AN: This is a oneshot that was requested by an anonymous reader on Tumblr. I tried to write it so that it can be read alone, but it's also something of a sequel to "Mood," so you can certainly read that one first if you want.

I own nothing from the Walking Dead.

I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

111

Trauma.

It was a simple word for something very complicated, and everyone alive had experienced it—at least these days, Daryl was sure. Some people, though, seemed to experience a great deal more trauma than others.

Winter had settled in around them. They wouldn't freeze, thanks to their warm home, a stack of firewood put aside in preparation, and the nearby forest where more wood could easily be obtained. They wouldn't starve, thanks to all the food that they'd found and canned from the food they'd grown. They had smoked meat, there were still some animals that Daryl could hunt, and they could always butcher some of their livestock if it was absolutely necessary.

The passing years, the elevation of their new home, and the somewhat difficult terrain around them meant that they rarely saw Walkers.

They were set to have an easy winter, and Daryl hoped that it was just as easy as he thought it might be.

There was, really, only one little area where he anticipated any difficulty—and, though some of his concern was medical, most of it was related to Carol's trauma.

In the beginning, Daryl had accepted that Carol's trauma probably allowed her to ignore every symptom that she experienced. She didn't want to believe, so she simply didn't. She feared the outcome, and she feared the future, so her brain saved her from facing it by simply blocking it.

Of course, Daryl was no psychiatrist, and the few books he'd read were not comparable in any way with a degree, but the explanation that he made up for himself suited him and calmed his own worries—and there was nobody else around them to ask for an explanation.

As time progressed, Daryl realized that Carol's rejection of one tiny piece of her reality—a tiny piece that, though still relatively small, continued to grow more and more each day—was an active rejection. There was absolutely no way that she didn't see the sweet roundness to her abdomen. It was impossible to believe that she'd never noticed the kisses that Daryl took the time to leave there every time he made his way down her body to taste her pussy and pleasure her with his tongue and fingers. She couldn't possibly have failed to notice the way that he trailed his fingertips over the swell in bed and slept beside her with his hand resting, open-palmed, over the place as though he could keep it safe and warm.

In every other way, Carol went normally on with the motions of their lives. She did her chores, and she avoided the more dangerous or difficult ones that Daryl asked her not to do "right now" without argument or question. She loved Daryl—openly, and happily, and wonderfully, until he felt like his heart may burst with everything it was trying to hold now. She made love to Daryl with a hunger that took his breath away and left his whole body buzzing with affection, appreciation, and an equal hunger. She wasn't reckless or harmful to herself in any way beyond the very few things that were so deeply ingrained in her that they happened accidentally—and she accepted Daryl's instruction when he did his best to help her fix those things.

In fact, despite her chosen rejection of this one tiny piece of their reality, her mood seemed to be better than it had been in a very long time. It wasn't unusual, these days, to catch her humming to herself at all hours. Daryl often caught her smiling to herself when he entered a room—the smile there before she knew he was there. She was happy. She was genuinely happy.

Because of the overall elevation in her mood since they'd left everyone behind and come to find their own life, Daryl was certain that she'd feel happy when she finally decided it was time to accept what she was rejecting. For months—because it had been several since he'd first suspected—he'd wondered what to do. He'd wondered if he should bring her attention to things. He'd wondered if he should say something.

Finally, he'd decided that he would let her handle it. He would give her the time she needed to process her grief, her guilt, her anger, her fear—her trauma.

He knew she must be actively doing the work she needed to do, after all, because he saw so many changes in her mood and her choices. He could be patient. And, if she hadn't accepted their little miracle by the time it arrived, Daryl felt certain she would be ready to accept it by the time he was ready to place the little thing in her arms for the first time. He had turned his attention away from reading his books about the psychology of things, feeling that she was doing the work that she needed to do to be ready to become a mother again, and he had turned his attention to secretly reading about what he would need to do to bring the little one safely into the world. It was terrifying, but he could do it for the two people he loved most in this world—because he already loved their little secret.

"Stew's good," Daryl said, sitting across the table from Carol. It was good. Everything Carol ever made was good, but that didn't mean that Daryl stopped confirming it just because it was never not true.

She smiled softly at him.

"Wouldn't have been possible if my big, strong provider hadn't found me a deer in the dead of winter," Carol said with a hint of teasing.

"Kinda warm day," Daryl said. "All things considered. He took a wrong damn turn, that shit's for sure."

"Or a right turn," Carol teased. "Right into my kitchen."

