You never know, he might surprise her. As much as he doesn’t like letting his softer side show in public, he’s not embarrassed of her; and frankly, Daryl would be shocked if anyone who knew them would be shocked to find them like this. If there’s gossip, he doesn’t know about it, but he thinks he’s been fairly open with how much he cares. And their people, at least, they understand what the world’s like, how hard you have to cling to the things worth keeping. But he’d rather keep it private, because it doesn’t need to be about anyone but them. Because if something happens, neither of them need the pitying glances to remind them of what they’ve lost.
Besides, in practical terms it’s not like they can keep making out in the hallway forever.
It’s more than all right when she stops, and he lets himself rest there against her, eyes falling shut a moment as he raises a hand to cup her cheek, thumb on her jawline, gentle and pleased. The thing he doesn’t think she gets, the thing he has no way to convey, is that she’s the one in control here. At least, he’d like her to be the one in control. Maybe in its own way that’s no healthier than her marriage had been, and maybe it should scare her, how much it doesn’t scare him. He’d give her nothing or everything, exactly as she wishes. Especially if she keeps touching him.
Carol likes him this way, playful and sweet and open. It feels like something only for her, and even if she tries hard to say 'couldn't be' she thinks she'll just believe it anyway. Watch yourself Daryl, she's bound to get spoiled.
"You're just full of surprises today. Good ones." The afterthought is something she'd hope is obvious, but in case it isn't.
They should probably talk more about that. It would be the smart thing, the advice Carol would offer someone else in the same situation. She doesn't want to, and doesn't care about 'smart.' Right now she just wants to keep twiddling his hair between her fingers and feeling his breath on her face and not have to think for once about what this is or isn't, will or won't be. It doesn't matter. Her feelings haven't changed.
Come to think of it, their circumstance hasn't changed either, still out here in the foyer in an intimate embrace, just waiting for someone to burst the bubble. Moving would probably be the thing to do. In a minute, or two. Three at most. It wouldn't break her heart never to do this together again but that doesn't mean she's going to just walk away from a moment that, beyond all expectations, is peaceful.
As long as she spoils him in return. Don’t get too excited, Carol, it’s bound to get annoying sooner or later, Daryl hanging around like a puppy hoping for scraps of attention, waiting for her to think to notice him, half expecting her to get bored with him. She’s a woman not-too-far-out of a terrible marriage, after all, and her options here are hardly as limited as they were at home. For now, at least, insecurities aren’t on his mind; whatever he was trying to prove, to her or to himself, seems pretty solidly established; and maybe it’s trite to think it, but it does make him feel alive, more genuinely human. They don’t always have the time for that, back home, but it’s what he needs; it’s why he couldn’t stand the idea of being on his own.
He doesn’t want to break this off any more than she does. He doesn’t answer except with a slight flicker of a smile that she probably can’t see, and he just… waits. Stands there tracing the line of her jaw idly, catching his breath and letting his heart slow to a normal pace.
But life moves on and all that. He draws back the hand on her cheek after a moment, pulling away from her slightly, though his other hand’s still resting comfortably on her waist, and bends to reach for her forgotten backpack for her. When he rises, he shifts, slipping his arm further around her waist so they’re standing side by side to walk into the living room proper, instead of being stuck forever in the hallway.
It’s a pretty suave move. He gets one, okay, he’s been largely useless otherwise. He punctuates it with a quick kiss on her cheek, because after all this that’s easy, because he wants to reinforce that this isn’t done and forgotten, just… enough for the moment.
"Options" are not a thing she wants. No one else would understand what they've been through, what it was like for her to lose Sophia and Lizzy and Mika. Why she became who she is. Even her occasional musings (fears, more accurately) of what this moment might perhaps entail are far surpassed by Daryl's unexpected calm. Who needs options? The only thing that could make her happier right now is a chocolate chip cookie and a nap on Daryl's shoulder.
His Valentino-like moves only add to her delight, it's nice to see him with confidence for a change. Where has that been?
Once they reach a good distance Carol drops onto the sofa and gives Daryl's vest a tug just in case he had any delusions about not going with her. She proceeds to dig into her pack and finally produces the near-forgotten baked goods, which she offers to Daryl without a word.
