AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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Daryl had a certain sense that Carol needed some quiet. When they sent Merle and Andrea off to buy their Christmas tree, Daryl had offered to clean the kitchen and had sent Carol to take a shower or a bath—whatever she preferred—and to relax. He'd known, immediately, that his instinct that she needed a moment, away from him and anyone else in the world, to gather her thoughts and be quiet had been a correct assessment. It had taken almost no persuasion before she'd thanked him profusely for the insistence that she go and soak and had left him clearing the table with a big, genuine kiss.

Daryl waited for Carol in the bedroom after she'd finished her bath. He still needed to shower, but he felt like there were some things that, maybe, ought not to be put off for too long. Things tended to fester if you ignored them, and he would rather just take care of things head on and get them on the way to just doing better.

Carol came out of the bathroom in her plaid pajamas, with her hair wet, and Daryl immediately met her. He couldn't help it. He had to wrap his arms around her, and she seemed to understand—or at least accept—the need, because she sunk into him.

"You smell good," Daryl said.

"I'm clean," Carol said with a quiet laugh.

"And you look comfortable," Daryl said, still hugging her against him.

"I guess I am," Carol said. "Pajamas and all…"

"No," Daryl said. "I mean—you look like my comfort. Look like you make me comfortable."

Carol pulled away, then, and Daryl let her go. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gave her the space to do or say whatever she needed to do. She stared at him, her face drawn somewhat downward with a frown to which she wasn't wholly committed.

"I'm your wife," Carol said with a sigh.

"I know," Daryl said, not trying to hide his smile.

"I'm—supposed to be beautiful for you," Carol said. "Sexy. Not comfortable."

"They mutually exclusive?" Daryl asked, entertaining his hands and burning a little excess energy he could feel bubbling inside him by nipping at the cuticle skin on his fingers. Carol didn't answer him with words. Instead, she answered him with a facial expression. "They ain't, neither," Daryl said. "And I didn't mean that. You always all them things. But if they were exclusive? I'd pick comfortable every damn day."

"You wouldn't…" Carol protested.

"Don't'cha tell me what I would and wouldn't pick," Daryl said. "I know what I would pick. Beautiful and sexy? I mean they don't really matter…or they're easy to find." Carol made a series of expressions in his direction as he talked, and Daryl did the best to interpret them and accept them for what they were. "You turn on the t.v. and there ain't no shortage of beautiful or sexy women, Carol. You just wantin' to see somethin' pretty, you can damn well find it. But comfortable?" Daryl shook his head. "Waited my whole damn life to feel that. And you the only one that's ever give that to me like you do." She looked like she might start crying. Of course, these days, that wasn't really something entirely novel around their house. The right commercial could earn tears. These tears, though, Daryl felt were more sincere than the ones she couldn't help but to shed over the commercial where the baby and the golden retriever puppy chased toilet paper rolls. "Can I ask you somethin'?" Daryl ventured.

"What?" Carol asked, clearly trying to reserve as much of her voice as possible to keep her control over the tears.

"You gonna tell me what Sprout did wrong?" Daryl asked.

She made a face. It shocked her enough to shock her out of the possible coming tears—like a loud noise.

"What are you talking about?" Carol asked.

Daryl swallowed back his amusement at the metaphor he'd planned and perfected while scrubbing dishes and putting them away.

"You gonna tell me what Sprout done that was bad enough you sent him to bed without supper?" Daryl asked. Her frown was enough of an answer. His stomach flipped with a certain sort of relief when she absentmindedly pressed a hand to her stomach.

"He didn't do anything wrong," Carol said.

"He can't do things wrong," Daryl confirmed. "He ain't nothin' but a handful. Not even that big. But if he was here—like layin' here right now waitin' for you to settle down an' put him to bed…and I was set to feed him, would you tell me that he didn't get nothin' tonight? No supper?" Carol shook her head. "You were happy when you left here this mornin' to buy clothes with Andrea. You ain't hardly bought nothin', though, and you ain't showed me a single damn thing you bought. You both come in lookin' like you'd been kicked. You gonna tell me why?"

Carol went over to the bags of clothes that she still hadn't unpacked. She sighed, burrowed through them, and started pulling things out. Daryl sat quietly and watched. She would let him know, he figured, when she needed him to speak. On the bed, she placed a few pairs of pants, a few shirts, and then some dresses and other items.

"You gonna show me?" Daryl pressed when she looked at him.

"They're just clothes," Carol said.

"You wanna show me a little along, that's OK, too," Daryl offered. "You sure you got enough? That don't look like enough to get you through the week."

