AN: Here we go, another chapter here.

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

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Daryl knew that there was nothing that could be done to calm his anxieties about the arrival of their child, and more than that, he knew that he was better off not seeking any counsel from anyone else. At first, when he would go into town, he'd ask nearly everyone he saw for news about births. In his mind, he kept track of what they said—mother and baby are doing well, the baby just wasn't strong enough, the mother just didn't make it. But then, one night when he'd spent half the night with Carol sleeping tucked next to him while lie awake and worried, he realized that his asking them wasn't doing him any good. In fact, his asking them was just keeping him worrying harder and longer than he'd do on his own. So he stopped asking. Because no matter who else lived or died, it wasn't changing his life and it wasn't making it any easier to predict the outcome than asking about the years passed made him able to predict whether or not the weather would be in his favor when it came to the wheat he was growing. He could worry, but the worry wasn't changing anything.

Daryl decided, instead, to do something productive with his worrying. In the mornings, instead of sleeping in, he woke early with Carol to enjoy her company before she had to leave the bed. He ate his breakfast with an outward enthusiasm that was even far beyond the general happiness that he felt, and he reminded himself how important it was to tell her—every chance he got—what he felt she already knew. She was important to him. She was the most important thing that there ever had been for him. And she was a good wife. She was the best wife that she could be. She was the best that he could hope for.

The rest of his worry he poured out in enough sweat that he could've watered all his fields with it. He moved from one task to another without allowing himself time to think beyond the simple contemplation of what needed to be done next. And, with everything fairly well-established on his farm, he usually finished most of the necessary work by the time he sat down to enjoy the lunch that Carol had left him to eat in her absence. His meal finished, he was left to work on the other things that needed to be done but weren't necessarily urgent.

Among those things were simple construction jobs. Daryl repaired the winter wind breaks for the cattle. He built a hope chest for Hershel's daughter. And then, Daryl busied himself with building the bed that their baby would use—a baby he hadn't full made peace with because he wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't a threat. Building the crib, he reasoned, would help him to make peace. Building the crib let his hands shape something that proved he was devoted to this. The promise that the baby would sleep there—and the knowledge that seeing the piece of simple furniture complete would thrill Carol beyond what Daryl could even imagine—felt, to Daryl, like building some sort of piece of wooden insurance that things were going to be fine. Better, even, than they were now.

That's what he had to believe because any other outcome was simply unacceptable to him. Things were going to be fine.

The building seemed to work, too, because Daryl usually found himself in higher spirits when he left off working than he had been when he'd started. The arrival of Carol with Miss Jo let him know that it was time to return to late day chores, and by the time he finished those he was tired and ready for the meal that Carol prepared for him. He was ready to sit at the table with her and listen to her day as she recounted for him stories of children that he'd never seen—or at least that he didn't realize he'd ever seen. He was ready to thank her for a meal that never fell short of his expectations and never failed to fill his belly, and then he was ready to sit with her, in the calm of the evening, and wait for a proper hour to bathe and take her to bed.

Carol's body was changing. The change was subtle at first, but as time progressed, the changes were more pronounced. There was, in Daryl's opinion, undeniable proof of the child that she was busy growing in between her other chores. There was proof that made Carol so happy that Daryl couldn't dare to let on that it caused a stirring up in him that was entirely different than what she was feeling. He couldn't take away her happiness by letting her know that, inside him, it felt like the hope of happiness and the worry of unhappiness had launched into a fight together that would put the likes of any fistfight he'd ever seen to shame.

The worry didn't do anything anyway, unless Daryl put it to good use.

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Carol had kept her concerns to herself after Daryl had done his best to lay them to rest. Her body would, eventually, prove to her that she was carrying a child. Worrying herself when she was bathing over the fact that she couldn't see the proof wasn't going to make it show itself any quicker. Worrying her own skin with her hand—feeling out proof that wasn't there—when she lie in bed after Daryl had gone to sleep wasn't going to make her stomach swell with life any sooner. So on the outside, Carol had practiced patience and calm while, on the inside, she'd worried that it just wasn't true. It just wouldn't be. It was for everyone else. It was never going to be for her.

But then, just as Daryl promised it would, her body began to tell her that her worry was for nothing. At the first sure and visible sign that she was carrying a child, Carol's heart felt like it swelled up to ten times the size that it had been. She felt like it might actually explode. She stood, taking her time bathing, and focused her attention on the fact that, even though she told her muscles to obey her, she could no longer draw her stomach in tight the way that she once could. The rounding softness was simply there to stay—and then, it was growing even more.

Just as she didn't voice her worries, Carol knew that Daryl slept with his. He pretended that everything was fine and he was just going on about his days like he would at any time, but Carol could see the worry there. It was always there. When he slept, Daryl slept more soundly because he was recovering from the great effort of spending his day trying to outrun something that he carried inside himself—just as Carol spent a great deal of effort chasing something she carried inside herself.

