Author's Note: This is set roughly after 6x09 "No Way Out", before everything else went wrong. No Tobin kissing, because this is a happy place. Does not follow canon for what comes after, either, because I like my version of the Dwight story much better.

Daryl's Hero Party

"I just think Daryl's the bravest man I've ever seen," the brunette gushed. "And those arms!"

Carol nodded, smiling extra bright. "Yes, he's certainly not short on courage, our Daryl. I'm sure he'll be so pleased to see your gift, and I'll let him know you stopped by."

The girl chirped on, and it took Carol three more exchanges of platitudes before she managed to ease the door closed, carrying the gift back to the kitchen. It was dimly lit, with all the shades pulled so no one could peek through the windows. The shadows seemed to suit the man sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, his thick shoulders hunched beneath black leather and a span of fabric wings.

"She finally shut up?"

"Yup, but she left you this little gem." Carol tossed it on the counter, the plastic skittering across granite.

Daryl eyed it. Didn't touch it. "The hell's that spoon got teeth for?"

"It's for serving pasta."

"Thought Rick tol' 'em to bring useful stuff. These people think I got a powerful need to serve me up some pasta?" He let out a derisive sound.

Carol took his empty plate. "Considering how fast you ate my pasta, I'd say they might be right." She filled his plate again. "Besides, it's not like Tina has a secret machete stash. That pasta server is probably the most useful thing she owns."

The doorbell chimed merrily, and Daryl looked murderous. He shoved the food away and caught her arm as she detoured past him. "We ain't home."

"You ain't home." She tapped him on the nose with one finger. "But if you want all these people to ever leave you alone, you've got to let them say their piece. You're lucky I'm not making you answer the door." She nodded to the plate. "Now eat. I know you're still hungry and we've got enough. If you don't eat, I'll tell this one their brave savior Daryl is hiding in the kitchen like a big, feathered up slice of poultry."

He grunted and snatched up his fork.

"That's what I thought." She sniffed triumphantly.

"They oughtta be throwin' a party for you, not me. Wouldn't'a been a town to save if you didn't kill all those raiders first."

"Yes, well, the grenade launcher had a certain panache I couldn't match. Not to mention the motorcycle-led parade of walkers."

She straightened her cardigan and strolled out to the door, a little smile on her face. She'd really like a moment alone to make sure he was really okay—he'd lost his bow, after all, and anger seethed just under his surface, though she wasn't sure from what—but more than that, she wanted him to feel the gratitude of all these people. Daryl always earned his place, wherever they were living, but it was Carol's job to make sure he really saw people's acceptance. Left to his own devices, he mostly slunk around the edges, snapping at people and assuming they thought he was like a dumpster: useful, but best kept out of sight. Especially when company was over.

This time it was Gary, from the next street over. Carol's fake smile relaxed a little in relief. The men were so much easier to get rid of than the women. The collective panty-dropping that had taken place in response to Daryl's heroism shook the town almost more than the grenade launcher explosion.

He had something in his hands, and he smiled. "Hi, Carol. Is Daryl home?"

"Not today. He's been pretty busy since the attack. But I'm happy to take a message for Alexandria's new hometown hero." She smiled. It was a lot easier to make her upbeat Junior League voice sound sincere when she was talking about Daryl. "Sorry I can't invite you in. Judith is napping and just the tiniest thing will wake her, poor thing."

"I thought we were having a party for Daryl, but my wife said Rick said to send 'practical' presents instead." He frowned. "Is the party coming later?"

"Well, Rick thought a party wouldn't be best for public safety."

"I thought it was okay to make noise now that the walkers weren't outside the gates." Gary glanced up the street, his face paling.

"Sure, but it's not safe to have parties when Daryl's inside the gates."

Gary frowned. "Because he's not out there to protect us?"

"Something like that." She smiled and took the present. "Ooh, this is a nice…thing." She hoped she wasn't holding it upside down, whatever it was.

"My wife picked it out." Gary shrugged and pushed forward like he was trying to see past her. She didn't move. Her days of giving way before taller, stronger men were over. "Are you sure Daryl isn't here?"

"He's busy. Did you want to leave a message?"

Gary shuffled his loafered feet, dropped his hands into his chino pockets. "I just wanted to tell him, I heard about him leading out those walkers. All exposed on his motorcycle, not even a car's windows to hold them off for a minute if they caught up, and walkers all the way to the horizon behind him…" Gary coughed. "They say he didn't even look nervous. And he made it back, after all of that. I thought, if he could do that, I can't very well call myself a man if I can't face up to at least one of those things. Tell Rick I want my name on the list for weapons training, as soon as there's an opening."

Carol's chin lifted. Now that was a gift that would mean something to Daryl. She was glad she'd kept him in the kitchen, where he couldn't help but overhear everything his visitors said.

"I think Daryl will be very pleased to hear he's been a positive influence on you," she said. "And thank your wife for the gift."

She closed the door and went back to the kitchen.

"Hear that? You made a man out of Gary."

He harrumphed through a mouthful of pasta. "Believe that when I see it. What's that thang?" He flicked a finger at the gift.

"No idea. Maybe Rick will know." She set it on the counter. "Tell me something."

He grunted.

"Sasha said your crossbow and bike got stolen out there."

"Yup."

"But today, you have them."

"Yeah."

"So?"

"So I went and got 'em. What'd you think, I'd let some little hillbilly asshole take my stuff offa me? 'Sides, I gave that fucker a second chance, saved his girls, helped him dig a grave, and he chapped my ass somethin' fierce."

