Alright folks, this is it. This is the last chapter. I hope you liked reading it as much as I liked writing it! Thank you all for reading/reviewing. I'd love to hear your thoughts when you're finished. I'll be beginning other Caryl stories soon, so keep your eyes peeled for me! Once again, thank you, and enjoy!

He'd been running nonstop for hours; hours that seemed like eternity. His legs felt like lead. He could hardly take another step. He was gasping for breath; he could scarcely hear anything past the beating of his own heart. There was a cramp in his gut; his gut was a void. But he couldn't stop. He was almost there. He had to push just a little further.

He approached the gate and allowed himself a moment's rest, but as soon as he did so, he was hit with a wave of intense nausea. Before he could even think to repress it, he had already knelt down and vomited into the grass. Hardly anything came up. Then he slowly stood and laced his fingers through the links of the gate and rattled the metal as hard as he could whilst shouting at the top of his lungs.

Several uneventful minutes passed, and he was just beginning to feel the grip of despair when he spied the side door swing open and his father rush out. Even from a distance, the man looked rough, as if he hadn't slept a solid six hours in ages-which, of course, he hadn't. It wasn't long before Beth was at his heels, clad in nothing but her nightclothes. If he hadn't been on the verge of dropping dead, Carl probably would've blushed.

The pair heaved the gate open and Rick wasted no time drawing his son into a tight, strangling embrace, for no real reason Carl could conceive. Beth grinned at him, but her relief soon turned to concern. She gazed at the treeline, a look of sheer confusion creased into her features.

"Where's Carol?" she asked hesitantly, and Carl's heart dropped. He'd arrived at the moment he'd been dreading the entire trip back. He'd tried to rehearse what he'd say; how he'd break the news to Daryl, but all words faltered. There were no words he knew of that could accurately describe what had happened.

Sacrifice.

He'd seen it before. His own mother had done it. She'd died so that Judith could live.

No.

She died to give Judith a chance at living.

And then he saw it again, just the previous night. Watched from afar as Carol dashed across the pavement, defenseless and alone. Watched like a coward as she stopped dead in her tracks and keeled over, dead; shot. She took a bullet from a faceless stranger just so that he could scramble away.

Sacrifice.

To lay down your life to salvage another's is both brave and honorable; a noble, courageous death. But Carl feared Daryl would never accept that. Even if he did, he would never look at the young boy with anything but contempt again.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he felt like a small child again, turning to his father for comfort. Beth let out a sob as the realization hit her.

"What am I supposed to tell Daryl?" Carl sniffled. Rick's head dropped, and he sighed mournfully.

"You rest. Wash up. Eat something. I'll handle it."

Beth's face was now buried in her hands and her shoulders heaved and dropped spastically as she cried. She and Carol had grown deep bonds over the past nine months. They didn't share blood, but Carol was like the mother Beth had lost. Rick wiped his cheeks, his strong demeanor faltering.

"Dad...wait..." Carl's arm shot out and he grabbed ahold of his father's shirt, yanking him back. Then his hand dove into his pocket and he retrieved the red rag Carol had given him. "Give this back to Daryl."

Rick nodded grimly, receiving the cloth and smoothing his fingers over the fabric, suddenly consumed by guilt. He'd told Daryl everything would be alright; that Carol would be alright. He promised him. And now he had to break the news that he'd been wrong; that his well-meant promises had been nothing more than comforting lies. Beth wept bitterly and Carl attempted to console her by placing an assuring hand on her shoulder, but instead she pulled him into a hug as Rick trekked back to the prison, all the while contemplating how he would explain to the others that they'd lost Carol.

.:|:.

She drifted in and out of consciousness. She vaguely remembered the sensation of a hot needle piercing her flesh over and over, too weak to cry out in pain as her skin was tugged relentlessly. She recalled muffled, indistinct voices and a hand on her forehead. At last, she mustered the strength to open her eyes. A blurry-faced figure was crouched over her. Her vision—it was like peering through a veil. Her dark lashes fluttered. The world began to come into focus.

