#a rewriting loop and rewriting the same chapter so many times I make myself dizzy

[flurry-of-stars]

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*taps microphone* New chapter for These Hollow Halls coming soon--

[shimmershae]

Stupid Cupid, Chapter 5 (Caryl).

Sorry for the delay, everybody.  It took me forever to get this chapter whipped into something I even halfway liked.  I'm still a little iffy about some parts, might even go back and do a bit of a rewrite later, but until then, I hope you enjoy.  Mistakes are all mine.  I hope there aren't too many because I'm posting this and forcing myself to go to bed, haha. 

Deeper and deeper our babies fall. 

Stupid Cupid

    xx5xx

      Carol was up early the next morning, before the sun had even fully broken the horizon.  With a cranky Judith perched on her hip, she inventoried their food stores and supplies between bouts of pacing and rubbing her index finger along the baby’s painful gums.  It should have been a distraction from Daryl’s impending departure, but her heart and her mind were always with him.  Had been since the Farm, and that held especially true when he left the safety of the Prison’s fences.  Still, that mattered none to Judith, and between hiccupping cries, she gnawed fretfully at Carol’s offered finger, rubbed her teary face against her cheek.  “I know.  I know.  It doesn’t feel good.  Does it, Sweetheart?”

  “Reckon it don’t.  Looks to me like she’s about to make a meal out of you.” 

  Carol grinned against her charge’s feverish little brow.  “You didn’t.” 

  “You smiling, ain’t you?  Don’t mean nothing of it.” 

  His blue eyes did the smiling and the apologizing for him, and Carol felt that now familiar swell of warmth start to overtake her when he stepped closer to her, from her fingers all the way to her toes as he cupped Judith’s head in the palm of his hand.  His voice dropped to a low, lulling rumble, and the tiny girl responded to it, weakly pushing against her and leaning heavily into the warm, solid wall of his chest.  Truth be told, after such a long and restless night, Carol longed to do the same.   

  “Got a tooth comin’ in, AssKicker?  Lemme see.”   Daryl made no move to take the infant from her arms.  He simply shuffled closer, bringing them toe to toe, Judith supported between them.  Before long, the baby’s exhausted lids started to droop, and the small fist that had been halfway to her mouth did the same.   

  “What were you, some kind of baby whisperer in a previous life?”  Carol busied herself with straightening Judith’s twisted clothes as she whispered the teasing question, stroking tender fingers across her fretful brow.  She didn’t trust herself to look up and chance meeting his eyes.  Not in that moment.  It was so peaceful and soft, unguarded and fraught with possibility, and their proximity had her blood fizzing like champagne bubbles in her veins.   

  “Naw.  Nothing like that.  Weren’t nothing at all, really.” 

  She did look at him then, and her hand found his face, her thumb traced the downward pull of his mouth.  “You were always something, Daryl Dixon.  Somebody.  Even when you thought you were nothing.  Always remember that.” 

  His lashes lowered as he nodded at her, and his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but the words?  They just weighed too much. 

  Maybe it was a trick of her hopeful heart.  Hell, maybe it was sleep deprivation, but Carol could have sworn his eyes flickered for the briefest of seconds to her mouth.  It didn’t matter, though, because Glenn was clattering tiredly down the stairs, and suddenly there was Michonne, waiting, and Carol’s hand drifted to the gentle rise and fall of Judith’s back as she took a step back, uttered a familiar goodbye.  “Looks like it's time for you to go.  Stay safe out there.” 

  “Nine lives.  Remember?” 

      <3<3<3

      Carol occupied herself with busy tasks the rest of the day, helping with the preparation of the meals, going around and gathering up laundry, just things that needed done.  Late afternoon found her in the library again, and she was pretending to listen as Ryan read to the children from a well-loved copy of The Hobbit when the man’s youngest daughter, Mika if memory served her correctly, stood up from the cross-legged group and approached her.  Carol offered her a small smile when she reached her.  “You don’t like the story?”

  The girl’s small shoulder lifted in a shrug and she gathered her bottom lip between her teeth.  “I’ve already heard it before.  Don’t you like it?” 

  Carol’s smile faltered.  She watched as the child arranged her assorted art supplies on the table before climbing into the chair across from her and regarding her thoughtfully.  “I do.” 

  “Then how come you weren’t listening?  Were you daydreaming?” 

