Walking Dead 1. Chapter 1- Daryl's Lament

_(Hello all. This short prologue is my response to the beautiful ending of S3, E05. I cried so much watching that, that I needed to get my feels out, a review would be lovely if you like it, if not tell me why. The next Chapter will be out in a day or two. Thanks. :] As always, I own nothing.)_

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**Chapter One; Daryl's Lament**

_When the night has been too lonely_  
_And the road has been too long,_  
_And you think that love is only_  
_For the lucky and the strong,_  
_Just remember in the winter_  
_Far beneath the bitter snows_  
_Lies the seed that with the sun's love_  
_In the spring becomes the rose_

_~ Bette Midler_

His heart was throbbing drearily. He knelt beside her coarse wooden cross with a sensation of numbness in his soul and mind. The unoccupied, churned mound of earth was icy in the bitter cold morning and he considered flatly how unsuitable a tomb it was for her. The slowly withering white rose reminded him like a contemptuous smack in the face how much he missed her already. It reminded him how many memories the fleeting time they spent together had brought, and how many they would now never make together. With both rough, calloused hands he caressed the stone circlet he had placed as a tribute atop her grave back into order, stirring the tiny pebbles diligently back into formation.

Once done, he hauled his weight to the ground beside her and laid himself so his entire head was cushioned in a patch of soft, new spring grass which tickled his ears and comforted him. A few daisies had begun to shoot out of the fresh earth, carrying with them a unique light which echoed the blissful quiet of spring. With a whistle the calm, musty wind blew a few icy specks of dew onto his face and his dark skin sparkled with the dampness. She would often ask him to lay with her, to just lay beside her and let her soak in the heat of his body. In life he would often deny her such a humble wish. He never assumed that in death his soul would pine for one last chance to lay beside her and hold her.

He flipped himself over onto his stomach and drew a utility knife from his back pocket. With a simple swish of his wrist he flicked the blade out and began to paw at it's dull edge, turning the tiny makeshift weapon over in his fingers. He fidgeted a little further towards his lover's headstone and began to carve crude letters into the fragile wood, a haunted smile on his once confident face. He knew what he wanted to write but suddenly found himself wordless. She would've known what to say in these situations. She was always good at capturing the disposition of one's heart.

What he wanted to write was a lament. The things he always wished he had the nerve and terminology to say to her face but never brought himself to. He wanted to convey how it felt to love her; because it was the greatest and equally the most terrifying experience of his life. To love Carol was, for Daryl, to be struck by lightning.

At first that meagre face, the way she squinted and bobbed when she felt nervous was calming, soothing. Then she began to know him, find his weaknesses, support him like a crutch when he needed her. Slowly, her heart opened to him. She fell so easily for him, but in her own way she fell for everyone, always fighting to love and be loved by everyone, such a lonely existence only brightened by the affection of another.

And then, like a blinding streak of lightning between dark clouds he noticed her in a new light. Her bright, glistening blue eyes were no longer meagre and frightened but as terrible and beautiful a sight for him to comprehend as the fiercest storm at sea. Like a flash her motherly body which once seemed plain and ordinary radiated light from every inch of skin and her form became, to him, comparable to that of a goddess. Rather than timidly walking in the shadows of the others she rippled like thunder over a mountainside, as glorious and powerful as a force of nature. The stony, fixed face of a woman haunted by a terrible past and the frightfulness of their apocalypse unexpectedly became that of a child, as fresh and new and inquisitive as though she was seeing everything for the first time, which drew Daryl in and excited him in a way he never felt before; with hopeful notions of a spectacular world they could build together.

The way she bit her lip, batted her eyelids and always seemed to sit in a position so that the light shone in from behind her and illuminated each delicate feature drove Daryl's mind ablaze, each tiny gesture powerfully, unassumingly erotic. When they were alone together and he had a chance to peel each item of clothing off her dark, playfully freckled skin, he felt like he was discovering a new world, untouched and unspoilt as fresh snow and he savoured each inch of her, devouring her with his eyes. Her love, as wounded and scarred as she was, remained encompassing, covering him and drinking him in so that he failed to put his guard up and he surrendered his entirety to her. He felt like a child in her company, so naive and insignificant when everywhere she went was showered in the radiance of her very being like she was nothing more than an illusion conjured for him from a shaft of golden light.

He twitched in pain and found himself driven out of his thoughts as he caught himself with the tip of his knife and drew the tiniest speck of blood. The tingling sensation as a trickle of the thin red fluid dripped onto his palm reminded him what he was doing and he suddenly realised he had carved a word into her headstone. Evidently the only word he could think of to use to describe her and how he felt about her. One simple, single word sat alone on it's wooden surface like a beacon which brought a single regretful tear to his eye.

_'Beautiful.'_


	2. Chapter 2- Knife Point

_(Hello lovely readers. I'm just going to point out that I'm ill today so I sincerely hope my fic lives up to all the wonderful feedback I've been getting, thank you all so much! I use lyrics apart from my usual foreshadowing ones in this from 'Hunter' by Heather Dale, I suggest you go listen. It's THE perfect Caryl song. As always, read my chapter and feedback is appreciated, if not I hope you enjoy anyway! :D)_

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**Chapter Two; Knife Point**

_If I could kidnap an angel_  
_She'd say the word,_  
_She'd tear down these walls._  
_People laughing like children_  
_Through these hospital halls,_  
_There'd be no more tears_  
_There'd be no more blood_  
_There'd be nothing but smiles_  
_Nothing but love_  
_If I could kidnap an angel_  
_~ Jon Bon Jovi_

