It's almost Halloween, and there are just enough children in the river camp to have excitement in the air. Although attempts were made to let Lori bow out of the planning for the kids due to losing Carl, there's a part of her that can't just hide out in grief. Watching the youngsters trying to figure out costumes is honestly the highlight of her week.
"Miss Lori!" Eliza is practically dancing in place. "You know how to sew, right?"
Glancing at Miranda, who is patiently stitching some sort of dragon themed outfit together for Louis that will double as a Halloween costume and winter pajamas, Lori nods at the girl. "I'm not as good as your mother, but I can manage a few things."
"Would you help me? I can sew, but sometimes I need help, and Mama's busy."
"What kind of costume are you going to do?" Some of the children's ideas are fanciful, like the robot she's seen a pair of boys building out of cardboard boxes and spare spray paint. Others are useful, like Louis's dragon. With Eliza being as pragmatic as her parents, Lori suspects hers will lean toward the latter.
The mischief in the girl's grin should have warned Lori before she opens a box she's carrying and pulls out a Nerf crossbow. "I want to be Daryl. Think he would get mad?"
Lori can't help giggling. "Oh, sweetie, I think he would be confused, but he would never be mad. What do you have for the costume other than the crossbow so far?"
It turns out that the vest is the part that is worrying the girl, and Lori agrees that they don't have the time or the skill between them to stitch in angel wings quite the way they are on Daryl's leather vest. But the old brown shirt Eliza's found is at least the right color, and they manage to cut white wings from an old sheet to stitch onto the back. In lieu of embroidery, they draw in the wing details with a magic marker.
Daryl's gone that day, one of his overnight trips stuck out on the road. He goes farther now, which worries her more because it's getting colder at night. No matter how much his rough life prepared Daryl for this world, it still worries her. However, it does make for a hilarious scene when the man in question returns on Halloween afternoon and encounters his mini-me.
Finishing the costume out by drawing on some facial scruff for the girl really did complete the image. It takes Daryl exactly five seconds to connect the dots that the costume isn't Miranda's doing. He's a bit baffled when he seeks Lori out where she's overseeing the kids making their own candy apples.
"Why in hell does the girl wanna look like me?" he inquires. The nearest kids don't bat an eye at the language. No one bothers with correcting that sort of thing anymore, not even Lori.
"She's known you almost since the beginning, Daryl. A little bit of hero worship isn't surprising."
While Lori's settled in here easier than she expected, it's harder for Daryl. He does whatever's asked of him, but almost all of his free time is spent wherever she is. She suspects some of that is a general distrust he seems to have for men in general, and while he does genuinely like Miranda's husband, there's always a discomfort between the men in the shape of Daryl's missing brother.
Realizing that she's essentially his shield against the social requirements of living in a community was a unique experience for Lori. It also made her think back to the quarry, where weird as it seemed, she thinks Merle did the same. Rarely did Daryl interact with anyone, and asshole that he was, his brother did provide a pretty solid buffer for Daryl.
"It's weird," he mumbles, but watches as Eliza stalks and shoots her brother, cackling at her successful 'hunt'. "Need to get her a real bow, not that silly foam shit."
"Ask her parents. I don't think they would say no, if you can find some small enough. Might be others that would want lessons. Could Eliza use mine?"
"Maybe. I got yours for your height, and you're a good eight or nine inches taller than her." Daryl scratches at the scruff on his chin, still watching the kids running and playing with an expression of confused wonderment. "Might see if we can raid a sporting goods store. Find a variety."
"Sounds like a plan." This trip hadn't turned up anything viable, either, so Lori intends to broach the subject of calling a halt to the search for a while. Having something to do here will make him more likely to agree.
"You gonna make an apple, Mister Daryl?" one of the younger kids asks, grinning up at him as she runs up to retrieve the apple she helped make earlier now that it's cool. "We got to make apples!"
Her flourish of the treat nearly smacks Daryl in the hip, but he sidesteps just in time. "Yeah, guess I will. Why is your apple blue? Ain't they supposed to be red?"
Giggles and a battle with biting into the apple make Lori the one who answers. "I let each group of kids pick the color for the candy coating. Her group voted for blue instead of red."
Daryl peers into the almost boiling pot for the next batch Lori's doing with a frown that clears when he sees the bright red mixture. "Guess I can help. You got more kids coming?"