"Where…where am I?" were the first words she uttered. The woman smiled warmly and wrung out a damp cloth.

"Safe," was her simple response. Carol's brow furrowed. Her back ached something awful and she tried to readjust herself, but when she shifted, bolts of pain crippled her. She yelped.

"Careful now," the woman warned. "We patched you up, but the infection's pretty bad. I was actually just about to clean the wound again."

"Who are you?" Carol asked. A bottle was placed to her lips and she tipped her head up slightly. The water was crisp and cool and she guzzled it with surprising voracity. Her thirst was burning; undying. Finally she finished and wiped the droplets of moisture from her chin.

"My name's Elizabeth," the woman replied, screwing the cap back onto the now-empty bottle. "Ellie for short. And the others are Sean, Eric, Stephanie, Austin and Alex."

"What the hell happened?" Carol asked as she glanced around at her surroundings. The windows were covered by long, thick blankets, but midday light spilled in through the edges. There were isles and isles of shelves, their contents mostly wiped out, and some empty cans littered the floor. Ellie sighed as she cut a lengthy strip of gauze to an adequate size.

"There was an accident," she explained. "And you were shot. But it was nothing more than a stupid mistake. He didn't mean to hurt you. We're not like that. If it helps at all, we're terribly sorry. Really."

"How long've I been out?"

"A good day or so. Sometimes you'd murmur things, but for the most part, you were borderline comatose. To tell you the truth, I was starting to worry."

"Dammit." Carol swore, suddenly filled with panic. She told Carl—she promised him—that she'd be back within three days. Now she had two remaining, and she was in far too weak a state to accomplish the journey.

"I'd consider myself lucky." Ellie grinned, reaching over and grabbing a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide. "You were dealt the worst case scenario and survived. What the hell were you doing out here alone and unarmed anyway?"

"I wasn't…" Carol began, but immediately caught her tongue. "I didn't expect so many of them."

Ellie chuckled.

"Neither did we. Most of the time, this place is pretty empty. But damn, if you fire even one shot at the wrong time…" her voice trailed off as she squirted a drop of hand-sanitizer into her palms and rubbed them together, preparing to face the grisly sight of Carol's wound once more. "This is going to hurt, but I need you to stay as calm as you can. We've got to get this infection under control."

Carol nodded, twisting the blanket in her hand as Ellie peeled the gauze away from her stomach. Even the tiniest bit of contact made her wince. Ellie dabbed at the injury with the dampened rag, attempting to soak up the majority of the blood. Carol took an abrupt, sharp breath and tensed up.

"Sorry. I wish there was another way. This was so much easier when you were asleep."

"I'm inclined to agree."

"So I take it you were scavenging for supplies?" said Ellie suddenly, as if merely changing the subject would take the edge off the pain.

"What gave it away?" Carol asked, half-joking, though there was very little humor in her voice.

"The big empty bag was a pretty good hint." Ellie replied, swishing the rag around in the water once more, the fabric now tinged pink. "Your camp must be pretty close for you to venture out weaponless and unaccompanied. Most scavengers come in groups of two or three, and with more guns than they need. You must be pretty brave."

"Don't confuse brave with stupid," Carol jested, her jaw clenched and teeth gritted. "But what about you guys? How long've you been living here?"

"Living is hardly the word I'd use," Ellie sighed. "I'd describe it more as 'scraping by'. We were bigger, once—much bigger. But it didn't work out. Too many clashing personalities. Eventually, we divided into three separate groups and split up. God only knows what happened to the other two, which is a pity. Some of those people became my family. I'm sure you know what that feels like."

Carol nodded gravely, recalling the numerous friends she'd lost; friends she'd loved dearly, with all her heart: Lori, T-Dog, and Jacqui to name but a few. And then there was her darling, sweet Sophia, who was family; who was her blood.

