Fuckit, walkers…

Rick awoke with a jolt and sat bolt upright in bed, hitting his head on the underside of the upper bunk. Cursing, he rubbed the top of his head and listened. Something had… what? Made a noise?

*bump*

There it was again.

Quietly Rick slid off the thin foam mattress and padded to the cell entrance on naked feet. There he stopped, listening again. There was nothing for a moment, then a rustling sound, like a plastic bag being ripped open. It came from the far side of the common area, Rick was sure.

Slowly, he pushed the sheet away that was hung over the entrance to his cell, Python at the ready. He peeked round the corner into the communal area and the gloomy shadows of the early morning hours. For a moment he couldn't see anything, then there seemed to be a movement, in the far corner by the supply shelves. Rick thought he recognized the figure.

"Daryl?"

The other man froze with the back to the room. He was holding something in one hand. Rick stepped out of his cell and approached the hunter, replacing the gun in the waistband of his jeans.

"What are you doing?"

Daryl turned around slowly, and Rick could see he was holding a box of some sort. A moment later Rick realized that it was their last box of Oreo cookies. He frowned. What was going on?

"Eatin'…?" Daryl hazarded around a mouthful of cookies.

"Why?" Rick couldn't help the question slip out. "It's three fucking am…"

Daryl shrugged, looking a bit guilty. "Was hungry. That a crime now?"

Rick had a hard time keeping back the scathing reply. Instead, he took a deep breath and advanced on Daryl, taking the box from him when he was close enough. It was as good as empty. Rick shook the box under Daryl's nose.

"Carl and Michonne will be pissed. That was the last box." Rick rolled his eyes, then made a shooing motion with his hands. "Alright, back to bed, before your midnight munchies wake the whole prison."

He chivvied Daryl in front of him, and the hunter moved reluctantly towards the stairs, regretfully eyeing the box Rick was still holding. Rick made sure Daryl was climbing the stairs before going back to his cell. He scratched his beard thoughtfully. What had all that been about, he wondered to himself.

Early next morning found a group of them loading and preparing the cars for a big supply run. Daryl was just handing Rick a box of tools when he suddenly froze on the spot. Rick looked up and saw the other man's face turn first white, then green.

"What is it, Daryl?"

In response Daryl just shoved the box at Rick, who caught it just in time, then pressed one hand to his mouth and hurried away. He came to a stop by the guard tower wall, where he bent over. Rick could hear him retching.

Rick put the box into the trunk of the car, then walked over to where Daryl was still bent double. What was going on with their hunter? As far as Rick knew he had never been sick. But then, he reflected, as far as he knew he'd never eaten a whole box of cookies in one night, either.

"You ok?"

Rick stopped a little way away when the other man raised a hand as if to stop Rick from coming closer. Finally, he straightened up, breathing hard. Wiping his mouth with one hand Daryl leaned against the tower's brick wall.

"What was that?" Rick asked. He was getting worried, he couldn't deny it. Daryl shrugged. His face was still a bit green and he looked miserable.

"Dunno."

"Maybe you should stay here today…"

Daryl nodded faintly, but then his eyes suddenly started to fill with tears. Rick looked at him, feeling alarmed and utterly confused. He took a step closer, then stopped again, unsure what to do with their strong redneck, now positively bawling.

"What is it, man?"

Rick realized his own voice now had a slightly panicky undertone. How was it that he could deal with walkers and crazy psychopathic murderers at the drop of a hat, but his friend going to pieces in front of him was causing him real panic?

Daryl buried his face in shaking hands and shook his head. He mumbled something Rick didn't catch.

"Come again?"

Daryl lifted his tear streaked face. "I ate all the cookies."

Rick couldn't believe his ears. Was this some crazy alternative reality he'd suddenly been catapulted into? He was now utterly confused. Nothing for it but trying for reason, he decided.

"Daryl, I'm sure it's fine. We'll, uh… we'll try and find some more cookies today, ok?"

It took a minute but finally, with an effort, Daryl started pulling himself together. Eventually he nodded, looking embarrassed.

"Ok."

Rick considered. "Maybe you need some rest. Go take a nap?"

To Rick's surprise Daryl nodded again. He had been sure the hunter would protest, sneer at him and ask him if he'd lost his mind. Instead Daryl just wiped away his tears and pushed himself away from the wall.