"Ed didn't want me buying anything," Carol said. "What I bought, I…bought in secret."

Daryl's stomach twisted uncomfortably. Still, they had to deal with the ghost. Ed wasn't going away—not until they'd chased him out of every dark corner together. And, even then, Daryl figured he was likely to show back up from time to time. After all, his old man still colored his thoughts on a regular basis and he'd been dead far longer than Daryl had ever known him alive.

"I'm not Ed," Daryl said.

"I know you're not," Carol said.

"And I know you do," Daryl said. "My point is—I want you to buy clothes. All the damn clothes you want. All the damn clothes that make you feel good."

"What if—I don't need them all or use them all?" Carol asked.

"Neither one of us never bought some shit we didn't end up needin' or usin'?" Daryl asked. "Buy 'em. If they make you happy—get 'em. And you oughta have enough to get through a week or so. What if you don't wanna wash clothes all the damned time? What if we don't get around to it? Is that why the hell you an' Andrea ain't bought nearly a single damn thing? In case you didn't end up wantin' it all or needin' it all?"

"Things happen…" Carol said. "And sometimes…you don't need nine months of maternity clothes after all."

Daryl nodded.

"You right," he said. "But not buyin' the clothes don't make that better. Just fucks up…everything else, too. And your doc said…like our percentages or whatever? They go way the fuck up by the next time we go in. That's only like a week away, Carol."

"So…maybe we wait to buy more," Carol said.

"If that's what you both wanna do…but…is that why the hell you sent Sprout to bed without supper? Because he ain't growed enough?"

"Pregnancy isn't sexy."

Daryl felt like her words came out somewhat like a slap.

"I think you're pretty fuckin' sexy," Daryl said.

"Because I don't look pregnant," Carol said. "Because nothing has changed, Daryl."

"Oh—so you think I'm not gonna think you're sexy when things change. You think—I don't know what pregnant women look like? Like I been hidin' under a rock or something? I'm not an idiot, Carol."

"I didn't say that. I don't think you're an idiot."

"I might not know all the…details…but I got the gist of it. Hell—half my damn movies got pregnant women and babies."

"It's not a movie," Carol said.

"I know that, too. Better'n a movie," Daryl said. "Because you're my wife. And you're pregnant, and that's my baby. My Sprout. And this? This is my family, Carol. Not no movie. The real damn thing. My family that I can touch…and smell…and…it's real. And when things change? Hell—just thinkin' about it makes my heart beat fast. Because I want 'em to change. I like that'cha needed them safety pins to hold your pants shut and you was goin' to buy clothes that give Sprout room to grow, and stretch, and do lil' growin' baby things. I like that shit because it means Sprout's growin'. It means you do need them clothes, Carol. It means we're getting the miracle we wanted…and you're bringin' the whole damn thing into being. So, I think that's pretty fuckin' sexy."

"And when Sprout's born? Carol asked. "And—my body never looks right? And we're tired and exhausted…and Sprout's not quiet and easy to deal with?"

Daryl couldn't help but smile.

"Then you're gonna be tired, and exhausted, and still fuckin' sexy…because you still gonna be my wife, and you still gonna be Sprout's Mama."

"Still?"

Daryl saw something flash in her eyes. She stopped and clung to the word—that one word.

"You're Sprout's Mama," Daryl said.

"Not yet."

"Yeah," Daryl said, nodding his head. "Yeah—you are. Now. Sprout depends on you. Needs you more'n anything. You hold him all the time…close as you can. Keep him safe. Grow him up to be what the hell he's supposed to be. Take care of him. Give him what he needs. Feed him…when you ain't sendin' him to be without supper for bein' bad."

"Stop…" Carol said. Daryl backed off, recognizing the crack in her voice.

"Can I say somethin' and…you can slap me if you want. Hell—hit me. Might make you feel better…"

"I'd never hit you…"

"You might, and it's OK…but…you was…you was it's Mama, too, Carol. Still are. That don't go away just because it went away. You still Mama. Always have been."

"No."

"Yes. And—I weren't its Daddy. But I would've wanted to be. I would've—loved it. Wanted it. And—I wanna honor it. Because you…were a Mama. And you ought to honor it."

Daryl eased off the bed. He recognized when the tears were coming now, and he could see this was going to be more than just the simple sniffling tears that were easily wiped away with a sleeve. Carol let him hold her. She let him wrap his arms around her. She folded herself into him, wrapped her arms around him, and wailed—loud and long—and Daryl squeezed her to remind her that he was there. There was no rush, though, to stop the tears. Tears, he'd learned, didn't bother him as long as they weren't ones that he was responsible for causing. At least, they didn't bother him a certain way. They hurt him, because he hated for her to hurt, but he didn't feel like he had to solve them or stop them. And, even though he might have gotten these going, he wasn't the one who put them there to be cried in the first damn place.

