AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"We gonna find Mama," Daryl declared. "We gonna find Mama an' we gonna eat lunch."

"Mama!" Sophia called out. Her voice echoed. Inside the prison, though, her noise mattered very little. It stirred up no Walkers and, if it bothered anyone, Daryl wasn't really concerned with the complaints of anyone who might be bothered by a three-year-old occasionally acting like what she was.

Sophia held to Daryl's hands and kept her feet planted as firmly as she could on his feet. He walked, hunched over, slowly and deliberately. He stepped higher than was necessary and swung his feet out more in the manner of Frankenstein's monster than in his normal gait. Walking with Sophia on his feet like that, though, especially when he was dramatic about his steps, made her laugh and cling tightly to his hands.

"She ain't heard you," Daryl offered around Sophia's echoing laughter.

"Mama!" Sophia called out again. "Mama! We gon' find you!"

"Mama," Daryl teased, echoing Sophia's words as she howled in laughter over his dramatic steps. "We gonna find you!"

It was almost time for lunch. Daryl had already washed up pretty well, and he'd washed Sophia's hands to get ahead of the dirt that she managed to pick up like a magnet. He'd taken her outside, expecting to find Carol cooking lunch, and he'd found Andrea, instead, managing four of the newer arrivals while some turned meat on a series of spits and the others tended six large pots that, presumably, held something like rice and vegetables.

Andrea and Carol now had a small army of help to do what Carol had largely done by herself until Andrea had come along some few months before.

Carol had been nowhere near the meal preparation area, and she hadn't been near the laundry area either. Andrea hadn't seen where she'd gone, and nobody else seemed to know either, but Daryl had bumped into Michonne and she'd declared that she'd seen Carol heading into the prison a short time before. Daryl reasoned that she'd probably gone to relieve herself and to wash up.

"Mama!" Sophia called out again as they neared the cell that Daryl and Carol called their private little space in this world. "We gon' get you!"

"We're gonna get you!" Daryl echoed.

When they reached the cell, Daryl held Sophia by one arm and she remained standing on his feet. She didn't try to hop off just yet. She didn't try to run or anything else. She simply laughed and stood there, balanced on his feet, with one of her arms in his grasp.

Daryl pushed back the blanket that worked to give them what little privacy they had in the prison and he immediately dropped it back.

"Daddy…" Sophia called out. It was neither a question nor a statement entirely. She didn't know what was going on. She didn't understand. She was waiting for any explanation that Daryl had to give her, and he was used to thinking pretty quickly by now.

"Not there!" Daryl declared. He took Sophia's other hand to resume the position of walking with her on his feet. He picked up his steps, though, a little faster this time. He was more deliberate with his forward progress. Sophia didn't notice the change. She didn't seem to notice the change at all, in fact. She howled in laughter and called out to her mother that they were in search of her—never knowing that Daryl had found her and was only now trying to figure out where to leave Sophia for a few moments.

He found Andrea easier than anyone else, and he practically shoved Sophia into her arms with only the request that she watch the girl a few minutes. He didn't wait for a response because he already knew that Andrea would take care of Sophia whenever he requested it.

And when Sophia tried to protest, Daryl distracted her quickly by promising her that her aunt Andrea was going to get her some lunch. The only thing that Sophia loved more than playing with Daryl, after all, was eating.

Daryl double-timed his steps back to the cell and slipped under the blanket and into the relative privacy of the cell.

Carol eyed him when he came in.

"Where did you go?" Carol asked. "Where's Sophia?"

"She's eatin' lunch with Andrea," Daryl said.

"Why did you leave?" Carol asked.

"Why do you look like somebody died?" Daryl snapped back.

She was red-faced and puffy-eyed and her posture sitting on the edge of the bed was different from when she was in a good mood. Daryl knew that hormones had been steam-rolling her a bit lately, and he'd heard those around him say that he should be sensitive and forgive her when she said things like she had no idea why she was crying, or when she burst into tears over something as insignificant as him offering her an unexpected flower that he'd picked from where it grew oddly into the fence.

Carol sniffed back against the tears that she'd pretend she wasn't crying and Daryl offered her the handkerchief out of his back pocket. She laughed to herself—a soggy sounding laugh—as she unfolded the cloth square to wipe at her face and blow her nose.

"Is it that obvious?" Carol asked.

"I just wanna know if it's good or bad," Daryl said. "But I'm guessin' bad if you come in here to hide."

Carol shook her head, mournfully, at the handkerchief. Daryl could tell that one cotton square wasn't going to do it, so he went directly to their drawers and rummaged through his own to pull out a few of the clean ones to offer her as the need arose. They did laundry every day. A few more items in the next wash wouldn't matter.