He has plenty of confidence. He's a goddamn good shot and he's known very few better trackers in his life. He's a survivor. Those are things he's good at. Emotional stuff, though, he doesn't have much reason to be confident about that.
"Bossy," he mutters as she grabs him, not actually complaining, not even a little. He does better with direction, and moreover, it's nice to be rather obviously wanted. It always is, even if he never understands why.
So he helps himself to a cookie, and to her lap, sprawling onto the couch and throwing his feet on the arm, resting his shoulders and head on Carol's legs.
See, you were definitely inviting trouble with this plan.
She can handle trouble, don't you worry. He inadvertently thwarted her nap plans, so Carol breaks off a small chunk of his cookie and helps herself. Her other hand goes right back to stroking his hair. He seems to enjoy it and it's nice to be able to do it so casually. How long could she have done this, but didn't? All that wasted time, so many mussed hairdos that never came to be.
So tempting to say something like 'how was your day, dear?' but she thinks he's covered that as much as he's going to. Pity, she could do with some names and details, but it's not worth souring his mood.
"If you feel like spoiling dinner, let me know before we get too comfortable and I'll grab some milk and candy."
Truth is Daryl would have been content if they could have gone straight to lying in a heap on the couch, not that he's complaining about the kissing by any means. It's just... secondary to this, the thoughtless, comfortable contact. They've always had that to an extent, though he's bolder than usual today, and reaping the rewards of his boldness. She can play with his hair anytime, it's not like he puts any effort into it to ruin.
He makes a dismissive noise around a mouthful of cookie. Daryl can always eat, sure, but he'd rather get too comfortable here than have her get up on his account.
Carol would be more amenable to skipping the kissing if she knew she had implicit permission all along. She was still thinking of Daryl as the one who flinched at a touch, who had too many boundaries she was afraid to breech. She's come a long way, isn't any longer the meek and frightened woman she once was, but she's still human with all the fears and worries. And pushing Daryl's boundaries when who knows what reaction it might garner hadn't seemed worth the risk.
Nothing has changed between them meeting in the driveway and now, except that she's more aware of where she stands with him. Where she's stood for a while, perhaps. Aside from the prospect of hair-twirling she can't manage to mourn that lost time; she needed it. Maybe it was her who had the boundaries, in the end.
Idly, she rubs his neck through the fringe of his hair and wonders aloud about other matters.
"Last time we had the chance to ask for something from home, I couldn't think of a single thing. I don't want to waste my next chance." This is her asking for ideas, or something. A brainstorm. Maybe just trying to come to terms with everything that happened in a way that feels less like a confession.
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.
"Anything? Huh." Her first thought, nonsensically, is for a time machine. But no, she can't go back and be Sophia's Mom again. She's too far removed from that person.
"Funny, not too long ago I could've made a list three miles long." It's not really that funny but her mood isn't dampened. That's just life, now. "I could ask for some movies, maybe. I kinda miss those."
A time machine probably wouldn't work, and if it did, it'd cause more trouble than it solved, he figures. Daryl doesn't think about going back, much; there're things he regrets, sure, things he'd do different, problems he'd fix or avoid, but the list's too long to make sense of. He tries to live in the moment. It's hard enough managing that.
He tucks an arm under his head, propping it up a bit more, his fingers brushing hers. There's something strange about such a mundane conversation, but he doesn't mind. It's... Nice. Maybe talking about something abstract and unimportant will keep the mood light, so they don't have to deal with everything at home, with the potential awkwardness of here.
So much casual touching that's not causing either of them to freak out. Will wonders never cease.
A grin. "I was thinking Die Hard." Something action-filled, where there's a satisfying ending and some variant of happily ever after in which the world keeps on spinning, less a bad guy or two. Where the psychopath gets what's coming to him without taking out sweet, older Patriarchs who want nothing but peace.
In another life though, he might be right about the chick flicks. Carol once swooned over that stuff, wishing it could be her life, but that's not the world anymore. No amusing romantic interludes, no more comic relief. Just fighting tooth and nail to survive, that's what she can relate to now.
