AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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Carol reclined on the couch with her feet on the coffee table in the center of the living room. The cobbler she was slowly spooning out of a bowl—making sure to savor every bite because it was even more delicious than she ever remembered it being before—was her second helping of the dessert, since she'd eaten the first helping at the Kingdom. When they'd left the Kingdom, they'd left with a large box of produce, an extra casserole for dinner, and two cobblers.

Carol wasn't certain, at that moment, that she couldn't eat all the cobbler herself.

While she rested, under strict orders to do so from Daryl and Henry—despite her attempts to tell them that she didn't need to rest—they had both unloaded the wagon before Ezekiel left with it to return to the Kingdom. Then Daryl had gone about putting things away and dealing with a running list of "household chores" that he'd created to do outside—most of which involved checking his traps and clearing any Walkers that might have bunched around the fences—and Henry had taken his things to one of the small extra bedrooms to unpack the items that he'd brought.

The cobbler had been a decision that Carol made, all her own, when left to her own devices.

Michael—her doctor—had told her to practice being still. He'd told her to start listening to her body. He'd told her to try to start listening to the baby that she was carrying to uncover what she might like or want.

For the moment, Carol was certain that she both liked and wanted cobbler.

"You never let me have two desserts."

Carol jumped. Her spoon clanked the side of the bowl with the sudden movement. As soon as she turned to see him, Henry's hand pressed down on her shoulder from behind the couch.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he offered. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's OK," Carol said. She patted the couch beside her. "I forgot I wasn't alone. It was so quiet."

"If you want some time?" Henry offered.

Carol smiled to herself. He had always been such a sweet boy. She'd struggled, at first, with the whole idea of having a family again. She'd been struggling with so much—so much that she still wasn't entirely without—that the thought of really blending in with a family was terrifying to the point that it was almost suffocating. It had been difficult to really feel comfortable with her place and her new set of roles. She could love Henry, and she could love Ezekiel, and she could love Daryl, and she could be the Queen—but she couldn't do it all, all the time. Sometimes she needed to be along with herself. Sometimes she needed to fall apart and put herself back together to come back to everything that had become her life.

The little house had offered her a place to be alone when she needed it, and Ezekiel had normalized her need to retreat there to the point that Henry hadn't ever really been saddened by Carol's occasional disappearances. He understood that, sometimes, his mom needed some time and, when she returned, she would return a happier, lighter version of herself that was ready to love him with everything he required of her.

Honestly, even though she needed less time alone than she once had, she worried that her new family arrangement wouldn't provide her with enough of that time.

But that was a concern for another day. Right now, instead of craving time alone, she was craving interaction with her loved ones.

She patted the couch again.

"What I want is for you to come and sit with me for a few minutes," Carol said. "Tell me everything I missed at the Kingdom."

"You mean—in the past few days?" Henry asked, sitting down. His tone made it absolutely clear that he thought her request was ridiculous.

Carol laughed to herself. She wrapped her arm around Henry's shoulder and pulled him to her. He came without a fight and let her kiss the side of his head. Unlike most teenagers, or so she'd always been told about teenagers, Henry wasn't ashamed of her affections. Of course, Carol wasn't sure if that would last once he started trying to impress someone who wasn't his parents, and once being affectionate with his mother became something that might make him uncool to someone else.

But for now, he was still affectionate with her, and Carol appreciated it. She appreciated it, at the moment, more than ever.

"Tell me what I should know," Carol said. "Tell me anything you want to tell me."

Henry sat quiet for a moment and Carol returned to her cobbler while she waited. He smirked at her.

"You never let me have two desserts," Henry said, repeating what he'd told her earlier.

"You can have two desserts if you want," Carol said. "Just today. There's plenty in the kitchen."

Henry shook his head.

"No," he said. "You always said it'll ruin my appetite."

Carol smiled to herself.

"Normally that's not a lie. Don't tell Daryl," Carol teased, "but—I'm not sure anything could ruin my appetite right now. I'm starving. And this cobbler is delicious."

