AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl figured, though not with any real information nor authority, that the winter would last for about ninety days and, during that time, their baby girl would make her debut into the world.
For ninety days, Daryl reasoned with himself, he could stand or tolerate anything. After all, he'd spent much larger chunks of time in his life tolerating arguably more painful experiences than the simple presence of the good King, and he'd done it with a lot less "good" in his life to sustain him than the love of Carol and the promise of their baby girl's imminent arrival.
It was difficult to keep the resolution, though, to tolerate everything without causing any kind of scene.
Despite the fact that Daryl's nerves were lulled every night when he curled up in bed with Carol and entertained Judith with information about the baby that Carol read from her book until it was bedtime, and despite the fact that Daryl fell asleep every night with Carol in his arms and, usually, with his daughter moving around under his hand because nighttime was her favorite time to practice her acrobatics, the days were really beginning to grind on Daryl.
Luckily, the days passed rather quickly because, as usual, everyone found something to keep them busy. They worked at different tasks, spent time together, and simply kept Alexandria moving forward. In the mornings, it wasn't uncommon for Henry to come by for breakfast, often with Enid in tow, and since Henry came for breakfast, it wasn't uncommon for the King to invite himself.
Enid would head for work at the clinic, after helping clean up after breakfast, with Carol accompanying her because she preferred to be part of Enid's morning routine instead of being there in the afternoon—when more people seemed to come in with accidents they'd incurred while working. Henry would head off toward the blacksmith's where he would work, and then everyone else would start off toward their own tasks.
Daryl considered himself something of a "floater." He was pretty handy with just about anything basic that people needed. He was good at being an extra pair of hands, handling minor repairs, moving things, or doing just about any other random job that needed to get done just to keep the day-to-day running smoothly. When he wasn't out hunting, he floated around the community and took care of things.
The only bad thing about floating around meant that he was all over the place throughout the day. And that meant that, more often than not, he saw the shit that grinded his gears.
Ezekiel was supposed to be some kind of floater, too. Daryl saw him doing a lot more floating than ever working, though, and he wasn't sure what actual skills Ezekiel possessed. He seemed to prefer walking about and pretending to be king over most any other task that he might pick up to help someone out.
Daryl had caught glimpses of him, several times now, just happening to be perfectly on time to meet Carol as she left the clinic and headed toward the house to begin making the lunch that she happily prepared for everyone who wanted to eat.
Admittedly, Daryl showed up just in time to see this because he was usually coming to walk her to the house, but he figured that his showing up to walk her to the house was natural and to be expected. Of course, as soon as he saw Ezekiel appearing to walk with her—always acting like it was so damned accidental and coincidental—he usually just ducked out of the way so as to remain unseen.
Carol cared for Ezekiel as a friend—the same way that Daryl cared for Michonne. He reminded himself of that every time he saw them together. She was friendly with him, but no more friendly than she was with Siddiq, or Jerry, or even the old man who was helping Henry learn how to replace him as a blacksmith for the community.
When Ezekiel showed up—in a purely coincidental fashion—and offered to walk with her to the house, Carol had no reason to refuse his offer. She had no reason to refuse the parting hug that he offered her many days.
But she did have a right to refuse.
Sometimes Ezekiel's over-familiarity with Carol annoyed Daryl to no end. The belly that seemed to grow more pronounced every day—and of which Carol was extremely proud—drew a great deal of attention from everyone.
Even though the community was accustomed to the fact that Carol was expecting, at this point, it never ceased to be a point of interest, especially for the women of Alexandria. The women were either older women who, seeing Carol obviously pregnant, seemed to want to relive some glory days of their past pregnancies in stories, or they were younger women who looked forward to the day that they might become mothers and wanted to tell Carol about their own hopes and dreams while asking her questions about her experience.
Daryl was sure that Carol had to be growing accustomed to the fact that very few people, at this point in time, looked at her eyes. They seemed, for the most part, to speak directly to her belly.
Carol seemed to appreciate the admiration of their growing little one, and she loved talking about her, but every now and again Daryl could see that it made her uncomfortable. Her body language would change slightly. She would cover her belly, instead of simply rubbing it in small circles, like she was subconsciously signaling a desire to protect the little one nestled there. Daryl would usually try to tug her away, at that point, to get her some air and the chance to relax again.