In answer, Lori whistles, which summons the last three kids who haven't helped dip an apple who are old enough for the activity. They label their scraps of parchment paper with their names before dipping the apples and letting them cool while they go play. Lori hands Daryl the next apple with a grin. "Got a dozen more to serve up all the adults who asked for them."
There are a dozen already cooling for adults, but the hard candy treat isn't as popular with the adults as with the children. Lori's just glad there was an orchard nearby with apples ripe at the right time. The ingredients are plentiful enough, just water, sugar, corn syrup, and food coloring.
He's patient with coating the waiting apples, deft hands finishing the job while Lori just oversees the heat on the outdoor cooktop. "We got any of these apples left?" he asks.
Lori's noticed Daryl's preference for the tart Granny Smith apples. "Yeah. I saved us some extra." Being pregnant entitles her to a larger ration than she would normally get from the general food supplies, but the apples hadn't really been regulated. The supply run down to the orchard south of Birmingham had netted so many bushels of the Granny Smith and Pink Lady apples that the canning team was rather grateful for anyone who wanted to eat them fresh.
It's been a long day, though, so once her particular task is done and the utensils and pot clean and put away, Lori collects her candy apple to take home. Even though she tells Daryl he's welcome to stay behind, she isn't really surprised when he follows her back to their RV.
"Got something for you," he tells her as they reach the door.
It's the hesitation in his voice that makes her turn before she unlatches it. "A present?"
"Sorta. If you want it. If you don't, I can find someone who does." The mumbling and not looking right at her is closer to how they started out than how they are now.
"I can't imagine that," she tells him and opens the door. Flopping on her back on the bed, she toes her shoes off, pushing them off the foot of the bed.
The twin thumps get Daryl's attention from where he's fiddling with the door to the tiny bathroom. He glances over her assessingly. "You feeling okay?"
"Just a little tired," she tells him. "Enjoying this last bit where I can see my feet, to be honest."
His curiosity is cautious, as always, as he comes and tidies her shoes into the shelf under the edge of the bed. "You seem really small still," he ventures, eyeing her belly.
"I was pretty small with Carl at this stage, too," she tells him, rubbing a hand over her belly. There's no mistaking that she's pregnant anymore at all, but she's not huge, either, even at twenty-three weeks. If she were really determined to hide it, she probably could for another week or two. "Baby's about the size of an eggplant now, I think."
Daryl makes a motion with his hands as if he's estimating that size before nodding. "Dr. Stevens says everything's good?"
"Everything's good." Everything that can be measured, anyway, but most of the things they can't wouldn't be fixable, so Lori's just vowed not to fret over it.
The baby decides to show off her newest trick, one that she started while Daryl was out this week. It's especially visible with Lori lying down, and she isn't surprised that the hunter's eyes widen and focus on her belly. "You want to feel her move?" she offers. He probably could have before now, since Lori's been feeling the baby kick for weeks. But she hadn't wanted to offer when it was harder to feel from the outside.
Blue eyes focus on her for a long moment before he comes and sits on the edge of the bed. When he hesitates to actually place his hand on her belly, Lori takes his hand and sets it against the small bump. The baby reacts as expected, kicking strongly against the light pressure.
Daryl's got the same sort of awestruck look on his face that she remembers Rick having so long ago, except the hunter has more awe and less trepidation. Perhaps it's a benefit of age, since she knows he's probably a decade or more older than she is, and Rick had been barely twenty-two back then. Not being his child could help with the worry, she supposes, although nothing about his behavior indicates he isn't slotting himself in as responsible as long as no one else is.
She's a little surprised when the baby seems to play with Daryl for a bit, responding to slight moves he makes with his hand. "That's not uncomfortable for you, is it?" he asks at last.
"Not at all. Later on, when she runs out of room, it might get that way." Carl had once left bruises along her belly from kicking the edge of any surface she sat against, like tables and desks.
The shock comes when Daryl leans down to her belly. "You're gonna be a good girl and not hurt your mama like that, aren't you, Lil Asskicker?"
As if in reply, the baby thumps against where his thumb is resting. Whether it's in agreement or defiance, who knows, but it makes Lori deal with a surge of pure affection for the rough man. She covers his hand with hers, smiling drowsily at him.
"You look tired," he tells her, a light tint of red coloring his features as he blushes but doesn't look away. "Should get some sleep."
