AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Carol's whole body felt loose and relaxed—almost as if she were a cooked spaghetti noodle—as she lounged in bed and waited on Daryl. The hot water from the shower had been relaxing. The promised orgasms hadn't hurt, either, and Daryl was a man who was careful to deliver on his promises—and he was one who enjoyed, especially, delivering on his sexual promises. Daryl had practically tucked Carol in, and he'd insisted she not move, so she sat still against the pillows while he made the run to the other room for the things she'd requested.
When Daryl came into the bedroom, Carol couldn't help but smile at him. He was wearing nothing but the bottoms of his pajamas—red and green plaid—that she'd picked up a few days ago so that they could start a small collection of matching pajama sets. He'd insisted they wear them when she'd started getting ready for bed, but she didn't ignore the fact that he felt entirely comfortable, now, walking around their home with his shirt off.
She didn't say anything about that, though, for fear that she might make him feel self-conscious just by drawing attention to it.
"You are a good-looking man," she offered, as he came into the room.
His face immediately ran a warm red in the dim light of the room—nothing but the bedside lamps offering them light.
"I was thinkin' the same thing about you," Daryl said. "Not that you a good-lookin' man, I mean. I mean that—you look damn good."
Carol smiled and laughed to herself.
"Reading glasses turn you on?" She asked.
"You turn me on," Daryl offered, crawling into the bed and dropping his spoils between them—a pen and a notepad from the living room. "Hell—I think you're hot no matter what you wear. And I already know your ass has a thing for plaid. Don't think I haven't filed that away in the need-to-know corner of my mind."
"Only for you in plaid," Carol said with a wink. Daryl's face blushed red again. "But—I do have a thing for you in plaid."
Rather than respond, he leaned, from his position, and pushed the blanket back just enough to kiss her stomach through her pajama top and nuzzle his face against it. Carol brushed his hair, still damp from the shower, with her fingertips.
"I love you," he said with a contented sigh.
"I love you, too," Carol said. "Should we—make our Christmas list?"
Daryl sat up and quickly slid in next to her, bringing himself right up against her so that they could snuggle together and make the list of activities that they wanted to do together.
Carol had celebrated Christmas with her family when she was young. She'd gone through all the motions of Christmas to make Ed happy—doing exactly what it was that he wanted. She'd started to celebrate the holiday, for herself, when she'd finally been free of Ed.
She had never, though, celebrated a Christmas quite like the ones in her romance novels or in Daryl's movies. She liked the idea of it—the warm, Frasier fir and cinnamon scented new traditions already taking shape in her mind—and she knew that Daryl desperately wanted it.
The only thing to do, then, was to make a list to make sure that they managed to deck-the-halls as completely as either of them might dream of doing.
"I have some decorations in the attic," Carol said. "We should bring those out and go through them."
"I can put lights up outside," Daryl said. "You got a tree?"
"An artificial one," Carol said. "It's the one I've had forever."
"Since you were married to Ed?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"I have a lot of things that I've had since I was married to Ed."
"We'll get a new tree," Daryl said. "You oughta have a new one anyway, and…I don't want Ed's Christmas tree."
"It's just an artificial tree," Carol said. "Ed didn't really even like Christmas." Daryl gave her a look. She nodded her understanding. "We'll get a new tree," she ceded, writing it on the list under what she'd already added from their conversation. "Maybe—this year we get a real tree? Just to see how we like it? I always wanted a real tree, but Ed didn't like that you had to buy a new one each year and…"
"Don't need to hear another damn word about it," Daryl said. "Write it down. Real tree. And I want some of them—that shiny silver shit that they hang all over it."
"Tinsel?" Carol asked. "Like the shiny—like aluminum foil?" Daryl nodded. Carol wrote it on the list. "What else do you want?"
"Christmas cards," Daryl said.
"You want to buy Christmas cards?"
"I want us to take a picture for our cards," Daryl said. "You, and me, and Sprout. Want us to…you know…announce Sprout."
