AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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Carol hadn't been "in the mood" for anything more than allowing Daryl to cuddle against her as they slept, and she'd allowed him sleepy kisses and nuzzles with the arrival of the morning.

She assured him that she slept well, though she looked tired, as Daryl questioned her from across the bed while he helped her smooth out the sheets and blankets to have it ready for another night. She assured him that she liked the house, and that she'd grow to be just as comfortable there as she'd ever been anywhere before—and Daryl didn't push the fact that, as it was supposed to be their home, he really wanted her to be more comfortable than she'd ever been before.

Carol told Daryl that she was fine, and she liked the peace and quiet of the morning, as she set about making coffee and cooking breakfast in their kitchen.

Daryl knew that she was used to the hustle and bustle of Michonne's house—packed with Michonne, the children and, lately, Ezekiel, Henry, and Enid. He knew, too, that she liked it that way. She liked the busyness. She liked being surrounded by people. She liked laughter and morning conversation as she served up food that she'd prepared—and that everyone enjoyed.

Daryl stepped out on the porch while Dog went out to relieve himself, and he sat down in the rocking chair that someone—likely Michonne—had put there the day before to try to make the house more of a home. He lit a cigarette and rocked the chair with his foot.

Daryl felt like an asshole. He felt like a first-rate son of a bitch. And the fact of the matter was that it wasn't Ezekiel making him feel this way, and it wasn't Carol making him feel this way. Daryl had made his own bed, this time, and he was the one making himself feel like a jerk.

Ezekiel hadn't come for breakfast, and that was absolutely to be expected. Henry hadn't come either, probably in some show of solidarity for his father. Daryl couldn't really fault Henry for such a thing. From his perspective, his mother had done his father wrong—never fully being dedicated to him in the first place—and now she'd moved on, just as she'd somewhat promised to do from the beginning. From Henry's perspective, Daryl had done is father wrong—being the other man that kept him from having some kind of actual fairy tale family come to life.

And, maybe, he wasn't all wrong. Daryl figured he needed to have a heart-to-heart with Henry.

Maybe, even, it was time to have a heart-to-heart with Ezekiel—especially now that they had both had the opportunity to vent some of their pent-up frustration.

Enid wouldn't come to breakfast either, out of solidarity for Henry, and Daryl wondered if she would show up at the clinic. He wondered if Carol would even go to the clinic today, or if she'd keep her distance to let the air clear a little.

Daryl's attention was drawn from his brooding to the street when Dog yipped and Daryl heard the sound of RJ's laughter. He could have kissed Michonne when he saw her coming with Judith and RJ in tow.

"Is there breakfast this morning?" Michonne asked.

Daryl felt a wave of relief wash over him. At least he hadn't taken everything away from Carol that she enjoyed about mornings.

"Will be now," Daryl said. "Come on in. I'ma go tell Carol we gonna need a few extra places at the table."

"I brought food," Michonne said, holding up the bag she was carrying. "I know the pantry isn't very well stocked yet."

Daryl went straight inside, pausing only long enough to allow Dog to run in without tripping him. Dog bee-lined straight for the kitchen and Daryl heard Carol cooing to him as she greeted him and, more than likely, snuck him some treat from the food she was cooking. Already, Daryl could smell meat cooking—it was salted or smoked meat that they kept on hand, and the smell was a reminder to him that he might do well to spend at least part of his day hunting to make sure that there was some fresh meat and plenty more to be salted and smoked for storage—and he could smell coffee brewing.

As he stepped into the kitchen, knowing their guests were right behind him, he saw Carol loving on Dog, who ate up the affection without shame. She'd lifted his front paws and was hugging him like a person. Dog was more than happy to allow it.

"I hope you in the mood to cook," Daryl said.

"This'll be ready soon," Carol said, letting Dog drop quickly and walking over to wash her hands. Daryl walked over behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He hugged her from behind and she hummed at him. It was a satisfied sound, at least. She didn't pull away from him, and she didn't act like she disliked his touch. He could feel heaviness and sadness in the air, but Carol wasn't trying to smother him with it—he was doing enough of that on his own. Daryl kissed the crook of her neck.

"Michonne's comin' up the street now with the kids," Daryl said.

He felt Carol's body tense, but he was sure it wasn't in a negative way. He was sure that she was nothing more than surprised. She turned around; her cheeks flushed with the color of excitement. She smiled.

"I don't have enough food here," she said. "We only really brought enough to get through until we could get some more."

Daryl laughed to himself at her concern.

"Michonne's got food," he said. "And—I'ma go out huntin' just as soon as we've had breakfast. I'ma get somethin' for the whole community. Maybe it's time to start stockin' up as much as I can get us for the winter. Wild game'll cut down on how much of our stock we've gotta butcher to get through when the snow comes."

The kiss he was offered was sincere. Carol's body, beneath his fingertips, nearly buzzed.

An invisible cloud had been lifted. It wasn't gone, and it still hung there, detectable to Daryl, but it had lifted some. With effort on both their parts, though, he was pretty sure they could chase it the rest of the way out of their home.

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"Come here, Carol," Michonne said.

