AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

(P.S. I'm trying to remember to make my dividers "111" shorter than before for those who are using screen readers and such. I do apologize for the times that I forget. Old habits sometimes die hard, but I promise I'm working on it.)

Enjoy!

111

The natural divisions among their group, which had been forming since the very formation of the group, only seemed to grow as they spent time at the Greene farm. Carol felt like Rick and his family moved further away from the rest of them as time went on—and she didn't really care.

As Carl got better, it seemed like Rick and Lori—and sometimes, Shane—kept themselves sidelined away from the rest of the group. Carl played with Sophia, but Carol never really saw his parents putting much effort into teaching him any of the tasks that needed to be done around the farm. Lori would dismiss it, even without prompting, by randomly insisting that Carl was still weak and recovering. He couldn't overexert himself.

Of course, it was also unlikely that Rick and Lori were going to teach their son a great deal about participation when, in actuality, they did very little themselves. Lori almost constantly complained of weakness, fatigue, dizziness, and a whole other host of problems that she attributed to past physical problems. In contrast to Lori's incessant complaints, Andrea, expecting a baby as she was, was thriving on the farm and only left off doing any given task if Hershel asked her, personally, to leave it to someone else.

Rick, for his part, always seemed to be "planning." They had to leave there eventually, he would say, and they needed a plan for where they were going and what they were doing. While nobody was willing to argue that they would never leave the farm and, therefore, it was entirely foolish to have any idea of what they might do when the time came, most of them figured that things would unfold much like they already had—in a bit of chaos. There had been a saying about the "best laid plans." Carol couldn't recall the saying, exactly, but that one phrase came to her mind often when she would spy Rick out somewhere in the yard, going through the motions of "planning" as he poured over his maps. No plans that they had made so far had really gotten them anywhere, and there was no reason to believe that any amount of plan-making would help them if something else were to happen. This was a world that laughed at plans.

The only plans most of them were making were short-term plans—ones that involved the winter. They had rabbit hutches and smoke houses now. A piece of one of the barns had been converted to a large indoor rabbit hutch that, once Daryl and those assisting him finished weather-proofing it, should allow for their rabbit production to continue all winter. It would mean fresh meat once the rest of the world started to go to sleep.

Carol stayed busy. Her family stayed busy. Everyone who had some hope in a future that might stretch on beyond winter kept busy with tasks so that their half-hearted hopes of a future didn't make Hershel or Jo uncomfortable. They contributed to chores, and they reaped the rewards in good meals and abundant water. For the first time since the whole thing started, Carol felt like she spent most of her days without that constant empty, hollow, gnawing feeling of hunger in her gut. Of course, her figure was reflecting that, too, but Daryl never seemed to mind, and he certainly never said anything negative about it.

"You smell like heaven," Daryl offered, sitting up on his elbow when Carol slipped into the tent. She smiled because she couldn't help it. He watched her as she sorted the few belongings she'd brought with her from the house, where she'd just finished her shower.

"I smell like soap," Carol said. "And the only reason you think that I smell great is because I probably smelled like a barn animal the last time you kissed me."

Daryl laughed and held his arms out toward her, inviting her to their pallet. She joined him and immediately kissed him. His hands started a tour of her body, massaging her skin beneath his fingers.

"I'll kiss you no matter what the hell you smell like, woman," Daryl said. "Taste good to me." His fingers flexed, massaging her ass. "Feel good to me, too."

Carol laughed at him, but she didn't fight him. She wanted what he wanted and, after a long day, there was no better way to relax than in the arms of her husband—a husband who loved her very much. She only had to remove one piece of the clean clothing that she'd worn from the house before Daryl realized that she was in the same mood as he. He followed suit, and they fell into a silly game of volleying the responsibility of removing an article of clothing back and forth until they were both naked. Carol was feeling good—relaxed, well-fed, and happy—and it seemed Daryl was feeling the same. He tickled her, and she tickled him back. Their laughter and teasing dotted throughout the more sincere and passionate moments of their love-making. Finally, Carol curled up next to Daryl, and lie with her head on his arm, facing him, so that they could simply enjoy each other in the afterglow.

"Soph is satisfied with Andrea?" Daryl asked.

"I think Sophia knows Andrea needs her," Carol said. "Besides—I'd rather her be in the RV than in a tent by herself. Or—even in here with us."

Daryl hummed and traced his finger along the side of Carol's face.

"It's nice not havin' to worry about if we're botherin' her," he said.

"At least in the RV she won't be as cold when the winter comes," Carol said.

"Think we might have a solution to that," Daryl said.

"To the winter?" Carol asked, laughing quietly at her own joke.

"Asshole," Daryl said, echoing her quiet laugh. "The big barn? Ain't shit in it except for storage. Hay and all that. Hershel said we could rearrange it. We'll stack the hay bales so they help insulate the place. Turn the whole middle of it into a space for our tents. Tents'll help everyone keep some privacy."

"Not a whole lot," Carol said.

"No," Daryl said. "But I think we're past givin' a damn. We overhear Jacqui an' T. They overhear us. It just is what the hell it is."

