AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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Michonne had asked Carol to stay. She'd asked her to consider how she would feel if she could relax—simply relax—in the comfort of knowing that she was safe and protected. She could, according to Michonne, shuck off the armor that she'd made for herself. She could allow herself to be open and vulnerable—safe in the knowledge that nobody here would hurt her.

She would have a wall between her and anyone who wanted to hurt her that allowed her to drop her own. Daryl and Michonne would stand between her and the outside world.

The thought of it, really, was a nice thought.

Carol's defenses hadn't truly been down, though, since she'd married Ed. The first night that he'd lashed out at her and destroyed her illusion of safety in the arms of her husband, she'd begun constructing a wall. Through the years, she'd experienced how Ed treated her—a man she'd believed loved her. She'd seen how other people treated her when they couldn't understand why she made the decisions that she made—never really knowing what led her to make each and every one of them. She'd suffered the loss of Sophia—a loss that had practically left her feeling like there was a gaping hole where her heart had once been. And then she'd suffered the consequent losses of children that she'd sworn to protect and to love—all of it happening just when she'd begun to try to let them in a little.

Now she was married to Daryl—at least as much as the world recognized such marriages these days. Henry was almost grown and Daryl had invited him to come to Alexandria where, with any luck, he could spend time with a girl that he had a crush on while being close to Carol. Carol had a baby on the way—even though she had to remind herself several times a day that the baby was there and, now, according to Siddiq, actually healthy. She had friends—good friends—in Ezekiel and Michonne.

And the idea of letting down her defenses a little and simply relaxing—however terrifying that felt on the one hand—was a very nice thought.

Michonne had asked Carol to let Daryl be excited.

When Sophia had been missing, Daryl had been a source of strength for Carol. If she was honest with herself, Daryl had supplied her with enough strength and hope, that she was able to keep from falling absolutely apart. She was able to begin considering all the possibilities—and even to accept them as much as her heart had ever been able to accept the loss of her baby girl—under the emotional protection of Daryl's hope and confidence that he would find Sophia, if he persevered long enough and hard enough.

Carol could imagine that Daryl, if he had found Sophia, would have been the perfect man to show Sophia everything that a good man really could be.

Daryl had comforted Carol, too, over the loss of her daughter—a loss he seemed to feel quite profoundly. He mourned Sophia more than her own father ever would have mourned her.

For all his callousness, though, Carol knew that Daryl was tender underneath. Like her, he had built his walls for self-protection. His callouses had been formed by coming up against people who had hurt him and let him down, time and time again, when he'd trusted them to let him rest, for just a little while, in their shade.

Every hope he'd had—even down to the hope of finding Sophia—had been dashed against the rocks.

But he wanted to be excited.

Because Daryl loved children. He loved everything about them. He had infinite patience with their antics and their demands. Maybe, Carol thought, it was because he saw something of himself reflected in them. The little boy that had been battered and beaten—the little boy that had longed for love, of which he'd never gotten his fill—might have seen himself in other children. Carol knew that the little boy was still there, deep down, and she welcomed some of his playfulness and innocence when it escaped from the cracks in Daryl's carefully constructed walls.

Maybe, even, the battered boy inside of Daryl loved children because he wanted all children to know what he had never known. He wanted them to have what he had never had.

He wanted them to grow well, and to look forward to a bright future.

And, at the moment, Daryl was expecting to become father to his own baby girl. He was, perhaps, beginning to feel true excitement at the prospect of seeing the child come into the world to be raised between them.

Michonne asked Carol to let Daryl have this—to give him the opportunity to bask in the glow of his hope and excitement for the child.

And when she loved him as much as she truly did, how could she ever deny him that?

The kiss had been heartfelt. Eager. Hungry. It had been much more than a kiss needed to be if it were truly a kiss that communicated that he was simply happy to see her after a leisurely walk with Michonne.

The tiny human flanking Daryl, too, was an indication that the welcome back to the house was more than Carol might expect the next time that she decided to go for a walk and get some fresh air. RJ had excused himself to the living room to crash trucks into each other on the hardwood floor, but Judith was wide-eyed and grinning as she "nonchalantly" welcome Carol and Michonne back.

