AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Carol thanked the guard that let her into her house and stood by the door until she heard the lock engage again. She remained there a moment, staring at the lock that she couldn't see move with her eyes. She only changed her position when she heard Daryl's voice.
"You're kinda late," he said.
Carol hadn't realized he was sitting on the couch, in his underwear, watching the news channel with a beer in hand. He'd showered already.
It was her first day at work. She'd been given the job of organizing files in alphabetical order. One file per prisoner. Some of them were thick, some were thin. She hadn't looked inside any of them, despite her desire to see what might be in there, because she feared the presence of video surveillance even when Dr. Walker wasn't in the office. She would've finished the task in one day if it hadn't been for the fact that the filing cabinets she was brought to work with had come full of the relics of the realty business they'd apparently belonged to pre-turn and she'd had to empty them and carry all their contents out to a pickup truck outside that would haul the trash off. The simple back and forth—especially given that she had to take small loads to give the indication that she wasn't carrying anything "too heavy"—had eaten up more time than she might have imagined.
She'd also been given breaks to rest and a break for lunch, which she'd eaten with Daryl, and that had gobbled up any remaining time she had. The rest of the filing would simply wait until tomorrow.
She had planned to talk to the doctor and pick her brain on what she knew and what she might be willing to share with Carol, but that hadn't been possible. Today had been a very busy day and Dr. Walker had hardly been available to Carol at all.
Andrea was pregnant. And it wasn't the faux pregnancy announcement like Carol's had been. She was actually pregnant—though only just barely—and there was much to be done.
The announcement would be made public when Andrea had cleared it for announcement—when she'd told Milton in case he needed to know before everyone else—and then Carol could announce the end of her pregnancy whenever she was comfortable and ready. They didn't need her lie any longer. Andrea's pregnancy would be enough to keep the government at bay.
It had all been a lie, so Carol wasn't sure why she should feel the way she did.
"Did I tell you Andrea's pregnant?" Carol asked. She couldn't have told him because she hadn't found out until after lunch. "Has it come up on the channel?"
Daryl looked at her and shook his head. He picked up the beer bottle from the table and took a small swallow of it. The beer that they brewed now had an odd flavor that was a little reminiscent of potpourri, so he never drank it too quickly or in too great a quantity.
"Haven't seen anything, but it's good, right? That's what she was supposed to do?" Daryl asked.
"It's apparently what all of us are supposed to do," Carol said. She crossed over, finally, to the couch and when Daryl moved over to give her room, she ignored his offer of a couch cushion. Instead, she moved to sit on his lap and he allowed it by holding his arms to the side to let her get situated before he wrapped them around her. "It means we can tell them this whole thing has ended. I'm not pregnant anymore. Just one of those things. Whenever we're ready."
"That's a good thing too," Daryl said. "Hell—I got people congratulating me at work and, sometimes? Their congratulations don't sound too sincere. Sounds like they're pissed that they weren't there first or something. I won some kind of race I didn't even know I was running."
Carol looked at him and ran her fingers through his hair. It was shaggy and growing shaggier by the day. She was sure that, in all of Woodbury—which was what they were now calling their fine community—there had to be a barber. If not, she'd put in the request, herself, for some scissors to trim it so that it didn't fall in his eyes so much or cover his ears entirely.
"Is it a good thing?" Carol asked.
"Ain't it? You don't think it is?" Daryl asked.
Carol shrugged.
"I think the not lying anymore is a good thing," Carol said. "It'll be a relief to just—say something happened and take a couple days off work and then be free from the lie. But—I have to admit, I didn't know that I was going to feel kind of—sad."
"Sad that you aren't pregnant when you knew you weren't pregnant?" Daryl asked with a chuckle. Maybe it was different for men. Carol wasn't going to hold it against him that he didn't understand her feelings when, in reality, she wasn't sure that she understood them. They were, after all, entirely irrational.
She simply nodded at him.
"Yeah," she said. "I guess that's it. I'm sad that what I knew wasn't real, isn't real."
His expression changed and, for just a moment, Carol wondered if Daryl did understand. Or, if he didn't, maybe he was simply trying to understand.
"Doesn't mean anything," Daryl said. "We knew we were still going to try, right? We're still gonna try? With that doctor woman's help?" Carol nodded and Daryl shrugged his shoulders. "Then that's it. Fake one's done. Time for the real thing."
"Tell her tomorrow?" Carol asked.
"Whenever you're ready," Daryl said.
