AN: Here we are, another chapter. According to my plans (this story is plotted out already) we'll be getting a little more information about the project soon and we have what I think is an interesting plot point (twist?) coming up soon. It might even be unexpected, but I'm not sure. You guys are pretty good at guessing things.
At any rate, I hope you enjoy. This one is a little fluffy after the last chapter. Let me know what you think!
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"You don't have to wait on me hand and foot," Carol said when Daryl came into the bedroom with his arms full. He made something of a hissing noise meant to scold her when she started out of the bed to try and help him.
"You gonna make me drop it 'cause I'm worried about you gettin' outta the damn bed," Daryl said. He finished his journey and Carol leaned up to take the cups he was hugging against his chest so he didn't spill the contents. He put the plate on the bed and then he climbed across the bed, much like an excited child might, to get back to his spot against the pillows. "Fresh," he said. "They just come out the oven an' that milk's cold."
Carol looked at the cookies that Daryl had arranged on the plate. There were enough cookies piled there for both of them to eat themselves sick, and that would be even if they hadn't already eaten the large meal that Daryl had ordered to be delivered to them.
"You didn't tell me you bake," Carol said. "I'm impressed. I never would've believed that—that I'd find a man who would...who would take such good care of me and would bake me cookies." Carol saw Daryl's cheeks tinge pink with the compliment.
She knew, by now, that Daryl loved compliments, especially from her. He thrived on them. The praise made Daryl want to continuously go above and beyond any expectation that she might have for him—even the expectations that he'd set for himself—because he always wanted more of it. Carol, for her part, tried to give him all that he could stand. She praised him for everything she could think of from the kindnesses he did for her to hanging up his towel after he'd taken a shower.
She'd continue to do it, too, because she knew what it was to feel appreciated. Daryl was teaching her that. He simply did it in his own way—a way that meant so much to Carol—and she did it in her own way because she knew how much the verbal affirmation meant to him.
"Found you all that," Daryl teased. "An' in a prison, too."
"A prison for wild animals," Carol said with a snort. She reached for one of the cookies and tasted it. She had to admit, it was delicious and it was just what the doctor ordered—literally. Alice had put in the order for their king-sized dinner herself. "These are good. You did amazing."
"Don't go gettin' too excited," Daryl said. "They brung me the dough. All I had to do was put 'em on the pan an' make sure they ain't burned in the oven."
Carol laughed to herself.
"Don't sell yourself short," Carol said. "You'd be surprised how many people couldn't get that right. Now—where were we?"
"You sure you ain't tired of it?" Daryl asked.
Carol smiled to herself.
As soon as Daryl had her "safely" back at the house and settled in bed, he'd commanded her to stay there. Then he'd basically gone shopping, from what Carol could tell, though she was sure that they were more than happy to hand over the things that he'd asked for. Carol hadn't known what he was doing, and she hadn't had any expectations about what he might return with, but he'd still surprised her.
Daryl had gone in search of a few of the generic puzzles to keep them entertained, but while he was there he'd picked up some other things that seemed to be his treasures for the moment. He'd come back with several books. And they weren't just any books. He'd requested several small books that were generic books for very small children with pictures and big print words, and he'd requested several baby books.
While Carol had been soaking in the tub, relaxing under Alice's and Daryl's orders, Daryl had apparently been reading. What he'd discovered, or at least the thing that fascinated him the most, was that there was some proof that their babies might actually be able to hear his voice. It was reasonable to him, of course, that the little ones might hear Carol's voice, but he hadn't thought about the fact that they might be able to hear him. He'd insisted, then, that they spend some of their time, while Carol was relaxing in bed, getting the twins acquainted with his voice.
Carol wasn't sure if the little ones were old enough to hear him, and in fact she was pretty sure they couldn't, but she didn't dare discourage Daryl.
And Daryl, for his part, had decided that the babies might not mind learning about themselves, so he was reading his baby book aloud to them, picking out the parts that interested him to share with Carol while he taught her what was going on inside her body and taught the babies what was happening to them.
Carol picked the plate of cookies up and rested against the pillows. She put the plate between their bodies and patted the blanket to let Daryl know that he could get comfortable again.
"I'm not tired of it," Carol said. "Let's go."
"You remember where we were?" Daryl asked, thumbing through the pages. "Lost my page..."
"I believe you were at—twelve weeks? But—let's skip ahead," Carol said.
"That's cheatin'," Daryl said with a laugh.
"But we're ahead of the book," Carol said. "So we'll skip ahead. Go to—I think 15 weeks? Start there, Daryl."
Daryl sighed at her.
"OK, then," he said, flipping through the pages. Carol laughed to herself.
"If it means that much to you," Carol said. "You can pick back up at twelve."
"Nah," Daryl said. "Fifteen it is. You ready?"
"Ready when you are," Carol said. "You want your milk?"
"Pass it to me?" Daryl asked.
Carol picked up his cup from the nightstand and passed it to him. He held it with one hand and balanced the book on his arm while he found the page. When he was satisfied with his location, he rested his head somewhat against Carol like he'd been doing before—determined that the closer he was to the babies the better the chance they'd have of hearing him—and then he started to read to Carol once more.
"At this point the baby is the size of an apple," Daryl said. "You reckon they both the size of apples or that means them put together?"
Carol hummed to herself.
"Maybe they're both the size of small apples," Carol said. "Does it say what size apple?"
