Ain't Like That

"How can we help you friend?"

"I'm lookin' for someone."

"Who isn't? We're all a little lost these days, m'I right?" the tall man chuckled.

"A woman…about yea high." Daryl held his right hand out parallel to the ground, at about shoulder height. "Short silver hair, big blue eyes—smart, knows healin'—good cook…" At the man's skeptical look Daryl paused and thought of the woman for whom he'd been searching. How else would someone describe Carol? "Little bit of a thing, but strong...and…and…real pretty…" he added, slightly embarrassed.

"I can see why you're lookin' for her—wife run out on ya?" the man said with a raised eyebrow and a hint of concern or suspicion. At Daryl's dead pan gaze the guardian at the gate tried again.

"Girlfriend? Sister? Mother?"

Daryl frowned. He wasn't sure how to define what Carol was to him. He just knew he had to find her and had spent the last nine months traveling from town to town, stopping at every settlement he came across, getting shot at or screamed at or wept on for his trouble.

"One of my group—got left behind."

"Group?" the bearded man looked behind Daryl and raised his rifle protectively.

"It's just me now—I wasn't the one who left her." Daryl told him darkly, feeling no need to explain himself further. Rick had given him an ultimatum. Go after Carol and he shared her fate, exile.

"So if we had someone here answerin' to that intriguing description she'd want to see you?" the sentry asked. Daryl tried not to show his impatience. He'd heard this sort of question before, three other times, while on his search. He'd met a Caroline, a perfectly pleasant seventy year old blue haired grandmother, a Cheryl, a white blond punk rock teenager and a Corona, a salt of the earth, down right hippie chick who'd read his aura and told him he'd find the one he'd 'saved from sorrow.' That was when he'd stopped asking for her by name, realizing that she'd probably changed it, distancing herself from the person she'd been.

"I think so." Daryl said plainly. "Guess you'll have to ask her that."

"And whom shall I say is calling?" the guard asked formally, slipping into a fake British accent, winking at him. Daryl snorted and rolled his eyes at the man. He held up his hands and pointed to his vest, indicating he was going to reach inside for something. The other man pointed his gun at Daryl, but nodded that he could go ahead.

"Just give her this." Daryl said, and pulled a dried and slightly browned white flower from his vest pocket and handed it to the man. The guard put down his gun and looked intrigued, taking the Cherokee Rose from the newcomer, wondering at the seemingly romantic gesture from so rough looking a man. The scruffy beard, the long dark hair falling in his eyes, the crossbow, the large knife, the pistol, the big chopper bike, the leather sleeved coat and vest, and the ragged Clint Eastwood poncho had not done him any favors in his approach to the gate. The younger sentry's opinion was that they should just shoot him and be done with it, but Abraham had been impressed by how patiently the man had waited, three days, just out of range, quickly, efficiently and silently killing any geeks that wandered by him, before he had approached, leaving all of his visible weapons, except the knife at his belt, back with the motorcycle.

"A'right." Abraham said, nodding, and after a few beats he kicked the gate behind him three times with the back of his boot. A small peephole about 2/3 of the way up the door slid open.

"Hey Sam, tell Lori there's someone at the gate she might know—give her this." And the sentry handed through the flower.

Daryl's heart jumped a little. That was a name she would choose; another woman their erstwhile leader had loved, but shut out when he didn't like her decisions, her judgments differing from his. In the end Rick had regretted his choice, losing the chance to alter it forever when his wife had died giving birth to their daughter. This time his choice had cost him not only Carol, but Daryl as well.

He'd stayed long enough to make sure there were enough healthy people to keep the prison community going, and then had been forced to remain longer still when the Governor had reappeared casting his malignant shadow on them all. It had been harrowing, but after four months they had put him down, Daryl's own bolt through the monster's remaining eye followed swiftly by Michonne's katana cutting him in half.

Rick had argued, berated, cajoled, and tried to threaten him into staying, but in the end it came down to a question of loyalty. To whom did Daryl owe the most?

"Just remember. I liked you first." Carol had teased that last morning before it all went to shit at the prison. It was a throwaway line, meant to tweak him because of all of the admiration and respect he'd gotten as he strode through the outdoor breakfast area, but it was a basic truth about him and her. When everyone else, including Rick, had dismissed him as an untrustworthy redneck hothead, Carol had believed in him, trusted him to find Sophia, told him he was every bit as good as the lawmen who ruled the roost and called the shots.

He'd been on the road ever since. It'd been thirteen months since Rick's summary judgment had left Carol alone with a few supplies and an old car.

