Chapter 36

Carol Dixon. The first time she wrote it, it didn't seem real. The second time, she nearly almost signed Peletier again. The third time, it was almost as natural as anything else. She quite liked the sound of it. Carol and Daryl Dixon. Mr. and Mrs. Daryl Dixon. Yes, it certainly had an attractive sound. And waking up every morning as Mrs. Dixon was always a great way to start the day.

The past six weeks had been an incredible, wonderful blur of honeymooning and getting the house ready for Rocky and The Hulk, as Daryl had affectionately nicknamed the twins who seemed to get stronger every day. Daryl loved to lay in bed with his hands on Carol's tummy and feel the babies move around. He was in awe of his wife's body and the way she seemed to be able to carry these two babies with such grace and beauty. She had her complaints and her bad days, but for the most part, she seemed happy. Even happier now that they had begun the process of Carol officially becoming Grace's legal mother. -

Carol was clocking in at thirty two weeks, and Dr. Simpson was hopeful that Carol might just be able to carry the babies to term. She had had a couple of scares in the past week with Braxton Hicks contractions, but other than that, things were pretty uneventful. However, underway was the planning for Grace Dixon's very first birthday party, which just so happened to be in a month.

"This cannot be happening. She's…Daryl, look!" Carol grabbed the camera as Grace let go of the coffee table and took two steps toward her mother. Carol quickly tossed the camera to Daryl, who filmed his little girl's steps. Carol clapped her hands and smiled widely to encourage her daughter to keep coming her way. Grace wobbled for a second before falling down on her bottom. "Aw, sweetie, you took two whole steps! You're such a big girl!" She felt the tears well in her eyes, and Daryl put a hand on her knee. "Oh God, she'll be one next month, and she's walking. She's getting too big. She'll be graduating next week." Daryl snorted at that.

"One thing at a time," he muttered. "We got a one year old graduatin' high school, we're rich." Carol smacked his arm teasingly.

"Oh, you know what I mean. She's getting so big." At eleven months, Grace Dixon had the bluest eyes Carol had ever seen on a baby, and her hair had lightened considerably and now resembled Daryl's in color more than it ever had before.

"Glad she waited for me to get home from work to start walkin'," Daryl commented, watching as Carol stood and held her hands out, and picked up Grace, hugging her close.

"Me too," Carol said softly. "She knew you'd wanna see it. I'm convinced." She winked at her husband, and he leaned in and kissed her. "Oh! Maggie called. She and Glenn found out what they're having."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, taking Grace from Carol and giving her kisses on her chubby cheeks. The baby squealed with delight when her daddy tickled her tummy.

"They're having a boy!"

"Glenn Jr. Yeah, Maggie's gonna have her hands full," Daryl snorted.

"Be nice," she laughed. "Oh! I almost forgot!" She hurried over to the pile of mail on the table in the hall. "This came for you today." Daryl narrowed his eyes as he peered over her shoulder to see the handwriting. It was addressed to him from a County Jail somewhere in southern Georgia. He recognized that handwriting almost as well as he recognized his own.

"It's from Merle," he muttered.

"Your brother? I wonder what it is?" She handed him the letter and took Grace back from Daryl. He didn't open it. He just stared at it. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"I ran into him. Night before our wedding," Daryl explained. Carol's eyes widened, and her mouth formed the shape of an 'o' before she reached out and touched his arm.

"You didn't tell me."

"He was high. He was fucked up. I didn't think it was worth mentioning. He ain't part of my life no more." Carol saw the pain in his eyes when he flashed his gaze up to meet hers.

"He's your brother," she said softly. "I know he still means something to you."

"Yeah, but you mean more. You and Grace and these babies. I don't want him around if he…"

"Just open it. It could be important." Daryl shook his head, torn between ripping the thing up and opening it and finding out what Merle had to say. "You'll never know if you just throw it away." She gave him a quick peck on the lips before taking Grace to put her down for a nap.

With a sigh, Daryl headed out onto the back porch and sat down on a patio chair. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out a piece of notebook paper, edges uneven from being hastily ripped from the wire coil.

Daryl,

You told me not to come around unless I was clean. I'll respect it. Shit, I ain't got no choice in the matter right now. Got myself locked up last night, and I ain't expecting they'll let me go any time soon. Just wanted to tell you I'm proud of you, bro. You got out from the shithole life we had. You made something of yourself. You did what Pop said you couldn't. I know I gave you shit over the years for being the baby of the family, but I tried to look after you. Turns out, you didn't need looking after as much as I did, and I didn't have a big brother for that. You tried. I know you did. But you couldn't fix what was broke in me, and that ain't your fault, so don't worry yourself none. I'm happy for you, bro. I hope your woman's good to her, and if she is, you keep her, because you don't want to wake up when you're pushing fifty like me and find out your whole life's shit. Take care of yourself, bro. You do right by them kids and you raise them to look after each other. Make sure that oldest of yours does better than I did.

