AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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Carol came out of the bathroom as Daryl was headed into it. She'd brushed her teeth and was set on doing a few other odds and ends thing around the house before she settled into bed. Daryl closed himself into the bathroom to shower off the sweat from moving furniture and brush his teeth in preparation for going to bed. When he came out of the bathroom, Carol had settled down in bed, but she'd pushed all the cover on her side of the bed down to gather around her knees like she was hot. Daryl's eyes swept over her body, but he reminded himself that it wasn't polite to ogle women in their pajamas when they were simply relaxing in their bed with a book.

Besides, he was pretty sure that Merle would tell him that only weird ass perverts could go so far as to say that they could even manage to find a woman's knees attractive.

Daryl walked around the bed and sat down on his side of the bed. For a moment, he stiffened. Carol had seen his scars many times by now. She had never—not once and not even a little bit—made him feel uncomfortable for the marks on his body. Most of the time he forgot they were there. They were a part of him. He didn't remember life without them. But every now and again, he was acutely aware of their presence and his brain reminded him that people would find them disgusting. His brain suggested that Carol might find them disgusting, even though she was far too polite to say so.

When he pushed against his thoughts, though, and got into bed, he turned to see Carol looking at him. The expression she wore wasn't one of disgust. She looked so soft and peaceful in the lamplight that Daryl immediately relaxed into his pillow. The smile on her face, too, was barely there and finely traced the curve of her lips upward. Daryl couldn't help but smile at her in response.

"I thought you might be asleep by the time I got done," Daryl said.

"I thought so too," Carol admitted. "But—she's not interested in being asleep at all right now."

Daryl's stomach caught.

"Moving," he asked, letting his eyes drift toward Carol's belly. She hummed and rubbed her hands over the swell.

"A lot," she said. "I don't know if she can't get comfortable or…she's just not ready to sleep. You want to feel her?"

Daryl nodded his head. He offered his hand to Carol, already knowing what she would do, and she found a good place to rest his hand. Beneath his palm, he could feel the softness of the nightgown, the warmth of her skin, and the movement of something beyond even his vision. Almost instinctively, he rubbed her belly, pressing down enough to somewhat massage the spots where the movement took place.

He didn't expect the satisfied sound that Carol made. He didn't expect her to shift, just a little, as though she were trying to give him better access to her body. He didn't expect to glance at her face and see her eyes closed.

With his free hand, Daryl took a moment to make sure that his own side of the blanket was pulled up, and he shifted his body. The sweet and soft little sounds of pleasure that Carol let escape her—whether it was when they kissed or now—had an effect on him that he couldn't hide well in thin cotton boxers.

"You—uh—you need anything?" Daryl asked.

Carol opened her eyes.

"No," she said.

"Snack?" Daryl asked. "Got some stuff in the kitchen and Alice said every couple hours you oughta—you know—snack on something."

"I'm fine," Carol said. "If I had something right now, I'd probably just have indigestion and then I really would be up all night."

"Milk?" Daryl asked. "Some of that in the refrigerator, too."

"I'm fine," Carol assured him. He nodded his understanding.

Part of him was struggling, and he didn't know how to explain to Carol that he was feeling overwhelmed with the desire—a desire that bordered on need—to do something for her. He wanted to attend to her in some way. He wasn't allowed to attend to her in all the ways that he wanted, but he was searching for something that he could do that wouldn't be overstepping boundaries.

"You want—you want me to rub your feet? Or—somethin'?" Daryl asked.

"You want to rub my feet?" Carol asked.

Daryl couldn't tell, exactly, if she was shocked because she didn't expect such an offer, or if she was shocked that he would think she'd want such a thing from him. He felt the compulsion to give her an explanation.

"Alice said that—it would help you relax," Daryl said quickly. "Rubbin' things…" He stopped, immediately regretted his inability to think through things before speaking. He cleared his throat. "She said it'd be good."

"She also thinks we're married," Carol said. "You're under no obligation to rub my feet or do anything else for me, Daryl. I promise—I don't expect you to do anything."