Carol couldn't help but smile. She thought her pulse even kicked up a notch. Daryl was so sweet about the baby. He was sweet, in general, but he was especially sweet when it came to their little Sprout. And every time he spoke so lovingly about the little thing, everything in Carol's body seemed to flutter in response. She had never felt that way before, not even when she'd been pregnant before and Ed had still not realized that he didn't care for her condition.
"Who would we send Christmas cards to?" Carol asked. "We'll have told everyone by then."
"I don't give a shit," Daryl said. "We'll get a handful made. Give 'em to the same people. If the worst thing that happens to Merle and Andrea is they get a Christmas card from us tellin' 'em what they already know, then I guess they'll survive. I want—I want us to take a picture, Carol. Put it on a card. Is it that big a deal?"
Carol laughed to herself. She added it to the list.
"No," she said. "As long as—we can invest in matching shirts. Plaid." She winked at him again, and he reached a hand over and lovingly patted her stomach. Everything in her body seemed to flutter again. She wondered if he had any idea how much power he had over her—how drawn to him she really felt. She could tell him, but he'd never fully believe her. He'd always think she was teasing, at least a little. She hummed, in satisfaction, instead of saying anything. He liked that better, anyway. He responded to it better.
In response, Daryl leaned and nuzzled her neck and ear. He kissed her, a few times, softly on the side of her face, on her neck, and even on her earlobe. She shivered and laughed to herself.
"You keep this up, and the rainforest isn't going to hold me all night."
He nuzzled her again, and he slipped his hand inside her pajama shirt so that his skin could rest next to the skin of her abdomen.
"You write our Christmas list," he said, his voice recognizably throaty with a certain huskiness it always seemed to pick up when he was turned on. "And maybe we'll kick it off with a little welcome to the Christmas season lovin'."
"Is that some official Christmas tradition?" Carol asked.
"It's about to be," Daryl said, smiling at her as he moved to put a little effort into nibbling her neck.
"Should I add that to the list?" She asked.
"I got a feelin' we'll remember," Daryl said.
Carol laughed and hummed her approval at his tasting of her skin.
"If you keep that up—I'm not going to be able to write anything," Carol offered.
He laughed to himself and backed off, but he kept his hand on her stomach. She would never ask him to move it—not ever. Just feeling his hand there made it feel like he had a string that ran down between her legs—it felt like he was, somehow, able to tug on it and cause some kind of pleasant ache, which served as a reminder of exactly what she hoped they'd be doing when they finished.
"List first," Daryl said. "Then lovin'."
"I'll write whatever you want on this piece of paper. You name it," Carol teased. She appreciated Daryl's crooked smile. She accepted the kiss offered her. She deepened it, and nipped his lip as he pulled away.
"Wanna make Christmas dinner together—all the works," Daryl said.
"Of course," Carol said, writing it down. "We'll invite Merle and Andrea—and maybe Alice and Sadie? Alice never has anywhere to go on Christmas."
"Abso-fuckin'-lutely," Daryl said, smiling. "The bigger the family the better. Agnes, too."
"Wouldn't dare have it without her," Carol confirmed.
"She gets a card, too," Daryl said.
"Of course," Carol said.
"Gotta tell her. You wanna—tell her with me?"
"About Sprout?"
"The hell else would I want us to tell her together?"
"I didn't know if you meant the dinner, Daryl."
"We can tell her that, too," Daryl said with a shrug. "All at once, if you want. Whatta you say? I know I'm on the books for her next week. Maybe you could sneak away at lunch?"
"I wouldn't miss it," Carol said. "Maybe—we can come up with something cute? Some—fun little announcement?" Carol smiled to herself at Daryl's obvious pleasure over the suggestion. "We'll figure something out," she assured him. "What else?"
"Go somewhere," Daryl said. "At least for a weekend. Drive up to Tennessee or somethin' and rent a place. Just to see the snow. Play in it for a day."
"I'd love to see the snow with you," Carol said. "Make love to you in a mountain cabin? By a fire?"
