AN: Here we are, another chapter to this one.

I'm hoping to be working on this one somewhat steadily (yes, I'm going to continue my other stories) as I work toward its conclusion. I hope you'll join me!

I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

111

"Now—remember that I don't quite fill it out yet, Daryl," Carol said. "It's quite loose because the pattern is meant to be one that grows with me so that I won't be dressed improperly as the baby grows."

"I'm gonna like it no matter what," Daryl assured her.

"You say that, but you haven't seen it," Carol said. She giggled, and Daryl laughed to himself to hear her. She was feeling good. She was feeling light, and that made Daryl feel light, too. She'd been working on her dress for most of the day, and Daryl had entertained their little ones to give her plenty of time to work around their meals. Her very first maternity dress—of many, he was sure—was done, their little ones were tucked into bed, and she was just about to model it for Daryl.

"No—I haven't seen it," Daryl said. "But—I've seen the woman that's wearin' it, and I know she's the most beautiful woman in Georgia, at least…and that's just because I've had little opportunity to see the other states. I also happen to know she's a hell of a seamstress. Even the old pecking hens who want to dislike her can't be but so negative because they're all achin' to have a dress from her. So—knowin' what I know? I'ma like it no matter what."

"It doesn't look like I have any kind of figure of this," Carol said. "And that's mostly owing to the fact that I don't have much of one, and I won't have any figure at all before long."

There was still a hint of tinkling laughter to her tone, but Daryl could hear the undercurrent of concern. That worry, he knew, would always be there, at least to some degree. How could it not be? He could swear that he heard someone comment about their figure, or someone else's, at least ten times a day if he was in the company of women. At church and in the market, he could always catch bits and pieces of conversation loaded with tips on how to better maintain ones' figure or criticisms on how someone had let hers go.

The worst thing in the world to some of these women, and to some of the men, it seemed, was the loss of a woman's figure.

But baby Dixons, Daryl figured, demanded some sacrifices. And, all things considered, he thought this was a small sacrifice to make. He would simply need to reassure Carol, however often she needed it, that she need not worry about losing the adoration of her husband in addition to her figure.

"Does it look like you're carryin' my child in that dress?" Daryl asked.

The bathroom door opened just a crack and Carol peeked her face out. She smiled at him.

"A little bit," she offered.

"Well—my child isn't much more than a lil' bit," Daryl said. "Come on out, Carol. I want to see this dress. My wife's first maternity dress. The first time our baby hasn't looked at least a little like it was being suffocated in a while."

"I haven't suffocated the baby, Daryl," Carol said with an abundance of false scolding. She straightened up to her full height, since she'd been obviously crouching forward to peek out so that the dress would stay behind the door, and she opened the bathroom door to reveal herself to him for the first time since she'd slipped in there with the half-hidden garment to get dressed.

The dress was simple, but it was beautiful. Daryl smiled to see it on her frame. It looked much too large for her, but he knew that was the fashion—particularly when it was a dress made to accommodate the future growth of their little one.

Carol shrugged her shoulders gently and hooked her hands together behind her back. She moved her body, swaying it enough that the dress moved from side to side, demonstrating for Daryl the way that the fabric shifted with her movements. The garment was simple, but Daryl could tell that it she'd taken great care to make it as perfect as she could.

This dress meant a great deal to Carol, and Daryl recognized that. She had ached to wear maternity clothes for as long as they'd been together. She'd ached to have a reason to wear them. He'd seen her shed tears over making them for other women.

This was Carol's first maternity dress, and it was important to her—and, for that reason, it was important to Daryl.

Daryl stood up from where he sat on the edge of the bed. He walked toward her, arms outstretched, and she stepped forward to meet him.

"What do you think?" She asked, hesitating a half a second.

"Beautiful," Daryl said.

"I thought you'd like the blue," Carol said. "I was thinking of ordering some other colors for a few more patterns I'd like to try."

"You should order all of 'em," Daryl said. "Try all your patterns."

"I don't need a whole wardrobe," Carol protested.

Daryl pulled her into his arms and hugged her. She hugged him back, resting her head against him. He closed his eyes, happy to hold her in his arms.

"You do," he said. "The whole damn thing, Carol. Everything you got a pattern for you ought to have at least two of."

"That's too much," Carol said.

"Long as we waited, nothing's too much, Carol," Daryl said. "Besides—it's all good for work. You said it yourself. The women see you wearing dresses and the next thing you know, you've got a dozen orders in for it. Everyone in this town is steady having babies, Carol. Getting you a wardrobe made up is nothing but a good business investment."

"I won't hardly have time to wear everything," Carol said.

Daryl pushed out of the embrace enough to look at her. He held the tops of her arms, though, to make it clear that he didn't intend to let her go, and he didn't intend to end this entirely.

"You don't know, Carol, what the future holds. Me and you—neither one of us knows what the future holds. We don't know why it was that we were blessed like we are now. We don't know why it is that this little one is finally coming to us. We surely don't know, then, that there won't ever be another. Maybe we're just getting started. Maybe there's another to come. Could even be two more. You say that you won't hardly have time to wear everything, but you don't know. You might nearly wear it all out."

Carol made a face at him, her mouth drawing down in a hint of a frown that he was pretty certain she couldn't control. She shook her head and squeezed his sides where her hands rested.

"I don't think we ought to get carried away with ourselves, Daryl," Carol said. "We don't know we're even promised this. We shouldn't be thinking that we have more coming to us."

Daryl smiled at her. His throat ached.

