AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"Watch your breathin'," Daryl said.
"I'm breathing," Carol said. Daryl almost laughed at how grumpy and indignant she sounded for a moment. She lowered her bow to glare at him, but he didn't mind. He simply offered her a smile and then leaned over to pull Rose back closer to him. She was mobile, now, and Daryl was certain she was the fastest crawler ever. If the Kentucky Derby had still been a thing, he figured Rose would have a shot at winning it—especially if she was motivated by something she saw and wanted to put in her mouth to tear at with her four white, and relatively sharp, teeth.
"You breathin' now," Daryl said with a laugh. "I weren't bein' critical. I'm just suggestin' you watch your breathin'. You always do a lot better when you're payin' attention to it."
Carol turned back to face her target. She raised her bow. Her form was better, now, than it had ever been before. It was warming up, and she was determined to do some of the hunting this year. She was determined to bring in some of the food. Daryl thought she might, as long as he was willing to stay back with Rose or someone was willing to watch her. Rose was far too busy, and far too liable to shriek at any given moment, to take her outside the walls unless it was absolutely necessary.
Of course, Andrea and Merle didn't really mind keeping her. Their own baby girl, Avery, was still at the sweet, snuggly, age where they could easily keep her under control, and they enjoyed the challenge of taking care of Rose and seeing what the future would look like when Avery finally took flight.
Daryl resisted the urge to tell Carol how beautiful she was as she straightened her back almost perfectly, took aim, and let her arrow fly. It came to a sudden stop, sinking into target at just about a half inch from the outside edge of the red circle. Carol growled.
"That's a good shot," Daryl offered.
"It's not," Carol insisted.
"Hell if it ain't."
"It's not a kill shot," Carol said.
"What the hell you tryin' to kill that's got a kill spot so damn precise?" Daryl asked. "I mean—like maybe that wouldn't hit the kill spot on an alligator, but damn near everything else, I think it'd get the job done."
She frowned and, for a moment, Daryl saw her chin quiver. He felt his whole body tense. She looked entirely ready to cry over the fact that her arrows consistently failed to land exactly in the middle of her red bullseye. Daryl scrambled to his feet as fast as he could get off the ground—immediately aware of his age when he had to do something like that—and he gathered up Rose before rushing over and turning Carol to face him.
"Hey—hey—you really upset about this?" He asked, catching her chin. She frowned deeply and a few tears spilled out of her eyes. "OK—shit—you are really upset about this…"
"I'm never going to be able to do it!" Carol protested.
"Hey—listen—look at me—I can't do it, either."
"Stop it," Carol said. "I don't need you to lie to me to try to make me feel better."
"I don't!" Daryl insisted. "I don't never target shoot because, if I did? Hell, I'd feel like shit about myself. I don't never get a bullseye. It ain't about bein' perfect, Carol. It ain't about makin' a perfect, center-of-the-dot bullseye. It just ain't. That shit don't matter in the real world, and we're ass-deep in real these days. Hittin' your target, that's what matters. You hit a deer, you prob'ly gonna have to hit it again. But that's OK. You gonna follow it. It's gonna go down. You gonna field dress its ass, bring it home, and every damn body's gonna hoot and holler and eat the good ass food—and not a damn soul is gonna ask you if you sunk that arrow into the exact spot you was thinkin' was right."
Carol calmed as she listened to Daryl. Her face returned to a more neutral expression and the tears that Daryl wiped away with his finger weren't replaced.
"You wanna know a secret?" Daryl asked. Carol smiled, then, and Daryl mirrored it.
"What?" She asked.
"You come closer to gettin' a bullseye than I usually do," Daryl said. "And you doin' it with a bow that, in my opinion, is a lot harder to control than the one I favor—even though I know you don't like mine."
"You're just saying that," Carol said.
"No," Daryl insisted, shaking his head. "I'm not. And Rose agrees with me—and you can't tell her she's wrong about that because you know she won't listen to that kind of mess."
