This came over me at 5am, so sorry for those waiting for updates on my other fic. They will come. :D

Left in the Lurch by ikkleosu

USSCaryl fanfic challenge. Prompt 5 (and accidentally 6 too)

Rating: MA for Dixon potty-mouth.

Summary: Daryl under a tree in the rain. Pretty much.

Daryl looked up at the sky. Or rather, he tried to. The rain beating down hard on his face blinded him to anything and only made him blink furiously. And swear… loudly.

He tried to sit up but the half a tree lying across his torso and right arm prevented him from doing much more than raise his head and look down is body. Not that he could see much beyond foliage and bark. The water was pooling round him in a muddy puddle. At least it all felt cold, there didn't appear to be any of his warm blood mixing with the rain.

Looking to the left could see his bike lying on its side in the road, the front wheel still spinning idly. It didn't look too damaged, probably fixable with a bit of hammering out the front fork. He laughed in his mind. Yeah that's right, check to see if the bike's still working before you check if your fucking legs are, you dope.

He wiggled his toes. Well, he thought he wiggled his toes. Fuck knows what he was wiggling if his legs had been severed and he hadn't realised it. But no, his feet felt cold. And his right one was throbbing like a bitch.

He chose to take that as a good sign. Okay, so next let's try the arms. He moved his fingers on his right hand, and swore some more. Yeah that was definitely still attached and something was broken. Shit. What about lefty over there? How's it doing? That was when he realised his left hand was on his chest close to his face, and when he wiggled his fingers it waved at him. Well, then, party on down, Lefty's in working order.

His left arm wasn't trapped and he moved it, feeling around the branch across his body. It wasn't a whole tree trunk, just a mother fucking heavy branch that had fallen on him when the lightning struck.

A sudden thought occurred to him, what if it struck again? Merle always told him to never hang around under a tree in a thunder storm. Somehow he didn't think this was what Merle meant. He laughed a little and his mouth filled with water.

Fucking, shitty rain. He knew it was coming, knew it would unload like Merle after a Mexican, but he had to go out on his own and be the hero.

Spitting out the cool water he then wondered if he should have swallowed it. What if he was lying there for days? He'd need that water to keep him alive. If he had a helmet he'd use it to catch the rain.

Oh shit, his head! He hadn't inspected that yet. The top of his skull could be in Idaho for all he knew. He used good old Lefty and felt around his face, everything seemed to be intact and in the right place; bruised but not broken. His hair was wet but not sticky and he couldn't feel any obvious dents or gapes. Turns out he was one lucky son of a bitch, with only a few injuries, who just happened to be stuck under half a tree.

Well, maybe the walkers would get him first. No doubt one of them would stumble across him - maybe literally, because right now he could barely see a few feet from him face. The rain was coming down heavier than ever.

If he could get his bow out, maybe he could protect himself, but he had no idea where it was. Was it on his back or on the bike before the crash? He couldn't remember. In fact, he couldn't remember much. All he could remember was the flash and next thing he knew he was opening eyes with a tree pinning him down like Merle did every time they played WWF when he was a kid.

The sky was darkening, it was getting late. Maybe they would find him. Maybe. But she was the only person who knew where he was. She.

Shit.

At the thought of Carol a jolt flashed through his body as strong as the lightning that chopped down trees. He wanted to leap up and run, but there was a little something preventing him.

Still…

He used Lefty to grab hold of the thick branch. Yeah, that sucker wasn't moving, even if he had both arms he just didn't have the purchase.

However, in the process his left hand did touch on something familiar. In amongst the leaves and branches covering much of the ground to the left of him, was his crossbow. He sent Lefty after it, and with a few scratches he managed to untangle it and bring it up to his chest. That was progress.

He felt an odd comfort holding the bow flat against his chest, although it wouldn't be much good if a walker came from behind.

The activity distracted him for a moment, but very quickly his thoughts went back to her. It was like she was standing in a corner of his mind, tapping her foot impatiently and clearing her throat waiting for him to get to her.

Why hadn't he listened to her? She'd told him not to go, told him he was an idiot, told him…. Oh yes, what was she going to tell him? As if he didn't know.

They had been by the fence. It had become their usual spot. Every day they'd stand there, surveying the land, taking stock and just catching up. Most times Carol would bring him food while he was on watch, sometimes she wouldn't even find an excuse he'd just turn round and find her there smiling softly at him. But today they had been on watch together.