Hey, Carol’s always been luckier on that count than most, not everyone gets backrubs for their recoil bruises. He makes an honest effort not to shy away from their people, they’re family; a friendly pound on the back, a bump of the shoulder, even that kind of vague affection, he’s not used to it. Needing anyone, he was always taught that made you weak. It’s not true, but it’s a tough lesson to unlearn.
It’s an unexpected answer and it makes him smile, just a little curve of his lips, most of the expression in his eyes. Surprisingly, he doesn’t much miss most of the distractions of his old life-- maybe because he had little else-- but at least that’s more fun than what he expected.
“Nothin’ comes through on the t.v.s,” he says. Yeah, he’s checked, he was curious. Being in a place with all these creature comforts he’s poked at just about everything, with a weird mix of nostalgia and fascination at how much he used to take for granted. “Maybe they got a stash somewhere.”
Imagine, they could have a bad movie night, camp out under a blanket. How weirdly normal would that be?
(Possibly enough to set them into a panic, let’s be real, here.)
She was thinking just that, a night with cold beer and popcorn and a movie from any genre but horror. It would be a nice way to spend time together that was about the time and not finding food or deciding what the hell was going on and what to do about it.
"Maybe. If they can access everything from everywhere, they have some system for keeping the good stuff." And maybe it's colored by the hard time she had before coming here, but mindless action movies that make you laugh are certainly good stuff.
"Do you think they can get very specific things? Like," she pauses, as if considering, even though she knows exactly what she wants to say, "a picture?" She's trying hard to be casual here, not delve too far into the maudlin, since she's not entirely sure she's ready for that anyway. But just... in case.
Free time isn’t something they’re used to having. Daryl has been consistently terrible at filling it, particularly with anything approaching actual relaxation. At home there’s always something more to do, something they’re behind on. It’s a hard mindset to shake, particularly when the kinds of things he would have done a lifetime ago aren’t an option, or aren’t appealing anymore, or both.
Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing, if they could turn something up. A quiet, normal evening together, companionable and uncomplicated. Potentially. He’s not discounting the idea of complicating things, after all-- just at maybe a less frantic pace. Since he first saw her out there, flower in her hair, Daryl’s only been worried about Carol’s comfort level; he’s at least as anxious about scaring her off as she is of pushing too far with him, though he’s totally oblivious to the fact that she thinks he might bolt. If they never go any farther than this, he’ll be fine. But that doesn’t mean (he thinks) that he doesn’t want to. That he wouldn’t want to if she did. There’s more to living than survival. There’s room, here, there’s time.
He looks up at her, considering the question, so carefully vague. It’s always easier, not talking about things. They so rarely need to. His expression is soft, thinking (as he assumes she is) of Sophia.
“Don’t see why not,” he affirms. “Can’t hurt, askin’.”
Of course Sophia. It was easier to be without her back home because Sophia was too sweet to survive in that world. Here, she could have. (It would never occur to her to ask for Sophia to be brought here because she couldn't bear for her daughter to see how she is now. But a picture, that feels safe enough, something to remember other than a walker wearing Sophia's rainbow shirt getting its head blown off and landing akimbo in a pile of decaying corpses.)
Daryl's expression pulls her out of that unpleasant reverie and she smiles at him, both reassurance and gratitude. Daryl barely knew Sophia yet he worked harder to find her than anyone else, and did more to bring Carol back from the brink of giving up. She never did figure out exactly why, but it doesn't especially matter. He did so much -- does so much -- to make her okay when by all rights she shouldn't be, that's what's important.
"I'll think about it." She will. Just not right now. "Do you know what you're asking for next time?"
Going after Sophia, that had more to do with him, maybe, than with the girl herself. He was still mourning Merle's loss, and couldn't do a damn thing about it; throwing his lot in with Rick and his people had been halfway about survival, half a quiet gratitude for Rick's attempt to make things right. And beside that... Well, he's known men like Ed Peletier, he knows what comes of small-minded men with big egos. Sophia's life, brief as it was, he figures it can't have been an easy one, because he understood too much of the look in Carol's eyes. Back at the farm, when he'd fallen, when she'd come in to take care of him, she must've seen the scars tracing his back. He always figured she knew what it meant, what kind of life he'd led, him and Merle both. It's how things always just were, and none of them thinking they could deserve better.
