AN: Update five for anyone not trying to get lost…
11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111
Daryl stomped across the pasture and back toward the barn, the hay hooks gripped in his hands. His mood had been sour for days and it was only getting progressively worse. Andrea thought that he should talk to Hershel about how he was feeling, but he wasn't exactly sure what she wanted him to say or expected him to say.
He'd tried about fifty different ways in his head to approach the old man and tell him about what had happened with Carol, but most of the ways just came off to him sounding confused because he still wasn't sure what was happening.
Carol was living her life. She was doing her thing. She was free to be who she wanted to be and do what she wanted to do. The big difference, what Andrea was missing was that Daryl wasn't Hershel and Carol wasn't Miss Jo. There wasn't any changing going on there. They were exactly the same today as they'd been the day that Daryl had first gotten his job at the farm. Nothing was different. As far as Daryl could tell the only that changed about either one of them was the clothes that they wore. That was it.
Carol had stopped calling now, and stopped coming by the apartment. She'd moved on. Daryl figured she was going to move on eventually, so it might as well be now instead of later. At least she wasn't getting rid of him this way. He didn't have to feel like she upgraded him or cast him off like the random items that she gave Andrea when she'd moved out of the apartment. He didn't have to wait for her to box him and pass him off to someone. Daryl thought that it might be a good idea to let Lincoln know what to expect. He was, after all, a hound dog with a tendency to drool and smell a little funny. She may very well decide eventually that he wasn't the kind of dog to fit her new lifestyle.
Daryl stopped outside the barn and leaned against the doorframe, dropping the hooks to the ground and wiping his face with his shirt. It was getting chilly, but he was working as hard as his muscles would allow him to work in order to keep his mind busy, and as a result he was already exhausted and sweaty even though he still had probably ten more hay bales to move before he even thought about what might be next on the agenda.
Daryl fished a cigarette out of his pocket, fingered it for a moment and then lit it, leaning back against the frame and relaxing for just a moment.
He could hear the sound of voices drifting through the barn and he knew by now it was Hershel's oldest daughter, Maggie, hiding up there to talk with her little Korean boyfriend where no one was going to be paying them any attention. Daryl had been privy to more than one of their boring conversations. They seemed to be under the false assumption that as long as they were hidden up there, out of sight, they were also out of earshot for anyone down in the bottom of the barn, but that wasn't true at all. He also knew the little fuckers were up there making out like it was the bleachers at a high school football game. If Hershel didn't know what they were doing, then he was pretty much clueless.
Daryl eavesdropped on their conversation for something to do more than out of any genuine interest. The little Korean kid, who Daryl hadn't even learned the name of yet, was a bigger gossip than half the women that Daryl had met in his life, and that included everyone he'd had the pleasure of getting to know in the thriving metropolis of Sweet Junction. He could only hear parts of their conversation, but for free and unsought entertainment, that was as good as it got.
"You wouldn't talk to him either," he heard Maggie say. "…like some kind of ogre."
"Well, I'm just telling you I heard it," Glenn said.
"Who said it though…" Maggie responded. "…crosses their lips is usually a lie. Daddy hasn't said anything."
Daryl realized that the boy said was always louder than Maggie. When their conversations was really good, it made Daryl wish that he was in some kind of strange habit of repeating everything that Maggie said. Daryl could only figure it was because Maggie had siblings, and she was probably used to trying to keep them from hearing everything she said. He didn't know about the boy, but the boy didn't seem to mind being loud.
"Nobody said it, Maggie," Glenn responded. "I was right there in Lula's myself when Carol asked the guy to come to her house."
"Fine, Glenn…" Maggie responded, a little louder because she was responding, apparently to his annoyed tone, "…broke up or something? Who is he?"
Daryl's interest was more than piqued at the moment. He wasn't sure he believed what he'd just heard. Carol had asked a man to her house? Who was Carol asking to her house? Daryl wondered if there was more than one Carol that worked at Lula's. He'd never heard her say anything, but he supposed that stranger things had happened. He strained his ears, trying to hear more, but the conversation was so broken up that he couldn't hear anything that clearly identified if he'd heard correctly or if he'd only made it up.
Part of Daryl made him want to climb right up the hay loft ladder right now and demand that the Korean kid, Glenn apparently, tell him every damn thing he knew about this. Daryl had figured that Carol was moving on, that she had some intention to upgrade him to someone bigger and better, but he hadn't expected it to feel like a blow when he heard about it.
