AN: I was totally inspired by a beautiful comment from NLRemember. I really needed it today, and it really made me want to write a little more here. I didn't expect to get this chapter out to you after a full day, but here it is.

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

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"OK—but'cha can't have morning sickness when it's like five in the evening, Carol," Daryl said.

Carol was fanning herself with a piece of paper advertising sales at the grocery store and nibbling on a cracker.

"Maybe the baby can't tell time," Carol said. "I don't know if my uterus has a clock in it, Daryl."

"But you're sick in the middle of the night. Around two or three. That's when the baby wants you to get sick."

"Well, right now, it feels like the baby really wants me to be sick at five," Carol said. She sat down at the table, still fanning herself with the colorful piece of paper.

"What if it's somethin' else?" Daryl asked, going to the refrigerator. He cracked open one of the cold cans of ginger ale and put it in front of Carol. A search on his phone had said that saltine crackers and ginger ale were a pregnancy staple and were something she'd be likely able to eat when she couldn't eat other things. The website had also suggested that it might settle her stomach and, so far, it had been her breakfast of choice during the past two days since Daryl had introduced the now-necessary staples into the kitchen.

"What do you think it might be?" Carol asked.

"I don't know, but—it ain't our lil' sprout's normal timing," Daryl said.

Despite her nausea, Carol smiled at him.

"Have we even—known about our sprout long enough for it to have a normal time?" Carol asked.

"I mean—I think so," Daryl said. "I just—don't want it to be nothin' else. Like you ain't sick, are you? Like—for real sick. I mean I know you're sick, but…"

"I know what you mean. And I've been fine all day," Carol said. "I just—I don't even know what it is. Maybe it's the food. Do you think it could be the smell of the food?"

"You hate my cookin' that bad?" Daryl asked with a laugh. Immediately home from work, he'd started the meal. It would be a simple meal that was a sort of steak stir fry. He'd found the recipe for it, and both of them had agreed it sounded good and fairly quick and easy to make. He'd bought dessert on the way home.

"I love your cooking, but…"

"Sprout might not," Daryl offered when Carol hesitated.

"Oh—Daryl—if it's the food…I'm so sorry…"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Don't apologize. If it's the food…we'll make you somethin' that's OK to you. Hell—we'll get rid of this, if you want. Just have whatever sounds good to Sprout."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Nothing sounds good right now," she admitted. "But—it's passing, I think. I think it's feeling better. I was just—I think I'm hot."

"Wanna—step out on the porch?" Daryl asked. "I could smoke a cigarette. You could get some air. Cool down a bit. This is done and there ain't no keepin' it on the eye until they get here."

Carol seemed to consider his suggestion to go out onto the porch for a moment, and then she nodded. Daryl gave her a reassuring smile and waved at her. She followed him to the back porch, not that she needed an invitation to go out there. She settled into the rocking chair with her ginger ale in hand—her crackers abandoned—and Daryl lit the citronella candle between them for good measure and then settled into his own chair with a cigarette.

"Smell of that candle or this botherin' you?" Daryl asked.

"No," Carol said.

"Feelin' better?"

"Maybe a little," Carol said.

"Think maybe Sprout don't like—them spices? Because I think you ate everything before except maybe that spice packet I bought. You reckon—it could be somethin' in there that, when it's cookin', don't smell good to you?"

Carol frowned like she might cry over the whole thing and Daryl reached his hand out and caught hers. She let him have it, and he worked it in his hand.

"Don't cry about it," he said. "Hell—if Sprout don't like the smell of it…it's just a thing. I meant what I said. I'll make you somethin' that smells good to you. We'll burn some candles. Open the damn windows. Cool it down in there and dilute the damn smell. What you think it wants?"

"I thought it wanted that recipe," Carol said. "It sounded good when you read it out over the phone."

"Peanut butter?" Carol made a somewhat pleased face and Daryl swallowed back a smile. "And jelly," he added. "With—some of that vegetable soup you made. That oughta sound alright to you. Warm and good for you both."

"How are we going to explain to Andrea and Merle that you went through all that to make dinner for everyone and I'm freezing them with the windows open, burning candles so that they can't smell their food, and refusing to sit near them while I eat something entirely different?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself and shrugged.

"We don't know Andrea's gonna want it, neither. What if their kid don't like it? Merle calls it Peanut. Maybe Peanut don't want it neither. Maybe Andrea'll want peanut butter'n jelly, too."

"I really don't know how she's doing with food. She hasn't been into the café in a while, honestly," Carol said. "At least not to eat. I feel like—I've neglected her. I've been trying to keep things a secret—even the whole hoping for a baby, and my feelings over her pregnancy—and…now that I think about it? I haven't been a very good friend."

"Maybe she's been outta touch, too, you know. Merle said she ain't doin' so hot. He said that even though they fired that nurse at your doctor's office…he said she ain't really overed what that nurse said. About she obviously didn't care then so there weren't no need in her pretendin' like she cares now. Been damn near a month, Merle said, and she still wakes up an' goes to bed with them words kinda gnawin' at her."

"She didn't tell me that," Carol said. "She told me that—she was upset when the nurse first said it, but…"

"Merle said Michonne said somethin' to her. Not nothin' too mean, but just…like she was crazy for lettin' this happen or whatever. Maybe she was crazy for doin' it with Merle. Somethin' like that. Anyway, Merle said she weren't like totally off on what she said, maybe, if you was to look at it from a certain angle, but it just kinda hurt Andrea's feelings and Merle said her feelings is particularly susceptible to getting hurt right now."