Henry smiled at her. He stared at her in the way that he had of doing, sometimes, that almost made Carol uncomfortable. Sometimes he looked at her with the greatest amount of pure love and appreciation that anyone ever had. He looked at her like she was something unworldly.

The way that Henry looked at her, when he was like that, was what had first led Ezekiel to teasingly call her the Faerie Queen and say that she must be something not quite of this world.

Really, Carol assumed that Henry appreciated her role as his mother since he'd lost his biological mother, and he was old enough to remember Carol stepping into the role. She assumed, too, that he simply cared a great deal for those he loved because he knew what it was to be left entirely alone in the world. If it weren't for the family they'd built, he wouldn't have had anyone—none of them would.

He reached his hand over, somewhat more tentatively than in the past, and pressed his palm on Carol's belly. She wondered, for just a moment, how he'd react when there was more there to rest his hand on—and, perhaps, when there was some activity there to witness.

"She likes cobbler?" He asked.

"I guess she does," Carol said, enjoying his affections. Suddenly Henry furrowed his brow and his smile faded.

"If you're hungry, shouldn't Daryl know?" Henry asked. "Isn't it part of your prescription?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"I was mostly teasing about the don't tell Daryl part," Carol said. "And I was really mostly teasing about starving. I think I was mostly just craving the cobbler. But—I'll eat some casserole in a little while. When we all have some."

"She's healthy?" Henry asked.

Carol started to tell him that they'd been through everything at the Kingdom, and there really wasn't that much to tell, but she thought better of it and bit her tongue. Maybe Henry needed to hear it again. Maybe he just needed to talk to her.

"She's small," Carol said. "Even though—I already feel like she's really big. Like I'm really big."

"You're tiny," Henry said.

"So is she," Carol said.

"So, you should eat more," Henry said.

"So, I'm going to eat more," Carol assured him.

"And Daryl should know if you're hungry," Henry said.

"Because it's his baby, too?" Carol asked.

Henry nodded his head.

"But—mostly because he'll make sure you get something to eat," Henry said. "Just like Dad would, if he were here."

Carol nodded her head. She resisted the immediate urge to tell Henry that she could get her own food, especially since there was casserole and cobbler already prepared in the kitchen. She realized that saying that would only take away from what Henry was trying to say. It wasn't about her ability or inability to procure food if she was hungry. It wasn't about that at all.

"Daryl would make sure I got something to eat," Carol said. "And your Dad? He absolutely would. They both take very good care of me."

"Because they both love you," Henry said. "And they both love her."

Carol smiled to herself.

"They do," she agreed.

Henry sighed.

"I wanted you and Dad to be together forever," Henry said. "I thought—you'd be the ones that got to grow old together. You'd get to be old together and you'd be together forever. I liked the idea of it—the idea that some people got to be in love forever. Like in the fairy tales."

"Happily ever after?" Carol asked.

Henry growled to himself.

"I know it's just a ridiculous children's story," he said, but he never did really finish the statement.

"It's a beautiful sentiment," Carol said. "And I hope—I hope this doesn't mean that I don't get my happily ever after."

"You mean with Daryl," Henry offered. It wasn't really a question, but Carol answered it as though it was. She hummed at him and nodded her head to affirm what he'd said. "But it means that Dad doesn't get a happily ever after."

"Or—maybe it means that the happily ever afters don't happen like they do in the fairy tales," Carol said. "If your Dad found someone? If he fell in love with someone? Henry—he would do so with my blessing. More than that—I hope that he finds someone who loves and appreciates him for every wonderful quality that he has. And he's got quite a few, so you ought to pay attention and learn what you can from him."

"It's just not you," Henry said.

