This chapter is dedicated to auntheddy. That lovely lady who sent me a Valentine on tumblr and I never made her diddly squat. So...I'm an awful person, but here you are my precious one. I honestly hope you like it. I'd feel like a giant fool if you don't. A giant foolish fool type fool...-~-..

Milton's Log #?

Date Unknown

I've misplaced my log book.

Did I log the events of last night yet? I feel like I haven't.

This morning has been a bit of a blur.

The wedding is gearing up. Think maybe an hour or two.

Still haven't figured out who came into my cot and left a used condom. Was it me? I feel like it couldn't have been. If it's not mine or…the implications that it could belong to someone else disgusts me. But if does belong to me…I really need to handle this like a detective first, then a gentleman.

I hope I didn't do anything untoward. I was under the influence of some pretty heavy substances.

I have otherwise been inducted into the men's only club, something which I've never been a part of. The initiation? Apparently Merle was spiking my cold tea with something stronger last night.

I may have smoked marijuana as well. I found remnants in the sheets of my cot. What do they call that little nub left from a marijuana joint? A bug? Something like that.

I found a bug in my cot.

Grace looks beautiful this morning in a dress supplied by Carol. The ladies pulled me into the ready room for the bride earlier to help with a technical problem with the old Singer sewing machine they were using for last minute alterations.

Carol looks absolutely stunning as well. I may have made a bit of a fool of myself in my shock.

Not to say I never found her appealing, but there's something about the both of them today. A tinge of pink to their cheeks, a sparkle in their eyes, a tiny, cat-like furl to the corners of their mouths.

Women are mysterious and breathtaking. I have to remember to appreciate them better.

Maybe it's the glow of pregnancy people always talk about that hangs about them.

To be honest, all of the women of the convent look beautiful today, wearing dresses for once and flowers in their hair, some of them flitting about from building to building in anticipatory excitement like fairies fluttering from leaf to leaf. Even Michonne, who normally scares me a little, came to the shed with a knowing smile on her lips and a flowy yellow dress on. She looked so alluring that I may have fumbled and dropped the mug of water she brought me for my hangover.

I have to admit I find the length of her neck appealing. She's strong, but there's a grace there that I like. I may have had inappropriate thoughts about her curves under that clingy dress. I should apologize to her later for my fumbling when she had been so kind as to bring me that water.

(If this ever becomes an official document, please omit that part about her curves and neck. I just don't want to seem unprofessional.)

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**Grace**

She had taken a moment to herself in the sacristy, avoiding the bustling of women and the sluggish movements of those hungover and suffering from the party (which in her opinion had gotten wildly out of hand).

The rows of hooks on the wall contained Father O'Rourke's vestments, his beautiful purple and gold stole, alongside the priests robes hung a few full habits for nuns hanging beside them, kept there due to lack of space in the dorms.

Brushing up the thin plastic protective covering, she fingered the thick, rough black hem of a robe, feeling the material between her thumb and finger, reminding her that this was all real.

Releasing the garment, she allowed the plastic to fall back down over it, dropping her hand to her 'wedding' gown. That silly floral dress Carol had saved for her from that boutique before she blew away in the gale wind.

She had worn summer dresses like this as a young woman, in fact one of the last pieces of civilian clothes she had worn before the habit had been a dress very similar.

Seemed fitting, she supposed.

To be honest, she wouldn't miss that hot, heavy black and white habit. The wimple scratched her and the veil always got caught in doors when she closed them behind her and it took her forever to learn how to roll up the sleeves in such a way that they wouldn't interfere with work.

Beside the standing mirror, she gazed at the woman in the reflection. Dark, greying hair, porcelain complexion, small nose, small lips, small hands and feet.

Lord, Lafayette was right, she was a perfect little doll.

A perfect little doll with crow's feet and frown lines from years of disapproving of everything.

She smiled a little and her reflection copied her.

Behind the woman in the mirror, she spied two little angels peeking around the doorframe at her and turned around.

"You look beautiful, mama," Annie declared shyly, still peering around the doorframe at her.

"Thank you, my darling," she returned. "Why on earth are you hiding in the doorway? Come inside and let me take a good look at you."

Annie stomped in a little sullenly, the overly frilly white dress Mary Claire had put her in swishing, the broad, blue silk bow already askew.

