AN: This is a little story inspired by wolfwhiteflowers on Tumblr. I don't know if this is what they wanted, but this is what happened.

I own nothing from the Walking Dead.

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

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"I'm tellin' you that I got this," Daryl said.

He was starting to get that slightly more high-pitched quality to his voice that he got when he was starting to feel panicky. He was afraid he wasn't going to be listened to. He feared that his opinion wouldn't be valued. He felt invisible—and it was something leftover from a time long ago; a time which Carol had nothing to do with.

She recognized the sound of his voice and the panic in his eyes. She purposefully drew in a breath, held it, and calmed herself. Finding her stillness would help him find his. It always did. Ever since she'd met Daryl, he'd seemed to feed off her energy in a way that kept them oddly in sync.

Carol might not always agree with Daryl's opinion, but she would never openly ignore it. She knew what it felt to be ignored, silenced, and treated like a ghost in your own life. She would never make another person feel that way—especially not the person who had, in many ways, given her voice back to her when someone else had taken it away.

"I know you can take care of us," Carol said. "I know you can. You have, and you will, and you're wonderful. It's wonderful, everything you do for us. But—Daryl? This is not the end of the world. It's not. And the garden that you planted is beautiful and…it's going to grow us the most amazing vegetables to go with the apples, and pears, and everything else that those fruit trees grow. But they aren't going to be ready for a long, long time, and I cannot—I cannot—live on nothing but squirrels and rabbits for the whole of the foreseeable future."

"I can get a deer," Daryl said. "I'm stalkin' one right now. Just waitin' for the right moment, Carol."

"I'm an omnivore," Carol said. "I need—vegetables. Fruit."

"I planted all that," Daryl said, gesturing out the back door. "With my hands. I got you apples, and pears, and peaches. There's gonna be tomatoes, potatoes, beans, Carol—three kinds of beans. That's a little blueberry bush, and those are strawberries, and there are carrots out there and cabbage."

Carol laughed to herself.

"And it's amazing!" Carol assured him. "Everything. We've got the nicest garden around. And when everything grows, we'll eat like kings. We'll be giving food away because there's too much to eat."

"I asked about that cow," Daryl said. "I did. And Hershel said it was no problem. I just gotta build a shelter for it."

"This isn't about the cow," Carol said. "This is about eating right now. And—there are things I need, Daryl."

Daryl stared at her, hard. She knew that expression a little too well. When Daryl was overcome with something, he usually responded by simply staring at her, hard, until he could find the control that he needed to either respond or to walk away.

Carol stepped forward and touched his face. She trailed her fingers over his skin. She distracted him from whatever was causing him grief. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. She smiled, softly, at him and pulled him to her to kiss his lips. He responded to the kiss. She let it go on as long as he wanted it. When Daryl kissed her, he always kissed her like he meant it. He always kissed her like it was the first time, and maybe even like it was the last time, and he wanted to experience her mouth on every possible level.

Her cheeks were warm and her body was crackling after the kiss. She felt so comforted by it, that she had almost forgotten that there was something of a storm brewing in Daryl. She was reminded of it when he looked at her with a certain darkness in his eyes.

"Can we talk about it?" Carol asked. She nodded her head at him gently to give him the subtle guidance to agree to the conversation. He mirrored her and nodded his head, but he added a gruff hum to let her know that he really did agree to the conversation. "You're hot. Would you like a glass of tea?" Another nod. She smiled at him. "Sit down, I'll get it."

Daryl sat at their little kitchen table and Carol poured glasses of iced tea for the both of them. She brought them over and sat down across from Daryl. He lit a cigarette and pulled the ashtray in front of him.

"You want to tell me what this is really about?" Carol asked.

"It's dangerous out there," Daryl said. "I listen to the news."

They'd practically banned the news in the house after the first two or three days. When the pandemic had begun, they'd both figured it was nothing. They thought it would blow over. When Carol had been sent home from her job to work from home, and Daryl's job had closed down until further notice—because nobody wanted a handyman in their home when he might be carrying some kind of deadly disease—they'd realized that things were getting serious on more than one level.

For the first two or three days, they'd enjoyed their time together, took solace in the fact that they were both quite thrifty and had saved a lot of their money—and that Carol's paycheck was still coming in as long as she completed her work from home, and they stayed glued to the news. The reports of deaths, however, were too much to listen to very often. The fighting on social media had made them practically toss their phones in a drawer to remain hidden most of the time.

Now they only allowed themselves one hour of checking their phones or the news per day, and it seemed to be helping them immensely.

Carol worked, and Daryl had thrown himself into home improvement. Daryl had decided to create a more sustainable lifestyle for the both of them, and Carol helped where she could.

"I listen to the news, too," Carol said. "And they said it's safe to go for essentials. I made a list. I'll buy everything for two or three weeks. I can freeze it and we'll use it as we need it."

"I don't like it," Daryl said.

Carol sighed.

"You know, I hate it when you get like this," she said.

"Like what?" He asked.

"You just—shut down whatever we're talking about," Carol said. "You say something like 'I don't like it,' and that's all you say. How am I supposed to argue with that, Daryl? How am I supposed to give you my side of…what you don't like?"

