AN: A love story between Carol and Daryl intertwined with flashbacks from pivotal moments from the show as told from Daryl's point of view. My head canon states that the stories "Apology", "Happy Birthday" and "Decency" currently exist in the same time line. I have at least 3 tangent universes for each pairing though, so this might change. "Decency" kind of straddles the line. This story falls between "Apology" and "Happy Birthday", however.

Usual disclaimers apply.

Enjoy, and please try not to get too confused. Tangent universes are hard to grasp. :3

All the best,

Shazzy

Affection

"Let me do it. He is my husband."

Daryl eyed her suspiciously, not convinced that she had the stomach for what she was proposing to do. Still, he handed over the pickaxe as she asked. He stepped back to let her do the deed, watching callously from a few feet away. He was silently betting himself on how long it would take her, and whether she would go through with it or not.

He'd seen her around camp, they hadn't talked much, but then again, Daryl didn't say much to anyone and he mostly kept to himself. But he'd seen her. And her daughter. He'd seen the piece of trash husband she'd been saddled with for god-knew-how-long.

And he'd seen the bruises.

He'd done nothing about it, though. It wasn't his problem, or so he'd convinced himself. And yet he knew that had he been around instead of Shane, they wouldn't be taking precautions against the son of a bitch getting back up as a walker.

He watched her hold the pickaxe, and waited.

She stood there for a long moment, building herself up. She was sobbing, but whether it was from grief or relief, Daryl wasn't sure.

She repositioned herself once and started to swing but hesitated. This had been her husband for years. She winced but made up her mind.

The sound of the pickaxe against the corpse was not pleasant, and when she pulled it out of the would-be walker's head, the slick squelching noise would have turned a weaker stomach.

Daryl stepped forward to take the pickaxe from her but she swung again.

Daryl hesitated.

She was tiny, thin and petite. Her features were narrow and delicate and her wide, pale blue eyes were pools of agony. Her short grey hair clung to her head from perspiration. She sobbed again as she swung the axe a third time.

She stopped sobbing as she swung a fourth, and a fifth.

Daryl's face wrinkled in disgust and surprise.

She'd made a mess, taking out all her rage and agony on Ed's corpse. She didn't cry anymore, and she didn't turn away from the mess Daryl would have to scoop up with a bucket.

Daryl knew, right then and there, that he was in love.

Life at the farm was boring. The stray walkers that showed up were fewer and farther between. The tension between Herschel and the group had waned in the days following Sophia's death and Shane's meltdown. It didn't excuse them, but at least Herschel was talking to them again.

Daryl spent his days maintaining his distance from the others, making sure that he had enough bolts for his crossbow, and hunting whenever the urge struck him. He'd moved to the opposite side of the farm, setting up his lone tent in the shade of a small tree and the ruins of an old farmhouse. The crumbling chimney and hearth was somehow symbolic to him and he was finally comfortable.

Working on making a pile of sharpened bolts, he couldn't help but smile to himself as he saw Carol approaching. She was carrying something in her arms – laundry, Daryl assumed. He wrinkled his nose, still not entirely sure why she insisted on washing his clothes all the time. Still, he wouldn't complain, it was the only normal thing left in her life.

"Brought your laundry." Carol said with a shy smile as she approached.

Daryl set aside his knife and his stick. He stood to take the bundle of freshly washed clothing from her. "Thanks." He muttered, not able to set aside his rough edges to adequately thank her. He walked towards his tent, meaning to just dump the clean clothes inside and get back to work.

"Lunch will be ready soon." Carol offered. "I could bring you something to eat, if you like?"

Daryl stopped in his tracks. She was offering to wait on him?

"I'll come eat." He assured her with a glance over his shoulder. He was relieved when she smiled again and nodded. He turned to face her, still holding his bundle of clothing. "I was thinkin'..." He started sheepishly.

"Yes?" Carol asked, folding her arms against herself nervously.

Daryl shook his head. "After lunch... uh..."

A smile touched Carol's face. "I'll come hunting with you." She agreed.

Daryl nodded and turned to walk to his tent. He could feel the blush colouring his cheeks.

Sophia was dead. Daryl hadn't found her in time. And now she was a walker.

