Smoke puffs from the vent hole in the thatched roof of a hut. Sweetheart looks quizzically at the entry way. The colorful, plastic jeweled beads sparkle in the light from the torches that illuminate the pathway through the Indian village. When it gets very windy or rainy, the hut dwellers pull down thick paper blinds over the doors and windows, but most of the time, they're open for better ventilation of the fire. Daryl's grateful for his sturdy, lockable wooden door and shutters and, for his flue and chimney, and for a moment, he feels like one of the rich men in town.

"Twi ee twee!" Sweetheart yells through the beads. When a baby cries inside, Daryl shoots his eyes to the side of the door, just to double check that there's really a paper pumpkin tacked to the mud and straw to indicate trick or treaters are welcome. The beads rustle, clatter, and part. Trisha steps outside with her mousy brown hair disarrayed, her olive eyes tired, and the top of her house dress pulled down almost to her waist. Her infant suckles from one breast, while the other droops exposed.

"Come on in and get your treats," Trisha says.

The kids plow through the beads, and Garland and Daryl follow the former prostitute and ex-waitress inside. "Not getting much sleep?" Garland asks.

"No," Trisha replies. "Little John likes to suck my nipples even more than his namesake did." Garland flushes and Daryl looks away and wonders what Deputy Andrew thinks of Trisha naming the boy after Captain John Smith instead of after his own father. "I just hope he doesn't get teeth anytime soon."

"Well," Garland replies, averting his eyes from the exposed, baby-free breast, "it should be at least five or six more months before the first one comes in."

To the men's relief, Trisha switches breasts, and when the baby latches on again, she pulls up one side of her dress, covering the bare breast that doesn't have the baby on it. She nods to a cooler on the table. "I've got apple juice popsicles for the kids. Go on and help yourself."

Daryl opens the lid to find frozen cubes of apple juice in an ice cube tray, each one with a toothpick stuck in the middle. He works the tray until they loosen and slides one out for each of the kids. The men hold onto them, and lower them for the toddlers to lick, because if they hand them over, they might choke on the toothpicks or stick one in an eye.

Sweetheart licks and hums but is distracted by the calico cat that leaps off the shelving in the corner of the hut. "Kwittee!" She toddles after it, and frowns when it escapes through the beaded doorway.

"She's an outdoor cat," Trisha tells Sweetheart. "She just likes to come in and get warm by my fire sometimes. And sometimes I give her a little milk."

Sweetheart returns to her popsicle. She grabs Daryl's hand and yanks it down until she can put almost the whole cube in her mouth. "Lick," Daryl says. "Don't try to swallow it whole."

"Where's Andrew?" Garland asks.

"At the party at the tavern," Trisha answers.

"And he left you to handle the baby and all the trick or treaters alone?"

"Well, he deserves a break," Trisha says, somewhat defensively, but with a hint of skepticism in her voice that suggests she might not really mean it. "And he doesn't make any milk. What's he going to do with the baby?"

Garland raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. The men make the kids thank Trisha – Sweetheart with a "tee you" and VanDaryl with a "dank," and then they slip through the beaded doorway. They put the kids back in the wagon and Garland supervises their consumption of the apple ice cubes while Daryl gently pulls the Radio Flyer on.

[*]

Shannon has just poured them each a second glass of wine when there's a knock on the door. The trick or treaters are fewer and farther between this year – more babies and toddlers, but fewer older kids. Some of the older ones must feel they've aged out, Carol thinks, which makes her feel strangely sad. Kids grow up much too quickly in this world, and that means Sweetheart might, too.

Mitch is at the door with his sponsored orphan girl, who wears what must be a store-looted costume. "Excellent Tiana," Carol tells her as she lowers the bowl.

"Who?" the girl asks.

"You're costume. It's a Disney princess, right? Tiana? From The Princess and the Frog?" Carol recognizes it, because Sophia begged her to take her to that movie twice, but Carol said no. Ed didn't like to spend money on movie tickets – he thought it was a waste - and they had to sneak there with Carol's sewing money in the first place.