"I lost my daughter," she informed solemnly. "She went missing, and when she turned up again…well, you can imagine."

"I'm sorry. I lost all of my siblings. I had three. They were all younger. Growing up, y'know, it was always my job to protect them—from perverts walking down the street, from getting lost in the woods, from falling onto the pavement and scraping their knees. When they…died…I felt like I'd failed them; like I'd failed my parents. I still carry that guilt. It's something you never get over."

Carol's lips parted to speak, but her words fell just shy of existence. Ellie poured a healthy dose of hydrogen peroxide over her stomach, and the pain strangled her speech. The substance sizzled as it cleansed the bullet wound, foaming up around the uneven stitches.

"S'okay. The worst part's over," Ellie announced, blotting away the excess pooled peroxide with a clean, dry towel. "Now all I need to do is wrap you up in some fresh gauze and give you some more antibiotics."

Carol relaxed as best she could, leaning back down, letting her head sink into the floppy pillow once more. The pain subsided, now more discomforting than anguishing, and she waited in silence until the wound was properly dressed.

"Thank you," she said, inhaling deeply. "For everything. I can't express how grateful I am for-"

Suddenly, a door burst open and a man stormed in, visibly angered. His glare settled on Carol, and he lunged, his arm extended and index finger pointed in accusation.

"Are you with them?!" he roared, barreling towards her. Ellie leapt up, blocking his path. She was yelling at him, but her voice was drowned out by his.

"Hey!" he raged, scorn and spite burning in his eyes. "Answer me, goddammit! Are you with them?!"

"Sean, knock it off! She's not with them. She's not. Calm the hell down."

"And how the hell would you know?" he spat. He was no longer advancing, but he remained tense and ready to charge in a moment's notice. He was a large man-six feet tall at least, and well over two hundred pounds. His hair was scraggly and his beard was patchy. His clothing was bloody, filthy and tattered. His appearance alone reeked of sweat and body odor. "Come on, Ellie! Think, for Chrissakes! This is the third time this week. The third! That makes eight this month. But this time, we're gonna try somethin' different..."

He shoved Ellie aside as if she were made of paper, and darted towards Carol. He unsheathed his knife in one swift motion. He held it out under her nose, forcing her to observe the blade's razor-sharp edge; to admire the way the metal glinted in the meager sunlight. He stared her down murderously.

"You see this knife here? You better take a good, long looked at it, 'cause you're gonna be gettin' pretty familiar with it here soon..." he growled, bending down even further, until his breath ghosted across her upper lip. She clenched up, shrinking into the corner, when suddenly, Sean froze. The muzzle of Ellie's gun hovered just above his head.

"Get away from her," she warned, and there was a click as the weapon cocked. "Don't make me do this."

"You wouldn't." He grinned, but obeyed nonetheless. Ellie lowered her gun slowly as the distance between Carol and Sean gradually increased.

"This is a fucking mistake!" he cried, rising to his feet. "And when all hell breaks loose, that blood is on your hands."

"With all due respect," Ellie began, arms folded across her chest confidently. "I think you're overreacting. I don't think she's with them. I think this is a misunderstanding."

Sean groaned and pressed his palms to his forehead, tugging at the roots of his dark hair.

"I'm serious. It doesn't make any sense," Ellie continued. "They always come in groups. They're never alone. And they're always heavily armed. She had a box of ammo and a pocket knife. Besides, last I checked, he's never sent a woman."

"That's exactly it, Ellie! He's throwin' us a curveball! Alls he gave 'er was a backstory and sent 'er on 'er way! She'll make us trust 'er; make us feel all safe an' cozy 'round 'er, and next thing we know, boom! We're all dead."

Ellie grew silent. His theory...it wasn't as full-of-holes as she'd expected it to be. In fact, it made perfect sense. Perhaps Sean was onto something. She chewed her lip anxiously. Then at last Carol found the courage to pipe up.

