AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.
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Daryl felt a little sheepish as he returned to the house. The adrenaline that had been freely pumping through his veins—and that had fueled and driven his earlier rage—had slowed down and dissipated as he'd taken some time to smoke and walk around. His mind, especially surrounding everything that had happened that morning, felt fuzzy. It felt like he'd been drinking, maybe, or even doing something like the hard drugs and shit that Merle used to do when he felt the need to get fucked up and lose contact with himself for a while. He felt like he couldn't quite recall why he'd been angry. Or, at the very least, he couldn't recall why he'd been quite as angry as he'd ended up being in the end. He couldn't recall all the details—or many details at all—of what had taken place only a short time before. Everything seemed distant and outside the reach of his immediate memory. He knew, now, that he'd been reacting more at an instinctual level than a rational one.
And he hoped, beyond all hope and without even believing it to be possible, that the problem might simply go away. He hoped that the whole problem, much like his ability to remember distinct details and to reconnect with his self from only a short time ago, might simply disappear. He hoped that he might return home to find Carol in good spirits, and they might not have to discuss a single, solitary thing about what had taken place.
Of course, he knew that was more than unlikely.
When Daryl got back to the house, the upper floors seemed empty. If it weren't for the evidence of the lives that were lived there, Daryl might have believed he'd somehow mistaken one of the empty houses for Michonne's house and stumbled inside. It was silent. Abandoned. Michonne had taken Dog and the children, more than likely, on some kind of created errand to give Daryl and Carol the privacy that Daryl wished they didn't need or, at the very least, could use for other things.
Daryl hated to disagree with Carol. When the anger had passed—and it always passed—disagreements with Carol made his stomach hurt, his chest ache, and his mind feel uneasy.
He thought, too late, that he ought to have brought something to offer her. Wasn't that the way it was supposed to go? They'd disagreed and he should bring her something—flowers. He should bring some kind of tangible apology to go with the apology that he'd have to offer.
He was terrible at apologies. He hated them. He was lucky that, most of the time, Carol didn't press for too much of an apology. She was usually fine with accepting a simple one—the only kind that Daryl ever really seemed to be able to muster up, no matter how much he meant it.
Daryl was already in the stairwell to the basement, though, when he felt sorry for being empty-handed, and he knew that Carol had to have heard him. The stairs squeaked and, if he turned around and left now, without explanation, he might have even more to answer for when he got back.
Daryl didn't know what he expected, exactly. He didn't expect, though, to find that most of their things had been packed up in laundry baskets, bags, some plastic tubs from storage, and boxes. All of their belongings were piled up in the basement floor. Carol sat on their stripped bed—on the bare mattress—and stared at the picture of their baby girl in its frame.
Daryl cleared his throat to let her know that he was there. He was sure she should have heard him—his steps were heavy, the stairs squeaked, and the house was otherwise completely silent—but he decided to be extra sure. She looked at him and wiped at her face with a handkerchief she was holding.
"It's all ready to go," she said, her voice soft and a little shaky.
"You throwin' me out?" Daryl asked, looking around over everything. "This—all my shit?"
"It's all our shit," Carol said. "Yours and mine. Unless—you want to leave me here."
"I ain't never wanted to leave you nowhere," Daryl said.
Carol laughed to herself.
"Except—when you have," Carol said. Daryl's stomach tightened. She wasn't exactly lying.
"You done some leavin' yourself," Daryl offered. "Over the years."
"Yep," Carol said. "I have." She sighed. "Is that what you want now? To leave?"
"You know it ain't," Daryl said. Carol gently nodded her head like she was considering his answer carefully—far more carefully than was necessary.
"This is everything. Yours, mine, and—what few things we have for the baby."
"Why'd you pack it all up?"
"You want to find a house," Carol said.
