What Are You?

There

For the longest time, Carol Peletier was just there.

To Daryl Dixon, she was just some woman who cooked and cleaned and occasionally washed his clothes.

She wasn't vital to the group's existence.

She wasn't useful.

She wasn't loved.

Hell, if it weren't for the other women mentioning her name every now and then, she'd be little more than a shadow.

If it were up to him, she wouldn't even be there with them, in the group. All she ever really did was cook and clean and look after that little girl and piece-of-shit husband of hers, and there were plenty of other women that could easily take her place were something ever to happen to her. In fact, he'd kick half of 'em to the curb if he had it his way. Hardly a damn one of 'em worth a shit, save for himself, his brother, the cop and the old guy.

But he couldn't do that, because he wasn't in charge of the group. He wasn't the leader, Shane was. And Shane wanted them to stay. Wanted her to stay. It irked him, but none of the others ever caused him grief or started trouble with him, so he supposed it was doable for the time being.

Daryl huffed angrily as he stalked up to the edge of the lake and shoved his dirty vest into Carol's hands.

She looked at him, slightly shocked and maybe a little scared, but she took the garment nonetheless.

The other women stared on, pausing in their washing duties as she gave him the smallest of smiles, and he stuck his chin out in a semi-nod of acknowledgement before turning on his heel and walking away.

She wasn't important.

She wasn't special.

But she was there.