AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl was drinking lukewarm hot chocolate, made from a powdery mix that wasn't entirely well-blended into the hot water that gave it its liquid form and topped with the tiny mummified marshmallows that came in the white paper envelopes.

He questioned, sometimes, how it was that he got into the particular situations in which he found himself. Carol would only buy decorations for so long with Andrea. Then, she would return home and Daryl would have missed the window of opportunity that he was counting on to arrange for her the surprise that he'd hoped to prepare.

He'd brought Agnes a tree, for which she seemed immensely grateful, and he'd brought her some cheap and quick decorations that he'd picked up when he was picking up a few things for Carol's surprise. In addition, Agnes had wanted her own decorations, so he'd dragged down dusty boxes from the attic that had been up there since the last time she'd decorated for Christmas—which must have been sometime around the turn of the century, Daryl had thought with amusement, judging by the thick layer of dust.

In reality, it had been some time since she'd felt physically able to get up there, and it had, apparently, been some time since she'd felt really emotionally driven to decorate for the holiday.

Today, however, Agnes was the embodiment of happiness and the holiday spirit. As happy as she was with the tree and the dusty decorations, Agnes was happier with the company. She'd insisted on putting her Christmas records on to play, and the Christmas music came popping and cracking from a record player that she might have brought from Deadwood when she'd ventured east with her husband. She'd insisted on making hot chocolate for them all to enjoy—the only kind she had being the kind that came from the white paper envelopes and, no matter how hard you stirred, never seemed to fully transform into liquid.

And now? Now she was sharing hot chocolate with Clyde Burrows and he was helping her string lights around her tree—telling her all the important details of how to best care for her tree to keep it beautiful throughout the entire Christmas season.

The two of them had limited need for Daryl as they laughed and talked. For a few minutes, Daryl had been amused to watch them. Clyde's normally cheerful demeanor had only seemed to be revved up a bit, and Agnes's cheeks remained permanently rosy as she blushed at everything Clyde said or did.

Daryl didn't begrudge them a moment of whatever it was that was happening between them, but he felt trapped. He had things he wanted to do—needed to do, at least for himself—and he felt like he couldn't go anywhere. He'd driven Clyde here. Agnes didn't drive and, if she did drive, she really shouldn't.

Daryl sat, squirming in his seat, for a little longer—trying to choke down the unwanted hot chocolate that grew less desirable with each passing second and each degree of temperature lost—and finally he stood up. His abrupt rise to his feet caught the attention of both of the individuals who were flirting with each other around the partially decorated Christmas tree that was liable to fall apart from age before their slow movements finished the work of beautifying it for the holiday.

"I gotta go," Daryl said. "I got—somethin' I gotta do." He held his hand up in the direction of both of them to stop the protests that he could see them both winding up to throw in his direction. "Clyde—ain't nobody buyin' a tree today. You said it yourself. It's Sunday and people are busy. Cold, too. People ain't really wantin' to be out right now. You'd do better to just stay here with Agnes. Decorate the tree. Have somethin' to eat. I'll come back 'round this evening and drive you back to pick up your truck."

Two sets of eyes blinked at him, their work on the tree suspended in time for a moment. Two minds calculated probably innumerable scenarios as fast as their ages would allow.

And, then, two mouths smiled at the suggestion that Daryl had made.

Relieved, Daryl had wished them both a good afternoon, thanked Agnes for the hot chocolate he couldn't finish, and had received her warm, and unexpectedly strong, hug as thanks for bringing her the tree and, he suspected, the company.

In the yard, Daryl lit a cigarette and checked his phone. Carol had texted him and he smiled at her words.

"I miss you. Found some beautiful things that I can't wait to show you. I'm going to help Andrea with a couple of things at her house. What do you think about sloppy Joes tonight? If you don't want it, that's fine. I just kind of had a craving. I love you."

Daryl smiled to himself and thumbed a response as he stretched his legs and smoked his cigarette.