"And you said you wanna stay here," Daryl said. He didn't like the look on Carol's expression. It wasn't so much a look of challenge as something else. It made his stomach feel uneasy and tight. It made him want to unpack boxes, bags, plastic totes, and laundry baskets until he'd put every single item here back into the spot where it had lived before. "Put it back," Daryl said.
"What?" Carol asked.
"Put it all back," Daryl said. "Everything. Put it back where it was. Fill up them drawers and—put the sheets back on the bed. Set it back just like it was, and stack them lil' baby clothes back there on that table thing you like had 'em. Put your sewin' table back together and—put the whole damn thing back like it was, Carol." She was steadily shaking her head at him, slowly, from side to side. "Please?"
"No," Carol said. "Why, Daryl? Why would I do that? Why would you ask me to?"
Daryl swallowed hard. It was uncomfortable, and it didn't want to go down.
"Because you wanna stay here," Daryl said. "And I want you to be happy."
"And you want to go," Carol said. "And I want you to be happy."
"So that's just it?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"Yes," she said. "That's just it. I packed up all of this. You're going to find somebody, and you're going to move it. There's an empty house two doors down. You'll have to do some repairs around the house, but it's not too bad. It'll be close enough that, even with the snow, Michonne can come over if I need her."
"You don't wanna go to that house, Carol," Daryl said. "So why don't we just—unpack everything? We can stay here. I didn't mean it. I don't give a damn. You wanna live here? We'll live here until we fuckin' die."
"No," Carol said. "We won't. Because we won't live here until we die, Daryl. We'll live here until—you get some hair up your ass again. We'll live here until you decide that you want to live in a different house again, and then you'll want me to pack everything up and be ready to move by lunchtime. And—I'm pregnant, Daryl. I'm—I'm really pregnant. And she's not going to stay put forever. Eventually? I'm not pregnant anymore. I have a newborn."
"We have a newborn," Daryl interrupted.
"I'm not packing things up with a newborn. Not on a whim. Not just to move because—I don't even know why, Daryl. Could you—at least—could you tell me why? Why do we have to move today?"
"We don't," Daryl said. "That's what I'm tellin' you. I'm sorry, Carol. I'm—I'm fuckin' sorry. I'm sorry I said we gotta move. I'm sorry I made you pack all this shit up when you didn't wanna do it. We don't gotta move today. We can put it all back the way it was and we don't even talk about it no more."
Carol stood up, her handkerchief and picture frame still in her hands. She stepped toward Daryl. Instead of looking at him like she was furious, she looked at him like she was tired and, maybe, just a touch sympathetic.
"Why, Daryl? Why did—we have to move today before lunch? Why—instead of letting me do laundry and coming home for an after-lunch nap—why did you have to find me to suggest I might…go be a whore or something?"
Daryl frowned at her. He couldn't help but frown. The words made him think that, if he opened his mouth, he might actually cry just the same as she'd been crying. He waited a moment, shaking his head to let her know that he was responding, but he didn't have a voice yet.
"Didn't call you a whore," he said.
"But you did," Carol said. "Same thing."
"No—no, it ain't. But you did—you did—find people. People that weren't me."
"You didn't seem to want me," Carol said, her voice low and high-pitched enough to suggest that she might cry again, too. "You didn't want me."
"No—that ain't true. I always wanted you."
"Not enough to let me know," Carol said. "What was I supposed to do, Daryl? Sit and be sad? Be sorry for myself because you—didn't love me and didn't want me? Just—let life pass me by entirely and hope that, someday, you might decide that you were done with whatever else you might want to do and you might…want me?"
"I always wanted you," Daryl said. "I just…"
"You just what?" Carol asked, when Daryl didn't speak.
"I weren't good enough for you."
Carol looked at him. He couldn't read her expression—not entirely. She touched his face. She scratched her fingertips affectionately near his temple.
"You were always good enough for me," Carol said. "But, sometimes? You made me feel like…maybe I wasn't good enough for you."
"That weren't the case," Daryl said. "That was never the case."
Carol laughed to herself.