"You hurt?" Daryl asked.

"Not physically," Carol said, a choked sob escaping her. The worst of the crying was clearly done by now—he'd missed the storm—but it could start again at any moment.

"Someone hurt you?" Daryl asked. "Someone hurt your feelin's?"

Carol frowned sincerely at him. She mopped at her face and shook her head. She could deny it all she wanted, but Daryl knew he was at least in the neighborhood of truth. He walked over and sat beside her on the bed. She leaned into him when he rubbed his hand across her back, digging the heel of it in a little to massage muscles as he went.

"Who?" He asked. "Just—tell me who."

"I did," Carol said. She half-hiccupped. "I hurt my own feelings."

Daryl laughed to himself. He kissed the side of her head, wholly relieved that it was nothing serious. It was a bought of tears, no doubt, brought on by hormones and an overactive imagination. He'd dealt with a couple of those in the past few weeks, and he was likely to deal with a few more in the next few months, but he didn't mind them.

"Shhhh," he hissed at her. He kissed the side of her face again and she hummed at him, already calming the rest of the way from her upset. "You can't be doin' this shit, woman," he teased, swallowing his laughter. "Who the hell am I gonna beat up if it's you that's hurtin' you?" Carol laughed quietly in response.

"I'm sorry," she whispered out.

"You oughta be," Daryl said. "Workin' my ass up like that. Come in here to see you cryin' an' I'm thinkin' the worst damn shit. Gotta get Sophia outta here—prob'ly damn near give Andrea a heart attack with the look in my eyes. Tryin' to make it clear to her ass that I'd kill her if she let Soph get upset 'cause I'ma have to come deal with some real heavy shit in here…an' you done come in here an' hurt your own damn feelings?"

Carol hummed at him and nuzzled his neck. He closed his eyes to the sensation. A shiver ran through him. She kissed his neck and the shiver intensified.

Daryl pulled away enough to catch her face and he immediately brought his lips to hers. Her kiss tasted salty and he imagined that she'd closed herself in the cell for quite a good cry before he'd found her. He'd come in, no doubt, on the tail end of things.

Despite the salty taste, though, her kisses were sweet and Daryl indulged her as she fed on his mouth like she was starving.

He laughed to himself as he pulled away for air.

"What?" Carol asked, almost sounding offended. There was a deep crease between her brows. "What?" She repeated, on the verge of getting angry with him.

"You seem kinda hungry to me," Daryl teased. "You sure you ain't just like Sophia? Thinkin' your feelin's got hurt but really you just sad 'cause you was really just hungry?" Carol frowned at him. It was evident that she wasn't entirely sure what mood she was in and she wasn't entirely sure if she was going to be offended or not. Daryl stroked her cheek and stole a few quick kisses to soften her expression. "You lure me in here with fake tears so you could get somethin' you wanted from me?" She smiled at him, sincerely, but he knew the dampness drying on her cheeks wasn't fake. "All jokes aside, you wanna tell me what it is that upset you?"

"I feel like a whale," Carol said.

"Tiny fuckin' whale," Daryl said. "More like a dolphin. We got a long way to go yet. Besides—I thought we talked about it, didn't we? Agreed—bigger is better, right? We want this kid full grown. Everything like it's supposed to be. Well-nutritioned and all that shit."

Daryl laughed to himself when her frown cracked. He knew her. He knew her well. And even though every day he still learned something more about her—or at least that's how it felt—he knew what made her smile and what made her sad. He knew everything in between.

And he would be as silly as she needed him to be to see a smile over tears.

"All of these—tiny little young little…" Carol sighed to finish her statement.

"They were tryin' to get under your skin again?" Daryl asked.

"They didn't even know I was around," Carol admitted.

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't laugh at her. He wouldn't trivialize what she thought was a big deal—even if he knew she wouldn't think it was a big deal once the mood had passed.

"They were talkin' about you?" He asked.

"Me," Carol said. "Andrea…everybody? I don't know. They weren't talking about anybody and they were talking about everybody."

"What the hell were they doin'?" Daryl asked. "What the hell were they sayin'?"

Carol narrowed her eyes at him.

"They were ranking the men in the prison," Carol said.

Daryl didn't quite hold back the entire bout of laughter that rose up in him. Some escaped him.

"Rankin' us?" Daryl asked.

"You know," Carol said.