Carol was taking watch duty much more now. She was confident with a rifle and a machete. Frankly, she was confident. It was growing in her every day, and the arrival of the Woodbury people had seemed to accelerate the process. He liked it. He felt like a proud father watching her blossom, remembering who she once was. There was something else too, some jealousy, some resentment, something. He didn't like sharing her with all these new people. She was constantly in demand and it was harder to have those quiet moments with her.

A voice in his head snorted at that. Yeah, because you are too afraid to just let her know you want to see her, you always find to find some stupid excuse. She's braver than you, you fucking coward.

The rain was beating a rhythm on his face as he lay in the mud. He remembered that day he'd searched for Sophia on his own. Bloodied and fevered he'd hallucinated Merle jeering and taunting him. Now wet and alone Carol's was the only face he could see, smiling and warm.

If his legs were working, he'd kick himself in the ass.

He'd known something was different today almost instantly. There was often a silence between them, but it was a comfortable, happy silence. Today something hung in the air. Carol was quiet and contemplative.

He had raked his brain trying to think if it was the anniversary of Sophia's death, or her birthday, or Ed's or maybe her wedding anniversary. But who could keep track of the days?

When she'd barely said a word to him after an hour, in desperation he tried to start a conversation with her.

"'S gonna rain," he said.

She simply nodded.

"Not had a big storm in a while… "

She didn't even respond to that. What the fuck was he meant to do? He'd frowned and looked out toward the stumbling geeks in the field. They were probably better at small talk than he was.

It wasn't long after that she'd sighed loudly and took hold of the fence. She gave it a small rattle.

"I can't do this anymore," she'd said, as if to no one.

"What?" he'd asked.

"I can't take it anymore, I have to do something."

Daryl's heckles had risen at that. What was wrong, was someone upsetting her? He'd have their ass!

But as soon as she turned to look at him, he knew he was off base. The look she gave him nearly floored him. Her eyes were raw and pleading, utterly open and expressive. Holy shit, he was in trouble and he knew it. He was exhilarated and terrified. Suddenly he felt like he was 9 years old again, when he would run away and hide in a tree and hope when he returned all the tension in his house would be gone.

"Daryl," she'd begun, his name suddenly sounding awkward on her tongue. "I think for some time… I feel…. I know I might ruin everything but I just can't take not saying it. I have to say it."

She'd taken a step closer to him then, and he could almost feel the warmth of her breath on him.

"Daryl," she began again. "I think I'm…"

"CAROL!"

At the sound of Maggie's voice, they'd both leapt about a foot apart. Maggie seemed oblivious as she hurried over, barely giving Daryl a glance. He'd turned his back to her and studied the horizon again.

"Carol, Lucy is sick. Her mom aid she always had a rabbit comforter that soothed her but they left it in Woodbury. Do we have anything like that? Beth said you'd know."

"No, sorry," Carol had replied. "Everything we had went to Judith. Maybe her mom can ask Rick if Judith's willing to part with one of her soft toys? Sorry, Maggie."

"Okay, I'll go ask Rick," Maggie had replied while she jogged away.

Saved by the bell, a moronic voice in his head had said. But he'd stupidly listened.

"I'll go get it," he'd said.

"What?" Carol had asked, clearly not following his ridiculous thought process.

"To Woodbury. I'll get the kid's comforter. Won't take long."

"On your own? Don't be an idiot. It's going to pour with rain. At least take someone with you… Tyresse knows Woodbury well."

At the name of one of the new people who seemed to be getting close to Carol, Daryl's resolve grew. Or was it blind jealousy? Either way, he was going. He'd climbed aboard his bike which was a few feet away.

"I'll be back before it rains. No big deal. Get Maggie back to keep watch while I'm gone."

Carol liked exasperated as he waited for her to open the gate. She opened her mouth as if to say something again and he'd stopped her as he wheeled past.

"Don't make a fuss."

What an absolute ass he was. Well done. Lying on the ground, life flashing before your eyes and that was the last thing you'd said to anyone. And to her of all people. He was sorely tempted to slap himself in the face with Lefty. Instead, he clenched his fist and splashed it down hard in the mud beside him. Idiot.

Why hadn't he said something else, anything else? In the couple of years he'd known her, he must have had a million things saved up that he hadn't said. He could have used any one of them.

