So yeah, it's a fire
It's the goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it
You started it

I spent the next six weeks sicker than I'd ever been in my life, way beyond any morning sickness I'd had before. I couldn't hold anything down and got used to spending most of my day curled up near the toilet, dry heaving periodically, and wishing I could just go to sleep until it was over. Daryl knew absolutely nothing about taking care of someone who was sick, but he was a fast learner and figured out that a cold washcloth against the back of my neck was helpful, along with weak peppermint tea and plain crackers my mother baked for me.

We didn't talk, mostly because I couldn't do more than try to survive each day - dealing with any of the intense emotions between us was out of the question. I could tell he was blaming himself for everything, but much of the time I blamed him too and figured keeping my mouth shut would be better than saying something I'd regret.

I felt completely useless, but I couldn't really hold down food or get enough liquids, so I didn't have the energy to do anything even when the vomiting stopped for the day. At one point I got dehydrated enough that Herschel set up an IV drip and moved me to my parents' house for a few days, after Daryl scavenged a deserted clinic in the next town over. That helped but didn't stop the nausea, and I stayed utterly miserable until what I assumed was around the 12-week mark. I didn't know exactly when I'd gotten pregnant, since my periods had been so irregular, but the vomiting ended earlier and earlier each day until one morning I woke up and didn't have to dash for the bathroom, and I knew the worst was over.

I looked at myself in the mirror for the first time in ages that day after Daryl left to help with chores and hardly recognized myself. I was much too thin, almost skeletal, and washed out with deep purple shadows under my eyes. I looked exhausted and sad, and the purple scars on my temple and breast stood out against my pale skin. It was a perfect reflection of how I felt inside - despondent and unattractive, and I just wanted to crawl back into bed.

Instead, I showered and ate a plain breakfast, and went to see my mother. She beamed when she saw me upright and wrapped me in a big hug. "Do you think the worst is over?" she asked, and I nodded. "Seems like it. That's what happened with Lucy - it was just over one day - but this was so much worse."

She regarded me knowingly. "I think the stress of the current situation probably exacerbated it," she said carefully. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "Maybe. He's . . . he's trying but we haven't really been able to deal with any of it because I've been so sick." I hadn't told her what Daryl had done, exactly, but she knew he'd said things that were hurtful at the very least, and that our relationship was rocky.

She made a cup of tea and set it in front of me. "Sweetie, I wasn't sure, when you first arrived, what to think about him. He's not exactly friendly, and you know I love Raph as if he were my own son, and I was grieving for what your family lost because of your relationship with Daryl. But now that I've spent time with him, quiet as he might be, I can see why you love him. You've never really needed anyone for anything, you were always so capable of figuring things out on your own, and that worked with Raph. He liked having you to run everything and keep life organized while he provided entertainment and pushed you to try new things that we couldn't provide for you growing up, like fancy restaurants or expensive vacations."

"But when you were stuck there, I think you learned to need other people. You couldn't do everything for yourself, and you can't here either, with the way things are. And Daryl takes care of you in the ways you need, I think. I've never seen you trust anyone like that, except maybe your father when you were a child," she blinked back tears and smiled at me, "so whatever has happened between you, it's worth fixing."

I wiped my face with the napkin she handed me. "I know, and I'm going to try. The hard part is, I don't know if he actually loves me, or if he even knows how. He's never said he does, and I'm pretty sure he's not sure what he feels most of the time. How do I navigate that?"

She sighed and rubbed my back. "I can't answer that. But you know, your dad's family was pretty dysfunctional. His parents were violent with each other, and often with their kids, though your grandfather loved him and they eventually worked out a functional relationship. But he didn't have a clue how a healthy marriage should work, and we managed to figure it out. I know it's not the same, but I have a lot of faith in you two to be as successful as we've been."

I drank the last of my tea and hugged her. "I'll do my best, I promise, especially now that I can hold down some food." She sent me back to the camper to rest, with some leftovers for lunch, and I curled up on the bed with a book.

I went to our group's house a little before dinner and offered to help Carol and Herschel, who were prepping the meal in the kitchen. They were both glad I was feeling better and didn't ask too many questions about Daryl, though I knew they were aware of our issues.

Dinner was noisy, with Carl teasing Beth about Luke's crush on her (which was news to me) and Judith entertaining everyone with her new favorite game of blowing raspberries with a full mouth. I watched it all, feeling a sense of warmth within the heavy weight of everything else, and Carl squinted at me in concern across the table. "Are you okay, Ana?" he asked, and I realized there were tears sliding down my cheeks. I wiped them hastily away and laughed awkwardly. "Yes, sorry! Just pregnancy hormones," I said, getting up to clear my plate.

I took my time in the kitchen, starting on the dishes, and didn't turn around when I heard the door close softly behind someone. Rick cleared his throat, and I started slightly, surprised it wasn't Carol or Herschel. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he said, obviously uncomfortable, and I nodded without turning around.

"We've been worried about you bein' so sick," he continued, "and I knew Daryl was scared shitless about all of it, but it seemed like there was somethin' more goin' on, and then yesterday he told me what happened when he left."

I stopped washing dishes and gripped the edge of the sink, feeling humiliated but a little relieved that someone else knew. I felt Rick lean on the sink next to me, and I shook my head, wiping away tears. "I can't . . . I can't even look at him without thinking about it. And I've been so sick and just feel disgusting all the time, and pathetic because I want him to want me even though I'm angry." It occurred to me that Rick would understand betrayal better than anyone else, and I met his eyes. He nodded, and wiped another tear away, pulling me into a hug. "I know. What happened with Lori was different, but I do know the insecurity part. But, unlike that situation, Daryl really didn't ever want anyone else and just made a really stupid mistake."

