Lori spends the next days in a bundle of anxious nerves that create knots of her stomach that seem to have caged butterflies. She avoids everyone, unable to deal with their betrayal and she feels suspicious of them all – if Daryl knows who else does?
The long list of to-dos keeps her busy: laundry, cooking, dishes, cleaning. She works side-by-side with Carol and Beth, but mostly volunteers to take on the jobs that keep her in seclusion. She sleeps a lot, taking long naps in the afternoon and then she turns in early instead of joining the group for dinner. She can't bear to look at Rick or Claire; the way they sit on opposite sides of the tables, or excuse themselves always minutes apart.
Hershel voices his concern about her blood pressure and urges her to talk to him about what is troubling her. The sincerity in his eyes brings tears to her own and she finds herself spitting out a jumbled mess of words that don't exactly form cohesive sentences – nor are they the truth.
His fingers find her pulse when her breath begins to hitch in tight hiccups and she finds herself fighting to draw a breath that is deep enough to carry any oxygen into her hungry lungs. She stares at the ceiling, listening to his soothing voice as he instructs her to breathe, then demonstrates, urging her to copy him.
She does, and eventually her panic gives way and she finds herself exhausted and emotionally spent. One of his hands lifts hers to place it over her belly where her baby flutters against her palm. He tells her that she needs to keep herself together for the sake of her baby and she nods in agreement, swiping at the tears that continue to leak from the corners of her eyes.
She postulates that maybe it would have been better if she'd never survived that night at the farm. He shushes her again, telling her to get some rest and that he will be back in a bit to check on her. She tries to calm her racing heart by rubbing smooth circles over her belly, but she can't stop the worry that nags at her. If Rick has moved on, surely it wouldn't be long before one of them would be expected to leave. If it comes down to it she knows that they will decide based on usefulness to the group, and it is no secret that she is the weaker link.
They have already proven their loyalties by guarding Rick's infidelity.
Lori wonders what she will do with a newborn out on her own… the thought brings with it more tears as she realizes that she will have to leave her children behind.
A sound draws her attention and she looks up expecting to find Hershel coming back in. Instead she finds Claire there lingering in the cracked doorway. She asks if she can come in and Lori considers suggesting to her another place she can go. Instead she nods reluctantly. Maybe if she doesn't fight it she can maintain peace and she will be able to stay in the group.
Claire's face is void of any guilt, but she does look sympathetic. "Oh, Lori," she says pitifully, taking a seat on the corner of the mattress. "We never meant to hurt you."
Lori wants to spit in her face. She wants to claw her eyes out. She wants to kill her. Instead she turns to look out the window, her throat like a vice that is tightening, gripping her airway.
"It's better that you aren't fighting it," Claire soothes, reaching out towards her. Lori flinches as the other woman's fingers comb through her hair, pushing it back off her forehead. "I really am so sorry."
XXXX
Lori isn't sure if Rick knows that she knows. He still finds his way to their bed each night and she is ashamed each time she finds comfort in that idea. She feels weak and pathetic for clinging to a man who has no respect for her or the promises they had made to each other.
She tries to keep Carl close to her, especially when she sees him interacting with Claire. She finds reasons to call him back inside, though she can see him growing frustrated with being cooped up indoors. She feels selfish, but she cannot stand the thought of having to share him too. She wants him to hate the other woman; she wants him to be on her side.
She loses track of him one afternoon while she is attempting to make pie crusts for dinner. She is finding herself increasingly frustrated and moody and she and Carol have taken to working side-by-side in silence. When the back door slams open she jumps in surprise, dropping the pan that she had been using to form the crust. She curses, looking at the mess at her feet, then looks up to see Carl storming across the kitchen.
Lori calls out to him, partly in irritation, but mostly in concern when she sees his cheeks wet with tears. She is barely at his side before the door slams open again and Rick comes in, his hands balled at his sides, his chest heaving. She has never seen him this angry, nor has she ever been afraid of him until this moment. Stepping in front of her son protectively she holds one hand out to try to diffuse the situation.
The room explodes with words as he rails at her, demanding to know why Carl was in the woods unsupervised. She tells him that she can't do everything, trying to keep her voice calm. Over his shoulder Carol's face is white and stricken.
Lori turns to her son, resting one hand on his shoulder. He pushes her hands away, his voice raised as he tells her the only reason he is in trouble is because he caught Rick and Claire fucking in the woods. The word is like a slap across her face, or a bucket of cold water and she asks him to go upstairs. He stomps his way through the house and she flinches as the bedroom door slams.
Rick, she starts pausing to take a deep breath. He cuts her off, still seething but calmer than before. He's stiff, but she recognizes this Rick, this Rick she can handle. When she asks him if it's over his jaw ticks and he lifts his eyes to meet hers to show her that they're red-rimmed and swollen. She is grateful that he can offer that much to her and she nods to give him permission to say it.