"I'm not getting carried away," he assured her. "But—you're healthy, Carol. Doctor says so. I can see it. You look good. Strong. The baby's healthy. Growing. We aren't promised this, because we aren't promised tomorrow, even, and we both know that. But this? It looks good, Carol. It looks like something we can count on. Our baby is growing, and we've got every reason in the world to believe that it does just that—keeps on growing. I'm not getting carried away, Carol, when I say that we don't know what the future holds. We don't know what made God decide to bless us, and I'm not turning my nose up at the fact that it's possible that He decides to bless us again."

"And if he doesn't?" Carol asked. Her voice cracked slightly. Daryl heard the hint of a break—like crystal shattering. His chest ached. He felt the break inside him just as surely as he heard it coming out of her.

Daryl pulled Carol to him and kissed her forehead. He left his lips pressed there a long moment, simply enjoying the warmth of her. He pushed her away again to see her face. There were some tracks from tears and he took one hand away from holding her arms to wipe the tears.

"If he doesn't, at least we have all the blessings we've got, right? I mean—have you looked, Carol? Have you thought about it? I do—damn near every day I think about it. Look at what we got. I count 'em up, just like they say we should in Sunday school. I got you…Sophia…Jack…June…and now this? And our baby's looking healthy. It's growing, just like we want it too. I'll pray for more blessings because that's what we do, but even if we never get another…I'm a lucky man, Carol. And all of that, I got through finding you—through loving you."

She smiled at him. She laughed. It rumbled in her chest. He heard it as it came up her throat.

"You really think that—we might not be done? There might be more blessings for us?" Carol asked.

"Why not?" Daryl asked. "We deserve good things. We're good people. You and me."

"You are, Daryl, but…not me," Carol said. "You know what I've done…"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"What?" He asked. He knew the answer, but he felt that she needed this, and he wouldn't deny her any comfort or reassurance. "Done what you thought you should with a man you thought would marry you? Believed him? Carol—you sinned. Same as we all do every day. And you've more than paid for it a thousand times over. Not to mention that if what them biddies say is true, then it's done been paid for anyway. You don't have to spend your whole life believing you are no good because of it. In fact—I won't tolerate it. No more. You hear me? I ban the guilt of it in my house. It was done. It's been confessed. It's been paid for. You repented, and you've been forgiven for it—by God and me, and we're the only ones that matter. You ain't guilty no more, and it has no place in my home."

"Daryl…"

Daryl put on his best stern expression.

"I'm the man of this house, Carol, and what I say goes," Daryl said. He held his expression with every bit of resolve that he had in him. He normally didn't say such things, but he would, this time, if that's what Carol needed to accept it. "Am I not?" He pressed.

"You are," Carol said.

"And that means I make decisions that are the best for everyone in this household, don't I?"

"You do," Carol agreed. She smiled, but she swallowed it back, clearly deciding this was a solemn moment. Daryl had to fight to keep his stern expression.

"You've been forgiven. Maybe this baby is just another piece of proof—a miracle given to you and to me—to make that clear. Maybe—it's just a miracle given to us because God saw that we loved each other so much that we deserved this, especially when babies are born, every day, to people who don't love each other half as much. Whatever the reason—this house is a place that, from this moment forward, is gonna be free from old, stale guilt, Carol. We don't have room for it here. We don't have room for guilt, and blame, and shame. All we've got room for is love, and family, and however many Dixons that God figures the world needs—adopted or otherwise brought into this home."

Carol smiled at him. She smiled at him all the way to her eyes. Daryl's chest throbbed with love for her.

"You hear me?" He pressed.

"Yes, sir," she said, her smile breaking to allow a quick burst of that laughter through that sounded like music to Daryl's ears.

"I mean it. I'm serious," Daryl said.

"I know you are," Carol said.

"You gotta carry our kid. I don't want you trying to carry guilt, too. It's time, Carol. Put that shit down for good. You understand?"

She tried to swallow back her smile. Daryl thought he'd die trying to remain stern. She nodded her head.

"Yes, sir," she offered.

"You know I don't like to be harsh with you," Daryl said.

"I know," Carol assured him.

"Wouldn't do it except for it's for your own good," Daryl said. "And for the good of our family."

"I know," Carol assured him.

"And I love you to damn death, Carol," Daryl said.

Carol broke. She couldn't hold back her smile at all. She practically leapt at Daryl. She caught his face and kissed him. The kiss took his breath away, sincerely. For a moment, he could think of absolutely nothing except the kiss and how much he loved this woman. He wrapped his arms around her and enjoyed the kiss as entirely as possible.

When she pulled out of the kiss, the lightness from earlier was back. Daryl felt it like the air in the room had cleared.

"I love you too, Daryl. So much. Do you like the dress? Really?" Carol asked.

"It's a beautiful dress," he assured her. "Pretty. Color looks good with your eyes." He touched her face. "I hope our baby has your eyes."

"I hope our baby looks just like you," Carol said. "And then Merle and nobody else can say a thing to question its paternity."

"Doesn't matter what anybody says," Daryl said. "Not now. Not ever. Now—I do like this dress, Carol, but…there's one thing wrong with it."

Carol furrowed her brow at him.

"What?" She asked, trying to decide if she was offended that he might criticize one of her creations. Daryl smiled at her.

"It's got entirely too much fabric," he said, "and it's bedtime, and I can't see my wife's beautiful body with all this fabric in the way."

He winked at her and she smiled.

"Maybe you ought to help your wife out of the dress, then," she said.

"Turn around," Daryl said. "I got the zipper."