The girl shrugs. "I just thought it was the prettiest one Uncle Mitch brought back." Of course she wouldn't know the movie, Carol thinks. This girl wouldn't have been born until almost a year after the apocalypse started, and the movie wasn't on DVD yet, so it's never been played in the Jamestown theater.

"Not trick or treating with Commander Witherspoon this year?" Shannon asks Mitch as she comes to stand beside Carol in the doorway.

Mitch scratches his head. "Uh…yeah…no. That sort of…we broke up. A few days ago."

"What!" Shannon exclaims. "Why?"

Mitch nods a warning and casts his eyes down at the girl. Shannon murmurs, "Sorry. Come for dinner on Friday. We'll talk then."

"Do we have to talk?" Mitch asks warily.

"If you want my duck potpie we do."

Mitch half smiles. "Well, I do want your duck potpie."

When Mitch and the girl move on and Carol closes the door, Shannon asks, "Did you know about this?"

"Yes," Carol admits.

"Then how did I not know about this?"

Carol chuckles as she reclaims her wine glass and sits down. "That's a good question. You seem to know about everything that goes on in Jamestown."

"Well, it's the closest thing I've got to television." Shannon eases into the armchair. "Do you know what happened?"

"Mitch told Daryl the age difference just got to be too much. Witherspoon developed an interest in a younger man, one closer to his own age."

"Oh, poor Mitch," Shannon murmurs with a genuine pity shining in her green eyes. "That surprises me of the commander. I didn't think he was the cheating type."

"Witherspoon didn't lie or cheat. He told Mitch openly before he acted on it. They parted as friends, sort of. Mitch is very hurt, of course, but I don't think he's angry."

"Poor Mitch," Shannon repeats. "Wait. What younger man?"

"Devon."

"Devon?" Shannon half shouts. "The cult refugee? Kaitlyn's ex-boyfriend?"

Carol nods.

"Devon's gay?" Shannon asks. "That's why Kaitlyn broke up with him? Not because of the…" Shannon makes a cutting motion across her lap with a finger.

"I think he's bisexual. I don't know. Daryl didn't ask Mitch."

"Of course Daryl didn't. Well, I guess now we know the commander's a top."

Carol swallows hard before wine can splutter from her lips. "Stop. We do not know that or any other details of their sex life, and we don't want to know either."

"Speak for yourself. Witherspoon's hot. Devon's kind of cute, too."

Carol shakes her head.

"Come on, admit it," Shannon teases.

"They're both young enough to be my sons."

"Sometimes I forget you have an eighteen-year-old son. I suppose when Gary's eighteen, I'll feel more guilty about admiring twenty-six-year old men."

Carol's sure Shannon's mostly joking, but she teases with a raised-eyebrow anyway: "Does Garland know about your admirations?"

"Garland's happy that I bring all my energy home to him and only him."

Carol chuckles.

"Garland must have known all this. They applied to the Council for property division?"

"Witherspoon moved back into the second officer's cabin on The Discovery. Mitch kept the hut. Since they weren't legally married, it wasn't really even a question."

"Garland didn't say a word to me about any of this." Shannon's consternation at being left out of the loop fades when another knock sounds at the door. The women hurry to answer.

[*]

The men pass three huts without paper pumpkins tacked out front and ease the wagon to a stop before Inola and Dante's hut. The men pluck the kids from the wagon so they can toddle up.

Dante greets them in the open doorway. His infant daughter Yona, who is almost four months old now, is sound asleep in a snugly against his chest. Her skin is the color of dark cherry wood, and she has thick curls of black hair. Dante lowers the wooden bowl so the kids can pick out a treat.

"Where's Inola?" Garland asks.

"Napping," Dante answers. "I'll have to wake her up in a hour to feed this little one. How's Shannon?"

"Good."

"Talk her out of taking Gary on that trade trip yet?"

Garland sighs. "No. No. I gave up on that."

"You should just put your foot down, mayor," Dante says with a smirk.

"Yeah, how does that work for you with Inola?"

"I'll let you know if I ever try it."

Garland chuckles.

"How's Carol?" Dante asks.

"Gettin' buzzed with Shannon," Daryl answers.

"Ah, treats for the men later then, huh? Lucky you." He glances behind himself back into the hut and then looks forward again. He lowers his voice. "I haven't gotten laid in months."