"I'm not with Woodbury," she stated simply. "I'm not a scout, nor am I an assassin. I was scavenging for supplies. I know it doesn't mean much, and you have every reason to not believe me, but I'm begging you to trust me when I say I'm being honest."

Ellie's mouth opened, but Sean swiftly shot her down.

"El, she ain't stupid. You think she's gonna own up to workin' with the enemy? O'course not." The loudness of his voice increased with every word. "She's gonna lie 'er way into trust, an' then she's gonna kill us all. They got it all figured out. So we gotta make it so they don't. We're gonna shake 'em up; gonna show us who they're fuckin' with!"

And that's when Ellie slapped him. It was curt and unexpected, and by the sound of it, must have stung something awful. Carol wished she'd ever had the strength to do the same to Ed. Sean cupped his cheek in his hand, his eyes wide in shock, but Ellie remained stern and collected.

"Get a goddamn grip," she snarled before turning away and kneeling at Carol's side. "As for you...I'm trusting you. What Sean said...it makes sense. But I'm going to go with my instinct on this one. Don't make me regret it."

Carol smiled, deeply relieved, though she fought to conceal it. She didn't want to appear as if she were too pleased with herself. She didn't want to raise any more suspicions. Against all odds, she was alive, and she was willing to do anything to keep it that way.

.:|:.

Daryl's feet hung dismally off the edge of his perch. His mind was hot with anger. His stomach refused to settle. Every breath was an effort. He battled against sorrow; against tears.

Rick had told him. He'd tried to word it gently. It was almost worse that way.

He wanted silence. Not alleviation. Not support. He wanted silence; darkness. But more than anything, he wanted pain, because in that moment, he felt numb.

"I can protect myself."

Judith's wails seemed a hundred times louder than they usually did. It was as if she were aware of the circumstances.

"You're not going to lose me, Daryl."

His rag was wadded up in his fist. He squeezed tighter. He wished that goddamn baby would shut up. Every anguished cry made him cringe; made his ears ache; made his teeth grind together.

"That's a promise."

Her words were vivid in his memory. It'd been only a day or so ago that she'd spoken them. A day ago, she was alive. Alive, and within an arm's reach. Her warm smile, her doting personality, her aspiration to nurture and her knack for understanding...it was all gone. Every bit of it had been erased, like wiping away a smudge. Her teasing smiles and deliciously tormenting touches were now but turned pages in his storybook.

The Carol he knew and loved was gone. Nothing could restore her. But the thought of her, milky-eyed and wandering around the woods with drool dangling from her lip...that's what was eating at him. In time, someone would stumble across her re-animated corpse, and plant a bullet in her brain without batting an eyelash, because you didn't think about things like that; you didn't want to. Looking at the walkers as monsters was an easy way to justify bludgeoning their heads to smithereens. But losing Carol made Daryl re-evaluate everything he'd ever said or done. It brought a new aspect of misery into his life. And for the first time in a while, she wasn't there to help him through it.

.:|:.

Carol slept soundly through the night. Occasionally she'd wake up to muffled voices arguing in another room, but she eventually grew to ignore them. She awoke to Ellie carefully changing her gauze once again.

Immediately, she knew something was dreadfully wrong. The pain in her abdomen had increased tenfold, and she could already feel the beginnings of a blazing fever building up.

"I don't know how this happened," Ellie's voice quaked miserably. "I thought you could go the night...I thought I had the infection under control...oh, god!"

Carol made the dire mistake of looking down. She felt instantly worse. Her entire stomach had turned a sickly shade of yellow, and the wound had begun seeping blood and pus. The sight of it quickened her breathing, and she moaned in agony.

Ellie scrambled for the antibiotics, but when she popped the cap off the bottle, her heart sank. It was empty.

.:|:.

Beth watched the sky. She didn't want to move or talk. She didn't want to die, but she didn't particularly feel like living either. She wished instead that she could pause life and resume after the sting of loss had dulled.