"I'll be honest," Carol said with a sigh, "I love Michonne, but I'm a little worried about telling her. She's super practical, but sometimes that makes her…I don't know…"

"Negative?"

"Something like that," Carol said with a laugh. "She means well."

"And she prob'ly ain't all wrong, like Merle said," Daryl offered. "Still, sometimes you gotta know when the hell you just let somethin' go because lettin' people enjoy shit is more important than tellin' 'em what they prob'ly already know."

Carol laughed quietly.

"They're still going to think it's strange that I'm not eating the same thing as them," Carol said. "Whether or not Andrea wants to eat it."

"Maybe we don't wait long," Daryl said. "Maybe—we don't make it all the way to dessert. Maybe we tell 'em right away. Maybe we bring the dessert out first. Let 'em see it. Tell 'em our news. Then we eat. That way they won't think it's weird, Andrea can eat whatever she wants and so can you, and she'll prob'ly feel a thousand times better 'cause she'll just be so damned wrapped up in squealin' with you about shit that she'll forget all about how down and low she was feeling."

Daryl could see, just from glancing at Carol's face and the smile that played across her lips, that she liked that idea. He rocked his chair and, from holding her hand in his, rocked her chair a little.

"You like that? Wanna—bring the dessert out right away an' tell 'em before we even get going? Then we can have the whole damn dinner to talk about it. Don't have to spend the whole meal thinkin' about what we're gonna say or—even hurryin' it up in our minds."

"I think it would be fine to tell them at the start," Carol said.

"Settled, then," Daryl said.

"Daryl…" Carol said, after a moment of silence had settled between them. Daryl hummed at her in question. "Do you think—we ought to tell them?"

"We're havin' dinner just to tell 'em," Daryl said. "Got the cake and wrote out the cards an' everything. I mean—I kinda thought that was the whole idea."

"But I mean—Andrea's at the point where, really, right now is when she ought to start telling," Carol said.

"That sure didn't work out, did it?" Daryl said with a laugh.

"My point is, it's kind of early," Carol said.

"To who?"

"Everyone says you should wait," Carol said. "Until after the first trimester. The whole risk of miscarriage drops, then. They say that—if you tell everyone too early, and something happens, then you have to tell everyone that you…you know…lost the baby. They say you should wait."

Daryl hummed and rocked his chair to release some energy.

"I hear ya," he said. "I do. But—I want'cha to hear me out, OK? Just—hear me out."

"I'm listening," Carol said, giving him a half smile. He couldn't help but smile in response.

"If somethin' were to happen—and God knows I'm prayin' with every fuckin' thing I got in me that it don't—but if it did? We'd be pretty torn up about it, don't you think? I mean—I know I would."

"You know I would be," Carol said.

"So—we'd be torn up about it. Don't you think—if we was dealin' with that kinda hurt. That real kinda deep hurt like that. Don't you think that—my brother and your best friend would notice? And don't you think that—maybe other people that know us pretty damn good would notice that we was torn up like our whole damn world just got crushed under some damn body's bootheel?"

"I think they might notice something was up," Carol ceded.

"And if we were torn up like that," Daryl said, "and if they noticed, then they'd be wantin' to know what was goin' on. They'd be askin' for explanations. They'd be wantin' to know so they'd know what they could do to try to make us feel better. Don't you think that's reasonable to say?"

Carol's smile grew slightly.

"I think that's pretty reasonable."

"And then we'd have to tell 'em," Daryl said. "So, we'd tell 'em any damn way, but we'd be tellin' 'em through the lens of bein' just real damn tore to pieces by it. Would you say that's right?"

"It's probably right," Carol said.

"So—and maybe it's just me," Daryl said. "Even if I might have to tell 'em why I'm hurtin' someday—and I hope I don't never have to, mind you, but if I did—I'd like to do it knowin' that we got this chance, right here, to tell 'em how fuckin' happy we are right now. I'd like to do it knowin' that we got to tell everybody how happy we are for however long we get to, you know, be happy like this."

Carol sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a satisfied smiled.

"I like that," she said.

"If you don't wanna tell 'em," Daryl said, letting the words trail off.

"I do want to tell them," Carol said.

"Not just because I said that, though," Daryl said. "I don't wanna push you into nothin' you don't wanna do."

"I want to tell them because—we're having a baby," Carol said, squeezing his hand. She smiled at him when he smiled at her. He kissed her fingers and then squeezed her hand in return.

"We are," he said. "You and me—we're havin' a baby."

"We're—growing a sprout," Carol said with a quiet laugh.

"Sprout makes you happy? I mean—callin' it Sprout an' all?"

"Daryl—everything about Sprout makes me happy," Carol said. "Absolutely everything."

"Except the—bein' sick and shit," Daryl said with a snort.

Carol laughed to herself.

"Even that—I'll take it," she admitted. "I just hope—Sprout leaves me something I can eat."

"Don't worry," Daryl said, winking at her. "Daddy'll find somethin' for Sprout to eat." He stood up. "You sit out here a bit. I'ma go cool the house down. Open a couple windows. Light a couple candles. Top you off on your ginger ale?"

"Please?"

"Be right back."

"You're spoiling me," Carol said, blushing slightly. She was unaccustomed to simply being cared for. Daryl knew that. Still, she was learning to accept it and he was enjoying teaching her how to receive as much as she gave to him.

"My number one goal, woman," he said, heading into the house to take care of the tasks he needed to accomplish before Andrea and Merle got there for dinner.