Grace knelt down and adjusted the bow as Olivia joined them in her own, matching white dress, her new patent leather shoes squeaking on the polished hardwood of the sacristy.

"Do I have to wear this?" Annie complained. "I look like a jerk."

"Well, you certainly will not be marching around in your altogether, darling," Grace pointed out. "It'll only be for a little while."

"But I don't look as pretty as you," Annie grumbled.

Grace smiled at the girl and kissed her forehead. "We are all beautiful in God's eyes, my child."

"But you're beautifuler," Annie pointed out, tugging at the braids in her hair and fidgeting.

"But you're the ugly duckling," Olivia said. "She grew into a beautiful swan!"

Annie scowled. "You're an ugly duckling!"

"Dummy!"

Grabbing both girls by the shoulder, Grace wheeled them to the door, guiding them out before a fight could ensue. She marched them across the church, where people were beginning to get things righted after the party, to where Mary Agnes sat with Merle on a pew.

Merle looked well, considering his night, sitting very close to Mary Agnes and smiling wickedly at her.

Grace paused before them with a small grin. "May I ask a small favour," she began.

"We'll watch the little scrappers," Merle said.

"You've got a lot on your plate today," Mary Agnes added, holding out her arms, inviting both girls to her lap.

Olivia took to her lap eagerly, but Annie leapt at Merle's, sacking the poor man.

He grunted and caught her.

"Jesus, small fry, ease up on my nuts," Merle growled.

Fighting with a strand of hair that had fallen from the careful curls Adele had put her hair up into, Grace paced a little, before deciding on a direction. Rethinking the modest white heels Sasha had scrounged up for her, Grace removed them as she wandered down the aisle of the church in search of Carol.

Outside she spied Daryl lounging around on the stoop with Rick and Glenn, the latter two men were actually spit polished and looking very appropriate for the occasion, Daryl however earned a second take from Grace.

"Daryl, honey," she began with a gentle smile. It was a military tactic straight from the pages of Better Homes and Garden. A tactic her prim, Southern Catholic nee Baptist mother had taught her at a very young age. "You may get away with tearing the sleeves off of fine plaid shirts when you're out in the wild hunting game and slaying abominations, but for my wedding, if you could scrounge up something more formal, I would be very grateful." She brushed his shaggy bangs off his forehead and tsked. "You have such a handsome face, I'd imagine you could shine up very nicely for the occasion. Very cute," she teased, brushing a finger over his mole.

He glared at the world, but didn't dare turn that glare on her.

"Please?" She pleaded. "For me? For my wedding day?"

"I ain't wearing a suit," he grumbled.

"Not a suit," she coaxed. "Maybe just a button up that still has sleeves attached and some slacks that aren't covered in the woods and the wild? Could you do that for me, sweetie? Hm?"

He scowled at the sky overhead.

Grace adjusted the collar of his worn, ratty shirt and smiled sweetly at him. "Daryl, now I know you're a giant ball of squishy sweetness inside, don't give me that mean old wolf routine."

She stepped back and eyed Rick and Glenn approvingly. "You boys look so handsome," she greeted, adjusting Glenn's tie and giving Rick a kiss on the cheek as he took her hands in his gently and squeezed. "Very happy to see you up and about this morning," she whispered in his ear.

"You look beautiful, Grace," he offered.

She sheepishly touched a hand to her hair and huffed. "Oh, I feel foolish actually. Marriage is a young woman's game, I think."

"I look amazing, Grace," Glenn pointed out firmly, taking her hands next and kissing her cheek.

She beamed at him. "Oh, honey, you darling boy."

Turning lastly to Daryl, feeling bad for scolding him, she took his rough hands in hers and smiled. "I'm sorry, honey, you know I adore you and want you to come however you are."

He shyly took a step forward, hesitated, then quickly pressed a kiss to her cheek, flushing a little as he pulled back.

She beamed at him and stroked her hand through his shaggy hair. "How is he this morning?" She asked.

He shrugged. "You know that Cajun, keeps whatever is really on his mind to himself."

"Is he hungover badly?"

"Nah, drink a gallon of coffee," Daryl said.

Fluttering away from the men, leaving them to their conversation, she moved towards the infirmary, still looking for Carol.

It didn't dawn on her to ask Daryl when she was with them, but as she turned back to ask, she found him slinking away towards the dorms and decided to just head onwards on her own.

