AN: Here we are, another chapter here. I hope you enjoy!
Let me know what you think!
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Daryl found Hershel in the living room, drinking a cup of coffee.
"You sleep alright?" He asked, keeping his voice low so that he didn't disturb Sophia. The little girl was fast asleep in his arms, though, and he doubted she would wake up for anything short of a natural disaster at this moment. She'd been sleeping solidly since they'd left the mess hall area.
"Fine," Hershel said with a nod. "There's a whole pot of coffee, and more to be made if you drink all that."
Daryl wondered if his expression gave away his feelings.
"Lemme just—put her down," Daryl said, gesturing toward Sophia. He made his way to the little girl's room, eased her into her bed, and tucked her in with her lamb and blanket. He didn't know how long she'd sleep, but at least the nap she was taking seemed solid, and it should knock the edge off some of her crankiness. On his way back to the living room, Daryl stopped in the kitchen. He practically marveled at the sight of the coffee pot—full of fresh coffee—and the mismatched mugs that Hershel had arranged in a line on the counter. They had yet to decide, after all, where they would put all of the things they acquired—or would acquire—to make their little apartment a home.
Daryl poured himself a mug of coffee and breathed in the smell of it before he made his way into the living room and sat down on the couch beside Hershel.
"Need more seating," Daryl offered.
"A chair in that corner, maybe," Hershel said in agreement.
"I'll go today. See what they got."
"Maybe Carol would like to go with you," Hershel said. "Start picking a few things out to feather her proverbial nest."
"Good coffee," Daryl said as soon as he was able to taste the hot liquid. "Is Carol asleep?"
"She is," Hershel confirmed, nodding his head in case the words couldn't quite convey his message. "I don't mean to intrude, but I did open the bedroom door and stick my head in when I realized Sophia was gone. I only looked in on her." He laughed to himself. "She appeared to be sleeping quite well. Snoring."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"She wouldn't like to hear it," Daryl said, "but she's snorin' pretty much every time she closes her eyes these days."
"Babies have a way of doing that," Hershel said. "Growing them causes swelling in the nose. She can't help it if she snores."
"I don't care anyway," Daryl said. "You think she's alright, though? Sleepin' this late?"
"I guess that all fathers who are experiencing the growth of their child, in the womb, for the first time, are nervous," Hershel said. "At least—all fathers who care. I know I was when Jo was expecting the first time. Carol's just enjoying her first morning of sleeping in. There's nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with a little fatigue, either. Whether or not we can see it, making a baby takes a lot of energy." Hershel laughed to himself. "I used to ask Jo what she'd done each day, after I came in from work. When she was expecting, in addition to the little things that I knew she'd done around the farm from the moment she'd opened her eyes, she'd always add in some little anecdote about—about which parts of the baby she'd worked on developing that day. Sometimes it was a left pinky finger. Other days it was a nose or an ear." He hummed to himself. "Making babies is hard work for mamas."
"At Carol's age?" Daryl asked.
"At any age," Hershel offered with a shrug. "Though I imagine that, like most things, age has something to do with the whole thing."
"Carol's always pointing out her age," Daryl said.
"That's just part of who Carol is, son," Hershel offered. "And you'll have to forgive her for that. Some of that is probably owing to some of the—influences in her life."
"Like Lori?"
Hershel snorted.
"Among others, I'm sure. Carol's fine, Daryl. There's no need to worry. I'll let you know if I think you should start worrying. For now, she's doing what any other gestating mother would do—especially one who's already the mother of a two-year-old. What's good for her. She's getting a little rest when and where she can."
"You think Sophia's still two?" Daryl asked.
Hershel shrugged.
"Two. Three. She's more likely three," Hershel offered.
"Can I ask you something?" Daryl asked. It was rhetorical, really. He already knew that Hershel wasn't going to begrudge him anything. Daryl stood up, noticing that Hershel was low on coffee, and he brought the coffee pot to refill both mugs. He returned it to its spot, opened the window, and sat close to it so that most of the smoke from the cigarette he lit would trail out of it. It was only then that he finally asked the question that Hershel was waiting patiently to hear. "When your kids were Sophia's age, did they ever get fussy over what they were havin' for breakfast when there were people around?"
Hershel laughed to himself.
"Sometimes they get fussy over what they're having for breakfast now," Hershel offered.
"I'm serious."
"I am, too. Of course they did. They were human. Am I correct in assuming that something happened with Sophia, Daryl?"
"She didn't want the grits and potatoes they were servin'," Daryl offered. "She wanted daddycakes. I told her that weren't what we were havin', and she fussed some."