The days that Carol didn't teach were different from the days that she did teach because there was less rush surrounding the day. She could linger in bed a little longer—at least until Daryl expressed his desire for breakfast and to start the day. She could love with him as much as she wanted and she could linger at his side while he dozed between the loving, knowing that nobody was coming to get her and there would be no need to explain why they'd dawdled a little longer and made the chickens and pigs fuss a little for their breakfast.

One of those mornings, while Daryl dozed beside her, Carol lie on her back and rubbed her fingers against the back of Daryl's neck to comfort him. The other fingers, she rubbed equally as gently over the swell of her belly that, at this point, was visible enough even in her loosest dress that she would sometimes get inquiries about it when she went to town for one thing or another.

The sensation that came over Carol, while she lie there, wasn't painful, but it was new and it was uncomfortable. She felt strange, almost like she'd risen up from the bed and dropped back down. She felt like her stomach sank, though it had no reason to, and it stirred up a feeling of nausea that she swallowed down. The nausea, passing quickly enough, was replaced by the cold, tight feeling of fear as more sensations took over her body.

Carol reached a hand out and shook Daryl quickly. No matter how asleep he was, Daryl tended to wake easily when she wanted him to—especially if she expressed some sense of urgency.

"Daryl, wake up!" Carol said. Her own voice sounded terrified. She didn't realize it would come out so filled with horror until she heard it herself. Her tone sent a shiver down her own spine. "Daryl...something's wrong."

Daryl sat up on his elbow almost instantly and stared at her. The sleep was still in his eyes, but he was with her. He was ready to respond, as soon as he knew what was expected of him, though Carol feared there was little that he could do for her.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked. "Animals? I don't hear nothin' except some cows lowin'."

"Baby," Carol said. "Daryl—there's something wrong. With the baby."

He furrowed his brow at her.

"What?" He asked.

"Something's happening," Carol said. "To me. I felt it just now. Daryl—I think somethin's wrong. I don't know if—if we oughta get Doc or...Miss Jo."

Daryl sat all the way up.

"You hurtin'?" Daryl asked, true concern washing over his features. "You gotta breathe. Just suck it in an' blow it out. If you don't breathe we in a real world a' shit, Carol."

Carol realized she wasn't breathing normally. Daryl's reminder made her check herself and focus on the taking in and letting out of air. Suddenly, the same sensation she'd felt before came over. Her stomach felt like it dropped and she reached out, grabbing Daryl's arm and pressed his hand to her stomach. He stared wide eyed at her until the same sensation of the light bumping that followed the drop took over.

And then, at a moment when she was nearly overcome with horror, Daryl smiled at her. At first his smile was only the twitching, turning up of one corner of his mouth, but then it spread to take over his face a little more. Carol couldn't even react to his entirely inappropriate expression. All she could do was release some sounds that came out like quick squawks of disapproval. Daryl laughed at her and rubbed his hand over her belly a little roughly so that her whole body rocked in response. The sensation of his hard-pressing rub did nothing more than to stir up more of the lighter sensations from inside her.

"Moving," Daryl said, blowing out a breath that he'd apparently been holding while he'd been focusing on telling her to breathe. "Movin' Carol. That what was wrong?"

Carol shook her head.

"It was different," Carol said.

Daryl raised his eyebrows.

"Different how?" Daryl asked.

"Hard," Carol said. "Heavy. Strong."

"You askin' or you tellin'?" Daryl asked.

Carol could feel herself calming down. Strangely enough, the fact that Daryl wasn't concerned made her feel less concerned. Her heart wasn't pounding as hard in her chest and the tightness was starting to untangle itself. The warmth of Daryl's hand against her belly felt like it was tugging her back into a reality that she'd started to abandon for a moment.

She no longer felt like there was anything wrong. In fact, she almost couldn't remember why she'd felt like there was something wrong to begin with. She focused, again, on the breathing that she tended to let get away from her in moments like that, just as Daryl wanted her to do.

"I didn't feel it like that before," Carol said. She shook her head against the pillow. The tightness leaving also left the feeling of tears at her eyes that her own concern had stirred up. "I didn't feel it hard like that."

"Hershel asked me was it movin' yet," Daryl said. "Said they's some move sooner'n others, but it oughta be rollin' around soon like a pig in the mud."

Carol laughed in spite of herself.

"Yeah," she said, breathing out the word. "That's actually—it's kind of what it felt like. Like rolling around."

Daryl nodded his head. He moved his hand, but not to lift it from her body. Instead he just made circles around the swollen area that she was usually so proud of.

