AN: Here we are, another chapter here. (And it's lucky number 100, right?)
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
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Daryl was finally asleep, but Carol wasn't under any impression that it would last long. He'd been up nearly all night, despite the sex that, theoretically, was supposed to help lull him to sleep.
Nothing, it seemed, could compete with the anticipation of Christmas in a man who was looking forward to what he thought would be his first perfect Christmas.
He worked so hard to make things perfect for her. Their little mountain trip had been nearly like living inside a dream for a few days, and Carol was still practically buzzing from the happy feelings she'd stored up throughout the get-away. They'd finished up their last night there with gathering in the little town square where there was caroling. She'd sang along with every song, and the group that had organized it served hot chocolate in paper cups at the end of it all. Daryl had walked around, telling every stranger they'd never met and would never meet again, that Carol was his very own Christmas Carol, and that she was expecting their baby. Her face had burned warm enough to keep her from noticing the cold for most of the night.
Back home, they'd celebrated Christmas Eve with some eggnog from a carton that tasted similar to sugar cookies, and with a few of the Christmas movies they'd found on television. Then, Carol had pretty much spent the rest of the night loving on her husband.
She was tired now, but this was something she wasn't going to complain about.
Daryl had grown up knowing about Santa Clause, and always hoping for the magical Christmases of movies and his classmates' stories, but he hadn't known that kind of thing. According to his stories, the only reason that he really got anywhere close to getting any of his Christmas wishes met was because Merle would try to make some of them come true.
Carol couldn't help but smile at the image of Merle as Jolly Old St. Nicholas—especially, as she imagined him—a fifteen-year-old, skinny Merle with, no doubt, a Marlboro already caught between his lips.
It was Carol's turn to play Santa. Easing carefully out of the bed, and slipping into her pajamas as quietly as she possibly could, so she didn't disturb Daryl, Carol tiptoed into the living room. In the bottom cabinets of her antique buffet—where she knew that Daryl would never look—she'd tucked some of his "Santa" gifts. She carefully moved the little trinkets—odds and ends—to his stocking and stuffed it. She slipped into the spare room and found the wrapped present from Santa—wrapped in the same paper as the present that Andrea was leaving under their tree. She found Sprout's gift, as well, to his daddy, and she moved that under the tree—front and center, so that Daryl would see his special presents first thing when he made it to the living room.
Carol turned on the Christmas lights to illuminate their living room as magically as possible, and then she put the coffee on to brew.
Carol leaned against the counter with her mug as soon as the coffee was ready. She looked into the living room, enjoying the quiet of the morning and the peaceful feeling that the glow of Christmas lights gave her. She rubbed her stomach through the soft flannel of her pajamas. Secretly, when nobody was looking, she often pulled up her shirt and studied herself in any mirror available to her. She tried to discern if she believed that she could really see any evidence of her pregnancy, or if the tightness in her clothes was just bloat and, more than likely, weight gain from overindulgence. Daryl was keeping up with weekly pictures that he intended to keep and, eventually, do something with.
"Merry Christmas," Carol said, keeping her voice low so that it wouldn't carry and disturb Daryl. "It's your first Christmas. That's what your daddy says, even though you don't know too much about it right now. But if you grow big and strong? Next year will be more exciting—and the year after that? I'll be even more exciting. But—today? Mama will at least make sure you get some nice things to eat, OK? You just relax and enjoy everything."
Carol felt a little silly, and her face felt warm. The baby couldn't hear her. She was certain of that—almost. She couldn't even feel the little thing moving around yet, if it was still moving at all—she immediately pushed those intrusive thoughts out of her mind. They didn't belong with the feelings she wanted to focus on for Christmas morning.
"Please grow, OK?" Carol whispered. "We're taking you in a few days for a check-up…so…please be strong and healthy for us, OK?"
Carol looked up when she heard a knock on the wall. Daryl had knocked gently to keep from startling her too badly. She hadn't heard him coming from the bedroom, and now he was standing there disheveled. He'd put his pajamas on, but they were half-falling off since he'd left the shirt unbuttoned. His hair was going in every direction from having been slept on while damp from sweat.
"Didn't wanna—interrupt you two," Daryl said. "And I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But—I second that, if Sprout's takin' requests this morning."
Carol smiled at him, though her chest ached with the feelings she was guilty for having stirred up in herself. She put her coffee cup down and held her arms out to Daryl. He came without needing any more invitation than that, and he wrapped her in a warm and sincere hug. She closed her eyes and snuggled into him. His arms were strong and comfortable, and Carol had never felt as safe as she did when he held her like this.
"I don't want to be sad, OK?" She said, not pulling out of the hug.
Daryl rubbed her back.
"Good damn thing," he said. "Because—I don't wanna be sad. And there ain't nothin' to be sad about, woman. Sprout's OK. He's gettin' all big an' strong…and confused as hell. Because every lil' bit of growin' he's doing, you just keep sayin' it ain't him, and he's doin' the best he can."
Carol laughed and squeezed Daryl. He squeezed her back and kissed the side of her neck.
"Thank you," she said sincerely as she pulled out of the hug. He smiled at her and touched her face with his knuckle in the way that he sometimes did. Every time he did it, it made Carol feel like he was always just checking to see if she was real.
"Any time, woman," he said.
"Let me get you some coffee," Carol said. "I have a few presents I want you to open."
"I thought we were waitin' 'til Andrea and Merle got here."
"We are," Carol said. "But—there's a couple that I want you to open before they get here. Just me and you."
"I got one for you, too," Daryl said. "If you don't mind—get the coffee, and I'll meet you in the livin' room."
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Carol held the gold necklace in her palm and ran a fingertip of her other hand over the message that was inscribed there.
True love endures.