  “Maybe,” Carol admitted.  She didn’t see any point in denying it because it was true, and she couldn’t lie to the girl.  She was too sweet, too genuinely curious, too pure in a tainted world, and for a moment, her baby’s beautiful face swam before her eyes.  She didn’t let herself be swallowed up by the sudden, fierce pang of longing she felt, though.  Nothing good would come of it.  Besides.  She had to believe her Sophia was in a better place.  Instead she propped her chin in her hand and asked, “What are you making?” 

  “More hearts.” 

  “More?  What are they for?” Carol murmured. 

  “They’re not to hang up.  They’re for people to give to their Valentines at the party,” Mika answered her matter-of-factly.  “The white ones are for families like me, Lizzie, and Daddy,” she explained.  “The pink ones are for people that like each other and want to be boyfriend and girlfriend.  And the red ones are for people that love each other.” 

  She giggled as she said that last bit, her big brown eyes shining, and the wispy ends of her braid brushing against her mouth, and Carol felt her own lips curl upward.  “And the yellow hearts?” 

  “Those are for friends.” 

  “Friends.”  Carol nodded to herself.  Yellow hearts, yellow flowers.  It made sense.        

  “You can have one to give to Mr. Daryl,” Mika offered.  “Just pick.  Whichever one you want.” 

  “Any one?”  Carol’s arm reached across the table.  Her fingers hovered in the air.  “As simple as that?” 

  “Yep.” 

      <3<3<3

        Carol was cleaning and stacking up the dinner dishes, Beth long since sent to bed, when the run crew came straggling in, each one looking worse than the last.  By the time Daryl limped through the door behind Glenn, her fingers had gone nerveless and her heart.  Well, it would be a while yet before it started beating normally again. 

  Rick pulled Michonne aside.  Maggie and Glenn embraced in reunion then followed Hershel.  Tyreese tiredly said his goodnights. 

  Daryl wordlessly started climbing the steps to his cell. 

  Swallowing against a dry throat, Carol looked to Michonne in question, and the other woman rest a hand on Rick’s arm, broke away from their hushed discussion. 

  “He’s okay.” 

  “Did something…” 

  “Carol.  He’s okay.  Why don’t you go see for yourself?” 

  “Go,” Rick encouraged. 

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Carol frowned when she reached the space Daryl had claimed for himself.  It was empty, no trace of him, but then she heard his voice.  Gruff and sounding exhausted, he called to her.  She whirled around.   

  “Hey.  You think you could…” 

  She guided him into her cell, his fingers tethered to her own, and gave his shoulder a gentle push when it seemed he didn’t know what to do, how to act, had him sit on the edge of her bunk while she crossed the small space to gather up some towels, some bandages, the small bowl of water she used at night to wash away the grit of the day.  Her Hershel-approved Daryl Dixon basic survival kit.  When she had everything that she needed, she returned to him, and all her worries, all her fears were in every line of her face as she stared at him.  Studied him.  Finally asked, “What happened?” 

  Daryl offered her a smile that was really more of a grimace.  “Rather not say.” 

  “Daryl.” 

  He lifted his chin at the warning in her voice, stubbornly asserted himself.  “Naw.” 

  “Fine, then.  You can patch your own self up.”  He surprised her then, reaching out and reclaiming her hand.  Beneath the fresh, blossoming bruises on his face, a telltale tint of color arose, and Carol softened.  “I can take it, Pookie.  I’m a big girl.”   

  Daryl ducked his head, lowered his eyes, and then he mumbled, “S’embarassing is all.  Rather not talk about it."

  She smiled, a barely there thing.  “Scale of 1-10.” 

  “15,” Daryl muttered.   

  She lifted her free hand to his face, gently brushed his sweaty, disheveled hair aside to get a better look at a small cut above his left eyebrow.  She probed it with tentative fingers.  “That bad?”    

  Daryl winced, and his hands reflexively found her waist.  “Yeah.” 

  The warm press of his fingers through the thin layers of her clothes was dizzying, almost overwhelmingly so, but Carol willed herself to ignore it as she tended to his wounds.  Likely, he hadn’t even realized the placement of his hands anyway, being tired and in apparent pain.  His usual defenses were down, and they were friends.  He felt comfortable with her, in a way he didn’t feel with anybody else.  It was simple as that, and oh.  Oh.  Deeper and deeper they were falling.  This must have been how Alice felt when she followed after the Mad Hatter.  Her heart started doing somersaults beneath her ribs as his blue eyes found hers and his fingers started unconsciously playing with her belt loops.  “Daryl?” 

  “Hmm?” 

  “What is this?  Are we still pretending?” 

  “Hell if I know.”