"I can tell Hershel next time he asks that it's movin' around," Daryl mused. "Good. S'posed to. S'posed to worry if it don't, not if it do. Rollin' 'round in there means it's good. Happy. Gettin' big and strong and ain't gonna be one of them weak ones what don't..."

Daryl stopped.

As soon as he stopped speaking so abruptly, he got a look like he'd been bit by something. Something had surprised him. The look faded quickly, but not quickly enough that Carol didn't see it. It left behind a blanching over Daryl's skin that he couldn't have gotten to pass as quickly as he could the expression.

"Weak ones that don't what, Daryl?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Don't matter," Daryl said. "It ain't weak. Not if it was stirrin' you up like I thought you was gonna tell me that there was a pack a' damn wolves outside. Baby's just fine. Just up before we is and prob'ly wonderin' what's got us draggin' our feet so long with breakfast."

Carol pushed herself up on her elbows.

"I can make you breakfast," Carol said. "If you're feelin' hungry. I didn't get up to make it because I weren't sure you were ready to get up."

Daryl shook his head at her.

"I ain't scoldin'," he said. "An' you need to eat it just as much as I do. More, even. I get hungry it's just me I'm makin' wait. You makin' yourself wait an' the baby too. Figure that's what the rollin' around is. Reminding you that you got more business outta the bed and doin' what'cha gotta do than you got in the bed lettin' it go hungry."

Carol's stomach did a twist that was all its own, then. It was a familiar feeling as realization sunk in over her. What Daryl was experiencing was as new for him, in that moment, as the earlier sensation had been for her. He was worried, but this time it wasn't just about the future and the potential threat that delivering the baby held for Carol. This time, Daryl was thinking about the baby itself as something more than just a threat that he couldn't truly see or touch.

And even though Carol hated for him to worry, she was relieved, in some ways, to see the new worry that was taking place inside of Daryl. To soothe it, though, she offered him the best smile she could and she reached to touch his cheek, inviting him to come and get the soft kiss that she offered him. He leaned to meet her and accept the offer made.

"I think the baby's fine," Carol said. She nodded her head at Daryl. "Like you said, it's strong. Bein' just a little tardy with the breakfast ain't gonna cause no harm that can't be undone with eating." She sucked in a breath, held it for a second, and let it out to gauge her own feelings. She was calm. She could feel it. The earlier worry was gone. In fact, for just a moment, Carol couldn't find any worry within herself. For just that moment, everything seemed like it was nothing more and nothing less than just right and well. "Just moving," Carol said, smiling to herself. "Growing and strong and moving—'cause I spent too long in the bed instead of lookin' to what I shoulda been doing."

Daryl nodded his head like he agreed, though he made no effort to get out of the bed. He wouldn't, either, until she did. He might suggest they get up, but he never went through with it until Carol did.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly.

"You can tell Hershel that the baby's moving," Carol said. "I supposed he'll be glad to hear it since Miss Jo's often askin' me the same thing."

Daryl smiled a little to himself. It was a much softer smile than the smile of realization that he'd worn earlier. It was nice to see it, though, because it meant that the worrying must be unknotting itself inside of him the same as it was inside of Carol. Carol sat up the rest of the way in the bed.

"Did you feel it?" Carol asked. "Could you? When it was moving?"

Daryl nodded his head again.

"Yeah," he said, the little turn-up at the corner of his mouth not fading.

Carol smiled in response.

"Did you like it?" She asked.

"It was alright," Daryl said. "I reckon. Doin' what it's s'posed to do. Like it's s'posed to do." He raised his eyebrows at her in question. "You alright now?"

Carol nodded her head.

"I am," she assured him. "I guess I just got a start. I wasn't expecting it. That's all. But I'm alright now. It's alright."

Daryl nodded his head once more.

"Good," he said. "Now—let's get some breakfast. I got some work I gotta get done an' it ain't doin' none of us a world of good wastin' the day here in the bed."

Carol laughed to herself at the change in Daryl's tone. It was definitive. He could be convinced to linger with her for a while, but when he was done? It was time to get back to life as they knew it. And he was right. Now that she was up, Carol could feel her stomach starting to request that she ate breakfast and she could feel the slightly heavy weight descending over her as her mind began to remind her of all the things that she had to do in the day. Still, she lingered a moment more to lean into him and kiss Daryl, much more deeply than before, and to accept the kiss that he offered her when he brought his hands up to tug at her curls and pull her closer into him.

"I don't think we wasted any time," Carol said, pulling away from him. "Just—spent what we needed to."

Daryl laughed quietly and nodded.

"You might be right," he said.

"Get dressed," Carol said, finally starting to move out of the bed so that Daryl would follow suit and their day could begin just as every other day began. "I'll make us some breakfast."