"I'm probably going to get sent home from work," Carol said. "I don't know—they might come for you too."
"And we gotta spend the day together?" Daryl asked, raising his eyebrow at Carol. She shrugged gently, but nodded her head too.
"We might," she said. "I don't know how they feel about us and mourning. But they might think we need the time."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Then I guess we'll figure out how the hell to spend it," Daryl said. He smiled at Carol and squeezed her tighter than he probably intended. "You OK?" He asked.
"I'm OK," Carol said. "Actually—maybe I'm still a little sad? But I kind of like the possibility of where this is going. You know? We've got jobs now. You work construction and I'm a medical secretary."
"We sound pretty important," Daryl said. "Sounds better than what I been called before. Inmate 6245. Wild Tagged 43."
Carol nodded and smiled at him. She kissed his lips softly and pulled away.
"We've got jobs and soon? We might even have a real announcement to make," Carol said. Daryl came back for another kiss, his always hungrier than hers, and she allowed it, ignoring entirely as he shifted her around on his lap.
"Real important," Daryl said.
Carol hummed at him and cleared her throat. She knew where this was headed. She could feel, in more ways than one, where this was headed. She rested her face against his.
"Don't get too comfortable," Carol said. "You need to get dressed. They're coming for dinner any minute."
"Always ruining the damn party," Daryl said, no real bite to his voice.
"That's OK," Carol said. "We'll just pick up where we left off. When we get back."
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"You told me that you would tell me when I was pregnant!" Andrea yelled at Milton.
"Is that volume absolutely necessary?" Milton asked.
She'd managed to trap him in the chair again, though she feared that he would eventually get rid of the item of furniture simply because she could trap him in it.
"I'm pregnant," Andrea said. "You saw it in black and white. A note from Dr. Walker. I'm pregnant. And you told me that I would get to know what the hell is going on here as soon as I told you that. I'm all in. I can't get any farther in, Milton. This is your baby and it's inside my body. That's about as far into this as I can get. So, yes, this volume is necessary if you don't tell me what the hell is going on!"
Milton shook his head at her.
"Andrea, I want to tell you everything," Milton said.
"Then start talking," Andrea said. "We've got all night and you've made it so that I have nothing to do and nowhere to go. I've got all the time in the world."
"The nature of the project depends on you not knowing the specifics," Milton said. "Not until it's the right time. Eventually you'll know everything, but I can't tell you everything right now. Even if I wanted to, it would—destroy the foundation of the project. I would have to begin again. You'd have to be removed from the community. I'd have to choose someone else. The whole thing would have to start again. All of this would be a waste."
Andrea's stomach flipped. If she removed from the community, for any reason, then she'd lose the baby. They'd take it from her. If they didn't kill her immediately, and returned her instead to Region Thirty Three, she'd be one of those prisoners that was tied down in the clinic to give birth and was never allowed to even see the child that she'd given life to. She shook her head at Milton and backed off of him, struggling for a moment to control the tears that wanted to fall out of pure frustration more than anything else.
"What can you tell me?" Andrea asked. "Milton? What can you tell me so that I can sleep at night? Because—I'm going crazy here!"
Milton sat forward, noticing he was being given a little of his freedom back when Andrea backed away. His expression changed too. He cleared his throat.
"I need my notebook," he said.
"What?!" Andrea asked.
"My notebook," Milton said. "I need my notebook."
Andrea reminded herself that not cooperating with Milton could be as much a ticket out of the community as killing him might be. She went to the table and collected the notebook that he carried with him everywhere he went. The one that he jotted notes down in constantly. She didn't wait for him to ask her for his pen, either. Instead, she picked both up and took them to him where he remained sitting in the chair despite the fact he could have bolted for his freedom by now. He opened the notebook and took the pen in hand. Andrea noticed that his hand was shaking slightly.
"Are you going to say something?" Andrea asked.
"How do you feel?" Milton asked. "Knowing that you're pregnant?"
Andrea growled to herself and went to sit in one of the other chairs. She rested her face in her hand.
"I don't know," Andrea said. Milton stared at her, like he always did, to wait for a better answer. "I don't know, Milton," Andrea repeated. "I don't. Right now? I don't know how I feel. So you can just write that down or you can move on to the next question."
"How do you feel knowing that—I'm the biological parent of the child?" Milton asked.
Andrea shook her head at him.