Truth is he's always been half amazed that she never hated him for not doing enough, because a good man wouldn't have stood by and let that go on so long. Rick wouldn't have. Even Shane had beat Ed down, once, right before they had to run. He'd heard about it, seen the bruises on what was left of his face. Daryl had been... An outsider, a bystander. Uninvolved 'cos he and Merle weren't sticking around. He's not proud of that, of who he used to be, the things he used to believe. Carol was the first one to tell him he was a good man, and she'd said it enough to make him believe it, to work for it. Keeping her together kept him too busy to fall apart. Losing Sophia had been hard on him, too; not because he'd known her, but because of everything she represented, all the mistakes he couldn't fix.
Pictures sound nice, he thinks, for her sake, but he's not going to push the topic. He doesn't want to make her dwell more than she is.
"Mnn," he shakes his head. "Try to see what we need, when it happens."
Edited (Department of redundancy department, sorry!) 2014-10-16 21:01 (UTC)
Carol wasn't, unfortunately, at her most observant or considerate during their time on the farm. Daryl's efforts toward Sophia made her radar but little else about him, at the time. She's made a few assumptions since about the kind of life Daryl led, thought about why he's so hesitant to be close to people in whatever way (and for the same reason she never played the 'what did Daryl do before the world went to hell' game). For all she understands and accepts Daryl, there's a lot she doesn't know and sees no need to, unless he chooses to discuss it.
By the same token, Carol never expected anyone to save her from Ed, or blamed anyone for failing to. She could have done it herself, she knows that now; her life was threatened every day before the dead rose if not in exactly the same ways as after. It's not that she used to be weak, it's that she used to be afraid. That's part of why she is hesitant, still, to ask for Sophia's picture.
What Daryl did, and she wonders if she could ever articulate it properly, has nothing to do with whether he succeeded or failed in bringing Sophia home safe and everything to do with the hope he offered. While everyone else was either politely ignoring Carol's breakdown or actively lobbying to consider Sophia a lost cause, Daryl bothered to bring her a flower and a story. Two small things, seemingly meaningless when you look only at the outcome, but at the time it kept her going one more day. That was everything, because when the dust settled and there was no more Sophia to search for, it was knowing that there was still someone in the world to give a damn about (because he gave a damn about her on some level) that kept her wanting to bother at all. Rick searched and Shane beat up Ed and Lori tried in her way, but none of them came to Carol and tried to tell her it would be okay.
That's why she calls him a good man, always will. And here he is doing it again, thinking of everyone as a whole and what they need when he could be thinking about frivolous things like movies.
"The group is lucky to have you." She gently squeezes his shoulder. "I'm lucky to have you."
The soft sound he makes in response is the verbal equivalent of a squirm, brushing off the compliment like a kid trying to evade a hug. It's not that he disbelieves her, just, goin' all sappy like that, he doesn't know what to do with it. Especially with all the things they're not saying. With Sophia, it's hard to look back and see anything but how they failed her. There's nothing false about his modesty; he's useful, sure, but they all are. He doesn't do anything that any of them wouldn't.
"You keep me going," he mutters. Both the group and her, herself. It's a hard fact, it doesn't sound like he's gone soft 'til it's already out of his mouth, too late to take back if he wanted to.
Besides, it's not so magnanimous as that; he just wants very little for himself. The habit of not owning more than he can carry, not trusting any place to be safe, means he can't put much stock in stuff, frivolous or otherwise. Given the chance to think it through, he'd rather something for everyone. If that's part of what makes him a good man... all the better. He's never quite convinced it's true, but he's better every day than he used to be. That's enough. Something worth being proud of. She's been a big part of that; they all have. He's not kidding; without his people, he'd have no reason to carry on. Carol was the first real tie he had to them, the first one he felt responsible to, more than just an owed debt.
But, then, who knows what he'll say in the moment, asked what he wants?
Wants are difficult. Needs are easy; easy to establish, which makes them easier to meet. Goals to work toward. Wanting, that's nebulous and uncertain. As time goes on, as things stay relatively safe, it gets a little easier to relax, to think past the bare minimums. He's making an effort. (Case in point, right here.)
