Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead. All characters belong to the creators of the television series and graphic novels.

For Her, For Us

Chapter 1: Whisky Warmth

The night the Greene farm fell, the air had been so thick with smoke and the land so overrun by walkers that finding anybody in that mess had been next to impossible. Only, Daryl had found Carol, and together, they had ridden off in search of their friends. They'd stayed close to the traffic snarl on the Interstate for two days, seeing nothing but walkers passing by.

On the third day, hunger and dropping temperatures had forced them to move on down the road about ten miles, to another farm house that was relatively secluded and undisturbed.

It was a big, blue house with a wraparound porch and a barn filled with farming tools and possibilities. The sturdy, wooden fencing went all around the property, and there was plenty of room for growing food and maybe even keeping livestock, should they come across any. Daryl had quickly decided it would be a good place to hole up while they continued searching the surrounding area for any signs of their friends. Carol had readily agreed, and it had only taken them an hour to clear the property of the few walkers that had managed to get past the fences.

For three days, Carol took stock of the food in the pantry and cleaned the place up in hopes that they could bring everyone back and make this place their new home. While Carol had cleaned the place up, Daryl had gone out on his motorcycle, searching for hours on ended and coming back empty handed save for supplies and food.

Days turned into weeks, and Daryl stopped searching every day. Every day turned into every other day. Every other day turned into once a week. And when he did go, he started taking Carol, teaching her how to track, how to shoot, how to hunt. She was a fast learner, and before long, she was tracking just as well as he was.

On the night of the first snow, Carol was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of stew she'd made with the rabbit she'd caught and a can of carrots from the pantry. There wasn't much meat on that particular rabbit, but she did what she could with it, while Daryl made his way around the house stuffing rags up against the cracks of drafty windows.

The big old farm house was a cold one, and it took a lot of firewood to heat the place. There were three fireplaces. One in the living room downstairs, and one in each of the bigger bedrooms, the ones Carol and Daryl had picked out for themselves. It was a big, lonely house, and Carol often found herself humming to herself when she was alone, something, anything to fill the quiet that was so desperately lonely. It was a house built for a family, and while Daryl was a good man and good company to be around, he wasn't the most talkative person.

Carol dished out a few scoops of stew into two bowls and turned the stove off to preserve energy. The generator out back had plenty of fuel, but they were only using it to cook for now, keeping warm with extra layers of clothes and eating by candle light.

When Daryl stepped into the kitchen, Carol greeted him with a faint smile, and they both sat down to their meal.

"Sorry it's not much," Carol said softly. "Maybe we'll get lucky and find some squirrels tomorrow."

"It's good enough." He eyed her bowl and then his. There was a little meat and mostly carrots, but it was a hot meal and would tide them over until the morning.

"Bet we find a deer," Daryl pointed out. "You're a good tracker."

"I'm not that good yet," Carol chuckled.

"Don't sell yourself short. You're doin' fine." Carol blushed at his praise, and she ducked her head and took a bite of food. Daryl eyed her, watching the way she shied away from a compliment. He was sure she probably wasn't used to getting those, and it made him hate the memory of Ed Peletier even more than he had before.

He'd never seen Ed get physical with Carol, though he'd heard plenty about what happened down at the quarry. He remembered seeing small bruises on Carol's upper arm, too, like someone had squeezed her arm tight, leaving marks from their finger tips. But he knew enough about him from just talking to him that he was a sorry son of a bitch that acted more like a warden than a husband.

"Daryl?" Her voice brought him back to the present, and he gazed across the table at her. "I miss them."

"I know," he said quietly.

"I don't think we're gonna find them." Her voice cracked, and Daryl knew she was thinking about Sophia. He put his spoon down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He still felt the sting of seeing Sophia walk out of that barn. He still felt the guilt of trying to keep Carol's hopes up when there was no hope to be had.

"Even if we don't," he said quietly, "we're still here. We're breathin'. Right?"

