Daryl was glad they had the baby monitor. He really was. Sydney's nursery was beside Leah's office, all the way across the house, and the monitor was the only reason he was okay with the distance.

Didn't mean he didn't feel like smashing the damn thing against the wall half the time.

Tonight, three-and-a-half weeks after they'd brought the baby home, her familiar wails came over the monitor from Leah's bedside table and jerked Daryl from sleep. His bedside clock read two a.m. He'd already been up at twelve-forty with the kid. His head sank back to his pillow and he felt Leah roll over, and there was a yank on the bedspread, and over the crying Daryl heard, "Can you get her?"

Hell no, he couldn't. "It's your turn."

"Daryl, I'm with her all day."

That was a shitty excuse and one day Daryl, who five days a week worked his ass off from at least nine to five, would tell her so. But he was exhausted, and dealing with Sydney actually tended to be less draining than dealing with her mother. So he swore just loud enough for her to hear and kicked his way out of the bed.

He could make the walk to the nursery in his sleep, felt like he did half the time. He reached the room, with its purple walls and purple rug and purple elephant-patterned curtains, got to Sydney's cradle, scooped her up; she screamed like nothing had changed. "What's wrong with you, kid? Huh? Aw . . ."

He'd fed her last time. Her diaper was clean, and he tried to get her to suck her thumb but she wouldn't take it, just kept crying.

"C'mon, baby girl, I gotta go to work tomorrow . . ."

He bounced her up and down, walked the room, was considering taking her for a drive, when Leah showed up in the doorway. The moonlight made her pale skin glow blue. "Have you tried singing to her?"

"I come off as a singer to you?"

"Then hum, for God's sake. She's a baby, she wants a lullaby."

He fell against the wall, blew out some air, listened to Sydney screech some more, and gave in. He hummed the first song that came to mind.

"'Hush, Little Baby'?" Leah said. "That's the best you got?"

"If you ain't gonna do nothin', leave."

She came over and brushed her fingers across Sydney's belly. "'It's nine o'clock on a Saturday; the regular crowd shuffles in . . . There's an old man sittin' next to me; makin' love to his tonic and gin . . .'"

She went on, finishing the verse, going through the chorus, and by then, Sydney had gone quiet. Listening, like Daryl was. Maybe she was like him. Couldn't help but listen when Lea sang.

"So she likes songs about drinkin'," he whispered. "Good to know."

"It's about more than drinking. She should be good now."

Daryl laid the baby in her cradle, waited for her to cry again, but she didn't. She was out. He stood up straight and Leah kissed his arm. "I was only kidding. I'm sure she'll be just fine with 'Hush, Little Baby'. You hum it very well."

Daryl watched Sydney's back move up and down, her fist clinging to her blanket. He'd never seen a baby as pretty as her. He'd always thought that, as far as babies went, humans had the ugliest. Sydney didn't fit the pattern.

"Hey, Dixon?"

"Hm?"

Leah pressed something into his hand. The little black box from his bedside table drawer.

"If you still want to marry me, right now's the time to ask. I'd say yes right now."

He thought for a while.

He knelt when he did it. He knew she'd want him to do that.