Unfortunately for him, she finds it cute when he's all embarrassed like that. Why else would she make the jokes she makes? (Well, other than perhaps a part of her genuinely being attracted to him, but she's more attracted to him as a person than otherwise which she finds so much more significant.)
She's about to say something to that effect when he murmurs his reply, melting what of her heart he hadn't already. Carol sees that effort. So as a reward she decides not to make him proverbially squirm any further by telling him more about how wonderful he is.
Instead: "It's damn sexy when you say things like that." Because it is, but more because joking with him feels normal and comfortable and like a different way of appreciating his words without being all mushy.
She is well aware this might also embarrass him in a way but his head is in her lap and she sidestepped that one, okay.
How's that not supposed to make him squirm? Keep sayin' things like that when he's got his head in your lap, Carol, and you'll make him think you like him.
He makes a face at her, a mock-scowl to cover his embarrassment, shifting to stretch out a bit more. He never knows how much of the joke is a joke, never quite knows what reaction she wants from him, but under the circumstances he thinks he gets a little leeway in questionably joking right back.
"Ain't you had enough of that today?" he drawls right back, raising an eyebrow and managing to sound suitably haughty, though decidedly teasing. After all that she doesn't get to flirt with impunity, okay.
She lifts an eyebrow of her own, since when does he flirt back? Carol can't decide whether she's more impressed with him or (mildly) upset that she's lost her go-to way to get that aforementioned squirming on demand.
"Now you've done it." She's half chuckling, half mock-scolding. "If I say no, you'll think I'm challenging you. And if I say yes..." she leans over him slightly, failing entirely at being serious, "you'll know I'm full of shit."
Carol playfully flicks his forehead for good measure, and to let him know that there's really no pressure or expectation or even request behind that. Just sitting here is as much as she could ever hope for and it's more than enough.
Twice today he kissed her, once of his own volition, and that second one wasn't even awful. That definitely qualifies him to flirt back. She shouldn't worry, though, because he's bound to keep squirming, when he's not in the catbird seat (lap) enjoying the spoils of his victory.
If she's full of shit saying nice things about him, he doesn't wanna know, anyway.
He makes a growly noise and swats vaguely at her hand, exactly as non-serious as she is. The point for letting him down gently is long since past, and she's been hanging onto him pretty hard. He doesn't trust easy, but he trusts her enough to think she wouldn't have taken just a joke so far.
He is right to trust her because she would never, ever, under any threat or circumstance joke about what just happened in the entryway. She's just doing what she does, what they do, because it's been so, so long since she could.
And of a similar vein, she'd never want to let him down, in any way.
Carol starts to say something, but before any bit of it can escape she loses the words in a wide yawn. Who would have thought kitchen duty would make her tired after all the running around and sleepless nights they used to have?
The biggest potential for disaster here, probably, is that they're both so eager to please that they're not worrying about what they want themselves. Nor do they know. At least, Daryl doesn't, but he's yet to run up against anything he doesn't, so that's... Promising. Maybe.
He's waiting for her standard witty retort (and resigning himself to the fact that she'll probably manage to make him squirm this time, because there's only so much he can manage), but instead he half-smirks at the yawn. Guess he tired her out, huh? (He doesn't say it, but you know, he's thinking it loudly.)
Instead, with a little grunt of effort, he hauls himself upright and sits properly on the couch, in the middle so he's still comfortably close, arms stretched along the back of it. Seems fair not to keep her pinned, if she's tired, if she's hit her limit on dealing with this. But he's still not running off.
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what_wings_dare2014-02-14 08:31 pm
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Besides, in practical terms it’s not like they can keep making out in the hallway forever.
It’s more than all right when she stops, and he lets himself rest there against her, eyes falling shut a moment as he raises a hand to cup her cheek, thumb on her jawline, gentle and pleased. The thing he doesn’t think she gets, the thing he has no way to convey, is that she’s the one in control here. At least, he’d like her to be the one in control. Maybe in its own way that’s no healthier than her marriage had been, and maybe it should scare her, how much it doesn’t scare him. He’d give her nothing or everything, exactly as she wishes. Especially if she keeps touching him.
“Could just ask,” he murmurs, impishly.
It’s a joke, she doesn’t even have to ask.