"It gets better," Garland assures him. "Yona's not sleeping through the night yet?"

"No, not this little monster," Dante says, and brushes a curl off the baby's forehead. "This adorable little monster. She'll be up at eight-thirty, then midnight, then three a.m." Dante rolls his eyes. "Then seven a.m."

"It does get better," Garland insists. "Happy Halloween."

The men and kids continue trick or treating through the village until they reach the old, rectangular whorehut, which two childless couples from the Kingdom share. They begin to enquire after their former Queen Carol, and Garland excuses himself, leaving the kids with Daryl. "I just need to have a word with Andrew at the tavern," he explains.

Daryl doesn't know what word Garland has with the deputy, but he can guess the gist of it when Andrew comes stomping down the pathway from the tavern, looking peeved but resigned, and makes his way home to his hut, wife, and newborn.

Daryl extracts himself from the Kingdom talkers, grabs hold of the handle of the Radio flyer, and drags the wagon on as Garland falls in step beside him. The sounds of the adult party at the tavern drift down the path after them – live music, chatter, laughing, and the occasional hoot or holler. "When're we ever gonna get to go to that party?" Daryl mutters.

"Do you want to go to that party?" Garland asks skeptically.

"Nah," he admits. Daryl tugs the kids on back down the dirt path, past the orchard, past the cow pen – where VanDaryl waves to the sleepy cows and Sweetheart moos at them - down the hill, and eventually onto the wooden docks. The wheels of the wagon creak and clatter on the wood planks. The Susan Constant sits empty. The two unmarried officers who live on board it in the officer's cabins - Captain McBride and Lieutenant Alvarado - are at the party in the tavern. Lieutenant Commander Lawson and his wife might be onboard the Godspeed, but, if they are, their lights are out, and Daryl doesn't much want to trick or treat at that xenophobic prick's door anyway. Commander Witherspoon is not onboard the Discovery, either. Maybe he's taking his orphan trick or treating, or maybe he's at the party in the tavern with Devon. Either way, the windows are dark, and the wagon rolls on.

They trick or treat in the museum, stopping at the room of Dr. Ahmad and his wife and then Dr. Emily and her husband. Dr. Emily has roasted pumpkin seeds to offer the dads and plastic wind-up toys for the toddler. "Only with supervision," she warns them as she puts one in each of their pillowcases, because the pumpkins are full. They stop by Kaitlyn's room in the former library. She and the sailor Merry are sitting in camp chairs out front, sharing some moonshine, with a bowl on the floor between them. The young guard Nick is hanging out in the hallway, attempting to flirt with the young woman, much to the chagrin of her new sailor boyfriend.

"We should all go to the party in the tavern," Nick tells her as the kids rummage through the bowl for their choices.

"After the trick or treaters stop coming by," Kaitlyn says. "This is fun. I missed it."

"Why don't you go to the party?" Merry asks him pointedly. "Now?"

"I like seeing the kids in costume, too."

As the men leave with the kids and head out of the museum, Garland mutters, "I hope the deputies don't have to break up a fight later." Santiago's on patrol, Daryl knows. He was getting ready to leave when they trick or treated at his cabin. He's glad Carol's off tonight. She loves her traditions too much to miss a moment of it.

[*]

Not many rooms in the dorm have paper pumpkins tacked on their doors. One of the Kingdom women is giving out treats. So is Raul, and Enid is with him. Like Rosita, she came on the mailboat and is going back on the ship during the trade trip in November. She hands out lollipops from the Hilltop, made by the candy maker there.

"You have a candy maker?" Garland asks. "He just makes candy?"

"Nobody just does any one thing," Enid replies. "But, yes, we have a candy maker. And Raul traded him for a lot of lollipops last time he was there." She rubs a hand over his shoulder. "He's very generous."

Raul smiles and shrugs. "I realized I had a few more things than I really needed."

The kid's not hoarding anymore, Daryl thinks. Not more than necessary, anyway. That's a good sign. Enid's done him well. He wonders who will end up where, or if they'll keep up this one-third-time thing forever: a third of their time together at the Hilltop, a third together in Jamestown, and a third apart in their separate communities. He couldn't do it. He used to spend months away from Carol, but now that they're married? He couldn't do it.

