AN: Daryl and Carol try to rebuild their lives after the war with the Saviors. Will they be able to build one together? I've taken some liberties with the weather as it's never actually winter on the show. Takes place post Season Eight. Caryl all the way.

Spoilers: Up to and including 8-13, Send Us Not Astray.

Disclaimer: I dont own a thing. Zilch. Zip. Nada.

Breaking The Ice

Chapter 1

The snow fell for four days and four nights. It was as if it would never stop, blanketing the Hilltop in soft white powder. The residents huddled together in their trailers, the only heat source was the old, primitive standby: fire. Some of the homes had kerosene heaters, but, as with most supplies, the bulk of the kerosene had been taken by the Saviors in the last months of their reign. And so the woodstoves burned, day and night, until the stacks were exhausted. And eventually, the skies cleared. The snow stopped falling. The people began the business of resuming their lives.

Within a few short hours, the road to town had been cleared and pathways had been shoveled between the homes. Wood was chopped and laid out to dry. Under Maggie's direction, each trailer had been checked to assure the continued wellbeing of the residents. Weather extremes were especially dangerous to the very elderly, the very young, and the infirmed, but, thankfully, everyone had come through none the worse for wear.

Carol stepped out the door of the home she was temporarily sharing with Maggie and Enid, and surveyed her surroundings. She had always loved a fresh snow; it reminded of the three years her family spent in Pennsylvania when her father was under contract there. Those were some of the best years of her life. Everything felt so fresh and vibrant. Even though they'd returned to Georgia when she was ten, the memories had lasted a lifetime. The snow brought her back to that innocent age, when she'd had no idea how brutal life could become. Before she learned that claiming to love you wouldn't necessarily prevent someone from terrorizing you. Before dead bodies could reanimate into monsters. Before crazy, sadistic men with eyepatches, baseball bats or "w"s in their foreheads. Yes sir, she was going to grow up, marry Prince Charming and have three beautiful children who would all become doctors or lawyers or such.

Ah, the naïveté of youth, she thought wryly as she sipped from the coffee mug in her hand. The Saviors were defeated. Negan was dead. But the cost had been very, very high. The sheer number of casualties was painful to consider, not to mention the complete destruction of Alexandria and the near-decimation of the Kingdom. Both had been rendered unlivable. The survivors converged on the Hilltop. She was certain that they needed to move on, but to where? Their best bet at the moment was to stay put, lick their wounds and gather their strength. Then they'd be able to make some hard decisions.

"Bill!" She called out to the man standing glumly outside the next trailer. "Is the storm over? Or do you think there's another front coming?"

"How the hell should I know?" Bill groused.

"Weren't you a meteorologist before the Turn?"

" You see a radar in my pocket?"

Lovely man, that one. She scanned the horizon for a more friendly face. The moment she spotted him, she felt a grin grow within her. How was it that just seeing him could make her smile? Somehow, Daryl had always had that effect on her.

He was covered from head to toe, only his eyes visible through the layers of warm clothing. He stood next to one of the cars as he peered in the windows. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he began scraping the ice off the windshield. What was he up to? She donned her hat and gloves and decided to investigate.

Her relationship with man could, at this point, only be described as strained. She fell in love with him long ago, hell, it felt like forever ago. She'd put feelers our there, but he hadn't seemed interested in advancing beyond friendship. Then a shitstorm had come, beginning with her banishment and ending with her having to kill a little girl. Suddenly, romance became the furthest thing from her mind. She still loved him and wanted him, but she knew that she didn't deserve him—not after the things she'd done. How could she possibly ask anyone else to accept the things that she couldn't accept about herself? Nope, she was severely damaged goods, and he deserved better. The irony of it all was that at the very point where she'd decided a romantic relationship was all wrong, he'd decided that it was just the right time. At least she thought he did. It's what he seemed to be saying with all that talk of "trying" and "starting over." He seemed to be trying to reach out to her. She couldn't stand living in her own skin at the time; she needed to be someone—anyone—else. But when Daryl was around, it simply wasn't possible to be anyone other than herself. And so she'd kept him at arms length.

Her actions had the consequence she desired—or at least the one she thought she'd desired. Daryl had lost interest and backed away from her, content to be just friends. Yet when she left, and he found her in the little house by the Kingdom, he'd seemed so heartbroken. The plaintive and raw "why'd you go?" bowled her over with gut feeling that she had a made a huge mistake and Daryl had paid the price. To be fair, she knew he would be upset at her departure. But she hadn't figured on the expression of abandonment standing on her doorstep. Could it be that he still harbored romantic notions toward her? He lied to her to protect her. But he would've done that for any of them, right? She knew the answers, of course, but she tried her damnedest to bury them as she watched him walk away into the night. She also forced herself to ignore the overwhelming sense that she was not watching a friend walk away from her but a soulmate. A soulmate whom she may never see again.

