AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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"Here, take another swallow," Daryl commanded, offering the mug back toward Carol. She moved to lean up from her position and Daryl dropped a hand behind her to help her sit up and take a mouthful of broth.

"I'd rather have the water," Carol complained after she swallowed down the liquid. She was following his orders, breathing out her words, to allow her vocal cords and throat to rest.

Daryl laughed to himself. He reached for the second mug on the nightstand—one he'd gone for soon after he realized that fully-conscious Carol was going to have requests—and offered it to her. She accepted the mouthful offered to her almost greedily, this time wrapping her hand around the mug. Daryl pulled the mug away from her, though, to keep her from drinking more than what he was allowing her at the moment.

She cut her eyes at him and he smiled to himself. She laughed, quietly.

"You'll get sick if you go too fast," Daryl said. "Hershel said so. And I don't want you arguin' with me 'cause you gonna use up what strength you got to do it."

Carol nodded her understanding. She turned her attention, then, to Sophia. She ran her fingers delicately over Sophia's face and hair, the gesture clearly not bothering the little girl.

For her part, Sophia had responded to her mother's reappearance with a great deal of hugs and sloppy kisses. She'd clung to her mother, determined not to be removed from her presence by anything short of the jaws of life, and Carol had simply let the toddler have her way until she was tired out enough to be satisfied. Then, Carol had simply raised her shirt as an offer to Sophia that she could nurse. Sophia needed no other invitation than that.

She was on her second breast, at this point, and Daryl was pretty sure that the little girl had to be nearly ready to pop. She was hugged against Carol, as Carol lie on the bed, and she was leisurely nursing with her eyes closed. The only evidence that she was even awake, besides the workings of the muscles in her face and the occasional sound of her swallows, was the fact that she hummed to herself, from time to time, in absolute ecstasy over the situation.

"I promise I fed her while you weren't here," Daryl offered. "Every time she was hungry. I didn't even tell her she weren't hungry when I know she was just wantin' to eat more and didn't really need anymore."

Carol smiled to herself. She turned to look at Daryl. She held his eyes for a moment before she took the hand that had been stroking Sophia's face and used it to gently stroke Daryl's cheek.

"I know you fed her," Carol said.

"She just really likes milk," Daryl offered.

"This is, maybe, the first time she can have all she wants," Carol said. "And—she's not really eating as much as she's just enjoying the comfort."

"Like a pacifier," Daryl offered.

Carol nodded her head, keeping the practice of not using her voice, not even to hum at him, and she turned back to smile at Sophia again. In just the matter of a passing few moments, Sophia had succumbed to the comfort she felt and had clearly fallen asleep. With her face against Carol's chest—balled up in the position she'd chosen, herself, for nursing—she was sleeping with her mouth open next to the nipple that she'd only released because sleep had overtaken her.

Daryl smiled to himself.

Despite the ache in his gut over everything he'd heard earlier, he was happy at the moment. There was no reason, after all, not to be happy. Carol was there. She was going to be fine. Sophia was there. She was safe.

Everything felt right in their small little space in the world.

Daryl reached over and picked up the mug from the nightstand that held the broth. He offered it to Carol.

"Here," he said, bumping her hand with the mug. "Take a swallow."

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Daryl woke to the feeling of Carol moving around next to him. He shifted, not sure for a moment what was going on.

"You OK?" He asked into the darkness of the cell.

"Bathroom," Carol breathed out at him.

He had no idea what time it was, of course, because exact time was a social construct that they'd lost long ago. What he knew was that it was the middle of the night or, at the very least, the middle of their night. The prison was quiet. At the moment, not even the infant that Rick and Lori had brought into the world was making a sound.

Sophia was asleep in her pen where Daryl had tucked her in after a bath, a few coaxed mouthfuls of solid food, and all the milk that she could beg from her mother's body. The cell on either side of theirs was empty, so they'd claimed one for Sophia's cell. Daryl had placed her pen there so that they wouldn't be so crowded in the little cell. They could easily hear her whenever she needed or wanted them, but they also gave her a bit of privacy to start testing out her independence.

