Walking Dead 1. Days Begin To End, But I'll Get By

**The First Step Is The One You Believe In**

**Chapter 1: Days Begin To End, But I'll Get By**

Carol Peletier turned thirty with more of a fizzle than a bang.

She had expected more from the big three-oh, something memorable and palpable that she could carry with her for the rest of her life, something she could pull out on the bad days and run off with to make herself smile again. She had expected more, plain and simple.

But thirty was anything but _more_; in fact it was something she wished she had much less of.

It wasn't that she hated her age now, or thought she was growing old because she could no longer claim to be in her twenties. It wasn't that there were crows' feet and laugh lines framing her eyes and mouth when she looked in the mirror, because to tell the truth her skin looked as smooth as it had the day before, when she'd still been twenty-nine.

She was just unsatisfied with the way the past thirty years of her life had gone, that's all. Or rather the past eighteen years, considering her first twelve had pretty much been a cakewalk compared to what turning thirteen had done to her.

And what's more, her overly-protective mother who hemmed and hawed over her like there was no tomorrow kept dropping hints about when exactly was she going to tie down some nice, handsome man and get married for Christ's sake? Because until Carol had come along all the women in the Peletier family had been married before the age of thirty, even if they had to get married on their last day of being twenty-nine, as Carol's Aunt Amy had done so many years ago.

But Carol felt no particular urge to find a man and settle down. In fact, she didn't really care if she never saw another man again in her life, save from her very best friend in the world, Daryl Dixon.

Daryl Dixon, the wild redneck whose hair fell in his face and whose gorgeous blue eyes could melt your heart with just a glance. They'd known each other since high school, though he barely showed up and certainly hadn't graduated. Even so, they'd been best friends since the day they first laid eyes on each other.

Daryl's only other friend had been a sweet boy named Gabriel, and Gabriel had been Carol's friend since practically forever, and so it only seemed right that Gabriel try and pair the two of them together, in a purely non-romantic combination, of course.

And the rest, as they say, was history. They'd been inseparable ever since.

But now Daryl's family was starting to wonder why he never brought women around, even though he was so incredibly attractive. According to his father he ought to have a few illegitimate kids by now, if he were really a man as he claimed to be. And according to his brother, Merle, he was being a fucking pansy-ass by not shacking up with every damn woman who happened to look his way.

Carol was the only one who knew that Daryl was gay.

So Carol turned thirty with a rock of disappointment in her heart instead of on her hand, and she wasn't sure she would have preferred the latter at all.


	2. Everything's Gonna Be Fine

**Chapter 2: I Am Aware Now How Everything's Gonna Be Fine**

Carol stares at herself in the mirror, one finger tracing over the dark purple bruising under her left eye as her breath struggles to whistle in and out of her slightly parted lips, and thinks to herself _what a way to enter thirty._

Makeup will only barely cover up the mark marring her otherwise beautiful face, and she prays that Daryl won't notice when she sees him later. The restaurant they're going to is usually quite dimly-lit anyway, so the shadows should provide proper cover. Still, Daryl is the most observant person she knows, and she's never been able to hide anything from him before.

She sighs as she digs through her meager makeup bag, pulling out a liquid foundation that is slightly darker than her skin-tone, a small jar of something claiming to be 'eye-wrinkle cover-up', and a compact of powder foundation that's supposed to bring the whole look together by smoothing over imperfections. She sets to work with various brushes and sponges and after about ten minutes she looks almost back to normal; even the fake smile she sets onto her lips seems just about right.

Next, she lifts her shirt and examines the bruises dotting her ribcage. Nothing's broken, and the bruises aren't too dark (thank God for small favors), but it still hurts when she breathes, and she doesn't have nearly enough makeup to cover up these marks.

Not that she needs to cover them up with anything but a shirt or a dress. It's not like Daryl will be removing her clothes tonight, or any night, and anyway she's pretty much done with men in general.

In fact, Carol's birthday present to herself was to kick Ed out of her house, and her life, for good. He was an abuser in every sense of the word, and she didn't need that kind of negativity in her life.

So she releases the hem of her shirt from her fingertips, lets the fabric drop back down and settle into place against her skin.

A knock sounds at Carol's front door and a slight thrill trickles up her spine. She knows it's Daryl on the other side, probably dressed in the only nice button-down he owns and holding a small bouquet of wildflowers in one hand while his other remains shoved in the pocket of his least ripped jeans. He'll be tapping his foot by the time she opens the door, not impatient, but rather fidgety; he never did know how to sit still.