_These were the moments, Carol decided, which she existed for. Her legs were tucked up comfortably beneath her, the soft skin of her knees resting on the firm earthen ground still scarcely touched by patches of grass or flowers. A fire roared in its stone pit nearby, bathing the two of them in a lake of heat and light, enlightening every soft feature on both their faces. Above them, stars blinked in drowsy awe as the pair rested, frozen in time and space, utterly simpatico with one another. The wind was nothing she had ever felt in autumn before, it flickered lazily like a summer breeze and the chilliness in the air was so mild it failed to penetrate her bare skin buried within his jacket. Her hands were gentle as she lightly stroked his brow, running her fingers across each crease and line that a lifetime of living rough had carved into him._

_It charmed her that nobody else ever got to see Daryl like this. His head was cradled in her lap, his short brown hair tickling the pale, exposed skin of her thigh. His face was calm, restful and blank in sleep, his lips slightly apart as he breathed gently, each breath causing ripples in the perfectly still grass. What surprised her was how peaceful he looked when he slept; no more did he have to wear the rigid face of authority, instead his habitually intense, heavy lidded eyes were shut in heavenly slumber and his often stony features had softened and were beautifully calm in the assortment of firelight and starlight. She leaned slowly down towards him and tenderly kissed his forehead, sufficiently gently enough not to rouse him but firmly enough to cause his lips to split into a content smile as he felt her loving gesture._

_She often pondered, when they were like this together, whether he once had a mother who would do the same thing, cradle his head on her lap and calm him to sleep after a nightmare. She pulled his jacket a little further over her naked body as a breeze whipped its icy hand across her back and sent her into a cold shiver. She speculated that if his mother ever did this for him, it would assumedly be in a quiet back room of a house, in Daryl's room. She wondered if he ever had football posters. Perhaps posters of a group of scantily clad, well-endowed women in his teenage years. A laugh rose up in her throat as she wondered what he had been like before all this and she fought to stop herself from giggling and disturbing him. She looked down into his angelic face and her smile grew wide. Then she had another query. She wondered if he ever knew his mother._

_It occurred to her that actually, in the scheme of things, she really knew very little about him._

_But she also appreciated that this meant he knew nothing of her old life. It was merely days since Sophia had been found in the barn, and she had been fighting to not think about how things used to be. Indeed, her husband was an evil man and there was nothing he had that she would ever trade Daryl for, but she would give up her own love and happiness for another chance to hold her daughter in a heartbeat. Something told her, had they found Sophia, she would have been incredibly happy with Daryl as a makeshift replacement father. She hadn't minded when she caught her mother kissing him in the back of Rick's car back in Atlanta, and why should she? Carol smiled a little and patted Daryl's head. They could've been a family._

_She hadn't always been Ed's punch bag. Once upon a time she had a high position in life, her father was a successful entrepreneur and her mother was his assistant- never before had a love been truer than theirs. But temptation had overtaken her father when she was still young and an affair had happened, leading to a particularly messy divorce and leaving Carol with her mother, now penniless and depressed. She married Ed at the age of sixteen and suffered ever after in his company, constantly dodging fists and nursing wounds at his mercy. That was all there was to it; a short, sad series of events leading to a particularly volatile marriage with only Sophia to show for it. She was Carol's angel, the light leading her out of darkness. A tear sprang to her eyes. How wretched it was for a mother to watch her own offspring die before her._

_"Carol?" His voice carried her out of her considerations and she dared herself to look down into his lovely dark eyes, squinting in sleepiness. He smiled and slowly hauled himself upright to sit, facing her squarely, gently wiping away the streak of moisture trailing from her eye and down her thin cheek with his thumb. Both wide, rough hands found their way around her waist and he pulled her close to him, the warmth of his body an amazing sensation against her exposed skin. "You're freezing." He muttered._

_She smirked and playfully pushed him down, flat onto his back. She straddled him and looked straight down. Somehow, he found that when she looked directly into his eyes she was not looking at him but rather through him, like she could read his mind. He smiled a little and once more wrapped both sturdy muscular arms around her tightly, pulling her chest to meet his. For the briefest of moments, they could've been teenagers fooling around on the grass in a park somewhere, no zombies, no horrors, no past. They could've been Romeo and Juliet- unlikely star crossed lovers, their love so powerful it defies death. Words on a page._

_'Slip the jesses, my love_  
_This hunter you own from the hood to the glove_  
_When the circling and striking are done, and I land,_  
_Let me come back to your hand, let me come back to your hand'_

_It was something she had heard long ago, some song or another they played on the radio once as she drove regretfully to pick Ed up from some social function she had been commanded not to attend- whether due to her plainly visible bruises or his desire to flirt and kiss around she didn't know. She merely knew his friends had grown tired of her excuses; only so many times does 'I fell down stairs' and 'I walked into a door' work before people became cautious. The song had uplifted her spirits, a song about falconry she thought but suddenly it had a totally separate meaning. She shifted her weight over and rolled off his body, landing softly beside him with a quiet thud. She took the time to prop herself up on her elbow and gaze into his eyes while he slowly drifted into sleep. Come back to my hand. My hunter._

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It was the third time he had paced anxiously around the room, his head spinning and his eyes moving frantically as he digested the information. It had no business being there, laid on the floor, mocking him. This cell block had been left alone, untouched by any of the group and it was three days since Carol had been lost. It was unmistakable, though; he had carved a unique pair of delicate feather wings into it for her a long time ago, back when they were the best of friends. The rusted, chipped blade was plastered with blood and whatever other foul smelling bile it had encountered on its way through a Walker's skull but still, it was her knife.

