AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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Daryl wanted Carol to enjoy the experience of a private home for their little family. He wanted her to have the full experience and, since they wouldn't be required to start their jobs in the community for a few days, part of that meant being able to actually sleep in, for the first time in a long time, without the awareness that people were passing in front of their cell as they went about their normal business.

Daryl wanted Carol to sleep in and to do it as guilt-free as possible.

So, when Sophia decided that being in a new place made her want to wake up very early and get her day started, Daryl had promised Carol that he could handle the morning routine. All she needed to do was get a little more rest for her and their youngest.

Daryl dressed Sophia, brushed her hair, and washed her face. Sophia liked having her face washed in the morning, and she had always had a tendency to drool a little in her sleep.

"We gotta be quiet," Daryl told Sophia. It was really just a formality at this point. If Carol and Hershel were sleeping, it was because they'd chosen to go back to sleep. Daryl was awake, after all, because Sophia had already demonstrated that she could very easily call for help across the apartment and wake them up.

"Quiet?"

"Yep, quiet. Shhhh, OK?"

"OK, Daddy. I'ma be quiet. I'ma be quiet now, Daddy. OK."

"OK. Shhhh…Sophia, part of bein' quiet is not talkin' about it, OK?"

"OK, Daddy! I'm quiet. Daddy?"

Daryl laughed to himself. At this point he was just trying to get both of them out of the door with as little noise as possible. Sophia stood by him, with her hand on his thigh, while he tied his boot laces.

"What is it, Soph?" Daryl asked, accepting that it wasn't in her repertoire to be too quiet. She danced around; one hand still outstretched to touch him—what he felt was a clear indication that she still wasn't entirely secure in her new "home."

"I'm hungry," she said with a smile, like she was sharing some incredible secret. Daryl laughed to himself again.

"Your eyes are open, I reckon you are," Daryl responded. "We gonna go get breakfast. Gonna check out their mess hall or whatever, you wanna do that? See what they cookin' us up for breakfast and see where your Mama's signed herself up to work?"

"I want breakfast," Sophia agreed. "And I can work, Daddy."

"You can work," Daryl agreed. "And you gonna probably end up workin' with your Papa Hershel. He's gonna be workin' with the plants and the animals. That's prob'ly gonna be the best place for you."

Sophia agreed with Daryl that plants and animals sounded liked the very best profession for her. To Daryl, it sounded like the place where she'd be least likely to get too underfoot or get hurt. Children, at this point, were quite rare everywhere. Daryl was sure that, eventually, there would be childcare and maybe even schools, but that would require time and planning. For the time being, Sophia would remain in the care of someone they knew.

Daryl carried Sophia down the street, not offering her the option of walking just yet. He didn't want her legs to get too tired before they were in a situation where her energy was either needed or simply more appropriate.

Daryl and Merle had picked up food the night before, so it wasn't difficult to find the building where they had the designated "mess hall." It had once been a restaurant, and they had packed it with long tables to seat as many people as possible. Food could be eaten there or taken elsewhere. The night before, it hadn't been very busy, but it was clear that this was peak rush hour for breakfast as people were grabbing food before getting started with their daily activities.

"I gotta carry our plates," Daryl said. "So, you hold onto my leg, Soph. Hold onto my pants. You don't let go, OK?"

"OK, Daddy," Sophia agreed.

"I mean it," Daryl said, resting her on her feet as they neared the line at the cafeteria style serving area. He curled her fingers around his pants and she followed his direction and squeezed the material hard with her hand. "Hold on tight to me—you got me?"

"I got you! I got you, Daddy!" Sophia squealed, clearly very happy with the idea of "having" Daryl. They had drawn some attention, probably owing to the fact that children were so rare to see these days, and Daryl's face burned a little warm. He always felt a little bit on the defensive when he was around people with Sophia. There were far too many bad memories of how she'd been seen as nothing more than an inconvenience to somebody since she'd practically come into the world. Daryl did welcome the fact, though, that people had given them a little space.

"Gonna need two plates," Daryl said, stepping up to request food. "Little bit of everything on both."

"You must be hungry," the woman said with a laugh as she moved to serve the plates.

"Got my little one down here," Daryl said. "You probably can't see too much of her."

The woman stood on her toes and peeked over the counter.

"We have milk. Fresh. Also, water to drink."

"Daddy! Daddy! Milk! I want milk!"

Daryl smiled to himself.

"You got that, I guess," he said. "I'ma just drink water."

The woman smiled and nodded her head.

"Matt'll give you a hand carrying things," she said, gesturing her head toward a young man who looked disenchanted with the idea of service to the community.

"I appreciate it," Daryl said. "Any chance you got a cup with a lid?"

"We've got just about everything," the woman offered. "How old is she?"

"Hell if I know," Daryl admitted. "We're sayin' around three, but that's just as likely to be a lie as it is to be true. She walks. She talks. She eats solid food for the most part—she ain't completely weaned yet, but she don't nurse much except for at night."