He leaves her with both their rings in the palm of her hand and she waits until he has stepped back outside before she allows herself to collapse against the wall and slide to the floor, her legs refusing to hold her up anymore.
She had expected that she would cry in this moment, but instead she can't seem to feel anything at all. Arms close around her and she is vaguely aware of Carol pulling on her and pushing her hair behind her ears. It doesn't take much coaxing before Lori's head is resting on her shoulder and she finds herself whispering over and over again that she is okay…
…She isn't okay.
She sits on the corner of the mattress of their bed, staring disbelievingly at the pattern on the rug while he collects his things from their room. She wants to beg him to stop, to talk about this, but now she realizes that both talking and silence have failed her and she has nothing left. She asks him if he will be moving into Claire's room and he tells her that he will take Hershel's floor for now.
When she nods her neck is stiff from sitting in one position for so long. He tells her she should eat something, that the pies are ready downstairs. She shakes her head, her stomach roiling beneath her hand – if she eats she will throw it up anyway.
The next morning she wakes to find Carl's bed un-slept in. She searches the house for him, eventually finding him in Daryl's hammock in the attic. The man sits in the window, a semi-automatic propped up on his lap and he barely spares her a glance before he turns back to keep watch.
The hammock hangs chest-level and she reaches inside to smooth her son's forehead, her fingers dancing over smooth, pale skin. When he stirs she whispers to him, telling him to come downstairs and sleep in his own bed. He turns over showing him her back and tells her he isn't sleeping downstairs anymore.
Lori's objection dies on her mouth when Daryl lifts his chin. She transfers a kiss from her palm to the back of Carl's hair and leaves him be.
XXXX
They get another dump of snow a few days later so she and Carol procrastinate doing the laundry. Neither of them are particularly fond of the idea of trekking out to the creek to lug enough water back inside to fill the basin. When she draws the short end of the stick, Lori tries to play the pregnancy card, which Carol quickly shoots down.
Sulking, she pulls on a pair of men's winter boots that they have all been sharing and ties them tightly to keep them on her feet. Slipping her coat over her shoulders she sighs when it won't zip up over her belly – it's the second one she has grown out of since leaving the farm. Pushing it off her shoulders she snags T-Dog's, it is far too big for her but it closes and she counts that as a blessing.
As she steps outside onto the porch Carol gives her a guilty look and calls her back in, offering to go instead. Lori's response is an appreciative smile and insists that she go, but demands that Carol have hot chocolate ready for her when she gets back.
They use a sled that is more like a piece of sheet metal that has been curved at one end. It is propped up beside the door. Lori tosses the buckets onto the ground ahead of her and picks up the sled with both hands. It isn't heavy, but it is awkward with her belly in the way. Carefully she walks it over to the steps and blindly lowers her foot onto the first one.
She barely has time to register what is happening before she is suddenly falling, her hands flailing, desperately searching for the railing. Her hip collides first on the top step and she realizes her foot is tangled in the rope attached to the front of the sled when she tries to use it to stop her downward momentum.
Her head strikes the banister as she tumbles the rest of the way down the steps, finally stopping when she reaches the bottom, sprawled out on her back, the sled half underneath her. She estimates that the entire event took less than a second but as she plays it over in her mind again and again it happens in painstaking slow-motion.
The door behind her opens and she hears Carol begin to ask if she dropped the sled, and then she is calling back into the house for help.
Lori lifts one hand to her forehead and it occurs to her that she is bleeding, which she can't seem to understand through the fog that has settled over her brain. She tries to tell Carol that she is okay, but instead whimpers as her stomach seizes. Trying to curl up she is stopped by hands, lots of them, holding her in place. Maggie is leaning over her head wearing only a t-shirt, her palms splayed on both sides of Lori's face, stabilizing her neck.
"My baby," she mutters the words, though she isn't sure that anyone can hear her over the roaring sound as blood rushes through her ears – adrenaline, her body is releasing adrenaline.
Maggie tells Glenn to get Rick, but no one knows where he is. He's in the woods with Claire, Carl answers from miles away and underwater all at once.
XXXX
She is carried upstairs to her room by Daryl who is quickly dismissed as Maggie and Carol begin to undress her. Carol keeps apologizing and Lori wants to tell her to stop but she is distracted by the contractions that are coming in regular intervals. She tries to breathe through them but before she knows it they are one on top of the other and she can't seem to catch her breath.
She digs her fingers into the bed, her fingers twisting around the sheets, desperate for some measure of comfort. Maggie has gone to get water and Carol is stroking her forehead and monitoring her pulse while Hershel examines her.
She can't stop begging Hershel to make the contractions stop, and then she is bargaining with him and the Universe and whatever god she thinks might listen. It's too early.
