AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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Daryl took his shower upstairs to give Carol a little more room in the small basement bathroom. Before her belly had started to grow quite as pronounced as it was now, they could pretend that they fit somewhat comfortably in the shower downstairs. Now it wasn't worth pretending. She needed room, and Daryl wanted her to enjoy her shower. She could have bathed upstairs, really, and sometimes she did go up to soak in the tub, but for whatever reason she often preferred to stay in the basement whenever she showered.

Daryl assumed, maybe, it was part of the nesting that he'd hear so much about—a phenomena that was happening a little, here and there, if he watched closely enough for it.

Daryl tugged at his sweatpants as he came down the basement steps. His shirt and his pants were sticking, in places, to his body in an uncomfortable manner, and he only had himself to blame. He had no excuse; he'd simply been in a hurry to get downstairs—and there was no logical reason for his rush. Carol was still going to be down there whenever he got down there.

Still, he had rushed to get dressed, figuring he could mostly air dry, and now he was hoping he and his clothes dried quicker rather than slower. He made his way around to the bathroom where Carol was bathing with the door open so the steam could escape. She turned off the water almost at the exact moment when he reached the door, so he knocked on the door with his knuckles to announce his presence.

"Don't wanna scare you," he said.

"That was fast," Carol responded from behind the curtain.

"Figure—if we're quick about it? It'll be a bit before 'Chonne gets the kids in the tub. We could—steal a little time for lovin' if you want."

"My back's a little tight," Carol said apologetically. "And…"

"You don't gotta come up with nothin'," Daryl offered with a laugh. "You can just say you're tired."

"I am, honestly," Carol said, still apologetically, as she pulled back the shower curtain and reached for her towel. "I'm sorry…"

Daryl couldn't help but smile at her. Nearly ever time he asked her to bed, she came. Nearly everything he ever asked her for, she happily gave. Still, on the few occasions that, for whatever reason, she didn't feel like having sex with him, she was apologetic and acted as though she were committing the worst crime against him that was known to man.

"Hey—I said lovin'," Daryl said. "Didn't say how it had to be." He stepped into the bathroom and caught her, pulling her against him. She smiled at him, but pulled back gently.

"I'm wet," she warned.

He raised his eyebrows and smirked at her.

"That mean you changed your mind or—you ain't dried off good?" Daryl asked. "Need help interpretin' that."

"Asshole," Carol said with a snort. "I'm not dried off."

"I'm damp anyway," Daryl said, hugging her and kissing her forehead. "Didn't dry off good."

"Why not?" Carol asked.

"Just couldn't wait that long. Wanted to—get down here."

"Why?" She asked, smiling slightly.

"To see you," Daryl said, touching her chin. She smiled at the simple show of affection, and only then did she return to drying off. Daryl watched her without apology, and she let him without reproach. She was a bit self-conscious, from time to time, about how her body looked naked. She worried that he wouldn't find her attractive. She worried that he would change his mind, somehow, about her and about their relationship because of her body's adjustment to their daughter's growth.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Daryl loved to watch the changes that took place in Carol's body. He loved to see the heaviness in her breasts and belly—proof of their daughter's life and growth. He loved the way that Carol looked at her belly when she thought that nobody was looking. He loved the absolute affection that he could practically feel pouring out of her as she touched herself and, in the process, offered their daughter what physical affection she could have at this point in her little life.

Daryl watched her as she dried off—he watched her face, really, more than anything. He enjoyed the calm that had come over her lately. There was a serenity there that he hadn't known in Carol in a long time. She was truly finding peace.

She was giving him peace like he'd never known in his life.

"I said lovin'," Daryl offered again, when Carol started combing out the tangles in her hair. "I could—work some of them knots out your back for you."

"I'd be too tired to repay you, and I'd feel guilty," Carol said.

Daryl laughed.

"It ain't a loan. It's lovin'," Daryl said. "Hell—I wanna do it. Help you relax. Help you—take care of her, right? Please? Let me love on you."