He paused in his lap of the room for a brief moment to kick the blade onto its reverse side and he admired the way it clinked on the floor, but quickly returned to pacing. Glenn and Rick stood watching, their faces blank. They had all lost someone special to them over the past few weeks, so who were they to interrupt him as he finally stopped forcing himself to ignore what had happened and digested the idea of the one he lost still being alive. They would give anything for that chance.

It was true, they all knew, that no body had been found to fill Carol's grave. They had assumed she was completely devoured like Lori but it was obvious now from the way he stormed around the hard floor like a typhoon that he was contemplating the idea she might have lived. Perhaps she found her way here, he wondered. They had cleared out many Walkers to get to this particular cell block but she was much smaller than any of them, perhaps she had found a crawl space and this was where she popped out. Only two freshly destroyed Walker corpses that they were not responsible for lay in the room, but the picture was coming together in his head. She popped out of somewhere, killed two then fled the scene looking for safety? He swallowed a lump in his throat. Looking for him?

Rick had gotten past his stage of anger and grief had overcome him, rendering him totally docile. Unhappy with the loss of his friend, Glenn's only occupation had become caring for the new baby with Maggie and this had also rendered him sleep deprived and equally passive. Daryl had taken charge, balancing his time between clearing the prison buildings, spending time with 'Carol' and maintaining the peace and welfare of the group. He wondered, for a brief moment, whether a search for Carol was possible with such burdens. But he also knew he would never forgive himself if he didn't try.

"You guys head back." He barked, to little resistance or indeed reaction from his companions. "I'm gonna take a look around now its secure here. The two of you need rest." They nodded, no words were spoken and the exchange was done. Within a few seconds they had wandered, as lively as Walkers, out into the rest of the prison to find their way back. And Daryl was left alone, buried in hostile silence, staring at a knife.

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Her breath was rapid, she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. She was engulfed in complete darkness, able only to hear the rumbling noise of a car's engine and its wheels against a rough road in need of repair. Her hands and feet were bound, her eyes covered with a thick black cloth and she got the impression she was in the boot of the car, and in terrible danger. It seemed like an eternity before she caught the sound of breaks squealing to a halt and it was a long time until she felt fingers prising her upwards and digging into her ribs. She was led somewhere, still denied the privilege of sight and yet another great gap of time passed before she was allowed to see.

She found herself staring up at a ceiling. Any other time a ceiling would have been unremarkable, but this time she found herself staring directly into a wide, fresh splatter of blood streaked across it's emotionless grey surface. She was only vaguely aware of two people stood beside the makeshift bed she had been laid on, but she knew both of them were male as she could hear a low pitch rumble of conversation. She attempted to haul herself upright but found herself weakened and the effort of the act overcame her and caused her to tumble limply back onto the bed. A single tear of frustration slipped down her cheek. How could they think they would get away with tranquilising her?

The thought broke and shattered, suddenly meaningless as the faces came into view and one was startlingly recognisable. Merle Dixon. Of course he would recognise her too, there were very few faces left to recognise in their world any more. If she had the strength she knew her fist would fly into the air and plant itself neatly on his vicious smirk but she failed to move once again. Beside him the other man placed his hand squarely on the older Dixon's back and patted it gently.

"This is the one, huh?" He asked, to which Merle nodded gently. "Alright, come on darlin'." He added, pushing Merle away and snaking his arms around Carol's waist. She found herself lifted into an upright sitting position and she finally found she could look at the room. Though dark, without a streak of blood to stare at the room would have resembled a normal, if slightly neglected, hospital room. A third man dressed in a tight, filthy lab coat shuffled anxiously around the door, his hands knotted and wriggling. Tall railings with a thick blue curtain blocked her view from the other half of the room but she could tell something was being hidden behind them.

"Daryl?" She whispered, turning to the lost brother, a look of fear dancing on her face. He smiled that cruel, dumb smile.

"So, you're the one banging my brother then?" He mused, causing Carol to frown angrily. "Andrea did say somethin' of the sort. We found you wandering No-Man's-Land little lady. Looks like you were left for dead." That much was true. After the Walkers got in, it made sense in her frightened state to flee the prison. She had been racing away from the compound, the prison far behind her, trying to find safety, stumbling through the brush noisily when she was spotted by a Woodbury scout. It had been her intention to kick up as much dirt as possible so her lover could track her later. In the panic she didn't even feel the dart pierce her skin; the last thing she remembered was toppling to the ground, paralysed, and the sound of heavy boots making their way towards her. "There's a hope, though." He muttered cruelly, his voice so cold it suddenly sent shivers down her spine. "You tell us where my brother is and we'll go fetch him for you, let him know you're safe."

A million things whizzed through her head with that suggestion. The relief would be sweet should they find him and bring him to her, her mind filled lustfully with images of their reunion. She would leap out of bed and straight into his arms, he would twirl her around and both of them would fall in love all over again, except truer and nicer than ever before. But on the other hand, staring into Merle's darkened face she worried terribly about his intentions. She couldn't allow them to find him and hurt him, perhaps kill him. Daryl still cared deeply for his brother and would trust him implicitly, just the way to set up an ambush. She'd rather be dead. This life was fleeting and it was paramount that she made sure no harm came to him. Her face knotted and hardened and she stared up with determination on her face.

"No way."


