AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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Daryl's heart was pounding loudly enough that he was sure Carol could hear it if she listened for it. He could feel it drumming around in his chest and he was sweating a little. He was grateful that she hadn't said anything about the kiss, but he was also concerned because he felt, one way or another, that it had to be addressed—he wasn't sure he'd survive if they simply continued to ignore it.

When he'd gotten to the house from working, though, Carol hadn't been there. He'd showered off the grime he'd collected that day, and then he'd emerged and dressed to find Carol beaming over the fact that she'd found some really good scissors, apparently, with which to cut his hair.

He'd dragged one of the kitchen chairs out to the porch and sat, waiting for her to make him look presentable. When she'd asked him what he wanted in the way of a haircut, he'd told her to simply cut his hair. He'd told her she could cut it all off for all he cared. He'd told her she could do whatever she wanted. It was only hair to him—something that grew involuntarily out of his head—and she'd know best what she ought to do with it.

Now she was walking circles around him, combing his hair this way and that, occasionally re-dampening it with a squirt bottle that she must have found wherever she found the scissors and the plastic comb she was using.

And Daryl's heart was beating wildly in his chest because she was so close to him that he could smell the scent of sweat from where she'd been traipsing back and forth around the community most of the day.

"I found a crib," Carol said. "And a dresser for the nursery to keep the baby's clothes in. And a changing table. I tried to talk Andrea into helping me move it, but she said we should wait until someone else could move it."

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Ought not to be movin' no furniture."

"I hate having to ask for help for everything we want to do," Carol said.

"I'll get the truck after supper," Daryl said. "Get T. We can load it up an' get it back here without a problem."

"It doesn't have to be tonight," Carol offered. "Hold your head straight. Like that."

She put her hands on either side of Daryl's face and tipped his head so that it was straight. He prayed that nothing in his body took such a simple touch as an invitation to try to demonstrate how ready and willing he was to do his best to serve her and meet her every whim.

He focused on keeping his head in the position she requested while she carefully worked at trimming away probably a year's worth of growth.

"You want it," Daryl said. "Today or tomorrow, it don't matter. Might as well go ahead and get it after supper. It ain't nothin' but a thing. Besides—T's been tryin' to show off for that woman. Maybe he could make a couple announcements during supper that he's gonna help you get some stuff you need. Make hisself sound like some kinda knight in shining armor."

Carol laughed.

"Do you really think Michonne is going to be impressed that he can move furniture?"

"You on a first name basis with her now?" Daryl asked.

"Not really," Carol said. "But Andrea talks about her. She knows her well. I imagine that she'll warm up to the rest of us soon enough. Apparently, she just takes her time."

"Be sure you tell T that," Daryl said. "He was helpin' earlier with some work on the fences and the whole time he was bellyachin' that all she does is stare at him when he tries to talk to her."

Carol laughed.

"I'll tell Andrea," Carol said. "Maybe she knows how to talk to her. Maybe she can put in a good word for T. And who knows? Maybe you're right. Maybe moving the furniture for the nursery will help Michonne see T in a whole new light."

"I'll tell him when we see him," Daryl said. "He's gotta come back some time before supper."

"There's a crib that Andrea wants, too. For their baby. Do you think…you could talk to Merle? Help move it so that she could have it?" Carol asked.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I mean—I don't see no reason we couldn't move it."

"I told her you'd be happy to help," Carol said. She sounded quite pleased by the prospect of them helping Andrea. "Some of the doctors have told her to wait, you know? But—why should she wait? The idea of setting up her nursery makes her happy and being happy has to be good for her. Good for the baby."

"It ain't no problem," Daryl assured her. We can move both the cribs. All the furniture. It ain't nothin' but a thing."

"I think Merle hates to admit that—he needs help with some things," Carol said.

"He ain't never been no good at admitting that he couldn't do everything," Daryl agreed.

"Even less, now, with one hand," Carol said.

"He's gonna want to admit it even less now, too, with a wife and a kid on the way," Daryl said.