"I just don't think it's somethin' that needs to happen," Daryl said.

"You went to buy the supplies for everything you've done out there," Carol said, gesturing toward the back plot of their land that Daryl had turned into an organized garden. "You didn't have any trouble hopping in the truck and taking several trips to come back with—with all of that."

"That was different," Daryl said. "I was safe."

"And I'll be safe," Carol assured him. "It's no different for me to go to the grocery store than it is for you to go and get all that."

"It's a big damn difference," Daryl said. "Besides—ain't you said you got to work? That's important. Right now, that's what's keepin' the lights on."

Carol laughed to herself.

"We've got plenty in savings, and my job is safe for now. I've done what I can until I get a response from Michonne," Carol said. "And she's busy with the girls and something they've got to do for school."

"Then it's better you stay here waitin' on that response than go galavantin' off to get the fuckin' plague from the grocery store," Daryl said. "Listen—you want fruit? There's some berry bushes out there in the woods. I'll get you what I can. I can forage enough to get you some greens and mushrooms. Decent nuts."

Carol sat back in her chair.

"There are things I need that you can't just go and forage for in the woods, Daryl. And I'd like to go and get those things while I still can. In case things get worse or something. I don't see why this is so much more dangerous than the errands you've been running," Carol said. "What's the difference? Just—tell me what the difference is and I'll…I'll consider eating squirrels, biscuits, and dandelions until…whatever. Until the plague passes. But why is it so different when it's something I suggest?"

"Ain't that you suggested it," Daryl said. "It's that you hell bent and determined to go!"

Carol shrugged her shoulders. They had talked about having children. It was one of their short-term goals, really, and they'd joked that the isolation was going to be perfect for pushing that plan right along. They were spending a good bit of their free time, after all, entertaining each other. They both hoped that the extra attention would result in another mouth to feed with the food from their garden.

Dealing with Daryl, Carol thought, was sometimes perfect training for dealing with any future children they might have.

"What's that supposed to mean, Daryl?" Carol asked.

Daryl pouted—there was really no other word to better describe what he was doing—but he didn't leave the table, so neither did Carol. She gave him time to deal with his feelings and find his words.

"I don't want you to get sick," Daryl said. "I don't want you to get the plague and…" He shrugged his shoulders. It was a shrug that Carol understood. Daryl had very suddenly, and very tragically, lost his mother when he was a child. Although he'd not had a great relationship with his father, he'd lost him somewhat tragically years later. Daryl couldn't bring himself to even say the words that suggested he might lose Carol.

Her gut tightened with understanding.

"I'll wear a mask," Carol offered. "And I'll go straight in and get the stuff on my list and I'll come right back out. I won't talk to anyone."

"I love you. I'm supposed to take care of you and provide for you," Daryl said.

"I love you. And you do take care of me and provide for me. All the time," Carol said.

"I'd rather—you didn't go, Carol," Daryl said. "If you give me the list—I'll get what'cha want. All of it."

Carol reached her hand across the table and caught Daryl's hand. He turned his hand, letting her fingers settle comfortably into his.

"I don't want to lose you, either, you know," Carol offered. "What would I do without you? I love you, too, you know. Every bit—every bit as much as you love me."

Daryl frowned at her. She could feel it in her chest. She already knew she'd lost. She accepted it, even before she let him know that he'd won.

"Please?" He asked, sealing the deal.

Carol sighed.

"Asshole," she muttered, not missing the quick flicker of a smile on his lips that he immediately whisked away. She didn't try to hide her own quiet laughter. She got up, tearing the list free from the pad where she'd been carefully constructing it for the whole morning. Daryl's smile fully appeared—because he was so damned pleased with himself—as his fingers caught the paper that she offered out to him. She raised her eyebrows at him in mock warning. "If you skip anything on my list—or you don't follow it exactly? I get to go next time."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yes ma'am," he said, turning the list over and reading it carefully. "Carol? Uh—what's this?"

He pointed to the paper and Carol smiled to herself as she read it.

"You can read," Carol said. "You're a smart man, Daryl Dixon. You know what it is."

"You mean to put it on there?" He asked.

"I don't accidentally write things on the shopping list," Carol offered. "Is there a problem?"

"No," Daryl assured her. "No problem at all." He snubbed out his cigarette and reached for his keys on the bar, still eyeing the list. "I'ma go—get this now." Carol stood up and kissed him. As before, he made the kiss count, and she relaxed into it, letting it last longer than it really had to.

"You call me if you need me," Carol said. Daryl hummed. "You're sure you don't want me to go?"

"I got it," Daryl said. "Just—one more thing…where the hell do I find that, exactly?" He shook his head at her. "Ain't like—I mean…I ain't never bought one before."

"They're in the pharmacy section, Daryl," Carol said. "And get a couple, OK? Sometimes they're not completely accurate."

Daryl nodded his head a little more vigorously than he normally would have, and Carol smiled to herself. She followed him out the door and watched him as he walked toward his truck.

"Daryl!" She called out. He stopped and looked back at her, waiting for further instruction. She smiled to herself. "Be careful?"

"Even more so, now," he promised, opening the truck door and sliding in. "Get back in the house, woman, an' stay away from the plague!" He yelled, before closing the door.