At the request of my friend Alamo Girl, here is Daryl's POV of Valentine's Day in the survivor's camp.

I added some little things to move the story a bit, because I'm considering taking this little 'verse' and writing a side-fic or two with it.

Let me know how you guys feel; feedback is always appreciated!

The collective laughter was new to him as it met his ears from across the camp.

Daryl grimaced a bit upon walking out of the Recreational building, the sunlight bearing down hard and reminding him that another scorching summer would not be long in coming.

In the deep-south, there wasn't much of a 'springtime'. When it decided to started getting hot, it did it quickly, and aggressively.

But a cool breeze still blew, remnants of the fading winter, and he welcomed the comfort as he prepared to make an attempt at fishing.

He passed by the dining cabin, where Rick, his family, and Maggie all sat giggling like entertained children at the 'adorable' infant Lori was coddling to her chest. Not a few weeks old, the little girl already had a full head of dark hair, eerily reminiscent of Shane's.

Daryl was no fool. He knew the truth, just as everyone else did. And he, like everyone else, chose to ignore that truth.

The kid was Rick's to raise, and that point had been made clear to Shane long before it came popping out into the world.

Daryl spotted a blond head bobbing amongst the wood line across the lake as he neared, a black one not far behind, and he nodded to himself. The man was an asshole, that much was true, but he took surviving seriously, and Daryl appreciated that.

It was the only thing he could bring himself to appreciate about the ex-cop.

The dock was but a few feet away when he actually took notice of the other two figures already perched on it.

Feet dangling near the water, Glenn sat gripping his precious guitar, trying desperately to make it play music. And beside him Carol sat, a strange glint in her eyes and a grin on her face as she spoke to the boy quietly.

As he stepped up onto the wood, he made straight for the end of the dock, not wanting to interrupt whatever it was they were talking about.

Wasn't his business anyway.

But he could not help but give the woman a glance and nod as he passed her by.

She always had a way of making him pay her some kind of attention, even when she didn't want it.

He'd noticed that ever since Sophia's death; Carol did not seem to seek comfort from anyone, especially him. At first it ticked him off to no end, the idea of her shrugging off her daughter's death like she'd been expecting it, like it didn't even matter…

It was what had him strongly considering just leaving the dysfunctional band of fools altogether.

But he didn't, and for some time after the girl was buried, he did not know why.

It took him several months to admit to himself that he'd stuck around for her, and even longer still to come to terms with the fact that she had been grieving for Sophia, but had done it on her own, in order to move past it in the only way she knew how: acceptance.

The fact that she never seemed to seek attention from him during that time had him thinking that she either resented him for giving her false hope, or just didn't give a damn about his existence at all.

That didn't stop him from continuing to sleep in the RV though, or from watching her close when she would wander around the campgrounds on her own.

She had eventually made it a point to tell him that she cared (not that he needed that or anything); that she needed him nearby and was glad that he was still with them.

He hadn't known what to say.

He still didn't, months later.

And so, they'd fallen into some quiet routine of brief words and nods of acknowledgement, and he spent most of his time trying to keep food circulating in the group and bringing down whatever predator may steal its way into the area while pretending he wasn't glancing around to ensure her safety every two seconds.

As he stood there on the dock, poised to cast a line, he bit his lip and almost wanted to curse out loud over the strange power she seemed to have over him…

The sound of the guitar had him glancing back at the two instinctively, watching as Carol plucked a string as if she had never touched an instrument before (and for all he knew, she hadn't…). He caught the soft smile on her face as she and Glenn continued to talk, and he cast the line into the water, intent on ignoring whatever conversation they had going on…

"I always enjoyed Valentine's Day as a young girl, but most of my gifts consisted of brightly wrapped candies that were given to me by my mother. I remember getting flowers one year in high school from my first boyfriend…."

His hand dipped down along with the rod and its tip almost landed n the water. Daryl felt his muscles stiffen at Carol's words, and he was torn between a laugh and a growl.

Valentine's Day? Really?

Daryl saw no point whatsoever in celebrating something so stupid even before the world went to hell. Going around the damn campfire in November, talking about what they were still thankful for was bad enough…

He'd leave the lovey-dovey holidays to Glenn and his farmgirl squeeze.

"I never received another Valentine after meeting and marrying Ed. I suppose I can't say I'm an expert on the holiday, but…I think writing Maggie a song is very original and sweet."

His back ached a bit and he realized that he was still standing rigid, the fishing pole all but slipping from his grip.

Even so, the sad tone Carol's voice had taken was not lost on him. It was heavy as a brick, and had him wishing it had been his fortune to pound the pus out of Ed's face and not Shane's.

The fact that the woman still thought of Valentine's Day as something worth celebrating had his brain working overtime, trying to understand why…

By the end of the day, it would be her that he would blame for his not catching any fish.

He'd woken up to the same routine: Sit up, see if Carol was still in the bed above him, and if not, note her location and then proceed to find something to kill.

