AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

111

While Merle took his time doing things inside the storage area where they could, essentially, shop for what they needed at their leisure. Daryl didn't need anything, so he stood outside like some kind of pre-turn husband at the department store, and smoked a cigarette while holding onto the bottles that Merle got from Hershel. Beside him, a warm bucket of fresh cow's milk waited for Merle to feed his brand-new, bouncing baby goat.

Daryl expected his brother to emerge with his baby bag full of items. He maybe even expected him to emerge with his goat wearing one of the diapers he'd gone to snag from the collection that Carol, among other women in the community, were frequently sewing and donating to the place for anyone who may end up needing diapers for the future they hoped would be born to them.

Daryl did not expect to find Merle coming out of the building, bag on his arm, with his baby goat wearing pajamas with teddy bears on them. The goat, tucked under Merle's arm, almost seemed to have developed some understanding that it needed to avoid the bayonet at the end of the arm.

"What the hell is that?" Daryl asked, picking up the bucket and matching steps with Merle when his brother didn't even stop as he passed him.

"The hell you mean?" Merle asked.

"The damn goat, Merle," Daryl said. "You put clothes on a goat?"

"It's cold," Merle said. "Hershel said we gotta keep it warm. And Hershel said don't pull on that umbilical cord, but how good you think Sophia's really gonna handle that? She ain't gonna mean it, but she's all damn fingers with things. She'll be pulled on it before we know what the hell she's doin', so in these? Casper's ass is warm, and Soph can't even see what he's got all hid on his belly."

"Casper?" Daryl asked.

"You know the ghost, don't'cha, brother?" Merle commented.

"Not personally, Merle," Daryl responded. He decided not to press it, though. It was clear that there was no reason to do so. Merle was happy with his goat and, from what Daryl could tell, the goat seemed pretty damn pleased with his Merle.

When they reached their building, they went straight to Daryl and Carol's apartment. Andrea and Carol were both there, as they expected. It was rare to find the women in separate spaces unless they were working. In the living room, Carol sat on the couch, working on something she was sewing, while Andrea sat in the floor with Sophia and appeared to be the treacherous landscape over which Sophia's cars were attempting to drive.

The whole image of Daryl walking in with the bottles and bucket, and Merle coming behind him with his bag of supplies and Casper the friendly-fucking-goat took a moment for everyone there to process. Daryl smirked, waiting for it, but he didn't begrudge anyone in the room their time to process.

Sophia was the first to action, though she was a bit misguided.

"Daddy!" She screeched, practically throwing the metal car at Andrea in an attempt to scramble to her feet in record time and run wildly toward Daryl. Daryl put the bucket and bottles down next to where he stood, and he leaned down so that she could sail directly into his arms. He picked her up and she wrapped around him like a static-cling sticker. Daryl closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her absolutely sincere hug for a moment, and then kissed her face when, satisfied with her first dose of affection, she sat back in his arms to take in her uncle and decide exactly how she intended to greet him.

"What's that?" She asked.

At least the toddler had broken the silence and addressed the proverbial elephant in the room.

"It's a goat," Merle said proudly.

"It's my goat?" Sophia asked.

Daryl bit the inside of his mouth.

"No—it's my goat," Merle said.

"A goat, Merle?" Andrea asked from the floor. Merle ignored her entirely. He was engaged in something of a standoff with Sophia.

Daryl simply waited for the battle of wills between Merle and a toddler—two fairly equal opponents on most levels.

"I can hold you goat," Sophia offered, leaning toward Merle from Daryl's arms.

"Goat's Casper," Merle said, redirecting the conversation. Daryl felt mildly proud of him. "Can you say Casper?"

"Casper," Sophia repeated. There was, Daryl thought, an excess of her mother in the way she said that word—he could feel the challenge. What else did Merle have?

"You wanna help me feed him?" Merle asked. "He's hungry."

For the time being, that seemed to satisfy Sophia. She didn't own the goat outright, but she was closer than she had been. At the very least, she was getting a job and a chance to play with the goat—two things that she would enjoy.

Daryl put her down, and she listened to Merle as he instructed her to follow him to the kitchen. Daryl winced as he heard a series of sounds and instructions coming from the kitchen that made him pretty sure that there was going to be a mess to clean up in there later.

"Daryl…" Carol said from the couch. Daryl crossed the room and sat down next to her.