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"You're just full of surprises today. Good ones." The afterthought is something she'd hope is obvious, but in case it isn't.
They should probably talk more about that. It would be the smart thing, the advice Carol would offer someone else in the same situation. She doesn't want to, and doesn't care about 'smart.' Right now she just wants to keep twiddling his hair between her fingers and feeling his breath on her face and not have to think for once about what this is or isn't, will or won't be. It doesn't matter. Her feelings haven't changed.
Come to think of it, their circumstance hasn't changed either, still out here in the foyer in an intimate embrace, just waiting for someone to burst the bubble. Moving would probably be the thing to do. In a minute, or two. Three at most. It wouldn't break her heart never to do this together again but that doesn't mean she's going to just walk away from a moment that, beyond all expectations, is peaceful.
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He doesn’t want to break this off any more than she does. He doesn’t answer except with a slight flicker of a smile that she probably can’t see, and he just… waits. Stands there tracing the line of her jaw idly, catching his breath and letting his heart slow to a normal pace.
But life moves on and all that. He draws back the hand on her cheek after a moment, pulling away from her slightly, though his other hand’s still resting comfortably on her waist, and bends to reach for her forgotten backpack for her. When he rises, he shifts, slipping his arm further around her waist so they’re standing side by side to walk into the living room proper, instead of being stuck forever in the hallway.
It’s a pretty suave move. He gets one, okay, he’s been largely useless otherwise. He punctuates it with a quick kiss on her cheek, because after all this that’s easy, because he wants to reinforce that this isn’t done and forgotten, just… enough for the moment.
no subject
His Valentino-like moves only add to her delight, it's nice to see him with confidence for a change. Where has that been?
Once they reach a good distance Carol drops onto the sofa and gives Daryl's vest a tug just in case he had any delusions about not going with her. She proceeds to dig into her pack and finally produces the near-forgotten baked goods, which she offers to Daryl without a word.
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"Bossy," he mutters as she grabs him, not actually complaining, not even a little. He does better with direction, and moreover, it's nice to be rather obviously wanted. It always is, even if he never understands why.
So he helps himself to a cookie, and to her lap, sprawling onto the couch and throwing his feet on the arm, resting his shoulders and head on Carol's legs.
See, you were definitely inviting trouble with this plan.
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So tempting to say something like 'how was your day, dear?' but she thinks he's covered that as much as he's going to. Pity, she could do with some names and details, but it's not worth souring his mood.
"If you feel like spoiling dinner, let me know before we get too comfortable and I'll grab some milk and candy."
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Truth is Daryl would have been content if they could have gone straight to lying in a heap on the couch, not that he's complaining about the kissing by any means. It's just... secondary to this, the thoughtless, comfortable contact. They've always had that to an extent, though he's bolder than usual today, and reaping the rewards of his boldness. She can play with his hair anytime, it's not like he puts any effort into it to ruin.
He makes a dismissive noise around a mouthful of cookie. Daryl can always eat, sure, but he'd rather get too comfortable here than have her get up on his account.
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Nothing has changed between them meeting in the driveway and now, except that she's more aware of where she stands with him. Where she's stood for a while, perhaps. Aside from the prospect of hair-twirling she can't manage to mourn that lost time; she needed it. Maybe it was her who had the boundaries, in the end.
Idly, she rubs his neck through the fringe of his hair and wonders aloud about other matters.
"Last time we had the chance to ask for something from home, I couldn't think of a single thing. I don't want to waste my next chance." This is her asking for ideas, or something. A brainstorm. Maybe just trying to come to terms with everything that happened in a way that feels less like a confession.
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(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.
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"Funny, not too long ago I could've made a list three miles long." It's not really that funny but her mood isn't dampened. That's just life, now. "I could ask for some movies, maybe. I kinda miss those."
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He tucks an arm under his head, propping it up a bit more, his fingers brushing hers. There's something strange about such a mundane conversation, but he doesn't mind. It's... Nice. Maybe talking about something abstract and unimportant will keep the mood light, so they don't have to deal with everything at home, with the potential awkwardness of here.
"What kind?"
Chick flicks probably, right?
