AN: This is in response to a tumblr request.

I own nothing from The Walking Dead. All I own are my own characters/plots/etc.

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

111

Carol examined herself in the cracked and dingy mirror. The old break room in the prison was not the cleanest place and, without a doubt, it hadn't even been clean before the world had gone topsy-turvy. Still, it was one of the few places that had a full-length mirror—presumably so that officers could have made sure that their uniforms were up to standard—and offered a modicum of true privacy.

She had risked, perhaps, a little more than Daryl would have been comfortable with to get the outfit, but it would be worth it if it did what she wanted it to do—and nobody had really noticed that she'd slipped away for a few moments, on her own, to explore other stores along the same street where they'd been clearing and gathering supplies.

The short gown was wrinkled, thanks to having been balled up and shoved in the very bottom of Carol's bag, lest anyone see it and know that she'd sneaked away to snag something so frivolous by herself. It was also a little snug, though not desperately tight. She'd sized up from what she normally wore, but that didn't mean that a regular cut garment, a few sizes bigger than what she'd normally choose, was going to fit perfectly over the rounded evidence of the surprise that she and Daryl had never seen coming.

Of course, logically, she'd known that she could get pregnant. He'd known it, too. There had been a very, very brief discussion about it between hungry kisses and the rough removal of clothing—both of them desperately grabbing at each other like they had to hurry and come together before the other vanished entirely. That had been their first time together. The discussion hadn't lasted very long, and Carol was pretty sure that was party owing to distraction and partly owing to some kind of crazy belief that, in a world so turned upside down, there was no way that they'd have this other crazy thing happen to them.

As their relationship had blossomed and bloomed, the sex between them had changed a little. There were still times when they were desperate, hungry, and rough. There were times when they fucked—because that's how Carol thought of it, and she wasn't offended by the suggestion at all—like their lives depended on it, and they enjoyed the release that they provided each other. There were other times, though, when things were soft, and gentle, and even a little lazy. In a dreamlike haze, sometimes, they practically consumed each other, savoring the taste of the other on their tongues. They made love slowly and happily, until they were full enough of each other's love to fall asleep together in a blessed haze of comfort and happiness.

At the end of the world, in the pits of hell, as some may argue that they world they called home now was, they had found comfort and happiness with each other.

Carol was a little ashamed to admit it, but she hadn't known that a little Dixon was to come—at least not for some time. She'd missed all of the earliest symptoms that were supposed to tell her that she was expecting. Her little one hadn't given her morning sickness that was any more profound than the usual nausea that could come with some of the things they tried to digest, and any sickness was easily dismissed. Her period had been unpredictable, at best, because their food supply had sometimes been unpredictable—and the ups and downs of weight made everyone's period come and go at unexpected intervals. Every other little twinge and sign had been easily excused and passed off, without a second thought, as something entirely unrelated to the fact that she and Daryl had made something that neither of them expected in the least when they'd been making love.

Her first indication, really, was the day that the button on her pants—her largest pair—didn't quite reach. She had struggled to get them on and, slowly, realization had washed over her. She remembered the realization dropping into her stomach like a heavy ball, and her face had practically gone numb for a moment.

There was no way, out of her meagre rations that she normally still split to provide a little extra to those she thought really needed it, she'd over-eaten enough to put on the pounds necessary to cause such a spread in her waistline.

She'd stolen the plastic stick from Hershel's medical supply, and she'd let him examine her, after the lines confirmed what she thought might be true, to further assure her of the little one's presence. He'd scolded her, though not without affection, for waiting so long, but she hadn't realized.

She had feared Daryl's reaction, but it had been entirely without cause. She'd told him by simply offering him the plastic stick. He'd stared at it a few moments, chewing his lip pensively. He'd been calm when he'd spoken.

"Ours?" He'd asked. She'd smiled and nodded.

"I didn't realize," she said. "I should've known, but…I guess…I…"

She hadn't finished. She didn't have to finish. He'd interrupted her.

"It's OK," he'd said. It was simple. There had been no yelling. There had been no denying it was his child. There had been no name-calling, and he hadn't even slapped her for being stupid enough not to realize. It was very different than any time before when her body had harbored another life—no matter how briefly. "It's OK? You're OK?"