"I wouldn't like bein' under some kinda obligation no way," Daryl offered, "but I was bein' sincere. Offering because I…don't mind. It's like…" He stopped. His mind thought that she seemed convinced, but not wholly convinced. She was missing one little nudge to get her to understand what he was saying. Practice, though, seemed to be a comforting thought to her. It seemed to be something that she liked.

And Daryl didn't have to tell her that he felt like he was practicing for what the hell he hoped could somehow, someday, become reality.

"Practice," he croaked out. The word, alone, meant very little. He couldn't take it back, though, so he held his ground when Carol's eyebrows knitted together for a moment before her features softened.

"Practice?" She asked.

She wanted something more. Some explanation. He absolutely had nothing, but Merle had once told him that if he was going to jump into something, he should hold his ground once he was in. He nodded.

"You never know," he said. He was satisfied with himself. It was absolutely undescriptive, but it wasn't untrue. And Carol smiled.

"If you want to, but I don't want you to feel like you have to," she said. She moved to uncover her feet and bare them to him. At the thought of having permission to touch her, Daryl's body perked up. He held the blanket up, bringing it with him as he moved down the bed, to do the best job he could at hiding the fact that his dick was already trying to be far more involved in the whole thing than it had a right to be. Nobody had ever explained to his dick, it seemed, that a foot massage had relatively little to do with the over-eager organ. Daryl could only hope that Carol paid it no attention. She didn't say anything about it, though, if she did. She did, however, groan over the feeling of him kneading her feet in his hands. Daryl was pretty sure that he was sweating over the effort necessary to keep himself completely in check, and his throat felt parched. "I don't think—I don't think anyone has rubbed my feet since Sophia was born."

The sinking feeling in his stomach helped a little with his other problem. Daryl kept rubbing her feet. He wanted her to say everything—absolutely everything—that she needed to say about her life before. He wanted her to get everything out that she needed to get out. That was supposed to be good for people. He knew that much.

And he was fully aware that Ed had touched her in many ways. They'd had Sophia together, after all. But that didn't mean that it didn't turn his stomach a little to imagine Ed's hands on Carol in any fashion.

"Ed rubbed your feet when Sophia was born?" Daryl asked. He hoped his voice hadn't come out as stalled as it had sounded to him.

Carol laughed and let out another satisfied hum as Daryl apparently hit a spot that really pleased her. He took just enough of a chance to let himself knead her calf muscle and the return that he got—instead of scolding—was the most satisfied sound she'd made yet. His dick—apparently slightly saddened over mention of Ed Peletier—instantly forgot its discouragement.

"Ed never rubbed my feet," Carol said. "I thought I told you that—he wasn't even there when Sophia was born."

"Who?" Daryl asked. "I mean—who rubbed your feet? If it weren't Ed."

"It was a girl who was volunteering at the hospital," Carol said.

"Like a candy striper?" Daryl asked.

"Something like that," Carol said. "Getting hours for school or something. She told me, but she offered to rub my feet for a little while I was in labor." Carol moved around, rooting deeper into her pillow as Daryl switched feet. He was daring enough now to work muscles all the way up to her knees, and she was no longer even attempting to keep her eyes open. She was awake, though, and she groaned out as a reward for every point that he hit that she enjoyed a great deal. He paid special attention to the places she indicated for him.

Carol fell quiet and Daryl wasn't sure what to say to her. He continued his work, even though his hands ached, and he found that it relaxed him in a way that he wouldn't have expected. It was methodical, and it kept his hands busy. In addition, though, it excited him because every time that Carol let him know that she enjoyed what he was doing, his body suggested that he might try to make her feel good in other ways—ways he didn't dare to offer because it wasn't acceptable and, beyond that, he wasn't sure that he could come through with the promises his body wanted to make, anyway.

When he finally stopped, Carol opened her eyes to him, but she clearly looked sleepy.

"Sorry," Daryl said. "My hands are crampin' up."