"She said it's solid gold," Daryl said. "I was lookin' stuff up online. Said it's probably mixed with somethin' just to make it hard enough for everyday wear. Wouldn't tell her that, though."
"I love this," Carol said, putting the necklace on.
"You sure you don't—think it's bad that I ain't bought it?" Daryl asked.
Carol smiled at him. He'd told her the story of how the necklace came to be, and how Agnes had decided that she would save it for a son that might, with any luck, find his true love to give it to as a symbol of their dedication to one another.
"I did buy you other gifts," Daryl offered when Carol didn't immediately respond.
"Daryl—if you didn't buy me anything, it would be OK," Carol said. She shrugged her shoulders. "Ed gave me gifts for holidays. They always felt so…heavy. It taught me not to really care about gifts. Or, maybe, that the value is in the feeling. Not the gift. And I love this."
Daryl pulled her against him and kissed her face. The beard he hadn't shaved in a few days scratched at her skin.
"I love you," he said. "Forever—just like that means."
"I love you forever," Carol assured him. She swiped at a tear that had escaped from her eye and sniffed, willing herself not to end up a soggy mess before the day had fully begun. "Open your gifts, please," she said, patting his leg.
Carol had brought him his Santa gift and stocking. She'd brought him his gift from Sprout, too. Daryl moved away from her just enough to have space on the couch to open his gifts. He picked up his stocking first and frowned at it.
"I feel bad. I didn't even think of this."
Carol squeezed his shoulder.
"Daryl—please. Don't feel bad, OK? Santa brought you some gifts because you've been very, very good this year."
He gave her a crooked grin.
"You been good, too."
She winked at him.
"Then you can give me my gift later," Carol said, picking up her coffee mug. "Maybe—since I've been so good, and you have too—we could think spend a little time being naughty. We have a few toys we haven't even taken out of their packages yet."
Daryl blushed red, and Carol felt the warmth in her own face, but she didn't take it back. She liked the teasing, and she liked that Daryl accepted it.
"You on," Daryl said. "You just—figure out what you want."
"It's my present," Carol said. "I want you to surprise me."
Daryl hummed and nodded before diving into his stocking. He thanked her a little more than was necessary for trinkets like a pocket knife with their initials etched into it, candy, a new lighter, and other assorted items, but Carol understood that he was truly appreciative of receiving the gifts. He unwrapped his Santa present, next, and grinned just exactly like Carol hoped he would—like a little kid. A wave of emotion came over her as she watched him look at the box in his lap that held the remote-controlled car. She couldn't wait to see him playing with Sprout on Christmas morning—opening gifts and offering to spend the day simply enjoying the magic of Christmas with their precious little child.
"You like it?" Carol asked.
"I do," Daryl said. "But…I guess I don't understand."
"Santa heard that—you had one when you were little," Carol said. "I guess—you could say that Santa remembered that he brought you one. And you loved it, but you lost it. In a fire."
Daryl smiled at the box. It was a far away kind of smile.
"It was a different model," he said. "Merle got it for me, but he said it was Santa. It weren't like this—not the real nice kind. Just the five and dime model. But we used to take turns drivin' it up and down the middle of the road."
"Santa might've dropped one off at Merle and Andrea's," Carol said. "Andrea might be suggesting he bring his. We thought you might enjoy driving them together."
"You're the best damn woman ever," Daryl said with a surprising amount of sincerity.
"Open your present from Sprout, Daddy," Carol directed.
Daryl sat the car in its box aside and picked up the present that Carol had wrapped and tagged from Sprout. Daryl carefully removed the tag, and Carol was certain that he was going to put it wherever it was he was squirreling away all the things that he gathered and kept. She left him alone about his little sentimental hoard. She wanted him to have what made him happy—and to feel like he could keep anything for as long as he wanted. The tag from Santa on his car, too, had been tucked into his pajama shirt pocket to make it into his little collection.
"I didn't get you nothin' from Sprout," Daryl said regretfully.
"You gave me Sprout," Carol said, rubbing her belly. "So—that's present enough for me. The best one I could ever be given."
"That ain't fair," Daryl commented. "You givin' me Sprout as much as I gave you Sprout. You're doin' more, too."
"Daryl—please just open your present?" Carol said. "I promise that—Sprout and I love you just as much this morning as we did last night. I didn't do this because I wanted something in return, OK?"
Daryl nodded. He opened the box and looked at the contents. He pulled each item out, one-by-one. The gift was simple. It was nothing special at all, really. Still, as Daryl collected his items in his lap, he looked like he might actually cry over them.
The mug said "World's Best Daddy," and Carol had ordered it all offline so that the person who made it would put "Daddy" instead of "Dad." The onesie said "I love my Daddy" with a heart in place of the word "love." The keychain said the same thing, in the same style, and it was made so that small pictures could be fitted into it and changed out with ease. Carol had dropped by the drug store with the picture she'd snagged from Daryl's phone and, for the moment, the keychain held the only picture they had of Sprout—a copy of the sonogram picture.
After a moment, Carol put her hand on Daryl's back.
"I don't want you to cry for bad things," Carol offered gently, "but if you want to cry for good things, it's OK. You let me cry whenever I need to."
Daryl carefully moved his new mug out of the way so that nothing would damage it, and then he leaned toward Carol, pressing his face against her chest and then moving it up to her neck. She felt the dampness of his tears, and she wrapped her arms around him and held him, swallowing back her own that welled up in response to his very palpable feelings. He kissed her neck and nuzzled her.
Daryl didn't say anything, and neither did Carol. There was nothing that needed to be said for the time being. The way he held her said far more than anything he might have put into words—and she could promise him that the way he held her was worth more than any gift he might have picked up for her off a shelf somewhere.
