Hello there!

I had an idea for a one-shot to include in The Vagabonds, but then for some reason it turned into a little bit more than that, so I decided to post it as a separate story. There will be three chapters in total, and here is the first one : )

xRainyDaysxx planted the idea in my head that these two had been together before the fall of the prison, since she'd read somewhere that Kirkman teased at the possibility. And I just ate it up with a spoon because I LOVE that idea! Their closeness in 4x01 definitely had me wondering if they were together, so I will be assuming this is true until proven wrong : P

I hope y'all enjoy these, I'm hoping to get the second one up sometime next week. Thanks for reading! oxox

(I own nothing related to the Walking Dead, least of all its awesome characters)...CARYL ON! : )

The first time, he was gentle. And a little bit drunk.

Carol had made her way back to the library before heading to bed, realizing that she'd forgotten to lock the safe she kept the demonstration knives in. She may have been doing her part to teach the children how to protect themselves, but she sure as hell didn't want them getting into the weapons without her supervision.

When she rounded the corner and stepped through the library doorway, she saw Daryl sitting on the couch and stopped short. The vision in front of her brought a smirk to her lips.

He was sitting perfectly at ease, leaning back with his head lolled over the top of the back cushions, a bottle of something in his hands.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked him, crossing her arms in front of her and arching an eyebrow.

His head shot up and his slightly droopy eyes met hers. He grinned, a little too widely for Daryl, which caused her own to smile to spread.

"Relaxin'," he said, tipping his head back to the cushions once more.

"I see that," she replied and walked towards him, dropping herself down beside him.

The mystery bottle was resting at his side between them, his fingers clutching the neck of the bottle.

She wrapped her hand around his and hoisted the bottle up so she could see what was inside.

"Gin," she remarked, as though this impressed her. She lowered their hands back to where the bottle originally rested between them. "Where'd you find gin?"

"Glenn," he told her simply, his speech barely slurred, but that sloppy smirk still on his face.

"And you drank all of this?" It didn't go unnoticed that the bottle now only held half of its original contents, at best.

"Nah, barely had any."

She looked at him with suspicion clear in her eyes.

"I swear," he said, becoming only slightly more animated. "Made him sick so he gave me the rest." He settled his head back once more and closed his eyes. "My tolerance is for shit."

"So…" her voice trailed off as she took in the sight of him, more peaceful than she'd seen him in quite a while. "What are you doing in here?"

"Told you," he started, his eyes still closed. "Relaxin'."

She smiled, even though he couldn't see her.

"Yeah, I got that part. But why are you doing it in here?"

He took a deep breath, letting it go in a drawn out, contented sigh. "I like it in here. 'S quiet." She nodded as he spoke. But then he continued. "Reminds me of you."

She looked at him then, his eyes still closed, though he cracked one open to peer at her.

"Don't you look at me like that, woman. You're soothin'. You're like…medicine."

She knew she should say something. Anything.

Say anything, Carol. Anything at all.

But she couldn't. So she just looked at him as she did before, her smile faded, but still there, as though she was expecting him to start laughing and tell her it was all a joke.

Things between them had become progressively easier since bringing in the people of Woodbury. She had expected him to distance himself from basically everyone with all the novelty, but instead, she found he was only drawing himself nearer to her. Like she was his escape from the newness, from the disorder that came with working to build a life with all these new people.

They'd seek one another out, if only to exchange a few words in the middle of a busy day. And sometimes before bed, they'd sit together at night, outside at a picnic table. Sometimes quiet, just being together. Other times talking about something that had happened that day or anything that may have them concerned.

Medicine.

He let out another breath before opening his eyes and seeking hers out, his face completely and utterly unreadable.

And then he lifted the bottle and offered it to her, their eyes still locked together.

She glanced at it before taking it from him, their fingertips brushing and shooting fire to the pit of her belly. She took a long pull, grimacing at the strong taste on her tongue and the burn down her throat.

She handed the bottle back to him and he smirked at her reaction. He placed the bottle on the ground beside him, away from her, and then leaned back to his original slumped position.

She could feel the warmth of the alcohol reaching every part of her body. And then he took her hand, putting that warmth to shame.

She froze entirely, wondering what on earth was happening, as his hand flitted softly to hers as their hands rested between them on the couch. She watched his fingers moving on the back of her hand, and then as they slipped to her palm to weave themselves between her fingers.

They'd touched before, of course they had, but this time she could feel his eyes on her face, and the way he held her hand – so gently – there was something about it that had her heart pounding furiously.

She forced herself to make eye contact, and the fiery gaze he fixed her with took her breath away.

"Um…" she didn't know what to say, or what to do. How drunk was he? "How drunk are you?" she asked him, the shake in her voice revealing how nervous she suddenly was.