"That doesn't sound like such a big deal," Hershel said.
"There was some woman that wanted to tell me she was outta control," Daryl said. "Said I oughta take her somewhere and handle that. If I didn't, she was gonna be wild forever, or some shit like that."
Hershel laughed to himself.
"Maybe I'm not the best person to offer advice on this one," Hershel said. "I've always been a fan of wild women, myself." Despite his feelings, Daryl couldn't help but smile at the expression on Hershel's face as, perhaps, he walked down some twisting road in his memories. "I've always expected my girls to be good people. I've expected them to—do what they could to help others. I've expected them to be obedient within reason—always for their own good. But neither Jo nor Annette—nor I—ever believed in clipping their wings entirely or in…in snuffing out their personalities. Besides—I think maybe both of us could agree that life's more fun when the women around us have at least a little bit of fire burning in them."
Daryl smiled to himself. He nodded his head.
"I don't want her to be a bad kid," Daryl said.
"Sophia is hardly what I would call a bad child. Do you think she's a bad child?"
Daryl shook his head.
"Daryl—it doesn't matter what some person thought. It doesn't matter what anybody thinks, really. If you and Carol are happy with the person that Sophia is becoming, and if she's becoming a good person—which I think she is—then that's really all that matters, isn't it? It doesn't make her a bad person if she doesn't want to eat potatoes."
"I told that woman I wasn't going to hit Sophia for havin' feelings."
"I think it's important to remember that Sophia is just as human as you or I am," Hershel offered. "She has all the feelings that we have. Sometimes, like us, she has a lot of them all at once. It's important to remember that we've had a long time to learn how to carry those feelings. Sophia has hardly had any time at all in comparison. Likewise, you and I can, at least somewhat, understand the world around us. We can express when we're tired, thirsty, hungry, scared, or angry. The world is very big, and Sophia is very little in comparison. And she lacks the language and ability to always express what she's feeling. I imagine it must be a very frustrating thing to have so much that you can't quite get out."
"That's what I tried to tell the woman. What the hell sense would it make to start hittin' her because she's tired and don't like the potatoes? Whole damn breakfast was too salty, anyway, if you wanna know the damn truth of it."
Hershel laughed.
"I don't know if you were seeking an answer of some sort, Daryl, or if you were just seeking an ear, but I think you've got your answer if there was ever really a question," Hershel said.
"I just didn't like her suggestin' that Sophia was gonna grow up to be outta control," Daryl said with a sigh.
Hershel smiled to himself and winked at Daryl.
"All the best women are, Daryl," Hershel assured him. "At least a little bit."
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"Alright, woman," Daryl said, leaning down close enough to brush his lips against Carol's cheek before he rested them just over her ear to whisper to her, "you've gotta wake up or I'ma get worried."
Carol stirred and Daryl straightened up and smiled to himself. In these moments, she reminded him a great deal of Sophia—or Sophia reminded him a great deal of Carol, as the case may be. She stretched, scrubbed at her eyes, and fought for the last few precious seconds of sleep before she finally groaned and rolled onto her back to accept that morning had come.
It was only when her eyes were open, and she'd looked around a second, that she seemed to truly come into consciousness. She looked at Daryl with her brow furrowed and her lips slightly pouting as she woke. She looked at him, for a second, like she didn't remember where she was or, perhaps, even who he was. Then a smile spread slowly across those lips to take the place of the pout.
"What time is it?" Carol asked.
"Doesn't matter," Daryl said. "Did you sleep good?"
Carol's smile refreshed itself and she stretched dramatically. She hummed in the affirmative, but didn't quite get the words out. Daryl tapped her shoulder and, toeing off his shoes, laid down on top of the blanket, his body hugging against hers as she rolled onto her side. Carol lifted herself, shaking the cover down and mostly off of her, so that Daryl could hold her better. Daryl kissed the side of her face, breathed in the natural scent of her, and quietly marveled at how perfectly their bodies fit together—like they had been made specifically to lie together like this.
Carol hummed in satisfaction, her voice still slightly gravelly from sleep, and she caught Daryl's hand and guided it down to the swell where their youngest must have been sleeping—not yet roused by its parents—since Daryl knew that, now, he could feel it if the baby stirred near his hand.
"Where's Sophia?" Carol asked.
"Nappin'," Daryl said.
"Already? Is it that late, Daryl?"
"It ain't late. I don't think she hardly slept last night, to tell you the truth. Where you seemed to sleep better for the move, I'm not sure she slept good at all."
"It's been a long time since she's been in a new place," Carol said. "It'll take her some time to get used to it."