"It's OK," Carol said with a smile. "Thank you—that was…"

She never did finish by offering an adjective for what, exactly, the massage had been. It didn't matter. Daryl didn't need to hear the specific word she was thinking of—if, in fact, she was thinking of any particular word—to feel her appreciation.

Careful to keep the blanket where he needed to be for modesty purposes, while also trying to move it up Carol's body as he moved so that she'd be covered at least as much as she had been before, Daryl made his way back up the bed to lie properly on his side of the bed with his head against his pillow.

He reached his hand over and touched Carol's belly again. He rubbed his hand over the soft fabric of her nightgown. He felt no movement beneath his palm this time.

"Did she stop?" He asked.

"She did," Carol breathed out.

"She go to sleep?" Daryl asked. "Does she sleep?"

"She sleeps," Carol said with a smile. "From what I understand, she does everything. She sleeps, she moves, she yawns, and sucks her thumb. I think the only thing she doesn't do is eat, and that's because my body just automatically gives her what she needs."

"So, she's asleep now?" Daryl asked.

"I guess," Carol said. She reached and took Daryl's hand in her own. Before he could ask what she was doing, she began kneading his hand in her own. He closed his eyes to the sensation. There was a quiet laugh from the pillow next to his. "Feel good?"

"I won't ask you to stop," he said. "Unless—you want to, I mean."

She obviously didn't want to, because she didn't stop.

"Daryl—it's nice…having you here," Carol said. "Not being all alone is nice."

"I like it too," Daryl admitted. His heart danced around in his chest. It felt like, all over his body, his various organs were asking each other what he might say or do next. He could practically feel a surge of electricity running through him. It felt like he had an interior telegraph machine linking up to discuss what might happen.

Nothing would happen. His gut couldn't handle it. It couldn't let it happen.

"Can I ask you a question?" Carol asked.

"You just did," Daryl said. He smirked at the face she made, but she laughed to herself.

"It's just that—I've told you all about Ed. And I'm sure—I'll tell you more about Ed than you want to know because he was a big part of my life."

"I want you to say what you wanna say," Daryl said. "It doesn't do you any good to keep it all bottled up like that."

"I believe that's true for everyone," Carol said. "So, I want to hear whatever you want to say. About you."

"I don't have much of anything to say," Daryl said. "Not right now."

"I understand," Carol said. "You can't say it until you're ready to say it. But—can I just…ask you one question? And I know it's not my place and if you don't want to answer it…"

"I guess I owe you a couple," Daryl offered, cutting her off because he could practically feel her tensing up over it all. She squeezed his hand—the one she still hadn't released—and he didn't remind her that she was still holding it.

"Have you ever loved someone, Daryl? I mean—not just loved someone, but…have you ever been in love? With a woman?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Well, I sure ain't been in love with a man before," he offered. "I mean—it's good for some, I guess. But it ain't really my thing."

"Have you ever been in love with a woman?" Carol asked.

Daryl could practically hear the alarm sound inside of his body as his systems processed the question and considered his answer.

"Yeah," he finally said. It was true, but to discuss it any further would be to open a can of worms that they probably didn't want to deal with—maybe not ever, but certainly not at this particular moment. "But I don't wanna talk about it."

He saw Carol's features fall.

"I understand," she offered.

"Tonight," Daryl added, hating to disappoint her even if his attempts to keep from disappointing her might only end up alienating her in the long run. "Gotta—fuckin' go to sleep. This slumber-party bullshit ain't gonna help neither one of us in the morning."

He managed to put enough of the intended teasing behind his words that Carol caught it and laughed.

"Alright then," she said, releasing his hand and pulling her pillow up under her chin. "Keep your secrets for tonight, but don't think that I'm going to let you off the hook."

"I'm countin' on it," Daryl said. And even as his gut wrenched with the words and he attempted to settle into his spot, he realized it was true. He really was counting on her trying to uncover his secret and, with a thought that would bring him sweet dreams for the night, he only hoped that he might convince her, as they went along, that she wanted to feel the same.