AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
There should be one more after this one to close out this "part" of the story. Remember that "Daddy" is a continuation of the story.
I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!
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"She's a beautiful little girl," Carol assured Lori as she rocked the sleeping infant. Lori smiled from her bed.
"Judith," Lori repeated. She'd told Carol the baby's name before but, perhaps, she thought Carol might have forgotten.
"Judith," Carol echoed to make it clear that she was capable of retaining the information.
"I'm glad to have you back," Lori said. "I'm not producing enough milk, as it is, and…Daryl wasn't even working on weaning Sophia. I was beginning to worry about the formula supply."
Carol focused on her breathing. She kept it calm. She kept herself purposefully calm.
"It was Daryl who found that formula," Carol said. "For Sophia."
"She doesn't need milk as much at this age," Lori said, conveniently deaf, as she always was, to things that didn't support the way that she saw things in her head.
"The nutrition is still very important for her," Carol offered. She changed the subject again, carefully directing the conversation back where she wanted it to be. She didn't want to fight over milk, but if Lori tried to take it out of Sophia's mouth, the way that Carol saw it, she would very well end up in a fight over it. She didn't want that, though, so she steered the conversation where she wanted it to go. "I'm glad the surgery went well…you're recovering well."
"It wasn't ideal," Lori said. "And—it's going to be a slow recovery."
"But a slow recovery is better than no recovery," Carol offered, wanting to cut off the lamentations of Lori before they had time to fully blossom into all their glory.
Carol paid very little attention to the relationship between Rick and Lori—mostly because she was too busy with her own life and the expectations that she had of herself, in regard to what she would accomplish each day for the group, to put too much into the business of others. Things had been stressed between the couple since the beginning, though, and there had been a great many dips and curves in their relationship, especially surrounding Shane and everything that had taken place there.
Carol would, normally, not bury her fingers too deeply into anyone's wounds. Sometimes, though, she knew that life required such a thing.
"At least, with you surviving the surgery," Carol offered, still cuddling the sleeping newborn, "nobody has to figure out—who would take care of Carl and Judith."
There was a burst of insincere laughter from Lori as she reclined in bed.
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"Only that, if you hadn't made it," Carol explained, forcing as much innocence as she could, "there would have been the need to figure out who would care for Carl and Judith. We couldn't very well let them…run feral."
"Rick would have taken care of them," Lori said. "Of course, he would have appreciated the help, but…"
"Some of Rick's choices have been a little questionable," Carol offered. "Even you have to admit that he hasn't always proven to be entirely stable." Carol watched Lori's face. The woman wanted to argue with her, but she really couldn't. Their marriage had problems—and a lot of them. Lori, herself, had often questioned Rick's actions and motives. Carol pressed a bit more. "If it had been up to Rick, we probably wouldn't have this place. We'd have moved on. We might still be living on the road—and we would have never had the equipment that Hershel needed for the operation."
"Rick's been under a lot of stress," Lori said. Carol could tell it was difficult for her to fully defend him, but she clearly felt that she needed to do that. "But—he's doing the best he can."
Carol swallowed down the smile she felt creeping onto her lips.
"Who would you have wanted to care for Judith?" Carol asked. Lori furrowed her brows at Carol in anger or frustration—Carol didn't care which. "If Rick's going to make poor decisions, it's clear that he's not capable of making the good decisions necessary to take care of Carl and Judith—especially Judith. She's so small and vulnerable."
"He's her father," Lori said blankly. "Of course, he'd care for her and…make the best decisions for her that he could."
"Are you sure that he's her father?" Carol asked. "She doesn't really look like Rick. And—after everything with Shane…"
"Just what are you getting at?" Lori asked sharply.
"Only that you can't be certain," Carol said.
"I'm certain that Rick's Judith's father," Lori said. "And that's all that anybody needs to know."
"And even though he makes poor decisions, sometimes, you're still trusting him with your children?" Carol asked. "You still want him to care for them if something were to happen to you?"
"What the hell is your problem?!" Lori barked. It was loud. It echoed in the cement and metal structure that they called home. It scared the infant in Carol's arms and Carol shushed her and rocked her, finding it easy enough to get her to settle when she hadn't truly wanted to wake in the first place.
"It hurts," Carol said. "Doesn't it? Even when you, yourself, have so many problems with Rick that…you don't even stay in the same cell, it hurts to think that someone might doubt him with his children. It hurts that they might ask you who you would rather care for them. It hurts to be reminded that Judith is very likely not Rick's biological child." Lori's face went through a few expressions, and Carol let her run the gamut. Finally, Lori looked a little sad, perhaps, and chose to freeze there. Carol stood up, carefully. She crossed the small space the cell allowed them, and she gently deposited the baby into Lori's arms. "You don't want people to question Rick's parentage. And you don't want them to take the children away from him just because he may be human, and he may not always do everything so that—so that absolutely everyone agrees with him." Carol shook her head. "I don't know, for certain, if it was you or Maggie that started with the idea, but you can pass it around. Daryl is Sophia's father. And—I won't say he's perfect, because nobody is, but he's the best father that she could have. Ever. And he would make the best decisions for her that anyone could make. So, if something were to happen to me? I need you—and everyone else—to remember that."
Lori simply nodded. She looked properly scolded and, despite some pressing for information, Carol got nothing out of her beyond a nod. Carol finally accepted it, though, because she had other things to attend to and, somehow, she was certain that Lori understood her—especially now that her own position in life was somewhat problematic.