His chest ached, and he rocked her as she cried, both of them swaying on their feet. He kissed her head and her face. He smelled her shampoo and tasted the salt of her tears.

"I love you," he said. "I love you…I love you…I love you…"

He didn't have anything else to say. He didn't know what else to say. He didn't think, really, that anything else mattered.

"He changed his mind," Carol said, when she could speak, her voice muffled by Daryl's shirt. He wished his shirt was cleaner—he'd been wearing this one while working and while working out at the shop he was building, and Carol deserved a cleaner place to hide her face. "He changed his mind…" Focusing on the shirt helped Daryl ignore the pain that felt like it was cracking his sternum in two.

"I know he did," Daryl said. "I know—I guess…I know he did, Carol. But I don't change my mind easy. I mean that. I promise you. Always been that way…just get stuck on somethin' like a dog with a bone. Merle always said so. Never really change my mind once it's made up…and I ain't changin' it here."

"She was a girl, Daryl," Carol offered. "She was a girl—and I only held her one time…"

"I guess you held her a lot longer'n that, but…shit…I know what you mean…" Daryl didn't point out that he couldn't breathe. He didn't point out that the room suddenly seemed void of air. Carol needed him to hold her, and that's what he needed to do. He needed to do that more than he needed to breathe, really.

Daryl didn't know how long they stood there, rocking from side to side. It didn't matter. He'd have stood there for the whole night if that's what they needed to do together.

Something had happened between the moment when Carol left the house and when she'd come back. Something, clearly, had happened to Andrea, too. Daryl was certain it was the same damn thing that had hit both of them. He'd seen the uneasy look on Merle's face—the question about whether or not he knew what had hit them when they'd both been so damn happy leaving that morning to buy clothes that were fit for growin' babies. Daryl didn't know what had happened and, at the moment, the what wasn't important.

When she had control of herself, Daryl flipped the tail of his shirt over his hand and used it to wipe Carol's face. Red-eyed and red-cheeked, she stared at him, but calm had taken the place of the earlier outburst.

This wasn't finished for good, but it was finished for now.

Daryl had a great deal that he wanted to ask Carol. He had a great deal that he wanted to say, and do, but he had a sense that there was a time and place for everything, and there was a need to handle each thing in its time.

Daryl licked his lips. He smiled at her, the knot loosening in his chest.

"I like a lot of movies, Carol. And some of my favorites are the ones where—they're like a hundred years old. And they've loved each other so damn many years and so damn many ways…and they hold hands, and they curl up together, and they go to sleep together. Forever. I love 'em. It's so damn earned. You know? But we got a long damn time to work on that…'cause we got to make it all the way to like a hundred. So—you see? I won't change my mind. I can't. Because if I was to change my mind? We couldn't do that…curl up together and go to sleep forever, and that's one I'm not willin' to let go."

A hint of a smile drifted over Carol's lips.

"Asshole," she teased.

"But yours," Daryl said. "And you damn well better like it because—a hundred is a long fuckin' time away, Carol."

"A lot's going to change…"

"On the way to a hundred? You damn right it is. Carol—I meant what the fuck I said. They ain't mutually exclusive. And—I don't change my mind real damn easy. But—if I gotta pick? I'm always gonna pick comfortable."

"I love you," Carol said.

"Good damn thing," Daryl said. "Now—you bein' Mama and all is one thing, but…I'm Daddy."

He saw Carol's throat bob. She smiled.

"You are."

"I gotta put my foot down sometimes," Daryl said. "You understand…for the good of my family." Carol nodded. "Sprout's too little for him to do nothin' deservin' of such a harsh punishment as havin' to go to bed without his supper. So—you gonna feed him what we made or…you think he might like somethin' a little more comfortable on your tummy?" Carol simply nodded, and Daryl thought she might be fighting a renewal of tears. These tears, though, looked different in her eyes. These were the kind that didn't hurt Daryl so badly as the others. He was sure, too, that they didn't hurt her as badly either. "What do you think you might be able to digest good for him?"

"Oatmeal?" Carol said after a moment—one of her favorite comfort foods. Daryl smiled at her and rested his palm over her abdomen. It was the first time he'd dared to do that all evening.

"Then, Daddy's gonna go hunt Sprout up some oatmeal. Come on, Mama."