Daryl stepped forward again and wrapped his arms around her from behind. This time, leaning his head against the crook of her neck and looking down her body, he took in more than her face and the sometimes-raptured expression she got when she quietly admired her belly.

Daryl reached his hand around and gently placed his fingers over a spot on her belly. He brushed them, for half a second, against her skin—expecting some piece of dirt or some stain that she'd somehow missed in the shower to brush away. It stayed.

"Carol…the hell is this?" Daryl asked.

"What?" She asked, pulling away from him quickly and hard, so that she could turn to face him. He was sorry for the panic he put on her features, but he was feeling his own panic rising.

"This," he said, delicately touching his fingertips to her belly again. "This…what the hell is this."

He knew what it was. His stomach boiled with the knowledge. His chest constricted with the realization.

Carol looked like she, too, had just noticed it. Her fingertips brushed over it, and Daryl leaned down to inspect the purple dots. There were two of them, spaced apart.

"Fuckin' fingerprints?" Daryl asked. It was only then that he paid attention, with Carol's hand protectively placed over her belly, to the fact that there were purple marks on her wrist, too—and on the other. "What the hell?!" Daryl spat, straightening up and catching Carol's arm. He immediately let go, realizing that he'd grabbed her roughly—maybe even as roughly as whoever had put the prints there in the first place.

She looked at him, mouth open and eyes wide, like she was scared or surprised. Or, maybe, she was just a touch of both.

"I can explain," she said.

Daryl's chest squeezed.

"Calm down," he said, purposefully softening his own tone and forcing himself to calm down to make it easier for her to do what he asked of her. "Just tell me what happened."

She took her cue from him, clearly. He saw her shoulders drop forward, slightly, as she relaxed—either on purpose or instinctively.

"He didn't mean to do it," Carol said. "It was an accident."

Daryl winced. He shook his head and held his hand up.

"See—no matter what the hell you gonna say? I don't like you startin' it like that. It don't sit right with me. And I don't mean that for you to apologize, so please don't."

Carol stared at him, clearly stopped by the fact that she'd fully intended to apologize.

"It's true," she said after a moment. "I was walking home from the clinic. I wasn't paying attention. I was thinking about the baby, and lunch, and…what we would do when you got here."

Daryl nodded his head.

"What happened?" He pressed.

"He came up behind me. Grabbed me to get me to stop, I guess…it surprised me because I wasn't paying attention. I didn't hear him behind me."

"We're talkin' about Ezekiel," Daryl said. He knew they were, but he needed confirmation. Carol simply nodded her head slightly.

"I got scared," Carol said. "I guess it was instinct. I don't know. It took over. I turned and I hit him in the face. Punched him."

Daryl grabbed her hand.

"Your hand OK?" He asked. "You didn't break nothin'…"

Her fingers looked fine, but to satisfy himself he flexed each one of them and inspected their movement. She didn't pull or snatch away. She made no sound of discomfort. She'd hit him, maybe, but not hard enough to hurt her own hand.

"I'm fine," she said. "He grabbed my wrist. To stop me. He grabbed the other. I went for my knife before I realized who it was."

"Good," Daryl said quickly. "Good—good that you defended yourself. Reacted quick."

"I shouldn't have attacked Ezekiel," Carol said.

"He shouldn'ta give you reason to attack him," Daryl said. "That was self-defense."

"He didn't hurt me," Carol said.

Daryl turned her hands over in his. The fingerprints on her wrists were a dark contrast to the pale skin. He raised one, and then the other, and without thinking about it or planning it, he kissed them.

"These bruises don't say he didn't hurt you, Carol, and you know I don't like you lyin' to me."

"He didn't hurt me badly," Carol corrected. "And—he didn't hurt me on purpose. I might've killed him. I did hit him in the face."

"And he put himself in that position," Daryl said. "I don't wanna hear apologies for him."

"Please don't be mad," Carol said.

