AN: So this is going to be a short story (about 11 chapters as I have it planned out right now). It's Carol and Daryl and it's just a part of their life together. It's AU and the characters are aged up for the sake of the story. I don't think that there's anything here you'll need to be warned about, but I'll put warnings in the ANs if I think there's anything in a chapter that you might need to prepare for.

Of course, this chapter is just getting us started and setting the scene.

I own nothing from the Walking Dead.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl turned the radio down as he pulled the truck, for the last time, into the lot. He parked it and gathered up the bags that held everything that he'd collected in the truck over the years and forgotten to take out. The last thing he did, before he left the rig, was take the pictures off the dash that had yellowed and faded from years of exposure to sunlight. Three small children falling over each other in front of a Christmas tree looked back at him from one photo. His own face, much changed by the years, and the face of his wife looked back at him from the other. That was their first nice picture taken together. It was one of few in which they were both actually together. They'd been married that day, though nothing in the picture would have given it away. She hadn't worn white and he hadn't worn a tux, but the wedding had been just as official as any other he supposed had ever been performed.

Half afraid the pictures would disintegrate from age, Daryl tucked them carefully into one of the bags and got out the truck. Jane would handle everything from here—he'd already talked to her—so he put the keys to the truck under the driver's side front tire as he'd been instructed to do and he walked out of the lot. He pulled the gate closed behind him and secured the padlock.

It was late.

Daryl was late.

He was always late for everything except the drops he had to make.

He was late to holidays and gatherings—if he ever made it at all. He was late nearly every time he returned home from a run. He'd been late to his wedding and nearly every date he'd ever taken Carol on in all the time they'd been together.

He was late to his life.

But tonight, things were going to change. After 35 years of driving—taking every single job that he could get and making some runs under the radar and off the books—and saving every single penny he could, Daryl was hanging up his keys for the last time. He was leaving the open road and the strain of deadlines to meet, and he was going to sit back and take life slowly and as it came.

He was going back to his life.

It was late summer and the air had that summer's end quality to it. It was damp like a blanket and heavy, but every now and again there was a hint of something like the promise of a cool autumn wind that hadn't quite gotten up the strength to blow yet. The smell of the coming autumn was in the air.

Daryl's old pickup, the one truck that he rarely ever drove, was parked on the property. He got in, cranked it, and thanked whoever was in charge of such trivial things that the engine came to life. He hated those nights when he had to call and rouse Carol out of her sleep to come and pick him up. It had been worse, even, when the children were little and she would come, three fussy children in their pajamas in tow, to rescue him. He pulled out of the lot and cast one glance back, in the rearview mirror, to say "goodbye" to a truck that had almost felt like another home to him.

It was the end of an era, he thought to himself, but it was the start of a new one. And he was more excited about the start than he was saddened by the passing.

Normally, if he'd gotten in at this hour, he'd have stopped at the Juke Joint and gotten a drink. The bar was open all night, just off the highway, even if there was never more than ten cars there after two or three in the morning. Daryl knew that those ten cars, though, brought in most of the revenue that the place probably made all year. Coming off a four day, like he was doing, Daryl usually needed a beer or two to counteract all the caffeine that he'd stored in his system to keep him running and to keep the blacktop from morphing into some creature straight out of his nightmares. Tonight, though, he was anxious to get home. He was anxious enough to get home that he couldn't be bothered to stop even for a half an hour to mix with the locals and unwind.

His home was waiting for him—as perfect as if it was designed for him and his happiness. His wife was waiting for him—forever doting and the creator and craftswoman of that perfect home. And his life was waiting for him—too long ignored in the quest to provide for the life he was ignoring and the future he was securing.

This time, when he got to his home and closed his eyes, he knew he wouldn't be leaving it again. He wouldn't be counting days and ticking off hours until the next job. He wouldn't be hitting the road ever again.

At least, he wouldn't be hitting it without Carol and their life in tow.

Thirty-five years was a long time to step away from life. It left a lot of regrets about a lot of time lost and lot of opportunity missed. But Daryl and Carol were going to make the best of what they had left. They were going to make up for all that lost time. They'd pick up right where they left off. On one of his last short stops in, Daryl had purchased an RV for them. It wasn't the top of the line, but it was nice and it was reliable. It would pull Carol's car easily. The two of them were going to see America together, one short trip at a time.

This driving was going to be driving that Daryl enjoyed.

When Daryl got to the house, the porch light was on. A few other lights burned throughout the house and he wondered if Carol had waited up for him. She wasn't working now. She'd retired three months before from her job and her schedule had changed a little, but she was still mostly an early to bed and early to rise kind of person. Daryl parked his truck, gathered up his belongings, and carried them inside. The light over the stove was burning and a lamp in the living room lit his way through there. In the bedroom, though, he found that Carol was asleep.

