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Daryl is on his bed of a couch, sleeping.
Carol is sitting there, watching him sleep. She's come down to his room to talk with him about a group hunt he's coordinating. It's been a month since the Whisperers were defeated and the horde marched off the cliff into the river. Life has returned to as normal a normal as they're likely to get.
They've been too busy to talk about anything important since the Whisperers' demise. There are so many things to take care of. Both of them run at high rpm's most of the day, every day, and they don't always see each other in between breakfast and dinner. It's all good, their time is just heavily occupied, with everyone preparing for the coming winter and getting stores of food, firewood and other essentials tucked away. Daryl's been planning a big boar hunt with a dozen people.
Carol goes downstairs after dinner to talk with him about it, and maybe it's the chowder-filled bread bowl she fed him for supper that knocks him out. One minute Carol is studying his sketch of the place where they plan to corral the pigs, diagrammed for every hunter's position, and the next, Daryl is just... not awake. He's been lying back on the couch -- and why not? It's his bed, after all -- Carol sitting next to him and looking at the sketch. When she raises her eyes, his are closed and his breathing is deep and even.
She sets the sheet of paper to the side and turns thoughtfully toward him. Carol hasn't seen Daryl asleep in years, and is startled by how young he looks now, how free from suffering or worry. His expression is relaxed, all his protective shields and guards and tensions drained away. She studies the lines of his face, his cheekbones, the fringe of his bangs falling across his eyes, fluttering ever-so-slightly from his breath when he exhales. She thinks about reaching out and touching his mouth. She's always wondered how his lips might feel.
Although both of their primes are slipping into the past, she still feels the intensity of her attraction for him. It doesn't fade. If anything, it is stronger now than ever. Her heart hurts to look at him, but Carol can't tear her gaze away.
She used to think she and Daryl might eventually have a thing, but he's never responded to her flirting except with scoffing embarrassment. She's wondered if he's just not into sex. It explains so much. His lack of interest in Connie, lack of interest in anyone. His awkward responses to teasing. Maybe he's never even been in a relationship. This thought makes her feel incredibly sad. Everyone needs to be held by somebody, sometime.
Carol knows she shouldn't stare at him this way, but she can't help herself. Most days she longs for him so desperately she wonders how she's going to make it through the winter here. A dozen times she's risen from her bed in the middle of the night to go to his, only to chicken out in the end. She might die from his rejection, but at least she'd be free from the torment of not knowing where he stands.
Sometimes she thinks she catches him looking at her the same way she's now looking at him, but it's always fleeting and he glances away so quickly she's never certain. He's said things to her recently that make her head swim with hope and confusion. "We have a future." "You've still got me." "I want to be there for you."
Everything she's thinking and feeling is playing across her face as she watches him sleep. He opens his eyes and looks right at her, and she rapidly schools her expression into something other than the lovesick pining she's positive she's wearing. Daryl doesn't speak for the longest time. She wonders what he saw, or thinks he saw in her expression. The way he looks at her makes her nervous.
"Hey," he says finally.
"Hey," she replies. Her voice cracks a little on the end of it.
She gets up to leave and he calls her back.
"Why were you looking at me like that?"
Carol stops, and feigns ignorance. "Like what?"
"Just... you had this look."
"Help me out here, Daryl." she says wryly, turning around to face him. "Can you be a little more specific?"
"You were just... watchin' me real hard. Like you had something on your mind you were burnin to spit out."
She shrugs. "It was probably just gas."
Daryl doesn't flinch. He's focused on his target like a heat-seeking missile. "You gonna tell me what you were thinkin' about... or you gonna lie?" he asks pointedly. His shirt has come undone three buttons down the front and Carol's got such a strong urge to reach her hand out and touch him there she reins herself in almost violently. This needs to stop. She needs to stop. It's killing her a little more, every day, wanting the one thing she will never, ever have.
She fixes him with her crystalline blue stare and says nothing.
"That's a 'no?'" he ventures. "I gotta guess?" He shifts around and and adjusts the pillow behind his head. "You gonna tell me whether I'm hot or cold?" Daryl pats the cushion next to him. "Come'ere. Siddown."
Her brain is screaming Stop, stop, don't, what are you doing? as she returns to the couch and retakes her seat. He's so close she feels the heat emanating from his body. Daryl is searching her face with such intensity, almost expectant, like he's waiting for something.