"Next question," she demanded. He stared at her and she sighed. "Look, I know these are coming back around two or three dozen times. I might have a better answer for you tomorrow, but right now? I don't have an answer and I don't feel like I can even think about it."
"How do you feel about raising the child?" Milton asked.
"Next. Question," Andrea said. This time Milton didn't wait for her to respond. Apparently he was accepting her answer that he would have to be the one that waited this time.
"How would you feel if you weren't allowed to raise the child?" Milton asked.
"Next fucking question," Andrea growled at him, moving her face and drawing her hands up into fists to try to control her feelings. The bite of her fingernails in her palms actually helped to calm her a little.
Milton stared at her then, long enough that she wondered if she'd have to prompt him to move on. When she locked her eyes on him, though, returning the stare, he broke eye contact with her and stared at the notebook.
"You said you were going crazy," Milton said. "Why do you feel that way?"
Andrea's wall broke, then, but only a little. She heard her own sobs of frustration escape just before she was able to get it back under control.
"I can't leave this house," Andrea said. "I rarely leave this house. Everyone else is out there doing things. They're talking to each other. And I'm just stuck in this house. The walls are closing in on me, Milton. I can't breathe. I'm breathing but—it doesn't feel like I am."
"The solitude makes you feel crazy?" Milton asked.
Andrea nodded.
"Do you believe that you'd feel less crazy if you felt less isolated?" Milton asked.
Andrea nodded at him again.
"Yes!" She said. "That's—what I've been saying. It's—do you even listen to me? When you're writing this shit down in your notebook? Do you even hear me, Milton?"
If he heard her, he didn't respond. At least, he said nothing. He did scribble some things down in the notebook. He didn't look at her when he spoke again.
"Does it make you feel violent? Toward me or anyone else?" Milton asked.
Andrea closed her eyes.
"If you ask me that question again, it might," Andrea said. She held her breath and let it out slowly, trying to control the way that she was feeling. The doctor had taken her to lunch. She'd taken her to a warehouse where the doctor had requested some things for the baby. Andrea had been given a bag of items that she didn't pick out—items she hadn't even been through yet because she was saving the experience for when she really needed something—and it had felt like a vacation.
"Answer the question, Andrea," Milton said. "You feel crazy. Does it make you feel violent? Like you want to hurt someone?"
Andrea growled to herself, realizing that she wasn't going to get out of answering the question or anything else.
"If I didn't think it would cost me my baby?" Andrea offered. "I could probably kill someone just to get out of this house."
She looked at Milton. She expected him to look terrified, but actually he looked somewhat pleased with her response as he wrote it down in the notebook. He swallowed a few times, studying his words like they might be changing before his eyes, and then he glanced back at her before dropping his eyes once more to the paper.
"It would cost you the baby," Milton said blankly. "So I would advise against violence of any sort." He swallowed audibly. "If I were trying to be entirely accurate to the experiment, you would be restricted to your room. Your only contact with anyone would be contact with me, with the guard who brought your meals, and with your health care provider during home visits. Nobody would be allowed to speak to you except for me." Milton shook his head. "I'm not trying to be entirely accurate. Just accurate enough to have reliable results. You're allowed free reign of the house except for my quarters. You're allowed visitors—and I'm willing to add more to the list as long as you don't abuse the privilege—and you're allowed to go outside of the house, under supervision, on some occasions. All I can tell you, right now, is that your isolation is not accidental and—it's not because...of me. It's part of your role within the project. Nothing you experience here is meant to hurt you long-term or arbitrarily, even if it might be unpleasant. You're supposed to take comfort in that. If I were being entirely accurate to the experiment, you wouldn't know that any suffering you endure is only temporary."
Milton got up from the chair, then, notebook and pen still in hand and started to walk in the direction of the staircase.
"Milton? Where are you going?" Andrea asked.
He stopped walking, but he didn't look at her.
"I have to record your answers and my observations," Milton said. "While I can be assured that they're accurate."
Andrea realized he wasn't going to tell her any more at the moment—and she still had to digest what he had said—so she wasn't going to press.
"Goodnight, Milton," Andrea said. "Congratulations."
"Congratulations?" Milton asked, still standing there, rather rigidly, with his back to her. Andrea laughed to herself because it was the only thing that she could do at the moment.
"Yeah," she said. "You're—you're going to be a father. So—congratulations."
He didn't respond. He somewhat nodded to himself and then he picked up his steps again and walked up the stairs, presumably to his office. Andrea told herself goodnight, then, and left the chair to take herself to bed.