"I think it's about time we got over the hump and just had a conversation with Sophia," Carol said. "She already knows, I think, a lot more than we sometimes pretend she knows. Maybe ten or—eleven—is a little young, but an open conversation with Sophia always goes a lot further than trying to shelter her and hide things from her." Carol shook her head at Daryl. "I was never able to hide anything from her with Ed. And—I think, she even knows a lot more about that than I ever talked to her about."

"You wanna talk to her about the birds and the bees," Daryl said, "then—we'll talk to her."

"We?" Carol asked with a smile. "So—that means you're willing to have a potentially very awkward conversation with me?"

Daryl smiled and kissed her gently before settling again.

"Tomorrow," Daryl said. "Get mornin' chores outta the way. We'll—take her for a little walk. Tell Hershel we're goin' fishin'. We'll take her down to the pond and see if we can't get some supper while we prepare her ass for everything she's likely to experience over the winter."

"You're not going to be embarrassed?" Carol asked.

"It's natural," Daryl said. "Everything and everybody around here does it. Hell—I bet you even them two old people still do as much of it as nature allows."

"Daryl!" Carol scolded. He laughed in response.

"I'm gettin' too damned old and tired to be embarrassed over shit like that," Daryl said. "Especially with the way things are these days. Hell—if it's good to you and it ain't hurtin' nobody…"

Carol kissed Daryl's chest affectionately and gently traced her fingertips over his skin. He shivered, but clearly enjoyed it.

"I know," Carol said. "Things feel…better. Right now. At least they feel better than they were. Or am I the only one that feels that way?"

"Things do feel better," Daryl agreed, hugging her gently and then scratching her back simply by letting the rough skin of his fingertips rub against her. "Feels like we got some damn shot at this. Like we're gonna see past the winter, and then…the spring after that. It don't feel so damned hopeless here. I wish to hell Merle was here, though."

"I know you do," Carol said. "We all do."

"Andrea most of all," Daryl said.

"She's doing better," Carol said. "I mean—as well as can be expected. She's focusing on the baby, and that's good for both of them."

"She's gonna really be tickled pink when it's obvious she's pregnant and not just fillin' out 'cause she's gettin' her belly full on a regular," Daryl offered. "Still—I wish to hell Merle could know about the kid. I always thought he might get his ass in line if he had a whole ass family. Maybe more responsibility would make him better, not worse. You know?"

"Maybe we'll find him," Carol said.

Daryl hummed at her.

"I'm not Sophia," Daryl said. "You don't gotta tell me fairy tales to help me sleep. Still—I appreciate your dedication to believin' in whatever the hell you think'll make it easier on me."

"I'll always do anything I can to make everything easier on you," Carol offered. "That's the Dixon way, right?"

Daryl smiled at her.

"Come here, Mrs. Dixon. Let's practice a little more of this birds an' bees shit so we know exactly what the hell we gotta teach Sophia about tomorrow durin' our fishin' trip."

Carol laughed at his teasing, but she didn't fight him when he took her into his arms and kissed her, moving his body against hers for the friction he could find—clearly already growing interested in, as he said, practicing a few more of the things that they liked to enjoy between them as a married couple.

The night around them was quiet. Crickets, frogs, cicadas, the occasional cow lowing, and the occasional owl hooting—those were the sounds that Carol could hear outside the tent. She kept her ears almost always open for any signs of danger or threats. That was why the sound of some yelling followed by three consecutive gunshots startled her so completely that she practically leapt out of Daryl's arms. He jumped, too, but his instinct was to close his arms tightly around her and hold her against him as though protecting her from the sound.

As soon as both of them adjusted to the shock of hearing the unexpected sound, they both quickly made their way to the tent door and peered out. Carol sat on her knees, her pajama top wrapped tightly around her chest, and watched and listened to what was taking place. It was too dark to tell anything too specific. There was a light dancing on the porch—evidence that someone was holding a lantern—and there was some yelling. It sounded like Hershel and Rick exchanging angry words.

A truck engine came to life and quickly made its way down the long driveway.

Carol felt her body naturally tense from not understanding what was happening, and then she relaxed a little when she felt Daryl's arm curl protectively over her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Carol asked.

"Can't hear enough to make sense of it," Daryl said.

"Me either," Carol admitted. "I think that was Hershel."

There was more yelling—a mix of feminine and masculine voices coming from inside the house now. It was loud enough that the sound carried, but not loud enough for the words to make their way across the field. The door opened and slapped shut. Another engine roared to life.

"Two men," Daryl said. "Probably Rick and Shane, given that I could hear 'em yellin'."

"Should we go and see if something's wrong?" Carol asked. "If we can do anything?"

Daryl sighed loudly.

"On the one hand, it ain't none of our damned business," Daryl said. "On the other hand, any damn thing that happens on this farm affects all of us."

"If Hershel left," Carol said, "then that means something could be really wrong. Jo might need something."

Daryl hummed.

"Seems like everybody else is asleep," he said. "Didn't even hear the shots. Still—it won't hurt to just make sure everything's OK." He rubbed Carol's cheek. "I kinda hate they interrupted us, though."

Carol offered him a reassuring smile, oddly pleased that, despite the fact that there could be something going on between their hosts and some members of their group, Daryl was still concerned about their precious little private time together.

"Don't worry," Carol offered with a wink. "You absolutely get a raincheck."

"My ass'll pray for rain, then," Daryl teased.