AN: Here we go, another chapter here.

There's an AN for the end for anyone concerned about the fact that certain characters are handling the project much differently than others. Read if you want, ignore if you want.

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

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Carol's stomach was almost continuously growling at the smells that her nose was picking up, but she was ignoring it for the time being. She heard Daryl moving around again and she turned to see him peeking from around the short dividing wall that gave some privacy to their kitchen area.

"I thought I told you ten times to come the hell away from that window," Daryl said. "Sit down. I'm almost done here."

Carol cast one last glance out of the window before she sighed and went to sit at the little table like Daryl had asked her to do a dozen or more times.

From their house—and from their front window—they could see where the fellow inmate-turned-supposed-citizen had made their last stand. Or, rather, they could see where the bullet finally caught him. His body remained in the street, uncovered and uncared for, and every now and again various individuals came and walked around it, looking at it like they weren't sure what to do about it. Some took pictures of it—for what, Carol had no idea—but most simply stared at it and shared quick conversations that dissolved when they walked away.

"I don't understand why they're just leaving him there," Carol said, loudly enough for Daryl to hear. "Why aren't they doing anything about this?"

"They're doing what the hell they intend to do," Daryl said. "But it's more'n that."

He came quickly into the living room and put two glasses of water on the table. He disappeared again and came back with two bowls that he put down before starting back toward the kitchen.

"Can I help?" Carol asked.

"Nothin' to help with," Daryl said. "Told you to sit your ass down because I could handle it. That's what I'm doin'."

Carol rested her hand on her chin and propped her elbow on the table.

"I feel so guilty just sitting here," Carol pointed out as Daryl rounded the corner with plates. He laughed at her.

"Guilty for what?" He asked, putting the plates on the table. "Hell, I'm done."

"What is all this?" Carol asked.

"What the hell's it look like?" Daryl said with a laugh. "I didn't think I done that bad a job."

"Tomato soup and grilled cheese?" Carol asked.

"So it ain't that bad," Daryl responded.

"Why, Daryl?" Carol asked. "It'll be time to go to the mess hall soon."

"Eat," Daryl said. "Grilled cheese ain't no good when it's cold." He took his own advice and picked up half of his own sandwich. He didn't swallow the bite he was chewing through before he continued speaking. "If you ain't noticed, they don't know what the hell they doin' right now and they ain't a bit worried about us. We might not get dinner tonight. Might not get it until late if we do—and then we'll call it a midnight snack."

"There's a person's body laying out there," Carol pointed out.

The food, even if it was simple fare, was delicious. As soon as she tasted it, Carol figured it would be impossible to argue against eating the rest of it. A simple sandwich and a bowl of soup—made from the few ingredients that they'd requested days before for their kitchen—wasn't a very elaborate meal, but it was good. Maybe, Carol thought, it tasted even better because Daryl had made it for her and he'd made it with a good deal of care. She hadn't asked him to do it, he'd simply offered.

"It's gonna stay out there too," Daryl said, "until they figure out what they're gonna do with it."

"Take it to a morgue?" Carol offered. "Bury it?"

Daryl snorted.

"They ain't that worried about us," Daryl said. "Best case scenario is maybe that man gets buried. Maybe he gets burned like they used to do at Alphabet Hill. More'n likely? He's gettin' chucked somewhere to just lay an' rot like the Walkers they put down."

"Oh," Carol said, cringing. "Could we not use any form of rot over food?"

"Sorry," Daryl said quickly. "My point is just—they don't know what to do because they weren't expectin' to have to do it. They put it on the news to let everyone know they weren't bluffing. You run, you die. But most of us knowed they weren't bluffing no way. They just didn't figure nobody was gonna call 'em on it and now they don't—don't got in place, or whatever...what the hell they do now."

Carol thought about it while she ate her food, focusing as much as she could on simply enjoying the flavors, but it still bothered her that they didn't have enough respect for the citizens of Woodbury to even get their bodies out of the street. Of course, maybe they'd have treated the situation differently if he hadn't tried to run—but it was just a stark reminder that they were still prisoners here. They were still prisoners and they weren't cleared, yet, of their title as animals.

