AN…Not really sure what to say about this one, only to reiterate that I have no plan with this fic. I totally write from the gut and this seemed to be what my gut wanted to say. I hope you all don't get whiplash!

Part Ten

Carol walks to the cell they've set up as their mini-surgery with a heart that feels like a lead block in her chest. She knows where everything is in this little room—the bandages, the antibiotics are in a locked cabinet they found in the warden's office and managed to transfer through the prison. Only Rick has the key. She knows where the needles are, the medical implements for Hershel should he ever need to operate on them—and she knows where the ladies products are stashed in boxes under the bunk. She straight away reaches for the large stack of pregnancy tests—does a quick count and is relieved to see that she is at least the first one to use them. She hopes she's the last for a long time. This group needs more burdens like they don't need holes in the head.

Her hands are shaking as she straightens with the test in her hand. Opening it quickly, she extracts only one stick from the package, dropping the other test to the box and sliding it back under the bed with her foot. Somehow Carol knows this is just a formality—she doesn't need a little pink plus sign to tell her she's pregnant. She has a feeling that she's known from the beginning—that she tempted fate right at the start, telling Merle to survive their fight with the Governor so he wasn't leaving her alone with a potential baby to raise on her own. She has no idea now what she was thinking, only that the idea of a baby with a man like Merle hadn't scared her quite like it should have done. Not like it would have had he been Ed. She wasn't sure how she'd switched off the side of her that ached for Daryl's touch, but as they'd faced almost certain death of one if not both of them, the thought of sharing something so magical as a baby with Merle had almost made her happy.

The reality was now staring her in the face. Carol slinked off to the shower block, went to one of the toilet stalls and carried out the test. Minutes ticked by without her moving, the tears sliding down her face feeling cold and icy. As the plus sign slowly forms, the rest of her numbs and she gives in to the cries that want to rip her apart. The stick falls from her hands and bounces under the closed door as Carol gives into it. Half way through her grief something changes and her tears switch to hysterical laughter. On the other side of the door, heavy boots clomp to a stop and she squeezes her eyes shut tight. She doesn't want to know which of the men has just discovered her secret—hoping that it's Daryl so she doesn't have to go into any explanations. Knowing it's probably not as he'd taken off somewhere the second they arrived back in the yard.

There's nothing but silence, nothing to tell her who it is, nothing but footsteps walking away and a clean floor when she finds the courage to open the door. It doesn't matter who knows her secret now. She knows for certain there's a baby growing inside her and she has to find a way to deal with it. Has to hold on to the hope that this isn't the thing that Daryl uses to throw them away.

The silence in the bathroom block feels sacred, so Carol stays until she can feel darkness infiltrate the prison. It's given her the time she's needed to steady herself, to feel the small stirring of excitement and mumble the prayers of gratitude that squeeze her heart. To thank God for granting her the miracle of a child and giving her a renewed purpose to live. There is no guarantee she'll have Daryl for the long haul—or even till the end of the day—but a child, if she can keep it alive, can fuel her determination to survive for as long as it needs her to.

She's a little hurt that no one has come looking for her. Then she pictures that stumpy white stick laying abandoned on the tile floor like a bad joke and realises that someone has told them all and they've given her space. She can't quite decide if that is better than having Beth singsong her way into the bathroom and beg Carol for some kind of assistance—whether with getting Judith off to sleep or preparing the nightly meal. Better than having Rick come in and demand she go on watch. Better than Merle throwing himself at the stall door, demanding she talk to him and tell him the truth. Better than Daryl standing on the other side, saying he can't handle her having someone else's baby and that he's stepping away, making all those months of loving him worth next to nothing.

When she leaves, the corridor is empty but she can hear the preparations for dinner as she nears their common area. Her family are gathering together and it's the first thing to put a smile on her face in hours. As she opens the door and slowly descends the steps, Beth is there, a wide smile brightening her face as she offers the baby to her.

"I am so glad you're back," Beth says, that natural happiness and life in her voice the very thing Carol needs to hear to ground herself further. "Judith's been fussin' since last night and I can't make her stop. Do you mind?"

Carol takes the baby and immediately starts rocking her, smiling at the beautiful face, the innocence and already is picturing her own child like this. She knows that whatever love she feels for Judith will be eclipsed by the immeasurable joy of holding her own child in her arms, of slipping her finger over its soft flesh, of having it feed from her breast, skin against skin. Happiness slams into her and Carol smiles without any restrictions. Her gaze is pulled across the room as Merle enters and stops suddenly, watching her. He smiles at her, softens for her and she can't help the way she melts and remembers, even if shame makes her cheeks burn red hot.

She's taking Judith to bed, but to get there she has to pass Merle. He doesn't move out of her way, lets her brush against him, his eyes catching hers as she drifts across the floor and then slips past. Neither of them seem to breathe. She can tell when he draws in a ragged breath behind her, and despite it all, Carol smiles. She loves Daryl, but Daryl is running scared and it does her ego good to know Merle is attracted to her. That she means something to someone. She's spent so much of her life meaning nothing to the one she was supposed to be everything to.