"I was promised a present," she tells him, narrowing her eyes at him. "Don't hold out on me now, Daryl Dixon."
It surprises him into laughing, and she enjoys the sound as he edges away from the bed, going back to open the bathroom door. He mutters something too indistinct for her to hear even this close, before he leans in and retrieves something. As soon as the bathroom door clicks shut, she spies the wary cat in his arms and sits up.
"Oh my God. Where did you find it?"
Daryl squirms, looking more embarrassed than he did when he touched her belly. "Found her trapped under a porch, hiding from some dead bastard, two days ago. Gave her a bath and made sure she didn't have no fleas."
The small cat's green eyes focus on Lori with the intent stare common to every feline she's ever met. It's a tuxedo patterned cat, such a pretty pattern of black and white that she can't help but coo at the cat. Daryl eases the cat onto the bed in front of Lori, and when she reaches out to pet it, the cat allows it, moving closer and purring in contentment.
"She's gorgeous." Lori smiles up at him and realizes from Daryl's look of relief that he may have wanted to keep the cat even more than just giving it to her.
"Think she's gonna have kittens," he admits, sitting back down and reaching out to pet the cat, too. "Dr. Stevens told me she would check her out tomorrow with the ultrasound to tell for sure."
It's hard to picture the austere physician playing veterinarian until Lori thinks about what something as sweetly unnecessary as pets means to the community. If the cat is truly pregnant, kittens would bring such joy to the kids here. "What's her name?"
Now Daryl squirms a little. "Whatever you want to name her. She'll learn it, since she can't tell us her name."
"You've had her for two days. You've been calling her something." Arching a brow, Lori smirks at him. "Please tell me you haven't been calling her Cat."
"Nah." He sighs, but gives in to the teasing with the tiniest of smiles. "Mittens." He points at the cat's front paws, which are perfect white mittens.
Petting the cat, Lori hides her smile behind a fall of her long hair. "Mittens it is then." Because she's never going to hear the cat's name without seeing that shy smile.
"She's got a litterbox outside, under the RV. Wanted to train her to go out there, since Dr. Stevens said you shouldn't be around one."
Yawning, Lori nods. There's a vague memory of toxoplasmosis that she brushes away. Daryl's already training the cat to use the bathroom outside, which is good, because she can't imagine fitting a litterbox anywhere inside their tiny RV.
"You really ought to get some sleep," Daryl says, and Lori agrees easily this time, wriggling to get under the covers. Mittens takes the movement in stride, curling up against Lori's side like she's claimed her spot between woman and wall. Lori has an extra quilt now, because they're trying to conserve propane use for the RVs for when it gets truly cold. Daryl eyes the new addition and sighs. "Are you getting cold at night?"
"It's not bad yet. The baby helps a bit." With her torso mostly, if she's honest. Her fingers and toes still get chilled if the temperature drops into the low forties like it's been doing at night. It's why she doesn't bother to shed anything other than her jacket before bed anymore.
She's half asleep when she feels more weight added to the bedding over her and blinks in confusion when Daryl nudges her shoulder. "Scoot over. No sense you being colder than you gotta be."
The shock of him easing into the bed beside her chases away some of the drowsy state. They've slept close together before, back when he was injured, but not since then. While he might nap in the bed, he's only done that when she's busy. Breathing in the clean scent of him, nothing but the Irish Spring soap they have in their tiny bathroom and whatever innate scent of his own that becomes noticeable when he's freshly showered, she rests her forehead against his shoulder, curling on her side to do so. She can feel the little cat start purring against her back, a warm little rumble of sound.
When Lori makes no more move toward being close than that single point of contact, Daryl relaxes. He doesn't speak, but she knows he's still awake and probably won't sleep until she does, guarding her sleep like always since she kept him safe after the motorcycle accident. His presence works better than any sleeping pill, especially after nights of restless sleep while he's been gone. Lulled by a contentedness she's becoming used to with him close, she lets herself fall asleep.
A/N: Alas, Hershel will not get a POV in part 3, but this did get long enough that Daryl and Lori got their own chapter. Slow burn is taking on a new meaning with these two. This Daryl falls somewhere in the grey ace to demisexual spectrum, depending on how you personally want to define it, so don't expect anything even as fast paced as RBM for them.
Part 3, with a split POV between Rick and Merle, will post tomorrow.