That was all he'd cared about. Was it OK? Was she OK? Carol had smiled at him and nodded. Her heart had pounded in her chest. Her knees had felt shaky. She'd felt practically like her entire body was made out of Jell-O. All he cared about was whether or not she was OK, and the baby was OK, and what they had—the happiness and comfort they'd found—was going to continue.

"We're fine," she'd said with a laugh. "I mean—as much as we can tell…everything's great. Hershel wants me to watch what I eat and watch my water intake a little more…take a few more breaks, but…"

"You should," Daryl said, interrupting her. "Gotta…be careful."

Carol had accepted that. She'd told him, though she hadn't always kept that promise, that she was going to be careful. Slowly, the shock that he had no doubt felt had melted away, and he'd taken her into his arms and kissed her in such a way that she hadn't need more words from him to know that he was happy. Sometimes, she knew, Daryl had trouble with words. He had trouble finding the ones he wanted. He had trouble lining them up in a way that pleased him. Because of that, he sometime simply didn't say all the things that she knew he thought.

She had learned to hear what he wanted to say simply by looking in his eyes and feeling his words as they came out through his touch. She was fine with listening to what he didn't say as much as what he did.

Since that moment, though, Daryl hadn't made love to her—not even once. And Carol was afraid of what she felt like she was hearing from that lack of physical affection.

Carol ran her hands over her swollen belly. Their little one would come soon—or at least relatively soon. It was impossible to tell how long she had, exactly, but Hershel predicted anywhere from two to six weeks, and she was inclined to agree with that absolutely imperfect prediction.

She felt very pregnant, but her belly was arguably small in comparison to what Lori's had been. Her little one was active. There were constant kicks, punches, and rolls that made her joke that—boy or girl—this baby was all Dixon, all the time. The baby seemed to perform on command, and she was certain that it heard and responded to certain voices. It would, without much coaxing, put on a show for its Daddy and for Hershel, both. Loud noises and surprises made the kicks hard, and Carol imagined the baby was frightened, but sweet sounds and tender touches seemed to soothe it into gentle nudges. Carol felt certain that the little one was well-developed, and wouldn't wait too long before making a debut, though she hoped it would wait as long as it needed to come into the world fully healthy. She feared, more than anything she could possibly imagine at this moment, losing the little, unexpected life that she already held so precious.

And yet, since the moment that she'd told Daryl that their little one was there, he hadn't made love to her. Not even once.

That wasn't to say that she hadn't felt loved—he held her every night, kissed her frequently, snuggled and cuddled with her like she'd come to expect. Now that he knew affection in his life and was allowed to show it freely, and he told her that he loved her in all the Daryl-ways that she'd come to cherish; except, of course, for sex. He worried about their little one. He played with the baby, even, as it grew in her womb, and dedicated time to talking to the baby and "educating it" while it grew.

Carol feared, though, that the changes to her body were simply too much for Daryl and, though he loved her, he no longer desired her physically. In fact, when she tried to tempt him, he'd always broken off even the hottest kisses with the suggestion that they simply cuddle together. She'd fallen asleep, practically heartbroken, a few times, with his erection clearly pressing into her back and with him not desiring, in the least, to put it to good use for the both of them.

The gown had been an almost feverish obsession of hers since she'd heard about the run. She wanted, desperately, to have something that might pique his interest. She'd wanted lingerie, but beggars couldn't be choosers in a world like the one they called home. This gown, at least, was soft and pretty. It would appeal to his senses of touch and, hopefully sight. Maybe it would make him want to touch her in ways that he hadn't in so long.

"We're gonna try this, Baby," Carol said, pressing her hand affectionately over the spot where her little one gave her a hard kick.

She sighed and pulled on the well-worn robe she wore from the showers and back every day. She tied the belt to hide the gown. If this didn't work, she wasn't sure anything would. Maybe she'd simply have to accept that Daryl—although he loved her—was done with her body.

Carol reached their cell, pulled back the blanket enough to slip inside, and when it fell behind her, she leaned against the blanket-covered bars.

In the prison, they didn't know privacy. At least, they didn't know complete privacy. She and Daryl had chosen a cell somewhat removed from everyone else in the block, though, and they'd made it as private as they could.

