HERE WE GO AGAIN

--- Daryl's mind had been preoccupied with other things around the time Maggie and Glenn became a couple, but the man had seen enough to guess their romance had practically come straight from a goddamn chick flick. Sickly sweet and just as naive. But with as little experience as he had, Daryl assumed that that was the only form love came in, and that was the only way it came into bloom. Hard, fast, and colorful, like fireworks on New Years Eve. Or more like getting hit with a fucking 16-wheeler, judging by the stars in the lovebirds eyes. But love with Carol was different, he discovered. It fell into place slowly, like a stream built by rainstorms and eroded earth. It trickled into his mind and body with quiet determination, until he wasn't even sure how he'd survived without it. "Are you going to give me your clothes to wash, or am I going to have to strip you myself?" Carol asked one day from the entrance of his cell. She kept her arms akimbo and eyebrow raised, the slightest smile teasing at her lips. It always started with her smile, a gentle glow that burned from the inside out. Daryl whittled at an arrow in his hands, put on a phony scowl and said, "How about you go n' nag somebody else for a change?" She laughed, the sound resonating deep in his stomach in a twist of pleasure. She stepped closer and slid her fingertips beneath the torn sleeve of his flannel shirt, sending an involuntary shudder through him. "But where would be the fun in that?" --- The winter after the prison fell, the survivors found themselves living house to house again. The cold was harsh and unforgiving, but there were nights when they all curled around each other in a tangle of limbs, lulled to sleep by the whistle of wind through cracks and broken wind-chimes, and Daryl felt at home. There was one particular night he could recall with perfect clarity. He had an arm strung over Rick's leg and Michonne's back was pressed into his spine, but neither felt quite as comforting as Carol's head in the crook of his shoulder. They'd had to put down a child walker and its pregnant mother to claim this decomposing house. Nerves were tense with repressed emotion as the group grieved its heavy losses. Rick was distant, but his grip around Carl was tight. Carol had her eyes on the patch of moonlight visible through a crumbling hole in the roof. "Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy," she quoted softly, threading her bony fingers through Daryl's. They all tilted their heads back to view the small patch of sky, their only source of light in this old dark house. There were millions of them, stars laid out like spilt glitter over a black canopy. Maybe it was the exhaustion and malnutrition getting to him, but he could feel it. Lori, T-Dog, Sofia, and Merle, all twinkling up there, laughing in heaven. Waiting. And he knew for certain that he'd never be alone. --- Their first kiss was hardly romantic. While on a run, he'd been shot in the shoulder. The wound wasn't half as bad as some of the marks his daddy had left on his skin, but the force of it was enough to knock him flat on his back, knocking the breath from his lungs. While he was writhing and sucking air in through his teeth, a couple of punks came out of the shadows and beat the shit out of him. Not his finest moment, bleeding rivers where their boot heels and the asphalt cut into his flesh. When they were sure he was down for the count, they tugged the crossbow from his grip and the pistol from his waistband, but his spare bullets had already rolled into the gutter, leaving the thing completely useless. They tossed his gun and he watched it sail into the grass. "Hey, this thing's pretty sweet," said the asshole fondling his crossbow, and fired an arrow through the nearest shop window. Daryl tried to move in protest, but the kid stepped on his wounded shoulder, grinding the bullet into his bone. Then there was a loud crash, and walkers came pouring through the shattered storefront, tripping over each other in their haste to get to their newest meal. "Shit!" cried the other young man, "We gotta go!" A shot rang out and the man gripping his crossbow let out a cry of pain, a bullet hole going straight through the center of his hand. The bow clattered to the ground and the two boys ran off, back through the alleyway from which they came. "C'mon Daryl," Carol said, a tremble in her voice as she struggled to pull him to his feet. She fired her weapon again and took out the nearest walker, it's face caving in as it smashed into the pavement. Daryl thought maybe he looked a lot like that right now. "Get up!" she urged desperately, pulling painfully at his hands. He sucked in a deep breath and peeled himself from the ground, staggering at the head rush from getting up too quickly. A concussion, most likely. He grabbed his crossbow and Carol's wrist, stumbling over his own feet as he tugged her into an adjacent hunting supply shop he'd already cleared. They slammed the door shut behind them and pushed a heavy display case in front of it, though his shoulder protested from the strain. When they were certain they were safe, Daryl sunk to the