	3. Chapter 3- The Price of Love

_(Hey guys! I'm sorry for how long this took me to get around to! Thank you for all your lovely encouragement, reviews and general niceness. I've got to throw out a WARNING FOR SPOILERS because my Governor in this fic is based on the Graphic Novel version, not the TV one. That said, if you want no spoilers just jump to the next chapter, it won't take too much away. ALSO I'll give this an M (THAT'S AN M, PLEASE DON'T FEEL OBLIGED TO READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO) rating to be on the safe side, some SOMEWHAT adult themes here, I'll be back to my more fuzzy writing next chapter, just wanted something a little different. Enjoy this next chapter!)_

**Chapter Three; The Price of Love**

_I do believe it's true_  
_That there are holes left in both of our shoes_  
_If the silence takes you_  
_Then I hope it takes me too_  
_So brown eyes I hold you near_  
_Cause you're the only song I want to hear_  
_A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere_

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It was as pretty as a portrait and equally as fictitious. But it was there, a strange memory conjured from fantasy, and it was what kept her strong. There she stood, the picturesque, young fresh-faced woman as untroubled and joyful as a whistle of wind. Long strands of sleek blonde hair cascaded wildly down her shoulders, between her shoulder blades and trailed almost all the way to her round hips which were clad tightly in dark blue denim. The eyes that glinted from between a pair of flittering, shockingly long blonde lashes were as feral and enchanting as those of a wild cat, slanted at an alluring angle and heavily lidded, giving her the extraordinarily fascinating impression of her eyes being too heavy each time she blinked. Her figure was simple, a small chest which curved inwards and nipped at her tiny waist then flared out at her womanly hips. Her upper half was captured in a sheer floral shirt decorated with flowers in each colour imaginable and a short, bright blue denim jacket and matching blue heels. The smile on her face was blindingly radiant, two sets of bright white teeth set between thin but pert lips.

The night was hot, it was the middle of July and the first chills of autumn had still not arrived. She never had any time to do her own thing; to explore and enjoy herself, but she was soon to be married and she was eager to see Georgia before she was bound to a man she didn't love for an unspeakable amount of time. The train windows were all fully down and despite the late hour the faint glitter of sunset danced on the horizon and bleared through the glass, leaving hot red patches on her fair skin.

She stepped cautiously when she arrived. Everything seemed to have a faint fog about it. The windows of shops were obscured, blurred slightly, the coloured lights within as hazy and indistinct in their illumination as if the interior had caught fire. Street lights above twinkled and faded indiscriminately as she looked at them through foggy eyes, her brows furrowed in confusion. It wasn't quite a dream and it wasn't quite a memory. A waking dream perhaps? Often she wondered if this was what Walkers thought of, how they fantasised, what kept them ploughing on in a state of semi-life forever. Her thoughts shattered as she saw him, not far away, watching her.

Short, fluffy brown hair stuck up at awkward angles on his head, giving him a cute untamed shabbiness about him. Two sweet eyes full of tenderness and yearning to be loved fixed themselves on her and she couldn't help staring back into them, her own brilliant blues full of a need to grab him, hold on to him, show him the compassion he had never known before. The deep scars of a loveless, abusive childhood were gone from his dark skin, instead he was fresh faced and cheerful. She adored him and the awkward, virgin way she could see he battled with his feelings as he watched her and his head churned with thoughts of passion. He couldn't have been more than twenty, but he still stood there firmly, like he was cast in stone. His eyes ate into her flesh hungrily, she knew her younger self had a power to draw an eye and charm a man without a single word.

It was a simple desire. To have met him before the world went to hell. She looked back on the thought so often because she knew it would have changed her life. Daryl would never have forced her to hide under desks as his fists searched for her skin, he had come close to hitting her once and it had thrown him into a state of complete shock and shame. He would never have forced her to shave her hair off or bear him an heir. He definitely wouldn't have looked at any child of theirs the way Ed did, that sickening smile he put on whenever she called him 'daddy' and the way he used to grab out at her tiny, pale arms so hard it would plant bruises in her skin made Carol's blood boil. She used to jump between them, earning her a beating but always managing to rescue Sophia. She was sure her husband would have killed her eventually but it didn't matter.

And then there was Daryl, the man who hunted for Sophia like a bloodhound when she was lost, as though her survival was the most crucial thing in the world. Carol watched him then, yearning for her daughter to live so they could have a life with him. Sure, he could never have provided her with a house and a car and a stable life but they could've lived off the land and built themselves a little wood hut deep within a forest somewhere, concealed from a world full of death. Perhaps they could've started a new family, had a baby of their own, a dog. For most it was a horror, but for Carol the zombie apocalypse had brought a happy ending. Sophia was gone, laid to rest, finally at peace. She had been given the opportunity to cave her husband's head in, she chuckled at the thought, she shouldn't have relished it as much as she did. And she had met him, wonderful sweet Daryl, love of her life.

Her thoughts had kept her calm as she blanked out what happened around her. She didn't hear him speak in that deep, threatening rumbling voice and she never felt his hands trailing across her body indiscreetly, she was so caught in her illusions. She never noticed him beginning to unbutton his shirt either, watching her calmly, his eyes wandering across her body. Still she remained strong and silent, retaining that thought of Daryl as though she was meditating, remembering what she fought for until finally she caught herself slipping out of her fantasies. She was finally forced to pay attention.

"You know, you will crack eventually. I'll see to it." His name had been disclosed as the Governor. That's what the other men called him anyway. He was cruel, abusive, yet still adored by his men. As long as they didn't know what he was up to. The man in a tight white lab coat was Stevens who assessed her after each 'session' with her captors to keep her alive, his face a mixed picture of pity and disgust, and the other, of course, was Merle. The only thing Carol knew for certain from passing conversation was that somewhere they had Andrea, perhaps as a captive she was unsure, and they were safe enough that they could continue their interrogation of her without fear. She jerked with a start when the Governor began to talk, but was unable to answer him. Her mouth, hands and feet were bound tightly.