She realises he's following her when she hears his boots ascend the steps up to the perch behind her.

"Where's my baby brother?" he asks curiously, making his stride longer to catch her up as she reaches the top and heads to Judith's crib and the chair beside it set up for feeding or cuddles to get the babe to sleep.

"I'm not sure. Haven't seen him since we got back."

Merle is staring at her, a quizzical expression on his face. He heads to the windows, looks out at the rapidly darkening sky and turns back to her, concern written in the tight way he's holding his stump to his chest.

"You two lovebirds have a fight?" he asks at last and Carol wonders at the hint of hope she detects in there. Does Merle really want her? Has he really been acting so strangely—prettying up the prison, planting gardens and fruit trees, getting her a hat—has it all been for a purpose she's been blind to? Has he wanted more than just a repeat of the moment before they went to wage war on a madman?

"I'm not quite sure what we had," Carol answers carefully, the double meaning not lost on her. The only thing she is certain of is that she had one glorious day when Daryl told her he felt the same way she did, and then he was running backwards as fast as his feet could carry him.

"Hell, can you be anymore cryptic?" Merle huffs.

"You were expecting an illuminating sermon?" She finds it entertaining that she no longer finds Merle frightening or threatening. No longer sees him as hard and cruel and dead inside. She remembers not so long ago likening him to Ed as the kind of man that got into your head, making you think you deserved the abuse the sonovabitch decided you'd earned, but she was wrong. She's been guilty of judging Merle without really knowing him, taking a few isolated anecdotes and her own assumptions and twisting them into the kind of brother that had robbed Daryl of the chance to grow into the kind of man he hadn't known he could be. Merle was equally damaged, she realises now, feeling like she owes him fiercely for judging him so unfairly. For not understanding earlier the real culprit for Daryl's hurt and pain.

"You at least find any useful shit while you were gone, or were you both too busy snugglin' up and keepin' warm?"

He's looking away from her, peering down the stairs which reveals that Daryl still hasn't shown up, then back out the window. She can hear the taint of jealousy in his tone and it stands her on guard.

"We stayed in a house outside of the town and took turns keepin' watch. There was no snuggling and yes, I think we found quite a lot. Hershel's probably locked it all away by now." She grins suddenly, but it fades slowly as Merle's fixation on her mouth intensifies. "Found a toiletry bag full of pills on the seat beside some woman in a Mercedes. Thank God for bored, rich housewives with pill addictions, huh?"

All at once joking about anyone with an addiction occurs to her to be the wrong type of conversation to have with Merle. It feels like she's struck a match beside a crate of dynamite and she's wondering if she should make a dive behind Judith before the blast hits.

"Hell, them bitches make a joke outta bein' a junkie," he jokes and Carol wonders if she's narrowly dodged a bullet. "'Sides, I'm findin' other ways to get high these days. Far more…satisfyin'." He leers at her and Carol can't hold back the burst of laughter, or deny the flush of warmth that rushes through her and settles in her belly.

"Those paint fumes sure must be addictive," Carol parries as she finally puts a sleeping Judith down in the crib, patting her hair one last time and clinging to the last moment of longing that is tugging at her heart. As her fingers slide over the downy softness, her thumb stroking gently across Judith's brow and down to her cheek, it hits Carol that she has this man's child in her belly. That a fundamental part of him is growing inside her, and she shivers. Her core temperature rises and she can feel her body reacting to his presence, her limbs loosening, her breasts tightening, and she's absolutely horrified.

"Lotsa things can be addictive," Merle confides, his voice suddenly rough and his pupils dilated so much Carol can barely see any blue.

"Doesn't mean you should give in to them," Carol chides gently, though her legs are feeling rubbery and her head filled with cotton and she's mortified to hear her voice sounding soft and husky.

"Don't mean you shouldn't." He stares at her and she can't tear her gaze away, completely riveted to the blazing hot promise he seems to be making her and for long, terrifying minutes, Carol can't breathe. She's caught, sinking within a spell she's not sure he even knows he's wielding, made stronger with the existence of their child inside her.

"I best go find Daryl," he says, his voice as low as the ground, jolting her back to the present and she remembers with shocking clarity how wrong that course of action might be. Guilt tackles her immediately and the shivers of attraction she feels for Merle are stripped violently away from her, fear for Daryl taking precedence. If Merle goes and finds him, she has no idea what will happen—if they'd both return. How much of them all would be exposed and damaged.

"You should give him some space," she advises with a bite of protectiveness in her voice. "He'll be back when he's ready."

Merle studies her, notices the change from minutes before and his eyes have settled back to normal, clear and blue and penetrating. He nods and Carol thinks she sees comprehension and concern hidden behind a wall of defensiveness and she clasps her fingers tightly around Judith's portable crib. He says nothing else as he leaves for his cell, his face twisted up in thought.