AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"Close your eyes."
Carol's heart fluttered wildly in her chest. She could feel Daryl's body pressed flushed against hers. The nearness of him always sent her heart skipping into an irregular beat.
Her daughter responded to her reaction.
Her daughter.
Carol wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the idea. She wasn't sure she'd ever fully believe it, either, until she saw her face.
"Jesus—you're stiff as a board," Daryl said. "You scared of me? Just relax."
"I'm sorry," Carol said quietly.
His hands touched her. His body rested against hers. His head rested gently on her shoulder.
"Shhhh," he hissed softly, in a soothing manner. "Just relax. Breathe. You gotta breathe. I know you need it and—I'm pretty sure she does, too. Does she? Do you like—how does that work? Do you breathe for her?"
Carol laughed.
She did relax. He didn't move. He stayed right there, against her, but she relaxed. She appreciated that, no matter how much her own mind could work her into knots and tangles, Daryl was able to unwind the snares.
"I weren't joking," Daryl offered when he laughed quietly in response, his body shaking hers. "I was serious. How does she breathe?"
"She gets oxygen through—well, through my blood, I think," Carol said. "Or maybe—the umbilical cord? The placenta? I'm not sure. But she gets it from me. Her lungs probably aren't fully formed yet. They aren't ready yet. That's why—if something were to happen? If something happened and she came now? She probably wouldn't make it out here. She wouldn't be ready to breathe."
He dropped one hand from her arm and, reaching around her, patted her belly.
"Then we'll keep her in there," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "And now that you're both breathin' again—and without tensin' up at all 'cause it don't matter one way or another—I want you to focus. Aim. And let go of your bolt."
Carol's body tensed naturally and regardless of what Daryl requested. As close to her as he was, she was sure he felt it, too. She tried to will herself to relax, but it would never happen. She aimed carefully, but when she released the arrow, it still landed firmly outside of the area she'd designated as her bullseye.
And she felt her whole self practically deflate.
She dropped her shoulders and, almost immediately, Daryl turned her around and held her by the shoulders.
"It don't matter," he said. "Just a thing."
"It's always just a thing," Carol said. "Until—something happens and I need to hit something and I'm four inches to the left of my target."
Daryl laughed.
"Someone's lied to you a hell of a lot about what an inch is," Daryl said. "If everybody measured the way you do, and that was four inches? My damn dick would be like two an' a half feet long. Listen, that's no more'n an inch off your target." She frowned at him, and he kissed her. She accepted the kiss, but barely returned it. Her heart, for the moment, was too heavy with disappointment. It was a silly way to feel, but she felt worse than she'd felt before about missing her target. She foolishly felt tears stinging at her eyes, but there was nothing she could do about it. Daryl's thumb brushed away the tear that escaped and he smiled. His other hand dropped and warmly cupped the underside of her belly. "She's goin' wild in there."
Carol nodded her head.
"Yeah," she breathed out. He wiped her face again. Another tear had sprung forth to take the place of the one he wiped away. She was almost angry at him for how amused he looked at the moment. How soft he looked. "You hit everything you aim at," she growled. His eyebrows raised and, for half a second, he looked surprised by her frustration. Then the half-smile settled back onto his face. He had moved neither hand—not the one half-supporting the weight of the baby rolling in her belly, nor the one that was working like a lazy windshield-wiper that was flicking away her tears of frustration.
"I don't hit a lot of shit I aim at," Daryl said. "Difference is—I'm not quite as squirrely as you are."
Immediately, the comment drew to mind images of some shifty person slinking around in a nineteen forties' crime drama. Carol honestly wasn't sure whether to laugh or be offended.
"I'm not squirrely! "She protested.
"You are," Daryl said.
"I'm not some kind of like—sneaky criminal," Carol said. Now she had no choice but to laugh at the image in her mind, and Daryl broke every touch that had held them connected a moment as he laughed, too.
"Not that kinda squirrely," he offered. "I mean—squirrely. Like a squirrel. He held up his hand at her and waved it like he meant to distract her from any growing annoyance she might feel. "You ever really watched squirrels?"
Carol sighed.
"I've seen squirrels before," Carol said.
"I didn't say have you seen a squirrel," Daryl said. "Hell—I know you've seen 'em. We've been tryin' to shoot 'em for about an hour now. I'm askin' you if you've ever watched 'em. Just sat down somewhere and watched 'em for a while."
Carol laughed to herself.
"You've watched a lot of squirrels, I take it?" She asked.
"As a matter of fact, I have," Daryl said. "They're always tense. Always—lookin' out for what's comin' next. Even when they're eatin' or just sittin' around like there's nothin' goin' on? They're lookin' back and forth. Ready to run. This way, and that way, and every which way, all at the same time."