He had tried several ways of making her talk, notifying them of the location of Rick's group. First he was rational, trying to twist her mind so she caved in. Then he was sweet, calm and gentle. Then, in frustration, he had gotten Merle to try beating it out of her. Do your worst, she had told him. Now they were deciding what to do with her. She was unsure what it was to be. But regardless she could grit her teeth and take it. Nothing on Earth would make her reveal Daryl's location, not after she had witnessed their brutal way of dealing with people. She just knew if he found out what they had done to her, he would rampage like a tornado over Woodbury, and with the power of a thousand men nothing in his path would stay in one piece. The older Dixon brother, the Governor, everyone in this sick little town would be torn apart and spat out. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. If she died defending him it would be a perfect death.

She felt the tape bind over her mouth being slowly pulled away. It hurt as he slowly ripped it off, causing her lips to tingle painfully. He was on the same level as her, knelt beside her chair, his hands warm on her cheeks. He looked straight into her face, his manic flickering eyes caught in her own. He leaned closer once the gag was gone, his eyes straining closed, his lips puckered for a kiss. She watched him draw closer, his breath hot on her face, his mouth drawing closer to hers…

The head-butt sent him reeling backwards and dropped him to the floor. She moaned in pain afterwards, but watching him spiralling to the ground made her laugh.

"What, did you think you were getting a little kiss?" She muttered, her voice jovial. "You know something, I will die to keep the group's location a secret. They could be miles away and you'll never know. You'll have to carve Daryl's name in my carcass and toss me to the Walkers before you get your hands on him." She began to laugh violently. It surprised her when she heard him laughing from the floor alongside her, and she immediately shut her up. He drew himself to his feet and looked down at her, eyes fixed on hers.

"You want to play games? I like that in a woman." His eyes were dark, nasty. He had been testing the waters. He turned and walked slowly towards a desk nearby where Carol could just about make out a number of rather nasty looking objects, undoubtedly intended for a particularly personal type of torture. "Fine. You and I are going to play a little game." He purred, causing his captive's stomach to churn. She knew what was coming. Her breath became staggered, frightened. Her eyes filled with tears. He pounced.

It wasn't until afterwards as she spat a mixture of blood and vomit from her mouth and wept violently, streaks of tears trailing down her cheeks, that she even knew what it was she was frightened of. She was afraid of all the things Daryl would do to The Governor, to Merle, to everyone when he found her and found out about what happened. She closed her eyes tight. If he found her.


	4. Chapter 4- Scream

_(Hello lovely readers! I've flicked this back down to T rating now. :) Feels better on this setting. Hope you guys are enjoying my fic, I'm enjoying the idea that you're enjoying it… Yes. Looking forwards to tomorrow's TWD episode, so I'm filling in my time writing this for you! Happy reading! Oh, one small thing, while flicking through the TWD wiki I remembered they made Dr Stevens a woman in the show but he's better as a man, like the Comics, so that's what he will be! Thanks!)_

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**Chapter Four; Scream**

_It's like my patience is worse than the situation_  
_So I keep a straight face and scream…_

* * *

He paced around the cell block frantically, counting the time in seconds. She was somewhere out there, frightened, alone. He had followed a very abrupt trail of footprints, boot scuffs and blood to the gates, where a tiny hole had been cut and escaped through, just the right size for Carol to squeeze into and not attract any attention from the hordes she had fought to get past. Somehow she had weaved her way between the masses of undead and clipped her way out without killing any Walkers, though Daryl had to kill a few dozen before a path became clear to follow her. And now, as he paced, contemplating the scenario over and over in his busy mind, the other's words were dull echoes.

"We can't risk following her." That was the general gist of it. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, the sound of his feet pounding against the ground growing steadily louder as he became frantic in his laps of the same square foot of cellblock floor. The group continued to hurriedly chatter, cautiously watching him out of the corner of their eyes as though observing a tiger pacing the boundaries of its cage. He could smell his own sweat dripping like tears down his face, stinging in the cuts and scrapes of battle. He padded up and down, his eyes wide and his teeth grinding together. One by one, they would have to tackle him and fight him to the floor to stop him hunting for her, he had to find her. If only he could think of the right words.

_'That's your little girl.'_  
_'That's not my little girl. It's some other... thing. My Sophia was lost in the woods. All this time, I thought. But she didn't go hungry. She didn't cry herself to sleep. She didn't try to find her way back. Sophia died a long time ago.'_

It stung him, as though something sharp and solid had been forced through his ribcage. It was the same thing. Only this time they had lost his little girl. _My Carol is lost in the woods_. His head span and the others could only fall into silence, watching his world collapse and his eyes flicker with hints of both pure rage and pure regret. If only he had the right words. He'd been to too many funerals, lost too much that he loved. What if, somewhere, she was lost. Hungry, alone. Crying herself to sleep. What if she'd hurt herself. His mind filled with a concoction of horrors, what if something terrible had happened to her?

'You're his henchman and I'm a burden. You deserve better.'

Of course, she had meant 'we deserve better'. The need was plain, simple. She wanted him to herself. His heart had screamed that he should follow her to the ends of the Earth, with or without Rick yet his brain had been focussed on survival for so long. He wanted something real with her, to build them a life. It was the first time he had been thinking straight, and he knew it had also been the wrong time. Their world was collapsing, everything was being torn apart and he was concerned with priorities. He had known she was entirely smitten; perhaps he had been buying time, waiting for the right moment to say it. To tell her how he felt and finally commit himself to her. If only he had the words.