"Right," she sighed, taking another bite. "We can still stay here. Right? Even if it's just us?"

"It's safe enough. 'Course we thought the old place was, too. We'll stay as long as we can. Just gotta be ready to move on if the time comes." Carol nodded and took another bite. They ate quietly until their bowls were empty, and Daryl was the first to get up from the table. Carol got up and started for the sink, but Daryl took her bowl from her. "I got it. It's gettin' late. Why don't ya get some sleep?"

"I'm too cold to sleep," she chuckled, moving over to the pantry. Daryl eyed her for a moment before turning to wash up the dishes. When Carol stepped up to the sink with her hands behind her back, he looked at her again.

"What'd you find?"

"A solution to our cold problem." She brought out a bottle of whisky and laughed. Daryl snorted and shook his head.

"Christ, it's been so long, one sip of that'll knock me on my ass."

"I'll get the shot glasses," she laughed. "Whaddya say?"

"One drink, and then we best turn in."

"One drink, and we won't be able to walk up the stairs," Carol grinned.

"Never took you for a drinker."

"It's been a while," she admitted. "I never really liked the taste of whisky, but I know one shot'll warm you right up." Daryl dried his hands off on his pants, and Carol stood on her tiptoes to search for shot glasses. She came up empty handed but found a couple of small glasses that would do the trick.

They blew out the candles in the kitchen and retired to the living room, sitting down on a pile of pillows Carol had tossed down in front of the fireplace. She reached for a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, while Daryl poured a couple of drinks.

"Thank you," she murmured, when he passed her a glass. She took a dip and made a face, and Daryl couldn't help the smile that twitched on his lips. He took a drink and felt the warmth spread through him as soon as it went down his throat. He winced and shook his head. Carol smiled.

"Jesus, that shit's strong." He shook his head. "If Merle could see me now…"

"You were close? You and your brother?" Carol took another sip, barely reacting now as the warmth began to spread through her body.

"He's all I had, you know? My mom, she died when I was just a kid. My old man was drunk more'n he wasn't, and when he wasn't, he was high. He was always fucked up, always findin' some excuse to use me or Merle as a punchin' bag."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I saw the scars. I know you didn't mean for me to. That night on the farm when you got hurt looking for Sophia." Daryl nodded. "I'm sorry nobody stepped in to help you."

"M'sorry nobody helped you," he echoed, looking over at her.

"You were just a kid," Carol pointed out.

"Somebody who's supposed to love ya ain't supposed to hurt ya. Don't matter who. Pain's the same." He cleared his throat.

"How long were ya married?"

"Twelve years." Daryl eyed her. "I was four months pregnant when we got married."

"So ya had to marry him?"

"No. I loved him. I did. At first. He wasn't always…" She sighed. "I tried to leave him a few times, but I…I kept going back." She shook her head. "He drilled it into my head that I needed him, that if I went out there, I'd never make it. And I had Sophia to think about. It was stupid."

"Wasn't stupid," Daryl insisted. "I know. They get in your head. Tell you you're useless, that you're shit, that you ain't never gonna be worth nothin' good. After ya hear it enough, you believe it." Carol reached out and put her hand on Daryl's arm.

"It's not true," Carol murmured softly. "I hope you know that. You've done so much for me. You tried so hard for Sophia, and that was…that was everything." She finished her drink and put the glass down. "If it wasn't for you, I never would've made it off that farm."

"Sure you would've."

"No," Carol said quietly. "You found me. You got me out of there. If it wasn't for you…" She looked away. "So don't ever think you're nothing." Daryl looked away. "Hey. I mean it."

Daryl sat back a little, feeling the warmth swirling through his veins and making his head swimmy. He felt something else, a tug in his chest, warmth completely unrelated to the whisky. He'd said terrible things to her when they were on the farm, and she'd forgiven him, and all he could do was wonder how this beautiful woman was sitting here saying these kind things about him.