The woman looked at him owl-eyed, and her cheeks blushed.

"I don't know anything about babies," she offered. "I was just making small talk."

"Understood," Daryl said with a laugh. "And appreciated. Thanks."

Daryl took the two plates—one in each hand—and the young man named Matt followed him slowly as he took Sophia and their breakfast to the few outside tables. Daryl thanked Matt when he'd put the cups down and he got Sophia situated in the chair that he pulled next to him. Sophia stood in her chair, jammed as close to the edge of the table as Daryl could get it, and surveyed her breakfast.

First, she tasted her milk and clearly approved of the milk and the orange sippy cup in which it had been served. Then, she picked up her bacon and bit it, humming her approval.

"You doin' OK?" Daryl asked.

"What's that?" She asked, sticking her finger into her grits. She held her finger out to Daryl like she was slightly horrified at the idea of having food on the end of it. Daryl realized they didn't have any napkins, but he did have a handkerchief, and that would do in a pinch.

"Lick it off, Sophia," Daryl directed. "They got you grits here. And them are lil' potatoes fried up, before you stick your finger in 'em."

"Tatoes?" Sophia asked, furrowing her brow at Daryl.

"Potatoes," Daryl said, nodding. "You know what potatoes are, Sophia. And grits. These are good. They even got butter in 'em. Just like you like it when your Mama makes 'em."

"Mama made my tatoes?" Sophia asked. "Mama made them?"

"No, Mama didn't make 'em. But they're like she makes them and you like 'em. Eat up. Come on. You said you was hungry."

Daryl offered Sophia her spoon and, for just a moment, she played in her food. She trailed a few of the little fried potatoes into the pool of grits on her plate. Her bottom lip had rolled out a substantial distance, and she occasionally looked around at the people who came and went. It was clear, to Daryl, that she was going to require something of an adjustment period to her new home. This wasn't the prison, and Sophia was acutely aware of that.

At least, for the time being, she was eating her bacon, clutching it in whichever hand wasn't currently holding the spoon—since she often switched hands, leaving Carol and Daryl to wonder, sometimes, which was her actual dominant hand—and chewing pieces off of it. She was on her second piece, of the three provided to her, already. Daryl reserved all of his bacon to pass to her. It probably wasn't the most nutritious breakfast known to man, but a meal of bacon and milk was better than no food at all.

Sophia finally spooned up a mouthful of potatoes and grits, though, and chewed them rather thoughtfully.

"Good?" Daryl asked.

Sophia nodded, but her expression said otherwise. Slowly, her expression went from one of reluctant approval, to disapproval, and finally settled on disgust and disappointment.

"I want daddycakes," she offered, putting her spoon down.

"We don't got daddycakes," Daryl said. "We got grits, and potatoes, and bacon."

Here bottom lip rolled out and she stepped quickly from one foot to the other in the chair—not quite stomping her feet, but visibly showing her dislike of her current situation.

"Daddy, I want daddycakes! Please!"

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek.

"Just 'cause you say please, Soph, don't mean you get what you want," Daryl said. "Now—I'm sorry. We don't got daddycakes. We got bacon, grits, and potatoes—and you like all them things if you'll just remember you like 'em and eat."

Sophia's devastation became a little too much for her to hold in at that moment, and she practically let it burst out of her with one loud wail followed by a continuous stream of quieter and more pathetic lamentations. She didn't let go of her bacon, but the other hand was only useful to her for wiping at her face where her hair started to stick in the tears.

Daryl sighed and used his hands to mop her hair out of her eyes before that irritated her and worsened her expression of utter dismay.

"Please! I want…I want daddycakes! Please, Daddy!"

Her lamentations repeated, and Daryl let them run themselves out a bit. When she started coughing, he patted her on the back and held the top of her arm so she didn't fall out of her chair while she worked through the harsh injustices of the world.

"Take a breath or two, Soph," Daryl offered. "Get you some air to go with your sadness. Listen—we don't got daddycakes. And we ain't gonna have 'em this mornin'. But—if you wanna eat your breakfast that you ain't gonna like if you let it keep on gettin' colder and colder, we could go get the stuff for me to make you daddycakes tomorrow."

"Now!" Sophia commanded.

Daryl shook his head at her as she glared at him angrily with red eyes and a red, soggy face.

"Nope, I'm sorry," Daryl said. "Tomorrow's the best I can do."

Sophia sat down, then, and Daryl helped her lower herself so that she could sit safely. He offered her the cup of milk, and she took it with a great deal of enthusiasm. Daryl wondered, then, how long she'd been awake before she'd sounded the alarm that she wished to be free from her bed. He wondered how much she'd actually slept in their new place. She closed her eyes, still continuing her whining complaint, as she drank from her sippy cup—her fist still clutched tight around the strip of bacon that she'd almost squeezed into pulp.

Daryl returned to his breakfast, letting her have her moment to deal with things.