Carol laughed to herself.
"I'm every which way, all at the same time?" She asked.
He smiled.
"You are," he said. "But mostly—you're always lookin' out for what's comin' next. Always tense."
"Aren't you always thinking about what's coming next?" Carol asked.
"It's different," Daryl offered. "Out there? It's good to be a little squirrely. Difference between stayin' alive and endin' up dead. In here?"
"You're not always thinking about what's coming next?" Carol asked.
"Not the same way," Daryl said. "I think—I hope—I kinda know what's comin' next. But I'm trying to stop running back and forth, always looking over my shoulder. That don't mean I got to let my guard down completely, but there's nothing wrong with relaxing just a little. Maybe—if you aren't too damn attached to hoppin' all over the place, you could relax a little, too. Might be good for you and her both."
"I'm relaxed," Carol said quickly. Daryl laughed to himself.
"You ain't," he offered. "You wanna know what I think? I think you can't hit your target 'cause you can't relax. You're too squirrely."
"That's not a thing," Carol said.
"Or, maybe you're too scared of killin' one of your own kind?" Daryl teased.
Carol couldn't help but laugh.
"Stop it," she commanded. "Now you're going to make me not want to hit them."
Daryl smiled.
"Gotta hunt the squirrels," he said. "Damn things'll takeover. I mean what I said, though. You're too wound up. The minute you aim, you start overthinking. I can practically see the smoke comin' outta your ears. I can see you twitchin'. You tense up. Sure you won't hit the target. Sure you'll never hit the target. You so damn tense that you jerk your arm this way or that—always. It's a self-fulfillin' prophecy." Carol recognized some truth in what Daryl was saying. He frowned at her and gently shrugged his shoulders. "You see your failure before you even start."
Carol frowned.
"I never hit it," Carol said.
"Nobody does until they do," Daryl offered.
"I just know I'm not going to hit it," Carol said. "I can't. I won't. Not today and not tomorrow…and then I just think that…I'm never going to hit it. I'm never going to be able to really do anything useful. And then Ed was right. I'm just—a burden. Taking and taking…like a parasite."
"Hey!" Daryl barked. Carol's head shot in his direction in surprise at the loud noise. He smiled at her. It was more a smile of comfort than actual amusement. He moved back toward her and caught her shoulders. "Hey—no. Run up some other tree, squirrel, but don't run up that one."
Whether he meant to or not, he made Carol laugh.
"Asshole," she muttered at him. He hugged her. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.
"You're lucky I like squirrels," Daryl said. "A lot. Because I just landed right into a nest of 'em. You and—she's pretty squirrely, too. All over the damned place."
Carol was sure that, as tight against her as he was, he could feel the baby. Carol could feel her, uncomfortably, as the little girl practiced whatever acrobatics entertained her when she was awake.
Carol didn't say anything. She simply sighed and returned the hug, sinking happily into the comfort of it. Sensing, perhaps, that she needed it, Daryl didn't break it for a while. He simply stood there, holding her, long after her bow dropped to the ground so that she could wrap her arms around him.
"I don't want you to see me as a burden," Carol said.
"Jesus," Daryl muttered. "If he weren't dead, and Georgia weren't like four states away? I'd kill him again. You ain't no burden. You ain't never been a burden since I've known you. And I'm a hundred percent sure you weren't no burden then. Andrea ain't out here huntin' squirrels. You think she's a burden?"
Daryl pushed Carol at arms' length to look at her, but he didn't take his hands off her shoulders.
"It's different," Carol said.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Only because it don't compute with the damn fuckery that Ed pumped into your head," Daryl said. "Listen—and I want you to listen to me good. If you never hit a single damn squirrel, you ain't no burden. There's a thousand ways to contribute that don't got shit to do with aim. And that's what you're gonna teach her, too."
Carol smiled to herself when Daryl pointed determinedly at her belly.
"You're worried about her self-esteem?" Carol asked.
"I just think—she oughta know she's not a burden," Daryl said. "And she's got a thousand ways to add to this place. And—I don't think she oughta have anything that he would've wanted to teach her."
Carol noticed that Daryl—for all his insistence, perhaps, that he wasn't squirrely here—tensed a little. He rubbed at the back of his neck.
"Even though it ain't my call," he added, letting the words hang heavily and somewhat awkwardly in the air around them.
"I think—it's your call," Carol offered.
"Can I ask you something?" Daryl asked after a moment.
"Can I—refuse to answer it?" Carol asked.
"If you really don't want to," Daryl ceded. "But—I'd rather you did. Don't—just don't look like you ready to bolt." He laughed to himself. "OK, Squirrel?"
