Hi there, guys!

So, here I am with my very first Caryl fic, which has been inspired by the AU meme that many of us have seen already, I'm sure. If you have not, here is a link post/34953986610/au-meme-the-walking-dead-carol-daryl-are . It's quite lovely, and I think you should all love it.

I know I have another story going, and for those reading The Parting Glass, I will continue it. This plot bunny just demanded to be written. I hope it's enjoyable. Feedback is greatly appreciated too :D

-Gabby

A hand came across her face, hard. There was going to be a bruise, and she knew it. No impact like that would lack a mark afterwards. "This is your fault, you bitch!" The burly man before her was drunk. Her husband. Before he could get her while she was down, she shakily rose to her feet to continue with the task at hand. "If you didn't fuckin' hafta call the cops, I'd still have my goddamn job. Now, what the fuck are we gonna do?" Over the years, she learned that, sometimes, it was better not to give a response at all, so she simply continued to put neatly folded clothes into the suitcase before her. "You were just gettin' what you deserved, you dumb whore."

That was it, the last straw. "Edward, I was nothing but faithful to you, and you accusing me of being anything besides that is... insane and downright stupid." Something about her response took him aback. This was not the woman he had molded. She never talked back or defended herself. The shock was evident on his face, so she took it as a moment to pounce. "You don't hear me calling you a man-whore, do you? Let me tell you that would be much more accurate."

"How 'bout your friend then, huh? You tellin' me you're not sleepin' with him 'cause I think that's a load of bullshit." He wasn't far off base there; she couldn't say she didn't think about being with the man, who had helped her out of this awful rut. Unlike Ed, however, she was a faithful spouse, no matter how awful the other was.

Turning from the suitcase on their bed to the dresser, she sighed heavily. "He was one of the guys working on the construction of the new addition to the hospital. We hit it off in the cafeteria one day. We're friends." Her eyes lingered on the red oak jewelry box in the center of their dresser. Half of it had to be filled with necklaces and bracelets from their early days. Whenever he would smack her around, the next day he would come home with some sort of jewel for her to keep her around. "Somewhere in that sick brain of yours you're just a scared little boy, and-" His hand rose above her. "Will it make you feel bigger if you hit me again, Ed? Better? Stronger?" For a moment, she saw the old Ed, her Ed, as he lowered his fist slightly, a momentary flash of regret crossing his face.

She had long ago learned to stop trusting those moments where the old Ed came back, but it didn't stop the tears any less. "Carol, why're you cryin'?" When she didn't answer, he grabbed her arm. "Carol, what're you doin'?" Once again, she chose not to answer him, but tore her arm from him and grabbed the entire jewelry box, not wishing to sort through it. "You leavin'?"

There it was: the question she was hoping to avoid. "Yes, Sophia and I are leaving tonight, Ed." The expression that then came across his face was unreadable, which meant her Ed was gone and her time was limited. "I'm sorry it has to be this way. I can't-" The tears were back. They weren't holding back this time, streaming down her freckled cheeks. "Goodbye, Ed."

The bag was heavy in her hands, but she pulled with all her might, knowing another bag awaited her in the hall. Everything she did from here on out had to be quick, calculated even, as her drunken husband processed the information. Thankfully, her second bag had wheels, though it was twice the size of the one on her shoulder. Never had she been more grateful for having a one story house. "Sophia, get in the car," she called down the seemingly never ending hallway.

"Oh no you fuckin' don't!"

She awoke in a cold sweat. Just another dream, she told herself. It had been four years already since then. She and Ed divorced, although she was under the assumption that he signed the papers when he was drunk, and this house was where she had been living. The size was a little snug for the three of them, but it was home, nonetheless. Sophia had been so excited that there were two floors in the house. How could there have been any other option for a home? There were just two bedrooms, one for them and another for Sophia. Just outside of them was decently wide a staircase, which led down to the small foyer. Next to the white door, they had a coat rack and shoe cubbies for each of their pairs of shoes. Down the hardwood hallway, the little kitchen, a flashback to the seventies, and if it were up to her, she would have wanted something a little larger with a bit more counter space. Next was the dining room, which was not more than a circular table with three chairs around it. Between the two rooms, there was a closet, where the washer and dryer were located. She was thankful to have them, though she did miss her Maytag. The lower level room closest to the front of the house was the den. Stuffed with a love seat in one corner, a full length couch on the front wall right below the large window in the room, and a fireplace on the wall adjacent, it was a cozy place where they spent a lot of their time together.

Once her heart stopped pounding in her chest, she began to remove herself from the damp bed sheets that twisted around her body during her nightmare. The whine of the pipes running water through them alerted her that he was showering. Her feet dragged along the burgundy carpet, the moaning of the machine that helped her daughter breath at night joining the pipes. The light from under the bathroom door nearly burnt her eyes, but she pressed on as she twisted the golden knob and pushed the door open to be greeted with a wall of steam. When the door clicked closed behind her, she saw his soapy face poke out from behind the shower curtain. "Why're you up so early?" he grumbled, sleep still coating his voice. "Y'should be sleepin'."

Without giving him an answer, she scooted across the tiled floor until she reached the toilet. There, she perched herself upon the lid, bringing her knees to her chest. "Had that dream again." She rested her forehead between her knee caps. "I know I should stop letting it bother me, but it just keeps happening. I can't shake it." Salty tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and suddenly, she wished she was the one in the shower, where it was difficult to tell tears from the water pelting against her skin. "I mean, I know he's long gone, but it's like he's always gonna be here with me." Her words trailed off into incoherent, tearful babble.

Again, his face appeared from behind the curtain, now freshly rinsed. "Carol." She couldn't look up at him, not with those tears in her eyes. "Why doncha' come on in here?" Her shoulders quaked as the silent sobs threatened to escape her lungs. "C'mon, it'll help loosen up them tensed up muscles." Slowly, she lowered her limbs down from her seat upon the toilet, hearing the cracks of her tired joints. She eased her loose-fitting clothes she wore to bed off of her slender frame, dropping each item onto the tiles one-by-one, starting with his worn sweatshirt, then her old t-shirt from a church function years ago, and so on until she was left with nothing but her golden cross, small and dainty around her neck. "C'mon."

After slipping in through the front of the shower, she stood to face him, but stared down at her feet. "Turn around. Lemme get at your shoulders." There was a hesitation at first. He'd seen them all before, her scars, the burns. Every time, though, it felt like the first time he would have ever seen them. Once she did turn, his hands went to the base of her neck and rolled his thumb where her right shoulder met her neck. Pain surged from the area. She wanted to wince away, but he held her there. The bile was rising in her throat, and the pain was getting worse. Stars and spots appeared in front of her eyes, making the shower disappear in front of her.

As soon as it began, it was gone. Relief flooded her, but just in that area. The rest of her back ached for the same treatment. Much to her back's chagrin, his wet arm wrapped around her shoulders lightly, water cascading over them. "Y'know I ain't so good with this kinda shit." She felt his muscles tense up. "But you don't need to be afraid of him ever again. Hell, think he's afraid of steppin' near ya' again after I beat him to a pulp. Probably would've killed him, too."

"Daryl," she whispered, leaning her head against his arm. "Don't talk. J-just... please just-" Without another word, he snaked his free arm around her waist, and the water took them, took them away to somewhere their problems didn't exist even if it was only for a moment.