"No," Daryl said. "An' apples come in a lotta different sizes. I mean you can get some pretty big apples. And then crabapples—they don't get too big."
"Maybe they're just small apples," Carol said.
"Baby's legs an' arms are growin' now and they're no longer the small buds that you could barely see before. Now they're gettin' stronger and more developed. They movin' all around in there. You can feel it?" Daryl asked.
"A little bit," Carol said. "I'm pretty sure. I think?" She laughed to herself. "I really don't know. I don't know if I feel them or if I just want to feel them."
"It don't say yet when I'ma feel 'em," Daryl informed her.
"We haven't gotten there yet," Carol said.
"Says they can see light," Daryl said. He sat up, almost tipping his milk. He caught it before it spilled and picked the glass up. He drank down half of it quickly like he wanted to get it out of the way. The milk was more trouble than it was worth. "We got a flashlight?"
"I don't think so," Carol said.
"We gotta order one," Daryl said. "You think they'll give us a flashlight, right? I mean—that ain't a weapon."
"What do you need it for?" Carol asked.
"Says if we shine one on the babies, they'll see it," Daryl said. "Says they might even move away from the light. I'ma order a flashlight tomorrow with breakfast."
"Just tell them what you want it for," Carol said. "I'm sure they'll let you have one. At least for a little while."
Daryl hummed at her, lost for a moment in scouring the page he was on for anything else that he might want to tell her about. He wasn't a fast reader, so Carol sat back and gave him the time that he needed to pick through the words that he was reading with a great deal of care. At the end of it all, they'd both been given three days to take off and spend just as they were spending their time now—together and doing as little as possible beyond bonding with one another and the hopeful future additions to their household.
Carol thought she'd hate being forced to stay mostly off her feet, but she wasn't actually suffering too much. Daryl was keeping her greatly entertained and she was enjoying the quiet time with him. It felt like they were alone and, for once, it felt like they were in their house because that's where they wanted to be—not because they were prisoners. They could leave, honestly, if they wanted to and go for a walk in the streets, but neither of them really had anywhere they wanted to be.
They were on vacation together.
"Says here you might be feelin' 'em movin' soon," Daryl said. "Because you was skinny anyway, you might feel 'em sooner, it says." He smiled to himself and Carol smiled in response.
"What?" Carol asked.
"Says it's good to talk to 'em," Daryl said. "Good to read to 'em. Good practice. Promotes—it says here—promotes the early development of language skills. We'll keep readin' to 'em and they gonna come out damn geniuses."
Carol laughed to herself.
"Then we'll just keep reading to them," Carol said. "I wasn't going to say it, but—I think they like it."
Daryl looked at her and furrowed his brow.
"You serious?" He asked. "Or you jerkin' me around?"
"I'm serious," Carol said. "I feel—so relaxed right now and...I just feel good. I think that's a sign that they like it." She swallowed. In a past life that she'd lived, she'd been careful not to talk too much about the baby she'd carried. Daryl, though, didn't seem to ever be annoyed with it. He promoted chatter about the babies. He enjoyed it. And, more than anything, he liked the reminder that he was a part of it. Carol wanted him to be a part of it. "I think—they really like having their Daddy read to them."
The expression on Daryl's face immediately erased any concern that Carol might have that he'd find such a statement silly. He leaned forward and kissed her and Carol wished she had the ability to think of a million such statements to shower him with simply because of the emotion that came through in the kiss.
"I like you being relaxed," Daryl said when they pulled apart.
"Do you?" Carol asked, raising her eyebrows at him.
"Alice said that was the most important thing," Daryl said. "That you relax. She said we weren't likely to have any trouble, but if you were tense it would only make things worse. It would only make our odds worse. I like hearin' that you're relaxed because it means—we don't have that much to worry about."
Carol swallowed and nodded her head.
"I'm fine," Carol said. "And—I think the babies are fine. I feel good. I'm—to be honest? I'm more worried about the results of the test, now, than I am about anything else. It's over and done with and I'm taking it easy. Just like Alice said. I think it's all going to be fine. It's just the results we have to worry about now."
Daryl shook his head at her.
"You don't gotta worry about that," Daryl said. "Shouldn't worry about it. The worryin' is bad no matter what you're worryin' about. But—you don't gotta worry about the results because they don't matter."
"No?" Carol asked.
"No," Daryl said. "We know what we need to know. Got two kids. All the parts are there and—even if they weren't? We'd figure it out. Plenty a' people's missin' parts. Got parts that don't work quite right. Don't matter at all. We'll figure it out. Whatever the tests say? We'll just—figure it out, right? I mean—and that's just assumin' that they say they ain't as perfect as we already know 'em to be."
Carol smiled to herself. Her stomach churned slightly at the thought that the tests might tell them something they weren't prepared for or might mean something that they weren't ready to face, but she quickly reminded herself not to worry.
Daryl was right. The worry was bad. And whatever it was, if it was anything at all, they'd handle it together.
Carol nodded her head at Daryl. She took a swallow of her milk and picked up another cookie.
"You're done with week fifteen or there's more we should know there?" Carol asked.
"Not too much more that's interesting," Daryl said.
"Sixteen?" Carol asked.
"You're sure you're not sick of this?" Daryl asked.
"Are you sick of it?" Carol asked. Daryl shook his head. "Sixteen, then," Carol said. "We might even make it to delivery before bed."