"To love Carol felt like I was going crazy." The words were croaky, squeaky. The group fell into dormant silence and stared at him. Love? He blinked a few times and met their eyes, seriousness etched onto his face and a naive gaze of complete honesty and fear. They listened, attentive. "…Woman made me crazy. You know this winter, when the first snow started to fall and we took a scouting mission, just me and her... I watched her catch snowflakes on her nose and leave fresh footprints in the snow, like a kid. There's me, totally focussed and she's there playing. Every icy drop that fell from the sky she tried to catch on her tongue. She must've been freezing; galloping about in the snow and all I could do was watch, dumbstruck and eventually tell her she was being stupid yet it wounded me to stop her." He paused for a minute, unsure where he was going with his argument. Then he shook it off and continued, now past the point of no return. "In the beginning of Spring, when the world and it's Walkers started to thaw and everything went back to hell, I watched her exploring a field with Carl, ya remember? He was there, his face like rock, drifting around a field with a gun by his side while she picked the prettiest, pinkest flowers she could find because she knew how defeated everyone felt. Then she came home and wrapped one around the handlebars of my bike, pushed one into Lori's hair and decorated the cars inside. I brushed it off without even thinking, it wasn't survival, it wasn't useful but it was her way of keeping us all going. She was the washer of clothes, she cooked what I caught, she took care of the kids and none of it seems to matter to any of you. She watched her daughter slump out of a barn as a Walker, can you imagine how that must feel? But all you seemed to care about was tha' Shane was to blame. But she bounced back, all this time, she's been a burden? To you all? But she had a way of finding joy in every little thing. She was… MY joy."

The group fell silent. The guy who scarcely spoke a word. It was as though his whole frustrated, pent up mind had spilled out of his mouth. Beth's eye held a single, sorry tear. He stopped, his breathing heavy, watching the group like a rabbit caught in headlights, entirely uncertain what the reaction to the outpouring of his heart would bring. He'd done the same, once, to Merle and his brother had sneered for days. He was so afraid of his feelings, of the group taking him for a fool that it had blinded his fondness for everyone he held dear. It only occurred to him then how painful life had been for him and how important Carol was, not only in every way he had already said but also the way he felt completely unembarrassed when he poured his heart out to her.

_'What do you want?'_  
_'A man of honor.'_

The words hit him like a bullet in his gut. It was decided.

"Well, she matters to me." He continued, when the group fell silent. "I feel for you, all of you, who have lost your loved ones. How often in this world do we get the chance to find them? Wouldn' you do anything to get that chance?" He paused, allowing the words to soak in. "But y'know. I'll do it alone."

He turned away abruptly, there was nothing further to say. He stopped only for an instant on the perch to find his bow and knife, bundling them up into trembling hands. His brow crumpled and sopping with sweat, he headed for the exit, but found himself stopped.

"Daryl." Glenn. "I'll come. I'd go through any level of hell if it was Maggie."

"Daryl." Rick. "I'll come too. I've been through worse for my wife and son."

"Daryl." Carl. "Can I come?"

"No." Rick.

_'Daryl.'_ Carol's voice. Not real. Fictitious. Imaginary. Hearing voices. _'Save me, please.'_ He shut his eyes and prayed he could find her, hear her voice again. For real.

* * *

She screamed. It was a long, low pitched scream which he hadn't meant to let her make. People on the streets of Woodbury stopped, their faces turned to the upper story windows of the hospital. They began to talk. She screamed again. Most rushed onwards, their heads down. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. But one stopped, dropped her bag and her mouth moulded into a tight 'o' of surprise.

Andrea could have sworn that was Carol's voice.

The screaming stopped completely. Yet there she remained, stricken with fear. Was she insane? Often the screams coming from that building were of strangers they found on the roads outside, she didn't know what their complaint was but she knew something wrong was happening in there. Usually, she remained amongst the crowds with their heads down, scuttling along out of fear or negligence or complacency. Why would Carol be there?

Doc. Stevens struggled to shut the windows as he tried to block the sound spilling onto the street below. The tiny, wriggling woman in front of him was staring into his eyes with malice, her teeth clenched and grinding furiously. It wouldn't be a shock if she had been bitten and turned, each feature was uncharacteristically feral.

"Now, Carol. Be quiet. I need to make sure you're in a good state of health." He exhaled gently as she growled. He hated this job. She looked a lot like a woman he used to know, he'd had a crush on her, thought she was beautiful. She went down with Woodbury long before the Governor. He patted Carol's head lightly, trying to convey the amount of grief he felt for her. "I don't like doing this." He muttered, pulling her head back and staring into her eyes. The blue appeared greyer somehow, giving her the impression it was fading from her eyes. She looked exhausted to say the least. "I can give you food, are you hungry?" He persisted, receiving a deathly look in response. "I'll take that as a no. Now, let me have a look at this."

The wound was red, inflamed, angry. Merle had cut into her breast with the sharp, foreboding claw-hand, just enough to draw blood and through negligence allow an infection to set in. She screamed again, quieter this time when he touched it, hardly able to formulate words. She was in hell.

"St…" She began. "Stevens." She looked at him, her eyes full of sorrow. "Let me go home to my daughter, and Daryl?"

He sighed and touched a hand to her forehead. She was feverish and delirious. That was good, the Woodbury goons would have to leave her alone, or she risked some serious illness. At least she wasn't dead. He'd heard stories that the Governor had gone so far and become so enthusiastic with the mistreatments that in his frustration that he'd slaughtered several individuals by accident. That was one of the things stopping him from fleeing, actually. He'd hunt him down and kill him.

"Carol." He muttered gently. The knock on the door broke him from his sentence and he whirled around rapidly. The bedside curtain was pulled around her swiftly, hiding her from view. She closed her eyes and listened. Another knock, more frantic this time. Then a voice. It felt as though that voice had been there forever, like a song from childhood which guides you to sleep, the fondest of memories. A wave of relief, she was saved at last, they could leave this hell hole.