"Maybe we try to help but—make sure we don't embarrass him?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Nah," Daryl said. "We won't embarrass him. I won't. Not about this. Not when it comes to his wife and kid. Merle'll give me hell—always has—but he's always known where the line is. At least when he's sober."

"He hasn't given you too much of a hard time since we got here," Carol offered. "About the whole—marriage thing. The whole baby thing."

Daryl's heart had calmed down as they'd gone on talking about mundane things in a mundane way. It had slowed its beating and settled into the comfortable exchange of words and thoughts. Now, though, it jump-started itself again and returned to thumping around wildly.

"He ain't been too bad," Daryl said. "Except—he's real curious about the whole thing."

"Andrea is too," Carol said. "I guess—who could blame them? I mean—I was pretty curious about them and…it's even more dramatic if they're imagining that, you know, you're the father of my baby."

"Andrea's pregnant," Daryl said.

"Barely," Carol said. "It's a little different. I guess it's only natural that they're curious. There…I think I'm done. I got most of the hair off your shirt, but it's still sticking to your face and neck. I'll never get it all off and it'll irritate you. You're going to have to go rinse off again."

Daryl actually welcomed the escape. He left the chair like a bullet. He practically bolted into the house and went straight to the bedroom. He shucked himself out of his freshly put on clothes and almost fell into the shower from trying to step over the side of the tub so quickly.

In the shower, standing under the stream of water that would wash stray hair off of him, he tried to catch his breath. He tried to collect himself. He tried to imagine how he might get Carol talking about the kiss and what he might say that would keep her from running away from the house and away from the marriage that had never really existed in the first place.

He must have been in there for more than the minute that he intended to spend there, because he heard Carol calling out to him, her voice muffled by water and the distance that she didn't dare to cross while he was naked.

"Are you OK?"

"Fine," Daryl said.

"Is it OK?" Carol asked. "I didn't—cut it too short, did I? You don't hate it, do you?"

"I like it," Daryl shot back. "It's good…great. There ain't nothin' wrong."

If he were being honest, he hadn't even looked at his hair. He hadn't even sort of glanced at it. She could have practically shaved his head for all he knew. He ran his hand through it. His hair was there, but it was short. He didn't care. At least it wouldn't get in his eyes. He got out and dried off with the wet towel that he'd used just a short time before. He hung it back up and stuck just his head out the bathroom door. He was alone in the bedroom. Carol had come to check on him, but she'd left him with his privacy. He dressed again in his clothes and they clung to him from the dampness. In the bathroom, he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

His hair was fine. The most important thing about it was that he had told Carol to pick what she thought was best, and this what she thought was best. That made it perfect for the time being.

Daryl came out of the bedroom to find Carol in the living room of their house. She was sitting on the couch. She was reading a book.

From the pressure in his chest, he might have believed he was having a heart attack.

She looked at him and smiled.

"Is it OK?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

He nodded his head.

"Great," he said. "Like it."

"It's short," Carol said. "It hasn't been that short since—I think since I met you."

"Like it," Daryl said. "Easy to take care of. Don't gotta worry with it. Listen—gotta talk to you. About…"

Daryl abandoned the conversation. He couldn't do this without something in his hand. He was going to bite a hole through the side of his thumb. It was already bleeding a little where he'd gnawed out some of his insecurity and frustration on it earlier. He went for the pack of cigarettes he'd tossed on a little table and he took the pack with him. He walked over, opened the front door, and stood in the doorframe as he lit a cigarette and tucked the pack in his pocket.

"Are you OK?" Carol asked. She abandoned her book. She got to her feet and came to stand near him with her brow furrowed.

"Don't want the smoke to hurt the baby," he said.

She laughed to herself.

"You smoked plenty around me when you didn't know there was a baby," Carol said. "And Ed smoked all the time when I was pregnant with Sophia. I think it'll be fine. Is that—what you wanted to talk to me about, Daryl?"

