AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl padded down to the end of the walkway and, still allowing some distance between himself and Carol, stopped to light a cigarette. She had her back to him. She was looking out over the side of the walkway like the view in that direction was anything spectacular and not a practical wall of trees that separated it from what would have once been gas stations and fast food chains.
"If T sent you to apologize," Carol said, "I don't need it. Really."
Here voice was soft. A little wobbly, perhaps.
"I come out here to smoke a cigarette," Daryl said.
"All the way down here?" Carol asked, her back still to him.
"I wanted to stretch my legs," Daryl said. "See new things. Don't come down this side too much. It ain't all about you, you know."
Carol laughed quietly.
"It's not all about me," she mused.
"I mean—but if you wanna talk about it," Daryl said. "You wanna talk about it?"
"About—how it's not all about me?" Carol asked.
"Smart ass," Daryl offered.
He took the chance to close the distance then that he'd established in the beginning. There was more than enough room for him to stand beside Carol. There was more than enough room for him to lean on the same railing that was supporting her so that he could share her view of the wall of trees. She moved over, when he reached her, to make just a little bit more room for him and to make it clear that she was allowing him there.
"What is there to talk about?" Carol asked.
"Why you got so upset, for one," Daryl said. "I mean—I get it. T didn't think that one out, but'cha damn near broke your neck tryin' to get away."
It was dark. Still, the stars and the moon were bright enough that Daryl could somewhat see Carol standing next to him. Maybe he couldn't make any details out about her, but he could tell when she looked at him when she looked away. She was looking at him.
"I needed a minute," Carol offered.
"Still need one?" Daryl asked.
"You can stay," Carol said softly. "If you really want to," she added as an afterthought.
"You know he weren't talkin' about you," Daryl said. "He was talkin' about Lori more than anybody."
"And anybody that got herself knocked up, right? Anyone who brings that inconvenience," Carol said.
"You think T really meant that?" Daryl asked. "About you?"
"No," Carol admitted after a moment. "Maybe I'm just sensitive."
"He mighta mentioned hormones," Daryl said. "He mighta also mentioned that he weren't gonna say that."
Carol laughed, much to his relief, rather than being offended by it. Daryl moved his body enough to affectionately bump her when she fell silent and contemplative.
"I know there ain't that much to look at," Daryl said. "Because I can see it, too. Just trees. So if you got somethin' to get off your chest—there ain't no need for secrets no more."
Daryl knew that he was urging her to share her secrets when, in reality, he couldn't say that he'd shared his in good faith. The truth of the matter was that he was harboring a secret that was, arguably, nearly as big as the one that she was carrying. The difference was that her little secret would only bring another innocent life into the world. His secret could very well cost him the friendship, as T-Dog had called it, that he'd found with the woman next to him.
He'd rather hold onto the secret than lose what he had. Something, after all, was better than nothing.
And he wanted her to allow him to help her carry her burdens if she felt he could be trusted with such a thing.
"You really want to hear what's on my mind?" Carol asked. "You mean it? Because—if you're just trying to be nice, I'll set you free. Let you go back to the room."
"Scout's honor," Daryl teased. "I mean it. Whatever it is. Lay it out there."
Carol sighed. She took a moment getting around to anything. She rocked on her feet and twisted in place. Finally, she got still again as she leaned against the rail.
"I never meant to get pregnant," Carol said. "I got pregnant once after Sophia. She was—about six years old."
"What happened?" Daryl asked.
"I had an accident," Carol said.
"Accident? What kind of accident?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"The kind where—I told Ed about the baby," Carol said. "Money was tight and—Ed didn't like me working."
"Sound like he didn't like you do anything," Daryl offered. Carol hummed in response. "What happened?"
"Does it matter?" Carol asked. "It was too early for there to be—for there to be much to…it was just early."
"You don't gotta so no more," Daryl said. "Unless—you want to."
"Sorry you offered to listen, yet?" Carol asked with a laugh.
"Still here, ain't I?" Daryl responded. "Go ahead," he urged, wanting her to understand that he really did want to hear whatever she needed to get off her chest. He understood that, sometimes, it felt good let it out. Whether you let it out by hitting something or screaming or just saying it out loud to yourself, it felt good to let it out. "That—was the only time?"
"And this one," Carol said. "I didn't exactly remember to bring pills. I didn't mean for it to happen, but I didn't stop it. I thought about it, but when Ed wanted something, he got it. One way or another. He'd've been pissed to find out I got pregnant." She laughed to herself. "I was stupid enough to get pregnant. He would've said—I went and got myself knocked up."
Daryl's stomach twisted.
"T ain't—he weren't thinkin'," Daryl said.
"I know," Carol said softly. "That's why I'm not mad."
"You somethin' worse than mad," Daryl said.
"Am I?" Carol challenged.
"Hurt," Daryl offered.
"You're very observant," Carol said. "Astute."
"And I got a decent memory. You said you wanted this baby," Daryl said. "You still feel that way?"
"More every day," Carol said without hesitation.
"You know…what happened with Sophia…"
"She's gone," Carol said. "Talking about her won't bring her back."
"It won't," Daryl said. "But—you'll feel better if you talk about her."
"How do you know what I feel?" Carol asked.
"I don't," Daryl responded quickly. "I don't. But I know that—pretendin' she didn't exist can't make you feel good. I know that not talkin' about her can't make you feel good. You was a good Ma…"
"If I was such a good mother," Carol said, in an oddly calm tone, "then she would still be here."
