The Secret

In the distance, the motel's front door clicked. That meant Daryl and Shane were back from their late night prowl around the perimeter. Carol sat up eagerly and adjusted the straps of her cotton slip so it both covered her and clung to her breasts a little suggestively. Low voices rumbled for a few moments outside the door then Shane's footsteps disappeared down the corridor. Daryl came back into the bedroom, crossbow first. He looked like the old, familiar Daryl in his sleeveless grey shirt and serious expression. Then he caught Carol's eye and smiled. "Nothin'," he said. "Not one thing. It's like there's been an apocalypse for zombies out there."

"Good," she said and patted the mattress beside her.

He put down his crossbow carefully then flung himself carelessly onto the bed, all dynamism and readiness.

"Daryl – your boots!" she cried.

He snorted then pulled off his filthy boots in a couple of yanks. "Okay, Ma," he joked.

"Don't say that!" she snapped, turning away and stroking her neck.

"Whut?" He flicked an eyebrow. "You can't be more'n a few years older'n me anyways."

"A few years and then a few more."

"So whut?" he said, kissing her upper arm flirtatiously. "If it don't matter to me and it don't matter to you, whut's it matter to anyone else?"

She looked down at him and saw him lying on his left side, propped up on one elbow, eyes glowering up at her benignly. He was a fully mature man in his late thirties with the body to prove it but there was still something of the little boy about him and probably always would be. When he was seventy, he'd be able to twitch that shy mouth, run a hand through his mussed up grey hair and make women want to mother him.

He kissed her arm again, more lingeringly this time. "We both got plenty of time ahead of us. Including right now." He shifted up so he was sitting behind her and began to kiss the back of her neck. "Plenty of time to discover each other's secrets. I wanna know whut brings you pleasure."

She laughed softly and shrugged one shoulder. "I think you've already discovered that!"

Warming to his probing, he began to run his hands up and down the outside of her arms – a strong, massaging touch. "I wanna learn how to touch you to send you into ecstasies. I want you to show me how to touch you –" resting his chin on her shoulder, he pushed his hands down between her legs, tickling her over her panties "- the way you touch yourself."

"What do you mean?"

He was smirking as he continued his pussy diddling. "Oh, I think you know."

Carol stiffened. "Not every woman does that, Daryl."

"But some women do. Sensuous, beautiful women who love pleasure, givin' and receivin'." His fingers found the little lump in the cotton where her clitoris lay and scratched over it rapidly. His tongue slipped out and wetted his upper lip as he stared relentlessly at the side of her face. "Oooh, now don't that feel good?"

"Well, I don't do that. I don't like it. And I don't need to, honey, I got you." She leant back against his chest, attempting to distract him.

Daryl's hands froze between her legs. "So, you're tellin' me you don't touch yourself."

"That's right."

He didn't respond.

Sensing his tension, Carol sat forwards. "It's just one of those things, Daryl. It's not me. You just have to accept it."

He jumped off the bed, and paced up and down like a tiger in a zoo. Eventually, he turned to her with a piercing glance. "Carol – why are you lyin' to me?"

"I'm not!" she cried over-vehemently.

"Yes, you fuckin' are."

"There's no need to swear."

"Yes, there fuckin' is. It's the real me. I swear. Daryl Dixon fuckin' swears. Whut do you want, some fancified, dressed up version of me or the real me? I've laid myself bare for you, woman – can't you do the same for me?"

Carol slapped her hands on the bed, her passion flaring. "I'm not lying!" she yelled.

"Well, I know you are! Carol – I saw you. In the cabin. In the woods. I saw you touchin' yourself."

He'd overstepped the mark. She stared at him open-mouthed then her whole face closed down, and she jumped off the bed and ran straight for the bathroom. The door slammed behind her.

"Carol, come on, don't do this," he shouted through the door. "Aw, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, girl, I just want you to be real with me." He could hear her crying through the wood.

"You don't understand what it's like!" came her high-pitched wail. "You don't understand the shame!"

"Damn it, girl, there ain't nothin' to be ashamed of. Christ, I jack off jus' about every day."

"It's not the same."

"Carol – it is."

The bathroom door flew open unexpectedly and she appeared, eyes wild, hands gesturing violently. "You don't understand, you can't understand, Ed would've killed me if he'd seen me. My God, he did catch me once. Called me a whore. Put his hands around my neck…" Her eyes rolled as she watched the horror of her past play out before her mind's eye. She looked fit to faint.