Carol's smile grew and she offered Daryl a kiss. She was as into the kiss as she'd been into crying about the bullseye—and to being angry at Daryl's criticism—only moments before…and Daryl wasn't complaining when her passions, whatever they may be, ran hot. He indulged the kiss, breaking it only when Rose blew a very loud raspberry at both of them, splattering both of them with spit.
"You a chief mood ruiner sometimes, you know that?" Daryl asked the little girl. She might not have understood him, but she grinned at him with her whole face and showed off her teeth.
"Sometimes—she's a perfect little mood enhancer, though," Carol said. "Because sometimes…I think about how wonderful you are with her and…just how wonderful you are in general and…"
"And then we gotta find someone to watch her," Daryl said. "Or wait for her to go down for a nap before I can take advantage of her Mama like I want."
Carol smirked at him.
"You know—if you let her run around and get tired," Carol said, "she might go down a little earlier for a nap."
"I'ma go over here and let her run," Daryl said. "You keep on practicin'. We're good watchin' you from over here. But don't get so upset. You're doin' good. You're doin' better'n good."
"My cheerleader," Carol teased as Daryl returned to his spot some small distance away and released the baby girl to crawl across the ground, unbothered by anything that might be in her path.
"Always gonna be," Daryl offered. "Watch your breathin'."
"If you keep telling me how to breathe…" Carol warned. Daryl laughed.
"I'll tell you later," Daryl teased. "When it's me keepin' you from catchin' it."
"You're on," Carol teased back, "but if you're talking all that big talk, you better deliver."
"Always do," Daryl said. "Ain't been no complaints in the complaint box yet."
Carol laughed, but she quickly returned to focusing on the task at hand. Daryl watched her as she returned to her stance. He could see her as she took inventory, silently, of every part of her body. She adjusted her feet. She straightened her back. She checked her arms, hands, and shoulders. She did check her breathing, even though she joked that his reminders drove her crazy, and she finally let go of her next arrow.
When it sailed just a little closer to the center—touching in the red this time—she whooped and hopped in place. The sound she made surprised Rose and, without any context, the baby girl started to cry. Daryl laughed equally at Carol's excitement and at Rose's upset at absolutely nothing. Still, he rescued her from the unknown and snuggled her against him. Almost immediately, she was relieved, and Carol came over to affectionately brush her fingers over Rose's face and to smooth a few of her little strawberry blonde curls back away from her eyes.
Her tears soothed, Rose reached for Carol, and Carol reached to take her.
"I got her," Daryl insisted. "You can keep practicin' for a while. She's OK now."
"Oh, but she's not going to be OK for long," Carol cooed, nuzzling her daughter. Rose clearly appreciated the affection, and she nuzzled Carol right back. "She's getting hungry, and then it'll be time for a nap."
"I can take her up to the house and feed her for a bit," Daryl said. "She can have some of them peas and the fruit stuff. You can stay out a while and come on up to give her the M-I-L-K in a lil' bit." They had to spell out the good stuff. Rose was starting to sample a variety of foods as Alice gave them the OK, but her real love was her mother's milk. If there was any chance she was getting it first, she would be skipping anything else for that particular meal. Nothing compared with her precious milk. They had to be sure that she got the solid stuff first and, then, she could settle down and fill her tummy the rest of the way with milk.
"I'm tired," Carol said. "I think I'm ready to head on back to the house."
She was already unstringing her bow while she balanced Rose against her hip. Daryl walked over and gathered up her arrows and the target. He'd carry her things back to the house as she carried their daughter.
"You want me to stop an' get us somethin' to eat to take to the house, or your wantin' to go out later?" Daryl asked as they started walking back toward the main, populated part of the community.
"I was thinking we'd go to Merle and Andrea's tonight," Carol said. "I need some Avery snuggles."
Daryl smiled at the words.
Rose was sweet and snuggly, but she reserved being sweet and snuggly for bedtime, nursings, or other moments when she simply wanted to rest and be held. Avery was still small enough to be snuggly almost all the time, and she appreciated affection and cuddles more than just about anything else.