He found her that morning holding 'Sophie' while Rick and Lori ate breakfast. She had thought it sweet of the couple to name the girl after Sophia…

Daryl chose not to think about it at all.

Forgoing breakfast, he gave Rick notice that he would scout the grounds before heading out to hunt for the day's lunch. As he slung the crossbow over his shoulder, he tried to forget how natural it had come to him to correspond with Rick on just about everything he did.

And how that fact really didn't bother him anymore.

He cursed under his breath at the lack of deer in the area. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck as the sun at midday chased the cool morning away.

It was possible the whitetails had finally moved on, away from the group of humans that refused to leave the area. But as another droplet of liquid salt broke out on his brow, he found it just as likely that they were being smarter than he, and choosing not to move around in the heat.

The seventh squirrel met its end as it crawled down the trunk of a tree near the Welcome Center, and Daryl figured seven would be enough to feed the group, provided they still had enough canned shit left over from their time at the farm…

Tiny flashes of color caught the corner of his eyes as he bent to retrieve the bleeding rodent, a noticeable difference from the green, green and more green of the pine trees that surrounded the park grounds.

Growing up against the side of the building just next to the tree, the rose bushes struggled to bloom as spring approached.

Daryl considered the three half-opened blossoms as he strung the last squirrel to the others, the gut-churning feeling he'd had the previous day on the dock threatening to return.

As the distant sound of a guitar met his ears, he groaned in self-defeat.

And whipped out his knife to cut the flowers from their vine.

The last thorn was removed from the stems and he all but tossed the roses onto the table as he moved to hang the squirrels on a tree limb.

A whisper in his mind berated him for giving in to the senseless holiday, and for a moment he considered walking down to the lake and throwing them in before Carol could see them.

After all, what the hell would she care for the things anyway?

The last 'rose' he'd given her turned out to be a useless token; he suspected she would probably wish for just about anything else than a damned flower.

But he had nothing else to offer, and he was already making his way to the dining cabin to fetch her by the time the doubts began to set in.

Rick was moving out of his line of sight when he spotted her in the large room, a smile on her face and the remnants of a laugh in her voice. He didn't care what she and Rick had been joking about.

He just wanted to get her to the table and get the mushy-moment over with.

"Deer are movin' on; not wantin' to move in the heat of the day. Killed a few squirrels…"

At her small nod he turned and retraced his path, Rick already ahead and apparently planning on helping him skin and gut the day's kill.

Daryl chewed his lip and wondered what he could say to get him to go away instead...

He blinked as the man ahead of him suddenly veered off the path, heading instead for the RV. Rick's quick nod his way confirmed that he understood the need for privacy.

Daryl moved to nod back.

Until Rick winked at him before turning away.

His lip was stinging by the time they reached the fire pit, his teeth digging into it like needles.

The last time he'd been so nervous was on the highways toward Atlanta, as he and the others headed to fetch Merle off that rooftop.

He moved quickly and purposefully, turning all of his focus to the dead animals he was preparing to clean and trying with every desperate thought in his mind not to ask Carol if she hated the roses, when he wasn't even sure if she'd seen them yet….

Except she had, and as he plunged the knife into the squirrel's chest and started to open it up, he swallowed the lump in his throat and shrugged at her.

"Oh…I found those growin' over by the old Welcome Center building."

He continued to watch her and pull open the carcass in his hands at the same time, and followed the movements of her fingers as they landed on the stems with hesitation.

"Are…are these for me?" He furrowed his brow then, and fought back a laugh.

"They sure as hell ain't for Rick." At her smile he relaxed, his muscles suddenly loosening and for the first time he thought about how that happened pretty damned often….

He watched as she brought them to her nose, inhaling the scents that women found so appealing and smiling even more as she did so.

"Don't really know any stories about those…" The smile faltered and Daryl immediately kicked himself for letting something so stupid come out of his mouth. Although it was the truth (for aside from…love or whatnot, he had no idea what those particular roses were supposed to mean), he knew mentioning anything relating to the Cherokee roses could have the woman tossing her gift to the ground and wandering off in renewed grief.

But she did not move, and continued to grin at him, and he felt himself want (way too badly) to grin back.

His eye twitched, he chewed his tongue a moment, and gripped the handle of the knife like it was a lifeline:

"So, uh…happy Valentine's Day or whatever."

Her grip on the flowers tightened at his words and her teeth emerged with the widening of her smile. Daryl felt the weight of his senseless anxiety wash away at the softness in her gaze.

As if she fucking adored him in that moment…

"Happy Valentine's Day, Daryl. Thank you."

His lip jumped and he tore his eyes away from what he saw in her own.

The bloody mess below greeted him like an old friend and he decided not to ask her just how many flowers her first boyfriend had given her in high school...

I agree with Alamo Girl. Bashful!Daryl is a YES.