AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I did post Chapter 68 earlier, so you should read it before you read this one, if you haven't read it already. Don't forget to show me some love if you do read it.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think!

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"Hey—everything OK?" Daryl asked, catching Carol's arm in the kitchen when she put her plate on the counter next to his. They would clean the kitchen soon and were only beginning to bring their plates. They'd eaten sitting all around the living room, since the kitchen table wasn't big enough to comfortably hold all of them.

"Yeah, fine," Carol said quickly. "Why—is something wrong?"

Her expression didn't look like she was lying or trying to hide anything. She furrowed her brow at him.

"You ain't eat hardly enough to keep a bird alive. Agnes eat two times what you eat today."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I've been in the kitchen all day," she said. "I started yesterday. I'm around food every day, Daryl, and the holidays it just seems like—there's too much of it." She shook her head. "It's just not sitting well."

She looked apologetic. Daryl nodded his head. He walked over and opened up the cabinet where the spices, boxes of tea, and other assorted items went. He plucked the bottle he was looking for from the shelf and handed it over.

"Get you a couple Tums," he commanded. Carol didn't argue. In fact, she looked like she thought that was an exceptional idea. She ate the Tums he offered her with more pleasure than she'd eaten any of the food during the meal. Daryl palmed a couple, himself, and chewed through them. "On second thought, I might oughta pass this around the living room."

Carol laughed to herself.

"It might make everyone feel better later when Agnes tells them that between all of us, we've got four kinds of pie and coffee," Carol agreed.

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"OK—OK—I'm thankful that…Shane Walsh is an asshole," Andrea said.

"Don't mind me sayin' it, Sugar, but…I don't think he deserves no spot at our thankfulness table," Merle said.

"He does," Andrea insisted. "More than you know."

"How the hell you figure that?" Merle asked.

"Because if he hadn't been an asshole," Andrea said, "I would've been with him that night instead of sitting alone at Salty's. And I wouldn't have met you."

Daryl smiled to himself when he saw his brother's face run red. Even though they'd lit the living room with nothing more than enough candles to nearly equate a four-alarm fire, it was clear that Merle was blushing.

"Well—I'm thankful that'cha let me sit with you," Merle said. "You was damn near set on fightin' my ass tooth an' nail that night."

"You were just so persistent," Andrea offered.

"My turn," Daryl said. "I'm thankful—for one-night stands that…turn into whole life stands."

A ripple of laughter ran through everyone.

"I'm thankful that, sometimes, I do things that…are entirely out of character for me," Carol said.

"Hear, hear," Daryl offered, though they were toasting with nothing more than the last bits of warm coffee that they'd used to wash down dessert.

The kitchen was clean. The food was divided and packed up to send leftovers with everyone. The majority of it, despite her protests, had been packed to go with Agnes. Carol had figured that she'd get the most use out of some preprepared meals, so she'd served each of the plates into a mini-meal and covered them with foil before stacking them up. The rest of them, Carol had argued, were all looking worse for the wear thanks to their over-indulgence in a happy holiday season, and it would be a gift to them if Agnes saved them from themselves—and from standing in the kitchen eating turkey out of the fridge at two in the morning.

Now they were all relaxing. The evening was winding down. And Carol curled warmly into the crook of Daryl's arm as she snuggled into him while they passed time talking about things for which they were thankful—a better meaning for the holiday, Daryl and Merle had decided, than the grim truth of the history of it all.

The only thing that let Daryl know for sure that Carol hadn't dozed off a time or two was that she hadn't spilled her coffee cup.

"I'm thankful for—surprises," Andrea said. "Beautiful, wonderful, surprises."

Her face ran red at her own words, and Daryl saw Merle nod his head in Andrea's direction and offer her a wink.

"Never did like surprises," he mused. He laughed when Andrea looked like he'd splashed her in the face with cold water. "Not before," he added with another wink. "I'm—growin' rather fond of 'em now."

"Merle, you're an asshole!" Andrea barked. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, directing it toward Agnes.

Agnes laughed. She was sitting on the edge of her sofa cushion, leaning into the conversation. She appeared, in Daryl's opinion, to be having the time of her life.

"I've known a few assholes in my time," Agnes insisted. "Been known to be one, myself, when the time was right."

Everyone laughed at her words.

"What about you?" Carol asked. "What are you thankful for?"

Agnes thought for a moment, and then she smiled in their direction, catching Daryl's eye.

"I'm thankful for family," Agnes said.

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Daryl scrubbed at his eyes. The only light was that which was pouring through the crack where the bathroom door hadn't been entirely closed. The light was sufficient to somewhat burn his eyes that had adjusted to the complete darkness of deep sleep. After a moment of disorientation where his dream world bled into his reality, Daryl looked at the clock. It was three-thirty in the fucking morning on a…what day was it? Tuesday. It was Tuesday. Very, very, very early on Tuesday.

"What the fuck?" Daryl muttered to himself.

Carol was out of the bed and he could be relatively sure it was her that had gone to the bathroom. He felt odd, though. Normally he didn't miss her when she went to the bathroom, but he had the strange gut feeling of missing her—like missing her had been what had woken him from his sleep. He also knew that Carol never turned the light on to go to the bathroom. She peed several times a night, and sometimes he heard her padding back to the bed, but she always did it in the dark.

He reached a hand over and brushed his fingers over her pillow. Then, he brushed them over her side of the bed. The sheet was cold—the type of cold that said it had been unoccupied for a while.

Daryl jolted, slightly, with a cold kind of fear and concern that seemed to freeze everything his veins. When he heard an unmistakable retch, his chest tightened again in response.

