AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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"I brought muffins," Daryl said.

He knew that, really, he didn't need an excuse to be here. Agnes was happy to see him whenever he might show up on her doorstep, but he'd still felt like he needed something to serve as a reason to bother her.

Daryl had been working elsewhere for several days. He had nothing, at the moment, on his work orders for Agnes. It wouldn't be long, though, before she needed something tightened or a bulb or two changed. Still, he wanted to talk to her now, so he'd stopped by the café, picked up a few muffins, given Carol a kiss on the cheek, and let her know that he would be a little late getting home.

She'd given him her blessing to spend a little time with Agnes. She knew, after all, why he was popping in on the woman—at least, she knew part of the reason.

Agnes welcomed Daryl immediately inside, stationed him at the table without question, and a moment later there was the smell of coffee—decaf, he knew, because of the hour—brewing in Agnes's coffee pot.

Daryl followed the silent protocol of waiting to begin talking until Agnes had brought the coffee pot and two mugs to the table. She enjoyed when he sat at the table with her and, since meeting her, she'd entertained Carol a few times when Carol had come by to share a cup of coffee with her and bring her some treat or another from the café.

"Now," Agnes said, drawing the word out as she sat down and settled into her chair. She left it hanging and poured coffee. Daryl thanked her for the coffee and doled out muffins, quickly going for plates and napkins when she made a move as though she might get up again from her chair. When he returned, he let her settle into her muffin, and listened to her quick praise of his beautiful wife's baking skills, before he spoke.

"Come for a couple things," he said. "But first thing's first. Me and Carol want you to come for Thanksgivin' dinner."

"I couldn't do that," Agnes said quickly.

"You got better plans?" Daryl asked.

Agnes laughed to herself.

"Thanksgiving is family time," Agnes said. "And you don't want some old fuddy duddy like me coming around and messing up your fun."

"We're not exactly party animals," Daryl said. "And—I know Thanksgiving is family time. That's why the hell I'm askin' you to come to dinner."

He saw Agnes's cheeks pinken. She digested it a moment and chewed at her muffin. She washed it down with a swallow of the hot coffee.

"I don't want to impose," she protested, with less enthusiasm behind her argument than before.

Daryl smiled at her.

"If you stay here, I know you gonna eat one of them frozen turkey dinner things the Y puts together and delivers," Daryl said. "If you come to our house—you can eat the whole spread we got. Come early and Carol would sure appreciate the help and the company."

"I don't know how much help I'd be," Agnes said.

"You can brew the coffee for after dinner," Daryl said with a wink. Agnes smiled sincerely, then. "I'll pick you up. Early. Let's say nine? Then you can spend the day helpin' Carol and Andrea out and doin' whatever it is that women do when they pile into the kitchen together." Agnes looked pleased enough with that idea that it made Daryl's stomach feel funny in a warm sort of way. "I got somethin' else I need to talk to you about," Daryl said after a moment.

"Me?"

"You specific."

"Go ahead. What is it, Daryl?" Agnes furrowed her brow and gave him her undivided attention.

"You're a woman," Daryl said.

"Goodness, I do hope so," Agnes said. "Otherwise, I've been laboring under a lie for all these years. My husband would have been sorely disappointed to learn that he'd been made a fool for so long…"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You know what I mean."

Agnes laughed in response.

"What is it that you need?"

"You're a woman that—won't tell Carol what I'm about to ask you," Daryl said. He got a slightly disapproving look and he realized, in that moment, that without saying it, Agnes was saying that there was at least a slight shift in her allegiance. Carol's occasional visits must have been good to her. He could practically hear her saying that she wouldn't reveal whatever he was going to say—not unless it was something that needed to be revealed. "I got like a month left. I have to figure it out. I don't know what you get a woman for Christmas."

Nearly every movie that Daryl had seen had someone giving their chosen woman a diamond for Christmas, but Daryl and Carol were already married and, though she liked her engagement ring, Carol wasn't really into wearing rings on every finger. In fact, her wedding ring and engagement ring were the only ones she wore.

Agnes immediately lightened and laughed to herself as she thought about Daryl's question. She focused, a moment, on her muffin and coffee.

"That all depends on the woman," she said. "We are talking about your wife, right? You don't have some little girlfriend you're buying presents for?"

"You my only girlfriend," Daryl teased. Agnes's face ran pink again.

"What does she like? That's the best place to start."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"She don't like nothin' in particular," Daryl said. "And she seems to like everything. She likes books, and I can get her a couple of those or somethin', but…that ain't no right kinda present, you know? What the hell she really wants…well, it ain't gonna happen. I don't got it in my power to give it to her."

"Which is?"

"A baby," Daryl said. "But—she's got menopause, so…"

Daryl had fought the idea, for a bit, that Carol was having menopause, like she said, and that there wasn't just a next month or so to work on things. She said there were just so many eggs—like in a carton—and when they were gone, they were simply gone. He had figured that, maybe, there were still a few in there.

He'd started to accept, though, that she simply must be right. There hadn't been another period and, if he was right, there should have been by now. It had all just come to an end.

It honestly made him sad, but it made him much sadder to know that it would make Carol happy, and it wasn't going to happen, than it made him sad to think that it just wasn't going to happen.