I pressed my face into Rick's shoulder, soaking his shirt with my tears, and nodded. "I just wish he could tell me how he felt more. He used to show me, but when he can't, it's like he's just shut off." Before Rick could answer, the kitchen door opened, and Daryl walked in. I stepped back from Rick, wiping my eyes, but I saw Daryl's eyes flash between us for a moment before he turned around and left.

Rick sighed, "Do you want me to talk to him?" he asked, and I shook my head. "No. If he can't handle that, after everything, we're even more fucked than I thought. Thank you though - I needed that a lot." He gave me a small smile and I headed outside. I could see the lantern on in the camper, so at least Daryl hadn't bolted again.

He was lying on the bed, arms behind his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Are you mad about Rick giving me a hug?" I asked bluntly. He shook his head but didn't look at me. "Jus' don' like seein' ya upset," he muttered. I was suddenly overwhelmingly tired and in need of more comfort than what Rick had provided. I climbed on the bed and crawled over to him, resting my head on his chest. He didn't move for a second, and then shifted slowly, bringing his arm down to wrap around me tentatively.

I closed my eyes, breathing in his scent, and the feel of his body. It was all I had wanted for weeks, even when I was furious and hurt and insecure. I shifted my leg over his hip and pressed myself more tightly against him, and he took a shaky breath and then rolled me over gently so he was hovering over me.

"I'm sorry," he said, pressing his forehead to mine. "I didn't say it before, when I told you about everything, even though it's what I meant. And then you were so fuckin' sick and I didn't want to make you feel even worse by remindin' you. I don' know how to tell you what I'm thinkin' or feelin', and I don' know how to fix all this but I'm sorry and nothin' like that'll ever happen again."

I closed my eyes tightly and decided to let that be enough for now. "Okay," I said, tilting my head so my lips brushed his. "I don't know if I can say I completely forgive you, because that's kind of a process, but I'll get there." He was holding himself completely still above me, and I bent my knee to hook it around the back of his leg, shifting my hips into him.

He finally moved, carefully settling himself between my legs, and brushed the hair off my face. "You sure?" he asked somewhat incredulously, and I nodded, pressing a kiss to his mouth. He didn't kiss me back right away, and I stopped, wondering if I'd made a huge mistake. I'd spent the last several weeks vomiting most of the time he was with me, and I couldn't imagine that was much of a turn on. But suddenly it was like a switch flipped, and he kissed me desperately, gripping my hip with one hand and the back of my head with the other.

I pressed up into him, and he rocked his hips into me, and I groaned. I'd forgotten that pregnancy hormones could do more than make me sick, and it felt like ages since I'd felt that desperate ache in my core. "I need you . . ." I gasped between kisses, and he pulled his mouth away to suck lightly on my neck, which he knew I loved.

My fingers scrabbled at the buttons on his shirt, but he brushed them away and tugged mine over my arms and head, tossing it off the bed. I felt suddenly self-conscious about my less than stellar appearance, but he was kissing every inch of my shoulders and chest, and I couldn't linger on the thoughts. He sucked at the fabric of my bra over my nipple, and it was so sensitive I moaned and clutched at his back, on edge already.

He hummed appreciatively and pulled the cups of my bra down. My breasts were definitely bigger and incredibly sensitive, and he seemed to know this somehow, swirling his tongue around my nipples without nipping or tugging. "Oh my god," I moaned, "please Daryl, I need . . . " I couldn't come up with the words, but he tugged down my pants and underwear, and kissed down my ribcage and waist, sucking on my protruding hip bone before dropping lower and kissing my thighs as I spread my legs open.

He ran his fingers up my folds, gathering slick juices, and then leaned forward to press them to my bottom lip gently. I opened my mouth, and he slipped a finger inside, letting me taste myself as I sucked it clean, groaning softly as I licked the last drops off my lips. He moved back down my body, and replaced his fingers with his tongue, expertly licking around my clit, sliding it down to gather more juices, then back up to flick gently over the sensitive nub, until I was moaning and arching up into him trying to get closer. His lips closed around it, sucking until I came, hard, crying his name and clutching his hair. He slipped two fingers in and fucked me with them as I rode out the orgasm, pressing kisses to my thighs and hips until I had stopped shaking.

I tugged him up toward me and realized he was still fully clothed. I tried to undo his jeans but he laced his fingers through mine and pulled them away, stretching out next to me and kissing me again. I could feel he was hard, and I stroked his cock through his pants, but he pulled me away again, shaking his head. "I don't understand," I said uncertainly. "You don't want me?"

"You know I do," he said hoarsely, rocking his hips against me so I could feel the evidence. "But mostly I wanna make you feel good. Don' wanna think 'bout me."

I traced his cheekbone with my thumb and wondered if this was some kind of self-punishment. Or did it remind him of being with that girl, and he was trying to forget her? That one made my stomach turn, and I pushed the thought away. "Well at least take off your pants and shirt so we can sleep," I said, and he obliged.

I unhooked my bra and tossed it away, and then pressed against him again, running my hands over his chest and down along the hard lines of his abdominal muscles. I felt him tense and relax as I touched him, and then grab my hands when I moved them to this thighs so I relented. I pulled the blankets over us and laid my head on his chest to sleep, unsure of what was going through his head, but knowing we were making some progress.