Daryl was already in the cell. He was lying on the bed with his hands folded behind his head and his eyes closed. He was wearing the pajama pants she'd found for him and convinced him to wear in the privacy of their cell. With the blankets in place so that nobody could peek into their cell at all, Daryl had finally become comfortable in his skin. Before she'd known she was pregnant, Carol had benefitted greatly from that.

Daryl opened his eyes and sat up, slightly, when Carol came in.

"You alright?" He asked. She laughed to herself. She was practically eating herself alive from the inside out with worry that the man she loved didn't love her in all the ways she wanted, and he greeted her so damn innocently and lightly.

"I'm fine, Daryl," she said with a sigh.

"Baby OK?" Daryl asked.

Carol felt her muscles relax.

"The baby's fine," she said.

"Then—why don't you seem fine?" Daryl asked, moving and sitting up. He reached and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the little bedside table. He lit one. "Seem kinda—tight—to me. You tight? Someone done somethin' to you?"

Carol hesitated.

"It might be more what someone hasn't done," she offered.

"You want me to handle it?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself. The tension in her muscles seemed to dissipate. She straightened up from her leaning position and rubbed at the slightly sore spot of her lower back where the weight of their little one had made a muscle tug uncomfortably as it threatened to cramp.

"Yes," she said. "You know what, Daryl? I do want you to handle it."

He blinked at her. He took a drag on his cigarette. She could practically hear all the calculations and considerations taking place inside his brain. He hummed and nodded.

"What'cha want me to do?" He asked.

She untied the belt of her robe. The old, shaggy robe slid off of her shoulders and off of her arms. She tossed it, as she normally would, at the chair they'd wedged in the corner of their cell—the chair where nearly everything they weren't ready to put somewhere specific ended up. Daryl's eyebrows raised slightly, but he didn't say anything. He became very focused on his cigarette for a moment. When she had his eyes again, Carol rubbed her hands in circles around her belly.

"Is it this?" She asked.

"What?" He said, seemingly genuinely confused.

"Do you…hate that I'm fat?" Carol asked. Daryl furrowed his brow.

"You're not fat," he said. "You're…pregnant."

"Is that…disgusting to you?" Carol asked.

"That's my fuckin' kid," Daryl said, there was some bite in his voice. The blankets didn't offer them that much privacy, and it was possible that someone else was going to hear at least a little of this. Carol didn't care, and she doubted if Daryl did—since he was the one who had elevated the volume of his voice.

Carol sighed. She walked toward him and stepped between his legs. He moved them apart out of instinct and snubbed his cigarette out quickly before his hands went around her. She felt them resting on her hips, just above her ass. It was the closest he'd come to touching her sexually in so long that, a little ashamedly, she felt herself respond to the touch, and she throbbed between her legs in hopeful anticipation of more.

She caught his face and kissed him.

"Please," she said, as she pulled out of the kiss. She hadn't meant to say it. She hadn't planned to say it. It had just slipped out, but she didn't take it back. "Please…Daryl…please…"

When she met his eyes again, she could see it—the spark. She could see his desire. She saw something else, though. She saw him wince, and it hit her like lightning. She backed away from him.

"You hate what I look like that much?" She spat, unable to control what she'd been swallowing back for months.

"What?" He asked, clearly unable to decide if he was going to be confused, offended, angry, or a mix of all three.

"I saw you wince," Carol said. "You hate what I look like that much, Daryl? I'm sorry I'm…I'm fat…but…I didn't get pregnant by myself!"

"You think I don't fuckin' know that?" Daryl snapped. "What the hell are you talkin' about any damn way? I don't hate the way you look. I fuckin' love how you look!"

"You winced! You…you grimaced. At me! At what I look like!"

"I fuckin' winced because you're killin' my ass! Do you know how damn hard it is not to…not to slam you against that wall and fuck the hell outta you?"

They stared at each other. It was a stand-off. There was a palpable tension between them. The room was practically thick with emotion.

Slowly, realization that there was a very serious misunderstanding taking place seemed to melt over both of them. Carol's body relaxed some as it settled over her. She rubbed her hand over her belly to soothe what she imagined were the frightened kicks of their little one. It was unaccustomed to so much anger and yelling from its parents.

"You want to fuck me?" Carol asked.