As though he could sense what she was feeling, Daryl chewed through part of his food and watched her across the table. Carol caught his eyes when she looked up.

"What?" Carol asked quietly.

"What the hell is happening out there? It ain't none of our business," Daryl said. "It don't concern us."

"He was one of us," Carol said.

Daryl shook his head.

"They said don't run," Daryl said. "Made it pretty clear. He ran and what happened to him was exactly what he knew was gonna happen. Don't look at me like that. I'm sorry it happened. Sorry it's going down the way it's going down, but he didn't follow the rules. And right now? That don't concern us. Because we're following all the rules and gettin' outta here the right way. What's going on out there? Don't concern us because we got enough concerning us in here. You gotta eat 'cause we got two kids now."

Carol shook her head.

"We don't have two kids," Carol said. "I'm pregnant but..."

"Good enough for me," Daryl said. He pointed at Carol with a piece of his sandwich in a manner that almost made her laugh at him and forget the seriousness of the moment. "We gotta focus on them now. Starts now. Gotta worry about what they need. And what they need? Is you to eat that sandwich and drink that soup and stop worrying about what's happening out there because there ain't nothing you can do about except maybe do somethin' stupid that just lands all of us—all four of us—layin' in the street the same damn way." He shook his head. "And that? It just ain't happening. So eat."

Carol knew what Daryl was saying was the truth. Honestly they had no ability to change things. They knew the rules. The rules were simple, really. They had to remain in Woodbury and they had to go about their lives as citizens. They worked when they were told to work, they rested when they were given permission to rest, and they ate at meal times—unless they preferred to eat in their homes. They were supposed to live happy, peaceful lives in their homes and, with any luck, they were supposed to have children that, theoretically, would build the future generation that was—as Carol understood it—at risk of not existing if they didn't reproduce.

The rules were simple. Stay in line. Don't use violence against anyone. And, above all else, don't run.

"You're right," Carol said. Daryl looked at her. "You're right," she insisted again. "He shouldn't have run. And there's probably so much confusion because they thought—they thought it would be simple for us to follow the rules. They thought nobody would run."

"What the hell you running from anyway?" Daryl asked. "I mean—I gotta be honest. What the hell you running from? What did he have out there that was any better'n what he's got in here?"

Carol shrugged.

"Freedom?" She asked.

"Well that asshole just set us back," Daryl pointed out. "Accordin' to the channel? He just set us back, but we was set to get curfews in a week. That's what Grady told me. Was gonna lift the locks until after dinner time. Curfew come after you eat. Everybody inside for—well, hell, you might as well be inside after that anyways. What business you got out wanderin' around in the dark? But now? They said it's pushing everything back."

"Maybe he wanted more freedom than that," Carol said. "Maybe he didn't want anyone telling him what to do or when to do it."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Lived out there long enough," Daryl said. "Didn't have nobody telling me to find shelter at dark, but I did it just the same."

Carol hummed.

"Me too," she admitted.

Daryl thoughtfully chewed the last of his sandwich and stared at his plate. Carol offered him what was left of hers.

"More?" She asked. He looked at her.

"You gotta be kiddin'," he said. "Eat the whole sandwich, Carol. All the soup. You're like—three whole people eating over there and you're tryin' to give me your food?"

Carol shrugged.

"You looked hungry," she said.

"So I'll make another sandwich!" Daryl said. "We got enough food squirreled away in there to eat for two weeks like kings. "I ain't takin' food outta your mouth."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You know I'm not three people," Carol pointed out. "Alice said—what? She said I need to eat about three hundred extra calories a day."

"Per kid," Daryl said. "I'm like a hundred percent sure that was per kid and there's two of 'em and that's way on more than finishing a sandwich that you should eat anyway. That ain't no high calorie meal you got there."

"I'm eating," Carol pointed out. "I'm eating."

"All of it," Daryl said.

"All of it," Carol echoed.

"Good," Daryl said. "I'ma go make another sandwich. You want some more?"