"That shit's luck of the draw," Daryl said. "You was—the best Ma I've ever seen in my life. Hell—she damn near didn't leave your sight."
"Until the day she did," Carol said. "And then—I never saw her again. Not until…"
Daryl heard her voice crack and he shushed her. Comforting people had never been something he felt that he was particularly good at doing. His mother, he remembered, was good at comforting him when she was able. But he'd been pretty young when she'd been gone and her comfort had run out. That left only Merle to teach him such things and Merle was better at tough love than anything else.
Tenderness was something that was never abundant in the Dixon household, though Daryl often wished there was such a thing as a place where he could drink his fill of it without feeling that he was, somehow, less able to handle whatever the world threw at him.
He reached a hand out and patted Carol's back and shoulder affectionately.
"Weren't your fault," Daryl said. "I wanted to bring her back to you…"
"But you couldn't," Carol said. "She was gone. She was—already gone. From the moment she went over the guardrail she was never coming back to me." She swiped at her face and Daryl rubbed her back because he didn't know what else to do. He didn't know how else to comfort her. She wouldn't want to hear that his own throat ached over the loss of the little girl. She wouldn't want to hear about his pain—how much it hurt him because he couldn't bring her back to Carol when he'd dreamed about the look on her face when he came, carrying Sophia in his arms. He'd dreamed some foolish dreams about how Carol might react.
He'd dreamed the kind of dreams that would have had his brother saying they'd do good to cancel the damn Hallmark channel that the both of them watched far too often while they pretended there was nothing else on television that was worth watching.
He'd dreamed that Carol—so overtaken with happiness to have her daughter back—might kiss him for bringing her back. Really kiss him. And then…and then what? She'd tell him that she loved him. That she dreamed of him and watched him just like he watched her. She thought about him like he thought about her. She'd share with him the fact that she had exactly the same secrets as him and, when that reveal was done, they'd instantly become a family. Maybe, even, she'd be carrying a baby before long, just like she was doing now, but it would be his.
And she wouldn't be lamenting, while leaning over a guardrail, the fact that she hadn't meant to get pregnant because they'd be too damn happy about the child.
"I told you—I'ma do what I can to make sure that…nothin' happens to this one," Daryl offered.
"That's sweet," Carol said. "But—it isn't your responsibility. It's mine. I—got pregnant. I've got to deal with it."
"That's ridiculous," Daryl said. "First off—every damn body knows you ain't got pregnant on your own. You ain't an earthworm. And even if you did—I'm makin' it my responsibility."
"Why?" Carol asked. She straightened up from her position. She stood facing Daryl. He didn't have to see her in great detail to know that she was staring at him expectantly and waiting. He swallowed. He realized that he had backed himself into a corner both literally and figuratively. He considered his possible answers and her possible responses. The answers he most wanted to give didn't necessarily seem like they'd get the most desired responses from her, but he had to say something.
"Because I give a damn," Daryl said, keeping his words firm and steady. She intimidated the hell out of him. She made his insides shake like nothing else ever had—not Walkers or rattle snakes or the Chupacabra that he saw that one time—but she didn't need to know that.
"About—a baby you just found out about?" Carol asked.
Breathing had always been an involuntary action for Daryl, but all of a sudden it felt like his body forgot exactly how that particular skill was supposed to happen.
He was also mildly concerned that he was having a heart attack or a stroke. The side of his face, he was almost certain, was going numb.
But if he had to choose a hill to die on, maybe this was the right one.
"About the woman who's carryin' it," Daryl said. He wasn't as successful at keeping his voice steady, this time, as he had been before. It betrayed him a little. Coming out in the tone of it was the sound of the wobbling that it felt like every muscle in his body was doing.
Carol was quiet long enough that Daryl felt like he needed to prompt her to speak. He needed her to say something. She spoke, though, just before he gathered up the courage to verbally nudge her.
"You don't have to…"
"Care?" He offered when she hesitated. "Hell—nobody has to care. It ain't a requirement. But I do. Maybe—it ain't even a choice."
"It's my responsibility," Carol said.
"You didn't—create it alone," Daryl said. "You shouldn't have to take care of it alone."
"It's Daddy wouldn't have…"
"I don't really give a damn what he would or wouldn'ta done," Daryl said, cutting Carol off. "Sorry, but I don't. You wanna get it off your chest. You do that. Wanna yell about it? Yell. Wanna be pissed? Be pissed. But that's just what'cha need to feel better. More'n that? He don't matter. He's dead. If I remember correctly, last time I saw him, it was you that was drivin' a pickaxe through his skull. And if I hadn't known what tent we found him in? Weren't enough left of his sorry ass to even know him. Better to just leave him that way."
His heart was thundering in his chest. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears like a river.
"Daryl…" Carol started, but she stopped.
"What?" He asked.
"Nothing," Carol said. "It's—nothing."
"I meant what I said," Daryl said. "You don't do it alone."
Carol put a hand on his chest. She patted his chest. Then she leaned toward him. Every system in his body that was already overreacting cried out just that much more. She pressed her lips to his cheek.
"You don't have to…do anything," Carol said.
"You right," Daryl said. She might not hear his voice shake, but she had to hear his breathing. He couldn't control it. He'd forgotten how to do it before and now he was breathing too fast. It was happening without his input. "I don't have to do shit that I don't wanna do, but I wanna…" He broke off and she didn't push him to finish his statement. She stared at him a moment longer.
"It's getting late," Carol said finally. She hesitated a second, and then she turned to walk back toward the room. "I think—T's got watch tonight."