Most people, though, didn't touch her belly or touched it rarely. Judith's hands were always on her belly, but Carol expected and encouraged that. Michonne's hands were often on Carol's belly, but Daryl had never seen Carol so much as flinch at Michonne's touch, so he assumed that the affection was welcomed.
But Ezekiel?
Daryl never saw the man ask Carol if she minded, but he often touched her belly. And he didn't just seem to touch it in some random petting gesture. He would walk with her, hand pressed firmly on her belly. He would stand and caress it.
And Carol didn't ask him to stop, but Daryl thought he saw her body language change, even from the distance where he usually observed such interactions. What bothered Daryl most, perhaps, was that he thought that Carol should be asked if she wanted to be touched. In addition, it stuck under Daryl's skin that Ezekiel was so comfortable putting his hands all over Daryl's wife and, by extension, all over his daughter.
But when Daryl had done his best to try to mention things gently to Carol, while she'd been working on the quilt in the evenings, she'd tensed a little next to him. Then she'd insisted that he was probably reading things wrong.
Ezekiel, she was sure, was simply lonely. After all, as the King, he'd kept some distance between himself and everyone else. It was part of maintaining the fairytale for everyone's enjoyment. With Henry growing up and coming here—clearly a little bit determined to seek out some kind of relationship with Enid—it was only natural that Ezekiel would be feeling a bit lonely, and he would be seeking some kind of community connection.
Daryl could accept that. He could even understand it as being perfectly logical. But he couldn't help but notice that Carol hadn't really spoken about how she felt about how Ezekiel's loneliness seemed to be manifesting itself these days.
Daryl didn't push, though, because he could see that, whether or not she talked about it, it very visibly caused her physical tension, and he wanted to avoid that. He certainly didn't want to be the one causing her physical discomfort of any sort.
And Michonne had talked it over enough with him, in hushed tones and always dragging him behind a wall or something where they could be unobserved, that he trusted her instincts that Carol would eventually react if she was being made to feel uncomfortable.
Daryl's biggest concern, though, was that Carol had been taught a hell of a lesson in her life about burying her discomfort for the comfort of others.
Still, Daryl did the same thing. He buried his discomfort to wait and see what would happen—reminding himself that he had nothing to be jealous about, even though he often felt the irrational twinges of it in his gut.
And, most of the time, he patted himself on the back for his ability to keep it from affecting his mood too much—most of the time.
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Carol's stomach complained loudly about missed breakfast and her daughter rolled, feeling as though she slammed a foot into Carol's ribcage in complaint. It took Carol's breath away for a second, and she rubbed her hand over her belly, hoping to soothe over the little one's frustrations. With the other hand, she finished tugging on her sweater.
"I hear you, loud and clear," Carol said. "You're ready now." She'd skipped breakfast because she'd found, for whatever reason, that the smell of it had somewhat turned her stomach that morning. She hadn't wanted to push her luck, and so she'd gone straight to the clinic without eating anything. Now, it seemed, her body was more than ready to make up for lost time and missing calories. Her daughter, in response, kicked her a couple of times, hard. "We'll eat first," Carol soothed, smiling to herself at the thought that, maybe, the little one was listening. "Then we'll make lunch for everyone. You want to make lunch for Daddy?"
Carol was distracted with her thoughts of food and, eventually, of preparing lunch. She loved lunchtime. Daryl came home for lunch every day and, before he slipped back out to do some task or another, he often stole a little time with her downstairs—enough time for a nap or something else, depending how she was feeling. They were allowed the indulgence, without any argument from anyone in Alexandria, because of Carol's condition. After all, being somewhere around seven months pregnant came with a few perks.
Henry often came for lunch, too, and lately he'd been bringing Enid. They'd been growing closer—spending much of their non-working time together—and Carol was thinking that it might be time for her to invite her son for a walk to talk about whether or not he was considering some kind of proposal, and to discuss everything he needed to think about as he looked forward to a life with Enid. Carol wanted nothing but happiness for him, so she wanted them both to get off on the right foot.