ground, back resting against their makeshift barricade. "Stupid, dumbass kids!" he swore, dabbing his fingers at a gushing wound on his forehead. They took his fucking bag with all the supplies he'd scavenged, including the bandages. But he had Carol and his bow. He didn't lose everything, and for that he was grateful. "You alright?" he asked tentatively. He realized then, that she was crying. Silent sobs bubbling from her throat. "I'm alright," she sniffled, but crawled over to him on her hands and knees. "Then what the hell you cryin' for?" he asked gently, searching her for wounds. As far as he could tell, the only blood on her came from him. She caught his gaze with her own, tears tumbling down her cheeks in rapid succession. Her hand came out to cup his swelling face, her skin cool and refreshing against the developing bruise. "I thought you were dead," she explained. "I heard the shot and came running, but I was all the way down the street. By the time I got there you were lying on the ground, not moving. Bleeding." Daryl almost gave her a reassuring smile, but his busted lip got in the way. "Aww, hell," he said, "Don't cry. I ain't dead yet." She nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes, smearing his blood across her cheek. It made her look like a warrior, he thought. Like someone who fought tooth and nail to stay alive. The thought filled him with pride. "No," she agreed, "You're not dead yet." Then she pressed her mouth to his, fumbling and awkward as he bled into her mouth. He jerked back as a new flood of pain rushed to his torn lip. "Ow," he said. "Sorry," she whispered, eyes half-lidded. Then they both laughed, and Daryl knew he'd never let anybody take him away from her. --- Two summers later, and the group was living on a peach orchard. There was something so peaceful about it. It might have been the smell, light and fruity, the air so crisp and fresh with each dewy morning. The fallen peaches attracted a whole range of animals, and for those two weeks they lived there, the group ate until they were full. There were no growling stomachs or gnawing hunger pains. They were content. One evening, he followed the sound of her quiet singing. She was perched high in one of the branches, filling a basket with peaches for the road. They knew it was only a matter of time before the migrating herds caught up with them, and it was best to stay on the prepared side of things. He could see the sweat glistening on her neck and shoulders, the way it dripped down the planes of her collar bone and between her breasts. They were both getting older, but Carol carried her age gracefully. Each passing year only made her more beautiful, he thought. The crows feet at the corners of her eyes were signs of laughter and warmth, the weathering of her hands reminders that she'd done what she needed to protect the group. He shimmied up the bark to join her, swinging a leg over the branch to rest by her side. The sun was going down, falling slowly behind the horizon. The treetops were bathed in a glow of pink and orange, casting long shadows on the earth below. He could see little Judith running in circles around her big brother, telling him the story of a frog she'd found. Carol briefly glanced from the task she was performing and gave him a warm smile. Her eyes sparkled in the colorful light, like a cosmos in themselves. Daryl felt his heart swell. "I love you," he admitted suddenly, without having prepared to say it. He loved her with every fiber of his being. He'd never said before, but she was his Northern Star, who guided him home when he was lost, who gave him hope in a hopeless world. She was proof that life could be good and worth living. Carol saved him from himself. She set the basket of peaches aside and scooted in close to him, pulling his arm around her so she could lean into his side. They looked out at the sunset, at the waning light spilling through the leaves. "I love you," she whispered back. --- It is another cold, harsh winter, and this time they're camping out in an old baseball stadium. He can hear the wind whistle overhead, the shudder of it as it passes through the rotting bleachers. It's soothing in its own right. He has one arm over Rick's leg, Michonne resting quietly against his back, and a warm, burning fire at the hearth of their huddled group. But he has no woman to lean against his chest and whisper much needed proverbs. Carol has been dead for almost two years now. He can still remember the cold weight of the gun in his hand as he pressed the barrel against her forehead. The smile on her face as she thanked him. They live in a world where beautiful things are violently torn apart by teeth or bullets. Where loved ones stare into the bleeding eyes of their family as they put a hollow point through their brain. His love for her was like a super nova, a slow burning heat that grew brighter and hotter until it burned his heart out completely. But he knows that the body he left by the river bank in Tallahassee wasn't her. The moment she died, Carol was somewhere better. Reunited with her little girl. And when Daryl is lonely, all he needs to do is look up.