AN: A little more from our friends in Sweet Junction for you. As always, I thank you for your support and interest in the story, even if I don't get to tell you individually how much it means to me.

Delivery with Daryl would be fun, you're all right about that!

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

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"How are things, son?" Hershel asked, finding Daryl down near the pastures stringing some hay out for the cows.

Daryl turned a little at the approach of the old man. He straightened up and turned to face him, leaning back against the fence and ignoring the momentary push of one of the cows' faces against his back.

Hershel had been kind enough to let him take most of the day off work the day before because he worried about Carol going to the doctor. He didn't know if something was wrong or not and he was having a hard time focusing on even the most menial of his tasks that morning. He didn't want anything to be wrong with her or with the baby, but he felt like something was going to go wrong. He was too content, and whenever he got content he got nervous. Things didn't work out for him the way he wanted them too…they never had…so it was hard not to be jumpy and not to worry about when and how the shoe was going to fall.

"They OK," Daryl said.

Hershel frowned at him a little.

"Something on your mind, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

Daryl shook his head a little. There was a lot on his mind. In fact he wondered if anyone in the history of the world had ever been asked if something was on their mind and had been able to honestly answer no.

"The doc said things are fine," Daryl said. He ran his hand along the rough board of the fence and one of the cows, the same one that had head butted him a little moments before, came to greet him.

"You don't sound so convinced," Hershel said. He moved beside Daryl then, resting his forearm on the board and rubbing a little at the nose of the over curious cow who wanted to have some input in the conversation.

Daryl shrugged a little.

"Ain't nothin'," he said. "I just reckon that I don't feel like it's gonna be alright. Ain't got no reason ta feel that way, but I just feel like somethin's gonna go wrong. Carol's home today an' she's s'posed ta be takin' it easy an' all, but I just keep gettin' this feelin'…'bout makes me wanna puke."

Hershel looked at him a moment, the line between his eyebrows growing deeper. He turned around then, putting both his forearms on the fence and looking out over the cows that were grazing around.

"I think what you're feeling, son, is probably just the daddy jitters," Hershel said.

Daryl turned to match Hershel's stance, leaning against the fence.

"What's that?" He asked.

Hershel smiled.

"I don't know if it even exists…at least not really. You see, son, when a woman's expecting everyone makes a right big deal of it, and if they don't they should. And everyone you talk to tells you about everything that women are going through. All their nerves and their crazy moments…the changes…it's all a big deal. They even write books about it," Hershel said.

Daryl nodded a little, chuckling.

"Carol's got a book. Got pictures an' everythin' in it. Damn kid looks like a bug right now," Daryl said.

Hershel chuckled a little and nodded.

"What they don't write books about, though, are the daddy jitters," Hershel said. "It doesn't mean they aren't there, though. You're not going through the same changes and experiences she's having, but you've got your very own set of things that are happening…it's just that they only happen to you and no one's really paying any attention to them."

Daryl thought about it. He didn't really know if he was going through anything like what Carol was going through. He wasn't trying to grow some baby and he didn't spend several hours every morning praying to the porcelain god of the bathroom or have random fits of wanting to part company with everything he put in his mouth.

He certainly hadn't blacked out like she had at work. He was just waiting for something to happen and trying to figure out how to handle it when it finally did happen. He didn't know that the two were comparable at all.

"Let me guess," Hershel said. "You're worried about what you're going to do when the baby gets here…how you're going to take care of it. You're worried about what kind of father you'll be…if you can take care of both of them?"

Daryl bit at his cuticle. He nodded.

"Yeah…that's part a' it, I reckon," Daryl said. "I just keep thinkin' somethin's gonna happen. Like somethin' bad's gonna happen. I don't know what it is, though…I'm just waitin'."

"Mmmm," Hershel hummed. "That's another situation…though I think they're related. Same family of illness."

"Don't feel sick," Daryl said.

Hershel chuckled.

"I use illness loosely, son. Are you happy, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

Daryl nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "I reckon I'm 'bout as happy as I ever been."

"There you have it, then," Hershel said. "As human beings we're often afraid of that which makes us the happiest. You feel like the happier you get, the more imminent the possibility that you'll lose that happiness."

Daryl nodded.

"That's it," he said.

Hershel turned and clapped Daryl on the shoulder.

"That's just a natural response letting you know that what you've got is something that you really don't want to lose. It doesn't really mean that some dark cloud is hovering over your head, it's just your brain…or your heart…or whatever creates the feeling, letting you know that this is something that would cause you a good deal of pain to lose," Hershel said. "Recognize it for what it is, and for what it's telling you, but don't dwell on it. If you do, you'll spend the rest of your life ruining your own happiness simply by being afraid that you won't have it any longer."