And for some reason her breath catches in her throat as she rises from the chair she'd been sitting in. It's not because her ribs have caused her pain (she's used to that by now), but because she knows that the Daryl she is about to come face-to-face with is going to look drop-dead gorgeous, and for just a moment a flash of the crush she used to have on him in high school will pierce her heart.

It happens every time she sees him, though her feelings for him at this point are purely platonic. She only loves him as a friend, or a brother, but still that long lost crush will flare itself up like an explosion in her brain, and she will have to struggle to speak to him or look away from his ocean blue eyes.

She tries to prepare herself for this as she walks towards the door, taking deep breaths and telling herself that this time will be different, this time she will be able to squash it down because she knows it's coming, this time it won't affect her.

But of course when she throws the door open it hits her full force, as if she's just been caught on the tracks of a speeding train.

Because Daryl Dixon really is beautiful, in a masculine sort of way. His too-long hair is falling over his face and practically hindering his eyesight. His eyes have crinkled at the edges in that miniscule narrowing they always do, like he's trying to focus on something semi-important. He's shaved the stubble from the sides of his jaw and off the sparse patches that like to grow on his cheeks. And now he's smiling down at her and offering not a bouquet of flowers, but rather a small black box.

Carol is so taken aback by the present that for a moment she isn't sure what to do with it.

"Y' gonna take it 'r what?" Daryl asks, letting out a soft chuckle as his lips curve upwards at one end.

Carol shakes her head, ruffling her short brown hair with the movement, and takes the box from him, her fingers tracing lightly over the back of his hand. His eyes stay focused on her as she opens the box and gasps quietly, her eyes going wide.

Inside the box is a necklace, with a small Cherokee Rose pendant hanging from a gold chain.

"Daryl, it's beautiful." Carol's face lights up with a genuine smile, one she hasn't shown in far too long.

Daryl shrugs, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks. "Lemme help ya put it on."

He reaches around the lid of the box and removes the necklace, and she turns her back to him. He gently lays the necklace at the base of her throat and clasps it at the back, and Carol marvels at how easily he was able to do something like that with his rough, workman's fingers. But then, Daryl's always been full of those sorts of surprises.

"Figured y' should have something nicer than a few flowers t' represent this kinda milestone." Daryl's voice was pitched low, gravelly, and Carol felt a blush rise up from her throat and into her cheeks because of it.

She took a deep breath as her fingers toyed with the pendant, and finally turned to face him. "Are you calling me old, Mister Dixon?"

Daryl quirked a brow as if her statement had confused him. "Nah, just sayin' thirty's a big number and oughta be celebrated in a big way."

Carol laughed and gave his arm a playful smack; he could be so oblivious to her humor at times. "I know, I'm just teasing you. Thank you, honestly. I adore it."

Daryl grinned and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, which in Daryl's estimation was as good as if he'd wrapped both arms around her and smothered her in a bear hug. "Only problem is… your boyfriend won't be bothered seein' it on you?"

There was a hardness in his eyes as he spoke, his pupils flickering to the shadow just below her left eye that she knew she hadn't done a good enough job of covering up. Carol could see the hand still at his side clench into a fist, and she wanted to just reach out and take hold of him, pull him close, and tell him to stop worrying about her if it made him this frustrated. But she couldn't do that because she knew that 1. He didn't like to be touched in such intimate ways, and 2. He would never stop worrying about her, ever. He was her best friend, and worrying was his job, just as it was hers to worry about him.

So she pulled back, made his eyes focus on hers once more, and told him the truth. "I broke up with him last night. Told him to pack up his shit and leave, and not come back. He obliged, and I'm going to file a restraining order tomorrow after work just to make sure."

Daryl's eyes brightened and his lips curved into that special smirk he reserved just for her, which made her smile, too. "Glad ya finally took my advice."

Carol shook her head, though she knew that was the response he was going to give her. But she didn't want to talk about her ex tonight; she didn't want to talk about any heavy subjects, period. She just wanted to go out, eat expensive food, and have several drinks with her best friend.

"Let's not talk about any of that bullshit tonight, okay? I want to go into old age with grace and a lot of vodka."

"Then I'll buy you a bottle of Grey Goose and some pearls when you turn sixty."


End file.
