been to her was a symbol of possession, and he never wants her to feel like that ever again. He’s got no interest in branding her as his own – people will just know when they need to know. Earrings are out, because he knows the small pair she wears constantly were her last birthday gift from Sophia, but he remembers how she’d loved that little necklace she’d worn forever in the beginning.
So when a small silver chain catches his eyes, with a piece of red jasper carved into a heart dangling from it, wrapped in a silver wire cage, he grins, lifting his crossbow to smash the glass. Glenn lets out a shout of surprise at the noise, but Daryl ignores him, reaching in and grabbing the necklace, shaking the glass from it and shoving it in his pocket. When he turns around Glenn is standing there, behind the counter with something in his hands. “Dude, the door in behind just slides.”
Daryl looks and sure enough, Glenn has several of them open, but he just shrugs at the kid. “Where’s the fun in that?”
When he gets back from the run three days later, she is waiting by the gates. He hugs her tightly to him, pressing his face into her neck as he inhales deeply, lifting her up a little like he always does. She’s just so small. She giggles until her feet touch the ground, and she pulls back carefully. “Any problems?”
“Nope, other than the fact that we need to muzzle Glenn. Kid won’t shut up, I swear,” he grumbles and she laughs, nudging him toward the trucks.
“Yeah and that just bugs the hell out of you,” she rolls her eyes as they walk. “Come on, I’ll help unload so you’re done faster.”
It isn’t until after dinner that night that he is sitting out on the steps with her – being cooped up indoors is still something neither of them can get used to. “Hey,” he nudges her shoulder where she’s reading and she looks up, her brows raised. “Close your eyes.”
She does so instantly, and he marvels for a moment at the trust she puts in him as she asks. “A surprise?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, pulling the necklace out and lifting it over her head, his fingers fumbling with the delicate clasp at the back of her neck. “Here.”
She opens her eyes and looks down, one hand lifting to touch the stone as she smiles. “I love it,” she finally whispers and he nods, scratching at his head as he shrugs. “Is it jasper too?”
“Yeah. Red though, you like red.”
“I love red,” she laughs, shifting closer to him to press a soft kiss to his chin. “Almost as much as you.” He freezes at that – they don’t’ really say it. They never have, but she knows. And he knows. But he never thought they’d get to a point – a point where the words could be spoken and feel like they held meaning. For them all the meaning is displayed through everything else – how they talk, how they touch, how they live around each other.
He swallows and kisses her properly this time, his hands on her face and uncaring if anyone walks by.
~*~*~*~
She wears it every day, and he beams every time he sees it. He brings her so many things – anything he thinks is soft, or luxurious or beautiful. Dresses and a silk robe, things she can’t really ever wear working, but she prances around barefoot in their living room wearing them and it makes him smile, every damn time.
They’ve been there almost two years and the wariness is finally sliding off of her face – a sight he welcomes. She is still alert when on watch, or wall duty. When they go on runs, she is every inch the warrior goddess he knows her to be, but here, behind the walls, at home with him – there is a freeness to her spirit that almost nobody gets to see but him.
He loves that.
He’s walking back from his watch, moving a bit slower, but thinking of her waiting for him at home. Their little cabin is glowing as he approaches it through the back yard, stooping to check on the plants in the garden and picking some fresh basil for Carol. Don’t matter what they’re eating on any given day – Carol will add basil to it, she loves the shit. It’s why they have four plants in the garden. He walks around the house, but stops when he hears voices. He peeks around the corner and sees Carol, sitting on the stairs with Carl, her bare toes pressing against the wood. She’s in his favourite dress – a wine coloured one he’d brought back for her a year ago on a run, with her blue shawl wrapped around her.
“I just… don’t know how to do this,” Carl is fidgeting as he peers out in the dark, constantly on alert. “I can’t ask Dad. Glenn said to ask Daryl, but I don’t know – it’s Daryl. Shit, he still scares me, all these years later.” Carol laughs at that, her head tilting back as she nudges Carl’s shoulder.
“Daryl’s a big pussy cat, don’t you let him scare you. Glenn’s right though – he is a good person to talk to about this.” She grins at the boy, her hand coming up to her throat to play with the pendant idly.
“Then you’re just as good, because you know all his moves right?” Carl looks hopeful and Carol shakes her head.