Now his head was spinning and he didn't even know who it was that Carol was inviting to her house. Some man in Lula's but he didn't know if she already knew him or if he was some random man. Daryl finished his cigarette and snubbed it out in the dirt by the barn door. He didn't know why he felt the way he did, but he was caught somewhere between feeling like he wanted to part company with the contents of his stomach and feeling like he wanted to punch someone.
Daryl picked up the hay hooks off the ground where he'd dropped them and stormed into the barn. He hooked one of the bales off the pile and heaved it up, heading back across the farm. At least all these stupid ass feelings were good for something. They gave him some energy that he could use to get his fucking work done. Apparently that's what he was good for…doing menial labor on some farm. There really wasn't anything else for him to worry about since everyone else seemed to be doing just fucking fine with their lives.
111111111111111111111111111111111111111111
Michonne had to admit that she was getting worried about Carol. She hadn't really heard from her much since the entire thing with Daryl had happened. In fact, Michonne wasn't really sure that she understood what had happened with Daryl. The explanation that she'd received with Carol had come with a healthy side of sobs and sides of stories that were almost impossible to follow. Michonne had never been good at putting really complicated puzzles together, and this was a nightmare of an auditory puzzle.
Andrea wasn't exactly of assistance either. Michonne had actually cornered Andrea one night outside the Korean restaurant she worked at most days and asked her if she could possibly shed some light on what had happened. Andrea had been exasperated and told her something that involved the probability that she's serve jail time for the domestic abuse she was planning against the Dixon brothers.
So really all Michonne had to go on here was that whatever it was…whether it had been an official break up or something a little different…it had happened suddenly. It had also apparently happened with either little or no explanation given from the guilty party, who at the moment Michonne identified as Daryl, but she wouldn't have staked her life on it given the confusing comments that had been made from one person or the other.
Despite the details, though, or lack thereof, what was absolutely clear was that Carol was not handling the situation well. She didn't want to talk about it, which had translated into she didn't want to talk to anyone. She'd cancelled babysitting for Michonne for about a week and a half, choosing instead to either stay home or work elsewhere, Michonne wasn't really sure which, and she'd been hiding out whenever Michonne called.
So when Michonne got a phone call from Carol asking her come by the house after work, she'd decided to do one better. She took the rest of the day off and drove directly to Carol's house, afraid that she might be talking her friend out of some major life altering decision.
When Michonne came through the door, she found Carol on the couch with Lincoln, wrapped up in a quilt. Michonne walked in, dropping her keys on the counter and then she stood, leaning against the counter and facing the couch.
"You're not supposed to be off work yet," Carol said from the couch.
"You were supposed to be at work too," Michonne said. "So we're both guilty parties here. What's up?"
She almost felt like it was a stupid question. She knew that being wrapped up on the couch with the dog was only one step away from being in the bathtub with everything she owned in some kind of pathetic shrine to the collapse of her dreams. Michonne shook her head.
"Why him?" Michonne asked.
"What?" Carol asked.
"Why do you let Daryl do this to you? This isn't the first time that he's done something and I hate to say it but he has a shitty track record for such a short run of things. After everything you've been through with Ed. Everything that you have picked yourself up from and overcome…you're going to let some inbred, half brained, slow witted redneck drag your ass through the mud?" Michonne was surprised at the heat that was boiling up inside of her but right this moment she wasn't sure which one of them she wanted to go to prison for murdering. She was starting to think that she might kill both Carol and Daryl and consider it a two for one deal when she got there.
Carol sat up a little and Lincoln groaned and rolled backwards. She slumped back down, resting her head on top of the dog that didn't seem to notice.
"I didn't go to work today because I was dying," Carol said. "So I thought it was a better idea to die in peace at home instead of on the floor at Lula's."
Carol picked up the edge of her blanket and wiped at her nose. Michonne grimaced. She sighed and walked through the house, coming back a few minutes later carrying a roll of toilet paper out of the bathroom. She pulled one of the dining room tables into the living room and sat a few feet away from Carol, staring at her, her elbows on her legs, and her face resting in her hands.
"OK, so you're dying?" Michonne asked. "Was it happening today? Because now that I'm off work I can wait."