"Too damn late," Daryl said with a laugh, though he was proud of himself. He was proud of himself because he was keeping it under control. He wouldn't scare her. He didn't want to. He wouldn't give the anger he felt free range to run. Not right now. It was late, and she was tired, and she needed to rest and relax.

She didn't need to feel fear.

"Daryl…it was an accident," Carol said. It was clear she felt some fear, even if Daryl was doing his best to swallow back the lion's share of the feelings coursing through his veins. He nodded his understanding. He laughed to himself to push back his frustration.

"And for that damn reason…" he said, proud of the steadiness he was maintaining with his voice—Carol told him that loud, harsh noises made the baby react, and they guessed she didn't care for them. He didn't want his daughter fearing his voice before she even left her mother's womb. "For that damn reason…I ain't gutted nobody. What done this?" He asked, brushing his fingertips across the bruises that might have been blackberry stains on Carol's belly.

It hurt Daryl's heart and his stomach in a way that was deeper, even, than the hurt he'd felt only a moment before, to really let it sink in that there were bruises there.

"It was…"

"Please don't say it was an accident," Daryl said. He heard his own voice shake, but he'd done his best to hold it steady. He could be proud of the control he'd maintained so far.

"I'm sure he didn't…" Carol stopped herself. She looked at Daryl, her lips nearly disappeared when she pressed them together as tightly as she did in that moment. She heard it, herself, finally, the way he heard it. "He was just too rough," she said, changing her approach.

"He can't be gougin' you all the damn time," Daryl said. It came out in a growl. He was losing some of his carefully held grip. "He ain't got no right to even have his damned hands on you!"

"Daryl…" Carol said.

Daryl checked the volume of his voice.

"He don't got a right," he said, this time with a slightly calmer tone, "to have his hands all over you. And he don't got a right to be gougin' you. To be gougin' her, Carol. What if he was to hurt her?"

"She's fine," Carol said.

"And if she weren't?" Daryl responded. Carol's chin quivered and her eyes suddenly filled, and Daryl immediately felt sorry for even bringing the idea to her mind. He shushed her and pulled her to him. She came willingly, and wrapped around him, sinking into his arms. "I'm sorry," Daryl said, rubbing her back. "Shit—I'm sorry. I just—got pissed, that's all. And it ain't you, and it ain't your fault."

"She's OK," Carol said. "She's OK."

"Yeah, I know it," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "I can feel her."

Carol wiped her face against his t-shirt.

"She doesn't like it when we fight," Carol said.

"We ain't fightin'," Daryl said. "You can tell her that. We ain't fightin'. We're just fine. Just fine. You're gonna—finish with your hair. And I'm gonna go pull the cover back. And you gonna come an' I'ma work them knots out your back and—and your legs. And your feet." He raised his eyebrows at her when she looked at him with those big blue eyes. He brushed his thumbs under her eyes and wiped away the tears there. "And—if you want, and only if you want…I might work a lil' bit more stress out for you." He winked at her. "And don't worry—this one's without expectation of reciprocation."

"You're not mad?" Carol asked.

"At you?" Daryl asked. He shook his head.

"Are you going to start something, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"No," Daryl said. "You got my word—I ain't gonna start nothin'."

"You're going to drop this?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Didn't say that," Daryl said. "I'ma have a little word with Ezekiel. You can be there if you want. Any damn body can be. I ain't gonna start a single damn thing, though. I'ma just…say what I gotta say."

"Please…" Carol said.

"You got my word," Daryl said, "that I'ma think about it, and I'ma be as level-headed as I can be, Carol. I swear it to you. But if he's half the man you believe he is? Then he's gonna be a man who can respect what the hell I gotta say—and that I gotta say it to…feel like I can do somethin' to take care of my wife and daughter."

"You do take care of us," Carol assured him.

"And I'ma take care of you right now," Daryl said. "Come on—let's get you good an' relaxed for bed. You comb your hair. I'ma let 'Chonne know we need a Jude-free night tonight. Need some time. Just us."