AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

Just a reminder that I don't watch the show beyond the occasional peek at something on Tumblr so I don't claim for anyone to be in-character for the current season.

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

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Sometimes Carol found Daryl on the road as he returned to his camp from scrounging up supplies. Other times, she found him simply spending his time at the camp. Those times, he usually seemed to be lost in some kind of deep and long-lasting contemplation. Sometimes, when she found him like that, she asked him what was on his mind. Other times, she didn't because she already knew that life had given them both a great deal to think about. The good thoughts, she didn't want to interrupt. The bad thoughts, she didn't want to force him to say out loud.

In those moments, Carol didn't mind just being quiet with Daryl. He seemed to appreciate the gesture, even if he never put his appreciation into words.

This trip, she found him relatively close to his camp, but he was still walking just on the edge of the somewhat worn road. In his hooded cloak—worn to ward off the residual chill of a winter that hadn't yet released its hold on the world—and carrying a large bundle of firewood, Daryl really did look like the Wildman that Ezekiel teased that he was.

"Going our way?" Carol called out to him as soon as she recognized him. He turned around quickly to glare at whoever would interrupt his solitude—fully prepared to turn her away—but then he smiled as soon as he recognized her.

Without her having to give the command, Henry pulled the reins and stopped the horses from moving forward. The wagon rocked as it came to a stop.

"Get on," Carol said. "We'll give you a ride."

"Unlike some people," Daryl responded, "I ain't got too fancy to use my feet."

He only wanted to give Carol a hard time, though. He wasn't sincere, and she knew it because he was already making his way to the wagon. They waited while he put his bundle in the wagon and crawled up, and then Carol touched Henry's arm to let him know that they were ready to continue on their way to the camp.

Daryl didn't say anything in the wagon, and Carol didn't press him to talk. They all rode along in a relatively comfortable silence that was only broken when Carol had to give Henry directions to make sure that he entered Daryl's camp in the proper way so that they could pen and protect the horses from any Walkers that might stumble near and avoid the traps that Daryl had set for them.

When they reached the camp, Daryl got down with the firewood and offered little more than a grumbled thanks before he started going about his normal routine for the evening. Carol knew it well by now. She wasn't unaccustomed to the way that Daryl lived his life, even if she did actually prefer living in the Kingdom to the unnecessary level of "roughing it" that Daryl preferred now that he'd removed himself entirely from their various communities.

Carol stayed in her place on the wagon's seat for a few moments, and Henry followed suit. Daryl's immediate concern was starting a fire. He'd started so many of them in the small fire pit that he could do it quickly and impressively. He'd barely begun to construct the first layers of the fire before the flame was already climbing upward and growing into more than the tiny spark it had begun as. Daryl stoked it and strategically added wood to the fire to make it grow and keep it burning for a while. The extra firewood he stacked just far enough away that it wouldn't accidentally catch fire, but not so far that he'd have to go a great distance to continue feeding the flames.

When he straightened up from his work with the fire, he poured out the contents of a pot that was possibly holding some remnants of some meal or some stagnated water, and then he finally turned to address Carol and Henry.

If Carol didn't know him as well as she did, she might have taken his expression to heart. He practically glowered at them.

"You just come to sit on the wagon and watch me?" Daryl asked. "Or you actually intendin' on stayin'?"

Carol smiled to herself.

"We'll stay," she said. "It looks like there might be a storm, anyway."

"If it's like the past couple days..." Daryl said, but he never finished.

Daryl's camp was set up perfectly for Carol and Henry to visit any time they wanted. Since the very first time that she'd brought Henry, the second, smaller, tent had appeared. It always seemed maintained now. Daryl's tent was larger and slept two quite easily. Both of the tents were nice enough to keep out the elements, and Carol was sure they'd stand up to a storm since Daryl lived in the camp almost full-time.

The only time Daryl ever slept away from the camp was when he came to visit her. When he came, the two of them retired to the little cabin that she'd called home for some time. It was only a short distance from the Kingdom, but it gave them privacy.

Henry quickly got down off the wagon in the overly-enthusiastic way that he normally did. Like any young man, he was full of energy and he always had to do things in the biggest and showiest way he could. Rather than climb down, he leapt down from the wagon and landed solidly on his feet. Before Carol could even make a move to climb down from the wagon, Henry had circled around to her side and offered his hands up to her to help her as she climbed down.

She didn't truly need the help, but Henry would be on edge. He'd know that she was a little weaker than she had been before—thanks to the illness that she'd feared would rob her of what she hoped would be some years more of life—and he'd want to protect her from accidentally falling to the ground in case it might complicate things with the child she was carrying. Despite biological parentage, and despite any feelings he had to deal with about the reveal of Carol and Ezekiel's arrangement, Henry considered the little one his sibling.

