Poison
Rated: K+
Pairings: Daryl/Carol
Disclaimer: It could not be less mine. The Walking Dead belongs to AMC, Robert Kirkman , Toby Moore and Charlie Adlard.
Spoilers: Season 1-3 and a deleted scene from season 2, the one where they attempt to go back to the Vatos in Atlanta.
Summary: After a woman from Woodbury makes a comment about Sophia, Daryl lashes out and pulls away from the group and Carol in particular.

Author's notes:
The crash you heard a couple of weeks ago? Yeah, that was me, falling like a ton of bricks for the Daryl/ Carol ship.
This is my first attempt at writing them, so I'm very grateful for any form of constructive critism.

Part 1

The place had definitely become more crowded as the remaining residents of Woodbury had settled into the prison. From his relatively secluded spot, sitting near the iron stairs, his crutches stacked neatly underneath his chair, Hershel watched the sea of faces in front of him, sitting in groups around makeshift tables, a plate in front of them, waiting as Carol and Beth dished out tonight´s dinner. Every sound in the room, the voices, the scraping of the chairs, the forks clattering against plates, bounced off the high, concrete walls and floors, magnifying them a tenfold. Sometimes the noise was just overwhelming, even when there wasn't anyone being particularly loud.

"Sounds like a flock of sheep just before shearing," he commented to the man sitting above him on the stairs.

"Sure's hell does," came the surly reply.

Hershel shot him a sympathetic glance. They all needed time getting used to being with so many people again, and Daryl Dixon more so than anyone else.

Being an extremely private person to begin with contributed largely to that, but Hershel also suspected that his experiences in Woodbury, losing Merle at the hands of the Governor and the narrow brush with death he'd had there – probably his narrowest escape yet made that his wariness of the newcomers most likely wouldn't be wearing off anytime soon.

Carol appeared in front of them, holding out two plates to them.

Taking one from her and smiling his thanks, Hershel looked aside to see that Daryl had come down a few steps from the stairs and was now running his fork through the contents on his plate.

"Whatcha do with the squirrels?" he asked, lifting a forkful to his mouth, looking doubtful.

"Made a stew," Carol informed him dryly, the hint of a smile starting around her lips.

"S'not bad," he decided, right after swallowing his first bite. The corner of his lip turned up in a half smile and he held her gaze for a few seconds before dropping it down to his plate again.

"Hold on to that thought," Carol replied her own grin widening, "because there's a lot more of it coming.

"Ya started growing potatoes?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No, Glenn and Maggie found four dozen boxes of instant mashed potato," she explained. "It should hold us over for a couple of days. So lots of stew coming."

Her expression had become more serious. Feeding such a large number of people was putting a heavy strain on their limited resources.

"I'll go out hunting again tomorrow," he told her, his tone softer. "I'll find ya something."

She shot him a brilliant smile and Hershel discretely avoided his eyes, suddenly feeling like he was intruding on a private moment between the two of them. He kept his eyes pointedly on the people in front of him until she walked away from them.

Finally taking a bite himself he couldn't resist the words that came out of his mouth.
"Not bad at all."

Once everybody was eating the place quieted down somewhat and for a while not much else was heard than the scraping of forks and the chewing of food until suddenly a voice rang through the hall. The person who spoke was one of the elderly women from Woodbury who was seated across the table from Carol. She didn't even speak that loudly, but her voice echoed through the room, causing everyone to look up.
"Say Carol, do you have any family left?"

It was not unusual that the topic of conversation during dinner time turned to life before the outbreak. As they began to know the people of Woodbury and Tyreese's group better, many stories were shared. But out of the corner of his eye Hershel could see Daryl freezing up at the question, his entire body becoming rigid. The long legs that until then had been stretched out casually in front of him were snatched back with a sharp tug. After that he didn't move at all, he held himself completely still, his eyes trained unwaveringly at the woman who had suddenly become the centre of attention.

Carol´s discomfort at feeling all eyes on her was obvious, but she gave the woman a polite smile and answered with feigned nonchalance. "I don't anymore… my husband died back in Atlanta."

"I'm sorry to hear that, dear," the woman replied sympathetically. "Did you have any children?"

Hershel could feel his own stomach twist at the question and he heard how the breathing pattern of the man sitting next to him changed, now coming out in short, raspy puffs. He quickly stole another glance, noticing how every bit of colour had drained from Daryl's face. His lips were pursed together in a hard, straight line, his nostrils were flaring and the muscles of his neck and shoulders were set so tightly he could see a vein throbbing in his neck. The plate of food lay discarded next him on the stairs and his fists were balled tightly into his lap.

