Nothing's changed; maybe the potential for this has been there for ages, waiting. At home it would've been harder-- he would have been less willing to risk rejection, knowing how easily he could lose everything. He always figured she knew; that she understood how he feels, and he thinks she does, but... well, this is different, this place is different. For Daryl they barely even have the stability of the prison, they've only just begun to imagine that they could have a life; and for Carol they've already lost it.

(And in a month, less, he'll lose her again, not that they could know it.)

He tilts his head a bit, leaning into her touch, considering the question. It's way easier to talk about this, something that's not a question about them.

"I dunno, not like we got that much," he muses. All he wants, all he ever asks, is for their people, and the Agents won't do it. It's how he ended up with the bike; it's the last thing he's got to remind him of Merle. "What some folks got, I think, doesn't even have to be from home. If you could have anything..."

He trails off. Anything, from anywhere. Something wild. It shouldn't be such a hard question, but he's not sure he can answer it himself.