Carol laughed in response. She was grateful, though, that it helped to unknot some of the concern that was tightening her muscles.
"Asshole," she repeated. His smile only grew in response. "Fine," she ceded. "What is it?"
"Are you scared of Alice?" Daryl asked.
"What?" Carol asked. The question had truly come from left field. She hadn't expected it at all.
"Alice," Daryl said. "The doctor. You scared of her? Because you're real nervous around her and you didn't want to go see her before. Has she done something to you?"
"I hardly know her," Carol said with a laugh. "And—I think other than a 'hello,' here or there, you've been with me every time I've seen her."
"Some other doctor hurt you, then?" Daryl asked. "That's why you're scared of her?"
"Ed hated when I went to the doctor," Carol said. "Doctors were nosy. They asked questions about bruises, and cuts, and burns. They wanted to know about injuries, especially those that were recurring. Ed hated doctors getting nosy. Whatever sent me to the doctor was never as bad as what was going to be waiting on me when I got home—and he came with me, when I did go, so I was always terrified to say or do the wrong thing."
Daryl nodded his head and chewed at his thumb.
"Does it make you nervous if I'm there?" Daryl asked. "Would it be better for you an' her if I didn't go and you just—went and told me what you want me to know? If you want me to know anything…I know it really…it's your business."
Carol shook her head.
"I like you being there," she said.
"You know—I want you to tell the doctor, well, like everything you gotta tell her. And if you want me to go? I mean—you just say it and I'll go. But I won't never be pissed about nothin' you tell her. Even if you—tell her I'm an asshole. Maybe she needs to know it. Hell, maybe I need to know it…if it's true."
Carol smiled at him.
"You are an asshole," she said. "But the best kind of asshole. And—I want you there."
"But you're still nervous," Daryl said.
Carol nodded her head.
"Old habits die hard," she said.
"And old fuckin' beliefs die harder," Daryl said.
"Are you mad that…he's still in my head?" Carol asked.
"Yeah," Daryl said. "I'm pissed the fuck off that he was ever there to begin with. But—I ain't pissed at you. And I know he ain't never gonna shut up. Not completely. I just hope—he shuts up a lil' bit."
"He already is," Carol said. "Sometimes. About some things. He's shutting up a little more each day."
Daryl stared at her. His eyes darted quickly back and forth.
"What's different?" He asked.
Carol smiled to herself.
"You are," she assured him. She saw it flash in his eyes. She knew it without him having to say a thing. He had his own voice. It was a voice who told him that he couldn't make a difference. He couldn't be anyone as important as he actually was to her. He was so important to her. "You—make all the difference. A little more each day."
He continued to stare at her. He was hearing the voice. Maybe he was trying to quiet it. Carol stared back at him. She didn't break their line of sight. She didn't want him to think she was bluffing him in any way.
She saw when he relaxed. When his jaw relaxed.
"Then you gotta believe me," he said. "You ain't no burden. And neither is she."
Carol smiled to herself.
"I believe you," she said.
"Then say it," Daryl pressed.
"I believe that—I'm not a burden. To you. And—neither is she."
"It's a start," Daryl said. "And you gonna hit your target one day. Ain't gonna be today, but—you gonna hit it."
"If you insist," Carol said. Daryl leaned down and picked up her bow for her without her having to ask him. She could get it, but it was much easier for him. He fetched her quiver and the few stray bolts that lie around from her practice. "We're stopping?"
"We done enough damage here," Daryl said. "And besides—I told Merle we'd have dinner with 'em. Somethin' special. At their house insteada the mess hall."
Daryl started walking, but Carol took a moment to realize they were really leaving. She got stuck, for just a moment, thinking about the fact that they were about to have some kind of family dinner and she'd just been told about it.
"You weren't going to tell me about—dinner with Merle?" Carol asked.
"I know how jumpy you get about things," Daryl said. "I was just keepin' it a secret 'til after target practice so you didn't get extra tense. You mad?"
Daryl stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder. He stopped.
"What if I—do something wrong?" Carol asked.
Daryl laughed.
"It's supper with Merle," Daryl said. "Unless you gonna like—turn the whole damned table over or shit on the floor, I don't think you can do anything wrong. And even then, he's only half liable to notice." He held out an arm in her direction, the other loaded down with her things. "It ain't nothin' but a meal. Come on, Squirrel," he teased. "Let's you an' me go get washed up for supper."
Carol laughed to herself, happy for the lightness that he was willing to offer her. She doubled her steps for just a moment, slipped under his arm, and happily let him drop it over her shoulder to pull her close as they walked.