"I'm afraid I don't," Daryl said, even though he had some suspicions. The blending of Woodbury and the prison meant that there was a great deal of movement in between the two places. People went here and there as they pleased. In addition to the permanent "homes" established in each location, they were also establishing temporary quarters for those who wanted to simply spend a small amount of time in one place or the other. Even Daryl—and he hoped to convince Carol and Sophia to go with him—planned to go to Woodbury soon.

Because of the flux of people, though, and because of the general shortage of males in the population, there was at least some flashing of tail-feathers and the like as the two populations mingled.

"They were ranking the men on like—who would be the…you know…best partner or whatever," Carol said.

"Well ain't that flatterin' as shit," Daryl said with a laugh. "I mean Merle used to rank women based on fuckability and all, but best partner? That's gotta be a woman thing—take into account a whole lot more characteristics."

"Stop," Carol said. There was no real anger there, but there was still a flash of warning. Daryl smiled at her.

"Where'd I come in?" He asked.

"Stop," Carol repeated.

"Come on," Daryl teased. "You owe me that. At least tell me—you know—where the hell I come in." Her lip rolled out slightly. He almost felt bad for teasing her, but he knew he'd make it up to her. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Was I at least higher'n Merle?" She nodded her head, her bottom lip still slightly protruding, perhaps even against her will. "How high?" Daryl asked. He smiled at her expression and, rather than push it, he kissed her. At first, she struggled playfully like she would deny him the kiss, but finally she settled into it. He kept it up, too. He teased her with different kisses until his hands—pressed against her back—could feel that she'd relaxed. Then he pulled away.

"Perfect daddy," Carol said with a laugh. "Perfect husband. Provider. You can fix anything. What the hell do you think you were going to rank, asshole?" Daryl laughed to himself and rubbed his knuckle against her cheek.

"You know why the hell they ranked me high like they done? Because they saw me with you and they were thinkin' that's what the hell they were gonna get. They were thinkin' that all this—all that we got? They were thinkin' they could have that." He smirked at her. "And that means it really oughta be them you cryin' for—'cause you know they can't never have all this."

"Asshole," Carol responded.

Daryl laughed to himself and pulled her close to him.

"The hell you cryin' for?" He asked. "Because they ranked my ass higher'n Merle?"

"Because I feel fat and gross and sad and…not worthy of someone that a twenty-year-old Barbie doll is going to rank as her preferred mate," Carol said.

"I don't care what anybody says," Daryl mused. "Being ranked like a piece of beef is so damn complemental—I understand now why women reacted so damn good to it when Merle used to tell 'em what the hell he ranked 'em as." He laughed to himself when Carol didn't respond. She didn't pull away from him, though, so that was a good sign. "You ain't none of them things you said you were feelin' like you were," Daryl said. "And if it makes you feel any better, I'd rank you a one or an A or whatever the hell the scale is."

She slipped a hand around him to rub his side, and then she playfully pinched him. He jumped slightly, but didn't pull away from her since her attack was short-lived and only meant with affection.

"You're just saying that to be an asshole," Carol said.

"I'm not," Daryl assured her.

"I'm not a one next to—to Malibu Barbie and friends," Carol said. Daryl laughed to himself and wrapped his arms around her tighter, playfully squeezing her as he pulled her against him on their bed.

"I don't know about Barbie," he said. "But—I don't even gotta see the rest of the contenders. You're my number one. Always."

Carol nuzzled into him and her face found his neck again. He shivered at the nuzzle—something she did when she was feeling particularly affectionate—and their little one, he'd learned, often made her feel particularly affectionate. She laughed quietly and nipped at his neck so that another shiver ran through him.

"Stop it, woman," he warned. "We ain't even had lunch yet."

"Sophia's with Andrea?" Carol asked. Daryl hummed at her. He closed his eyes to the sensation of her tongue and teeth doing their work on his neck and now his ear. With the next shiver, his dick started to make requests to join the conversation and Carol must have heard it loud and clear because her hand immediately started working the button his pants to find a way inside. "Then what if we just took a couple of minutes? Just for me to offer my number one a little—appetizer?"

Daryl laughed to himself, and the laugh dissolved into a hiss as her hand wrapped around him.

"You know me better'n that," he said, moving to push her down under him on the bed and to free himself from her grasp. "You know you keep fuckin' with me like that—I'ma be number one an' win this damn race." She had embraced her maternity clothes now, and her pants were all elastic, so they were easy for him to work down quickly—which was one of the best things about them. Daryl pushed her shirt up to press a kiss to the skin just below her navel—where the second little life to make him a Daddy was busy growing as best it could and pumping a record amount of hormones into its poor and defenseless mother—before he started his short trip downward. "And we oughta split the appetizer. So—come here to me."