AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Carol stood with her hands on her hips and looked at the cell that was overflowing with the large black hefty bags that they'd used when they'd gone on the last run. There were bags on the floor, bags on the bed, and even bags on top of bags. There was barely room for Daryl and Carol to both fit into the cell along with all the bags.
Daryl had dragged all of the bags down from one of the extra cells and had piled them up before he'd come for Carol and asked for attention for just a moment.
"Well—what do you think?" Daryl asked.
"I think—when you told me you needed me for a minute," Carol said, "that I thought you had something else in mind. Daryl, what is all this stuff?"
Daryl reached over and stretched open the top of one of the bags, the red handles slid out of the way to allow the mouth of the bag to gape open and reveal that it was almost to the point of overflowing with cloth.
"Clothes," Daryl said.
"Why are they all in our cell?" Carol asked.
"Because I want you to have first pick," Daryl said. He reached in the bag and pulled something out. Carol could tell by his expression that he wasn't sure what he had until he shook it out to reveal that it was a dress. He spread it out on the bed. "That one's—well, it's really big. And maybe that ain't one you want, but I got all they had. Every single piece. These are maternity clothes. For now—for when you're pregnant."
"I know what maternity clothes are," Carol offered. The expression that she got from Daryl told her that he wasn't amused and she laughed to herself. He smiled in response, but moved his thumb to his mouth to bother his cuticle and erase the smile. Carol looked around at the bags. "There's so much."
"Cleaned 'em out," Daryl said. "I wanted you to have what you want. Whatever it is you need." He shrugged his shoulders. "We always need clothes. Cloth. Rags, even. So, whatever it is that you don't want or you don't need…"
"I can make quilts," Carol said. "And there will be more babies. More women who could use maternity clothes." She reached a hand out and brushed the fabric of the dress that Daryl had half spread out on the bed. A glance at the tag told her it would go to quilting fabric. Even though they ate better now than they had in the past, none of them—not even loaded down with the weight of a baby that was ready to be born—would be large enough to require that particular dress. But some nice quilts would be welcome when the winter set in.
Carol smiled to herself when she glanced at Daryl. He was watching her out of the corner of his eye with his head partially turned away like he had a very vested interest in the big black bags. He was waiting to be told if he'd done right or wrong. He was waiting for some word from her on whether or not he could go—practically prancing around the prison—to attend to whatever other business he needed to take care of, or if he should slink—head down and shoulders forward—back to some corner or guard tower to sulk over his failure as a father to their unborn baby and to the woman that he still refused to call a wife because Hershel hadn't yet publicly declared such a thing to be so.
Carol had never had such power over a man before. She could make Daryl's day wonderful, or she could ruin it with just a word or a gesture. She knew that, just like there were men who abused their power over women, there were women who abused their power over men.
She would never do that to Daryl.
Even when things weren't exactly the way they should be, and even when he'd gone a little too far to the left of things, his heart was in the right place. After her experiences with the man she'd first called her husband, Carol had an acute interest in where the heart lie in nearly every situation.
She gave Daryl the best smile that she could produce.
"This was so thoughtful," she offered.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"You start somethin' with that and I know you're about to try to make me feel better," Daryl said.
Carol laughed. It relaxed her. She felt the tension in her shoulders melting away. She hadn't even realized it was forming there—silently proving that even after everything, and even with absolute trust that Daryl would never surprise her in a bad way, her instinct still prepared for every interaction to go negatively.
"I mean it," Carol said. "There's enough clothing here for anyone who might need it. Some of this—it's even more comfortable just to wear than the things we have now. I can use the leftover clothes for quilts for the winter and, and to make clothes. Other clothes."
"Does that mean you don't wanna wear none of it now?" Daryl asked. "I mean—I got it for you. For growing the baby."
Carol felt the familiar fluttering that happened inside of her. It wasn't their little one—or at least she didn't think it was their little one, though she sometimes wondered these days—rather, it was the feeling that she got in response to the way that Daryl talked about their little one. Everything in her body seemed to respond with a happiness that was outside of her control when he mentioned the baby. She'd never felt it before. She'd certainly never felt it when she was carrying Sophia. She almost felt magnetically pulled to him when he brought it up and, when she responded even then by offering him a kiss, he gladly took it.