"I'll clean it up," he said, resting his hand on her belly. "You ain't gotta do it. My boy asleep?"

"Not now," Carol said. She moved Daryl's hand so that he could find the movements that he would have never located on his own. "But—Daryl—"

"I think she wants to ask why the hell Merle has a goat," Andrea said from the floor.

"That's a long ass story," Daryl said. "And—I think it's best if you ask your husband about that."

Merle came from the kitchen with Casper. Sophia walked proudly beside him with a bottle full of milk in her hands. She looked a little damp, and Merle didn't look entirely dry. Casper, in his teddy bear pajamas was the only one who didn't look worse for the wear. Maybe the little goat could anticipate what the hell was in the bottle, because he seemed to have a second wind, and he was bleating for everything he was worth.

"Come here," Merle directed, leading Sophia back to the blanket that was spread in the middle of the floor. "Sit right there. Sit down. On your ass, Sophia."

"Merle!" Carol snapped. Merle looked at her like genuinely didn't know what her problem was. "Bottom—Sophia—sit on your bottom and…Uncle Merle will help you with the…with the…"

"Casper," Merle supplied.

"He'll help you with the Casper," Carol said. "The goat…in my living room."

Daryl patted her belly as the only method of trying to calm her down that he had at the moment, and she rested her hand over his.

Merle sat Casper down and directed Sophia to hold the bottle for him. The idea of food rejuvenated the little goat a bit, and he managed to stand up and take hold of the nipple offered to him. It wasn't long before his tail—freed through a hole that Merle or, likely, one of the people manning storage that day—had snipped into his pajamas—wagged wildly.

Merle sat back, looking satisfied as Sophia held the bottle for the goat—something she found almost unbearably funny—and Casper gleefully sucked down the milk.

"Merle…" Andrea said.

"He was gonna die," Merle said, not making her finish the obvious question she intended to ask. "Found him—out there. You gonna understand this. His ma—she was dyin', and there was Walkers. So—soon as he was born? She done her best to lead 'em away from him. He didn't have a damn soul in the world, and his ma weren't comin' back."

Daryl had to give his brother at least a little credit. Sometimes, Merle Dixon was an idiot. Sometimes, he was a fucking asshole. And, sometimes, he was damn near a genius. He wanted acceptance of his little goat, and he read the room—a room practically swimming in baby-making hormones.

Carol squeezed Daryl's hand, and he could have sworn he felt their son move in response to the sound that Carol made.

Merle smirked, clearly proud of himself.

"They wanted to wring his neck," Merle said. "Figure—he ain't gonna make milk. Ain't gonna make more babies—not the same as a lil' girl would. What good is he, right? Gotta feed him, keep him warm…ain't worth all that. Bein' a baby boy an' all, new born and all, and not worth nothin', might as well wring his neck."

"Oh—no…" Carol said, sitting up a little. "You can't…do that," she said. She'd clearly eyed Sophia, glassy-eyed in her love of a real, live baby that was sucking down the milk she offered it and wagging its tail at her as an immediately show of happiness, and decided against saying anything about killing the goat that Sophia might fully understand.

"Just because it's a boy?" Andrea asked.

"Girls got more to offer," Merle said. "Makin' milk an' carryin' babies. You know that shit. What the hell good are we for any damn way?"

Daryl moved to the other side of Carol so that he could reach the ashtray on the couch's side table, and she slid down the couch a spot to make room. He lit a cigarette and, without him asking, passed it over to Merle, who sat on Carol's other side, now, before he lit another for himself.

"We're good for the heavy liftin'," Daryl said. "But that goat ain't gonna do none of that."

Carol swatted Daryl on the leg, and he laughed in response. It stung, but he was certain she hadn't meant to put that much spit behind it—she was, perhaps, operating with a bit more juice running through her veins simply because, as the expectant mother of a growing baby boy, she might be feeling a little protective of her little boy—and, by extension, any little new born baby boy that might be persecuted for his gender.

"He's fine," Carol said. "And you know that's not the only reason that you're around!"

Daryl laughed and looped an arm around her shoulder. He pulled her toward him and, instead of allowing herself to topple to the side, she changed positions to recline against him. For the second time since he'd arrive home, Daryl closed his eyes to simply enjoy the feeling of embracing someone he loved. He turned his head and kissed the side of Carol's head. She hummed at him, and he felt a rush of warmth run through his body.