"Yeah ok…"

He started walking away towards the cell block as if in a dream. Rick stared after him. Halfway to the door Daryl turned round again, looking worried.

"Don't forget the cookies, ok?"

Rick nodded, feeling dazed. As he looked after Daryl's retreating form he thought to himself that maybe they should bring back a book on psychiatry, too, along with the cookies. Was Daryl having a breakdown of some sorts? Rick made a mental note to have a word with Hershel as soon as possible.

It was late afternoon. The group was just unloading the car. Hershel motioned Rick aside just as he was putting down the last crate of supplies by Carol's feet. Rick raised an eyebrow at the old man who looked grave.

"A word, Rick?"

"Sure."

Rick followed Hershel as the man limped up the stairs and out into the courtyard. What could it be that needed such secrecy, Rick wondered. When they got outside Hershel turned around. He seemed a bit lost for words, which was not like Hershel at all. Finally, he spoke.

"I don't really know how to say this, Rick. It's, well... It's damn weird is what it is."

Rick raised an eyebrow. "Is this about Daryl?"

Hershel nodded. "He came back inside when you were setting off. He told me that he'd been sick and that you'd told him to stay behind. He said he felt strange, not like himself, and could I take a look at him? So I did. Rick... Well, there's no easy way to say this, and I don't understand it at all, but... Daryl is pregnant."

Rick was certain he couldn't have understood the old man right. His hearing must've gone awry. Maybe he'd had a stroke and now all words were gibberish. He stared at Hershel, speechless.

"I know how strange this sounds, Rick."

Rick snorted. "Strange? Do you evenknow what you just said?"

Hershel looked at a complete loss. "Yes, I do. And there's no explanation for it that makes any sense. I know that. But the test came back positive..."

"Test?"

"I've got some self-test kits stashed away. With more and more women here we're bound to have this happening soon..."

Rick snorted again, close to hysterical laughter now.

"Looks like we don't need to wait for the women to get busy." He stepped really close to the old man. "Please tell me if this a joke, Hershel? I swear I won't get mad. But I can't take any more weirdness right now..."

Hershel sighed. "I wish I was kidding, I really to. I'm at a complete loss here... But as far as I can tell this is what's going on. I ran the test twice, same result both times. I didn't tell Daryl what I wanted to do, just asked him to pee in a cup once I'd checked him over and found the symptoms suspicious."

"Symptoms?"

"Cravings, morning sickness, mood swings. Also, he said his nipples..."

"Okay, okay, I don't need to hear this!" Rick rubbed his eyes, then almost giggled. The hysteria was pressing in close now. "I can't believe I'm even asking this, but... How far along is the, ah... pregnancy?"

There were a hundred other questions Rick wanted, and probably at some point had to, ask, but this one just popped out.

"A bit hard to say, since the normal milestones are meaningless here..."

"Milestones?"

"Date of last period, possible conception dates, last time interc..."

"All right, all right! I'm sorry I asked. Best guess?"

"I'd say late second trimester." At Rick's blank look he added, "Six months, slightly less…"

Rick considered. There were still a million questions that needed answering but he suddenly realized something.

"Hershel, before you tell me any more we have to get Daryl into this conversation." He looked at the old man. "It's... Christ, alright... It's his body, after all."

"Daryl, can we talk for a sec?"

The hunter glanced up from the book he was reading, lying on the lower bunk in his cell. To Rick he looked like he had been crying again. Great, just what he needed, Daryl to be an emotional wreck already. As if this wouldn't be a hard enough conversation…

Rick's eyes travelled down and he noticed something else that had not registered before. And why should it, Rick thought, he didn't make a habit of looking at other men's bellies. But Daryl's was definitely protruding, and lying on his back like this made it so obvious Rick was amazed nobody had noticed anything. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Sure. What's up?"

When he looked at Daryl again the man had put his book aside and was in the process of getting up. Maybe it was just Rick's imagination now, but he looked like he was having a harder time of that than before. Rick had to look away. This was too weird.

Hershel gave Rick a look of pity and understanding. He stepped around Rick into Daryl's cell, patting Rick on the arm, then motioned at Daryl.

"Sit down, son."

