No Denying It

Scars

He knew he was staring, and he knew damn well he should stop. But there was something about the sight before him that he just couldn't turn away from. Her pale skin littered with scars, some faded so they were almost invisible, others still as pink and raised as they had been since the wounds had healed. He was drawn to them, almost as though they were calling his name. He couldn't stop himself as he slowly moved closer to her, he had no idea what the fuck he was doing. All he knew was that he had to get a closer look.

She must've sensed someone in the room because before he knew it she whipped around, her pistol pointed right in his face. "Jesus Daryl! You scared the hell outta me! What on earth are you doing?" Carol yelled at him as she set her gun back down. He backed up quickly, unable to produce any words in his defence. He looked down at his feet, there was no way he could look her in the eye now. 'Christ, she thinks yer a fuckin' pervert you stupid fuck what wer ya thinkin' he scolded himself.

"Daryl?"

"I...I.. jesus woman I don't fuckin' know" he growled. He was ashamed of his actions, but he had realised the reason for them. He wasn't alone. He wasn't the only one covered in scars. He wanted to touch her marred skin, he wanted to trace her scars with his fingertips. All he wanted was to take away her pain, and let her know that he understood.

"Why were you watchin' me Daryl" she questioned.

"I... I wasn't watchin'" he mumbled, still staring down at the ground.

"That's sure as hell what it looked like"

"Woman s'not what it was okay" he growled.

"Well can you tell me what you were doing standing there while I was half naked Daryl?"

There was a long moment of silence, and Carol waited patiently for his answer. She knew better than to rush Daryl Dixon. But she sure as hell wasn't gonna let slide the fact that he was staring at her half naked body in the prison shower room.

"Yer scars" he grunted quietly.

"What?"

"Was lookin' at yer scars okay"

Carol let out a sigh. They were something she tried to hide from everybody. She never wanted anyone to see them, least of all Daryl. They made her feel weak.

"They're just... just ugly reminders of an even uglier man" she said softly as she reached for her tank top. She wanted them covered. She hated them being out in the open for people to see. For herself to see, they were a constant reminder of her weakness, and of that piece of shit she called a husband. She wished she could make them go away.

"Wait" Daryl called out, moving forward slightly setting his crossbow down on the bench. He hesitated, knowing he wanted to move closer, but not wanting to freak the woman out.

"What is it Daryl, I don't like feeling exposed like this. I... I feel... ugly" she sighed.

Those words leaving her mouth were enough to give him the push he needed to try and help this broken woman. He didn't know exactly how he was going to help her, but he knew he wanted to. And that was enough for him.

"I... I don't think they're ugly. They might 'ave come from an ugly act, but they aint ugly. And you... you aint ugly neither" he said softly, his voice raspy and his accent thick. He slowly inched a little closer, the tips of his fingers almost in reach of her pale skin. Yet he didn't have the courage to reach for her.

"What makes you say that?"

"They show ya strength. Show yer tough" he told her matter of factly.

"You think these are something to be proud of?" she questioned him, a little confused. She hated those scars. Hated what they reminded her of.

"I think ya should be proud ya made it through all that to be the woman ya are now"

His words made her smile, it wasn't often the redneck spoke more than twenty words to a person, let alone had a conversation with you. She treasured the fact that he thought it was important enough to speak about.

She turned away, reaching once more for her tank top feeling the need to cover herself. But the feel of his calloused fingertips on the soft skin of her back stopped her in her tracks. A shiver was sent down her spine as he ran his fingers along the vast amount of scars on her back. His hand came to rest on a particularly nasty clump of small pink circles between her shoulder blades.

"Ed... burnt me with his cigarettes. Each time I disobeyed him in public... I payed for it later on" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Daryl tensed at the mention of that bastards name. Knowing he did this to Carol made his hatred for the man even stronger. He wished that he could drag the man back from the depths of hell just to beat the shit out of him and send them right back there himself. Daryl may be a violent man, but never would he lay a violent hand on a woman.

His fingers ghosted down the length of her spine as he shuffled a little closer to her, his hot breath on the back of her neck making her skin tingle. His fingertips reached a thick dark scar across the back of her right hip, it took all he had to steady his shaking hand as his fingertips danced over the scar.

"I broke one of the good plates washing up... he used a piece of it to..." she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. She turned to face him, revealing a whole other collection of scars on her front. She placed a soft hand on his cheek. He didn't flinch. Touching her soft skin with his hands had readied him for the physical contact he was certain she would return.

"Does it..." he paused, not entirely sure if he wanted the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"No Daryl, they don't hurt anymore".

He took solace in that. Knowing she wasn't in physical pain from the injuries she had suffered. But he knew full well that she would have emotional pain. As did he.

"I... I'm sorry I walked in on ya like that"

"It's ok. I understand. They can be an intriguing sight I guess" she replied. She wasn't mad at him. If anything she was relieved that someone else knew the pain she carried with her. She knew he had a caring side, But she was constantly, and pleasantly surprised by the rough redneck.

He backed away from her a little, the skin on his face feeling the cold instantly as her hand fell back to her side. He was nervous as all hell, but he knew he had to do this. For her, he told himself. He was doing this for her. Truth be told, it was as much for him as it was for her. Slowly he undid the buttons of his plaid sleeveless shirt with shaking hands and let it fall down to the floor. She looked at him, confusion clear in her eyes.

"Quid pro quo... right" he offered with a small nervous smile.

The small amount of light coming through the bars above them illuminating the large collection of scars he wore on his own skin as he stepped closer to her. Allowing her to view them, as he had done hers...