"I miss you. Take your time with Andrea. Good for both of you to spend some time together. I got held up with Agnes. I'll explain it all later. If Sprout wants sloppy Joes, I'm good with them. You can pick up the stuff when you leave there. Get fries, too. The seasoned ones. Take your time. I got something for you when you get home. I love you more."

Daryl felt a warm rush pressing send. Sloppy Joes with his wife probably wouldn't have sounded exciting to too many people, but the thought of it nearly made Daryl dizzy. Of course, anything with Carol had that effect on him.

He glanced over his shoulder toward Agnes's house. Inside, she was decorating a tree with Clyde Burrows. Two people who had been alone for a long time were, suddenly, simply not alone for at least the duration of an afternoon.

And Daryl wished them all the warm happiness that he felt simply reading a message from Carol that promised he was loved, missed, and that they would share something as beautifully mundane as sloppy Joes for dinner.

He got into his truck and finished his cigarette, dropping the butt into a bottle of Gatorade he'd been meaning to throw out for at least a day or two. He still had things to do before Carol got home, and he didn't want to miss his window of opportunity.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl met Carol as she was bringing bags inside.

"Need a hand?" He asked, his hands already stretched out in her direction to take the bags she was carrying.

"I've got this," she said. "But there's more."

He nodded and quickly rushed toward her vehicle to get the remainder of the bags. Carol made it inside and into the living room before nearly collapsing under the weight of all the bags she'd tried to carry—her arms overloaded and her circulation being slowly cut off by the bag handles and their weight.

She laughed to herself as she triumphantly put down the bags and shucked off the handles that were cutting into her arms. Daryl pushed the door closed behind him as he brought in the final bags. He'd had only the food to get, so he carried it directly to the kitchen. He spoked to Carol as she walked into the kitchen and he set about sorting the food.

"You didn't hardly leave me anything to carry," he said.

"My goal was to get it all with one trip," Carol said. "But I couldn't quite make it."

"I'd rather you make a half-dozen trips than hurt yourself."

Carol smiled at him.

"I wasn't going to hurt myself," she said. "Not really. I think it would take more than a few bags to cause me any real damage. You're sure Sloppy Joes are OK with you?"

Daryl finished with the groceries and turned around. His hands went to her waist and Carol couldn't help but smile at his own smile—the corner of his mouth turned up more than the other side.

"Sprout put in an order?"

Carol felt the familiar ache of her face. She stopped trying to hold back her smile at all.

"I guess he did," she said. "I don't even know why I thought about it. I mean—it's not something I usually eat, and it wasn't like Andrea and I were talking about it. I just, all of a sudden, thought that's what I'd really, really love to eat."

"Then, it's what the hell you gonna get," Daryl said. "You have a good time with Andrea?"

Carol nodded.

"She's just…low, Daryl," Carol said. "I'll tell you the truth, I'm a little worried about her."

"Worried? Like I oughta call Merle worried?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"Andrea's always been the kind to put on a face, you know? No matter what was going on or how bad she felt about things, she always puts on a happy face. She's still putting it on, but it's just not that convincing. She gets up, but she's low again as soon as her mind starts to drift."

Daryl laughed quietly.

"Hell—maybe she's just tired of wearin' some kinda happy face. Maybe it's their peanut—or whatever they're callin' it this week. Sprout does a hell of a number on you sometimes. If he didn't, you wouldn'ta been soggy and sittin' in Christmas decorations this morning."

Carol felt her face burn warm.

"You think it's just hormones?" She asked.

"What do you think it is?"

"I think she's just really feeling down about the baby. Like she's already failed or something," Carol said. "She said she's got another appointment next week. She said they called her and asked her to come in."

"Merle ain't said nothin'," Daryl said.

"When's the last time you talked to him?" Carol asked.