The only thing she really felt like doing, surprisingly enough, was praying. She wasn't sure anyone would be listening, and she doubted they would be of help, but the act of folding her hands and closing her eyes and silently asking for protection and good fortune was at least familiar.

She had barely begun, however, when the distant rumble of a car interrupted her thoughts. Her head snapped up and she scanned the area nervously. She was unable to pinpoint the source of the noise, but it was steadily growing louder. She held her breath for a few seconds while she listened, and then bolted for the door.

.:|:.

"Hanging in there?"

Carol groaned a 'yeah', though she doubted Ellie heard. Throes of pain clutched her body every time they hit a bump or swerved around a walker. She was sprawled out in the backseat of a stranger's car, beads of sweat breaking on her brow as her fever peaked. She clutched at her necklace and stroked the stone.

Leading Ellie to the prison was risky. Her group was small and struggling. They were holed up in a small supermarket with only a few proficient gunners and one vehicle. But at the prison, it was different: there were plenty of weapons and plenty of space and Daryl supplied fresh meat at least a few times a week. Rick had created a life for them and no doubt Ellie's group would want that, too. But while Ellie was mellow enough, Carol couldn't imagine how Sean would react under Rick's leadership. No doubt there would be clashes. It would never work. But she'd made a promise to Daryl, and she intended to keep it.

"Your group...they don't take kindly to foreigners, do they?"

"Depends." replied Carol weakly. "You're not much of a threat, but if you show up with your friends, it may be a different story."

Ellie nodded.

"I understand. Sean can be...volatile. He and I..."

Her voice trailed off, and Carol thought she would leave the rest to assumption, but surprisingly, she expanded.

"It was only once. It was stupid. I mean, he was much different then, but still stupid. The thing is, though...he doesn't see it as stupid. He doesn't see it as a mistake. He loves me, and I feel terrible, because I don't love him. But sometimes, I play along. I make him think there's something between us. It's terrible, but if I didn't, you probably wouldn't be in this car right now."

Carol would've responded, except she feared she wasn't able to. Ellie sighed as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders and smiled.

"God, that felt good to get out."

Without warning, the car came to a screeching halt. Carol couldn't see anything, but judging by the gruff yelling and Ellie hesitantly raising her hands in the air, they had arrived.

"Get her out of the car!" Rick ordered, gun pointed and ready to shoot. Daryl stepped forth swiftly, Maggie covering him, and flung the door ajar. He grabbed Ellie's arm, yanked her out, and threw her into the dirt. Rick crouched down beside her and snapped the handcuffs onto her wrists.

"Get 'er inside, I'll check the car." Daryl said, popping the trunk and climbing in. Initially, all he found were empty crates and stray bullets.

Ain't nothin' in here but trash.

But then, a bag in the corner caught his eye. He paused. It profoundly resembled Carol's, and served as a painful reminder of her; of the fact that she was gone. He reached over and hoisted it over his shoulder, bringing it obediently to Rick, who immediately yanked on the zipper to expose the contents.

The bag was full of baby formula. They exchanged perplexed glances. After a while of weighing the risks, Ellie spoke up.

"There's more." She said. "Check the backseat."

After receiving confirmation from Rick, Daryl heaved the side door of the car open and gasped at what he saw.

Carol.

Her breathing was labored, her shirt was stained and ravaged, she barely clung to existence, but yet she was alive. Carol was alive. Her eyes cracked open. She gazed at him in wonder, and he wasted no time dropping his crossbow, clambering into the vehicle and scooping her up in his arms. She gave a tiny moan at the involuntary pressure applied to her wound.

"Shhh, s'okay," he whispered. "S'okay. I gotcha now."

.:|:.

