ANote: Apparently, The Walking Dead was able to bring me out of a long writing hiatus. But this little piece really is, just me getting some feels out, no biggy. Had to be done, really had no choice. This is basically a one-shot, a small moment of many small moments I know takes place between these two. This is pre-S3 finale, so purely speculative. Do let me know what you all think, it's my first story in this fandom. :)

"Carol," he whispered her name as to not arouse the others from their heated discussion. News had broken out about the Governor's request. As if the group wasn't already on edge, the discussion concerning Michonne's fate weighed heavily on them.

Carol turned her attention at the sound of his voice. He stood leaning, cross-armed, against the bars leading into the cellblock. She glanced at the others before slipping away and heading toward him.

"C'mon," he motioned with the nod of his head, turning his back on her and heading into the cellblock. Carol rubbed the back of her neck nervously as she trailed after him. He stopped just short of her cell, pulling something out of his jacket pocket before turning to face her again.

"What's up?" she greeted, halting just inside his personal space. She had the habit of doing that these days, pushing the boundaries of his comfort level. She discovered long ago, it was the only way to get through to him; little by little.

"Here," he said, presenting her a new pair of leather gloves identical to the ones she already wore, but longer and looked as if it would cover most of her forearms, "it's double layered, stitched it m'self. This with the jacket and vest I gave you las night should do good."

"Thank you."

"C'mere," he urged her gently, his shoulders relaxing, silently telling her he was allowing her closer to him. Carol stepped forward, their boots now inches apart from each other as she held up her hands to him, not even having to be told what his intentions were. He quickly made off with the beaten gloves she had worn for the past few months and then worked on securing her into the new ones.

"Daryl…" she started but he cut her off.

"It's gonna get bad here...real bad. I don't wanna…I want ya ta be alert…at all times. If one of us goes down, don't second guess, ya keep fightin."

He didn't look at her as he spoke, his eyes fixed on lacing the leather straps up her wrists, but Carol watched his face. His features were tense, but his eyes displayed a depth of vulnerability that he rarely reflected to anyone. Anyone but her that is.

"If I go down…"

"Daryl," she shook her head, closing her eyes briefly to force the image out of her head.

"If I go down, don't come for me," he finished, meeting her eyes then, a sense of determination evident in those soft blues. He needed her to know he was serious, "I know ya'd do somethin' stupid li'that."

She smiled weakly despite herself, shrugging her shoulders lightly, "that sounds like me."

"I'm telling ya don't, and if I see your scrawny ass come runnin my way, I'll shoot you myself."

The corner of his lips perked and Carol's smile spread to her eyes.

"I can't promise you anything, but…" she begun, her smile fading. She turned one hand around and placed it over his. He stopped working on the lacing and shifted his complete attention to her, "you need to do the same...if it's me."

Carol caught his subtle flinch at her words, but she knew he needed to hear them. She knew Daryl would come for her if he saw she was in danger because he always did. He was always there. When he could be, when circumstances weren't keeping him away, he would always be there, looking out for her. And it comforted her that he knew the same was true for her, that's why he needed to tell her these things.

After a few lingering seconds, she felt his fingers tighten ever so slightly around hers as he finally spoke, shrugging his shoulders as she did earlier, "yeah, well…I can't promise nothin' either."

Thank you for reading! :) Yep, short and sweet. Just needed to get something out, still a little rusty trying to get back into the writing game.