"Then—it seems to me like we've still got a lot to learn about each other, Daryl."
Daryl nodded.
"Maybe so," he agreed.
Carol stepped a little closer to him. Her belly brushed against him. It reached him before the rest of her did.
"I still love you," Carol offered. "Do you still love me?"
"Of course," Daryl said. "That ain't never gonna change."
Carol smiled at him.
"At least we've got that in common," she said with a wink.
"I mean it," Daryl said with a sigh. "We don't gotta go nowhere. We can just unpack this shit. Forget the whole damned thing. Live right here. I want you to have what you want. And if you want this basement? I want you to have it."
"We're moving," Carol said. "You want a house. You made that abundantly clear, Daryl. And I mean what I said. I'm not packing this up when I have a newborn to tend to. And, Daryl? She's coming soon. I already told you it was important to me to be comfortable somewhere. I want to be settled. I want to have my baby somewhere that feels like home—not somewhere that feels like we're just passing through and found another stop while we're out on the road. I want a home, and you want a house for us to make a home. So—I packed the stuff up. You find someone and you get it moved. Henry will help you, I'm sure."
Daryl nodded at her. He was already thinking of how he might explain this sudden move to Henry—especially since he had no idea what Henry had already heard, and what might be his perspective on things.
"Might ask around," Daryl said. "See if I could get up a few hands. More the merrier, and we'd get it done fast. If you're sure you wanna go and all."
Carol put her hand behind his neck and he knew what she wanted. He didn't make her ask for it. He leaned into her and kissed her. Her other hand went around him and he felt the frame bump against his back as she pulled him to her. He felt the baby move, too, where her belly pressed against him.
He was suddenly sorrier for being an asshole than he had even been before.
"I'm sure," Carol said. "Michonne said she's going to help me get everything unpacked and—we're going to set up a comfortable space for us and the baby. She's going to help me get everything ready so I can start settling in."
"Nesting?"
Carol smiled at him.
"Something like that. I don't know why, but it's really feeling important to me to be settled and comfortable before she comes," Carol said. "I need to be settled."
"You don't gotta explain," Daryl said. "Not unless you want to. I'll go get some hands. Get everything moved. We'll get you settled. Tonight, you gonna be comfortable in our own bed. I promise."
Carol nodded. Daryl glanced at the frame in her hand.
"You don't wanna pack that?" He asked, pointing at it.
She looked it and shook her head.
"I was afraid it might get messed up," Carol said. "I think—if it's OK with you—I'd rather just carry it over."
It sounded like she was genuinely asking permission. Daryl didn't spend a lot of time questioning himself, because he really did mean to get their things moved as quickly as possible so that Carol could have every possible minute to get comfortable before the baby came, but it made him feel at least a little uncomfortable that it sounded like she was asking permission.
"You carry it if you want," he said. "Whatever you want." He leaned and kissed her again. She returned the kiss. The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach and the antsy feeling that he ought to have already started working made him feel like he didn't know what to say. He simply nodded at her before starting toward the staircase. "I'ma get some hands. You can head on over. We'll be settled in no time. You'll see."
"Daryl?" Carol called back as he started up the stairs. Daryl stopped short, turned around, and peeked around the wall to see her. She smiled at him. "I love you."
Daryl smiled at her.
"I love you, too," he assured her.
"And—we're not done talking about this morning," Carol said.
Daryl's stomach felt like it slammed downward. Still, he knew it wasn't the end of the world, and he'd figured that there was no way that they were going to entirely get around talking things out.
"I know," Daryl said. "Tonight. After we're settled."
"That'll be fine," Carol said. "I'll start moving the things I can carry."
"Don't you carry a damn thing but yourself, that picture, and the baby, woman," Daryl said. "I mean it. I see you carryin' anything else and—we gonna have more fightin' to talk about."
Daryl felt better when Carol laughed, sincerely. She nodded at him.
"Fine," she said. "I'll go open the windows and doors and start airing the place out."