Title – Maybe Tomorrow

Rated - PG

Warnings – Light language

Disclaimer – I don't own The Walking Dead

Maybe Tomorrow

Daryl looked out at the prison yard, scoffing at the new faces. He'd taken up almost permanent residence in the remaining guard tower since the residents of Woodbury had converged on his home. He hadn't said much about it to anyone, choosing to seethe in silence until he could get used to the idea of being surrounded by old folks who could die and turn in the blink of an eye.

He'd voiced that one concern to Carol, who had laughed it off like it was joke. It wasn't. Not really. Sure, he knew they could handle one or two elderly walkers, but he'd rather not have to.

It was different when it was just the group. Better. He liked his family just the way it was; they didn't need any more or less than what they had.

"You still up here?" He jolted at the sound of her voice, and quietly scolded himself for being caught off guard.

"Someone's gotta keep this place from gettin' overrun," he grunted back. He pulled his knife from its sheath and began observing it, just so he wouldn't have to look at her amusement.

"You know they're not so bad, if you give 'em a chance," Carol attempted. She slid into the space next to him, close enough that their arms touched. Daryl might'a minded it a year ago, but now it was old hat.

"Ain't lookin'a make new friends," he grumbled.

"They're not going anywhere. Might as well make an effort. Wouldn't be the first time you let folks in despite yourself." He finally raised his eyes to look at her.

"If you think I'm gonna go runnin' into the tombs for any 'a those assholes, you got another thing comin'."

"Well, it's nice to know I'm special," she teased lightly, giving him a little nudge. He could tell she meant it as a joke, but he wasn't in a joking mood.

"Yeah, you are," he said gruffly, then pointed out to the group with his knife. "Them. I'd sacrifice any one of 'em for you."

"I can't tell if you're tryin' to be sweet or cruel," she admitted. Daryl huffed a dry chuckle and re-sheathed the knife, taking a step away to reclaim some personal space.

"Take it how you want it. Ain't goin' change nothin'." Carol frowned.

"I just want you to be happy here, Daryl. That's all." He rolled his eyes. "I'm serious."

"I was happy before." She took another step toward him, reaching her hand out to rest it on his forearm.

"You gonna try to be happy again?" she questioned. He looked away to avoid being soothed by her crystal clear blue eyes. He didn't want to be calm about this. He wanted to be pissed.

"Not today," he said firmly. She gave his arm a little squeeze and backed off.

"Tomorrow then," she said with vague acceptance. He looked up at her, noting her disappointment and feeling shitty about it. He bit the inside of his cheek as she headed for the stairs.

"Tomorrow," he replied, just before she wrenched open the old, creeky door. She turned back to him and smiled, and he felt some tension release in his gut.

Damn that woman.

End

Hope you liked it. Let me know!