She wouldn't have known when to expect him. Not really. He'd called her on his way in, but that was just to say that there'd been a wreck and he didn't know how long he'd be caught on the interstate. Daryl put his things down as quietly as he could and slipped into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him so that he could shower without bothering Carol. He knew, though, that the little noises he made at night wouldn't wake Carol. For her, the sounds of him slipping in late and readying for bed had become the background noises to her dreams.

Clean and still somewhat awake from the coffee he'd guzzled earlier, Daryl went back into the kitchen. In the microwave he found dinner served out on a plate. He reheated it and ate it standing at the bar. In the refrigerator he found a six pack of beer. Carol didn't drink beer, or at least she hardly ever drank it, but she'd have bought it for him. Whenever he got home there were always things that she got just for him. They were things that said "welcome home" in her own little way.

The only time that Daryl could ever remember coming home from a run and not finding Carol's little "touches" all over the place was the time that he'd come home for the birth of their second son, and final child, Dallas. In hindsight he shouldn't have taken that run at all, but he'd thought he'd make it back in time. He'd thought that Carol would be fine and Dallas would hold out a little longer—after all, Sophia had been late and so had Matthew. But Dallas had other plans. Daryl had gotten the call and he'd made the best time he could, but the distance from Texas to Georgia wasn't made any shorter because his wife was in labor. He'd gotten home just in time to discover, from his brother who'd been waiting on him, that his sister-in-law had kept Carol company during the delivery, his son was five hours old, and Carol had named the boy Dallas as a tribute to where he'd been when she'd realized that he wasn't making it home. Some days, Daryl still felt like he had a lot of making up to do for that one—even if Dallas was twenty-nine and doing well for himself.

All his kids were doing well for themselves. And, thankfully, they never held it against Daryl that he was largely absent from most of their family pictures. It wasn't the amount of time that counted, Carol had assured him, but rather it was the quality of the time that he'd spent with them. Daryl just had to hope that it was enough, somehow.

Daryl nursed one of the beers at the kitchen table and looked through the information that he'd asked Carol to print out for him. She'd left it there for him to look over, probably anticipating that he wouldn't want to sleep right away. They'd rented a camping slot at the beach. It would be just the two of them for two weeks in their RV. It was all set. All they had to do was load up, hook up the car, and they were on the way.

Annual physicals had given them both a clean bill of health, and their retirement fund and a few good investments gave them the financial security that they'd need for what was left of their lives. Now they just had to live it.

And they were starting at the beach because it had been years since they'd been. If Daryl remembered correctly, they hadn't been since Dallas was born. The only time they'd ever taken him to the beach, at least as far as Daryl could recall, he'd still been tucked safely away inside his mother.

The beach was the first place that Carol had said she wanted to go—so that's where they were going.

Daryl drained the last swallow out of his beer, threw the bottle away, and put his plate in the sink. Then he made his way to the bedroom, turning off every light he could find burning as he went, and slipped under the cover. He groaned to himself over the feeling of the bed, like a cloud in comparison to the bed in his truck, and he smiled when he heard the ruffle of sheets that told him that Carol—who hadn't woke to anything else—woke to that sound.

In the darkness, she found her way over to him, as she had a hundred times before, and he adjusted his body so that she could lie comfortably beside him.

"Good trip?" She asked.

Daryl hummed at her.

"Nothing happened?" She asked.

"No," Daryl said. "Good supper. I like that sauce."

"I thought I'd try it," Carol said.

"Good," Daryl confirmed. "Thanks for printing that stuff out."

"Was it everything you needed?" Carol asked.

"It'll be good," Daryl said. "Just confirms I already paid for the slot."

"How long do we have it?" Carol asked.

"Two weeks," Daryl said. "Go back to sleep. Leaving out tomorrow."

"You shouldn't drive tomorrow," Carol said. "You'll be tired."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'ma be just fine," he said. "You'll be there to keep me awake. Love you. Sleep now."

"Love you too," Carol said quietly, her voice fading out like she'd immediately taken his suggestion and was practically asleep before the words could make their escape from her lips.

Daryl patted her, rubbed his hand over what he could reach of her body, and closed his eyes. He wasn't really tired. He felt more like a kid on the night before Christmas than he felt like a sixty-two year old man, but he knew he needed to sleep. Carol needed her rest and he needed his too. The morning was bringing a life full of little things in their direction, and that, for Daryl, was a big thing.