Pausing by Milton who was leaning heavily against the corner of the infirmary, having just discretely thrown up his breakfast in the bushes there, she gave him a sympathetic smile and touched a hand to his as she passed.

Inside the infirmary, she found Carol and a gathering of women, all of them standing around Dean looking anywhere from disappointed to angry, to downright amused.

The young man looked a little green around the gills from his adventures the night before, but it wasn't just a hangover that had him looking sickly, it was Elise crying in the corner that had his eyes darting there and back and his face looking wan.

Mary Agnes swooped in, grabbing the boy by the elbow and guiding him out of the infirmary, before anyone could do anything.

Grace gazed after them curiously, before turning to the crying girl.

Mary Claire and Adele were easing down on either side of her, so Grace turned to Carol who moved to stand beside her, joined by Tyreese and St. James.

"Well," she greeted the two men. "Don't you men look as fine as a Sunday afternoon in Savannah."

"It wasn't easy to find suits and ties in the apocalypse," St. James purred, smoothing down his tie proudly, "but we have connections."

Tyreese stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek. "You look breathtaking," he greeted.

She kissed him back happily. "Thank you."

St. James offered her the same greeting, fumbling a little and stepping on her bare foot. "Sorry," he muttered looking devastated.

"Where's your shoes?" Carol asked.

Grace wriggled her toes and gave St. James an accepting look for his apology. "I can't remember."

"She left them in the church," Father O'Rourke said, joining them from the doorway, shoes in hand.

Grace eyed them.

"Lying's a sin, you know," Father O'Rourke teased, handing her the shoes.

She tsked and accepted them from the priest. "You really are so helpful, Father."

The man bowed his head. "I do what I can." He took her by her upper arms warmly. "You look like an angel."

"If angels were pregnant women approaching fifty, then yes, I suppose I resemble one."

Father O'Rourke shrugged. "I can't lie. I'm a priest."

"And you're here just to remind us?" Grace demanded playfully.

"The Lieutenant wanted me to tell you that everyone's beginning to gather in the church, so, whenever you're ready."

"Oh…just like that?" Her stomached dropped a little. She wasn't afraid of marrying the Lieutenant, it wasn't that at all, it was just…she really did feel so foolish. This didn't feel like her, she wasn't this kind of woman.

"I was told to tell you that it's all at your leisure," he said. "Whenever you're ready, Grace."

As soon as Father O'Rourke left with Tyreese and St. James and the others, Grace turned to Carol, who stood beside her.

"Oh, that's very sudden isn't it?" Grace asked her.

Carol smiled softly. "Are you okay?"

Touching the gunshot scar on her bare shoulder, Grace murmured, "I've been shot at and it wasn't this stressful."

"Fight or flight?" Carol asked.

"Oh, I don't know." Grace said. "I…okay, let's go."

"Now?"

"Yes."

She eyed the door of the church for the longest time, Carol quietly at her side.

Grace frowned. She really did want to marry the man, but it was just this initial leap. This…ceremony. It was all so official. Well…the last time she married someone, it was Jesus and she recalled that ending on a low note.

Okay, she told herself. Just, get it over with, then go back to bossing that Cajun around.

Oh Lord, he really needed it, didn't he?

She nodded to Carol, who smiled and reached for the church door, just as Daryl came running up dressed in a long sleeved top and slacks, his hair spit slicked back.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I did my best."

Grace beamed at the man, grateful for the break in her inner turmoil. "You look handsome, Daryl. Thank you, honey."

Kissing Carol, the man ducked inside quickly and Carol gave him a minute or two to get settled inside, before turning back to Grace.

"Ready?" She asked.

Grace nodded.

The door opened and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim church.

Down the aisle lined with pews, filled with people who were all staring back at her, stood Father O'Rourke, Daryl and Lafayette in his silly dress uniform.

She didn't even have the right mind to think about scolding him for wearing his hat in her church, her heart was frozen, her feet firmly attached to the stoop beneath them.

"Oh, no," she gasped and pulled away from the door and the staring eyes, pressing hard into the alcove made by two flying buttresses on the outside of her church, just behind the door.

Carol eyed her from her place in the doorway.

"Just go," Grace whispered. "I'll be in…just give me a moment. Okay?"

Carol hesitated.

"Go," Grace urged, pressing harder against the wall. "Just go."

