A/N: Apparently my lack of inspiration didn't last long. I don't know what it is about these two but I just can't stay away. This was written for GageWhitney's prompt over on LJ that asked for Daryl telling his daughter how she came to be born while they wait for the birth of her brother. I hope that it fits what the prompt was looking for because once I started writing, it kind of took on a life of it's own and the fluff just exploded...

Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the idea.

When Andrea goes into labor, it's Daryl who's saddled with the task of explaining to their daughter exactly what's going on.

They've been working for months to try to prepare her for it. They bought dolls, read books, watched movies, and brought Carl in to have a talk about the responsibilities of being an older sibling but now that's it's actually happening, everything that Daryl and Andrea have worked so hard to teach has flown right out the window.

And though it's to be expected with a four year old, it does nothing to soothe Daryl's frazzled nerves to have to deal with a constant stream of questions while trying to care for his wife.

Andrea is in the middle of a hot shower (because after being snapped at over his hovering, Daryl doesn't dare object to her method of relaxation) and Daryl is putting a fresh and clean set of sheets on the bed when the quiet sound of sniffling reaches his ears. When he turns around, his stomach gives a not so gentle flip at the sight of his daughter standing in the doorway to the bedroom in her pink footie pajamas with round and red rimmed eyes.

"I heard mommy yelling," she says quietly as she reaches up to run her sleeve under her nose.

Daryl's grip on the sheet in his hand goes lax and all he can do is sigh as he kneels down and opens his arms to his daughter. "C'mere," he says.

She comes running, suffering a small stumble at the expense of the little bit of extra fabric in the feet of her pajamas, and folds herself right into his arms, pressing her face against the firm plane of his chest. "'M scared."

Daryl strokes her hair, still ratty and tangled from sleep, and lifts her up onto his lap as he takes a seat at the edge of the bed. "We've talked about this, you know."

She blinks her eyes and wipes her nose again, giving him a small, hesitant nod in response. "But I'm scared."

"Your mama's alright," he tells her as he presses a kiss to the crown of her head. "You know how you get mad when Sophia gets in your space?" When Daryl receives a second nod in response, he continues. "That's what she was yelling' about. I wasn't givin' her enough space."

His little girl wiggles around on his lap until she manages to turn herself around to look up at him, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "But you said she would hurt!"

Daryl swallows. Even after all this time, he can't handle tears. Reformed man or not, tears are the one thing he doesn't do. "I… I did."

Her bottom lip wibbles as the tears begin to flow down her cheeks. "I thought she was hurt!" she cries, betrayal ringing clear in her tone of voice.

"Your mama…" Daryl trails off with a small groan, reaching up with his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I wish that she wasn't goin' to, but she is going to be in pain. It just… comes later."

Her little lips push out into a pout (Andrea's pout, Daryl thinks) and her eyebrows furrow together. "I don't un…un…"

"Understand?"

"Yeah."

"Alright," Daryl says, moving her off of his lap so that they can sit cross-legged across from one another. "You remember that we told you that having a baby can take a long time, right?"

She tucks her hands between her knees and nods. "Hours," she responds, and then pauses. "But sometimes not hours, right?"

A small smile tugs at the corner of Daryl's mouth. "Right."

"So… it hasn't been hours yet."

"Right again," Daryl says.

Her eyes go rounder still and Daryl can almost see the wheels in her head begin to turn. "So… mommy's just at the start of having the baby?"

"It's been about… thirty minutes," Daryl says after a quick glance at the clock. Andrea had woken him up at around two in the morning with what she had called "the real stuff" and it was just nearing two thirty. "That's half of an hour. Think of it as… the time it takes us to eat dinner."

"Oh." She glances at the clock as well and then frowns. "When will the hours be over?"

Daryl chuckles at that. "When the baby's born."

"Oh," she says again. "And aunt Lori and Carol will get here and help mommy and then tell me I can come in and see the baby?"

"You'll come in right away."

"Because I'm the big sister?"

Unable to resist the urge, Daryl leans over and playfully tugs at what's left of the ponytail that Andrea had tied her hair into before bed earlier that night. "Because you're the big sister."

"Daddy!" Giggling, swats his hand away from her hair and proceeds to give him that same Andrea-like pout. "Did I take hours?"

"Did you take hours to do what?"

"To get here," she says, flopping down sideways onto the bed. "Did I take mommy hours or was I quick?"

"Well," Daryl starts as he leans onto his own side, propping himself up into his prime story-telling position. "You did take hours. Almost two days."

Her eyes grow wide once more as her head falls onto Andrea's abandoned pillow. "Two days?"

"Two days," Daryl confirms.

"Why?"

"Couldn't tell you," he admits. "There's a few things I don't know much about and birth is one of them."

She hums in thought and reaches over to fiddle with a loose thread on the blanket. "And I was born here?"

"Right here, actually." He points to a spot on the bed a few centimeters over from where she's laying, remembering having sat right where he was the first time that he had held her, sweating bullets over the thought of dropping her.