He sat up then, angling his body towards her, letting his knee touch hers, and looked intently at her as he responded. "Enough that I'm not afraid to ask for what I've been wanting for a good long while."

His voice was so low that, if it didn't feel as though the entire world had slipped away, leaving them to be the only two people left in whatever limbo they were now floating in, she may not have even heard him. But she did. Every blissful word. And the knots in her stomach undid themselves and were now laying in loose jumbled heaps in the pit of her stomach.

Her breath quickened as she stared wide-eyed at him, holding her hand gently in his.

"Should I shut the door?" he asked in a whisper, his eyes questioning with uncertainty.

She nodded just barely, and he swallowed thickly.

He stood up then, and she watched incredulously as he walked to the library door, shutting and locking it before returning to her on the couch. And she remained still as can be.

After a drawn-out moment, Daryl licked his lips and she didn't miss the motion as her eyes darted down to his mouth. She exhaled loudly, and he leaned into her, one arm supporting himself on the couch cushions behind her. He placed a tentative hand on her thigh, close to her knee, suddenly feeling much less confident than he had three minutes ago.

Her gaze was focused on the hand on her leg, and still, she couldn't move. She was sitting rigidly on the couch, her chest rising and falling visibly with her deepened breaths, her heart hammering so loudly that she was sure it could wake the entire prison and draw in every walker for miles.

His hand left hers slowly as he brought it up to her face, cupping her cheek so that she would look at him.

He licked his lips once more and she knew it was coming. A fleeting look in his eye, a subtle change in his breathing. She knew. And she was so happy to be sitting down, because she felt her entire body go weak with anticipation.

He kissed her mouth – so softly – their lips barely brushing together, and drew away an inch to gauge her reaction.

His eyes searched hers as she opened hers slowly and looked at him dumbfounded once more.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered, clearly parched out of sheer apprehension and waiting for what felt like an eternity before she responded.

She couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't believe this was even happening.

And finally she managed something. Something that was more than enough for him.

She shook her head, however microscopically, but it got the point across.

No. Don't stop.

His lips met hers again, and this time they didn't leave. They were smooth and tentative and faltering, unsure of any type of rhythm since they'd never done this before. But she met his softness with her own, and before long, they found a cadence that felt unlike anything either of them had ever felt before.

It was gentle and deep. Their hands explored slowly, tenderly, over faces and necks and shoulders and chests. Fingers through hair. Hands travelling everywhere and pulling closer and closer.

His arms came down to her waist and he tugged enough that she got the message. His hands stayed on her as she straddled him and brought her hands back to his face, kissing him deeply and softly, and the hunger floating around them was smothering.

She didn't care if he'd been drinking, didn't care if he'd regret it the next morning. This could very well be her last day on earth, and she'd take from it what she could get.

As their shirts came off and skin met skin for the first time, they slowed down, breathing heavy with the overwhelming sensation.

He pulled her in as close as he could, wrapping his arms around her bare back, planting kisses along her collarbone and up her throat until their lips met once more, chests heaving with the crushing want. Every nerve ending came alive like neither of them had ever felt before as the warmth of their bare skin enveloped them, and each brush of their bodies bound them closer together.

She pulled back to unbuckle his pants, and stood to give him room to take them off. And then he sat, leaning forward, looking up at her as he undid hers and pulled them down before drawing her back onto his lap.

He watched her move with disbelief. As though she wasn't real. As though this wasn't real.

She lowered herself onto him slowly as they looked into each other's eyes, and their foreheads touched as she began to move. It was unhurried and gentle, each of them feeling every single movement with everything they had. Their lips and breaths melded into one another, and they watched one another through all the moments they weren't squeezing their eyes shut through the overwhelming feelings.

She clutched at his shoulders, his arms, his neck, his face, and his hands roamed over her with the lightest of touches, squeezing her hips erratically through it all.

"Beautiful," he would mutter over and over, and she swallowed through the tears that sprung to her eyes with the sheer emotion of it all.

And they would kiss so softly and with so much feeling that neither of them were entirely sure where reality ended and fantasy began.

He worshipped her body as though she was some kind of divinity, and she'd never been more certain of how he felt than in those moments. How he loved her.

It all came teeming to a powerful end as they clutched each other tightly and she buried her face into the crook of his neck.

He kissed her shoulder and worked his way inward as she trailed kisses along the side of his neck up to the soft skin below his ear.

He pulled her face to his, their noses practically touching, and he looked fiercely into her eyes.

"I fuckin' love you," he muttered, heart pounding with his admission. But she had to know it. This wasn't nothing. It was so much more than anything he'd ever felt in his entire pitiful life. If it didn't feel so damn good, it would have been too much for him to handle.

She exhaled sharply as she peered deeply into his eyes, a smile tugging at her lips, and she threaded her fingers through his hair. "I fucking love you, too."