"Carol," Lori called as Carol started out of the cell. Carol stopped and turned back. Maybe she expected an apology or something similar. She should have known better. "I have a manual pump. If you have extra milk…not that I'm asking you to do it for me, but…Judith…and the formula supply is so limited…"
Carol laughed to herself.
"I barely make enough for Sophia," she offered, stepping out of the cell without another word.
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Carol understood that Maggie was young and, as such, she still had a great deal of maturing to do. She also understood that she really meant no harm—as Carol was sure that Lori, deep down, really meant no harm—but that didn't mean that harm couldn't come from simply being inconsiderate.
Maggie was almost looking like a scolded child as she sat, mostly sulking, around the area where they were scrubbing clothing and linens in hot water. Carol ignored the pout on her face in much the same way as she ignored whenever Sophia got an equally bothered expression. She would continue to talk with her about the problem, but she wasn't going to coddle and comfort her over something that she needed to experience.
Carol invited Maggie to air her concerns, rather than to keep them as some kind of festering collection of things to hold against Daryl.
"You're not even worried?" Maggie asked.
Carol laughed to herself.
"I'm a mother. I'm always worried. Literally. I worry constantly. But—I worry less when Sophia's with Daryl than I worry any other time."
"He lets her play near the fences," Maggie said. "Where there are Walkers."
"He limits her closeness to the Walkers," Carol said. "We want her to understand that Walkers are dangerous. They're something to be careful of, but we don't want her so terrified of them that she's too frozen to protect herself when she's big enough to do that. And—when she gets a little bigger and a little better able to understand safety, we'll start teaching her how to defend herself. Against Walkers or anyone else that would hurt her."
"He lets her play with dead animals," Maggie said.
"You make it sound like she's constantly playing with rotting carcasses," Carol said. "Daryl hunts. He intends to teach Sophia to hunt. Part of hunting is accepting life and death as a necessary cycle. Daryl wants to teach Sophia that. Another part of hunting is retrieving the animals that you killed. And they must be dead, Maggie, in order for them to be turned into stews or…to be roasted, or whatever."
"I'm not stupid, Carol," Maggie scolded.
"I never said you were," Carol said. "But—still another part of hunting is preparing the animals to be cooked. Cleaning them. Sophia wants to help her daddy do everything she can. And she believes that she can do anything that he can do. And he believes that she can do anything he can do. So—while she's not ready to handle a knife and clean the kills, she can help him take them out of his sacks, and she can help him do other things to prepare them to come to me so I can cook them. I handle dead animals, too, Maggie—and so do you. It's just that, once they're on your plate, it seems that you forget what we're dealing with."
"I guess it just—looks a lot different to see a child, Sophia's age, lining dead squirrels up on the ground."
Carol laughed to herself.
"Because you're not seeing what it really is," Carol said. "It's a girl, Sophia's age, lining up the squirrels for her daddy, squirrels that he hunted so that she and everyone else can eat, so that he can clean them quickly—and have more time to play with her." She sighed. "Maggie—I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Daryl and I have talked about Sophia—about the world that she's going to have to call home. The only world she's going to know. We don't want her to be sheltered. We want her to be prepared. And that means prepared for the hard things, and the dirty things, and the scary things, just as much as it means being prepared for the good things. Do you and Glenn eventually want children?"
"Yeah," Maggie said, nodding her head. She avoided eye contact with Carol, but Carol wasn't offended by that. Her pride was aching. Carol knew, for some, wounded pride could hurt more than a third-degree burn.
"I hope you have them. All you want," Carol said, doing her best to soothe just enough of the ache to keep Maggie listening. "And when you do? I hope everyone trusts you to make the best decisions that you can for your children. Because, as parents, that's what you're always going to try to do. That doesn't mean, of course, that you'll always be successful, but it does mean that you'll always try."
"I understand," Maggie offered.
"And people will always think they know better when they're looking in from the outside," Carol offered. Maggie nodded again. "You'll make the best decisions for your children. But Daryl and me? We're the ones that have an invested interest in making the best decisions for Sophia. And—while I am immensely thankful to you for wanting to make sure that Sophia is taken care of in the event that I'm not able to take care of her? You need to remember that—when life leaves my body? Daryl's the only other person who knows what it's like to love Sophia so completely. He's her daddy, and he always will be. Nobody should ever try to change that."
"That's what Daddy said," Maggie said, smiling to herself, just barely, as the corners of her mouth turned up.
"Listen to your daddy," Carol offered. "He's a wise man." She reached over and patted Maggie's leg—a show of affection to soothe over any hurt that she might be feeling. Maggie patted Carol's hand in response and offered her a soft smile. "It's OK," she offered, even though Maggie never put words behind the apology that Carol could see behind her eyes. It was difficult for some people to get those words out, and Carol had learned that she'd rather have a sincere, but unspoken apology, than copious amounts of unmeant words. "Your heart's in the right place. You've just—still got a lot to learn about what's important. What really matters."
"And that only comes with age?" Maggie said, some teasing to her tone.
"And experience," Carol agreed. "For me? It's mostly the experience. Of course, part of it is learning who not to listen to as much as it is learning who you should listen to. I know your ideas weren't all your own."
"Lori," Maggie offered.
"Like I said," Carol said, "part of it's always going to be learning—what to ignore. Daryl's not Rick. But then, neither is Glenn. Or your daddy." She laughed to herself and shrugged her shoulders. "Some days, Rick's not even Rick. The trick, maybe, is appreciating what everyone has to offer and, when it comes to your own little family, choosing the best thing for you…not for anybody else."
"Glenn," Maggie said, smiling to herself.
Carol nodded her head.
"And Daryl for Sophia and me," she agreed.
