DISCLAIMER: The Walking Dead characters are the property of American Movie Classics (AMC), Circle of Confusion, Valhalla Entertainment, Darkwoods Productions, and AMC Studios. The story contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2016 by Djinn. This story is Rated PG-13.
Who You Were Before
by
Djinn
You're
quiet in the car, the sound of Rick's shot still ringing in your brain, if not
your ears.
Daryl
is pressed next to you in the seat. There's room; he doesn't have to sit so
close, but he hasn't left your side since you and Maggie ran into the group.
The
group. Such a stupid thing to call your family. Your loves.
The
people you've killed for. So many deaths on your hands and you'd do it again.
You did do it again. How many more names to add to the list? Is it better or
worse that some of them won't even have names? Burnt-up man one. Burnt-up man
two.
You
take a breath and it rasps almost as much as the cancer queen's did.
Nicknames
make it easier. Snotty nicknames, especially. Don't think of her as Molly.
Don't make her any more human than you need to.
"Hey,"
Daryl whispers as he snakes his arm around you and pulls you closer. His voice
is so low you can barely hear it. "I'm here."
You
turn to meet his eyes, and you see that the words mean a lot more than that
he's sitting next to you. He's been gone and you've been gone, when before you
were together. Before when you were both killers and victims and friends and
almost, almost lovers.
And
then he pulled away. Or you did. You're not entirely sure.
"I'm
here," he says again, as if he's not sure you understand. Then he frowns.
"Do you want that?"
You
feel your eyes fill up and dash the tears away before they can fall. Do you
want that? You didn't. You wanted to not be the you that you've become. Daryl
is part of the you that you've become.
Daryl
is part of you.
Daryl
is you.
You
close your eyes and shrug, but you pull him closer at the same time.
He
exhales slowly, and you feel his lips on your neck. "I'm not going
anywhere this time. I promise."
But
really he should make you promise. Because even though he wanted breaks from
Alexandria, you wanted out of the group. If he hadn't found you at the car, the
night you went after Beth's captors, you'd have been long gone.
You'd
have found some other group. You'd have played the act that fooled the
Alexandrians, only no one would have been there to tell them it was a lie. No
one would know who you really are—what you really are.
What
you've had to become.
You
nestle in closer, and he holds you the way he used to, like he'd protect you no
matter what. Like he knows you'd protect him right back. "Go to sleep if
you want," he whispers, and he trails his fingers lightly over your hair.
You
let go and while you don't fall asleep, you doze, trying to forget the sound of
flesh being torn from a cheek or the screams of men being burned alive. You try
to imagine the heartbeat of the baby you saved, the soft sound of the lullabies
Beth would have sung to her niece or nephew. You wonder if Maggie will name her
child Hershel or Beth. You'd probably do that, if you were her.
You
fall asleep for real, then, and wake up when Daryl nudges you and murmurs,
"We're home."
Home.
This place. You wanted that. Lately especially. You put on your Talbots
sweaters and baked cookies like it was your passion and wanted this suburban
oasis to be your true home.
As
Eugene opens the gate, you take a deep breath and for the first time cross the
borders of this town with no pretense.
The
Carol you were is gone. It's time to stop hiding that fact.
"Come
on. Let's get you cleaned up," Daryl says, taking you by the hand to help
you out of the car and not letting go as he leads you to your house.
Not
letting go even though Tobin is standing in front of your stairs. Tobin, who
moves to block the two of you.
"You
want to get out of the way?" Daryl's voice is the deceptive one, the one
that is calm and quiet but means he's about to explode.
"If
she's hurt, I'll look after her."
Daryl
lets go of your hand. He moves closer to Tobin, gets right in his space, his
body language one of pure predator, especially against this gentler version of
Ed, all soft and thoughtful. "Not going to happen."
"What
is this?" Tobin looks at you, his expression betrayed. "I thought we
had something."
You
don't answer him. Instead you look at Daryl. "I didn't think you
cared."
"I
cared. Wasn't sure that would matter to you."
"It
does."
"I
should've said something."
"Yeah,
you should have." It occurs to you that you and Daryl are working out your
relationship in front of Tobin, and it almost makes you laugh. Until you look
at his face and see real pain.
Is
there nothing you can't fuck up when you touch it?
You
move to Tobin, reach up and cup his cheek with your hand. "The Carol you
knew, the one you kissed...she doesn't exist anymore. I'm sorry." You give
him a smile that trembles because you are trying not to cry. Then you hold out
your hand to Daryl and let him lead you up the stairs.
He
gets you inside, shuts the door quietly instead of slamming it, then leans you
into the wall and kisses you before hoisting you onto him and carrying you to
the kitchen, to the island where he's watched you make cookies with an
expression that said he thought you were some kind of alien. He pushes the
canisters back and begins to take off your clothes. He doesn't stop until
you're naked. Then he backs up enough to look at you and you realize he's
checking to see if they hurt you.
He
lays his hand on your ribs, where Donnie kicked you. "Who did this?"
"He's
dead. We killed him." We, not you, and it should have been you. Maybe the
kicks were fair, then. If you'd made it painless for him, if you'd just killed
him the way you did Lizzie, you wouldn't be in pain now.
Daryl
pushes in a bit harder, making you suck in air as the pain hits you. He reaches
for your shirt, starts to put it back on you, and you say, "No. Finish
this."