"What?" Carol asks.
"You gonna tell me?" He presses. He startles her by reaching over with his right hand and plucking hers from where it rests on her thigh. His warm, calloused fingers engulfs her smaller ones, and she wants to weep from the lump in her throat at this gesture of affection and comfort.
She swallows hard. Maybe she should just blurt it out. Realistically, what has she got to lose? There's Lydia, Judith and R.J., all of whom she's come to love. Among the adults, she gets along best with Negan, also the subject of local hostility. Some in the community will never forgive her for releasing him. Carol's not troubled by this, she cares what Daryl thinks and everyone else can stuff it. It's one more reason she should move on and move away. She's only here because of him, and that's temporary and lasting just until there's someone for him to hook up with.
He's looking at her like he wants to say something, but doesn't know how. He sits up and gives her hand a tug, drawing her toward him. She doesn't take much urging and scoots across the cushion, permitting herself to be gathered into his arms and held close while he nuzzles her shoulder. Carol gives a heavy sigh and tucks her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of leather, earth and sweat that's uniquely Daryl.
She's practically in his lap and can feel every beat of his heart and surprisingly, its nearly as rapid as hers. She wants so desperately to put her hands and mouth on him she can hardly stand it. Just a light peck on the lips, and how might he react? Carol imagines shock, horror, revulsion, Daryl recoiling from her touch like she's a rattlesnake striking. She imagines every scenario of rejection her imagination can conjure as she touches every part of her to him she can without being obvious. At last, they pull apart, and she knows he sees the crimson flush creeping up her neck and face.
"Please tell me," he pleads. "I know somethin's going on. You been actin' different, and it ain't just about things that happened before. You can talk to me, Carol. I'm here for you... always," he croaks, voice breaking under the weight of his sincerity.
"What if I had something to tell you that you might not want to hear?" she asks, avoiding eye contact. She catches herself staring at his crotch and quickly redirects her gaze to the wall. "Something that will change everything forever. Something I can't ever take back once it's said."
He leans forward and takes hold of both her shoulders. Turns her toward him so he can look her straight in the eyes. "Ain't nothin' you can say that's gonna make me feel any different 'bout us," he asserts.
"How do you feel about us?" She asks, hesitant and yet somehow expectant, too. The moment of truth is fast approaching and she feels a dagger of dread in her heart to think five minutes from now she might be hiding in her room, mortified and full of grief and regret with her world collapsing around her. Everything in her life seems to have boiled down to this singular point in time.
Daryl still hasn't answered her. Maybe he can't find the words, or maybe he's trying to come up with a way to let her down easy. She can't imagine he'd trust her again after all the stunts she pulled and lies she told during the Whisperer war. She will never forgive herself for deceiving him, and even after he'd begged her on the bond of their friendship to be straight with him.
Daryl takes her hand again and gives it a squeeze.
"I think we're a good team," he says, haltingly, carefully. "I think my life's better for you bein' in it." He chances meeting her eyes and what he sees there is encouraging. "How do you feel about us?" he asks.
It's her turn now and she doesn't know what to say any more than he did. Her mind is such a blur. She should just speak her truth, get it out, be completely honest for once in her goddamn life. Just tell him and be done with it, watch him draw back from her as her heart shatters into a thousand pieces.
"I want us to be together," she says quietly, noting he does not release his hold on her hand at this revelation, actually tightens his grip, and it emboldens her. "Like...a couple. Partners." Why can't she say the words? I want to touch you, that way. I want us to be together, that way. "I want to be with you... that way."
The look on his face tells Carol she spoke the last sentence out loud. She didn't mean to, and she feels like her entire body is shriveling. She's simultaneously relieved and full of potential grief. It's out there, now. She can't take it back. She's made her declaration, and he hears it. Daryl's blue eyes are staring deep into hers and for the first time she hasn't got a clue what he's thinking.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes. She wants to avert her gaze but forces her eyes to stay on his. She wants to weep and run and hide. "I shouldn't have --"
He releases her hand and reaches out, his fingertips brush gently across her lips -- hush -- and she falls immediately silent. She can feel him shivering, Daryl Dixon is trembling like a leaf and this is not at all what she expected. He's not pulling away, he's not grimacing with revulsion, he's not... disinterested. He's not speaking in words right now but they don't always need those to understand one another. He's not recoiling from her but he's scared, and Carol can relate to that because she's scared, too. She always prepares for rejection and has no action plan involving acceptance or reciprocation.
