Carol crouched by the fire and wrapped a rag around the handle of the old aluminum coffee pot, pulling it out and setting it on a flat stone to let the grounds settle. There were few enough comforts out on the road, and this was one she aimed to keep in her life, as long and as often as they could find a supply of coffee. She wasn't yet reduced to smashing whole beans between two rocks, but she had already resolved that if that's what it took, she'd do it.

That first pot of the morning was always Carol's to share out. It was the one thing she did that she had to admit was probably ungenerous, even selfish, but she did the work, and she spread the wealth as she saw fit. The day's second pot was up for grabs, assuming someone put in the effort to make it. She no longer felt like she always needed to be the one to step in and see that such things got done.

A bleary-eyed Maggie staggered out of the tent she shared with Beth, Sasha, and Bob, and wandered closer to the fire, holding out her mug. "Help me, Angel Carol, you're my only hope." Carol smiled at the joke - a weak one, but the mere fact that anyone felt like joking was an improvement. The six of them had been reunited for just over a week, and she knew Maggie in particular was struggling. Her red-rimmed eyes and the dark circles beneath them spoke to how little the young woman had been sleeping.

She moved over to share her fireside log with Maggie, and filled her mug with the thick, murky "cowboy coffee" they'd learned to brew during the first time they'd been on the run, before the prison. Strong and black, with nothing to knock back its bitterness, it did the trick after a long night interrupted by watch shifts, or spent simply staring into the dark, waiting for elusive sleep.

"I don't think I've said, Carol, but I'm grateful to have you with us." Maggie's face, normally so vibrant, was pale and pensive. Not only had she been forced to watch as her father was brutally murdered, but the prison bus, with Glenn on board, hadn't shown up at the first bug-out point as planned, and it was anyone's guess what had happened to its passengers. Carol's heart ached for the girl, knowing that question might never be answered. On top of those losses, Maggie had her younger sister to contend with; Beth had been virtually silent since her father's death, and Carol had her doubts about whether the girl would ever come back from the trauma.

Maggie leaned over to rest her head affectionately on Carol's shoulder. "Did you know, Daddy used to say you were the strongest one of all of us? He told me, 'There are hidden depths to that woman, Maggie; you'd do well to learn from her example.'" Her spot-on impression of Hershel's tone of voice nearly brought Carol to tears. "He really admired you. I'm afraid I didn't listen to him like I should: always so caught up in Glenn, I suppose. I should have paid more attention to what was goin' on, the way you always do. Maybe I would have been able to do somethin' before Rick…"

"Don't, Maggie," Carol said firmly. "It's my own fault I got pushed out. I'd thought after all that time I'd gotten past feeling like I had no one to rely on but myself, but when it came down to it, I went right back to acting like I had to go it alone. Poor Daryl was so pissed at me when he found me, I thought for a day or so he wasn't ever going to speak to me again."

"But he did." A soft smile lit Maggie's face for just a moment. "It makes me so happy to watch the two of you together. Takes my mind off of missin' Glenn, and how bad I feel."

Carol bowed her head, not wanting to add to that misery by flaunting her joy, but she couldn't help the light that she knew came into her eyes when her thoughts turned to Daryl.

As if the power of suggestion summoned him, she heard the zipper on their tent, and turned to get a glimpse of Daryl's shaggy head as he emerged into the sunlight.

"Shouldn'ta let me sleep so long," he grumbled. "Got no one out here to keep watch for trouble."

"The sun's well up, Daryl, and there are four perfectly good eyes between the two of us," Carol said, bristling a little at the implication they couldn't look out for themselves. "Despite what you may think of your skills, our four trump your two any day of the week."

"And twice on Sundays," Maggie put in, a little of her former sass in her voice.

He gave the two of them a sour look and disappeared toward the nearby line of trees that served as their latrine.

"Ain't he just a ray of sunshine," Maggie said, watching him go.

Carol nodded ruefully. "He's short on sleep, like the rest of us. Not that he could ever really be considered Mister Sweetness-and-Light, even on his best days."

"So much better than he used to be, though. Back before we left home, I never could understand what you saw in him." Carol's eyes widened in surprise. "Home" to Maggie meant the farm, and even Carol herself hadn't been clear on her feelings about Daryl that far back. "He was so prickly all the time, kinda dangerous even, and you never showed any fear of him, just made him sit down and eat, and told him off when he was bein' an ass - it was a wonder to see. You know, you're the only reason he's still here with us today. I mean, besides the two of you bein'... whatever, now." Maggie made a little gesture of uncertainty, and Carol laughed softly, having no better way to describe it herself. "If you hadn't made him feel like he was a part of something, I think he would have left us. He only stayed for you."

Perhaps he had, even then, Carol thought. And perhaps if he hadn't stayed, she never would have made it this far herself. She busied her hands with the coffee pot again, adding to what was left in her cup in order to warm it up for Daryl. Whatever confluence of events and circumstances had drawn them together all that time ago - what seemed like a lifetime, but had to be fewer than eighteen months - their recent separation had been the catalyst that finally broke down the walls that had remained between them, and she counted herself lucky.

Eight days earlier -

Carol gently closed the door of the station wagon and crossed the concrete apron in front of the garage, headed for the side entrance. Fortunately the run she'd just taken to check out a nearby gas station had been brief; otherwise the waste of fuel on another fruitless trip would have irritated her to no end. As it was, it only added to her growing sense of dread. The few supplies Rick had left her with were quickly dwindling, and she was going to be forced to strike out beyond the radius that had until now allowed her to keep coming back to this little bolthole she'd set up a day or so after he had exiled her. She'd intentionally kept fairly close to her starting point for the time being, believing that if anyone came looking for her, they had a better chance of success if she didn't get too far away. That hope had faded as the days passed, and by now she'd reached the conclusion that, whatever her future was going to be, she was going to have to go it alone.

The sound of an approaching engine startled her into motion, and she dove for the far side of the car, realizing that she probably couldn't get into the breezeway without being seen. With any luck, the oncoming vehicle hadn't spotted her, and her momentary inattention hadn't compromised her carefully-held safety.

As the noise got closer, she realized it was the throaty rumble of a motorcycle, and she strained to catch the subtleties of the engine's rhythm, suddenly hoping it would resolve into the familiar roar of Daryl's Triumph.

She sank back against the side of the car and breathed a sigh of combined disappointment and relief as the motorcycle passed the entrance to the cul de sac, and the sound faded. Not him, and no matter what Rick had said about her finding a new group to join, she wasn't ready to risk meeting up with another pack of vultures like the Governor and his henchmen.

Before she could rise from the concrete, the bike returned, blasting up the street and halting only a few car lengths away. When the engine shut off, she crawled as noiselessly as she could to crouch with her back against the front bumper of the wagon, freeing her gun from her belt and praying she wouldn't have to use it. She had little enough ammunition, and wasting one or more bullets to kill a human predator and risk attracting a pack of walkers was the last thing she wanted to be forced into.

The scuff of boots on the drive made her heart leap into her throat, and she flipped the safety off, holding the gun down by her side, keeping out of sight. Breathing shallowly, she eased up onto one knee, peeking over the edge of the hood and sighting through the windshield as a man came into view. Her gun dropped to the concrete with a metallic scrape, and the man ducked low and swept his crossbow onto his shoulder, the bolt pointed straight at her hiding place.

"Don't shoot, Daryl," she called softly, "it's only me."