Glancing into the church, Carol slowly stepped inside, leaving Grace in a stiff, tense state against the wall just outside the door.

Her legs weren't working, her hands were set in a form of rigor mortis at her side. All those eyes inside, too many people and she was dressed like some flower child throwback.

Oh, her mother would be turning in her coffin.

A lean, handsome face peeked around the door at her, white hat and all. "Don't do it," Lafayette teased.

She scowled. "What?"

"Don't jump," he said.

"What?" She snapped.

"You…you're standing like you're on a ledge," he clarified. "You know, like a jumper."

She glanced over at him. Lord that hat was ridiculous. Well, it looked good on him. Okay, he looked good in his dress uniform, but she wasn't going to be all gooey over that fact. Any man could look good in a dress uniform, that was just fact.

"It's not you, lover," she said, calming a little in his presence.

"Oh, good," he said. "For a minute there I thought maybe it was this hat." He removed it anyways and turned it over in his hands as he rounded the door a little more. "Can I join you?" He whispered. "On your ledge?"

She nodded.

Lafayette posted up beside her in the alcove.

"I love you," she stated. "Just so you know."

"Good," he said.

"I just…I feel silly," she admitted.

He turned the hat over in his hands, nodding. "In what way?"

"I'm not one for paper moons and muslin flowers, not at my age," she confessed.

"But you…still want to get married, yeah?"

"Of course, just…it's just this."

"Mais," he glanced out over the convent grounds. "It's your wedding, magpie. You do what you want and I'll support you."

She nodded. "I know."

"I knew a woman once," he began with a small grin. "Got married in the Nezpique."

Grace smiled. "She didn't."

"Yep, right there in the water, up to their knees, both her and Jack Valois, shivering cold, married in the Nezpique."

"Why on earth would she get married in the water?"

"It was her wedding and her decision," he said. "Ah, but they were happy. It was a good marriage."

"You…you have alligators in the swamps in Louisiana though, don't you?"

He beamed. "Not in the Nezpique."

"Still a foolish thing to do," she said.

"Yep, but it was her choice."

Grace smiled up at the Cajun beside her. "Can I ask you something, lover?"

"Today, for you, anything."

"These stories you tell, are they true?" She demanded.

"A false witness will not go unpunished, and he who breathes out lies will perish," he quoted gently.

She smirked. "Okay, let's test this honest Cajun then. How do I look today?"

"The same as every other day," he returned. "Perfect."

She scoffed.

"I mean it, darling, you're the type of woman who inspires artists to paint masterpieces."

She laughed softly and pushed him away. "Alright, turn off the charm, it's coming on a little strong."

He chuckled and replaced his hat.

"Go inside," she said. "I'll be right behind you."

The tall Marine bowed his head and scuffed at the steps with his shoe and when he glanced up at her from under the brim of his hat she could see his eyes were a little moist.

"I love you, magpie," he said earnestly.

She didn't think he had ever been so honest before.

She reached out and touched his cheek. "I know, lover. I feel the same way. Now go inside, I'll meet you at the altar."

He stooped down to steal a kiss and pulled away slowly. "Are you sure? You don't have to—"

"I'm sure," she said. "It's not about the journey, it's the destination."

He beamed at her and ducked inside.

Smoothing down her dress, she peeked around the door and found everyone sitting quietly in the church. She focused on the front, where her Cajun waited for her and took a step inside.

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Claire Randal Fraser - Right? Daryl best appreciate all the lovin' he can get right now, because once baby comes there will be many a sleepless night and not due to sexin'.

vickih - I understand that urge. I honestly feel awful when I write other stuff, like, we all know why people come around here. And it's not for that other junk. ^_^

auntheddy - Christmas at your place must be a kick ass party. ^_^

Yazzy x - What I'd like to know is that if he was pretending how come he just let Carol whap him in the face with her bra. Dirty Cajun...

Brazen Hussy - I hate to disappoint you. Maybe next round. ^_^

Ciao Bella - I...I think dildo racing is my new favourite competitive sport. Thanks! You made my year!

Surplus Imagination - I know it's in poor taste, but when you use the term 'purple zapper' all I could think was 'purple zapper in her snapper'. I'm sorry, I'll show myself out now...

itsi3 - Thanks!

jaibhagwan - She does deserve it. Carol deserves all of the things in life that are good and lovely.