He was aware that people were watching, but he did his best not to make eye contact with any of them because just looking at them made his stomach churn until he didn't want his breakfast any more than Sophia wanted hers. He was surprised, then, when an older woman approached him, her face nearly as screwed up with frustration as Sophia's was.

"I don't mean to pry," the woman said.

"But you sure 'bout to," Daryl offered. She looked taken aback. Shock replaced the wrinkled brow and angry stare. She hadn't expected him to call her out on what she was about to do—what he could feel radiating off of her.

"Is she your first?" The woman asked. Daryl nodded his head. "Honey—if you don't get control of that child now, you'll never have it. You shouldn't let her act like that."

Sophia had stopped actively crying at this point. She was reclined back in her seat, legs crossed, swinging her foot while she quietly sobbed and practically nursed her sippy cup. She was red-faced and almost soaking wet from tears and snot—and Daryl didn't dare to make eye contact with her until she'd finished calming down.

"Act like what?" Daryl asked, deciding it was safe for him to eat a piece of bacon. Sophia was too tired to eat. The milk would quell the hunger for now. She'd get something later to hold her over until lunch. "Sad? Disappointed?"

"I would have taken my kids somewhere private," the woman said, "and handled that."

Daryl's stomach clenched.

"Handled it how?" He asked.

The woman shook her head at him like he was the most disappointing person she'd ever seen. The only thing that stopped him from telling her everything that floated around in his head was the fact that she was easily Hershel's age and, therefore, made him feel like she deserved some modicum of respect.

"She'd do good with a good spanking. Spare the rod, spoil the child," she said. "You let her stay out of hand like that now, and she'll cause you nothing but trouble the rest of her life."

Daryl bristled.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Who the hell are you? The Woodbury kid police?"

"I'm just trying to help," she said. "From someone with a lot of experience."

"I got a lotta damn experience, too," Daryl said. "Both with my kid and with your spare the rod bullshit. She knows I'll pop her bottom if there's some real damn reason for it, but—what the hell good's it gonna fuckin' do to just hit her for…for bein' disappointed and sad? She's tired. That's why her eyelids are purple like that. She ain't slept good last night. And she ain't growed enough to know that even if we feel like cryin' over the fact we wanna eat somethin' else, we don't usually do it. But I ain't gonna hit her for havin' feelings."

"How do you think she learns to control those feelings?" The woman asked.

"By feelin' 'em," Daryl said. "Knowin' that they ain't gonna kill her, and they ain't gonna change things. Learnin' to accept that they just that—feelings. And there's a time and a place for 'em. But she ain't ready to understand that yet."

"She's disturbing everyone," the woman said.

Daryl wrinkled his nose at the old woman.

"Look—I brung her outside so she wouldn't disturb nobody inside," Daryl said. "And I'll apologize to you if she's wreckin' your breakfast—which you don't seem to be eatin', but I don't see you sayin' you're sorry for disturbin' my meal."

"There's no need to be rude about it," the woman offered.

Her demeanor had changed a good deal. Now she was defensive. She was almost offended. Her parenting advice had been rejected, which was unacceptable, and now Daryl wasn't bowing down to her over the minor inconvenience she'd suffered while living in the same world as Sophia who happened to be a toddler who was having a moderately bad day so far, at least in her perception of the world.

"I ain't bein' rude," Daryl said. "Don't wanna be rude. Just wanna make everything clear to you an' everybody else that's pretendin' that they aren't listening to this conversation. I don't beat my daughter for havin' feelings, and I ain't never gonna do that. She's got big feelings and she ain't real big yet, herself, so it's hard for her to hold 'em all in. She's fuckin' allowed to be disappointed over breakfast and she ain't hurt nobody. I ain't gonna tell her not to talk about it, neither, 'cause I care what she thinks about. I don't really give a shit what you think about, though. So, there's the difference. You see it? I'm sorry—I spent too much of my life caring what other people think. I ran outta the ability to care."

The woman frowned at him and nodded.

"You'll see when she's out of control," the woman offered.

"And I'll think of you fondly, then," Daryl offered. "Thanks for stopping by now."

She huffed off, and Daryl held his back straight and watched her go. He didn't want her to know how much it bothered him and how much, really, he did care about what other people thought—even when he didn't want to.

"Daddy," Sophia offered from her chair. She moved to stand up again and Daryl reached a hand out and caught her arm. She stood up and offered him the smashed bacon. He dropped it in her plate and wiped her hand with the handkerchief. She was still sucking on the milk, and her face was mostly drying by now. "I'm sleepy." She whined, cracking into a few sobs.

Daryl laughed to himself. He nodded his head.

"I know you are," he said. "You didn't sleep good last night, huh? New place an' all."

"I want Mama," Sophia offered.

Daryl sighed and stood up. He gathered Sophia into his arms and she came willingly.

"Yeah," he said. "I want your Mama, too. Let's—get this cleaned up and, what do you say we go and find her?"