As soon as Daryl had hugged and kissed Carol, Carol felt the touch of Judith's hand on her stomach. She smiled to herself. Perhaps this was a sensation that she should begin to think of as normal. Daryl enjoyed resting his hand there and, now, it seemed that Judith did, as well. Of course, like mother, like daughter, because Michonne had already confessed her intention to be one of the first—if not the very first—to feel the first of the baby's movements that were detectable by anyone except Carol.

The attention didn't bother Carol, though. On the contrary, she realized that she loved the idea that her baby—if she truly made it safely into the world—would come into the presence of so many people who wanted to love her. And, Carol knew, though it turned her stomach to imagine it, if she didn't quite survive, she would at least be remembered by all those who had chosen to love her anyway.

Perhaps it was the best that anyone, really, could hope for.

"Close your eyes," Daryl said, ushering Carol toward the top of the basement stairs.

With Michonne close on their heels, with Judith following just behind Daryl, and with Daryl looking more excited than she'd ever seen him look before—even more excited than when they'd found the CDC and had the first dreams of finding something safe in this world—Carol could have never pretended that there was no indication that something was up.

So, she allowed herself to smile in anticipation. She knew that Daryl had something planned—Michonne had hinted at that—but she didn't know exactly what that might be. That part of her curiosity was completely genuine.

"What did you do?" She asked. She was aware that her face ached slightly. She was smiling even more sincerely than she meant to. Daryl smiled back at her. She could practically hear him buzzing.

"You gotta see," he said. "Close your eyes."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I won't be able to see if I close my eyes," Carol teased.

Daryl laughed.

"Asshole," he muttered.

"Uncle Daryl," Judith scolded. "Language."

"You're right, sorry," Daryl said. Of course, Carol knew he wasn't sorry. She also knew that "asshole" was, sometimes, practically a pet name for her. It was, by far, the least of the words that Daryl could sometimes choose to share with the world around him. She had no illusions at all that their daughter would grow up sheltered from bad language and, in the world into which she'd be born, Carol really didn't care. Language was, by far, the least of her concerns. "Come on—it's a surprise."

Daryl tugged Carol in front of the stairs and put his hands over her eyes to shield them so that she would be surprised by whatever he had to reveal to her. She laughed to herself, again, and brought her hands up to curl her fingers around his wrists and hold onto him. In his true excitement about the moment and, perhaps, so much beyond that moment, Daryl had forgotten some very basic information.

"Daryl—if I cover my eyes, I can't see the stairs," Carol said. "And falling down the stairs wouldn't be the best thing in the world for me or the baby."

"Oh," Daryl said. He made something of a humming noise, clearly a little embarrassed that he'd forgotten something so basic in his quest to make this perfect.

"What if I just—close them at the bottom of the stairs," Carol asked, would that be alright?"

Daryl slipped around her in a quick and fluid motion. He placed himself directly in front of her and in front of the staircase.

"That'll be fine," Daryl said. "I'll go down first."

Carol smiled to herself, remembering a time—which seemed like a million years ago—when he'd said the same thing to her. It was a time when she already knew how she felt about him, but he hadn't fully accepted how he felt about her.

"Even better," Carol said with a wink.

Nobody else around them would have any idea what the statement meant, other than showing approval for Daryl's decision to lead the way to the basement, but Daryl knew. His cheeks blushed pink.

"Stop," he muttered. Carol smiled because she understood it at a level, again, that nobody else there would. Her stomach fluttered fondly at the familiar teasing.

"Show me what you have to show me," Carol urged, softening her tone. She thought she saw Daryl shiver before he turned and slipped down the steps. She followed after him, hands on each rail, and she was aware when Michonne and Judith stepped into the staircase behind her.