Daryl sat at the little table in his cell, looking confused. Hershel sat down opposite him and leaned forward. Rick was grateful the old man was taking charge. He couldn't have done this without losing his composure completely.

"You know when you came to me today after you threw up outside, Daryl? After I'd checked you over I did one other test…"

Daryl looked suddenly scared, and Rick thought that that was probably down to the same hormonal shifts as the crying. Daryl never seemed to be scared of anything. Rick suddenly felt very sorry for the other man. Then he realized something else. He was actually starting to buy into Hershel's theory. There was no better explanation for the symptoms he could see with his own eyes.

"Am I sick?"

Hershel quickly shook his head, and reached across the table to take Daryl's hands, which were lying clenched together in front of him. To Rick's surprise Daryl didn't pull away.

"No, son, you aren't sick. Not… exactly… There really is no easy way to say this, so here goes… Daryl, as incredible as it seems, you appear to be with child."

Hershel stopped there, letting it sink in. Daryl's face was a study of emotion, Rick thought. At first there was incredulity and confusion, and a trace of the same hilarity he still had difficulty suppressing. Then Daryl's features changed and he suddenly looked suspicious, almost angry.

"Why you makin' such a cruel joke?"

Daryl's lower lip began to tremble, and there were tears in his eyes again. Rick stared. This was not the reaction he'd expected. On second thought, however, he realized he shouldn't be surprised. Clearly Daryl was nothimself at the moment, so what he thought he knew about their hunter had to be off, too. He felt properly sorry for the other man now. Rick stepped closer to the table, and actually crouched down, to be able to look Daryl directly in the eyes without looming over him.

"Daryl, it's not a joke. We got no explanation, but the symptoms you've been having? They all add up, and Hershel's diagnosis is the only thing that makes sense."

Daryl pulled his hands from Hershel's grip at last and got up. "But Rick, this is insane!"

He started pacing which, with three of them in the cell, was nigh well impossible. Every two steps he turned around, paced two more, turned. He started worrying his thumb nail with his teeth, the other hand pressed into his back. Rick was powerfully reminded of Lori in her late pregnancy with both Carl and Judith. She'd done exactly the same. He rubbed his eyes again. Surely seeing his dead, pregnant wife in a redneck hunter meant he was finally going insane for real.

"It sounds crazy, I agree," said Hershel from where he still sat. "I doubt we'll ever get to the bottom of this completely. There is no precedent whatsoever in mammalian biological history that would explain it. I do, however, have a theory. Well, more of a hunch."

Rick looked over at Hershel. "Share, please? Anything that might help explain this craziness surely is worth hearing."

"Rick, you told us that scientist in Atlanta said the vector that caused the dead to walk has infected us all?" Rick nodded, and Hershel went on, "I am thinking that this is somehow related."

Rick straightened up. "Hang on. Do you mean to say more men will get pregnant? If that's," he glanced at Daryl, "really is what's happening here."

Hershel shrugged.

"Maybe. But I don't think that it's spontaneous. The rest of us won't suddenly wake up in the same condition. I think something happened, and I have a feeling I know what that something might be, too." He looked at Daryl. "Remember the accident you had with Nervous Nellie, Daryl? When you fell down the bank and the crossbow bolt pierced your side?"

Daryl made a face. "Hard to forget. Still got the scars."

"What if," Hershel went on, "that bolt left behind more than scars? You reuse these bolts all the time, they are bound to be contaminated with walker DNA. What if a combination of that and the virus has caused something to grow inside you?"

Daryl looked at Hershel with horror, and this time Rick could understand the tears spilling over again.

"You mean I am carrying a walker in my belly?"

Daryl's hands came to rest protectively on his middle, and Rick had to look away again. This was precisely the thing Lori had always done.

"Not exactly." Hershel's voice was soothing now. "Walker tissue is dead, it can't grow. There must have been a… reaction of some sort. Something must have set that process off. I don't know, I have no idea how we'd ever find out. But it must be your own cells growing inside you, Daryl. As to what it is they are growing into, I can't even guess."

Hershel got up from the table.

"What we need now is more equipment. I need to do an ultrasound, get some lab stuff and run some more tests. And then," he looked at Rick, "we need to decide what to tell the others."