"Friday," Daryl said. "I think. But—to tell you the truth, he was worried about her too, so…" He shrugged. "I'm sure she's fine. She's gonna be fine. Hell—maybe it's a good thing. She'll have an appointment. Get another chance to talk to the doctor. She done a pretty good job of makin' everything sound alright to me. Didn't you like her?" Carol nodded and Daryl somewhat shrugged his shoulders again. "So, maybe it'll be good for Andrea to get to see her again and put some of that negativity behind her from what the hell that nurse said. That's what started it all, anyway."

"She hasn't already failed," Carol said.

Daryl laughed and shook his head.

"And she ain't gonna fail," he said. "Any Mama that'd worry herself sick over whether or not she missed givin' her kid what the hell it needed for even a week or two ain't gonna fail. Worse damn thing she's doin' to the kid, honestly, is worryin' over what she don't need to worry about. Merle feels the same way, but he don't know how to get through to her. So—maybe Dr. Martin'll know what to tell her so she don't keep slippin' into some kinda pit where she's just beatin' herself up over some shit that's just in her head."

"She did buy stockings today," Carol said. "One for Merle, one for her, and one for the baby. She's going to paint their names on them."

"Yeah?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded. "Merle'll like that. Christmas stockings like that are…well…they're nice."

"You think?" Daryl nodded again. "Good," Carol admitted. "Because—I bought three of them, too."

Daryl smiled and pulled her to him in a hug.

"Perfect," he said.

"What was the surprise?" Carol asked.

"What?"

"You said you had something for me. And what happened with Agnes?" Carol asked.

She could see recognition as it dawned on Daryl's features. He smiled.

"One thing at a time," he said. "Now—if you don't like it, all the hell you gotta do is say you don't want it and I'll take it down. OK? My feelings ain't gonna be hurt. I just thought—hell, it was just a thing I thought."

"The surprise?" Carol asked. Daryl nodded. She thought he might have blanched slightly. His demeanor changed enough that she could tell that he was nervous about how she might respond to whatever it was that he was going to show her. "I want to see it," she said, softening her tone to reassure him. She offered him a soft and reassuring smile.

He put his hand on her shoulder and led her to the buffet in the dining room that she intended to decorate for Christmas. It was a large, heavy, antique piece that she'd bought at a type of rummage store on a trip with Andrea. She'd felt drawn to it, for whatever reason, and she'd restored it herself. Now, it rested under the window and tended to be a holding place for flowers or anything else she wanted to display.

If she'd paid it any attention earlier, she might have noticed Daryl's surprise before he even began to direct her attention.

On the buffet sat the little tree that she'd been given for Sprout. It was decorated with tiny little Christmas balls and a string of silver garland that was hardly more than thick silver cord. On top of it was perched a tiny golden star.

Beside it, there sat a tree she hadn't seen before. It was the same type as Sprout's tree—small, undergrown, and perched on one of the cross stands that held it upright—but it was a little fuller and a little more cone shaped. It was decorated with tiny silver and gold ornaments that hung like charms on its little branches. As Carol moved closer to it, she saw that each one was a little silver or gold angel that had clearly come from a set. They played harps and trumpets, or they folded their hands in prayer. Instead of a star, on top was a tiny little angel—a fat cherub with a baby face and small wings—that rested atop a silver corkscrew that held it onto the pointed topmost branch.

Carol's stomach clenched, and she felt Daryl's fingers tighten around hers.

"Just thought—as much as you liked Sprout havin' a tree…and maybe your other one never had no tree…and…but…if you don't like it…"

Carol's throat ached. Her eyes blurred. She meant to be as thankful and as reassuring as she could be. She meant to say something beautiful…something wonderful. She meant to say something that would communicate how very thoughtful and profound the seemingly simple gesture was. Instead, she simply fell against his chest and barked out the words as his arms folded around her.

Her words weren't nearly everything that she wanted to say—but there would be time for her to say more, when the wave of emotion passed. And, for now, what she said was hopefully enough.

"I love you."