AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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Carol met Daryl at the door, when he got home, asking him to take her to bed. As though he might even consider refusing her, she'd added that she really "needed" him and, honestly, there was something in her expression and tone of voice that had tugged him toward her even more than he would normally be pulled in her direction. He'd had no intention of turning her down, but the hint of longing in her tone had guaranteed that he'd happily taken her straight to bed. He'd cleaned himself up in the bathroom, freshening up from work, and brought one of the towels they'd designated fine for suffering stains, and he'd met her—waiting on him.

They had made love and then showered together, washing each other carefully for the excuse to touch each other that such a thing provided. Now, both of them pretty well relaxed and tired out, they were on the couch with the television playing a movie that neither of them was paying attention to in the least.

Daryl loved when Carol came to him like she was now—facing him, wrapped around him, curled into him in practically a little ball of herself. She fit so perfectly against him that, when he wrapped his arms around her in these moments, he could easily convince himself that they were absolutely designed to be together—made to fit one another perfectly like pieces of a puzzle.

When she wrapped herself around him, like this, he felt what he was pretty sure was absolute peace.

The odds that they wouldn't bother with dinner were good as the time slipped past, but even hunger wasn't enough to drive Daryl to suggest that she let him up from this spot or that they stop the snuggling she seemed to need and which he so adored.

Daryl couldn't stop his stomach from growling, though, and when it let out a particularly noisy complaint, Carol sat up. He grabbed at her, pulling her back toward him, to stop her from running away from him. She didn't leave him entirely, but she sat across his legs, no longer leaning in against his chest. She looked like she might have been sleeping, at least a little.

"I didn't make you dinner," Carol said.

"I could make dinner if it's that serious," Daryl offered with a laugh.

"You didn't tell me you were hungry," Carol said.

Daryl touched her face. She looked tired and sad, and he assumed her period must be kicking her ass in ways that, as a man, he really had no reference for.

"I had more important things on my mind," he said. "Like holdin' my wife. Now—come on back down here."

"You have to eat, Daryl," Carol said. "And we have to talk."

"In that order?" Daryl asked.

There was no need arguing with her about what he'd rather do. She was already sliding off his lap and, as soon as her feet were on the floor, she was on her way to the kitchen.

Daryl sighed to himself. He'd honestly rather have spent the whole night curled up exactly as they were, but he could see she was set on feeding him, so he followed after her.

"What do you want to eat?" She asked.

"Carol—I don't care," he admitted. "I'm just as happy eatin' peanut butter or something."

"You sure?" She asked.

"I'm positive. Nobody makes a peanut butter'n jelly sandwich good as you do." She smiled to herself. "I can make it, if you want."

She shook her head and started making it. Daryl watched her. He liked watching her at times like this, when she didn't realize he was watching. She'd gotten dressed in pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. Her hair was somewhat matted on one side from leaning against him while it dried from their after-sex shower. Maybe nobody else would have agreed, but Daryl found her irresistible and looking at her from behind like this, all he wanted was to be holding her again.

He walked up behind her, wrapped her in his arms, and hugged her tight.

She laughed to herself and turned her head enough to kiss him on the jaw.

"I can't make a sandwich like this," she offered.

"I don't care," he said, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "I don't want a sandwich half as damn much as I just wanna hold you like this."

Carol turned around. Her expression was caught somewhere between a dreamy smile—the kind she got when she really liked something he said to her—and a frown.

"We have to talk, Daryl," she said.

"I don't like the way you say that," Daryl informed her, letting her go.

"I'm not sure you're going to like what I have to say, either."

Daryl's stomach twisted.

"Then just say it," he said. "The sooner you say it, the sooner—we can get past it. Get back to snuggling on the couch."

"You might not want to snuggle and cuddle when we're done," Carol said.

Daryl's stomach felt uncomfortable, and it bubbled up with something like anger that he recognized was only his inner desire to defend himself against whatever might be coming next.

"Just say whatever it is," Daryl said, holding back from bristling as much as he felt inclined to do. "To be honest, Carol? I don't—know that I give a shit about it. Because we weren't talking before, and I was just fine and you seemed alright, too. But you seem to think it's somethin' we gotta say so—so say it."

Carol nodded at him and she turned back quietly to finish making the sandwich. Daryl didn't want the sandwich, but he'd eat it to make her happy. He'd also give her the time to finish what she was doing because he could imagine she was using it to think and prepare herself. He sat down at the table and every single second felt like a passing eternity as his imagination created things to worry about—things she might tell him.

Carol put the sandwich on the table in front of Daryl with a glass of tea before she finally sat down across from him.

"I hope you don't think I'm in the mood to eat this when you look like you about to tell me my execution date," Daryl offered.

"I'm sorry," Carol said. "It's nothing like that—maybe it's just my feelings that have me looking like that."

"Talk it through with me," Daryl said. He pushed the plate toward Carol, trying to offer her half of the sandwich, but she shook her head and waved it away. Whatever was on her mind was making her not want to eat—much like her expression was making him not want to eat. "Come on," he urged, reaching out and touching her hand. She let him take her hand. She let him hold it, so he worked it in his fingers. She smiled to herself at the gesture. She shrugged her shoulders.

"My period is—very light, Daryl," Carol said. She looked at him like that was supposed to mean something important. He shrugged at her.