Carol allowed Henry to wrap his hands around her ribcage and help her as she found her way to the ground. She thanked him with a smile and quick kiss on the cheek that made his face run red. He glanced in Daryl's direction like he wanted to see if Daryl had noticed the kiss and might ridicule him for letting his mother kiss him in public.

Daryl was watching them. He did see the kiss, but he didn't ridicule Henry. Instead, he chewed at his cuticle—a sure sign that something about the gesture had made him uncomfortable. Something about seeing Carol with Henry always made Daryl at least a little bit uncomfortable, though he'd never actually explained it to her when she'd asked him what it was.

As soon as she was on her feet, Carol straightened her clothes and asked Henry to get their things. He knew that she shared the tent with Daryl, and he knew the smaller single tent was for him. He didn't have to ask. This time, though, he would know that the arrangement wasn't to give him privacy so that he wasn't sleeping near his mother or changing in the same tent with her. The single tent wasn't for his benefit as much as it was for theirs. Still, he didn't say anything about it—not yet. He simply went about getting their things out of the wagon and moving them to the tents.

"Blankets is kinda clean," Daryl said. "With the rain I ain't had a chance to wash 'em in a couple days."

"We've slept on worse," Carol said. "I remember the one time we came in the summer and left with fleas." She laughed to herself. "It took us weeks to get rid of all of them."

"Your King prob'ly ain't appreciated you infestin' his castle with fleas," Daryl said.

Carol walked closer to the fire where Daryl was doing something of an odd pacing move that kept him busy even though he clearly hadn't thought of exactly what he wanted to do next. She didn't miss the bite in his voice. He didn't want her to miss it. He wanted it to sting.

Ezekiel accepted Daryl. It had been laid out from the start the way that she felt about Daryl.

Daryl accepted Ezekiel only because he liked that Carol had the stability and the security of the Kingdom and her relationship with the man who called himself King.

Carol felt that Daryl wanted more, but he was too afraid to admit it. Even when she'd asked him, he'd denied it. He was always too afraid to admit it.

She might think that he really didn't want more, but if that were true, then she felt that he wouldn't ever be bothered by her past or current relationships. The fact that he could be, at times, sensitive, made her feel like he must have some feelings that he wasn't being entirely honest about.

Maybe he was afraid she'd say "no," or maybe he was afraid that he had nothing to offer her. Carol didn't pretend that she could read all of Daryl's thoughts. Whatever the reason, he didn't want her all to himself, but he didn't exactly relish the thought of anyone else having her.

She had told him, before, the details of how her relationship with Ezekiel was. She'd promised him that the relationship wasn't physical between them. And it never would be—if that's how Daryl wanted it.

But she was starting to feel a churning in her gut that made her want to demand more from Daryl. There was an inexplicable urgency that was beginning to grow in her, and she felt like demanding something from him—even if it wasn't her place to demand anything from Daryl.

Something inside her made her feel like it was time to make a proverbial stand—one way or another.

"We all dealt with the fleas," Carol said.

"Too cold for the fleas right now," Daryl said. He picked up a stick that he might toss on the fire. Instead of tossing it on the fire, though, he turned it over in his hands and stared at Carol. The way he was looking at her almost made her feel uncomfortable and she started to look around for something she might do to break the trance.

"Where's Dog?" Carol asked.

"He's around," Daryl said. "It's about that time that he goes out—lookin' for somethin' to eat."

"When's the last time you ate?" Carol asked.

"Dog ate yesterday," Daryl said.

"I wasn't asking about him," Carol said. "When's the last time you ate?"

Daryl sucked his teeth. He shrugged his shoulders. He studied the wood that he was neither truly committed to keeping nor to tossing in the fire.

"Day or two," he said.

"No game?" Carol asked.

"Ain't cleared the traps," he said. He looked at her again with that piercing stare. Carol squared herself, ready to take the impact of the look's intensity. Eventually Daryl would get around to explaining it.

"I can fix something," Carol said. "With whatever you've got on hand."

"Bound to be somethin' in the traps," Daryl said. "I imagine you've got past splittin' a can of beans three ways."

Carol laughed to herself. She thought she saw a hint of a smile on Daryl's face as he recalled a little of the hardships that they'd seen on the road. The smile didn't last long, though, before he let it drop. The concerned expression returned to his features.

"I can still do it," Carol said, "if the need arises."

"Look at'cha," Daryl said. "I reckon they feed you alright at the Kingdom."

Carol felt a little struck.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked.

"You ain't been missin' too many meals," Daryl said. "That's what it means."