Still, Carol was not as sad as she had been. Andrea had shocked the hell out of all of them—especially Merle—when she'd come in, not two days after Halloween, letting them know that she was pregnant. Daryl hadn't been sure how Merle would take it, but he seemed to simply be accepting this as what it was. He was talking about upgrading some things in the house, turning Daryl's old room into a nursery, and he'd accepted the diet that Andrea had put him on—one with a few more salads, she said, because he'd expressed his concern that he might not even see the kid graduate. She'd left him with his cigarettes because, frankly, Merle might not have survived the attempt to quit smoking, and Andrea might not either, but he'd agreed to clean up most of his eating and to severely limit his drinking.

And Carol had found some kind of peace, for the most part. She had turned a lot of her energy that had formerly been sadness toward fussing over her best friend and deciding that, if she couldn't be a mother, she could be the best aunt that ever had walked the face of the Earth.

But there were still days when Daryl saw the sadness. There were still days when he felt it. They had accepted, though, that they wouldn't try to make those days vanish or to ignore them. Instead, they would acknowledge them together and work through them together.

Agnes hummed to herself. She reached a hand out and clasped Daryl's hand in hers. Her hands were hard—barely more than bone, and she still had a strong grip despite what her age and small stature might suggest. Her hands were always cold, too, in the way that made Daryl want to warm them between his own out of nothing more than some pure gut instinct to do just that.

"Babies are tricky things," she said. "And gifts to be given by someone much greater than you or me." Daryl nodded his understanding. Agnes had never had children.

"Yeah," he said. "I know."

"I have an idea, though," Agnes offered. Daryl only had to raise his eyebrows at her and she got up from the table. He let her go and do whatever it was she wanted. When she returned, she beckoned for his hand and released cold metal into his palm. He looked at the necklace that she left there.

"What is this?" He asked, turning it over in his hand.

"That's a necklace, Daryl," Agnes said.

"I know it's a necklace. I ain't stupid. I mean—what's it for?"

"That's a gold necklace," Agnes said. "Pure gold. It was made from gold that my father mined from his claim back in Dakota. He had it made for my mother. Back then, gold meant life. A future." Daryl looked at it. It was simple, but beautifully made. It was a heart with an engraving. He lifted it up and squinted at it to read it. "True love endures," Agnes offered. Sure enough, those were the words that were engraved there. "My mother wore it always," Agnes said. "And when she died, she gave it to me. I wore it for a long time. I tried to convince myself that—I could believe it stood for the love I felt for my parents. That they felt for me. Ultimately, though, I took it off. It wasn't right. Things, you know, have a certain kind of soul of their own, Daryl. The necklace knows what it was meant to symbolize. What it did symbolize for all those years. I always said, if I had a son, I would give it to him, for luck, so that he might find his true love."

"I can't take this," Daryl said, shaking his head.

"You have to," Agnes said. "It belongs to you. It won't—rest—anywhere else."

"It's a necklace, Agnes, it don't rest."

"Maybe I won't rest, then."

"I can't take it. It's clear it means a lot to you."

"That's why you have to take it."

"It's somethin' you give your family."

Agnes smiled at him. The bony, cold hand came across the table and pushed Daryl's fingers closed around the gold necklace. She squeezed his closed fist.

"That's why it has to be this way," Agnes said. "Now—I'm too old to argue. So, you just take it and you give it your wife."

"Do it count?" Daryl asked.

"Does what count?"

"If I give her somethin' you gave me," Daryl said. "I mean—if I don't spend money on it, don't that make it a bad present?"

Agnes mused on the question.

"Is your wife someone who cares about—how much money you spend on things?"

"Not really," Daryl admitted. "In fact—we don't ever talk about money. I mean…we pay the bills and occasionally we buy somethin' here or there. But…it's just money."

"Money's just money," Agnes echoed. "But this is about—love. Family. Tradition, Daryl. And good luck."

"Good luck?"

"My parents were happily married until the day my father died," Agnes said. "And I was happily married until my husband died. You can call it coincidence, or luck…or good choices."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Or I could say this is cursed an' gonna kill me," he teased.

"I sure hope not."

Daryl looked at the necklace again. He turned it over in his palm. It was unique. Handmade, clearly, but the person who made it had been a master at their craft. It was the kind of piece he couldn't have grabbed at the mall. The history behind it, he knew, could never be manufactured these days.

"To be honest," he said, "if one of us had to go first, I'd want it to be me. I didn't know how damn much I wanted her in my life. How much I was missin' her 'fore I even met her. Now that I know it, though? I wouldn't wanna live even an hour without her."

"It gets lonely when they leave you behind," Agnes said. "You'll give her the necklace. And—if you want to give her something else? Give her yourself. If she loves you like I think she does? She'll appreciate that most of all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Daryl asked.

"Go with her somewhere. Be with her. Only with her. In a moment," Agnes said. "My husband and I didn't travel enough. Even if it's just—somewhere close by, Daryl. If you love each other, it don't matter where you are. Give her your time. Your attention. She'll like it best of all."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"I'll do that. Thanks, Agnes."

"And give her the necklace. It's been aching for a home for a long time now."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'll do that, too," he assured her. "Let me pay you in some way?"

"You can pick me up at eight, not nine," Agnes said. "And—you tell Carol that, when I get there, I'ma make breakfast for all of us. And I won't hear no argument otherwise."

Daryl laughed to himself and nodded.

"I'll be here with bells on," he assured her.