"Never had to look after nobody but myself. Me and Merle were all we had, but he was gone half the time, and I was on my own. Then after Rick came along, Merle was gone, and I really was on my own."

"And almost as soon as he was gone, look what happened. You started helping out, you took it upon yourself to try to find Sophia. I remember how Merle talked to you at the camp. He treated you like a whipping boy, always shoving you around."

"It's all we knew," Daryl pointed out.

"I know. But you know what I mean. Having him around reminded you of all those times he wasn't there when you were a kid. When it was you getting beat on." Daryl nodded then, chewing at his bottom lip. "I know you love your brother. But the man you've become outside of his shadow is the kind of man that looks for lost little girls, that brings a flower to a worried mother, risks his own life to try to save someone else's. You're a good man. You're more than Merle Dixon's baby brother. I hope you see that." She took a deep breath, and she started to get up, swaying a little when she stood.

"You ok?"

"Yeah. I should probably go to bed." She took a few steps and stumbled, and Daryl got up as fast as he could to catch her. "Thanks." She laughed and put her hand over her face. "It really has been a while."

"Shit, I'm buzzed myself. Here. Sleep on the couch tonight. It's warm enough down here." He groaned when he felt his own head start to spin. "I think I'll take the floor. Got enough pillows down here." Carol smiled and sat down on the couch, tucking her legs up under her.

"You sure? The couch might be more comfortable."

"Nah, this is good." He added a few logs to the fire and lay back against the pillows.

"Good night," she whispered, lying back against the couch.

"G'night," he murmured back, rubbing his eyes tiredly as the whisky and exhaustion began to take effect. Carol smiled, watching as he pulled a blanket over himself, and she lay back against the couch, pulling the blanket around her shoulders a little tighter around herself. It didn't take long for sleep to pull her under.

...

It had taken Daryl a while to fall asleep. He'd tossed and turned thinking about what Carol had said to him. The fact that she had read him so well was unsettling, but at the same time, he felt like a weight had been lifted.

His relationship with Merle had always been complicated, and Carol was right. Merle always pushed him around, and in his own Merle way, tried to turn Daryl into what Merle thought a Dixon man should be. The only thing was, their father had been the biggest male influence in their life, and Merle had all but turned into him. The only difference was Daryl had never seen Merle raise his hand to a woman.

Sometime in the night, Carol had moaned softly in her sleep, and he'd looked over to see her brow creased in worry, saw her shaking her head just a little. He knew she was dreaming of Sophia. And it wasn't long, before he heard her whisper her name. He'd gotten up and put another blanket over Carol, and the action had been enough to calm her from her dreams. Her face had softened, and she'd sighed, and the rest of the night she'd been restful.

Daryl dozed off somewhere before dawn, and when he finally woke, it was fully light outside and the house smelled like bacon. He pulled the blankets off of himself and found Carol in the kitchen serving some shelf-stable bacon onto a plate with some fruit cocktail from a can.

"Morning," she said brightly, as Daryl scratched the back of his head and sat down to an already poured cup of coffee.

"Mornin'," he murmured. He took the cup in his hands, blew over the top and took a sip. He'd never been a coffee man before the turn, but even Carol could make plain black coffee taste good.

"Sorry there's no sugar," she murmured softly.

"S'alright. Maybe we'll find some today." Carol peeked out the window.

"You sure? Looks like more snow's coming." The previous night's snow hadn't amounted to much, but it seemed much more was on the way.

"Yeah, we got a big one comin', but I don't expect it'll start 'til tonight." Carol moved to sit at the table with him and took a bite of her food. "Might not hurt to get some more gas for the generator, too." He cleared his throat. "There's a pickup in the barn. If I can get it running, we can use it. Too cold to go out on the bike. 'Sides, you bag us a deer for supper, we'll need the truck to haul it home."