Carol groaned and pulled her blanket over her head. Michonne got up and walked into the kitchen. The place was a little messier than she would have expected for Carol. There were several dirty coffee mugs so she moved them to the sink. On the counter there was an empty bag of barbecue chips and an empty half gallon jug that had apparently once held chocolate milk.
"Are you saving your garbage for something or can I throw it away?" Michonne called. There was no response from the lump that had once been her friend, so she assumed that Carol had gone through with her plan to die. She picked up the trash and threw it in the garbage can under the sink. "Carol, did you eat all those chips and drink that chocolate milk?" Michonne called. "Because if you did, I think I can diagnose why you're going to die."
"Not all of it," the lump responded.
"Thank goodness for small things," Michonne said, more to herself than to anyone else.
"Lincoln had some too," Carol said.
Michonne came back into the living room and sat back in her chair.
"Carol, the dog shouldn't have chips and milk, and neither should you, for that matter," Michonne said.
Carol flipped the blanket back.
"That milk smelled bad," Michonne said.
"Lincoln ate the chips," Carol said. "And I drank the milk…and it didn't smell bad when I drank it. That was days ago."
"OK, so you lived through that…what's up then?" Michonne asked.
Carol groaned and wrapped her arms around the dog, pulling him over her body and flipping him to the other side of the couch. She rolled with him, leaving her back to Michonne.
"Carol, please don't shake that dog up like that," Michonne said. "If he ate all those chips he's probably going to hurl."
"Already did," Carol said. "He's dying too. We want to go together."
Michonne chuckled a little, trying to choke it back.
"You have a flair for drama, did you know that?" Michonne asked. "Are you actually dying or do we just need to get you up and moving around?"
"I went to the doctor," Carol said. "Because I'm dying…except he said I wasn't dying."
"Why am I not surprised?" Michonne asked.
Carol looked back over her shoulder at Michonne.
"He said I'm pregnant," Carol said. "Apparently for five whole weeks I've been pregnant. That makes me the worst mother in the history of the world because for five whole weeks I didn't even know I had a kid."
Michonne sat there for a minute, the smile at Carol's dramatic flair gone.
"Shit…" Michonne said. "Have you told anyone?"
"You and Lincoln," Carol said, "and Lincoln didn't seem to care."
Carol sat up, then, scooting down the couch and sitting normally on it. Michonne thought she looked terrible, but now she could understand. She was probably freaking out about the whole thing.
"We'll figure it out," Michonne said. "I'm so sorry…" She didn't know what to say in this situation. Her situation with Dean had been a pretty sucky situation, but it had been a different one altogether.
"Why are you sorry?" Carol asked. She got up then and headed toward the kitchen. When she opened the refrigerator, Lincoln perked up and ran down his steps and through the house. Michonne got up and followed her.
"Aren't you crying on the couch because you're pregnant and Daryl's disappeared?" Michonne asked. "Or was there another chapter that I missed to the novel?"
Carol walked around the kitchen and pulled something off the island. She brought it over and dropped a folder in front of Michonne.
"Yeah? It's a folder from the doctor," Michonne said, reading the front of it. She'd seen a billion of them.
Carol opened it up and pulled out an ultrasound photo. She put it on the counter and pointed at it.
"That little spot right there, that's my baby," Carol said. Michonne nodded a little. She'd seen these things before and frankly they didn't look like anything, not even when they were her own children. "And there's no heartbeat. I'm supposed to go back next week. They said six weeks and then they said five weeks, and then they told me to come back."
"OK…" Michonne said.
Carol went back to the refrigerator and this time she actually came out with something. It was a carton of juice. Michonne started to suggest she consider drinking from a glass, but Carol was already drinking out of the carton and she decided it probably wasn't the first time. Carol walked back over and handed Michonne one of the booklets out of it.
"I've got two of these at home," Michonne said.
Carol turned the pages and smashed the book flat before returning her interest to her juice.
"Says right there that the majority of miscarriages happen before twelve weeks and the chances are greater if you've already miscarried," Carol said. She left the carton where it was and walked back to the living room, sitting on the couch again.
Michonne walked around.
"So you're not upset that you're pregnant…you're upset because they gave you a pamphlet that says that you, like every other woman in the world, might miscarry before twelve weeks?" Michonne asked, putting her hands on her hips.