"I'm
not going to do this when you're hurting."
"Don't
you think I'm used to it?"
His
face changes and he backs away. You realize that was the very worst thing to
say.
"Is
that why you want me instead of Tobin? Because you think I'll hurt you? Because
you don't think you deserve him?" He turns and kicks a chair halfway
across the room. "How do you think I felt, huh? Watching you leave me
behind? Watching you clean up and become one of them? Watching you fall for one
of them?"
"I
never fell for him. I love you." There. It's said. No jokes, no silly
names to hide the feelings. "I love you, Daryl. And it scares the hell out
of me."
He
moves back to you, slowly, as if he's afraid he'll spook you if he goes too
fast. "How do you think I feel? I never had anyone really love me and
stick around."
Something
suddenly makes sense to you. Why he spent so much time looking for Sophia. The
way maybe no one ever looked for him.
You
stroke his cheek and he closes his eyes for a moment. "I wanted to go
back. To before. Before I was a killer. Before I shot a little girl that I
loved. Before I burned people I considered friends. Before all of it. Start
over. Here."
"With
some new Ed?"
"Probably."
"Well,
I'll let you get back to that."
You
grab his arm and yank him back to you; your ribs scream in protest. "Don't
be an idiot." Pushing the hair out of his eyes, you lean in and kiss him.
Slowly. Deeply. The way you probably should have long ago.
How
many things would be different if you had?
"We
don't have to—"
"Go
slow. I won't break. That's all I meant." You smile as you pull off his
clothes, and he finally smiles back, the old grin, not the one he's used around
you lately, the one that's tentative and betrayed.
And
then he's inside you, and he goes slow, and you don't break, and neither does
he. It's good and you can't imagine you'd be feeling this way in Tobin's arms—that
feeling him shudder against you would move you the way it does with Daryl.
It
might not move you at all. That might have been the point. Safe. He was safe.
You
kiss Daryl harder and try to let the old you—the part that wants to be good and
gentle and not a killer—slip away, but you can feel her hanging on.
She's
going to get you killed if you can't shake her. You know that in your gut.
"Hey,"
he says, wrapped in your legs and arms, leaning into you the way he did after
Terminus, when you saved him—when you saved them all. "Where'd you
go?"
"I'm
here." You kiss him as gently as you can. "I don't know who I am
anymore, Daryl." There, that's said, too. The last of your truths.
"I
know. I'm not sure who I am, either. We're not who we were. I mean way back.
But maybe we're not who we were at the prison, either. We're changing." He
smiles, and it's a beautiful thing to see. "We're changing in the same way
this time. Right?" He tips your chin up, studying you. "I can't lose
you again."
"You
won't," you say, but it's a hollow promise and you think you both know
that. Even if you never leave him, this world may take you from him.
Or
take him from you.
You
know only this: you will kill anyone who tries to take him.
And
you know he'll do the same.
He
eases you off the island, scoops up your clothes and his, and says, "Where
is your bed, woman?" His tone is light, in a way you haven't heard since
the prison, before everything went to shit.
"If
you can't find a bed in a house with this many bedrooms, Pookie,
you may not be the man for me, after all."
"I
said your bed, not a bed." He pulls you to him gently. "Although if
your ribs werenմ hurt, I'd make love to you in every single bed in this
house." You see a promise in his eyes that once you're healed, he will do
just that.
Then
you see something else, something soft and gentle and probably what he was like
when he was young, before life had beat on him so bad he had to toughen up or
die. "I love you, Carol. I don't—I don't want to do this without you. Not
anymore."
"Me
neither." You slip your hand into his and lead him to your room.
"There. Now you know where it is."
"Now,
I do." He sits on the bed, pulls you into him until he can rest his head
on your belly. "Whoever you become, I'm gonna
like her."
You
think that's not true. He didn't like the suburban woman Tobin fell for. Then
again she wasn't you, just a mask you wore. And Daryl has always seen through
your masks.
"Carol,
I do understand—wanting to change. I thought we could find a better way."
His voice is so soft you can barely make it out. "I thought I could. Aaron
made sense and then Morgan came. I wanted to believe..." He shakes his
head then leans back and looks at you. "I guess we both wanted to be
something else."
"Maybe
we can be. Only together this time. Scoot back." When he drops the clothes
and moves so he's leaning against the headboard, you crawl onto the bed,
ignoring your complaining ribs, and straddle him. "But, just so we're
clear, we might be saying that we can't be our best selves with each other. You
get that, right?"
He
pulls you down and kisses you for a long time, until he's ready again, until
you ease yourself onto him. Then he shakes his head. "This is my best
self. The other thing was just an illusion. Illusions will get us killed."
And
once again you're on the same page. It's a nice thing to be with him in so many
ways. You move slowly, trying not to strain your ribs, trying not to show him
that it hurts to make love to him in this position, because you need to do it,
you need to have him again.
You
need to kick her out, the new-old Carol who can't make up her mind what she
wants. Who would have settled for Tobin but watched and wanted Daryl every time
he was in view.
This
is who you are. This is who you both are. And now you can be who you both
are...together.
"I
love you," he murmurs as he pulls you down for another kiss, as he thrusts
harder.
He
loves you. You don't know what the future holds. You don't even know what
tomorrow holds. This world obliterates tomorrows on a regular basis.
But
for now, this is all there is. And it's everything you want.
"I
love you, too."
FIN