They work through the morning, stopping for lunch when the sun is a hazy silver coin at the apex of the sky. It's a tedious but dangerous project: repairing any weak spots or snarls in the perimeter fence with whatever patchwork replacements they can scrounge. It requires both patience and attention. Pointless to do a shoddy repair job; hard to concentrate with the dead trying to claw your face open while you do so. They work in teams, with two or three on walker alert, while two or three others set to repairs. She and Sasha stab, slash and slice as necessary while Carl and Tyreese work on the fence.
"Okay, that's it. I need a break," Tyreese swipes at his drenched face with a paisley handkerchief, leans back. Nods at Carl who stretches. Both abandoned their signature headwear as they toiled over the fence, and now they pull them back on in unison, grinning at each other.
"That's right, man," Tyreese stands, stretches. "No reason not to exert your style, even in a zombie apocalypse. Feel me?" Puts his hand out to Carl.
"Yeah, man, I feel you," Carl slaps his much smaller hand into his, attempts a serious expression that's so earnest, Carol glances away lest she crack a smile the boy might mistake for teasing.
"Gotta look fly for all the ladies, right?" Tyreese glances over at Carol, his eyes twinkling with a combination of something light-hearted and something a bit more serious. She feels heat rising to her face that has nothing to do with the midday sun. She thinks of the night before, leaning into Daryl, catching a glimpse of the pleasure in his eyes at their renewed rapport, the warmth in her belly at the small grin on his face.
"Oh my lord," Sasha's dry voice interrupts her thoughts. She rolls her eyes at her brother, who shrugs, winks at Carol. She surprises herself by winking back. "Who wants a sandwich?"
The group grabs their packed lunches, scatter in the yard. Carol seats herself in the shade of an old equipment shed, resting her back on the warm metal. Maggie walks by, looking flushed.
"I hate to say this, but I think I better go in," she sits gracelessly down next to Carol, pitching her voice low. "I am about to pass out."
"Yeah, you better," she places her hand on the younger woman's pink but dry cheek. "I appreciate you're trying to go about your business, but the first few months can throw you for a loop. Any morning sickness yet?"
"I barfed in the middle of the night. Didn't have much breakfast," Maggie shakes her head.
"You're probably dehydrated. You really ought to get inside, get some water, lie down. Have someone find you some crackers," she looks closely at Maggie's face, assessing her.
"I'm okay, Carol," Maggie places her hand over Carol's, which is still resting on her warm cheek. "Not fabulous, I'll admit it, but okay." She pauses, pulls a shaky breath. "I want this baby, Glenn's baby. I'm scared shitless, but I want to do this the best I can. Be the best momma I can." Her eyes brim with tears, spill over, she laughs, pushing them away.
"That'll happen too," Carol smiles at her, helps brush her tears away. "You'll be cryin' over a whole lotta nothing the next few months. Don't worry about it."
Maggie grips her hands tightly. "How do you bear it, Carol? How do you keep going?"
Sophia. "That's exactly it. I bear it. I bear her. I just carry her with me. She's just there. Always. There's nothing else to do." And now her eyes are filling with tears from the bottomless well with her daughter's name on it, and she swipes them away. "I had her with me for almost twelve years. Twelve years full of days that were brighter, happier, more purposeful because she was there. I could have done more, I could have, I should have been so much better of a mother to her. I should have been a stronger person, a stronger woman, a better example. But I wasn't. I was weak. I thought I deserved all that Ed doled out, plus some. So I carry that, too." She stops, looks at her hands, which are shaking. She's never said that out loud before. But there it is, the ugly, flopping truth, writhing between them in the dust.
"Oh Carol," Maggie sighs.
"But," she gathers herself, because the truth is ugly, but it's a living thing, and so is she. "But what I also carry is the weight of her, staggering out of that barn. I thought I was literally going to die in the dust in your yard, Maggie. That my heart would just burst out of my chest and I would die. And, at that moment, I would have been happy to die, right there. But I didn't. And I had to get up, and put one foot in front of the other. So I did. And then I thought of her, and I wanted to do better than just that, then just getting by. That's how I bear it, Maggie: every day, I try to be the woman I should have been for my daughter. The woman I should have been for myself."
They are both crying now, kneeling in the dust of the prison yard, holding onto each other, oblivious to those around them. But they are also smiling, as the sun shines down on them, these mothers, mending fences.