"That bad?" He asked. "You feelin' OK?"

"I'm OK," Carol assured. "Normal period yuck, you know…just boobs and cramps, and I'm tired…but…it's a little bit different."

"Different, how?" Daryl asked.

"I think—it's menopause, Daryl. The start of it, anyway."

"Menopause?"

"It probably means—I can't get pregnant anymore, Daryl," Carol said.

"Yesterday you were—startin' your period," Daryl said. "And we were talkin' about how—how it meant that you weren't pregnant for…for this month right here. Right? But—for next month we just go at it again, and we don't miss our window, and we go from there. And today…you're havin' menopause and you just can't get pregnant anymore? Period?"

Daryl shook his head, feeling like maybe some physical motion could shake loose some of the fog that felt like it had suddenly settled over his mind.

Carol frowned at him, apologetically, and he could hear her apologizing even though she kept her lips pressed tight together because she knew he would ask her not to apologize.

"I think that's what it is," Carol said. "My period never—fully started. It's like it's already ending. I mean—you maybe realized that. There's like no blood. I mean…there's some, but it's not really there."

She rubbed her face with her hand in clear frustration.

"You know that's what it is, though?" Daryl asked. "You know it's menopause?"

"I'm pretty sure," Carol said.

"Pretty sure or sure?" Daryl asked.

"Sure," Carol said.

"How do you know?" Daryl asked.

"It's menopause, Daryl," Carol said. "Every woman knows it's coming. I'm forty-seven. It's time for my body to give up on—all of that."

"Give up on…"

"Babies," Carol said.

Daryl nodded, digesting everything she was saying.

"Well?" She asked after a long moment of silence. She'd worked herself up into a ball in her chair, and she was leaning half propped on her elbow.

"Well, what?" Daryl asked.

"What do you think about that?" Carol asked.

Daryl bit one half of his sandwich.

"I think you're having menopause and…I guess…that's normal…and…hell…I don't know. What am I supposed to think?"

"I know you want a family, Daryl. I know you want a baby."

"You, too, last I checked. That changed since yesterday?"

She frowned at him. He tensed slightly.

"I can't help but keep wondering, Daryl, if it's fair to you," Carol said. "You want a family. A baby. Everything. As a man, you could have that forever. And if I can't give you that…"

"Then it means that we just don't get everything we want," Daryl said quickly, finishing it for Carol.

She stared at him. He stared back at her and chewed through another bite of his sandwich. It didn't taste good. It didn't taste like anything at all. He ate it to give his hands and mouth something to do. He ate it because his brain told him that's what he should do with food that was placed in front of him.

"I really want you to think about this," Carol said. "Because I don't want you to wake up in a year and feel like—I kept you from having what you want."

Daryl laughed to himself. He sucked some strawberry jam off his thumb and put down the last bite of the first half of the sandwich. With the non-sticky hand, he reached across the table and caught Carol's hand, capturing it in his own.

"I really want you to—to listen to this, OK?" Daryl asked. "You listenin'? Ears fully open?"

Carol stared at him and nodded her head. He squeezed her hand in his.

"I don't need to think about anything," he said. "I don't. Not a single damn thing. Because it's gonna hurt my feelings tomorrow, and a year from now, and twenty years from now, even, that we don't have no children between us. Probably—it's gonna break my heart, just a little bit, every time I…look over and see you sleepin' next to me in the bed and I think how damn much we woulda loved 'em. But not for the reason you're thinking. Because—you want it. And I want it. And we'd be damn good parents. And it don't make no fuckin' sense that the world would let people have babies that don't deserve 'em and we wouldn't. But—I ain't never gonna be sad because I was thinkin' I'd rather have a kid than…this. I only want it as a thing of we got this and that. Not a thing of I got that but…not this."

"I really love you," Carol offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah, well—I really love you. And I meant what I said yesterday. If it's true and you're havin' menopause and that means we don't never have a kid? Well, we can be sad as long as we're bein' sad together. Right? But—I don't like the feelin' it gives me when it sounds like you're tryin' to push me out the door or something."

Carol leaned forward and moved Daryl's hand to brush her cheek against his knuckles. He smiled to himself at the affection.

"I don't want to push you out the door," she said. "I don't want you to ever leave."

"I'm not goin' anywhere," Daryl offered. "Here—eat the other half of this sandwich."

"I'm not hungry, really," Carol assured him. "I don't feel good."

Daryl nodded, accepting that. It was a lot, and it was sure to take away her appetite while she let it all settle. He ate the rest of the sandwich quickly and washed it down with the whole of the glass of tea.

"Good?" Carol asked.

Daryl didn't want to tell her that he'd eaten it out of obligation more than anything.

"You always make the best sandwiches," he offered. She smiled to herself and he felt pleased with the response he'd chosen. "You were wrong about one thing, though."

"What's that?" Carol asked.

"I still wanna cuddle some more," Daryl said.

Carol smiled and her cheeks blushed pink. She unfolded herself. She stood up. She took Daryl's hand and she tugged it.

"Want me to wash the dishes?" He asked.

"I want you to leave them," Carol said. "Because—I want you to hold me."

Daryl's heart thumped harder in his chest.

"You don't gotta ask me but once, woman," he offered, following her back to their spot on the couch. "I'll hold you all night. Forever—if you'll let me."