Merle

Daryl sat there and read it over and over again before he heard the door open and Carol come walking out. Cherokee slipped past her legs to go run in the back yard, and Daryl looked over his shoulder at his wife.

"Everything ok?" she asked softly. He shrugged and stuffed the letter back in the envelope. "It's ok. You don't have to talk about it."

"I dunno," he muttered. "My brother's always been one to say one thing, do another. He means well, but sometimes he…"

"What is it?" Carol asked gently, sitting down in the chair next to his.

"We shared a place, and I worked to pay the rent. Merle made his money doing what he did best. I knew he was sellin', but I didn't want to rat him out. One night, I found him on the couch. He OD'd. Thought he was dead, and I called 911. That night, I found his stash, flushed everything. Didn't want the cops to find it, didn't want to get him in more trouble than he already was. When he got better, when he came home, I told him he couldn't come back 'til he got clean. He never came back." Carol reached over and gently placed her hand over his.

"You were trying to help him. I'm sure he knew that."

"He couldn't help himself. I just...we both had it bad growin' up. It coulda been me sellin', usin'. It coulda been me dyin' on the couch that night."

"But it wasn't," Carol murmured. She watched him run his fingers through his hair.

"He was here before me. He got the worst of the beatings 'til he got big enough to fight back or run. Then I got 'em. Before she died, mama, as high as she was most'a the time, she didn't even notice the bruises. Just kinda looked past 'em. Merle's come home, and I'd hate him. I'd hate him for not bein' there, 'cause I was the one that got his share of the whippings. I spent a lot of time hatin' him. And then I turned eighteen, and Merle was there. He took me in 'cause I didn't have a place to go. He took care of me, and I felt like I owed him."

"But then you took care of him," Carol pointed out. Daryl gave her a little shrug.

"Yeah. Felt bad for hatin' him. He was just savin' himself. Couldn't do nothin' to save me 'til I was old enough to get out, ya know? Sometimes I feel like I coulda done more to help him get clean."

"Daryl, you can't put that on yourself. He's a grown man. He makes his own choices." She pointed to the letter. "Maybe this will help him turn around."

"He's been in jail before," Daryl said with a scoff. "Ain't never changed him. He did a stint in prison for two years, and he scored his next fix an hour after he walked out the gates." Carol shook her head and gave his hand a squeeze. "Wish my kids had an uncle, ya know? He's a pretty nice guy when he ain't usin'. Got the mouth of a sailor, but I can't talk." A little smile crept up on his face. "Think he could make somethin' of himself if he tried."

"He could," Carol said with a nod. "But that's not up to you. It's up to him." She gave him a little smile. "You love your brother, but you don't want to see him like that. I get it. I understand it. And judging from that letter, I think he does too." Daryl sighed heavily, and Carol got up, moving around behind him, leaning over him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He turned his head to meet her lips with a soft kiss, and when she pulled back and ran her fingers through his hair, she gave him that smile that told him that she'd be there for him, whatever he chose to do regarding his brother.

Then she headed back into the house, leaving Daryl alone with his thoughts and the letter from Merle.

Carol sighed as she lay back on the exam table at the doctor's office. Daryl sat in a chair next to the table with little Grace in his lap. The doctor ran the ultrasound Doppler over Carol's belly, and she nodded and made a few notes in the chart.

"Is everything ok?" Carol asked.

"Great," Dr. Simpson said with a little smile. "They're growing well, but I'm a little concerned about Baby B."

"Somethin' wrong with The Hulk?" Daryl asked. Dr. Simpson gave him a look. "Sorry, just a nickname. It's ok, right?"

"Yes. Everything's fine for now. I'm just a little concerned. The fluid seems a little low. Both babies are head down, which is great, but Baby B's a little lower on amniotic fluid than baby A. That's not necessarily cause for concern, but with a twin pregnancy, we want to take extra precautions." Dr. Simpson wiped the gel off of Carol's stomach, and Carol lowered her shirt, sitting up a little on the table. "I'm going to have to take you off work."

"Okay," Carol said quietly. "I was expecting that."

"And I'm prescribing bed rest until your appointment next week."

"They're gonna be ok, though, right? Carol and the babies?" Daryl stood up, hoisting Grace onto his hip. "I mean…what are we lookin' at here?"

"I'm hoping to get Carol to at least thirty six weeks. We want to hold of delivery until the babies are a little bigger. Thirty-two weeks is a great milestone for twins, so now we can shoot for thirty-four weeks." Carol took a deep breath and nodded.

"I'll stay in bed for the next two months if I have to," Carol said softly, gently rubbing her belly. Daryl could see the worry in her eyes, and he took her hand, giving it a little squeeze.

"Now you need to call me if you experience any contractions that last longer than the Braxton Hicks you've had in the past. You need to call me if you have any spotting. Don't take any chances, just go to the hospital if you start feeling anything unusual."

"I will," Carol said quietly before worrying her lower lip between her teeth. She looked at Daryl, and he gave her a reassuring nod, but nothing could ease the worry she felt for these babies. The last thing she could ever take would be losing another child. These babies had to be ok.