"I love and I appreciate your father," Carol said. "But the different kinds of love that I was talking about? When you're older, maybe, you'll understand it a bit better. I hope you do. I hope you fall in love and I hope you get your happily ever after, Henry. But—when you do love someone? You'll find out that there are different kinds of love. And they make you feel different. It's like your whole body responds differently for each of those different kinds of love. Most of me loves Ezekiel, just like most of me loves you…but there are parts of me that only love Daryl because he's that special kind of love. But that doesn't mean that—if your Dad never finds that special kind of love? It doesn't mean that he won't still be here, and he still won't be part of everyone's happily ever after in his own special way."

"Does Daryl love you like that?" Henry asked. "You talk about—being in love and I hear everyone talk about how wonderful it is…finding someone that you love like you've never loved before. You say that's how you love Daryl."

"It is," Carol agreed.

"Does Daryl feel the same?" Henry asked.

"You'll have to ask Daryl that," Carol said. "That's his question to answer. Not mine."

Henry nodded his head, and he cast his eyes downward toward the couch. Carol had watched him grow up. She'd watched him, from the first time she'd let him call her Mom, growing into a fine young man. She'd worried over him, and she'd lost sleep over him, but he'd continued to become everything she'd hoped he might and even a little more.

But still, sometimes, she could see the little boy that he had been.

"Hey," she said. "I know you're sad, OK? And that's OK. It's OK to be sad or…angry…or whatever you're feeling. It's even OK to hate me if you need to. But—not forever. Just for a little while, OK?"

She reached her hand up and brushed her fingers through his thick hair. She brushed it back and to the side and he looked at her.

"I don't hate you," he said. "I couldn't hate you. I love you."

"I love you, too," Carol said. "But—I just want you to know that I'm not trying to tell you not to feel your feelings…even if your Dad might have told you something like that."

Henry shook his head.

"He said I should be gentle with you," Henry said. "Not because you need it but, because you deserve it."

Carol laughed to herself.

"That sounds like him," she said.

"He also said that he's not angry with you," Henry said. "And that—I shouldn't be either."

"Still," Carol said, "you make your own decisions. About your feelings. I appreciate you spending the night tonight and—I hope you'll stay with me some. I don't expect you to leave your Dad all the time. I wouldn't want you to. But—I hope you won't leave me all the time, either."

"I packed enough for a couple of days," Henry said. "And I thought…"

"What?" Carol urged when he paused.

"I could just leave it here, you know? So, I've got stuff here and at the Kingdom."

"I think that would be perfect," Carol said. "If that's what you want."

"Daryl won't mind?"

"Daryl won't mind," Carol said. "But—I think that's a question for Daryl, too. Something you should ask him so that you get your answer and you don't just have to trust me."

"You won't need the room for the baby?" Henry asked.

"We'll use the other little room for the baby," Carol said. "And—at least for a little while, she's already got a room."

Henry returned his hand to her belly.

"How long before she gets here?" He asked.

"I'm about twenty weeks," Carol said. "And—if I went all the way? I'd be about forty weeks. So, we're about as far in as we are out."

Henry laughed to himself.

"How big is she?" Henry asked.

Carol spooned another mouthful of her cobbler into her mouth and chewed through it while she considered her answer.

"I don't know, exactly," Carol said. "Probably—like your hand. Maybe she's not even that big."

"How much does she weigh?" Henry asked.

"Not very much," Carol said. "And, apparently, not enough."

"Can you feel her?" Henry asked.

"I don't know," Carol said. "Sometimes I think I can and sometimes, I think it's just my imagination."

Henry stood up from his spot rather suddenly. Without explanation, he took the bowl that Carol was holding in her hand—spoon and all—and started to walk away.

"Hey!" Carol called after him. "Cobbler thief! I wasn't done with that."

Henry laughed and turned around. He had a devilish grin when he wanted to. Carol couldn't help but smile in response to it.

"I'm getting you some more," Henry said. "Dad and Daryl aren't the only ones that can take care of things."

Carol thought about telling him that she was really feeling a little full, and she didn't really need another helping of cobbler. But she didn't say anything because it was the thought behind it that really mattered.

And for Henry's sake, she could choke down at least half a bowl of cobbler if she had to.