Carol had spent most of the day "processing" the deer meat. Daryl had cleaned it and cut it up for her. She'd worked to cook it, going into a frenzy of canning what she could, designating meat to the smokehouse, and deciding what would be eaten fresh over the next couple of days before it could spoil in the "freezer" they'd created in the snow out behind the house. They tried not to store too much out there. They'd found a way to guarantee that their "freezer" was one of the last things to thaw, but they couldn't guarantee that there would be no surprisingly warm days that could compromise the integrity of some of their food if they decided to store too much meat in that way.

"It's good for us," Daryl agreed. He eyed her across the table. The little secret had filled her out in more ways than one. Her face, even, looked healthier and fuller. Her hair was shiny and more beautiful than Daryl had ever seen it, even though he'd always liked her hair, and he'd always been particularly fond of it at the length she chose for it now—just long enough to begin to curl and go in every direction. "It's doin' alright for you? You're enjoyin' it?"

He wanted to ask if everyone on the other side of the table was enjoying it. He practically had to chew a hole in the side of his mouth to keep from asking it, but he stopped himself. Carol renewed her smile for him.

"It's very good," she said. "I didn't realize how hungry I was."

"Keep goin'," Daryl urged. "Get you some more of the meat outta that pot, in particular. Protein's good for ya."

Carol laughed to herself, but it was a slightly nervous laugh.

"And not for you?" She asked.

"I got more'n you," Daryl said. "Besides—you done a lot of work today and that takes a lotta protein. Makin'…shit."

"Speaking of making shit," Carol mused, "what were you making in the shop?"

Daryl smiled. For months, he'd been working on things that, someday, he figured they would need. There was a crib and a little bassinet of sorts. The crib, he figured, would be perfect for the little extra room where he'd already stored a rocking chair and a dresser. He planned to build a toy chest, and today he'd been working on a table that he figured would be good for a changing table so that Carol didn't have to do too much bending with the little one in tow.

"It's a secret," Daryl said.

"That's not fair," Carol said, smiling. "What are you keeping hidden?"

"I told you that I'd let'cha see when the mood is right," Daryl said.

"And when's that supposed to be?" Carol asked.

"You know that as much as I do," Daryl said, feeling a prickle of challenge running up his spine. He fished a large hunk of meat out of his stew, knowing that Carol had purposefully fished him out the biggest and best portion, and leaned over and dumped it off his spoon so that it dropped into her bowl. "Eat that. It's good for you."

"So—you're not going to tell me your secret?" Carol asked.

"I'll tell you mine, when you tell me yours," Daryl said.

He saw the color in her face change slightly.

"What does that mean, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"If it don't mean nothin' to you, then it don't mean nothin'," Daryl said. "You think anymore about what I said about a Christmas tree?"

"We don't know when it's Christmas," Carol said.

"We don't know when it ain't, neither," Daryl said. "We could make some decorations. Don't use no candles because we don't want a fire, but…we could have a tree for a little while. You know?"

"Exchange presents?" Carol asked. "Because—I'm not exactly sure when I'll find the time to go shopping." She was teasing him, and Daryl didn't care. He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"Or—we could give each other shit we make."

"Like what you're making in the shop?" Carol asked. Daryl hummed and nodded. "That's not really fair, though. I don't make things like you do. I wouldn't have anything to give you."

"I'd say you're—makin' a lot of things," Daryl said. "You could give me somethin' you make in here. Even if you would give it to me anyway, it's the gesture, right? Eat that meat." He gestured toward her bowl with his spoon." He hummed and swallowed another bite of his own stew. "Don't even matter to me when you do it. I mean—you could give me a present whenever, and we'll call it good for Christmas."

Daryl caught Carol's eye. She held his eye, with no attempt to break contact. He knew, at that moment, that she knew, and she knew that he knew. He could also feel that she was ready to say something, even if he wasn't a hundred percent certain what it was that she wanted to say.

"What do you want?" She asked. "For Christmas?"

Daryl felt a cold rush run through his body. What he wanted most was to say and do the right thing so that his now very happy home not only remained happy, but grew even happier.

"I want whatever you give me," Daryl said.

"But—what if you don't?" Carol asked, a hint of genuine concern making her voice quiver just slightly.

Daryl processed the question. He accepted it. He realized, for the first time and with a renewed sensation of cold blood in his veins, exactly what she was saying. He realized that, in addition to the fears and concerns he'd known she would have, she probably had a few more. He hummed his acceptance of her concern and nodded. He wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin and stood up.

"Come here," he said.

"Where?" Carol asked.

"With me," Daryl said. "Come here."

Carol stood up, but she looked a little hesitant and confused. Daryl took her hand and led her to the back door. The small workshop where he worked was a short walk from their home. It wasn't much more of a walk than a trip to their outhouse that they used when the pipes were frozen or there were problems with their panels.