Carol nearly jumped out of her skin, and the bustling baby in her belly reacted somewhat violently to her shock, when she felt herself being grabbed from behind. Her natural reaction, and one she hadn't been able to stop, was to turn, swinging her fist in a possibly futile attempt to protect herself and the baby from some kind of attack.
Her hand made hard contact with skin before it was stilled by an almost painful grasp on her wrist. Her other hand, too, was grabbed just as her instinct saw her knife starting to leave its holster.
The reaction had been pure instinct, and Carol could feel adrenaline pumping through her veins even as she froze and realized she'd been on the verge of making a tragic mistake.
Ezekiel smiled at her, but he still held both her arms hard against any potential attack.
"I see that living inside the protective walls of Alexandria hasn't dulled the instincts of the Queen," Ezekiel offered. "Or, perhaps, the lady's reactions come from her cohabitation with the Wildman."
Carol's breathing was calming.
"You scared the shit out of me," she snarled, not meaning for her response to be as harsh as it was. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, realizing that she was still being driven by adrenaline.
"No need for apology," Ezekiel said. "I would rather you and the princess remained safe than lulled by the serenity of this fair hamlet."
Carol bristled slightly. Some people found it charming when Ezekiel went into full king-mode. Carol didn't.
"Cut the crap, Ezekiel," she said.
He laughed and slowly let go of her wrists like he wasn't sure if she would still try to attack him. She rubbed her wrists where his fingers had held her.
"Did I hurt you?" He asked.
"It's fine," Carol said. "I would've hurt you a lot worse. I'm sorry for—hitting you."
He rubbed his face and laughed to himself.
"You've got a hell of a right hook, my queen."
"Ezekiel," Carol said, doing her best to put a little warning behind her tone.
"I should have called out to you," Ezekiel said, by way of an apology. "I didn't think about it when I was trying to catch up. I saw you leaving the office. I heard you speaking to the little one. Is she well?"
Immediately, his hand went to her belly; his fingers dug into her skin a little roughly. Carol pulled away to start walking in the direction of the house again, and he followed after her.
"She's doing fine," Carol said, rubbing her hand over the spot where she felt the residual sensation of his accidental gouging. "Siddiq is happy with her growth—with everything." Carol smiled to herself, her whole body calming as she thought about the baby girl and Siddiq's insistence that she was, as far as they had any power to tell, very healthy. "She's perfect."
"Just like her mother," Ezekiel offered.
Carol offered him a forced smile and swallowed back the sigh that threatened to escape her lips.
"She's hungry," Carol said. "So am I. So—I'm going to go and get something to eat before I get started on my work. I'm sure…you've got plenty to do, too. Daryl had a long list this morning of things that needed to get done."
Ezekiel looked a little struck. He slowed his steps like she'd hit him again, but then he picked them back up.
"I'll return to my labor once I've seen you safely to your home," he said. "The sky looks like it threatens snow."
Carol looked up. It did look like there might be snow soon, but that had very little to do with the here and now.
"It might snow," Carol said. "I can see the house from here, Ezekiel. But you—you better hurry. You don't want the snow to catch you before you get a chance to…accomplish some things."
Carol heard the weakness of her own words as she said them, but she didn't waste time backtracking and looking for something better to say. She was tired, she was hungry, and she just wanted to get to the house, have a snack, and sit down—in silence.
Taking the moment of escape she'd set up—the seconds of silence before Ezekiel could protest—Carol waved at him and walked as quickly as she could toward the house to keep from breaking into a jog. She apologized to her daughter for the rough trip—sure she was jostling her—but she was mounting the front steps before Ezekiel even fully seemed to realize what had happened and started off to find something to do.
Carol slowed her progress, allowing herself to take the steps with a little care, and laughed to herself at the fact that she was out of breath.
"You're not as light as you used to be, and you're wearing Mama out," she informed her daughter, though the baby was still at the moment and probably wasn't listening—clearly a little lulled by the rocking of Carol's rushed steps. "Come on. Let's get something to eat and make some lunch for everyone. Then we'll take a nap with Daddy."