She wrinkles her nose. "And you still sleep here? You said having babies was messy."

Daryl chuckles again. "We cleaned up."

"Oh."

"We'd only found this house a few days before you were born," he continues. "If you think your mom was loud when she was yellin' at me just now, you should have heard her then. She was afraid you were gonna be born in the back of the truck somewhere. She'd never have forgiven me if we hadn't found a place to live."

"It's a good house," she says, stretching her arms out across the bed.

"It is," Daryl agrees.

"What else happened when I was born?"

"I don't remember all that much," Daryl admits. "Probably too nervous to pay attention, but I know you were early. At least that's what your mama says, but she did wait awhile to tell me about you so it's not like I ever knew when you were gonna be born."

"Why'd she wait?"

"I think she was nervous. We hadn't been a couple long and I was... I was different then. I hadn't had you around to soften me up," Daryl explains, reaching over to poke her in the stomach and make her giggle. "And I do know that it was rainin'. Your mama made us open up the windows in here because she was too hot and everything got wet."

She wrinkles her nose again. "That's kind of silly."

"It was. But your mom was doin' a lot of work to get you here. It was the least we could do for her."

"We?" She turned her head back in his direction. "Who else was here?"

"Me and Lori."

"Like it'll be for the new baby."

"Exactly," Daryl says. When he hears the water shut off in the bathroom, he sits up a little, listening for Andrea's footsteps or the sound of her calling his name. "What else do you wanna know?"

After a moment of chewing on her lip she asks, "How does it work? I know mommy said it was going to hurt her but that's it."

Daryl's stomach does that nervous little flip again and he quietly clears his throat. "I probably ain't the best person to talk to about that."

In another very Andrea-like move, she gives a little huff in response. "But mommy's going to be in pain and she won't want to talk to me."

"She won't wanna talk to me either," he says, reaching over to give her ponytail another little tug. "She didn't have very nice things to say when you were born. Just how it works."

"Fine."

"We'll tell you when you're older, baby," Andrea cuts in, standing in the doorway looking flushed and damp with a weary smile on her face.

At the sight of her mother, Amy gives a happy yelp and jumps off the bed, running forward to wrap her arms around Andrea's middle. "You'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Andrea replies, placing a hand on the top of Amy's head. "And you should be back in bed." With a smile shot in Daryl's direction she adds, "You dad should know that."

Amy gives a rapid shake of her head, shaking the few strands of hair that were left in her ponytail loose. "I wanted a story."

"And did you get one?"

"I heard about the day I was born," she says, still hanging on tightly to Andrea.

"Ah. How appropriate."

Before Andrea can say anything else, a small grimace that Daryl recognizes as the start of a contraction begins to work it's way onto her face. He quickly stands up and scoops up Amy, tossing her over his shoulder before she can pick up on her mother's discomfort. "C'mon. Time to go back to bed."

Andrea mouths a 'thank you' as Daryl carries their daughter out of their room, ignoring her many protests.

"But I want to stay with mommy!" she wails as they make it back to her bedroom, kicking her little feet against his chest. It's all Andrea's temperament, Daryl thinks. She'd certainly inherited the ability to go from mood to mood within seconds flat.

"You'll see your mom soon," Daryl promises as he gently settles her back down into her own bed. "If you go to sleep, Lori will be comin' to wake you up before you know it."

After a moment of consideration, the crease in her eyebrows fades and she nods her head, momentarily appeased. "And you'll make sure mommy is okay?"

Daryl leans over to press a kiss to her forehead. "What I do best."

With a few more assurances that yes, everything's going to be fine; Daryl shuts off the light and closes the door to the room of his first born.

Four years later, the concept of being a father is something that still makes him take pause. It's not something he ever thought he would have or even want and knowing that the little girl on the other side of the door is his is something he's still struggling to wrap his head around. She's an amazing little thing; smart and witty with her mother's strength and silver tongue and his own tenacity. She reminds him more and more of Andrea every day and as he walks down the hallway to his own bedroom, he wonders what his son will be like. It's that thought that keeps his stomach flipping, but it also makes a smile break out on his face as he sits down on the bed beside his wife.

"Want me to call Lori?" he asks, reaching over to brush a few wayward strands of hair off of her face.

"No, not yet. The contractions are still pretty far apart. I don't want to wake her until I have to."

"You sure?"

"Daryl, she lives right next door," Andrea says, rolling her eyes. "I'm alright."

"Stubborn," he mumbles as he leans down and presses his lips to hers. "I promised the kid that I'd make sure you're okay."

Andrea hums as she closes her eyes. "I'm sure you'll do a fine job. You're a pro at hovering."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Just come lay with me."

Daryl does as he's told, sliding in beside Andrea and draping his arm over her, flattening his palm against her stomach. "Anything else I can do?"

"Mm, maybe it's my turn to hear one of those stories of yours."