"So you don't think nothin's gonna happen?" Daryl asked.

"There's always that possibility, Daryl, but worry won't change anything and it'll just take away whatever happiness you've got while it's there," Hershel said.

Daryl wanted to not worry. He really did want to take the old man's advice on this, but it didn't stop him from having the feeling. It was almost the feeling that if he could, he'd wrap Carol up in bubble wrap and newspaper and put her in his pocket where he could take her with him everywhere he went and make sure that nothing happened. He wasn't sure that he could stop anything from happening, at least not exactly, but he felt like he had a better chance of keeping control of everything if he could have done that.

"Talked to Jo," Hershel said.

Daryl snapped out of his thought for a moment and turned his focus back to the old man.

"She wants you and Carol to come over Sunday to dinner, if that's alright with you," Hershel said.

Daryl had already talked to Carol about her schedule and what she should and shouldn't do, so he knew that she wouldn't be working on Sunday. She was allowed to work at Michonne's during the week, Lula's on Saturday, and the Watering Hole on Friday and Saturday night, but he'd made her give up one night at the Watering Hole and he'd made her give up Sunday's at Lula's. At least this way he knew she got one day a week off to just take it easy…even if he knew she was really just going to spend most of that day cleaning house and things like that.

"That'll be fine," Daryl said. He'd never done Sunday dinner with Hershel and Miss Jo and it almost seemed a little daunting. "We need ta do somethin'?" He asked.

Hershel smiled and shook his head.

"Just show up," Hershel said. "We'll eat at about two."

Daryl nodded. He got a little concerned.

"Could ya tell Miss Jo that if Carol gets sick an' throws her food up not ta take it personal? Sometimes she just throws up between 'bout four and eight in the mornin'…and then maybe after she eats breakfast…but then sometimes she gets a mind ta keep right on goin' for most a' the day." Daryl said. "I don't want Miss Jo thinkin' it's got nothin' ta do with her cookin'."

Hershel shook his head.

"Jo won't think it's her cooking," Hershel said. "No worries. When Jo was pregnant…most every time…they called it morning sickness, but that was pretty much the biggest lie I ever heard. I thought Jo would never quit throwing up."

Daryl curled his lip.

"When did she?" He asked. He was starting to wonder how long their morning routine would last. "Carol says she's like eight weeks or nine weeks…I lost count."

Hershel nodded a little, obviously thinking back. He shrugged a little.

"I don't remember exactly," Hershel said. "I guess she was on into her fourth month or so…I remember she was just starting to look a little pregnant because I the very first time I kept worrying that she'd never actually look pregnant because she'd never keep any food down to grow."

Hershel laughed at himself.

"I almost worried myself sick the first time Jo was pregnant just over the fact that I didn't think she was growing right. After the first time, though, I knew more what to expect. We all have to learn what's what," Hershel finished.

"Carol don't look pregnant," Daryl said. "She figures she'll start lookin' like it when she's 'bout six months…that's what she said."

"Well I haven't really seen her since Lula's that day, but Carol Ann's always been a little bitty thing," Hershel said. "I'm sure you'll be able to tell at six months…but I imagine you'll have a pretty good idea long before that."

"Reckon we gotta wait an' see," Daryl said.

"That you do, son," Hershel said. "Be sure and tell her about Sunday though, you hear?"

Daryl nodded.

"I will, she'll like that I bet," Daryl said.

"I'm heading up to the house for a bit, but if you need something, you just let me know," Hershel said.

Daryl nodded at him and watched as the old man crossed the field headed toward the farmhouse. Daryl turned and went back to what he'd been doing when Hershel had found him. He hoped Carol would be excited about the dinner plans he'd made for them.

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It was a fairly busy Saturday night at the Watering Hole and Carol felt like neither she nor Andrea had much more than a minute here or there to even sit down. With the influx of people in town from the hiring that had taken place at the mill nearby, the bar was hopping more than it usually was. The regular thirsty patrons had showed up and they were holding down their normal tables, but tonight even the bar area was filled and Carol didn't know half the people in there.

She felt pretty good, though, and she was actually getting a kick out of most of the drunken people that normally would have annoyed her. Their antics seemed funnier, for whatever reason, and she wasn't minding so much the mingling being done from table to table. Of course, since Mary Ann had gone back to work, it was nice getting back to just her and Andrea working most nights.