A few feet away, Carol's demeanour crumbled. She cast her eyes down and when she spoke her voice was so soft that Hershel had to strain his ears in order to hear her. "I… I had a daughter. Her name was Sophia…" By that time a penny could be dropped for them all to hear and the heavy loaded silence stretched on for a few uncomfortable seconds. Taking a deep breath and focussing her gaze back to the woman who asked the question, Carol seemed to regain her footing somewhat, her voice sounding stronger as she continued.

"After we fled from Atlanta, we came across a herd of walkers on the road. We hid underneath the cars, but Sophia got chased out from underneath by one of them and she fled into the woods. She... she didn't make it."

"But didn't you go after her?" the woman again asked, her eyes wide with horror.

"We did… of course we did. Daryl searched for her for weeks…"

As soon as she mentioned his name, Daryl seemed to snap. He shot up to his feet, the plate falling the ground with a clattering racket, causing everyone in the room to jump.

"Son…" Hershel scrambled to his feet with difficulty, holding on to the handle of the stairs to keep his balance, reaching out his other hand to Daryl, but the younger man pulled back vehemently. Somewhere in the back, Hershel could hear Rick speak, putting an end to the conversation in a not unkind, but very decisive manner. His attention however remained focused on the hunter and for a split second Hershel looked straight into the other man´s eyes and was taken aback by the look of sheer terror in them. His eyes were wide and his pupils so far dilated it made his eyes look almost entirely black. For a brief moment he was reminded of the wounded, dying animals he'd put down in the days he was still a veterinarian. But it was only a second, then Daryl turned around and blindly grabbed for his crossbow before running away, taking the stairs three steps at the time.

Mere moments later Carol was already at his side, ready to run up the stairs after him, but this time when he reached out, he managed to stop her.

"Maybe you should give him some space," he warned her gently.
Barely even listening to him, Carol brushed off his hand, almost impatiently. "I'm just going to see if he's alright."

"Alright then…" Against his better judgement, Herschel stepped aside, letting her pass. She flew up the stairs and had disappeared into the cell block in a matter of seconds. Heavily sitting down again, Hershel took his plate again and picked listlessly at his food, trying to shake off the feeling of uneasiness that settled over him.

Carol could make out Daryl's retreating form in the distance and she had to jog to catch up with him. Calling out his name, she frowned a little when he didn't slow his steps or gave any other indication that he'd heard her. Breaking into a sprint, she ran until she'd closed the distance between them, grabbing his elbow to get him to stop.

Upon her touch he turned around like a bolt of lightening, jerking his arm to shrug her off so violently she flew a few steps backwards.
"WHAT?" He snarled at her, his words dripping with vermin. "What' ya want?"

She gasped at his outburst and for a few moments was so much taken aback that the words dried in her mouth.

As he backed away from her, beginning to turn around again, she surged forward. "Daryl…" she began, cringing at how timid her voice sounded. "I wanted to check… see if you're okay… I mean… I'm sorry about what happened just then…" She was babbling and she knew it. Nervously she twisted her hands in front of her stomach, trying to find her tone with him, trying to grasp back the comfort between them and that she had gotten so used to.

"Are you alright?" She gave him a small smile, hoping, expecting, he'd return it. That it would soften him. It was how they were now, wasn't it?

He didn't move an inch, but the look he gave her was filled with so much contempt and loathing that it caused her insides to clench painfully.

"Get. the hell. away from me!" he growled at her.

"Daryl…!" Her head was swimming with the myriad of disturbing feelings that overwhelmed her. Confusion, shock, hurt, disbelief… She hardly recognized the man standing in front of her anymore. Hardly minutes ago he'd been fine. A little disgruntled perhaps, but fine. He's smiled at her, backhandedly complimented her cooking, shared her worries…. They'd been them, had been whatever it was they'd been slowly morphing into over the last couple of months. And now this. And for the life of her she couldn't figure out what had set this off. What made him lash out like this.

"You deaf or what?" he hollered at her when she didn´t move. "Fuck off!"

She tried. Taking a step forward she searched his face, desperately trying to find a clue to his behaviour. But when he spat on the floor right in front of her, she backed off, horrified and humiliated and suddenly she was terrified again. This was Ed. This was the gut-wrenching terror of not knowing when the next outburst would come, what she should or shouldn't do to set him off. This was her shrinking under his words, his looks, his fists until she wished that the pitiful shadow of herself that remained would vanish into nothing. It all blurred in front of her eyes and she did the only thing that she felt capable off.

She ran.

Please let me know what you think!