Andrea.


	5. Chapter 5- I'll Always Find You

_Hello readers! I apologize sincerely for my absence but I've been SO worried about where I'm taking this now the season has ended that, well, I've written and rewritten it six times. I'm still not 100% sure, but this is what my brain finally came up with! I've made a promise to fit my usual amount of fluff into the next chapter and I can't wait to write it so stay tuned! Please read, review and more importantly ENJOY! :]_

* * *

**Chapter Five; I Will Always Find You.**

_(She's the voice I love to hear_  
_Someday when I'm ninety_  
_She's that wooden rocking chair_  
_I want rocking right beside me_  
_Every day that passes_  
_I only love her more_  
_Yeah, she's the one_  
_That I'd lay down my own life for)_

It took Andrea several looks to feel certain she was the right woman. Her hair had been left to grow slightly longer and now fell in short frail streams across her brow, which was coagulated in a thin layer of sweat, blood and grime. Her body was bloody and bruised with several infected cuts dotting her fair skin as though she had fallen through a particularly belligerent thorn bush. Her eyes were closed and the lids flickered feverishly but the distinctive oval shape was still there. Of all people she was the one she never anticipated would survive so long.

"Carol?" She received no response; her old companion was passed out from the suffering. She put a hand to her head which was sweltering hot and she steadily recommended to Doc Stevens that restraints had better be fastened to her, for security. Of course, she was already bound; she was a prisoner after all. But the Doctor made a show of binding her up while Andrea paced, trying to articulate a reasonable succession of questions to better comprehend the situation without putting her fist through a wall in fury.

He arrived just in time, his feet hammering down the hallway and his whole body bursting through the hospital door. Close to putting her fist in Stevens' eye as he babbled trying to find an explanation, Andrea span around at the sight of her lover and she almost ran towards him. "You've got to see!" She barked, brasher than she intended to. "He's got one of the people from Atlanta here!"

"Yes." The Governor replied gently. "He sure has." He shot a deathly look first at Stevens then at Carol's wilted body. A small smile formed across his thin lips, it would be easier to lie if his delirious victim was unconscious, unable to provide the actuality of her gruesome encounter. "We found her, out in No-Man's-Land. Merle was out scouting and there she was." That was it, the entire, unabridged thing. Not a lie, but not the whole of it. She frowned, blinked and frowned some more, her lips moving a little as she worked it out. She had no discernible motivation to distrust him after all.

"I don't… Why are you keeping her here? Why was she screaming?"

"I was treating her wounds, Andrea." The Doctor interrupted, not deceitful, a bottle of rubbing alcohol in his hand. "She was in a lot of pain."

The Governor silenced her with a hand to her shoulder. She looked up at him. Those beautiful, charming brown eyes dappled with spots of gold and emerald beat themselves down into her own sweet blues and she found herself almost immediately convinced. Regardless she turned to look at Carol and frowned. There was an undoubtedly haggard look on her face, her bones were more visible than ever on her exposed hips and cheeks, giving her a skeletal look. It looked like she was on the verge of death. How could Daryl and Rick have let her get lost and starve? She grimaced. Things must have changed. Her eyes followed a trail down from her bony neck, to her starved bare chest and finally rested on a distended stomach. If she had turned, she wouldn't look much different. Yet still she bore those saintly features, her divine face comfortable in a peaceful slumber, away from the strain of her torrid state.

"I think I'll stay and keep an eye on her. Then she can tell me all about it when she wakes up." Andrea pouted her lips girlishly in resistance, started to put her bags and effects down in the chair beside her bed but she was stopped by his hand. He was firmer now, more authoritative and beginning to grow weary of her tenacity.

"No." He replied snappishly. The sound was enough to make her jump a little. "You won't be needed here." She shook her head and stomped one foot but found herself suddenly being drawn into his arms, the smell of him leaking into her senses and the warmth of his skin bleeding into her body. She smiled a little. It was intoxicating, he was usually completely intoxicating. She looked up at him, still confused. "She needs rest. Why don't you return to my apartment and we'll discuss this there?" She nodded. He worked like a snake charmer, gazing into her eyes and drawing them in with his own. She found herself drifting out of the room, unsure why she went in in the first place, eager for the deliciousness that usually followed a visit to Phillip's apartment. She would return and make sure Carol was ok, but why not let her lover do his thing and perhaps she'd become a member of the Woodbury masses soon? She smiled, confident he would do only good for Carol.

The moment Andrea left, his hands were across Carol's chest pinning her to the bed whilst attempting to shake her from sleep. When she was finally roused he smacked her in the face and pushed her into the bed, his hands on her collar bone pinning her with such force he threatened to break it. Her eyes were wide, tortuous and her cracked lips twisted, struggling for freedom in speech, the unexpected compression on her lungs rending her inaudible.

"If I find you've screamed like that again, and if she's ever seen in here again, I will make sure you never make another sound in your life." He cuffed his free hand across her face with such force it sent her spiralling back into unconsciousness. Stevens frowned in disgust. If only the world could see this savagery.

She rolled over as he left, his heavy booted feet thrashing across the floor and out of the room. Both hands flew to her chest and she forced herself to breathe through tears and fear. She wasn't sure if she had imagined Andrea or if she simply didn't care, either way the dapples of weak sunlight flooding the cold cell room did nothing to relieve the pain that somehow she knew her old comrade would never be just that again. Her gaze drifted around the trees outside, their emerald crowns plainly visible from her position on the bed. She could almost make out a figure in the tall trees beyond the boundaries of those great barricades, meant to keep zombies out and remind the mindless prisoners within that they are in his full possession. Carol blinked, squirmed and tried to focus her eyes, oblivious to whatever the good doctor muttered softly in her ears. Was there a figure lurking out there, barely hidden in the thick branches?