But she did see him again. And now here he was, just fifty feet away, preparing to get into a car and go…where?

Daryl grimaced as he scraped the ice on the car's windshield. He wasn't sure why he was even bothering, the engine wasn't likely to start anyway. Yet still, he was determined. He'd been holed up in that trailer for four days. It might not have been so bad with different company, but Aaron's snoring and Gabriel's chitchat had driven him insane. Why couldn't he have been stuck with some else, like maybe Carol?

You damn fool, Dixon! Why would you let yourself go there? She don't want you. Get it through your thick head.

He'd found her quietly fascinating from the moment she'd smashed the pickaxe through old Ed's skull. Then when she'd shown concern for Daryl's well-being even though her child was missing, well, she'd showed an inner strength, and a depth of perception he was unaccustomed to seeing. She'd been able to look at Daryl the homeless drifter and see a human being who was trying his hardest to help a child he scarcely knew. Never once in their entire history together did she look down on him or anyone else. She judged people by what was in their hearts, not what was in their resumes.

Indeed, it was partly her acceptance and belief in him that led to begin to believe in himself. After all, if Carol saw something worthwhile in him then there must be something, right? He liked the feeling the faith and trust of the group instilled in him. It was antithetical to everything his supposed family had indoctrinated him with his entire life. For the first time in his miserable existence, he was respected and valued. Then, in the blink of an eye, or rather a blast from the Governor's tank, it all came crashing down around him.

After the fall of the prison, he struggled mightily to regain his equilibrium. He was just beginning to be okay again when a random spray of bullets caused him to lay down his bike and end up in that fateful forest with Dwight, Sherry and Tina. The beginning of the end. Again.

Any hope he had for a future with Carol died in the burned out stand of trees; he just didn't know it yet. It became crystal clear the moment he'd realized she wasn't with the group at the Hilltop. He was so tired, and sore, and hungry, traumatized by guilt, a gunshot wound and a week of torture as he told himself that she had merely stayed home to defend the home ground and look after the other Alexandrians.

"Carol takin' care of Judith?" He'd asked of Rick.

"She's gone, Daryl," his friend told him as gently as possible. "She left during the night before we were all captured. She left a note. Didn't want anyone to come after her."

"And you didn't?!"

"I sent Morgan. He didn't come back, either."

Then he knew. He knew that every single thing he'd done over the last year was the exact opposite of what he should've done. He'd seen that she was struggling—but this was Carol! She was the strongest person he'd ever known. More than once he'd seen her rise like a phoenix from the ashes. He'd just expected she would do it again. She told him she didn't want to talk about what was troubling her, and he'd taken her at her word. Now, too late, it was apparent that she did need to talk about it, even if she didn't know it herself. He'd watched helplessly as she contorted herself into someone he scarcely recognized. It pained him, but he didn't know what to do except trust that she would find her way.

No, he could only work on himself. He focused on recruiting, on scavenging, on building a better life for her and the others. He was getting "shit settled", as Abraham had termed it. Then, when she was ready, he could give her the life she deserved. Now it had all gone to shit. The horrible truth was that he would never be able to give her the life she deserved. She left him in the dead of night without even saying goodbye. Even throughout the war, she'd chosen the company of people she'd known for three weeks over the people she'd known since the Turn.

He couldn't blame her, though. She'd been right to go. He had managed to fuck everything up. Maybe someone like Ezekiel was exactly what she needed. He wanted her to be happy, even if it meant she needed to be free of him, but his heart would never, ever stop hurting.

Now here he was, freezing his ass off scraping the windshield of a car that would likely not even start. But he was determined to see this through. He'd wanted to do this since he was a small child.

"Going on a run?" Carol asked as she stopped next to him. Of course, he felt her presence before he heard her voice. Her proximity had the usual effect on him: comforting, calming, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on….something exciting and inspiring.

"Mm hmm. Got somethin' I need to do."

He opened the door and picked up the key from the center console.

Carol reached for the passenger side door. "Where are we headed?"

"You goin'?"

"Is that okay?"

The idea of spending time alone with her thrilled him, but also unnerved him a bit. There was so much hanging in the air between them, so much they'd left unsaid. It felt as though it couldn't remain unspoken much longer. Sooner rather than later, the cork was going to pop off of the bottle, and who knew what might come spewing out of it.

"I guess."

He started to climb into the driver's seat and stopped short.

"Hey," he called over the top of the car, "you know how to drive in this shit?"

"I have before, a time or two," she nodded.

"That's a time or two more than me. Tag, You're it." He tossed her the key and traded sides with her.

"How old do you suppose the anti-freeze is in this thing?" She wondered aloud as she settled into her seat.

"Even older than the gas," he replied. "Fire it up, let's find out if it's any good."

To their mutual surprise, the engine roared to life and they hit the road.

"You've never driven in the snow?" She asked.