"Higher chances," Carol said.
Michonne chuckled, everything starting to sink in a little.
"Carol, I think they mean miscarried on your own. Being pushed down a flight of stairs isn't what they're really talking about. And they give those pamphlets to everyone. I have two of them. I took Anjelica with me and they gave me one when I was pregnant with Celine…and I was ten weeks pregnant and hadn't even figured it out," Michonne said. "What I'm worried about is when are you going to tell Daryl?"
Carol shrugged.
"I'm not," she said. "He doesn't like change…in fact, he dislikes it so much that it makes him not even want to be with me. This is a pretty good change…" Carol sat there for a minute and Michonne stared at her, trying to figure out what to say or what to do. "He freaked out about soap," Carol said. "If he can't handle soap what the hell is he going to do with a baby? I'm not saying anything."
"How did this even happen?" Michonne asked.
Carol shrugged.
"You've got two kids," she said. "Still haven't figured it out?"
Michonne rolled her eyes.
"I meant how did it happen as in did you use protection or what?" Michonne corrected.
Carol shrugged again.
"I don't know…I missed something or something…I don't know, Michonne," Carol said. "Does it really matter?"
Michonne sighed.
"I guess not, but you've got to tell him. It's his baby," Michonne said.
"Correction," Carol said. "It's my baby and it doesn't even have a heartbeat."
"That'll come later," Michonne said. "But he's the father."
"No one can actually prove that," Carol said. "Could be divine intervention or something."
"I don't understand, Carol," Michonne said. "Sorry, and I'm trying to be delicate, but you look like shit. Yet you're telling me that you're only upset because you think you might not have the baby…not because you might end up with a baby…and you're telling me that you don't want to tell Daryl? Did you fall or hit your head?"
Carol looked like she might cry.
"I want the baby," she said. "I cried the whole time they were examining me because I couldn't believe that I was going to have a baby. The nurse kept trying to comfort me and no one understood that I was happy. And then there's no heartbeat and they said it's OK, but that's what they were looking for in the first place. And Daryl doesn't care and he doesn't need to feel like he has to care because I don't need him to care."
Michonne stood there, her arms crossed.
"I look like shit because I can't sleep. I look like shit because I've figured out that whatever I put into my mouth I'm allowed to keep for about thirty minutes if it's liquid…maybe forty five…and if it's not liquid it has a much shorter shelf life," Carol said.
"OK," Michonne said. "We're going to figure this out…it's not a big deal, right? We're just going to rationally figure this out. You're coming to my house, just for the night, and you're going to get some sleep even if I have to sit in there and recite Fox in Socks to you until you fall asleep. Then tomorrow we're calling Andrea, and we're going to talk about this like rational adults. Can we do that?"
Carol nodded.
"Good," Michonne said. "Let's get your stuff together."
Michonne had a headache that was beginning to develop. She waited while Carol packed a small bag. From her state of mind, Michonne wasn't sure what was going to be in the bag, but she figured they'd sort that out later. She figured that she could talk to Andrea about this, find out what the Dixon men felt about paternity, and maybe figure out how to solve the great big stinking mess that Daryl and Carol had created together when left unattended for a few hours.
When Carol was finally ready to go, Michonne started out the door. Carol followed Lincoln around, finally hooking his leash.
"Can't he stay here tonight?" Michonne asked.
Carol stood up, the leash in one hand and the bag thrown over her shoulder. Michonne realized that lack of food and sleep had the ability to make her friend take on the overall appearance of a five year old.
"If Lincoln stays, I'm staying," Carol said. "He hasn't left me and I'm not leaving him."
Michonne thought she might point out that Lincoln didn't have much choice in whether he left or he stayed, but she decided to abandon the argument and prayed that the dog didn't puke in her car or destroy her house during their visit. She sighed and held the door open for Carol and Lincoln to pass through. She stepped in for a moment and did a quick scan to make sure that it didn't look like anything would burn the house down in their absence, and she stepped back out, locking the door with her spare key and walking toward the car where Carol was already putting Lincoln in the backseat.
At this point, she only hoped that Andrea was wearing her thinking cap and ready to do some Dixon style interpreting because something needed to be done, even if it meant just tying the two to chairs and forcing them to talk it out with her and Andrea acting as interpreters for their conversation.