Carol stepped into the back, dumping one of the trays of glasses into the sink and starting washing them quickly, flipping them upside down on the towels that Andrea had already laid out on the counter space back there. They were going through some dishes and Loretta had never exactly stocked the bar for a crowd.

Andrea came up behind her, tapping her on the shoulder and leaning in like she had some big secret to tell her and as though the loud mouths outside could hear anything over their own drunken musings.

"He's here," Andrea said.

Carol turned around a little to see Andrea somewhat wide eyed and a little more fidgety than she normally was.

"Who?" Carol asked.

"The man…the guy I was telling you about. Philip, he's here," Andrea said.

Carol left the dishes in the sink and turned around. She plucked the towel off of Andrea's shoulder and dried her hands quickly.

"Where's he at?" Carol asked.

"Same place he always is," Andrea said. "Booth to the left near the door. His friend isn't with him tonight."

Carol nodded a little and put the towel back over Andrea's shoulder with a smile.

"You finish the glasses. I'll get him this time," Carol said.

Andrea had been telling Carol about this man, and Carol had seen him in there once or twice, but she hadn't paid him any attention. Andrea's accounts of the man were a little confusing. She said he was charming, but smarmy…which for Carol made her think of Merle. Andrea, however, had assured Carol that he was nothing like Merle. Apparently he'd shown up at the Korean restaurant as well, and Andrea said he just gave her some kind of bad vibe that she wasn't entirely able to explain.

Carol stepped out of the back and stopped a moment to refill a shot glass for a man she didn't know who held up a piece of folding money to signal that he wished for one more drink and he was out. She took the money, thanked him for the leftover which would be her tip when she rung him out, and started toward the booth where the man sat.

As she approached, the man sat back in the booth a little. He was, perhaps, overdressed for the Watering Hole. Most of the people there were working men…blue collar working men…and this man looked a little more like white collar considering he was wearing slacks and a button down shirt, and his shirt didn't display his name over the chest.

He smiled a broad smile at her as she approached and folded his hands on the table.

"Well hello," he said. "Philip Blake."

"Carol," Carol responded with a smile. She'd dropped her name so often at the bar tonight that she was beginning to feel like she needed it sewn on her shirt. "What can I get you?"

Philip looked at her like he was considering the question with very careful thought.

"Scotch," he said, "on the rocks. Better make it double."

Carol nodded a little and went straight to the bar area, pouring his drink. In her very brief meeting of the man she'd seen nothing that seemed out of order. She shot a glance toward Andrea who was tending tables and trying with a noticeable effort to keep her back to the man. Apparently something about the man did have Andrea genuinely spooked and it seemed troubling to Carol since Andrea wasn't exactly someone that spooked easily.

Carol took the drink back and sat it on the table in front of the man.

"Thank you," he said. "Busy night tonight?" He asked, looking around.

Now the fun began. At the Watering Hole, and Carol assumed it was the same in any small bar, part of your job was serving drinks, part of your job was cleaning up, but the biggest part of your job was customer entertainment. No one liked to drink alone. The more entertained a customer was, the longer they stayed and the more they drank. The more they drank, in turn, typically meant the more they tipped since drunks were notoriously more generous than sober people, especially if you'd entertained throughout their drunken state.

Carol leaned a little on the table.

"Pretty busy," she said. "They're hiring at the mill and it's brought in a bunch of out of towners. Apparently it happens at least twice a year. Should die down in a couple of days, though…then in a couple of weeks the new faces just become old ones."

Philip smiled.

"Isn't that the way it always works? Every face is a new face until it's an old one," he said.

Carol nodded a little.

"I guess that's true," she said.

"How's your hand?" Philip asked. Carol was confused for a moment and then she glanced at the hand that rested on the bar. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd done it, but when she'd passed out at Lula's she'd ripped her nails off. The week of healing had almost taken care of the problem, but she still had two small bandages there.

"I just messed up the nails," she said. "It's nothing serious."

Philip hadn't been the first customer to ask about the bandages. Things like that apparently got people's attention very easily.

"Everything fine, though?" Philip asked. "I was…" he chuckled a little, "I was having dinner at that nice little diner in town when you got hurt. It looked like you just blacked out."

Carol felt her stomach turn a little at the coincidence. She shook it out of her head and smiled though, when she saw Philip's face change and realize that she must have made some expression that she hadn't intended to make.

"It's all fine," Carol said. "Just one of those things…low blood sugar."

Philip nodded, his expression serious for the moment. Then he smiled.

"At least it was nothing serious, right?" He said. "I saw all the commotion. It was a good thing they were able to get ahold of your husband."