Andrea was a happy and doting mother who was already talking about having a veritable brood of Dixons, if it suited Merle, and Merle—for all his fear about his possible shortcomings—was a better Daddy than Daryl would have ever imagined. Of course, if someone had asked his past self if he'd ever thought Merle would be the named "leader" of something like this, and that he would be happily married to someone like Andrea with a little toe-head baby girl between them, Daryl would have laughed in their face.
But Merle wasn't who he'd once been any more than Daryl was who he'd once been. They had all changed, and they all continued to change with each passing day.
And Merle loved his wife and his baby girl. He loved them big, and he loved them openly for all to see. And if Andrea wanted a half a dozen little Dixons, Merle seemed content to embrace that life for the both of them.
"I'll run down later," Daryl said, "and get food for all of us."
As they came more into view of the busier part of the community, it was immediately clear that something was going on. The people were bunched up—here and there—in clusters. At first glance, it might have looked like they were just caught up in conversations, but there were too many people caught up at once for things to be entirely normal.
Coming closer to the central area of the community, Daryl's eyes immediately fell on Michonne. She was holding her katana in her hand, unsheathed, with her Saya on her back. She was talking to a person named Michael, and her forehead was very clearly wrinkled with concern. Daryl reached a hand out, squeezed Carol's shoulder, and then pointed toward Michonne as he directed his steps in her direction.
They were growing to know the woman pretty well, and to accept that she was not nearly as unfriendly as she could sometimes seem to those that mistook her bouts of simple quietness as standoffishness. Michonne was also growing quite fond of T-Dog, who she always called "T," and Daryl was happy to see that they'd seemed to settle into having a nice little home together.
"Somethin' wrong?" Daryl called out, approaching Michonne with Carol just behind him.
"Waiting on Merle to come down here," Michonne said.
"Somethin' wrong on the fence?" Daryl asked, knowing that Michonne had been on guard.
"People," Michonne said. "A group. A small group. Three people."
"Dangerous?" Carol asked, visibly tensing and hugging Rose to her body.
"I don't think so," Michonne said. "All the same, I've got Allen outside with them."
"Anyone send for Merle?" Daryl asked.
"Hardly had to send for me, brother," Merle offered, his voice louder than it needed to be. He'd overheard them even as he approached. "I was already headed down here anyway when I noticed people bunchin' up. Figured…it might be somethin' like new blood." Daryl didn't miss that his brother was wearing a knife and a gun. He would greet anyone with the intention of offering peace—and they had several people trickling in now that the world was thawing—but he always came prepared to offer them a fight if that was what they were determined to have. "Bring 'em in, 'Chonne. They won't try nothin' with you carryin' that pig sticker out like that. You just don't hesitate if you think somebody needs bein' took care of."
Michonne responded to Merle with nothing more than a nod, and she started back toward the gates to tell Allen that the new arrivals could come in and meet the man who would, ultimately, make the decision as to whether they could stay or had to leave. Merle usually made the decision, and there was never really and trouble with that. After all, if anyone had any kind of actual complaint against someone, Merle would undoubtedly take that into account.
Daryl naturally stepped in front of Carol and Rose as they saw people coming. Carol didn't protest, and Daryl was glad of that.
Daryl glanced at Carol, though, when he saw the people that Michonne led toward Merle—her katana out to the side as a lowered warning—and Daryl saw that Carol looked like she'd been doused with ice water which, honestly, was how he felt.
The first thing he thought, really, was that he was surprised to see that the old man had made it this far. Hershel Greene, though, had appeared to Daryl to be pretty solid from the start, despite his advanced years. Daryl's second thought, after taking in Maggie and Glenn, who were also with Hershel, was where they might have left Rick.
"Well, I'll be damned…" Merle mused, a few steps away from Daryl, as he recognized the only one of the faces that would be familiar to him. "If it ain't the Chinese kid—all growed up."
Glenn looked every bit as surprised as Daryl felt, but then he looked somewhat relieved.
"I'm Korean," he said. He smiled, though, instead of looking actually offended.
Merle laughed.
"Whatever," he said, and Glenn laughed in response, clearly feeling happier to see Merle Dixon—or any of them, probably—than he'd ever imagined feeling in his whole life.