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A grin. "I was thinking Die Hard." Something action-filled, where there's a satisfying ending and some variant of happily ever after in which the world keeps on spinning, less a bad guy or two. Where the psychopath gets what's coming to him without taking out sweet, older Patriarchs who want nothing but peace.
In another life though, he might be right about the chick flicks. Carol once swooned over that stuff, wishing it could be her life, but that's not the world anymore. No amusing romantic interludes, no more comic relief. Just fighting tooth and nail to survive, that's what she can relate to now.
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It’s an unexpected answer and it makes him smile, just a little curve of his lips, most of the expression in his eyes. Surprisingly, he doesn’t much miss most of the distractions of his old life-- maybe because he had little else-- but at least that’s more fun than what he expected.
“Nothin’ comes through on the t.v.s,” he says. Yeah, he’s checked, he was curious. Being in a place with all these creature comforts he’s poked at just about everything, with a weird mix of nostalgia and fascination at how much he used to take for granted. “Maybe they got a stash somewhere.”
Imagine, they could have a bad movie night, camp out under a blanket. How weirdly normal would that be?
(Possibly enough to set them into a panic, let’s be real, here.)
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"Maybe. If they can access everything from everywhere, they have some system for keeping the good stuff." And maybe it's colored by the hard time she had before coming here, but mindless action movies that make you laugh are certainly good stuff.
"Do you think they can get very specific things? Like," she pauses, as if considering, even though she knows exactly what she wants to say, "a picture?" She's trying hard to be casual here, not delve too far into the maudlin, since she's not entirely sure she's ready for that anyway. But just... in case.
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Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing, if they could turn something up. A quiet, normal evening together, companionable and uncomplicated. Potentially. He’s not discounting the idea of complicating things, after all-- just at maybe a less frantic pace. Since he first saw her out there, flower in her hair, Daryl’s only been worried about Carol’s comfort level; he’s at least as anxious about scaring her off as she is of pushing too far with him, though he’s totally oblivious to the fact that she thinks he might bolt. If they never go any farther than this, he’ll be fine. But that doesn’t mean (he thinks) that he doesn’t want to. That he wouldn’t want to if she did. There’s more to living than survival. There’s room, here, there’s time.
He looks up at her, considering the question, so carefully vague. It’s always easier, not talking about things. They so rarely need to. His expression is soft, thinking (as he assumes she is) of Sophia.
“Don’t see why not,” he affirms. “Can’t hurt, askin’.”
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Daryl's expression pulls her out of that unpleasant reverie and she smiles at him, both reassurance and gratitude. Daryl barely knew Sophia yet he worked harder to find her than anyone else, and did more to bring Carol back from the brink of giving up. She never did figure out exactly why, but it doesn't especially matter. He did so much -- does so much -- to make her okay when by all rights she shouldn't be, that's what's important.
"I'll think about it." She will. Just not right now. "Do you know what you're asking for next time?"
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Truth is he's always been half amazed that she never hated him for not doing enough, because a good man wouldn't have stood by and let that go on so long. Rick wouldn't have. Even Shane had beat Ed down, once, right before they had to run. He'd heard about it, seen the bruises on what was left of his face. Daryl had been... An outsider, a bystander. Uninvolved 'cos he and Merle weren't sticking around. He's not proud of that, of who he used to be, the things he used to believe. Carol was the first one to tell him he was a good man, and she'd said it enough to make him believe it, to work for it. Keeping her together kept him too busy to fall apart. Losing Sophia had been hard on him, too; not because he'd known her, but because of everything she represented, all the mistakes he couldn't fix.
Pictures sound nice, he thinks, for her sake, but he's not going to push the topic. He doesn't want to make her dwell more than she is.
"Mnn," he shakes his head. "Try to see what we need, when it happens."
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By the same token, Carol never expected anyone to save her from Ed, or blamed anyone for failing to. She could have done it herself, she knows that now; her life was threatened every day before the dead rose if not in exactly the same ways as after. It's not that she used to be weak, it's that she used to be afraid. That's part of why she is hesitant, still, to ask for Sophia's picture.