"Ain't never seen snow before last year," he said. "I'm from Georgia."

"So am I. It snows in Georgia."

"Not at my house," he muttered.

"We didn't have much snow last year. It was a really mild winter. Where are we going, anyway?"

"Into town. Just stay on route 40." He stared out the window for a moment, then back at Carol. "Can't remember the last time you went on a run."

"I can," Her casual tone was betrayed by the whitening of her knuckles on the steering wheel. "The last time I went on a run, I wasn't allowed to come back."

"That was some serious bullshit right there."

"Water under the bridge." Why she lied, she didn't know. The fact of the matter was that it still bothered her enough that she'd mentioned it in her letter. As the darkness began to settle over her heart, she knew it was time to change the subject. "Think we're gonna get any more snow?"

Daryl eyed her curiously. "I dunno. Ask that weather guy…Bob?"

"Bill," she answered, "and I wouldn't if I were you. Seems like a sore subject."

"I'll take your word for it."

They rode in silence for a while, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

Daryl stared out the window at the white-blanketed countryside. What the hell was she doing? Gabbing about the weather? Had they truly been reduced to idle chatter, or was something else on her mind? Damn, he wished he were better at this. Did she want him to pry, or just go with the flow? Whatever he decided, it would be wrong. He resigned himself to simply enjoying her company—it was, after all, one of the few pleasures in his life. For a moment, he could just be with her and not think about the fact that she would never love him in the same way he loved her. She was with him, not Ezekiel. Or Tobin.

Carol tried to focus on the road, but her mind kept wandering to the scruffy redneck sitting next to her. Weather, Carol? What's next, how 'bout those Yankees? Why can't you just tell him what's really on your mind? She supposed it was possible that he hadn't given up on her. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for them. He doesn't know what you're capable of. What you are. If he did, he'd run for the hills. Though the debate raged on in her head, she knew that there was truly only one way to find out…she just needed to find the courage to broach the subject.

"You mad at me?"

Daryl eyed her curiously. "Should I be?"

"It's crossed my mind," she sighed.

"Well, I ain't."

Daryl directed her toward a dilapidated strip mall a block to the east as they rolled into town.

"Right up here on the left, the sporting goods store."

"We're gonna have to park here. That's off the plowed section of the road."

The hike to the door of their destination was only about one hundred yards, but it seemed a lot longer. Daryl struggled with his footing, slipping a couple of times before steadying himself. The frigid temperature served at least one useful purpose, however—the walkers they sporadically spotted were moving very slowly, minimizing any threat they might pose.

Emmet's Sport Emporium lay at the far end of the mall. The plywood nailed across the doors and windows suggested that Emmett had perhaps envisioned returning to his shop when things "blew over." He was likely long dead now. The boards had been pried by previous looters and now hung loosely over the doorway. Daryl crouched beside the entry and shone his flashlight into the darkness.

"See anything?" Carol asked.

"Naw. Don't hear nothin' either." He stood, gave the wood several loud kicks, then peered in again. Satisfied, he yanked the boards away from the door. "Think we're clear."

Uncovering the door and windows flooded the store with daylight. Some areas were in complete disarray while others appeared virtually untouched. The winter clothing and camping gear departments were picked clean. Fortunately there was no one, alive or undead, there at the moment except Daryl and Carol.

Daryl pulled a large garbage bag from his pack and began loading it as he passed by the displays. Sunglasses. Check. Golf tees. No. Baseball gloves. No. Suddenly it dawned on him that Carol had paused in front of a pink bicycle with purple tassels on the handlebars.

"You're a million miles away," he told her softly as he stopped next to her.

"No," she shook her head and ran her hand along the bike's frame, "just a few years. Sophia had this exact same bike. I—or rather, Santa—gave it to her for her last Christmas. She'd been asking for it all year. She was so happy. She rode it every day."

She paused reflectively, reliving the moments. "Ed was pissed off. Said it cost too much. It only cost him seventy bucks. Cost me a dislocated shoulder. But it was soooo worth it to how happy she was."

"You're a good mom," he told her sincerely. At times like this, he was really glad that he couldn't get his hands on that sorry excuse for a man. Things would get very ugly, very fast.

Carol rewarded him with a grateful, albeit skeptical, half-smile. "Why are we here, anyway?"

"Over here." He led her to an aisle of brightly colored snow pans and sleds. "This."

Carol looked at the bright pink plastic sled in his hand and fought back laughter. "Hello Kitty? I took you more for a My Little Pony kinda guy."

"Stop," he drawled.

"Seriously? This is why we're here? Sleds?"

"Why not? Always looked like fun when I saw it on TV."

She shrugged and chose one for herself. "I'm going with Ninja Turtles."

"You gettin' one, too?"

"Looks that way. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?"

He grabbed a duffel bag and held it out for her. "'Kay. Grab whatever looks useful and let's get outta here."

TBC