* * *

Their search for Carol had led them through the hastily stomped out brush to a pair of tire tracks and numerous other footprints, his only clue a couple of head-shot Walkers and the small patch of blood which could've denoted a nosebleed, scratch or other minor injury. There were no more of Carol's footprints for Daryl to follow after that, only the large male footprints belonging to however many owners of the car (prints which immediately set off a warning in his head). They had decided to continue their assault by cautiously following the tire tracks, which had led them directly to the other survivor camp. They had seen the manned barricade and were carefully tiptoeing around it, unsure who or how many had assembled within and what their policy with guests was… Until he heard the scream.

Only one man needed to hear that cry and, like a wild cat, he sprung into motion unsure if it was the thick muscles in his powerful legs or the sheer force of urgency driving him forwards like a freight train. Either way, there was to be no denying whose scream that was echoing faintly from what seemed like a million miles away; she was in deep trouble. Rick and Glenn battled through the undergrowth to keep up, both surprised he didn't drop to all fours and spring forwards like a cheetah, his entire body reflecting determination and thinly veiled terror.

It wasn't long until they stopped and found themselves gawking upwards from the base of a tall fern tree. High in the branches, like a frightened house cat he dug his way up the bark with nothing but his fingers, fighting to find higher ground. Once perched on a substantial branch, he scoped out the land around them and could hardly hold back the gasp of surprise as his jaw fell open.

"Well I'll be…"

The people of Woodbury bustled around busily in the near distance. Many of them hurried between the shop fronts, equally surprised by the screams and attempting to act completely natural. Around the town was assembled a vast, daunting barricade atop which sat numerous heavily built men and women with several massive weapons. The scream was from the nearer side of the compound in which sat a great building reminiscent of a warehouse through the windows of which he could make out hospital beds but couldn't quite make out their occupants. The majority of the armed guards faced in the opposite direction, addressing a small crowd of Walkers drawn by the noise which seemed to have reverberated around the emptiness and gladly providing Daryl with a distraction as he investigated from his treetop perch. He shimmied down the tree's thick trunk and into the waiting gaze of both of the men.

"Rick… There's a hell'uv'a town. And they don't look like friendlies... I know that sound though, she's in there." The other two men exchanged glances, attempting needlessly to disguise their doubt. Daryl shook his head, hardly caring any more whether they were with him. All that mattered was she was somewhere inside. He had to find her. It seemed like an age before they began to move, gently padding around the boundaries of town. Again he felt his mind winding, snaking and faltering into something not quite stable. She was his last hope of happiness, everything had been taken from him and he couldn't seem to shake off the feeling that perhaps those had been the screams of her death throws. Then again, perhaps she was already left somewhere, overwhelmed into death and the noise was a fabrication of his imagination? Perhaps he was conjuring the idea of her endurance out of smoke and warm air, its likelihood as dubious as snow in summer. He twitched, his sanity and patience wearing thin, and he decided he needed to pace the town boundaries and establish an entry point.

It seemed she too was skirting the borders indecisively.

Within the fence, a tall slender black woman with fierce eyes and a pace comparable to that of a panther shadowed around, trailing them. At first she had assumed the small band of men were members of the Woodbury masses, sent outside their borders to trot in circles doing whatever mysterious things they had been ordered to do in whispered voices behind locked doors. But Michonne saw, she observed every little thing, every sign. Her eyes didn't look into another's eyes and see nothing but emotion, she looked straight through them and saw their souls within. When she had looked into the Governor's eyes… She saw no soul; only a fake, perverse blackness hardening itself and twisting into the shape of humanity, excellent in its facsimile of lucidity until his decency was taken into question. She had to find out about him, but she needed a distraction. Besides which it was unquestionable who they had come for. She had only briefly glimpsed the crushed woman upon her first appearance in Woodbury, but she could tell a damsel in distress from a mile away and usually a Prince Charming was hot on her tail.

Those men creeping around behind the borders were silent, organised, sane-looking and ultimately visibly faithful. One of them looked oddly familiar and yet entirely different. She followed them for some time before revealing herself by coughing loudly. The entire group whipped around and within seconds beyond the fence she made out the perfect image of a crossbow pointed directly where her head would be, were there nothing between them.

"I can show you how to get in." It was all she needed to say to establish an alliance with the fragile, tortured Daryl. He smiled. Rick and Glenn cautiously glared into the deep dark eyes gazing at them between the wooden planks supporting the particular section of fence they spoke amid. "But you must trust me. You've come for the woman held captive here, I believe?"

It took more than closed doors and whispers to deny her the truth.

She peeked once again between the gaps in the fence and found herself staring into hard, frightened eyes. Daryl gazed at her, their eyes locked and fixated, both trying to comprehend the other whilst struggling to trust and earn trust in the briefest of moments. There was grief, Michonne observed, in this stranger's eyes. But also hope.

"The name's Michonne." She whispered anxiously.

"Call me Daryl. The woman's name is Carol. I will trust you for now Michonne, we'll return at nightfall to this spot and meet you. Please, go inside and just pass the message along that I'm here." His eyes lit up as though a torch had been set alight and began to burn deep within behind layers of pupil and skin and flesh and humanity. Something deeply inhuman erupted in his soul and for the first time he thought he might understand the wonder of something more amazing than survival and necessity, the possibility that despite all the odds, love can still wind itself down an unusually prevailing path, a guiding light, leading you to your inmost need. "Tell her I found her…

I will always find her."


End file.