He'd held Carol, held her back, feeling the tiny stick of a woman breaking down, screaming and sobbing in his arms as they watched in horror as Sophia shuffled forward in the shambling walk of the living dead. He held tight to her, knowing that this was her everything, knowing that if he let her go she would let her daughter take her to her death, and Daryl couldn't let that happen.

He tried to get her to turn away, but she wouldn't. Whether it was intentional, Daryl never asked, but she watched with tears of agony streaking her face as Rick pulled the trigger to put Sophia out of her misery once and for all.

In the silence that followed, Carol's grief was the only thing they could hear. Daryl held her there, in the dirt as she wailed, there wasn't a damn thing he could do.

Daryl had his crossbow slung over his shoulder as they walked through the trees. He hadn't intended to go hunting, he just wanted an excuse to get away from everyone else. The fact that Carol had agreed to come with him was more of a surprise than anything.

Things hadn't been quite right with them for a long time. Daryl didn't know how to react to her and she wasn't quite sure if he cared or not. Walkers and the end of the world had nothing to do with it anymore.

It was beginning to be obvious that they needed each other. Daryl would never admit it out loud, but he was feeling more protective over her lately. Especially when things started to go sour with the rest of the group. He knew that she didn't have the constitution to make it on her own, and yet she proved over and over to be invaluable to the group.

They walked together in a comfortable silence, listening to the trilling of the birds and the constant droning of the crickets and cicadas.

Carol stopped first. Daryl was still looking ahead, but he stopped when he realized that she wasn't falling in step beside him anymore.

"Something wrong?" Daryl asked, reaching for his crossbow.

"No." Carol said lightly. She beckoned him over and she led the way into the underbrush. Daryl followed, curious as to what had caught her eye.

He let out a low whistle as she led him to the treasure she'd spotted. "That's a damn lot of raspberries. You're gonna be a hero"

Carol beamed with pride, Daryl's compliment had been the best thing she'd ever heard.

"Daryl! What are you doing?" She asked suddenly as she noticed the hunter's actions. He'd set his crossbow down and was unbuttoning his plaid shirt.

Daryl grinned. "Need somethin' to carry them all back in." He said nonchalantly as he shrugged out of his shirt. "Unless you wanna take off your top?"

Carol's face turned as red the berries.

The silence in the RV was tense. Carol wouldn't look at him.

He sat quietly, holding the shotgun he'd been given and watching her mourn. She had stopped crying, but she didn't want to talk. It suited Daryl fine, he wasn't sure what he'd say anyway. He simply watched her closely, afraid that she might do something drastic.

Daryl didn't even say anything when Carol refused to go to her daughter's burial. He stared at her, thinking that she was right, somehow, but not arguing. He fidgeted, debating on reaching out to her, holding her, something. The look on her face changed his mind and with a frown, he left the RV to help bury the girl he'd been unable to save.

She rarely spoke and she never took sides when Shane and Rick were fighting, no matter what. She was still hurting, Daryl knew that much. It hadn't been a week since Sophia's death and while Daryl had coped with the loss of his brother, he couldn't imagine how much it hurt to lose a child.

He watched her as she delicately picked the jewel-like berries, careful not to bruise them. He tried to help but felt like he was only getting in her way. Her cheeks were still flushed with the embarrassment Daryl had visited on her by stripping, but he didn't care. It was rather endearing, in his opinion. So he stood quietly, guarding against anything that would try to sneak up on them.

When he caught Carol sneaking a glance at him he couldn't remain quiet any longer.

"For God's sake, woman, you act like you ain't seen a half naked man before." He chided. "An' I know that Shane runs around topless all th' time."

Carol grinned, she couldn't help it. "Shane isn't worth looking at." She replied as she picked the last of the berries.

If Daryl Dixon hadn't been a rough and tumble sort of man, he'd have taken his turn to blush. "Flattery will get you everything." He replied instead.

Carol laughed, a delightful sound of happiness that Daryl had never heard come from her in the short time they'd known one another. "I will keep that in mind the next time I don't feel like cleaning rabbits." She warned.

Daryl sniffled. "Don' let anyone else know." He told her. "I ain't doing everyone's chores."

Carol stood up and gathered up the makeshift basket, tucking the corners of the shirt in among themselves so that they didn't spill their precious cargo. "Your secret is safe with me." She replied.