He smiled at her.
"That felt like you meant it," Daryl said with a laugh, "that I done alright."
"You did wonderfully," Carol said. "And I'm absolutely going to go through it. I'm going to get some things out to wear. I only meant that there's so much here that it can be used by everyone."
"You do what you want with it," Daryl said, "but I got it. It was me and T that loaded them bags in the back of that truck while they coulda been Walkers all over our asses. It was the two of us cleared out that store of Walkers an' cleared off them streets good enough to work. We got this for you. All of it. So, don't you let nobody talk you out of nothin' you want."
Carol wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into her. He wrapped his own arms around her and she felt the weight of his hands resting at the small of her back.
"I hear you," she told him. "Loud and clear. This is mine. All of it. And I'll spend this morning going through it to decide what I want to wear and what I want for—making a few other things. And what I want to put up as an offering to any future mothers around here." She smiled at him. "Thank you, Pookie, for taking such good care of me."
Immediately Daryl's cheeks flooded pink and he let out a choked laugh before he pulled away from her and playfully pushed her backward to put what distance between them the overcrowded cell would allow.
"Asshole," he said.
By now, Carol accepted the word with all of the affection that it held.
"I do have a question," Carol said.
Daryl narrowed his eyebrows at her and did his best to scowl at her despite his evident desire to do otherwise. She didn't try to swallow down her laughter, and when the giggle escaped her, it was clear that it was even more difficult for Daryl to hold the put-on scowl. She held her hand up.
"A real question," she said. "Sincere."
She reached for the open bag and started to sort things out onto the bed beside the bag. There was so much there that it would take her the better part of the day to figure out what to do with all of it. She could tease Daryl for bringing so much, but the truth was that it would be very handy to have around.
"Shoot," Daryl said.
Carol examined a dress that she found. It was one that caught her eye and it happened to be more in her size than the other that Daryl had laid out before.
"Does this mean that—you think I need these?" Carol asked.
"Maternity clothes," Daryl said. He somewhat stammered over the words. "That's what they're for. You're—what they're for. For havin' a baby."
"I know what they're for," Carol said.
"Then I don't know why the hell you're askin' me if you need 'em when you know that you're havin' a baby," Daryl said. "Unless—there's something I don't know about."
"No," Carol said quickly. "No—I'm pregnant."
"So you need maternity clothes," Daryl said.
"Does that mean you think I need them now? That you think I'm fat?"
Carol almost laughed at the expression that crossed Daryl's face. Even though he would declare that he was all thumbs with this sort of thing and the he knew absolutely nothing about women, he knew enough about women that a quick shock of panic spread across his features. Carol swallowed down her laughter.
"Pregnant," Daryl offered.
"But fat?" Carol asked.
"Pregnant," Daryl repeated.
"But—fat enough that something got you down to that cell just after breakfast to drag all these bags down here?" Carol asked.
"They been here," Daryl said. "Since the run. And they weren't doing no good in that cell. I been waitin' on Glenn and Maggie to get married, but if they don't do it soon…and I know that everybody keeps sayin' that I oughta wait to give you everything else I've got for you, even though I don't want to. But I talked to Hershel and he said you might want these—ya know—sooner rather than later."
Carol raised her eyebrows at him, pleased with his explanation of things even though it wound around itself a bit and got a little tangled up.
"You talked to Hershel about giving me seven sacks of maternity clothes?" Carol asked.
Daryl nodded.
"He's got way more experience than me," Daryl said. "With wives and marriage and babies. He's about the only one around here that does, honestly. Strange as that sounds to say. And the last damn thing I want is to ask Rick's advice on—ya know—marriage things."
"I love you," Carol blurted. She was surprised that the words came tumbling out when they did, but they were right there and she couldn't hold them back any longer. Daryl looked pleasantly surprised by the admission.
"I love you, too," he said. "But—what'd I do to deserve that?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"You're just you," she said. "My wonderful…husband?" She raised her eyebrows at him and moved toward him for another embrace. He accepted her, but held her at arm's length enough to give her something of a disapproving expression.