The door opens and Carol turns to tell whoever it is to get out, but then Rick is there, chest heaving, sweat dampening the curls on his forehead. He crosses the room to her and he smells like evergreens and campfire as she buries her face into his jacket, sobbing because the baby can't come now.
He slides in behind her, propping her up against his chest and his hand finds hers. His grip is powerful and almost painful and she squeezes back, locking their other hands over her rock-hard belly. He is whispering nonsense in her ear and she closes her eyes, breathing to match the expanding and deflating of his chest beneath her until they are in sync.
As she begins to relax she realizes that he is counting backwards, his voice even and rhythmic, drawing her out of herself and into him until she is in a place where it doesn't hurt anymore. Eventually there is only him, and her, and their baby… and then there is nothing at all.
XXXX
Lori wakes to a silent house. It is very early in the morning and she looks around, afraid to move. Her head is killing her and she lifts her hand to touch the bandage that is adhered to her skin, covering a tender wound.
She finds that she is lying down on her pillow and she looks around frantically before she realizes that Rick is still there, but seated on a chair beside the bed, asleep. His upper body is sprawled across the mattress, and his hand is still locked around hers.
On her other side is Carl; his arm is draped over her abdomen, curled over the swell of her belly protectively. His head has fallen into the crevice between her pillow and the one that should be his. She shifts slowly lifting her arm to pull him into a half-hug and he repositions himself until his head is resting on her shoulder.
The hardwood floor outside her door creaks and she looks up to find the door cracked. Thin fingers slip through the space and wrap around the door, pushing it open. In seconds Lori finds herself looking into Claire's chocolate eyes as the other woman inspects the scene before her.
Her mouth quirks up in to a barely-there smile before she pulls the door closed.
XXXX
She is sentenced to two weeks bed rest by Hershel who draws a rudimentary calendar on a piece of paper. It doesn't have any dates on it - they have long-since lost track of those. Instead, it is fourteen uneven rectangles inside which Beth adds smiley faces, hearts, and stars. They place it on her bedside table and she jokes that she could easily cross two off at a time and no one would be the wiser.
Beth tells her that she will remember whether it was a heart day or a smiley day and she'll know. Lori is sure she has never heard anything so sweet.
The group take turns keeping her company and she appreciates their time. Rick comes in periodically throughout the day to check in on her, usually bearing a small token – most of the time food. She tells him she will be a whale and won't be able to get out of bed when her time is served. His uncomfortable expression reminds her that all is not well between them.
She too is wary of him and she finds herself building up walls before she can negotiate the old ones down. She wants to make it work but she is very angry, and even more hurt than that.
They don't talk about the day on the road after the farm, they don't talk about Claire, and they don't talk about Shane. Instead they talk about them, which is tricky, she learns, while they are trying to avoid all the landmines that are off limit topics.
She rarely sees Claire, though she sometimes hears her in her tiny room next door. She usually comes upstairs with her plate to eat alone, and Lori wonders if Rick has ended it with her. She doesn't have the courage to ask, and so she leaves it in limbo for the time being.
XXXXX
When Lori checks off the last day on the calendar it is a star day. She climbs out of bed on feet that have travelled no further than her chamber pot in the corner of the room, which is actually an old mop bucket that poor Carol emptied and rinsed for her.
The baby has grown and she is sure she must be around five months pregnant. Sliding her shirt up to under her breasts she runs her hand over her smooth skin. Her belly is still a gentle curve but it is decidedly round as she inspects it in the dresser mirror. When Carol comes in she comes bearing a pair of jeans, and she smiles warmly at the sight before her.
Lori accepts the pants with their let out seams and elastic waist, saying she has never been so happy to have to go up a size. She offers her friend a grateful hug and thanks her for all she has done for her.
She eases back into the chore schedule, though she is banned from water runs and anything that requires any kind of lifting or strenuous activity. So she folds laundry, peels vegetables, and sets the table.
She is permitted to go outside three days later when Hershel announces that the Nanny is in labour. She attends to the birth, assisting the old man and Daryl into the early hours of the morning when finally one kid arrives, and then another; they are both snow white and slick with mucus as they lay on the hay beneath their mother.
Lori congratulates the Nanny and strokes her hair as she is overwhelmed by the presence of new life in a world that is filled with the dead. Daryl's hand on her shoulder pulls her from her thoughts and he tells her he will walk her inside to get some sleep.
The twins are girls that change overnight from trembling nondescript shapes on the floor to fluffy babies that she can hold against her chest. Carl names them Pickle and Vixen, while Daryl calls them Breakfast and Lunch. When the Nanny starts to produce milk they make sure the twins get their share first and then they take what is left.
Rick gives her a book on how to make dairy products and they eat cheese that didn't quite set right for dinner. But it's a start.