What Daryl did, and she wonders if she could ever articulate it properly, has nothing to do with whether he succeeded or failed in bringing Sophia home safe and everything to do with the hope he offered. While everyone else was either politely ignoring Carol's breakdown or actively lobbying to consider Sophia a lost cause, Daryl bothered to bring her a flower and a story. Two small things, seemingly meaningless when you look only at the outcome, but at the time it kept her going one more day. That was everything, because when the dust settled and there was no more Sophia to search for, it was knowing that there was still someone in the world to give a damn about (because he gave a damn about her on some level) that kept her wanting to bother at all. Rick searched and Shane beat up Ed and Lori tried in her way, but none of them came to Carol and tried to tell her it would be okay.
That's why she calls him a good man, always will. And here he is doing it again, thinking of everyone as a whole and what they need when he could be thinking about frivolous things like movies.
"The group is lucky to have you." She gently squeezes his shoulder. "I'm lucky to have you."
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"You keep me going," he mutters. Both the group and her, herself. It's a hard fact, it doesn't sound like he's gone soft 'til it's already out of his mouth, too late to take back if he wanted to.
Besides, it's not so magnanimous as that; he just wants very little for himself. The habit of not owning more than he can carry, not trusting any place to be safe, means he can't put much stock in stuff, frivolous or otherwise. Given the chance to think it through, he'd rather something for everyone. If that's part of what makes him a good man... all the better. He's never quite convinced it's true, but he's better every day than he used to be. That's enough. Something worth being proud of. She's been a big part of that; they all have. He's not kidding; without his people, he'd have no reason to carry on. Carol was the first real tie he had to them, the first one he felt responsible to, more than just an owed debt.
But, then, who knows what he'll say in the moment, asked what he wants?
Wants are difficult. Needs are easy; easy to establish, which makes them easier to meet. Goals to work toward. Wanting, that's nebulous and uncertain. As time goes on, as things stay relatively safe, it gets a little easier to relax, to think past the bare minimums. He's making an effort. (Case in point, right here.)
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She's about to say something to that effect when he murmurs his reply, melting what of her heart he hadn't already. Carol sees that effort. So as a reward she decides not to make him proverbially squirm any further by telling him more about how wonderful he is.
Instead: "It's damn sexy when you say things like that." Because it is, but more because joking with him feels normal and comfortable and like a different way of appreciating his words without being all mushy.
She is well aware this might also embarrass him in a way but his head is in her lap and she sidestepped that one, okay.
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He makes a face at her, a mock-scowl to cover his embarrassment, shifting to stretch out a bit more. He never knows how much of the joke is a joke, never quite knows what reaction she wants from him, but under the circumstances he thinks he gets a little leeway in questionably joking right back.
"Ain't you had enough of that today?" he drawls right back, raising an eyebrow and managing to sound suitably haughty, though decidedly teasing. After all that she doesn't get to flirt with impunity, okay.
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"Now you've done it." She's half chuckling, half mock-scolding. "If I say no, you'll think I'm challenging you. And if I say yes..." she leans over him slightly, failing entirely at being serious, "you'll know I'm full of shit."
Carol playfully flicks his forehead for good measure, and to let him know that there's really no pressure or expectation or even request behind that. Just sitting here is as much as she could ever hope for and it's more than enough.
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If she's full of shit saying nice things about him, he doesn't wanna know, anyway.
He makes a growly noise and swats vaguely at her hand, exactly as non-serious as she is. The point for letting him down gently is long since past, and she's been hanging onto him pretty hard. He doesn't trust easy, but he trusts her enough to think she wouldn't have taken just a joke so far.
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And of a similar vein, she'd never want to let him down, in any way.
Carol starts to say something, but before any bit of it can escape she loses the words in a wide yawn. Who would have thought kitchen duty would make her tired after all the running around and sleepless nights they used to have?
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He's waiting for her standard witty retort (and resigning himself to the fact that she'll probably manage to make him squirm this time, because there's only so much he can manage), but instead he half-smirks at the yawn. Guess he tired her out, huh? (He doesn't say it, but you know, he's thinking it loudly.)
Instead, with a little grunt of effort, he hauls himself upright and sits properly on the couch, in the middle so he's still comfortably close, arms stretched along the back of it. Seems fair not to keep her pinned, if she's tired, if she's hit her limit on dealing with this. But he's still not running off.
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