Carol's life force was draining fast, and there was no time to celebrate. Everyone pitched in to help Hershel care for her, except Rick, who instantly whisked Ellie away for questioning. Beth sifted through the bag of medical supplies, Maggie and Glenn fetched bottles of water, and Carl helped Axel dress a bed with fresh sheets. Daryl stayed loyally by Carol's side while Hershel examined the wound, gauging the severity of the infection.

"Well?" asked Daryl impatiently. "Is she gonna be alright?"

Hershel ceased working for a moment while he considered his answer.

"If what her friend says is true, it's gotten bad in a short period of time. Very bad. It doesn't look good at all." He stated bluntly. Daryl's heart plummeted.

"But you can fix 'er, right? She ain't gonna die, right?"

Hershel turned to face him, his eyes sullen.

"I don't know."

.:|:.

In the dark and quiet confines of the cell, he waited. It had been hours since someone strolled in to check on her. Daryl had insisted he could manage it himself; said he didn't feel much like sleeping anyway. But everyone knew he really just wanted alone time with her.

Their fingers were laced together. She clutched his hand like a lifeline; like it was the only thing tethering her to the Earth. He heard only the melody of her soft breathing. Her forehead shone in the pallid moonlight and he reached over to gingerly sweep a few silvery tufts away from the sweat, rousing her unintentionally.

"Mmm..." she mumbled, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "What a lovely face to wake up to."

"Sorry for wakin' you," he apologized. "You should be sleepin'."

"No. I like seeing you. I'm glad you're here."

He smiled faintly in the darkness.

"How d'you feel?"

"Like shit," she grumbled, and the corners of his lips tugging up further. "Where's Ellie?"

"Rick's got 'er locked up in a cell. Ain't sure what to do with 'er."

"Tell him not to hurt her. She's a good woman."

"I will." He promised.

At first, she appeared satisfied, but then she frowned. A fit of hacking and sputtering ensued. Daryl scrambled for her water bottle. Every heaving cough inflicted intense agony, until her eyes brimmed with tears. She clutched and clawed at his shirt. He offered her a drink, but she pushed his hand away.

"Daryl..." she rasped as he helped lower her back down onto her pillow. "Daryl, I'm not going to make it."

He stared at her in disbelief and shook his head.

"Don' say that," he growled, tucking the sheets around her body. "You're delirious."

"I'm serious. I'm not going to pull through. I know it. I can feel it."

"Carol, you're drugged up. You're going to be fine. Now shut up and go back to sleep."

"I want you to take good care of Judith. She likes you a lot. Don't let anything happen to her."

"Carol, go back to sleep."

"Help Rick out. He'll need you more than ever."

"Shut up. You're going to be fine. Go to sleep."

"Keep an eye on Carl, and on Beth. They look up to you, y'know."

"This ain't funny. Stop."

"And when I'm gone...when I pass...don't let me become a walker."

"Hershel!"

"Do whatever you have to. Just don't let me become one of those things."

"Hershel!"

"I love you, Daryl. Daryl, I love you."

"Goddammit, Hershel! Someone!"

"God, I love you so much."

He opened his mouth to call out again, but she pounced on him, blocking his words with her sweet lips, smothering him with a wild, ardent kiss. She released him just as Glenn and Maggie tore into the cell; just before she was swept away in the grips of another coughing fit. This time, blood spurted up and splattered the sheets and pillowcase. Glenn grabbed Daryl's arm, and despite his protest, he was defenselessly dragged away.

.:|:.

Daryl sat at the table, motionless. A bowl of food rested untouched in front of him. Beth had begged him to eat something. He'd taken a single bite to satisfy her, but after she left, he'd scarcely noticed it. The heat had long diminished, and he found he had little desire to eat cold, lumpy oatmeal anyway. Instead, he simply twisted the spoon around in the mush. He was tense with anticipation. At long last, Hershel hobbled into the room, and Daryl sprung to life.

"She okay?" he asked, jumping up immediately. "She alright? What hell was with the bleedin'?"

"Her throat is very raw. She's alive for now, but her infection is getting worse, and I don't quite understand why. It's as if the antibiotics aren't working."