Carol swallowed. Daryl hadn't ever been the smoothest person ever. He did a great deal of biting his tongue and swallowing down his thoughts, but when they came out they were usually quite blunt. He wasn't too concerned about hurting people's feelings. From what Carol remembered of his brother, Merle, though, that might have been a family trait.

She put her hands on her hips.

"I guess it's more obvious than I even thought," she said.

Daryl laughed to himself. His mood visibly lightened. He toyed with the piece of wood he was holding.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "A little weight ain't never hurt nobody. Especially not these days. Just means your King's doin' a good job of providin' for his Kingdom, I guess. Means—things are goin' well. They can afford for everyone to eat good."

Carol jumped when she heard Henry loudly clear his throat behind her.

"Mom?" He called, more quietly than he should have if he genuinely needed to get her attention. Carol looked over her shoulder at him. He looked a little sheepish. "I think—I'm going to go and check some of the traps."

"You remember where they are?" Carol asked.

Henry nodded his head. Carol nodded in response.

"Just don't go too far," she said.

"I'll stay close enough to hear you," Henry promised.

"Good idea," Daryl said. "I can cook us up somethin'. Make sure you don't leave here determined you ain't—that'cha ain't never comin' back 'cause I don't feed you like His Majesty does."

Henry was gone before Daryl even finished speaking. He lit out of camp like one of the jackrabbits that he was hoping to go and collect from the traps.

Carol turned back to Daryl and swallowed down against the feeling of nerves and stomach acid rising up in her throat.

"Daryl—I haven't gained weight from—from eating too much," Carol said. "In fact—I've been ill. It's why I've been gone so long this time. I lost a good bit of weight."

Daryl laughed nervously. Carol could tell by the fidgeting of his hands that he was nervous. She could tell by the way he searched for something to focus his eyes on before he returned them back to her.

"You well now," he said. It was half question and half answer. He visibly relaxed when Carol nodded her head. She might not feel the best she'd ever felt, but that wasn't really what Daryl was asking. He would want to know if she was well enough that he didn't have to worry about losing her. Very little else would matter to him because he would see any minor illness as something that could be overcome. He looked visibly relieved with her nod. He laughed to himself. This time it was less nervous than before. "Don't fool yourself," he said. "You mighta lost it, but you done OK in makin' it back up."

Carol swallowed again.

"It's not fat," Carol said. "It's—a baby, Daryl."

Daryl stared at her. She saw a lifetime of different emotions flash quickly across his face in rapid succession. He landed finally on something that appeared to be anger. It was a common emotion of Daryl's when he seemed unable or unwilling to process any other. He tossed the stick of wood at the fire with enough force that, upon striking, it sent up a shower of sparks into the air.

"So you bring your son—his son—and his...his..." Daryl didn't say it. He almost looked like he choked on the thought. Maybe there was even the expression of someone who thought they might be sick. "Damn near a family reunion. All that's missin' is the King himself."

"Daryl—you don't have any right to be mad at me," Carol said, suddenly irritated by his reaction. She'd given him ample opportunity to be everything to her. Far more than Ezekiel would ever be. He'd even given her his blessing to marry Ezekiel and begin the life that had become common to all of them.

"Except you fuckin' lied to me!" Daryl growled. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Very few times in her life had Daryl rushed her like that—his finger coming up to point in her face and his lips drawn back in a snarl. "You lied to me! You said you weren't fuckin' him! That's what'cha told me. Said—you an' me...it was different!"

Carol might have flinched away from him at one point in her life. She might have moved to cover her face. She didn't flinch away from him this time. She held her body still and prepared for any possible blow. Her expression must have given away more than she wanted.

Daryl almost instantly relaxed.

"I wouldn't hit you," he said.

"And I wouldn't lie to you," Carol said. "It seems—we both still have a lot to learn. We've got some trust left to build."

"Wouldn't lie to me," Daryl grumbled. He walked away two steps and turned around, practically rushing back to her. "Wouldn't lie to me! But'cha did! You just said..."

"I said I was pregnant," Carol said quickly, interrupting Daryl. "I never said it was his. It isn't his. It couldn't be. I didn't lie to you. And—before you ask—there's nobody else."

Carol watched Daryl's face. He stared at her, the same angry expression on his features, for what seemed like an eternity. Then, without his expression changing and without saying anything, he turned and practically staggered away from her—down to the bank where his camp met the lake. Carol watched him as he stood there, looking out over the water, almost as if the conversation had never taken place and he was alone at the camp.

Carol didn't mind sharing silence with Daryl when he needed it, so she simply walked over to one of the logs near the fire and sat down to wait him out—entirely confident that Henry, who was no doubt quite close by and had probably been monitoring, from a hidden location, Daryl's reaction up to this point—would conveniently be gone for however long it took for Daryl to want to talk about things.