Daryl paced the length of the cell block, heading back to the perch and the thin mattress that had become his bed. He was glad to be back inside, to be in the quiet of the slumbering cell block and out of the coming rain. Shrugging the bow and shotgun off his shoulder, he tried to keep his footfalls quiet so that he wouldn't disturb those sleeping in the rooms that he passed. Cell blocks weren't built with privacy or comfort in mind and every little sound echoed at night; there was only so much that a blanket hung from the bars could do to muffle the sound.

At the first flash of lightning, he shook his head, smirked, and raised a hand to subconsciously touch the long healed wound in his upper chest. He'd known all day that there was a storm building- the old ache in his shoulder never lied - he was as reliable as a meteorologist even if he did keep the information to himself most of the time. It was going to be a big one too, he could tell by the sickly green hue of the sky as darkness fell. Given the brightness of the flash and the thunderous boom that followed they were right in the centre of it. Too bad. Barring an emergency he was officially off duty: the rain and anything that came with it was Rick's problem now. He was headed for bed and his usual three to four hours of broken sleep.

Out of habit he took a turn past the cell that Carol had once shared with Lori, intending just to reassure himself that she was okay as he passed by. Since the sheriff's wife had died a few weeks earlier, it had become his routine to keep an extra close eye on her former room mate. While he didn't really understand his apparent need to look in on her he no longer fought it, accepting that over the last year they had grown closer than he remembered being to anyone - including his brother - and that friends looked out for each other.

A soft sound escaped from her cell door, snapping his attention that way and making him instinctively reach for the buck knife at his waist. He moved between the shadows, poised to attack if need be until he reached the door of her cell. One glance inside was enough to convince him that he didn't need it.

Carol turned restlessly beneath the covers of the narrow bed, small whimpers escaping her as she struggled with the blankets. Dreaming he realised, but not the kind of dreams he would wish for her, Lord knew he'd had enough nightmares in his life to recognise the signs. It irritated him that he couldn't protect her from whatever memories haunted her sleep but he knew that there was a limit to what the human mind could bear and right now, after all the strain of recent months and the pain of recent losses, they were all pushing that limit.

Lightning split the sky, thunder rolling through the old cell block a few seconds later, and Carol jerked, breathing rapidly. The sounds she made were too close to panic, like a fox caught in a snare. He moved without thinking about it, dropping his crossbow and shotgun by the door and stepping into the room. He didn't care if she came up fighting, and that had happened on more than one occasion in the past, it just seemed cruel to leave her suffering, he needed to wake her.

Although several feet still separated them, he could see her eyes, moving frantically beneath her closed lids, and the twitching of her limbs. She was growing more distressed by the second and he knew that before long the screaming would start, leaving her embarrassed and withdrawn when she woke the others and they all came running - they'd been down that road before too.

A single tear escaped to roll over her cheek, illuminated by another flash of lightning as it cut a path over her pale skin, and Daryl felt something tighten inside him. He hated to see this woman's tears, had seen more than enough to last him a lifetime last summer when they had been searching for her daughter. Back then he had been a different man to the man he was now, he had been very much a work in progress and in many ways Sophia Peletier had been the catalyst that had triggered his transformation…

They were the first people that Daryl remembered taking the time to look beyond the initial impression to even try and find something else beneath it. Sophia and her mother had made him a better man simply because they believed it was within him to be one.

"Carol," he whispered as he crouched by her bunk, hoping that words might be enough to soothe her. Sometimes the sound of his voice was enough to pull her back to reality. Sometimes it took a lot more to rouse her from the horrors in her head, hell he understood that, he'd been living with his own horrors his whole damn life. "Carol …"

He wasn't a man who was comfortable with contact - never had been - but Carol was different, she understood him and that meant that he could touch her and be touched by her without a full scale panic on either end. Gently he laid a palm on her arm. "Wake up for me Darlin'," he tried again.

She woke screaming and flailing within the covers, scooting as far away from him as she could on the mattress before she hit the wall and then curling up into a ball. It hurt him to see her cower from him, even though he understood that it wasn't him that she feared. Not for the first time Daryl wished that he could erase the memories that haunted the woman before him: the loss of her daughter, the memories and scars left by her husband- abusive bastard that he was, the hardship and losses of recent months. He would take it all from her if he could, carry them for her if he could.