Daryl barely dodged whimpering. He would have, too, except the last thing he needed was some old man's pity. He wasn't some goddamn stray puppy. So, disheartened as he was, he masked it with frustration and anger.

"The hell you mean they ain't workin'?" he cried. He found himself strangely maddened when Hershel barely flinched at his outburst.

"Calm down, son, I'm not entirely sure that's the case."

"Don' tell me to calm down! You're the one that tol' me you could help 'er!"

"I told you I could try. And I am. But we need to consider other possible outcomes."

"What? You mean like her dyin'?"

Hershel said nothing. His silence confirmed Daryl's greatest fear.

"Well, ain't this jus' swell," he sneered. But his ire, formerly aimed at Hershel, suddenly changed course and he found himself overwhelmed by self-blame. "Goddammit, I shouldn't've let 'er go!"

"What happened is not your fault," assured Hershel warmly. "And you need to stop thinking that right now, or else you'll never let go of it."

"An' you know so much 'bout lettin' go, don'tcha, ol' man?" Daryl retorted bitterly. "Didn't you have your Geek wife locked up in that barn of yours?"

"I did. I see my mistake now, and I regret it. I wish I'd been stronger." Hershel confessed. "But you are stronger than I am. And if, God forbid, it comes down to it, I'm counting on you to be able to do what I couldn't."

Daryl's eyes narrowed dangerously and he was seconds away from explosion when Beth wandered into the room, ponytail messy and blue eyes timid.

"Carol wants to speak with you," she informed, staring straight at him. Then her gaze flickered down and rested upon the bowl of oatmeal she'd prepared for him. She frowned. "You haven't touched your food."

He ignored her last statement and wasted no time shoving past both of them without another word.

.:|:.

He rounded the corner sharply and entered her cell. As he figured, she was curled up in her bed, eyes closed yet not asleep. All the contempt and vexation that had previously been boiling up inside him drained away at the sight of her lying there. She was shockingly feeble and lifeless. She was casting shadows into her grave.

He dropped to his knees and leaned over her. Her eyes stirred and opened slightly.

"Hey there," he whispered softly, laying a hand on her cheek. Her skin was scorching. She gave him a frail smile.

"You're all blurry," she told him, the slightest hint of humor in her voice. " And I'm dying."

He shook his head.

"You can't leave me," he said. "I'm not ready. Neither are you."

"Nobody's ready," she pointed out. "But I can't fight it anymore."

"That ain't true. You can fight it. You have to."

"No. I can't."

Carol drew in another breath and exhaled with a shudder. Her thin fingers curled around his. Her head drooped to the side, her eyelids slowly meeting. He tousled her back into consciousness.

"Don't leave me," he begged. "Please."

"I think...this is how it's meant to be."

"No."

"I think this is the way it has to be."

"No."

"You will take my necklace won't you? Keep it safe? Remember me?"

Daryl had always thought the phrase 'heartbroken' was stupid. How could one's heart break without resulting in certain death? Surely a more medically-accurate term could have been conjured. But in that moment, he understood it completely. His chest ached. Tears sprung to his eyes. There was no use keeping them at bay. But when he heard footsteps approaching, he quickly regained composure and wiped them away. He whirled around to face the advancing visitor.

Maggie strolled into view. Her stride was frantic; urgent.

"The hell d'you want?" he asked, suddenly lurching forward to block the cell's entrance.

"I think I know what's wrong with Carol."

Daryl swallowed hard.

"...Go on."

Maggie sighed.

"When I was putting together Merle's supply box, I decided to give him a ration of Tylenol. We didn't have much, so I took out most of the pills and stuck them in another bottle to keep for us."

She unexpectedly leapt forward, catching Daryl off guard. She snatched the bottle of antibiotics from the table by Carol's bed.

"These aren't antibiotics. They're Tylenol. We've been giving her Tylenol."