"Not until we get married," Daryl said.
Carol sighed. She stepped back and took his hand. He let her move it when he realized what she was doing. She pressed it to her abdomen and felt the familiar sensation inside of her—the feeling of a happiness that could barely be contained by her own skin—at his touch. He affectionately rubbed his fingers over the cotton of her shirt.
"We're as married as we're ever going to be," Carol said.
"We'll be even more married when Hershel marries us," Daryl said. Carol frowned at him. "But you're gettin' pressed about it."
"I didn't think it mattered," Carol said. "It doesn't matter. Not—the whole ceremony or everyone there. It doesn't matter to me. But it does matter to me to—to be able to say you're my husband." She shook her head at him. "And I don't know why, exactly, but that's starting to matter more to me every day."
Daryl smiled at her. She could practically feel the warmth radiating out from his eyes as he held hers with his own, unblinking. His fingers rubbed against her. The warmth radiating out from his hand practically copied that which she felt from his expression.
"I think I can imagine what might be makin' it more important," Daryl said. "But if you don't wanna wait no more…"
"Maggie and Glenn…" Carol said.
"Have had time," Daryl said. "And they got a whole damn lotta time ahead of 'em, too. If they was that serious about it, they'da done it by now."
"They're waiting for the right time," Carol said.
"Then they ain't lived long enough to know that right now is the right time if you…if you really want it," Daryl said.
"We waited this long," Carol said.
Daryl responded to her with a kiss and nothing more. The kiss was everything she wanted it to be, though, even though she hadn't quite realized she'd been waiting for it. She was hungry for the kiss and she enjoyed that Daryl let her have all she wanted. He waited for her to break it. When she looked at his lips, the corner of them turned upward.
"You ain't fat," Daryl said. "You're pregnant, though. And I was kinda thinking that—not that you was fat—but that them pants? They ain't very forgiving. Not for a pregnant woman. And with all that bendin' an' up and down you do all day? I didn't like the idea that the baby might be feelin' smashed."
"You're saying my pants are tight enough that they're crushing our baby?" Carol asked with a snort.
"I'm sayin' that I don't want our baby feelin' restricted," Daryl said. "Want it to feel like it's got room to grow. To stretch out. Like it's got all the room it needs."
"So I'm fat enough that I'm…crushing our child and restricting its growth?" Carol asked. She smirked at Daryl. He saw it because he didn't look frightened. He didn't back away from her like he feared some kind of anger from her. The smirk didn't leave his lips.
"I didn't never say fat," Daryl said. "I said pregnant. And you are. And that's my kid, too. So I'm tellin' you to—pick somethin' outta here. Put it on. Before you come out this cell."
Carol struggled to keep the straightest expression she possibly could.
"Is that—an order?" She asked, doing her best to challenge him. She couldn't be serious enough for it to carry too much weight, but he understood her well enough.
"Damn right it is," Daryl responded, the shake in his voice making it clear that he, too, was struggling to put the faked force behind his words.
"And—while I'm doing all this," Carol said. "What are you going to do?"
"I got work to do," Daryl said. "Don't you worry about me. But I'ma find you later. Make sure you—done what I told you to do."
He pecked her lips to say that he was done. The quick kiss said that he had reminded himself of the work he had to do and the fact that time was ticking away.
"I love you," he said quickly. It was an abrupt end to everything. He considered it done. He had work to do and so did Carol. He started out the cell.
Carol picked up the dress, again, that she'd already decided she actually liked.
"I love you," she said, purposefully putting the sound of an unfelt pout behind it. Daryl looked at her over his shoulder, before slipping through the curtain that gave them what privacy the prison had to offer, to see if she was serious. She gave him a smile and wink to take with him before she playfully poked her bottom lip out at him. He laughed to himself and purposefully furrowed his brows at her in the same put-on scowl that he'd worn earlier.
"I'm serious," he said, attempting to slather the words in threat as they echoed behind him when he stepped into the hallway. "Stop crushin' my damn kid, woman."