"Coat and boots," Daryl said, starting to work into his own. Carol didn't ask questions. She trusted him, even though she looked a little confused. She pulled her knitted hat down over her ears, too, and pulled her gloves on. Daryl didn't get quite as bundled as she did, but he thought she looked adorable when she was so ready for the snow, and he moved to kiss her. She didn't deny him the kiss, and she grinned at him when he pulled out of it.

"What was that for?" She asked.

"I love the hell outta my snow bunny," he teased.

"That's a new one, Pookie," Carol teased back. Daryl felt warm.

"It was there," he said.

"Where are we going?" Carol asked.

"Got somethin' to show you," he said.

He took her hand. He'd cleared the snow earlier when he'd gone out to work, after his chores with their livestock, so that he didn't bother Carol while she did her thing with the meat. It wasn't too slick outside, but he didn't want her to fall, so he walked with her to the shop. He let her in the door and turned on the light. Their grid didn't fail them, and Daryl walked around pulling sheets off the various items he was building for their little one.

He looked at Carol. Slow realization came over her face. She walked and ran a gloved hand over the bars of the crib. She smiled at it, the smile struggling against a frown that Daryl assumed was involuntary, but the lesser of emotions. He saw her effort at swallowing. When she looked at him, dampness glittered in her eyes.

"You made this?" She asked.

"All of it," Daryl said. "That crib. That bassinet. Gonna make a toy chest, and this'll be a table for changin' or whatever. I figured it's a good height so you don't have to bend so much."

"You knew."

It was such a simple statement. Somewhat quiet. It made Daryl's chest squeeze.

"Why the hell'd you think I cleared out that room? Put that rockin' chair and that dresser in there? You think I thought we were havin' company out here?"

Carol shrugged. She wiped her face where a tear or two had escaped. She sniffed, and Daryl fished a handkerchief out of his back pocket and offered it to her. She thanked him before taking it and blowing her nose.

"It's kicking," Carol said. "Moving."

"Now?" Daryl asked.

"No," Carol said. "Just—in general. Sometimes. It was when I was eating. Not now."

"Prob'ly hiding," Daryl said with a laugh. "Don't know why you're upset. We oughta stop worryin' it. I been touchin' it. At night. When you sleep. When you'll let me. But—I haven't felt it."

"You're never in the right place," Carol said with a quiet laugh.

"Why haven't you ever showed me the right place?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged.

"I don't know," she said.

Daryl accepted that with a nod. There was no need to push. It wouldn't change anything, anyway, and it would potentially make her feel bad. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel bad. He'd been ready to wait longer than this, as long as it meant she was ready and happy.

"That's OK," he said. "It don't matter. But—I would like to know the right place. You know? If you—wanna show me sometime?"

Carol smiled at him. The tears, he figured, were beyond her control, and he accepted that, too. He felt a few of his own prickling his eyes.

"I want to show you," Carol said. "When—I can."

"Let it sleep, or whatever," Daryl said. "There's time. Now that you know I wanna know and all…and you wanna show me. I'ma feel it."

Carol rushed toward him, then, and he opened his arms to close them around her. She stayed there, squeezing him, and he hugged her back. They were there a long time. They were there long enough that Daryl half believed that Carol had fallen asleep on her feet with her face resting against him. He felt the warmth from the closeness of her body, and he felt the coolness on his face from having been away from the fire for so long. He held her, though, determined to hold her for as long as she liked—even if it was most of the night.

Finally, she pulled away. She smiled at him, now, with no evidence of tears. She unzipped her coat.

"What'cha doin'?" Daryl asked. "Don't freeze, woman."

"It woke up," Carol said with a smile. She guided his hand inside her coat and to her stomach. She knew just the right spot—what Daryl searched for and didn't find on his own. At the very light push against his hand—something he might not have noticed, honestly, on his own—his heart beat rapidly in his chest. There was another nudge, and Daryl felt like his throat might close up entirely. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve since he didn't have an extra handkerchief.

"Feels good," he said. "Strong."

"I think so," Carol said. "I hope so."

"It will be," Daryl said, nodding his head. "You'll eat that meat when we get inside. Protein's good and—there's more deer where I found that one. I'll throw out some of that corn I kept if they need an extra incentive."

"Are you happy?" Carol asked.

"I couldn't be happier," Daryl said. "Only thing that matters to me, though, is—are you?"

Carol smiled.

"Very," she said. "Especially—now."

"Then that's all the hell that matters," Daryl said. "Zip up, woman. Don't freeze my kid." Carol smiled at him and, zipping her coat, allowed him to put his arm around her to start guiding her back to the house. "Now—let's talk about that Christmas tree."

"I don't have anything else to give you now," Carol said.

"Trust me," Daryl said. "You—and this—are gift enough to last me a lifetime."