She twisted the cap off and popped a tablet out onto her palm. She held it towards him, urging him to look closely. At first he saw nothing, but then he noticed a single word etched into the white. Sure enough, it read 'Tylenol'. He would've chided Maggie for being so careless if not for the fact that they had not a single second to spare.

"Then where the hell're the antibiotics?"

Maggie chewed her lip nervously.

"I think they're with Merle."

Daryl's brow furrowed.

"What?"

"I must've stuck the last bottle in on accident, thinkin' we had more."

Daryl glanced back at Carol's figure lying listless on the bed, her fingers still curled up from when she'd been gripping his hand. He focused on the rising and falling of her chest for a short while before turning away one final time.

"Watch 'er. Don't leave 'er. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Maggie stepped sharply to the side, allowing him to pass, and watched him for a few moments as he made his way to Cell Block D.

.:|:.

Merle had already cracked open the Tylenol and downed a few pills in an attempt to hinder his raging fever. They had proved effective, but he felt far from good. He was bored out of his mind, and he'd been provided only one means of entertainment: a single musty, yellow-paged book which had been included in the supply box, squashed underneath a jar of peanut butter. He'd already read it cover-to-cover three times. In his not-so-humble opinion, the writing was shitty, the plot was shittier, and the characters were the shittiest. It was hardly worth the effort. But it passed the time, and that's what mattered.

The door to the Cell Block was flung open violently and he immediately found himself on the defense. But when he looked over and saw his brother striding towards him, he eased up and grinned.

"Bustin' me outta here?"

Daryl ignored the sarcastic inquiry. In fact, he ignored his brother altogether. He stomped past him, over towards the box of supplies in the corner of the cell. Merle's smile dwindled and was replaced by a frown. He jumped up.

"Hey! I didn' tell you you could go snoopin' through my stuff! Hey!" He yelled gruffly, speeding over to catch up with his sibling.

"You got antibiotics in here?" Daryl asked, rooting through the cardboard box. Merle elbowed him away.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

"I need 'em."

Merle stiffened a bit.

"Please," Daryl begged. "I need 'em."

"I'll only give 'em to you if you tell me whatcha need 'em for." Merle bargained, crouching down and retrieving a small bottle of antibiotics from the box.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Now come on, lil' brother. You can trus' me."

"Fine. It's Carol. Now give 'em up." Daryl demanded. His hand shot out to grab the medicine, but Merle held them the bottle up high, as if he were a schoolchild all over again, reveling in his little sibling's torment.

"Now I'm interested!" He crowed. "Come on. Tell me wha's wrong, an' you can have 'em, no more question's asked."

"She's been shot, an' if I don't get 'em now, she's gonna die. An' if she dies, tha's on you."

Merle sighed. He'd asked for an explanation, and he'd been given one, so he begrudgingly granted the pills to his brother. Daryl gave a somewhat-grateful nod and turned swiftly on his heel to leave.

"Take care of 'er, now," Merle called after him. ""Cause I ain't gonna be so nice next time."

.:|:.

She could barely muster the strength to lift her head, but with gentle coaxing from Daryl, Carol managed to swallow the pills. Nothing was guaranteed, especially at the state of illness she'd reached, but Hershel had told them that if she survived the night, there was a chance she'd pull through. And no matter how much Rick or Glenn or even Maggie had insisted he get some rest, Daryl stayed by Carol's side the entire night. He didn't nod off once until just before the break of dawn, when he could suppress his exhaustion no longer.

When she awoke, there was subtle light dappling the sheets. Her stomach ached dully, but it was no longer anguishing. At first she wondered if she died; if what she was experiencing was the afterlife. But then she noticed Daryl beside her, slumbering soundly in a chair, their fingers still entwined. With every steady breath she took, the sour air tasted sweeter, and she found herself cherishing the blissful pain, because it meant she was alive.

She was alive.

After all, she'd promised him she would be.