He wished that he'd been the one to kill Ed Peletier, that he'd had the stones to stand up for her before the walkers had finished him off back in Atlanta. When he'd first realised how domineering the man was, how controlling, he'd seen too many echoes of his own past to tolerate being anywhere near him. The thought of putting one of his crossbow bolts through the man's eye was, and always had been, a sweet one; the man reminded him too much of his own father.

Daryl waited, fighting the urge to go to her until she was more aware of her surroundings. In her panic it was entirely possible that she might take a swing at him, not fully recognising that dream and reality had separated. If she'd woken up and brought the dream with her, then he might well end up with her knife in his arm. A little patience could make the difference to them both.

Wild and terrified, Carol's eyes searched the darkness of the room, trying to make sense of her location and the figure crouched at the side of the bed. Chest heaving, she held up a hand to ward him off. She was trembling. The air between them was a held breath, a building scream.

Daryl reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling his favourite lighter and sparking the flame to give her a better view. Her skin seemed paler than usual in the wavering light of the small flame, tears glistened as they streaked down her face. Her hands shook as she hugged her knees tightly to her chest. His chest ached fiercely in the face of her distress. While he had no idea what that particular reaction meant, he just accepted it, just as he accepted that he would do whatever he could to ease her. He saw the moment that her eyes locked onto his and held his gaze, watched her try to rein in her panic.

Eventually her breathing slowed enough for her to speak. Her voice was soft, choked with emotion, "Daryl?"

"It's me," he replied just as quietly. He treated with the same caution he would give to a wild animal, wary of moving too fast and eliciting a defensive response. He would let her make the first move whenever she was ready.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached out a hand to him and the instant he wrapped his fingers around hers she launched herself into his arms, dissolving into floods of tears. Daryl let the flame die and allowed the darkness to swallow them.

For several long moments, he rocked her gently, holding her to his chest so that her face was buried in the crook of his shoulder, murmuring reassurances that she was safe and that if anything wanted to hurt her it would have to go through him first. "Easy Darlin'," he murmured, "I gotcha, ain't nothing comin' at ya here."

Instinct made him look up to where Glenn stood just beyond the bars, shotgun in hand. Screams in the night tended to rouse an immediate response and someone always came to check that everything was okay. He didn't speak, didn't seem to want to interrupt the moment but he did raise the weapon as if to ask whether it was needed.

In answer to the unspoken enquiry, Daryl shook his head slightly. The young Korean, lowered his weapon in acknowledgement and then inclined his head, asking if there was anything he could do. Again, Daryl shook his head, careful to keep his movement to a minimum and therefore give the crying woman in his arms the belief that her pain had gone largely unnoticed. Glen nodded and gestured to indicate that he was nearby if needed before backing away without comment.

It took a while before she straightened up, already wiping away her own tears. He knew that she was back to herself when she started fussing about the mess she had made of his shirt - like anything he wore was worth getting upset over but then that was the housewife in her. Even his torn up shirts and holey jeans commanded her attention; far as he could see, the woman was an angel. "I'm sorry," she sniffed, "you got way more important things to do than put up with me crying on you."

Daryl lifted her face so that her eyes met his, making sure that she was listening before he spoke. "You go 'head and cry all you want 'ma big boy, I can take it."

She stared at him, dumbstruck. Nobody could accuse him of being the caring sharing type. Daryl hadn't exactly made himself available emotionally to the rest of the group, save those rare incidences when Sophia was missing which had bonded him and Carol in a way neither of them understood. Carol's eyes might have shown surprise but beneath it there was relief too. She didn't want to be alone, not when the memories were so close.

"You gonna be okay if I snag the top bunk and grab some shut eye?" The offer came out of nowhere, surprising even him. She nodded, apparently unable to form a response.

"Go on now, lay down," he urged. "Try to get some rest, we got a big day tomorrow with the supply run and fixing up the fences."

He didn't wait for her to follow the advice he gave, just hauled himself up onto the top bunk and stretched out atop the mattress, listening to the rain drumming on the cell block roof. He'd never slept in any of the cells: he didn't like the idea of sleeping in a cage any more than he'd liked the idea of sleeping out in the forest when he was a kid and his old man was drunk and mean. The sound of Carol shifting on the mattress below was slightly reassuring, as was the sound of her voice when she finally spoke.

"Thank you Daryl," she said softly into the dark.

Daryl rolled onto his side and let one arm dangle over the edge of the bed, reaching down toward her where she lay beneath him. It was strangely intimate and he found himself taking as much comfort from her presence as he gave. Her hand found his almost immediately. "S'all right," he replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "We're family right? It's just what we do."