"I haven't even eaten all of this," Carol said.

"Soup?" Daryl asked. "You don't even eat soup. Just drink it."

Carol shook her head.

"I think I'm fine here," Carol said.

Daryl got up to return to the kitchen. Carol heard him knocking around as he made another sandwich from the food that they had. She polished off her sandwich while she listened to him humming something while he prepared his.

Her brain felt like it was divided. It felt like it was struggling with two conflicting emotions that equally wanted dominance at the moment. On the one hand, she was aware that there were people coming and going outside—people who were deciding how to handle a situation that, maybe, they'd thought they'd never have to handle. There was chaos outside. There was death outside. But on the other hand? There was so much life inside the safety of her own walls. There was so much life inside her. Carol still hadn't had a moment to sit down and really digest the news that they'd found out that day. She still felt that she hadn't fully realized that what Alice said was true. Inside her, right at this very moment, there were two lives that were coming into being. And around her? Daryl was humming while he made seconds to a dinner that he'd prepared for her.

When Daryl reappeared, putting his plate back on the table with his fresh sandwich, he furrowed his brows at her.

"What?" He asked.

"What?" Carol echoed.

"You got a face," Daryl said. "Something wrong? You feel OK?"

"No," Carol admitted. "I don't feel OK. I don't even know how I feel. Daryl—someone was killed outside and I feel horrible for that. But then—you made me dinner and nobody but you has made me dinner because they wanted to since—since my mother. And that makes me feel..."

"Makes you feel what?" Daryl asked, pushing her when she let the sentence trail off. Carol shrugged because she was almost choking on the words as surely as if part of the sandwich had gotten hung in her throat.

"Happy?" She said. "Loved? It makes me feel entirely—completely like I feel like I shouldn't feel. Not with everything that's going on."

Daryl hummed and nodded his head.

"Told you," Daryl said. "What's goin' on out there? Don't concern us. I feel guilty because everybody's runnin' around talking about how everything's that happened to 'em's been the worst thing ever. Hell—this is the best damn thing that's ever happened to me. How twisted up you think I feel saying that? Feeling that?"

"I feel guilty being happy because...Sophia..." Carol offered.

Daryl shook his head.

"Don't," Daryl said. "You can't bring her back. If you could? You would. I know that. I'd bring her back too if they told me I could. But—you don't think she'da wanted you to spend the rest of your life miserable, do you?"

Carol shook her head. She sucked in a breath to remind herself that the choking sensation was just a sensation. She wasn't really choking. She could still inhale and exhale.

"No," Carol said. "Sophia was a—she was a natural little caregiver. She always wanted to look out for me out there while I was busy looking out for her."

"So you can't let that make you not happy," Daryl said. "'Cause then you disrespectin' her."

Carol nodded.

"It just feels strange being happy," Carol said. "Someone died today."

"Reckon someone dies every day," Daryl said blankly. "But it weren't me and it weren't you. So we gotta live."

Carol nodded at him again.

"You're right," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'm always right," he said. He reached over and put half the sandwich on Carol's plate. "Eat that," he instructed. "I'm right about that, too. Before you even question it."

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AN: I've seen it come up in a couple of reviews that Carol and Andrea (maybe among others) are handling the situation differently. I hoped to make it clear, but if I've failed to do that, I want to shine a little light on something. Carol/Daryl, Andrea/Michonne, Merle/Sadie, and Alice/Melodye/Samirah are all characters that we focus on. Each of these groups of people are living in an existence that's almost totally different than that of the other groups. They're all part of the same project, but they are in different roles. (In the prison, some of them shared the same reality, but that's changed now. Now they simply have the same background and a new existence.) Each group has a different kind of existence within the same world that shapes how they see things and how they deal with things. Their realities are different. So each of the differing POVS gives you (hopefully) a different angle with which to see the same project. I hope that clears things up a little. We're not actually seeing multiple people handle the same thing differently as much as we're seeing people handling different realities while each of them brings us a different take on the workings of Wave Thirty Three.