Carol crossed the room. One of the houses had been converted into nothing but storage. It was a kind of "shop" for everyone to use. When they cleared houses or otherwise acquired things, the things came here. Then, people could pick through and choose the items that they wanted or needed.

It hadn't been difficult for Judith and RJ to decide that they'd rather spend their day with one of the women in the community who also had children. Michonne and Carol were going to look at baby things—just enough to make Carol feel secure in what she had—and that wasn't very interesting for the children who, naturally, would rather be playing.

Carol had already selected a few items and thanked the people who were delivering them to her house. She had a highchair now, for when such a thing was necessary, and she had a nice little carrier seat and several wraps for keeping the baby with her at all times. She'd also acquired a dresser for the nursery, and she was filling a bag with clothes and excess cloth so that she could sew some diapers for the baby. Everything, when she was done with it, would be returned for future mothers to use.

Michonne had unearthed a bassinet. It was dark wood and looked to be antique.

"This is beautiful," Michonne said. "And just what you need to keep her close at night."

"But is it sturdy?" Carol asked.

Michonne put her hands in the base of the bassinet and pressed. She lifted her body up as much as she could without leaving her feet.

"It's holding a lot of my weight," Michonne said. "I don't think you're going to produce a baby that weighs that much, Carol. I mean—you're not even that big."

"I'm enormous," Carol said with a laugh.

"You're really not. I was a lot bigger with RJ. You just feel that way. You're actually pretty small."

Carol ran her hand over her belly.

"She's still got some time to grow," Carol said.

"Of course she does," Michonne said. "This is when she'll be growing the fastest. And—I'm sure she'll do a lot of growing. My point is that she's not going to outweigh me, though, and it's sturdy enough to hold me…or most of me."

Carol ran her hand along the side of it.

"You can put it right by the bed," Michonne added. "She'll be right there until you're ready to move her to the crib. You can have her there for feedings. And this one's nice. It's got the bars, so you can get your hand through there. You can have her there for touching; just for when you need to touch her at night."

Carol swallowed against the lump in her throat. She looked at Michonne.

"You understand," Carol said.

"As well as anyone can," Michonne assured her. "As long as they're in there—you never feel like they're safe, but at least you feel like you can always keep track of everything about them. The closer it gets to the time for them to come out here, into this world?"

"It's like I want her to have a whole army keeping her safe," Carol said.

"You almost do," Michonne said, laughing quietly. "I've seen you, Carol. I know who you are and what you're capable of now. I can't speak about who you were, but I know that—I'm not who I was, and neither are you. This world changed us—for better and for worse, maybe, but it changed us. I had to realize that, and so do you. I'm not sure who or what could come through you to get to her now."

Carol smiled to herself and caressed her belly. The little one in question wasn't moving right now. She was napping, probably, satiated by the breakfast of which Michonne had urged Carol to eat double portions. Carol hadn't been able to save Sophia from the Walkers—she hadn't been prepared then. She hadn't been able to save Mika from Lizzie—she hadn't realized the true extent of the danger. She hadn't been able to save Lizzie from her own mind and the sickness she'd brought with her into a world that only made it worse.

She needed to be strong enough, capable enough, and smart enough to protect this baby girl.

"What if I'm not enough?" Carol asked.

"You'll be enough," Michonne assured her. "You already are. But—you're not alone, remember? Daryl would stop hell from burning to keep her safe. And—I like to think I'm not entirely useless in a crisis."

Carol laughed.

"You know that's not what I mean to say," Carol said.

"I know the place you're speaking from," Michonne assured her. There was absolutely no offense there. "And she's got Henry and Ezekiel, too."

"Probably not anymore," Carol said.

"I wouldn't be so quick to count people out," Michonne said.

"I need to talk to him," Carol said. "Ezekiel."

"I agree with that," Michonne said.

"I need to make sure he understands how I feel," Carol said. "That things didn't get confused along the way somewhere."

"And maybe he just needs a chance to—explain how he feels," Michonne said. "You were together a long time, no matter what you call the relationship, and things ended pretty abruptly. Maybe you just need to sit down and talk about everything. I notice—you haven't mentioned going to the clinic today."

"I'm not going," Carol said. She shook her head at Michonne when the woman raised her eyebrows at her. "Enid doesn't want to see me. Henry's probably angry and…"

"Your anxiety is palpable," Michonne said. "And Siddiq's been helping with that. With everything that's going on, maybe you need that reassurance more than ever before."

"I'm not going, Michonne," Carol said.

"Fine," Michonne said, nodding her head. "Do you like this?"

"I think it'll be fine," Carol said.

"Then we'll have someone take it to your house," Michonne said. "And then you and I are going to find Ezekiel."

"You and I?"

"I won't interfere," Michonne said. "But this way? No matter what—and no matter how anybody wants to feel about it later—you've got a witness. Nothing even runs the risk of being misinterpreted. OK?"

"OK," Carol said.

"Can we go?" Michonne asked.

"I just—want to finish going through that stack of cloth," Carol said. "For the diapers. You know how they go through diapers."

"You do that," Michonne said. "I'll go and find someone to move the bassinet."