Hello! I'm back to finish! Enjoy! xo

Chapter 4: Smooth.

In his head, Daryl has this whole thing mapped out. He walks up to Carol, grabs her by the arms, and kisses her. He mumbles something sweet and sentimental, about how she's changed him for the better, how she's the best thing in this wasteland. In his head, it's smooth and perfect and she reciprocates.

In reality, Daryl is standing in the watchtower, just looking for a moment of peace, when he hears her climbing up the stairs, leading to – to him. Before she reaches the top, he grabs hold of his crossbow, which at this stage feels like a third arm. He goes nowhere without it. A washcloth is pulled from his back pocket, and he's scrubbing the bow furiously, without meaning or reason, just as a distraction for his hands and his head. This is as smooth as he gets and it's a complete and utter farce.

"What're you doin' up here?" she asks in that quiet, soft tone she's notorious for using, even at her angriest.

He grunts and shrugs in response.

In his head, he walks up to her and-

"They're talking about leavin'," there's a palpable pause while she searches him for some sign of truth or denial; she sighs when she realizes it's not just talk. Finally, she offers, "I've only just come back," in a laughing tone, as if this is some kind of joke, but nothing has ever felt so serious. There's nothing funny about the way she thought she was dying and the ginger way he carried her back.

He offers her a small smile, unsure what to say. What to do. Is there a wrong answer here?

Another silence.

"I'll be back," he tells her finally. Although, it comes with more caveats than it might have once. He's not going out to get milk or eggs or dinner. He's not going out in Merle's beat up Chevy to the local watering hole. He's not – he's not doing anything as simple. He doesn't remember what that feels like, to go outside and not feel that sensation in his gut, like he might never return. People have always been killing people, but it's different. The world is fucked. He realizes he's staring at her and sighs, looking away.

-walks up to her, grabs her by the arms-

There's a chorus of moans below them. It's loud and permeating. A constant reminder for the life they live, the personification of hopelessness. You either live or become that. One of them. It happened to her daughter. It happened to his daddy. It happened to Merle. He shakes his head, trying to physically expel this from his head. The knowledge that this is all so hopeless.

"What are you thinking about?" Carol asks suddenly, breaking his train of thought. He hadn't noticed she'd moved: while she cowered in the doorway when she walked in, she stands now, leaned over the handrails surrounding the windows. The sun paints her in a symphony of color, reds and oranges; she seems out of place here.

Looking at her, he realizes how ridiculous it is.

Nothing is completely hopeless.

His lips purse, a visible sign of hesitation, before he says, "My brother."

She nods, giving him an understanding face, before looking back outside. "I think about my Sophia all of the time," she commiserates, "It's hard to know that this is life now," with this, she gestures broadly outside the window. He nods this time, hoping his face doesn't give away how ironic he finds it that she's always vocalizing what he's thinking.

-grabs her by the arms, and kisses her.

He wants to. He wants to do it so badly, just hold on to her for dear life and kiss her because it might be the last chance he ever has to. The last moment he gets before he succumbs to reality. The Walkers echo in his and Carol's silence. He sighs and starts biting the skin around his thumb. She watches him quietly, says nothing. He knows without looking, he can actually feel her eyes on him.

In his head it's: don't be such a goddamn pussy about it, brother. He can hear Merle's voice, gravelly, coarse as sand, reverberating against his eardrums. He realizes his palms are sweating and he rests his crossbow on the ground, for fear of dropping it. She sighs and it's the loudest noise in the room.

"What?" he asks, feeling awkward. I'm not fucking good at this shit, please.

She doesn't look at him and her eyes squint, not against the sun, but because she's thinking. "Sometimes, I wonder what we all had to do to deserve this." And before he can inquire as to what, she's elaborating, "What makes the world all of a sudden turn on its head? Why did all of this happen?"

He's never heard her speak this way before and he's afraid if he interjects (although, what he would say, he doesn't in this moment know), but he's afraid if he interrupts her, she'll stop, and in this moment, he loves the sound of her voice, even if he feels little and stupid in light of what she's saying.

"I just don't understand. I don't understand any of it," she's now glaring at the hoard surrounding the prison gate.

"None of us do," he responds, although it feels lame in comparison to what she's just articulated. It doesn't hold the same weight. "It ain't all bad, though."

She smiles at him and sighs. "Come back soon, okay?" she says, but he doesn't have the time to answer before she's on her tiptoes, kissing his cheek, and then retreating.

In his head, he has this all mapped out: he walks after her and kisses her, holds onto her for dear life because what else is there in this wasteland, in this world comprised of death and destruction? There's her and she's the most important thing he's ever cared for. Quietly, he thinks she's more important to him than Merle ever was. Out of pride, he'd never admit it. While she walks away he mumbles, "yeah," a clipped version of his usual snide remarks, the closest thing to a promise he'll ever say aloud.

She waits until she's outside of the watchtower, leaning against the hot metal, before she starts crying. They leave and she doesn't sleep. She and Judith pace the night away, a sort of dance they've fallen involuntarily into.

She's ecstatic when she sees the car come back.

And she's broken completely in half when she realizes: he's not with them.