He scrambled out of the bed.

"Carol?" He called.

"I'm fine," Carol called out as Daryl reached the bathroom door. The retching he heard that followed made him involuntarily cringe. "Don't come in!"

One more retch—a moment later—made Daryl determined to go in.

He found Carol on her knees in front of the toilet. Her arm rested on the toilet and her head rested on her arm.

"You know—you don't listen well," she offered. She laughed to herself despite her obviously bad situation.

"I'm just good at ignoring bullshit," Daryl said. He went to the sink and ran some water. Grabbing the rag from the side of the tub, he wet it and squeezed out the excess water. He brought it and mopped the back of her neck immediately. She groaned in pleasure.

"I really don't want you to see me puking," Carol said.

"I really don't care," Daryl said. "What the hell's goin' on? It's three-thirty in the mornin'."

"Food poisoning?" Carol said.

"I eat what you eat," Daryl said.

"Maybe I'm just more delicate than you are," Carol said with a laugh.

"Your stomach's been bein' an ass for a lil' while now," Daryl said.

Carol groaned and straightened back up, arching her back with the clear movement of someone who's about to be sick again. Daryl immediately rubbed her back.

"Go on," he said. "Better out than in."

"Please go away," Carol said, struggling to get the words out. "I don't want you…to…"

"I seen people puke before," Daryl offered. "Hell—I grew up with Merle. Been puked on. Puked on him plenty of times. And that's bein' drunk an' done it to yourself kinda puke. Go ahead, Carol. I don't care. I'd rather be here than out there."

She finally accepted that he wasn't leaving. Either that or her need to throw up overpowered her need for him not to see her be sick. At the end of it all, though, she was doing little more than a painful looking kind of dry heaving—the kind he was sure was going to leave her ribs and sides sore the following day.

"You ready to try to—go to bed?" Daryl asked, rinsing her rag again while she wallowed her face around on her arm and closed her eyes like she might just sleep in the floor, hugging the toilet.

"Mmm mmmm," Carol hummed.

Daryl mopped her face clean with the cool water and rinsed the rag again.

"It ain't food poisonin'. I eat everything you eat."

"Gastritis," Carol said. "Probably. Something like that. Gastritis. Too much rich food. Halloween. Thanksgiving."

"It's been a week and like almost a half since Thanksgivin'," Daryl said. "Don't you think you digested what lil' bit you ate by now?"

Carol laughed to herself. She'd relaxed, on the floor, with her head on her arm on the side of the toilet. Her eyes were closed, and Daryl made up his mind that he'd let her fall asleep there and carry her to bed if he had to. If she was ready to sleep, it was better to let her drift off where she was comfortable. He set about cleaning her up while she gave him the same power she might have if she'd been an actual ragdoll.

"Been cooking at work, too," Carol said. "The demand for—festive treats has been ridiculous. We've been taste testing everything. Then, coming home. Eating everything. Too much. I need—healthy food. Something…not holiday."

Daryl laughed to himself. She was almost clean, and she was drifting off, though he knew she'd insist otherwise if he asked her to go to bed.

"What'cha want?" Daryl asked. "What healthy food you want?"

"Mmm…not hungry now. I feel sick."

"No," Daryl said. "You sick right now. Not hungry. You wouldn't be. But—somethin' good for tomorrow. For later. Healthy. Good for like cleanin' all that sugar and fat an' stuff outta your gut. What'cha think?"

"Fruit," Carol said. "Vegetables."

"You want some fruit and vegetables? Hell—we can do that."

"Oranges," Carol said.

"Get you a whole bag," Daryl offered. "Good for you. Vitamin C. Other vitamins, but I don't know which ones. You think you oughta—see your doctor about this stomach thing?"

Carol opened her eyes to him as he worked himself into a position to unfold her and lift her from her spot.

"You'll hurt your back," she protested quickly.

"Not if you work with me," Daryl said. "I been liftin' things my whole life. I know how to lift with my legs. Only get hurt if you fight against me—so work with me, like you promised you'd do when you married my ass."

Carol laughed at him, but she didn't protest and she didn't fight him. She curled into him and he lifted her. Once he was straightened up, he readjusted his hands.

"I got you," he assured her when he felt her tense. He leaned, letting her flush the toilet—not that she'd ever produced anything worth flushing while he'd been there. It was clear that she was simply feeling like throwing up more than she was actually throwing up. "You think you—oughta see someone about the gastritis?"

"It'll be fine if I can just—make smarter choices."

Daryl hugged her against him. He lingered, a moment longer than he had to, simply holding her. He slowed his steps to the bed on purpose. He put forth effort, for just a moment, to memorize the weight of her body in his arms—much the same way as he sometimes told himself he was memorizing what she felt like wrapped in his arms at night.

He didn't understand the compulsion—because that's what it felt like to him—but he accepted it.

He lowered her into the bed and she pulled him against her, hugging him. He let himself be hugged and then moved to kiss her. She pushed him away.

"I was sick," she said.

He laughed to himself.

"I promised to love you in sickness and in health," he offered. "And I meant it." She gave him a warning look, but allowed him a tight-lipped kiss. He pulled the blanket up for her and she thanked him as he turned off the bathroom light and stood still, for just a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness before he attempted to navigate his way to his side of the bed. "You never have to thank me," he offered. "And startin' tomorrow, we'll just…make smarter food choices. Besides, a lil' bit of a diet wouldn't hurt neither one of us, and you'll wanna be right for Christmas."