“Lord, I hope not.”
“Carol,” Carl stresses, dropping a hand over his face as this kid blushes bright red. He’s 17 now, a grown man who towers over Carol, but he’s still mortified and it makes Daryl crack a grin. “I just don’t know how to tell her. I mean, we’ve only been dating for a few months – it seems like such a huge thing. How do you say I love you?”
Daryl straightens at that, his interest piqued. Glenn was wrong about one thing – he was the last person to ask about this. Carol hums, wrapping her arms around herself and touching the jasper stone, still at her wrist. “You don’t.” She finally offers, and Carl frowns in confusion. “You show her, Carl. Every damn day that you’re with her, you show her how much you love being with her. You show her parts of you you don’t ever let anyone else see. You let her have everything that makes her happy, so long as it doesn’t hurt anything – because you want to see her happy. It’s not about the words. Anyone can say the words, and not mean them, or have it not be true two months later. That’s not love. It’s a constant, true thing that you carry with you, inside you – always.” Carol reaches across to touch the boy’s chest as she looks at him intently. “You can say it, if you want to. But you show it first, don’t tell her. And then when you do say it, when you’re ready or she’s ready to hear it – it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like saying her name, because it’s just something that is.”
Carl is quiet for a minute, his hands clutching his knees before he nods carefully. He looks at Carol thoughtfully, before he smiles. “Does Daryl show you?”
Carol smiles at that, her lips pursing and her nose wrinkling as she nods. “Every damn day since the day he told me we’d locate my Sophia.”
Carl reaches over, slips an arm around Carol’s shoulder and squeezes tightly for a moment. “I still think about her, you know. How different I’d be. How different we’d all be.”
Carol sniffles, wiping her face as she smiles and pats his arm, shaking her head. “I think about her always, but she was too sweet for this world. Everything happens for a reason Carl.” Carl nods at that, but looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with this Carol, so Daryl decides to cut the kid some slack, standing up and tromping around the corner of the cabin. Carol straightens up, smiling at him, but not wiping her face – she knows that he’d know. “Hey, how was watch?”
“Boring as fuck. Here, picked this for you,” he pushes the basil into her hands and she pulls it to her face, inhaling deeply.
“Perfect, we’re having that rabbit tonight – it’ll go great, thank you Daryl.” Carl stands beside them, dropping a hand to squeeze Carol’s shoulder.
“Thanks, Carol, for the talk. Have a good night – both of you,” he nods and then strides off up the path, back toward the main area of camp.
“So how much of that did you hear?” Carol smoothes her fingers along the basil, rubbing the leaves gently until the smell bursts into the evening air around them. He reaches for her hands, lifting her up until she’s standing on the stair above him, her height equal to his. She looks at him for a moment and she smiles. “All of it, huh?”
“Does it bother you that I don’t say it?” He asks her in a rough voice and she tilts her head with a frown.
“Does it bother you that I don’t?” She counters and he huffs out a breath, shaking his head and smiling.
“I do, you know that right? I’ve never – not really loved anything-”
“Not even your crossbow?” She teases him, trying to lighten the mood but he slides his hand under her chin and waits for her to meet his eyes.
“Not anything, Carol, until you. And I do. Love you. You know that right?”
Her eyes tear up at that and she smiles brightly. “I know. You tell me every day Daryl.”
“I don’t bring you things every day anymore,” he frowns at that and she laughs, wrapping her fingers around his wrists as she shakes her head.
“It’s not ever been about the things Daryl. It’s how you always wake up and ask me how I slept, first thing. It’s how you watch me when you think I’m not looking. It’s how you gave me something else to live for after the Farm, and again – after the prison fell. I never thought I’d be okay after that and you just stood there with me and said I was okay as is. I know Daryl. I know and I’ve always known. Words and symbols – they’re not the point.” She breathes out slowly, before she leans in to kiss him, her eyelashes tickling his cheek and their hands tangled together under their chins. “This is the point. You and me. It’s always been you and me. Even before we knew it was.” She pauses then, looking at him. “I haven’t either you know. Ed was – that was not ever love. Sophia was, but it’s different to this. This Daryl – you, I love you. But it’s such a small word for something so much bigger.” He grins at that, a full-out stupidly goofy grin as he leans into her space.
“Don’t ever stop showing me.”