"I wanted to talk to you about—my brother," Daryl said. "Not just about my brother, though. About—that kiss. About him demandin' we kiss. He ain't had no right to make such demands like that…"

"I think he was just curious," Carol said. "I think—if he's thinking we're married, maybe he was just worried that you weren't happy in the marriage if we never kissed."

"Worried that I weren't makin' you happy, too," Daryl said. "But I know it—prob'ly put you in an awkward position."

"I didn't mind," Carol said.

Daryl's stomach twisted. It flipped and contracted.

Was she just giving him permission not to feel bad about things? Was she simply saying that it was all done in good show? Or was she meaning that she didn't mind like he hadn't minded?

"I don't want you to have to do nothin' that you don't wanna do," Daryl said. "I don't want you feelin' like you're backed into some kinda corner."

Carol smiled at him.

"I don't want you feeling that way, either," Carol said. "I mean—I do think that the idea of a marriage gives us a sort of protection for a little while…it lets us settle in. And maybe it gives T some kind of advantage with Michonne, I don't know. But, Daryl—I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Not for the sake of…anything…but certainly not for any of that."

Daryl felt oddly calmed by her tone of voice. He felt calmed by her expression. Maybe it was simply her presence that calmed him. His heart still thundered in his chest, but his whole body didn't feel like he wanted to unzip it, crawl out of it, and leave it behind.

"I wasn't uncomfortable," Daryl said. "And—I—I wasn't bothered by it."

"I wasn't bothered by it either," Carol said. She smiled at him. It barely ghosted over her lips. She raised her eyebrow at him and something in his body swore that it saw something more—something that he was sure wasn't there. Something in him threatened to raise up in order to mirror the movement of her eyebrow and he cursed his own reactions under his breath.

There was absolutely no sense in a grown ass man getting turned on by an eyebrow and he fully intended to have a long and strongly-worded conversation with his dick about the many things it had decided to let him know—especially in the past few weeks when he'd spent so much time in constant, close, contact with Carol—it found arousing.

"If we supposed to be married," Daryl ventured, "then I guess—they gonna expect us to kiss sometimes."

"I would think so," Carol said. "I mean—if we're happily married. And I would think—I would like to think that we'd be happily married."

Daryl felt like his heart nearly knocked him forward with a hard jolt. Did she mean what he thought she meant, or was his dick just trying to tell the rest of him how to interpret things?

"Yeah—I mean—we'd probably be…" he stammered out.

"I mean we'd want to pretend we were happily married," Carol said. "I wouldn't want to pretend that we were unhappy unless…you want to…"

"No," Daryl said. "Shit—no. Let's just be happy. And kissin' I mean…it ain't no big thing." He laughed nervously to himself. "Didn't go too bad today."

"I thought it was a nice kiss," Carol said. "Probably—the nicest I've ever had."

Daryl's face ran hot and he felt a little lightheaded. It was all the damn years he spent smoking—a habit he surely wasn't going to give up right now—and the fact that a part of his body that, thank goodness, Carol wasn't paying attention to, had robbed him of some of the blood that he could have used to function.

"I thought it was good," Daryl said. "Thought we oughta make it good, if we was gonna do it. Even if it was the first time and we ain't had no warning and all…I mean we might oughta…we might…"

"We should probably do it again," Carol said. "Maybe—a few times? So we're comfortable with it, I mean. If you're comfortable with it, of course. Just so—it looks natural?"

Daryl clung to the doorframe. He was pretty sure, at that precise moment, that there was a God and that God had decided to throw him some sort of bone as long as he wasn't dumb enough to ruin things.

"Absolutely," he said with more conviction than he'd been able to muster up about many things. "Gotta practice. So—so others will believe it, I mean. Because Merle's going to expect it. He's gonna be watching."

"Andrea's going to expect it," Carol said.

"I imagine that doctor of yours…she might expect it," Daryl said.

"Did you want to?" Carol asked.