"She showed out at breakfast," Daryl said. "Wanted daddycakes."
Carol hummed.
"That sounds good, actually," she said. She groaned, and her hand came down to press Daryl's palm deeper into her belly. "Your youngest might want daddycakes…"
"Well that weren't what they had," Daryl said with a laugh. "Not at the mess hall."
"What'd they have?"
"Grits, potatoes—home fries, like. Bacon."
"Did Sophia eat?"
"It was a little salty," Daryl said. "Some bacon and milk was all she had."
"She'll be hungry after her nap," Carol said.
Daryl let his hand trail up to Carol's breasts.
"She might want some milk. You got some to offer. You're full," he said.
"I know," Carol said. "Too full. I've got to pump, I guess. Sophia didn't nurse this morning. I don't know if she'll nurse when she wakes up or not. She's nursing less and less these days."
"It's your choice," Daryl said. "But—if you were listening to what I was thinking, then I would hope you would keep nursing her. Or pumping or—hell, I'll help you get it out. Whatever you gotta do. Just to keep your milk comin' until the baby comes."
"I'll make milk for the baby," Carol said, to reassure him.
"I know that's how it's supposed to work," Daryl said. "But I keep getting this kind of nervous feeling that—if you stop? Something's going to happen and it's gonna stop just when you need it most."
Carol laughed quietly to herself.
"You might be right," she said. "I'll keep pumping, just in case, even if Sophia doesn't want to nurse."
Daryl kissed the back of her neck in response and moved his hand back down to her belly.
"That too pushy for me to ask you to do?" He asked.
"No," Carol said. "Stranger things have happened, I'm sure, than someone's milk stopping and not coming back—or at least not coming back as good. And—I want to be sure that I can feed the baby. I know my supply is good now. There's no need to risk it dropping. So—breakfast wasn't good?"
"Not nearly as good as you make," Daryl assured her. "Once they get you in that kitchen, they won't never let you change jobs. Whole damn town would riot." Carol laughed, clearly at least a little pleased with the praise. "And Sophia's gonna be glad to get your cooking again."
"It sounds like she wanted yours," Carol said.
"Just because yours weren't on offer."
"She wasn't too bad, was she?" Carol asked.
"She was three, and she was tired," Daryl said. "And her food weren't what she wanted. Just bad enough to get the attention of some old woman who wanted me to take her out behind the barn and shoot her for havin' feelings."
Carol started to sit up a little, and Daryl pulled off of her enough to give her the room to breathe and move around.
"What happened?" She asked.
"She's OK," Daryl said. "Everyone's OK. Me, Sophia, and the woman. I just—told her that wasn't how I did things, and she basically said I was gonna pay for it later when Sophia didn't know how to behave."
Carol sat up completely, and Daryl reached his hand out to close it over the lower part of her arm. He wasn't sure where she was going, but it seemed like her instinct had her ready to crawl out of the bed and head somewhere.
"Sophia knows how to behave," Carol said, some bite coming into her tone.
"Just not good enough for this woman," Daryl said. "I'm guessin' she's of the children oughta be seen and not heard variety."
"I hoped we'd get away from that," Carol said, suddenly looking quite sad. Daryl didn't have to ask her to know that she was remembering how everyone always reacted to Sophia like she was little more than a nuisance—pretty much since the day she'd been born.
Suddenly, Daryl didn't really care how it had made him feel. He was more concerned with helping alleviate the concern that Carol seemed to be feeling.
"Maybe we don't ever get away from it," he offered. "But—we don't pay it no attention. Right? Sophia's just fine. But—to hell if we gonna hit her for shit that don't make sense. And—I'ma be damned if I'ma tell her that she's gotta just shut up all the damned time and keep it to herself if she don't like somethin' just because it makes other people happy. That's some Ed shit right there—and I ain't him."
Carol smiled at him. She brushed her fingers affectionately across his cheek.
"You're absolutely not like Ed," she said. "And you're a very good Daddy."
"You say that every day," Daryl teased.
"And I mean it a little more every day," Carol said. She sighed. "I'm sorry things didn't go well, but…I appreciate you taking Sophia to breakfast so I could get a little more sleep."
Just the verbal appreciation—and the acknowledgement that he'd done something as simple as taking their daughter to breakfast—made Daryl's heart swell. He sat up and kissed Carol, practically melting into her.
"Get dressed, woman," he said. "Take a shower or—wash your face. Whatever it is you wanna do. I'ma make a quick run. Get some stuff to make this little one some breakfast—and maybe a little somethin' for anybody else who wants it. Then we're gonna go check out Woodbury as a whole damn family."