Carol crawled over Daryl's body, and Daryl held his hands out to act as support in the darkness while she found her footing. She found the bucket and Daryl heard her relieving herself in the darkness. He leaned over and flicked the lighter. He touched the flame to the cloth wick and the bedside lantern illuminated the space.

"No privacy," Carol teased from her spot. She forgot that she was supposed to be guarding her voice. She croaked out the words and the gravelly laugh that followed.

Daryl decided not to scold her. She was doing well. She'd been to the bathroom several times now to empty her bladder—something that Hershel treated as the most magnificent thing that could happen when Daryl had reported it to him—and she was taking short naps in between drinking broth and water. She'd probably had more liquids since she'd been found than she'd had for some time before getting lost in the tombs.

She could decide, as Hershel said, what she felt up to and what she didn't feel up to. If she felt like talking, and it didn't irritate her throat too badly to make the activity painful for her, then she was welcome to talk. Daryl loved the sound of her voice, however it sounded, because he could still taste the bitter fear that he'd never hear her voice again in any shape or form.

"Sorry," Daryl said. "I ain't lookin'. Just thought you might—wanna see what the hell you doin'. That's all."

"I was teasing," Carol offered. When she was done, she moved to the washing bowl on the dresser to wash her hands, and she dried them off on the towel. When she turned around, still aimlessly drying her already dry hands with the towel, she leaned against the dresser and watched Daryl.

"What?" He asked. She was staring at him rather intently and he found it a bit unnerving. He raised his thumb to his mouth, brushed it against his lower lip in search of any rough or uneven skin, and nipped at the raised bits that he found. "Did I do somethin'?" He added, when Carol continued to look at him, but didn't say anything immediately. She smiled gently and laughed quietly.

"You did a lot," she said. "But—nothing you're in trouble for. I knew you would find me."

"'Bout didn't," Daryl said.

"But you did," Carol said. "And—I knew you would. I knew—I just knew it. And that was the greatest thing that I could think while I was in there. Daryl's coming. Daryl's going to find me. And you did."

Daryl's stomach twisted.

"One of the worst damned feelings was thinkin' that I weren't never gonna find you," Daryl admitted. "That I was gonna let you down. Even if you weren't alive I just…" He broke off and shrugged. He hesitated a moment. He didn't have anything that was too poetic to say to explain his feelings or his actions. "I just needed to find you."

"And you did," Carol said. "You found me—time and again. In more ways than one." She smiled at him. She walked back toward the bed and Daryl drew himself up to make it easier for Carol to make her way onto the mattress and over to her side. He preferred for her to sleep on the inside of the mattress. They hadn't had any problems in the cellblock, but he thought that, just in case anything was to happen, it was better if she was on the inside. It would make her less vulnerable to anyone or anything that might enter the cell with the intention of harming them in some way. Deep in his gut, he knew that such a precaution wouldn't actually matter at all, but little things like taking that precaution helped him to sleep better at night.

When Carol was back on the bed, she worked her way up to the head of it and, reaching her hands out, placed them on either side of Daryl's face before she kissed him. He was barely able to move his own hand out of the way in time for her to kiss his lips.

"You saved me. You've—always saved me. I love you," she breathed against his lips, her voice the quiet breath of air that it had been for most of the time since he'd found her.

Daryl's chest tightened with a rush of emotion. For the words to be nothing more than air, there was enough feeling behind them to affect him.

"You save me, too. More'n you realize. I love you," Daryl said. Carol laughed quietly—one breathy burst.

"I know you love me," she said, allowing her voice to come lightly into play again. She sat back on her feet, but she made no move to go back to sleep, so Daryl made no move to kill the flickering light of the lantern. She could decide when she needed more rest. She could decide, too, when she was ready for more of the liquid that he'd brought, just before bedtime, to replenish that which she'd already consumed. "I do have a—a question, I guess."

"Whatever it is," Daryl said, letting the acknowledgement trail off. Carol didn't need him to say more.

"I was in there—for a long time," Carol said.

"Two and a half days," Daryl said.

"I remember—the first time I had to…use the bathroom," Carol said. Daryl nodded at her. "I didn't know what to do. It was so dark and—I couldn't see anything. I didn't know what was in there and there were Walkers outside. I could hear them scratching on the door. They knew I was in there. I tried to hold it as long as I could, but…"

She broke off. Her voice cracked even more than the sound that Daryl was beginning to mark as a normal rasp that would stay with her for at least a couple of days while everything healed.