Daryl's heart came to a screeching halt and he choked on the smoke that he'd just sucked into his lungs. He coughed it out and Carol worried over him.

"Just got—strangled…" he said. He flicked the offending butt of the cigarette out the door. It landed on the brick steps where it would burn itself the rest of the way out before he got rid of it later. "Did I wanna…what now?"

"Practice," Carol said. "Kissing. Before we go to eat and everybody's there and…oh God…I shouldn't have said anything, right? We don't really need to practice…"

Daryl didn't know how to tell her that practicing sounded like the best thing that he could think of. He couldn't find the words and he knew that he'd never find them. Instead, he stepped forward and caught her much the same way he had at breakfast. He let his hand find the back of her head and he pulled her toward him. She came, closing the distance between him, and he kissed her like he had before. He kissed her in a way that he would want to remember later. He tasted her lips. He felt them between his teeth as he gently nipped her bottom lip. He slid his tongue against her bottom lip when she parted her lips to him and felt the gentle scratch of her bottom teeth. He dropped his hand and kneaded the back of her neck and she moaned at him.

Her moans were soft and satisfied. They were sweet little sounds and the desire to do everything he'd imagined doing earlier jolted through Daryl's body like lightning striking a tree.

He backed off of Carol quickly, afraid that if he lingered even a second longer, he'd pull away from the kiss just to run his tongue up the length of her throat to taste her skin and feel the ridges of her windpipe beneath his flattened tongue.

She stared at him, mouth still slightly open and pink from the work that his teeth had done to her lips.

"So that's just how you kiss," she breathed out.

"Shit," Daryl spat. "I'm sorry."

He felt his throat tighten. He felt the something prickling behind his eyes that he struggled to hold back. He'd gone too far, and she didn't like it. She didn't like him—not the way he was. And she didn't know the half of how he was.

Nobody in their right mind would like to know that someone wanted to explore them with their mouth. It was too much.

Even the kiss was too much.

And there was no escape unless he simply darted out the door.

But she surprised him.

"Don't apologize," she said, breathlessly. She laughed to herself. "Don't apologize. It's—I mean—I certainly don't have any complaints. I just wasn't expecting that to just be—to just be the way you kiss."

"You hate it?" Daryl asked.

"I like it," Carol said. "I guess I just expected something softer."

Daryl wasn't about to tell her that his experience with kissing was terribly limited. He didn't know he had a "way" of kissing. He only knew that he kissed her the way that he wanted to kiss her. He kissed her the way that his body told him was simply right.

"Don't know how to kiss soft," Daryl said.

"I'll show you," Carol said. "Just in case—we want some variety, I mean. Since…since we might have to…you know…perform a lot."

Daryl barely nodded his head at her before she put her hand on his head in the same way that he'd done to her. When she kissed him, this time, she pulled away slightly if he came toward her too hard or too fast. She forced him to be gentle. She forced him to go slow. She kept her lips soft and let them touch his, repeatedly, almost like she was dabbing him with sweet kisses. When he started to mimic her, finding the kisses pleasurable, she let out some of the soft moans again and Daryl pushed her off, backing up and bumping into the doorframe of the still-open door.

She was too close, and soon she'd know more secrets about him if they didn't put some distance between them.

"Did you hate it?" Carol asked.

Daryl lit himself another cigarette from the pack in his pocket.

"I liked it," Daryl said.

"So we have…variety," Carol said. "For—you know…whenever they want us to perform, right?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Better get ready for supper," he said. Carol nodded and started to walk away. He wasn't sure, but he thought maybe there was something like disappointment that flickered on her features. He called her back before she could reach the bedroom door. She stopped and turned back to look at him. He cleared his throat. "Might not have the hang of it," he offered. "But I'll try."

"We could keep practicing," Carol said. "If you think that would help you feel more comfortable."

"Yeah," Daryl said. "If you—don't mind."

"You just say when," Carol assured him, slipping into the bedroom and closing the door behind her while she did whatever it was that she needed to do to freshen up for the meal they would soon enjoy.