She does the only thing her racing mind can think of, which is to slightly open her mouth and take one of his fingers between her teeth with care, touching it tentatively with the tip of her tongue. She feels a shudder course the entire length of his body, and his own subsequent cringe at this biological betrayal. He takes in a deep, hitching breath, pupils dilating and fixed hard on hers.
Daryl's immediately in her space and as she releases her bite, he takes the sides of her face in his hands and stares intently at her mouth. She's unsure of his intentions. He looks so serious, and almost sad. Does he want to kiss her? Bawl her out? Maybe he's going to tell her that it's "not like that." That he's never felt that way and now she's damaged their friendship forever. Her mind is screaming and he's still hesitating and she wishes he'd just decide and do something, so they can move past this awkward moment.
"I don't know how to do this," he says. "M'sorry. Help me out?"
"D-d-do what?" Carol stutters. She can barely speak.
"I wanna kiss you," Daryl admits, so low he's almost whispering, "Dunno how. Never have."
It takes a minute for the underlying message to sink in, then she gets it. "With anyone?" she asks in disbelief.
He shakes his head quickly and glances away a moment before forcing his gaze to meet hers again. "Not ever."
Carol's eyes well up to think of the man he's become, in spite of the opportunities and promises robbed from him by his often rough and difficult life. The price of the isolation and loneliness he's endured to change and grow in all the ways he has without ever knowing intimacy. She lifts her own hands to his face, stroking his sparse beard and feeling him shiver beneath her touch. She knows what the truth's costing him, and she's startled to realize he's throwing his bets on the same table she is, gambling everything on what's in his heart and hoping it doesn't ruin them, or ruin what they have.
"I'm gonna be your first kiss? Ever?" she squeaks, incredulous. He nods. He'd duck and hide his face, except she's holding onto him by it.
She runs her own thumb delicately across his lower lip once, twice, and pulls him toward her. At the same time she raises up a little to reach his mouth with hers. His lips are warm and a little dry, and soften quickly against her own. She presses the two of them together carefully and can instantly tell he's willing, but nervous. She deepens the kiss and tangles her fingers in his hair, holding him closer.
Daryl's getting with the program, now. At first he's frozen, and she knows it's awkward shyness, not revulsion. Then he makes a noise in the back of his throat and the tension leaves his jaw. She dips her tongue between his parted lips and they both moan. Next thing, they're trying to fuse themselves together at the mouth like they can't get close enough. Their hearts are both pounding and Carol can't tell whether it's his pulse she feels hammering, or hers. He tastes of tobacco and apples and it's the most delicious flavor she's ever sampled.
He may be inexperienced, but the willingness and desire to learn are there, and Daryl's a great observer. He watches and learns quickly. He returns her kiss with equal ardor, mirroring her actions until he's confident enough to venture out on his own. He makes loves to her mouth with his. She doesn't know how else she'd describe it. It's a kaleidoscopic ecstasy of light, sipping kisses and slow, deep ones, and she's melted into a puddle in his arms long before they finally come up for air. Carol feels dizzy, and drunk with the best kind of shock and surprise.
"Wow," she gasps breathlessly, staring at him in awe. "You said that you'd never..."
He ducks and smiles. "Watched a lotta movies before the Turn, got the general idea. Easier than I thought it'd be." He nuzzles her neck and kisses the side of her jaw. "Did I do it right?"
"Did you -- you've got to be kidding -- Daryl, that was amazing --" she dips her face as he's raising his and they meet somewhere in the middle and lock themselves together again. They are fire and ice, sun and snow, everything and nothing as they connect in the way they've both dreamt of and never imagined. They communicate with their lips and tongues without words, and they wrap themselves around each other like serpents on a caduceus.
At last they both need to breathe and they reluctantly part, still leaning one toward the other with their foreheads touching. Carol's lips are swollen and she feels electric with future promise.
"You gonna tell me now?" Daryl rasps, nudging her nose gently with his. "Whatcha were thinkin?'"
It takes her a minute to process the question. "While you were sleeping?" she queries, nudging him back. "I was thinking of this."