Number two ~ Feelings.

Daryl Dixon did not have emotions like that. He refused. He wasn't going to be some baby pussy that had butterflies in his stomach when some whiny woman that cried to much looked at him. He refused to accept the nerves lurching in his body, the way he could feel the sweet form at his brow, they way he couldn't look at her. Just no.

The feelings didn't come until the one uneventful morning at camp. Carol had made beans for the camp at breakfast and Daryl hadn't said please when he demanded her for seconds. Now he sat Indian style in his tent, his wet cloth running up and down the arrows for his crossbow, his eyes inspecting his arrow for any marks or ticks that could effect it's performance when he went out to hunt later. Merle and some of the others had left into town and Daryl was bored as fuck; a good hunt had always occupied his time. He was loading his arrows into the crossbow when she was there all of sudden. Of course he noticed, no matter how meek she was; but he barley look up. She looked down at him with a suppressed look on her face, and a laundry basket stuck to her hip.

Before she could ask him, Daryl gestured over to the pile of his favorite pair of jeans and a few of his ripped flannel shirts in the corner of his tent. Carol took it has an invitation to stumble into the small tent, and Daryl continued to pretend to polish his crossbow because he wanted it to seem like he didn't give a shit about Carol. She squatted down in front of the laundry. Scanning the ground in dirt stains that she could never seem to get out. She pursed her lips when she noticed that the cuffs of his jeans were drenched red with blood, and it made her wonder what he could possibly do when he left camp. She quickly dropped them in her basket and got up to exit when the mesh material of the tent had twisted and Carol couldn't keep her balance, she let out a surprised yelp as she stumbled right on top of Daryl.

Shit. They came like a head on collision, like he had just ran into a brick wall. She shut her eyes when they made contact, their legs intertwining, Carol's body warm against him all of a sudden, her hands clenching onto his wrists as if she was holding on for dear life. She dropped her head next to his. The feelings hit for the first time when he could barley feel the softness of her freckled cheek against his rough one.

If felt as if a lifetime had passed before she scrambled off of him, and they both looked at each other with red cheeks. Of course that wasn't anything new for Carol, but Daryl didn't blush. "I'm so sorry!" She mumbled as she quickly reached around Daryl to pick up the clothes that had gone haywire when she had fallen.

Daryl had to blink a few times before he could regain his composure. "What the fuck?" He said to her, sounding just like the Daryl that everyone knew. He stood up fast with his crossbow in his hands, and she looked up at him with her deer eyes, tears already forming in the corners. "Why don't'cha watch where you going next time?" He walked out before he could her that soft voice apologize more.

Daryl had already shot 7 squirrels and started to track a deer before he started to think about it, and he hated it more than anything.

He realized that he was thinking about the way her body felt against his.