Hello there!

I have seen a few stories wherein Carol becomes pregnant, and Daryl isn't too thrilled about it. I just thought it would be interesting if Carol wasn't too nuts about giving birth to a baby after the world's gone to shit. I do apologize if this is complete crap. It was just an idea that I wanted to get written out. Last night, I posted this up on tumblr, so I figured I'd post it up here, too.

I hope you enjoy.

-Gabby

He was pacing back and forth across the floor of what once was the sitting room in the large farmhouse they had cleared for shelter after the prison fell. Wooden floorboards creaked with every step, sending dust build-up from the past year and a half flying everywhere. At the opposite side of the room, she sat on the floral loveseat with her head leaning against the large window. Despite the sunlight pouring onto the floor and the lovely weather outside, the day was becoming increasingly miserable for the pair. "Daryl," she sighed, squeezing her eyes shut, "will you please say something?"

It had been months since they left the prison, since Woodbury, since the Dixon reunion, since the blooming of a subtle relationship. The new farmhouse wasn't too unlike Hershel's, a large white house with rolling fields and a barn (sans walkers). An older couple had lived in the place prior to the end of the world, and it seemed that the elderly woman had passed on first and taken a bite of her husband after reanimating. Only two of them and a few stragglers outside the fences were all that had to be taken out. Everything almost seemed too good to be true.

"The hell ya' want me t'say?" he growled, continuing his pacing. Even they seemed to be doing well. The untamed redneck and the mousy housewife made an unlikely duo that even more surprisingly worked incredibly well. They were not openly affectionate like Glenn and Maggie could be, but once the line between friends and something more was crossed, it was somehow obvious that it happened. He was a little more protective of her. She smiled a little more often at him. Their eyes connect a little more than they once had. All of the slight changes made for a quiet and private romance until this moment. "Ya' didn't even talk t'me, Carol!"

Her eyes lowered to the creaking floor. "I didn't have a choice, Daryl. What did you expect me to do? Just let it happen?" Tears were brimming in her eyes. Don't cry. Don't cry. Even in her youth, she hadn't taken well to being snapped at. She wasn't quite sure why she thought today would be any better. "I just couldn't do it."

Everything happened so suddenly. He bounded across the room, so he was face to face with her, sending her jumping back on the loveseat. "That wasn't your decision to make," he hissed, his words burning in her head. The only time she ever could recall him getting so angry with her was after the discovery of Sophia in the barn. Since then, she hadn't seen that anger seeping from his every word; the same sense of despair. "It ain't just you it has t'do with. Goddammit, Carol!" His fist made a hard impact with the wall. "What if I wanted it, huh? Ever think about me?"

There was no holding back any longer, salty tears spilling from her eyes as she stood from her seat. "Of course I did. You think I wouldn't?" She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks and neck. Her own rage coursed through her veins. "But did you think about me? Having to make that decision at all? The torment? I couldn't keep it." With fists balled at her stomach, desperately wanting to feel the bump that could have been there, she raised her eyes to find his staring back at her. "The thought of bringing a child into… this madness… I couldn't. I barely was able to take care of one child before it all went to hell, and you see where that got me after the walkers came around. This… this world isn't suited for children. You saw how easily we lost Judith. It wasn't that I didn't want the baby. I did… so much. "

This time, it was him that averted his eyes. "It was mine, too. Ya' had no right to make that choice without me."

"I couldn't bear to lose another child, Daryl. Please, just understand that. You as well as anyone know that there's a slim chance for an adult to last out here, let alone a baby." Her voice was pleading. She so desperately wanted him to understand. "I wanted that baby. I wanted him or her to have the life I could never give Sophia. I wasn't a happy mother. Her father was… well, you know. She wasn't given what she deserved, and every single day that hangs over my head. While this child would have been in much better hands—" His eyes snapped back up to her without the same ire they held only moments before, but with tears now, "—and I know you would have done right by him or her, no child deserves to live in this world, to grow up in it."

Abruptly turning away from her, he attempted to mask a sniffle by clearing his throat. "Still wasn't your choice to make alone," he replied in a low rumble. "Didn't exactly say it was the wrong choice, but I woulda' liked t'have been there for ya'. It was something we made together, so we shoulda' made that decision together, too." With a hand resting on the doorknob, he sighed. "It wasn't righta' you ta' do that t'me." A moment passed between the two, his fingers nervously drumming on the doorknob while she wrung her hands in front of her. Silence was something they were both used to and, more often than not, welcomed with open arms. This silence was different, however. It was cold, tense, and uncomfortable. Anyone who would come in could probably cut the tension with a butter knife. "Gotta' go take watch. We'll talk later."

In that instant, any sense of utopia she had felt seemed to slip from her as if she were trying to catch smoke with her hands. Her tears continued to cascade down her cheeks, occasionally falling to the floor with a quiet dripping sound: so quiet she couldn't hear it over the taunting voice in her head. You dumb bitch, I told you that no one else would want yer sorry, skinny ass. And as quickly as her sadness overwhelmed her, it seemed to lift, but only slightly. They would talk, and it wouldn't be long or serious because she knew that the taunting voice in his head was saying something just like what hers was saying. On the other hand, he knew that there was a smaller, mousier voice in the back of his mind just like the gruff one in her mind, saying something along the lines of Everything's gonna' be just fine. Christ, why am I always the only one zen around here?