"He did whut?" Daryl's fist flashed out and he punched the bathroom door, hitting both the imaginary Ed and an imaginary Merle in the face. Then he grabbed Carol and pulled her into his arms, hugging her fiercely. She gave herself up utterly to his supporting embrace, sobbing against his chest.

For a long time, they stood like that, Carol's hands clutching his T-shirt as she quivered, letting everything out while Daryl took her pain, absorbing it and neutralising it as his hand ran up and down her back. Finally, he said, "That will never, ever happen with me. I want you to be happy so I gotta love anythin' that brings you pleasure."

She sniffed and glanced up at him with an expression behind the tears that was hard to read. Was it – playful? "Even my vibrator?"

He stuttered, momentarily lost for words. Then they both laughed. "Even that," he said. Then he took her hand and led her back to bed.

The red-hot, sudsy water beckoned again. Carol plunged her hands into the washing-up basin – really an old enamel bath – the lack of rubber gloves meaning the skin of her hands instantly turned to fire and felt as if it were about to slough off. Hygiene had to be maintained, however, and if the only hot water they had came straight from the kettle, so be it. She began to scrub the plates. A moment later, someone entered the tent behind her and before she had a chance to look over her shoulder, the sound of the tent flap being zipped up let her know exactly who it was.

He moved up behind her, sliding against her back like a cat. "Gotcha!" he said in her ear.

"Daryl – anyone could walk in."

"So?"

She sighed in rather forced exasperation then brought a hand out of the water and stroked his bristly cheek with a soapy finger.

"Jesus, woman, look at your hand! It's bright red. If you keep on doin' this, you're gonna damage your hands permanently."

"Well, we better get some gloves next time we go scavenging."

"Let me take over for a while." He nudged her out of the way and put his own hands into the water, trying not to wince as he did so.

Carol picked up a tea towel. "I suppose it also gives us an excuse for why you're in here."

He shook his head.

"In fact – Daryl Dixon doing the washing-up. That really will give them something to talk about!"

"Hell, woman, who do you think did the washing-up when I was back home? We all had our chores."

She went quiet and he knew she was giving him that affectionate, motherly look again, the one that pleased and irritated him simultaneously. Time to puncture that shit! "Anyways, it'll give 'em somethin' else to talk about besides me eatin' raw squirrel or screwin' walkers or whutever it is they think I get up to in the woods."

"Daryl!"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I gotta tell you, those walkers is a challenge when it comes to sex. They got orifices where they shouldna and it's such a pisser when you come inside 'em and their heads fall off."

"Ew, ew, ew!" She hit him on the arm with her tea towel.

Delighted by her reaction and his own badness, he caught her round the waist and planted a full-on kiss on her mouth. She sank into it and they stood there for several minutes as if nothing else in the world existed except for lips and tongues. Then they heard the sound of hands fumbling with the tent zip and Daryl immediately plunged his hands back into the water while Carol pressed her back against the side of the tent, making haste to hide the two sudsy handprints that decorated her behind.

Later that evening, both Daryl and Carol had just managed to avoid Shane and Andrea's respective attempts to herd them to one side and initiate the "So – Carol" or "So – Daryl" conversation. They were all seated around the campfire enjoying the spoils of their scavenging trip – tuna pasta with chocolate cookies for afters! – and Dale was telling the group a story about when his RV stalled on a pass in the Appalachians and began to roll backwards down the mountain. A whole family of "hillbillies" had come rushing out of a nearby farm and helped him push the RV back up onto level ground. Dale and his wife had spent the evening eating at the family's farm, even though he found them "scarier than a bunch of trick or treating walkers on Hallowe'en". Daryl found himself smiling at that but Carol shook her head. "You've seen way too many films, Dale," she scolded.

The air was growing cool. Carol shivered a little. Daryl noticed straight away and had to control the urge to take off his shirt and put it round her shoulders. Lori had taken charge of the condiments and was offering the pepper round to everyone in the group. When she got to Daryl, she froze, staring at him in an uncomprehend-ing fashion, then turned away with a quick flick of the eyebrow. Whut the fuck? he thought. Then he realised Dale was staring at him, too, with a joyful smile plastered across his benevolent, bearded face. That's when he realised what he was doing and looked down his right side at exactly the same moment that Carol looked down her left.

They were holding hands.

THE END

A big "thank you" goes out to all those people who reviewed, favourited or followed this story. It means a lot to a newbie like me. It's also been fascinating for me to discover how much I enjoyed writing a romantic story - me, romantic, who would've thought it!

Next on the agenda is catching up on reading everyone else's stories and writing a bit of Buffy femslash 'cause there just ain't enough of it around.

xxx