Carol smiled and nodded. She didn't know if he hadn't realized she wasn't wearing a ring or if he thought that she just didn't go for that sort of thing, but she didn't feel the need to correct Andrea's mystery man on her relationship status with Daryl.

"He's attentive," she said, hoping to dismiss the conversation soon. She glanced around but Andrea still had her back to her.

Philip smiled.

"Well that's good," he said. "Every good woman deserves an attentive and caring husband."

Carol nodded.

"Can I get you anything else?" She asked quickly, looking for her way out.

Philip took a sip from his drink and thoughtfully held the glass up while looking at her. She felt her stomach churn again and realized that Andrea had probably gotten into her head and convinced her that something was wrong with the man. After Andrea's concern she'd probably be uncomfortable with him if he were the Pope. Still, she felt like he was checking her out, looking her up and down, and it wasn't with the same general nature of the other bar goers that were blatantly looking at her tits or considering groping her ass.

"I think I'm fine," Philip said.

Carol forced another smile out.

"Good," she said. "You just let me know if you need anything else."

Philip tipped his head, moving his hand almost like he was toasting her.

"Will do," he said.

Carol excused herself from the table then and almost double timed it back toward the back of the bar. She stopped a moment, glancing at Andrea who was pretending to have some great interest in a pool game that she could probably care less about, and took a few orders from some of the new mill workers sitting around the bar and chain smoking over shots of tequila. When Carol finally caught Andrea's attention she jerked her head back slightly to indicate she was stepping to the back and then she left. Andrea came a few minutes later.

"Well?" Andrea asked.

"I don't know," Carol said. "He did seem a little creepy, but I feel like I only thought he was creepy because you told me he was. I didn't feel like he had bodies in his basement or anything."

Andrea stomped her foot a little.

"Shit!" She said. "I wish you could have met him without knowing anything about him. Then you could give me an unbiased opinion.

"Sorry," Carol said, shrugging a little. "He did mention that he was at Lula's on Sunday when I blacked out," she offered. "I thought that was a little creepy at first…but then again half the men in here probably passed through Lula's on Sunday. It's a busy day and if you don't have anyone cooking Sunday dinner it's about as good as it gets."

"Yeah," Andrea said. "That's not much to go on. At least fifteen people have asked me about how you are and what happened at Lula's. It's the stuff of legends right now."

"I'm sorry," Carol said. "I'm sure if you think he's creepy, though, he really is. Like I said, I thought he was maybe a little creepy, but I just don't want to swear to it. I don't know if I just decided he was without giving him a fair trial. If anything, though, stay away from him if he makes you uncomfortable."

"It's not me staying away from him I'm worried about," Andrea said. She looked at Carol and her eyes darted back and forth.

"You think he's like dangerous?" Carol asked, leaning in a bit. "Like stalker dangerous? Or like put you in his trunk dangerous?"

Andrea shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know if I really even think he's dangerous. I don't think he's murdering people with hacksaws, but something just makes me think…I don't know…something about him feels like he can't be trusted."

Carol nodded her head.

"You don't have to explain it," Carol said. "Women's intuition, right? If you don't think he can be trusted, then we don't trust him, simple enough. Did you drive tonight?"

Andrea shook her head.

"Then I'll drive you home. No big deal," Carol said.

Andrea smiled and wrapped her hand around Carol's forearm.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm just being silly. I don't feel like he's going to do anything, honestly. It's not that kind of feeling. It's just…" She paused.

"Something about him doesn't set well?" Carol asked.

Andrea grimaced a little.

"That's pretty much it," she said.

Carol smiled and shrugged.

"That's fine," Carol said. "If it doesn't set well then it doesn't set well. We'll keep an eye on him. I'll wait on him the rest of the night and see if I can't figure him out. We'll be like detectives or something."

Andrea chuckled.

"Too bad Michonne doesn't work here, I bet she'd have him pegged in half a second," Andrea said.

"That's true," Carol said. "But no worries, we've got this. We just know to keep our eyes open for one Mr. Philip Blake who may or may not be creepy and up to something."

Andrea giggled.

"God we sound like teenagers…" She said.

Carol giggled in response to Andrea, glad the mood was lighter.

"Come on…" Carol said. "We've got work to do. The drunks will be raiding the bar soon if we don't get out there."

Andrea nodded and started out front again. Carol stepped over to the counter and loaded a tray up with a few of the clean glasses to put out front. She stepped out after Andrea to finish up their Saturday night's worth of work and to keep an eye on the new man in town.