Daryl's stomach tightened as he understood.

"You upset 'cause you had to—go to the bathroom?" Daryl asked.

Her chin quivered and Daryl would have rather driven a nail through his foot than have to see her fighting against what she was feeling. He moved toward her and pulled her into him the same way he would if it were Sophia that was about to cry over something that had genuinely hurt her. Daryl held Carol against him.

"Jesus—everybody goes to the bathroom, Carol," Daryl said. "Normal. More'n that—it's fuckin' necessary. Important. First damn time you pissed today, Hershel damn near did a jig. An' you know as good as I do that his ass is ill-equipped to do that these days."

Carol laughed, probably in spite of herself. Daryl continued to hold her because he didn't want her to sit up. He didn't want to see her face if the pain was still there. She rubbed her face against him, practically rooting into his chest. He closed his eyes and savored the sensation of simply holding her so closely.

"How can you—look at me the same when you…cleaned all that up?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed nervously to himself.

"You askin' me how the hell I can love you if you go to the bathroom like everybody else in the whole fuckin' world?" Daryl asked.

"It's different…" Carol offered.

"I wipe Sophia's ass feels like twenty times a day sometimes," Daryl offered. "She ain't never once asked me if I still love her afterwards."

Carol laughed, again, probably in spite of herself.

"It's different…" she repeated. "There's nothing attractive about…that."

Daryl laughed again.

"Shit—I hope if I was to get hurt somehow, and I needed it? Couldn't take care of myself? I hope to hell you'd help me wipe my ass."

"You know I would," Carol declared, pulling away from him. He reached out his hand and mopped away some of the dampness on her face.

"Would you still love me if you had to help me?" Daryl asked.

"Of course," Carol said.

"Would you still—wanna be with me when I was outta the woods?" Daryl asked.

Carol's chin quivered again. She nodded, but didn't verbally respond. Daryl understood that she was holding back some waterworks. She'd get them under control, but if she opened her mouth, her chances of controlling them would drop.

He mopped at the new tears that sprung from her lower lids.

"Carol—you don't got no fuckin' idea what the hell I been through in the past couple days," Daryl said. "No fuckin' idea. And I don't wanna talk about it right now, 'cause now ain't the time. But—I'ma just say you don't know what it's been like for me to think—you weren't comin' back. And I don't say that to make you feel bad, or sad, or whatever the hell it is that you feel. I say that for you to understand that—there ain't a damn thing I care about except for the fact that you back. You're here. You're doin' alright. Hershel says you look good. And every damn thing I want? I got it—right here. I'd take care of you forever, if that's what it took to keep you here."

Daryl wouldn't tell her, right now, everything that he'd been through. He wanted her to have time to rest. He wanted her to have time to deal with some of her own feelings about her experience. But, when she was feeling a little better and he was satisfied that she was sufficiently rested to hear his woes, he already knew that he'd share with her everything that had happened during her absence.

"It doesn't change how you look at me?" Carol asked. There was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and her damp eyes.

"Oh—it changes how the hell I look at you," Daryl said. "Just not the way you thought it would."

The smile was a little more pronounced.

"I'm sorry," Carol said.

"For what?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Everything."

Daryl recognized that kind of apology. It was the kind he'd been conditioned to give as a child. He didn't know what, exactly, he was sorry for in every situation, but he knew that there was likely always a reason that he should be sorry. There was something impulsive that made him want to apologize to the whole damn world for existing—sometimes he still felt the need rising up inside him.

"You don't owe me no apology," Daryl said. "And you don't owe nobody else an apology neither. Come here. You just upset 'cause you tired."

Daryl reached his arms out in Carol's direction to coax her to come back to him and back to bed. She got back into bed and Daryl blew the lamp out before gathering her into his arms. She sighed with satisfaction as she settled there.

"I'm not Sophia," she teased. "You don't have to put me to bed just because I'm upset."

There wasn't any malice in her voice, and Daryl laughed to himself.

"Maybe not," he said. "But if it works, there ain't no need in changin' my strategy. I love you. Close your eyes. It's time to get some sleep now."