"You seem to have a lot of faith in my tracking and hunting skills," Carol laughed.

"Hey, you got a good teacher."

"Oh, get over yourself, Daryl Dixon." She flashed him a grin, and his heart skipped a beat. His face grew warm, and he ate another bite. They made small talk, and after breakfast, they cleaned up the dishes together before Carol went upstairs to put on warmer clothes for their adventure. Daryl headed out to the barn to see if he could get the truck started up.

Up in her room, she stripped out of the clothes she'd slept in and pulled on some fresh undergarments and a pair of warm socks. She matched a pair of khaki cargo pants with an oversized grey sweater, and by the time she heard the truck's engine roar to life in the barn, she had pulled a coat on and started down the stairs.

She grabbed a coat for Daryl in the closet downstairs and headed out onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind her.

Daryl pulled the truck up in front of the house, and Carol put her hands on her hips. He rolled the window down, and she shoved the coat through it.

"Did you have to drive through the front yard? Now we've got muddy snow tracks all through it." Daryl glanced in the rear view mirror, and he ducked his head.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Well, put your coat on. You'll freeze out here." Daryl eyed the coat, a bulky brown leather thing lined with fur. He quickly pulled it on, and despite the fact that it wasn't quite his style, it was warm, and by the time Carol climbed into the passenger's side, the heat was finally blowing out of the vents and warming the cab.

The roads were relatively clear, though Daryl drove slowly after hitting a couple of slick spots. Carol leaned back in her seat and stared out the window at the treetops glittering with ice in the morning sunlight. A smile tugged at her lips, and when Daryl glanced over at her, he noticed.

"I remember the first time my old man took me sledding. It was back before shit got bad. I was probably four. My mom—she'd wrapped me up in two jackets and a coat, and I was wearin' gloves two sizes too big. I looked like that little kid in that Christmas movie. Remember the one with the boy and the BB gun?" Carol grinned as Daryl talked. "Anyway, Merle wasn't there. It was just me and dad. And he took me to the tallest hill in the park. I'd been beggin' him for days to let me sled down it, and I never went sleddin' before in my life. Still, when a Dixon sets their mind to somethin', they're gonna do it." Carol bit her lip and grinned when she saw the happy memory glinting in his eyes.

"He let you go down it?"

"Hell, yeah. He told me I was gonna break my neck, but my stubborn little ass wouldn't listen. I got on that sled, and about halfway down, I hit a rock and went flyin' off the thing. And I just started yellin', and then I was rollin', and I saw my dad start runnin' and I knew my ass was in trouble. But when I stopped rollin', he just picked me up and laughed. Said I was lucky I didn't break every bone in my body."

"You weren't hurt?"

"Nope. Know what I said when he stopped laughin' at me?"

"What?"

"Can I do it again?" Carol laughed then, and Daryl smiled at the sweet sound. "That's the last good memory I got of him, 'fore the drugs and booze took hold of him."

"I'm glad you have that memory," Carol said gently, reaching across the seat to put her hand atop his on the bench seat. Daryl looked down at her pale fingers against his, and he dragged his gaze up to hers for a moment before turning his attention back to the road. "Sophia loved to ice skate."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. She loved it. Couldn't get enough. It was my favorite thing to do when I was little, too, but Sophia was a lot better than me. There was an ice rink at a mall not far from the house, and Sophia would beg me to take her there every Saturday. I'd sit and watch her, and she just had so much fun. She'd beg me to skate with her, and sometimes I would. But other times, I just sat and watched her. I wanted to remember the happy moments. We had so few of them at home." Her smile faded. "I wish I'd done better. For her."

"You did the best you could," Daryl offered.

"Looking back, I did what I could," Carol agreed. "But I'm not that person anymore. The person I am now? I wish I could go back in time and tell myself how different things could be." She leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. Daryl swallowed hard and kept his eyes on the road, and as they drove on, he was thankful for the peaceful quiet of her company.