"Of course I wanna fuck you…what the hell?" Daryl responded. He was more relaxed, though, than he had been. He lit another cigarette for himself, and Carol noticed that his hands were shaking.

"I thought—you hated the way I look."

"I love the way you look," Daryl said. "Especially—with our kid growin' like that and…I can't get enough of touchin' you. Hell—you know that. I touch you all the damn time."

"But—you haven't had sex with me," Carol said. "Nothing. No—no fucking. No making love. You haven't had sex with me once, no matter how hard I've tried. I even grabbed this gown because I hoped it would make you want to fuck me."

"I want to, but I can't…" Daryl said. "Hell—you know that."

Carol felt something tug at her chest—something that wasn't the hurt that had lodged there only moments before.

"What?" She asked. "You…can't?"

"You know that…"

"No," Carol said. "No—I don't. What do you mean?"

"I don't wanna—hurt the baby," Daryl said. "Or—make you have it before it's ready, or…"

"You…who told you that? Did Hershel tell you that?"

"No," Daryl said.

"Who told you that?" Carol asked.

Daryl looked a little chagrined.

"I overheard Rick and Lori one time," Daryl said. "Arguing—and she said something about it not being good for the baby. She said something about…it could cause problems or…or make the baby come too early."

Carol almost laughed. It was a nervous laugh, this time.

"You overheard them arguing," Carol said. Daryl nodded his head. "Daryl—Lori and Rick weren't happy together. Not at that time."

"I know that," Daryl said.

"Lori was—saying whatever she had to…to just say that she didn't want to be with Rick," Carol said.

"Why not just say that shit?" Daryl asked.

"I don't know," Carol said. "But—what I do know, is that you won't hurt the baby. I mean—if we were too rough, maybe…Ed…but I don't want to talk about that." She stopped and shook her head, shaking out bad memories of a life that felt, really, almost like a past life. "You have never been rough enough with me that it would hurt our baby. And my pregnancy…it doesn't seem to be at any risk. Everything seems normal. There's no reason to believe that just making love or…or even fucking…would do anything to compromise the baby waiting as long as it needs to before it comes."

Daryl stared at his cigarette for a moment. He took a final drag off of it. Carol stayed where she stood and let him process everything. He stubbed it out, watching what he was doing with an unnecessary amount of care. When he had thought through everything, apparently, that he needed to think through, he looked at her.

"You mean my ass could've been fuckin' you this whole damn time?" He asked.

Carol laughed quietly. Suddenly, she had a rush of affection for him that practically flooded through her. She no longer felt angry, or scared, or sad. She simply felt absolutely overwhelming love for the man that sat in front of her and slowly came to terms with the fact that, based on false information given out during the heat of another couple's argument, he had denied both of them for months.

"Yeah," Carol said. "The whole time."

"Every damn time I—had fuckin' blue balls, I didn't have to…?"

"Nope," Carol said. "Not even once. In fact, I would've appreciated a little fucking, especially when this baby's making me so horny I could have chewed through metal trying to bite back how bad I wanted it."

He gritted his teeth. Clearly, he was no stranger to that feeling.

"Every damn time I snuck my ass off to the showers to jerk off…"

"It could've been me," Carol said, nodding her head.

"Son of a…"

"Bitch," Carol finished for him. "Yep…"

"And all this time you thought I…"

"Just didn't want my body anymore," Carol said, when he stopped.

"I been about to die to just…have every last damn bit of you," Daryl said. "Especially…with the kid and…I can't explain, but I wanted to…have all of you. Feel all the damn differences…but I weren't never going to get to…"

"Now, you can," Carol said. She stepped close to him again. She pulled his face to rest it against her belly. She ran her fingers through his hair. She throbbed between her legs, this time knowing what was coming…knowing that she'd be coming, soon. "It was all just a misunderstanding. You can have anything you want, Daryl."

He looked up at her with his eyes nearly black with lust—pupils fully dilated.

"I want every damn bit of you," he said sincerely.

There was no misunderstanding there.

Carol smiled and leaned to kiss him. She tasted his want and desire. She let him take control. She let his hunger take control. She let him lead her to the bed, and she helped him find a position that was comfortable for them both as he started his exploration of her body.

She purred, practically overwhelmed with the happiness she felt at his touch.

"You can have every damn bit of me," she assured him. "Forever."