"What were my dad and Sarah giving out?" Raul asks.

"It's not a competition," Enid says.

"It kind of is. And I'm pretty sure we won."

"I don't know that you have won," Garland tells him. "Santiago gave us each an ounce of whiskey." That's a lie. That was Gunther, and it was Candy shine. Santiago and Sarah gave the kids big, colored dice, and there was nothing for the dads. "What have you got for us?"

Raul scratches the back of his head. "Well…I could…I guess I could let you have some of my vodka." He disappears into the room and returns with a bottle and two glasses. He pours an ounce and half in each, and the men knock them back, thank Raul, and head on.

"Nice maneuver," Daryl tells the mayor with a smirk.

"Are you going to be able to pull this wagon home?"

"'Course. Two drinks in two hours? Think I can handle it."

They stop at Dwight and Sherry's last. When Sweetheart sees her favorite daycare worker, who has been taking some time off since the baby, she throws herself around her legs. Sherry laughs and hugs her and then offers her a treat from the bowl. Dwight approaches with the infant Dwight, Junior cradled in his arms. "Hey, Daryl," he says.

Daryl grunts his hello. Daryl doesn't talk to Dwight, not unless he has to, but he'll talk to Sherry, when their paths cross. He's grateful she freed him from Negan's clutches, and he figures Dwight can't be all bad if she loves him. Still, he doesn't care to talk to Dwight if he can avoid it. He fights the old grudge that rises up like heartburn in his chest, and he's glad when the door closes.

The men plop the kids back into the wagon outside the dorms, and they begin the walk home. The babies are dead asleep and curled back-to-back in the wagon when they reach the fort. There won't be any trading candy tonight.

"Garland!" Shannon whispers to her husband as she comes out the front door. At least she thinks she's whispering. "I'm a little tipsy."

Garland smiles as he plucks his little sleeping boy out of the wagon. "Good. Because this one's already out and Gary's spending the night at Albert's. Grab my arm and I'll walk you home."

Daryl leaves the wagon out front and settles Sweetheart into bed. Carol removes the paper pumpkin from outside – though the trick or treating hours are over anyway – and latches the door shut.

Daryl pulls the curtain closed around Sweetheart's room and goes to join Carol on the couch before the hearth where the fire is already crackling. And empty wine bottle sits on the coffee table next to two empty glasses.

"Looks like she got a lot of loot," Carol says.

"Hell yeah," Daryl agrees. "Went through the whole damn town this time. Cleaned up."

"Any treats for me?" Carol's eyes are shiny. She probably had two glasses of wine, and Shannon must have had three. That wouldn't be a lot in the old world, but in this day and age, when they don't get to drink often, and when they don't ever overeat…it's enough for a light buzz. In fact, he's feeling that vodka just a tiny bit.

Daryl smirks. "I gotta treat ya can lick. 'N suck."

Carol rolls her eyes. "What are you. Thirteen?" She laughs. Then she shrugs. "Okay."

"Okay?" he asks, not sure if she's serious.

"Yeah. Okay. Sure. Why not? Who doesn't want a sucker for Halloween?"

Daryl stands and eagerly starts unbuckling his belt.

Later, when he's leaned back against the stone side of the hearth, his bare claves hot from the fire, still reeling from the blow job, Carol gets up from her knees, kisses his check, and whispers, "My turn," before walking toward their bedroom. Daryl follows, tripping on the pants around his ankles, nearly falls, but steadies himself. He works his way out of them and pulls the curtain closed around their bed as she lights a candle on the nightstand. When Carol sets down the match box, he throws her, giggling, back-down onto the bed.

The next thirty minutes is playful and satisfying and ends in a naked, sleepy cuddle beneath the blankets. "Should make this a Halloween tradition," Daryl murmurs into her hair. "Know how ya love yer traditions."

Carol giggles. "Maybe we should." She settles back against him, spoons into the curve of his muscular frame, and tucks her head under his chin.

"Nite, Beautiful."

"Night, Pookie. Happy Halloween."