He could have told her how strong he thought she was: how fearless: how he'd wanted to hold her forever that day Sophia walked out the barn; how he wanted to lie down with her in the RV, with her face pressed against his chest while she cried it out. He could have said that he wanted to be that man of honour for her, to be any man she wanted him to be. He could have said how scared he was he'd lost her, how he'd grieved for her and how his life had begun again when he'd found her in the cell. He could have told her how he'd wanted to pick up her up and swing her around when he'd returned with Merle.

He could have told her about that first day he'd thought about kissing her, back on the farm looking into her blue eyes. He could have told her how he'd thought about it every single day since then, through death and sickness, horror and joy.

He could have told her how he'd imagined so much more. How alone in his cell he'd think about the taste of her skin on his tongue, the rise of her hips under his, the feel of her breasts in his hands.

Wow, this was not helping. He broke off his thought process. Last thing he needed was to be getting wood while he lay under half a fucking tree.

At least he had the comforter. Iit was folded neatly inside his shirt. He'd put it there when the rain started. It probably saved him from some broken ribs, he pondered.

The rain continued to fall in sheets. He began to wonder if the branch might eventually just float off him at this rate.

But it wasn't long before his mind drifted back to her, like it always did. He'd known what she was going to say. Of course the fucking knew. But he was terrified, shit scared of what it meant; for him, for her, for them. He couldn't manage a half decent relationship in almost 40 years in the best of circumstances. How the hell was he meant to deal with it in the fucking apocalypse?

He'd screw it up. He'd hurt her or lose her or just let her down. And he couldn't bear that. The thought of losing her once they'd taken that step made his chest ache, but worse, was the thought of her losing him. What if he made her promises, gave her his all, and then some walker chomped on his ass? How much more would she hurt? He didn't want to do that to her.

He shook his head. Yeah because load of good it's done you now, huh? You're going to die anyway. She'll get over it. But you, bright spark, you'll die without her; without knowing her, without feeling her, without being with her. Was it worth it, you chicken shit?

It was with that thought he passed out. It still rang around his head as he came to again, a strange noise alerting his senses. It was a swishing, rumbling sound. After a couple if moments, he realised it was a car. Maybe he was hallucinating, maybe it was the Governor? Well, good, fine, he'd maybe at least take him somewhere warm and dry to torture him. And his own mind was doing a pretty good job at torture anyway.

He raised his only working limb, good old Lefty, and waved. It must have worked because he heard the car stop. And then he heard voices, though the details were lost through the loud lashing rain.

Before he knew it a face was hovering into view. It was Glenn.

"Daryl! Don't worry, we'll get this off you. We'll chain the branch up to the SUV and haul it away. Are you okay? Are you bit?"

"Naw, man, I'm fine. Just get me outta here," Daryl replied as Glenn busied around wrapping the sturdy chain round the wood as best he could.

"Tyresse!" Glenn yelled, "Back it up!"

Tyresse, always with Tyresse.

He felt a presence by his head and heard feet splashing in the mud but he couldn't see who it was.

"Carol told us where you'd gone, she was real worried," Glenn continued.

Carol. The sound of her name brought everything back into sharp focus. He was going to live and he was going to stop being an utter idiot. He couldn't wait to see her again.

Almost instantly, a face blocked his view and stopped the rain falling directly on him. It was half covered in the good of a wind-cheater at least 2 sizes too big.

She pushed the hood off her head and smiled down at him. Fuck, Carol. The sight of her was like beer to a thirsty man, or a life-raft to a drowning one.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you go," she said as she pushed the wet hair out of his eyes and tried to wipe most of the rain from his face, as it poured down hers. Daryl couldn't tell if it was mixed with tears.

"You couldn't'a stopped me. Was my fault. I wanted to get away."

At that, Carol's face darkened and she looked embarrassed. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders but the branch hadn't freed his other arm yet.

"I was an idiot," he continued, not letting her speak this time. "I knew what you was gonna to say. I know. I know cos I feel it too."

He realised he was pretty much shouting by that point, as he felt Glenn freeze awkwardly beside him.

He raised his wondrous left hand and cupped her still warm cheek. She grinned and leaned her face against it.

Lefty wasn't satisfied, it moved to the back of her neck and pulled her down until their lips met, wet on wet, hot on cold, love on love.

Good old Lefty.