"If you saved his girls, why'd you have to dig a grave?"

"I saved 'em the first time. Ten seconds slow on the second. Lost one." He gulped down another huge forkful of pasta. Didn't say more.

She glared. "Daryl Dixon, did you kill them? For a bow and a damned motorcycle?"

"Sumbitch put a gun to my head. Twice!"

He gave her a dark look, but she stared him down.

"Nah," he said finally. "I got mine, though."

"So you tortured them?" She crossed her arms.

"Leave it, woman."

"You've got half the damn town running in and out of here, telling you that you're one step away from the new Jesus Christ. But I know how you get when people touch that crossbow." She came around the counter and propped her hip against it, right next to his plate so he couldn't ignore her. "Look, I know you're angry. If it makes you feel any better, you were probably right that they were good people. But good people do bad things when they're desperate. Think of how Rick treated Aaron, when he tried to recruit us. They just don't know how to trust anymore. That doesn't mean you were wrong." She squeezed his arm.

"Would you quit? I didn't torture 'em."

She waited.

He scowled.

She waited.

He exhaled in a very irritated fashion. "Snuck up on 'em at night. Took my stuff. Left their gun and knifes. Took the guy's pants and socks, filled his shirt and their duffel with poison oak. Gonna be a long time before they can forget 'bout stealing from me."

She gasped, then laughed. Daryl snatched a glance at her, and she grinned back. "That's…pretty perfect. Why the socks though?"

"You ever walk twenty or so miles no socks on? Blister up something fierce. Always wore through my socks real quick when I's a kid. Hardly ever had a whole pair."

She busied herself organizing his pile of gifts, because if he saw the pain in her eyes at his story, it would make him uncomfortable. Of course his horrible father couldn't even be bothered to be sure his son had socks.

He gulped down the water she'd set out for him, but he kept stealing guilty glances across the kitchen island.

"What'd you leave out?" she asked calmly.

"I mighta punched him a time or three."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Not that hard! Didn't knock out a tooth or nothin'."

"Well, I suppose that's fair."

"Damn right it's fair." He finished off the water and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Was they really gonna throw me a party?"

"Yeah. They still will, just say the word."

"Nah."

"Daryl." She leaned her elbows on the counter, catching his gaze. "If you want it, you say so. You more than earned it. You won't even have to make conversation. Just nod at everything people say, and let them bring you drinks." She smiled. "Scowl and blush a lot, like you do. The whole town'll be in love with you after that. As well as in lust, which is what they already are."

He scowled and blushed, then got up and took his plate to the sink. He ran it under the tap, scrubbing it with his fingers, then stuffed it in the dish drainer.

Carol took it back out and gave it a more thorough washing, with soap. "All the ladies will be there…"

"You throw me a party, poison oak be going in your drawers next."

"Does that mean your hands will be in my drawers, too?" She batted her eyelashes. "Because that might be a fair trade."

"Stop," he growled, flushing darker as he stalked back to his stool at the island.

"You stop. I'm dead serious."

He scowled through the long strands of his hair, and she crossed the kitchen and bent down to kiss him.

He jerked back. "The hell you doin'?"

"Painting my nails, what's it look like?" If the last two years had taught her anything, it was that subtle wasn't going to get her anywhere with this man.

She grabbed his collar and yanked him into her, kissing him until his thin lips lost their shocked resistance and his foot started to vibrate on the rungs of the stool. After her tongue got involved, she didn't get any more arguments. One hand found her waist, his strong hand fisting the waistband of her jeans. The other came up to her face, his fingers just barely resting on her throat, his thumb tracing the line of her chin so softly she would have missed it if she weren't acutely tuned into his every movement.

She kissed him straight through a knock on the door, then a ring of the bell, before she finally pulled away. She fisted her hands at her sides so he wouldn't see the shaking that belied the confidence brazenness of the move she'd made after all this time.

"Maybe I want to stake my claim on my man, you ever think of that?" she said, a little more breathily than she might have liked.

He blinked. "But…why?"

She smiled, achingly. He looked just as lost as he had that day in Hershel's stable, when she told him she couldn't stand to lose him, too. Not even for one last chance at finding Sophia.

"Before everybody figures out what I already know about you and wants you for themselves." She peeked around the edges of the venetian blinds and grimaced. "Like Minnie Robinson on the porch there."

"Minnie who?"

"She's about twenty, blonde, 32DD. Used to be a gymnast before everything happened…"

He shook his head, puzzled.

"You yelled at her last week for hanging flower boxes over the top of the wall," Carol prompted, "because the colors might attract walkers."

"Oh, her. She ain't the brightest bulb." He snorted. "Probly brought me flowers. Useless."

Carol unbuttoned the top button of her shirt, yanked it askew like they'd been fooling around, and then bit her lips so they were even more kiss swollen than they'd already been.

Daryl watched, his attention getting more focused with each of her transformations. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he stood up.

Carol held up a finger. "One minute," she mouthed. After the ego freefall of taking a chance on kissing him, she didn't mind tormenting him a little so she could enjoy his suddenly obvious reaction to her.

"Thirty seconds," he growled. "I still got grenades for that launcher."

She grinned, and went to answer the door. "Oh, Minnie, are those daisies? Daryl will just adore those. Here, I'll take them. Now, did you have a message for him? I'd purely love to pass that right along."

Author's Note: I'm working on a couple of darker one shots right now, but I had to post the fun one for New Year's. Happy New Years, everyone! Let's all pray it brings scads of Caryl screen time.