"Write that shit down," Daryl said. "What else? What do you want?"
"There's nothing here that I don't want," Carol said.
"You don't want nothin' special?"
"Everything is special, Daryl, with you."
"Now you just tryin' to flatter me."
"I'm really not," Carol said. "It's just—all of this? It's everything I could ever want. You're everything I could ever want."
"And Sprout?" Daryl asked.
Carol's whole body ran warm. Daryl seemed to tug at the invisible string that he didn't know he controlled.
"Absolutely Sprout," Carol confirmed. "And—Daryl? I can never thank you enough for…giving me Sprout."
Daryl's face ran the same warm red, again, that it had run earlier. He leaned in for another kiss—deep and slow—and Carol indulged him. He gently kneaded her skin, where his fingertips rested over her abdomen, and Carol was certain that it hadn't been a conscious decision.
"Thank you, woman, for growin' Sprout for me. For the both of us."
"I like your Christmas card idea, Daryl," Carol admitted. "And—all the pictures you said you want to take to keep track of…of how Sprout grows."
"Every week," Daryl confirmed.
Carol nodded, smiling to herself at the thought that their little one would grow—and they would record it every week—and, hopefully, this time it would continue long beyond the eighteen-week mark that, deep in her gut, terrified Carol since it marked the last time that she had, teary-eyed and shaking, heard nothing but silence and the empty words of condolence offered by the technician.
At the memory of it, Carol's stomach ached and her throat felt immediately scratchy.
"What's wrong?" Daryl asked, drawing her back to the moment. He looked at her with a furrowed brow. His hand had left her stomach and, now, was holding her chin.
"Nothing," she said, trying to put her smile back and fix her face.
"You OK? Don't look like nothin'. You look sick all of a sudden. Pale. You gonna throw up? Sprout ain't doin' OK?"
Carol swallowed against the ache in her throat. She willed herself not to cry—she didn't want to explain, right now, the intrusive thoughts that sometimes found their way to the front of her mind. She didn't want to explain why, for no reason at all, she suddenly wanted to cry.
"Sprout's OK," she assured Daryl. A tear escaped, and then another. Daryl, as concerned as he had been before, wiped them away with his palm. "I promise," Carol said, not needing him to ask for her to know what he was communicating with his eyes. "Sprout's OK."
"Are you?" Daryl asked.
"I'm—better than OK," Carol said. "You always make me better than OK." He didn't look fully convinced, but he half-nodded his head. He was starting to accept that, sometimes, Carol's hormones got the best of her and, maybe, that was something that might happen with more regularity as their little one made its presence more known. "I'm OK," Carol said again, this time feeling it more sincerely than before. "I'm just—so happy to be doing this with you, Daryl. All of it."
"OK," Daryl said, signaling he was accepting her explanation. "You'll let me know, though, if there's somethin' wrong?"
"Yeah," Carol said, nodding her head. She took a deep breath, feeling herself calming as the bad memories faded to the back of her mind again and she worked to replace them with happy thoughts of her life now. "What about—a gingerbread house?" She asked.
"And gingerbread men," Daryl said.
Carol smiled at him.
"We'll make a whole little family," Carol said. "Me, and you, and even Sprout."
"And then a whole damn bunch to eat, too," Daryl said.
Carol laughed to herself. She leaned into him and snuggled against him. He hugged her back as best he could from his position beside her. She added their gingerbread plans to the list.
"Stockings," she said.
"And mistletoe," Daryl said.
"Mistletoe?" Carol asked.
"More reasons to kiss you," Daryl said.
"You can kiss me all you want," Carol said.
"And I like that," Daryl said. "Love it. Don't get me wrong. But—I can't wait to hold you an' kiss you under the mistletoe, too."
"If you like the idea that much," Carol said, "then maybe we ought to get an extra bunch to hang in here. Right over the bed."
"You really think I'ma argue?" Daryl asked with a smirk. "Write that down," he said, tapping the pad.