"You keep me around for more than that?" He teased.

"Asshole," she muttered. She gave no other response, and he absolutely didn't need anything more. He laughed quietly and squeezed her gently before he kissed her again.

"Merle's got a soft spot for the goat…" Daryl started.

"Casper," Merle interrupted.

"Casper," Daryl corrected. "So, he's gonna save it."

"It's my baby!" Sophia yipped gleefully. "You see him eat all his food up!"

"You can help me take care of Casper," Merle offered.

"Mama—I can have milk?" Sophia asked, her attention turning as she eyed the now-empty bottle in her hands.

Carol groaned.

"In a minute," she offered, putting Sophia off for what would be several minutes, more than likely, before Sophia remembered that she might still like to nurse occasionally.

Casper, given a second and maybe even third wind by a full stomach, nosed at Sophia and wagged its tail. He wasn't too lively just yet, but he looked a lot better than he had before he'd been washed up by Hershel and fed enough to fill his belly.

"See? Now—look at him," Merle said. "He looks alright."

Daryl hid his amusement by leaning his face into Carol. He didn't want to point out that his brother was looking at the goat with all the pride of a brand-new father. He didn't want to point out, either, that they were hoping to see him come around to those feelings before Andrea dropped the baby she was carrying, but none had expected to see the feelings aimed toward a goat. Daryl didn't want to point any of that out because, more than anything, he didn't want to risk scaring Merle off from the paternal feelings he was at least exploring.

Daryl glanced at Andrea. Still sitting in her spot on the floor, she looked like she was probably thinking things through—and maybe, even, like she was seeing what Daryl was seeing.

"Merle—we're supposed to just keep up with…Casper all the time?" Andrea asked.

"Gotta feed him every couple of hours," Merle said.

"And then—he goes out to the other goats?" Andrea asked.

Sophia hugged the goat, and he was shaky enough that he toppled to the blanket and she went with him. Merle reached and rescued his new baby before offering his arm out—Sophia already knowing to avoid his bayonet—for Sophia to use to pull herself up. She immediately came between his legs, seeking more interaction with the goat he was now holding.

"He's gotta grow up before you can just throw him outside, Andrea," Merle said.

"I'm sorry—I assumed that goats spent most of their lives outside," Andrea said.

"Not when they ain't got no ma," Merle informed her as though he were suddenly the present expert on goats.

Daryl watched Andrea, and Andrea started at Merle. He could practically hear the gears in her mind turning. Finally, she sucked in a breath and sighed.

"Fine," she said. "But—he's not sleeping in our bed, Merle."

111

AN: For those who have read this on other stories lately, feel free to ignore.

I'll be putting this on my works for a while to make sure everyone sees it, so please ignore if you read multiple stories. I just wanted to let everyone know that it was somewhat brought to my attention that one reason people may not review, or may not review works often or past the first chapter, is that they feel unappreciated by not having their reviews responded to for each chapter and, therefore, don't really feel motivated to continue to read and/or review. I certainly don't want you to feel that way.

Admittedly, I come from the era of fic where we used to sort of consider (perhaps wrongfully) reviews as an acknowledgement that people were reading and wanted more of the story, since I have no other reliable way of knowing who is reading and cares about the story. I have always simply gone on to work on the next chapter. I have only responded to reviews that were personal and, of course, to personal messages. I, of course, read and appreciate every single review, but I have always simply put my time and energy into trying to write more for people to read and, hopefully, enjoy. I never meant to be dismissive of everyone.

I know that it feels bad to feel that what you do is unappreciated or unnoticed. Fic writers often feel that way with a lack of reviews. I wouldn't want other people to feel unappreciated. I absolutely appreciate when people review. It lets me know that people are reading and enjoying the story. It's a sign that I'm not wasting my time, and it gives me motivation to keep going. However, I don't want people to feel unappreciated either. So, I'm going to start doing my best to respond to your reviews. Please note that, the more you say to me, the more I'll obviously have to say in my response. (If you're one of those people who may find this awkward, please let me know, and I won't respond to you. My goal is not to make anyone uncomfortable.) Also, I appreciate your patience, as this will be something that does take time and, as such, it may take me a while to respond to them out of the time that I do have outside of work and adult life, since my free time and the energy that life leaves me is quite limited. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please don't forget to let me know what you think.