At the bottom of the steps, Daryl turned back for her and reached his hands out to her. She gave herself over to him so that he could have this. She wanted it to be however he dreamed it ought to be. She even closed her eyes, as she faced him, so that he wouldn't fret that she'd seen anything she ought not to see just yet. All she'd seen was his face and the beautiful smile of excitement—reminiscent of a boy on Christmas morning—and that was a vision that she was happy to hold onto, just behind her eyelids, as Daryl turned her around, hugged her against him, and covered her eyes with his hands.

He urged her forward and she walked with him, confident that he wouldn't let her trip. With the way he was holding her, she knew she'd never hit the ground, not even if she stumbled.

"It's all here," Daryl said. "But it ain't all put together. Thought you'd be better at that than me. Thought you might wanna do it yourself."

He dropped his hands, but like a second thought, he stopped them before they left Carol entirely. For just a second, they hovered out in front of her as he hesitated to make a decision, and then he rested them both—one on either side—on her belly until his fingers touched. The movement hugged her into him and she closed her eyes, for just a moment, to drink it in.

The basement was a fully finished basement.

Carol didn't know what had been down there to start with, but it was evident that Daryl had done his best to bring in furniture that would clearly section it off. Looking around, Carol smiled to herself. He'd made a clear living area. There was a bed for the two of them to share. And, as well, there was a crib and a rocking chair that marked what Daryl clearly had envisioned as something of a nursery.

Everywhere there were boxes and bags and things scattered.

But the intention was clear.

Daryl was trying to give her a home here in Alexandria. He was trying to give her something of her own, but he was trying to put it close enough to Michonne that they could all lean on one another. He was trying to give her somewhere safe where she could relax and they could face this next chapter of their lives—their first real chapter as a family.

And the basement did feel remarkably comfortable and cozy. And Carol did feel oddly safe there—though being wrapped in Daryl's arms might have had something to do with that feeling.

"I love it," Carol said. It came out much more softly than she'd meant for it to be.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"I love it," Carol said more loudly.

"You do?" Daryl asked. She could hear him brimming with hope. He squeezed her gently, just enough to give her something of a hug.

"I do," she said, covering his hands with her own.

"You wanna—fix it up?" Daryl asked. "We can spend the winter here. Wait for her."

Carol smiled to herself.

"I think we could do that," Carol said.

"You serious?" Daryl asked.

Carol swallowed back her amusement.

"I think I am," she said. "If you are."

"Oh—I'm serious. That ain't all I got to tell you," Daryl said.

"Why don't we have something for a late lunch?" Michonne said, "Judith and I can go and get something started while you share the news."

"I wanna hear what it is," Judith protested.

"You'll find out soon enough," Michonne assured her, catching her daughter by the arm and tugging her toward the stairs. "Come on—we'll make something for Aunt Carol so the baby doesn't get hungry."

"Do you know what the news is, Mom?" Judith asked, disappearing up the staircase somewhat against her will. Carol laughed to herself.

She already knew what Daryl's news was, but she had sworn to pretend that she didn't. She turned to him as soon as Michonne and Judith were clear of the stairs.

"You serious that we might stay here?" Daryl asked. She nodded her head. With how much it clearly meant to him, she wasn't sure she could have said no, even if that's what she'd really meant. "You like it?"

Carol smiled at him and ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back. She could convince him, she was sure, to let her give him a really proper haircut soon. She was almost certain he'd give her anything she wanted—especially since she was more than willing to give him whatever it was that was truly important to him.

"I love what you've tried to do for me," Carol assured him. "It's a bit of a mess right now, but we'll clean it up."

"Didn't want to put it together too much," Daryl said. "Michonne said you'd appreciate gettin' to put it together yourself. She said it'd be important to you. Buildin' a nest."

Carol smiled to herself.

"I might really enjoy that," she said sincerely. "And I love you for giving it to me."

"Then you really gonna love what else I got to tell you," Daryl said. She saw his Adam's apple bob. A hint of a smile played at his lips. Carol smiled back at him. She kissed him because she couldn't help herself. He was surprised by the kiss, but the smiled didn't fade at all when she looked at him again.

"I'm sure I'll love it," she said. And she meant it, because she already knew what he was going to tell her—even if she fully intended to let him have his moment of glory.