It seemed to take forever for the man called Sam to return and Daryl absently played with the irregular shaped light green stone in his pocket, a rough chunk of jasper he'd found in the road on his last run before leaving the prison. They'd gotten the meds that would save Glenn, Sasha and the others who had been exposed later, during the rescue after the walker attack, but too late to save those who'd lived in D block, as Karen and David had. Every one of the people who'd been exposed to the illness at the same time as the two Carol had ended was now dead from either the illness or from being bitten by those who were. By every indication she had merely ended their suffering before it had progressed to the stage at which they would've drowned in their own blood. But still Rick wouldn't give. He wouldn't admit that while she'd acted prematurely without consulting others, the end result would've been the same. Karen and David had been doomed from the minute they started coughing.

Daryl heard the sound of chains being rattled and the creak of hinges. The big door in front of him and behind the sentry swung back, opening.

"Raise your arms and turn around." The large Hispanic man called Sam, who had opened the door, barked at Daryl. Sighing impatiently he did as he was bidden. He felt himself being patted down; his buck knife and the pistol he had shoved in the back of his pants waist were unceremoniously taken from him. The green stone was taken when they turned out his pockets, but then returned with a grunt.

"A'right, Angel, you can come with me—Abraham will get your bike and gear." Sam said and nodded at him.

"Angel?" Abraham asked curiously.

"She said to check for his wings." Sam responded dryly and Abraham snorted out a laugh, slapping Daryl on the back, right on the cloth feathers that graced the back of his leather vest. Daryl's heart contracted painfully, his head felt light. He turned and peered behind his new escort, looking for Carol's face, but she was not amongst the crowd of curious onlookers.

"Guess you know the Doc after all!" Abe said cheerfully and motioned two younger men over to take over guard duty and to help him get Daryl's things, respectively. "Tell her I need some more willow bark tea—arthritis is paining me somthin' awful this mornin'" he called out after them as Daryl followed the big man into the camp's interior.

The wooden stockade constructed from the sturdy lob-lolly pines was set up in much the same way as a frontier fort or an early medieval castle, complete with a dry moat filled with sharpened poles and a small scale draw-bridged entrance. The interior was filled with sturdy looking military or FEMA tents and some half-finished log cabins, even a few teepees. They were all organized around an open central courtyard which the two men now crossed, heading for a large tent marked with a Red Cross symbol.

"So how do you know Doc Dixon?" Sam asked conversationally, and Daryl's feet suddenly forgot how to lift and fall in synch with one another and he stumbled against the other man who caught him and set him right.

"Dixon?" Daryl choked out.

"You're at Fort Dixon, brother, didn't you know? Named after the founder herself, Lori Dixon. She's been gatherin' folks together here, better part of a year now, got us organized, walls built—you just missed the big shindig a week ago to celebrate the laying of the last log." He said proudly, sweeping his arm out to encompass the fort precincts. He greeted the people he passed, who nodded and either stared at or ignored Daryl.

"She told us she ain't a real doctor with no degree, but she knows a lot and keeps studying all the books we bring back—saved a lot of lives." Sam said, "That why you're lookin' for her—missing yer medic and want her back?" he asked with a definite message that they wouldn't be too happy if that were the case.

"That's not why I'm missing her." Daryl said quietly.

Sam stopped and turned to face Daryl, put his hand on the shorter man's shoulder, halting him and looked at him assessingly.

"Never got yer name, mister."

"Daryl. Daryl Dixon." Daryl said, narrowing his eyes into a level stare. Sam's mouth came open and his hand fell away from Daryl's shoulder. Daryl pointed at the knife that had been taken from him that the other man carried. Sam lifted it and saw that "D. DIXON" was indeed carved into the bone handle.

"Well, I'll be." Sam drawled, "That explains a lot." Daryl frowned at him. "Mighty fine woman—lotsa guys interested in gettin' to know her better, if 'n you know what I mean." Daryl's frown deepened, "more'n a few women too," and Sam's eyebrows waggled suggestively, and Daryl crossed his arms in front of him, his scowl now one that could easily intimidate a walker, while Sam continued. "But she always says no. Real nice about it, lets 'em down easy, but—"

"Ain't like that." Daryl bit out and started walking towards the med tent, leaving the other man behind. While he was still about fifteen feet away, the doorway was pushed open from the inside and a young woman carrying a small baby came through, followed by the woman for whom he had been searching so long. She was smiling, saying something to the girl when her head went up, as if sensing his presence, and they locked eyes, blue on blue. She bit her lip and closed her hands into fists, one crushing white petals, visibly battling herself to stand her ground, but he had no such problem and started walking more quickly towards her until finally he was running, dodging the startled people in between them.

Carol's hand went to her mouth and she started crying and then she was running as well, meeting him halfway in an embrace that lifted her off her feet, her arms going around his neck, his around her shoulders, holding her tightly to him.

"Ain't like that." Sam snorted derisively.

Thanks for reading. This one forced itself out of me late last night instead of the chapter for "Bittersweet" I was trying to work on, LOL! I'm not sure if there is any more of it in there yet...we'll see!