AN: Here we are, another chapter here!

I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

111

Daryl and Merle had no problem letting the girls be girls. After work on Friday, when Carol and her whole passel of girlfriends were busy making plans, decorating, and doing every other thing that they wanted to do in preparation for the baby party on Saturday, Merle and Daryl had moved as much of the stuff from the trailer to Andrea's old house as they could before they gave out and gave up for the night. They'd been picking at it all week, moving things, piece by piece, that weren't absolutely necessary to the last few days of living in the trailer. By Saturday night, Andrea and Merle would be in her old house—even if everything they owned would be packed in boxes, possibly, until their house was built—and the trailer would be moved away. Merle had already found a buyer for the place who was more than happy to move it for the price that they agreed upon.

Tonight, among what was left when they'd given up moving things for the night, Daryl and Merle sat at the kitchen table—one of the items marked to go to the charity resale place downtown before the trailer was moved out—and shared an enormous array of Nice Rack barbeque and a twelve pack of beer with the promise that a designated driver would be arriving, about the time Andrea got home, to drive Daryl back to his home—and to snuggle close to him until morning when, without a doubt, she'd tease him relentlessly for the headache he was sure to have until the Tylenol and his special stash of caffeinated coffee kicked in.

In some ways, it was oddly bittersweet. Neither of them would go back—not for anything in the world—to the not-so-removed bachelor days they'd spent living here together, but it didn't mean that they wanted to abandon those memories altogether.

One last round of Big Piggy sandwiches and a double rack of Nice Rack ribs, Daryl figured, shared at this table with nobody but his brother, was a fitting toast to days gone by.

Despite the somewhat bittersweet nature of fully and completely closing chapters—and throwing the books away entirely—both men were in remarkably high spirits. And, despite the fact that this was the last night of barbecue and beers shared between brothers at this table, and under this roof, their conversation didn't linger even a moment on the "good ole days" of bachelorhood. Instead, it was clear that both of them had well and fully moved on, and both were pleased with their new lives, because that's all they'd talked about throughout their time together.

"Did you know that…the babies like Sprout? Did you know they was called rainbow babies?" Daryl offered, gnawing on a particularly messy rib and, for a moment, remembering how much he liked Nice Rack's sauce—even if he didn't eat there, now, nearly as much as he once had.

Merle blanched, slightly, across the table.

"That some kinda disease or somethin', brother?" Merle asked. "You ain't said there was shit wrong with your kid."

Daryl laughed quietly and sucked the barbecue off his fingers.

"No—it ain't no disease, Merle," Daryl said. "It's—OK…so I don't remember the numbers, exactly, but like did you know that somethin' like, I don't know, like some big percent of pregnancies end in a woman losin' the baby? Like it just dies. It's worse, too, if she ain't had no kid before. Like if it's her first one? I read it can be like worse. Like it's more likely to happen."

"Jesus," Merle responded, rather loudly. "Don't'cha dare fuckin' say that shit to Andrea…my whole fuckin' left side went numb just now. My face look OK? Damn eye ain't droopin' or some shit? I swear—I couldn't feel shit for a minute." He did look a little pale, and he washed down whatever he was feeling with about half of a beer drank in one long swallow—more than he'd really drank for most of the evening. "Fuckin' hell, brother. I mean that shit. You say that fuckin' shit out loud, around my wife, and I'ma beat your fuckin' ass for you…damn."

Daryl laughed to himself. Though there was a definite nugget of truth to Merle's reaction, Daryl knew that his brother was also given to a certain amount of theatrics to cover up his true feelings and to induce humor in situations that, otherwise, wouldn't be humorous—Merle used this tactic to diffuse whatever bombs he could sense in his surroundings.

"Easy, Merle," Daryl teased. "Ain't shit wrong with my kid, and yours neither—far as I know. I was tellin' you about what I read. I was readin' this shit on my phone, and it was sayin' that. But—Andrea's beyond the worry zone or whatever. Eighteen is on past it. It's before then when it's all like common and shit. Beyond that, Dr. Martin would've prob'ly warned you if somethin' was comin'."

"She ain't said shit about Peanut just up an' dyin'," Merle grumbled, using his teeth to take out some frustration—or maybe even fear manifesting as frustration—on a piece of meat.

"That means it ain't nothin' to worry about," Daryl said. "And that ain't my point. Can I make my point?"

"I wish to hell you'd get to it," Merle said, finishing his beer and retrieving another from the fridge. He brought Daryl another one even though he wasn't ready for it just yet. "That's what the hell I wish."

"I'm just sayin' that what the hell I read said it was like a lot of pregnancies that just don't make it. Some don't even know they were pregnant before they ain't. But like—it ain't all that common and shit that it happens later. Not like what happened to Carol with—with Sophia. That shit happens different. You know? But no matter what—it'd be hard, Merle."

"I don't give a shit how it happened, it'd turn Andrea's ass inside out," Merle said. He left himself out of it, but Daryl knew his brother well enough to know he was simply choosing to exclude himself. That didn't mean, though, that he wasn't there—between the proverbial lines.

"And you think about like Carol," Daryl said. "I mean—she was there thinkin' that it weren't no accident. Weren't just one of them things. That asshole took Sophia from her. And she's there thinkin' she couldn't stop him. Couldn't protect Sophia—little thing that she was. And it was her damn husband. Shoulda wanted to protect his wife an' kid. Not kill his own kid and break his wife's heart."

Merle frowned at him.

"Where the hell is he now?" Merle asked. He raised his eyebrows. "Just curious, and all…"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Carol moved here after the divorce," Daryl said. "Didn't never try to get back in touch with him, and he never tried to get back in touch with her."

"Never come up for shit?"

"Minor things here or there," Daryl said. "They always got a way to get some asshole off when it's somethin' like that. You know that shit good as I do." Daryl reached for more fries—they'd dumped the mass they'd ordered together in one of the paper bags that everything had come in to get rid of all the small containers. "I was readin' some stuff about—you know—how to help people like Carol to…to feel better. To heal after some horror movie shit like that. And this one website, it said that babies like Sprout are rainbow babies. Like—the baby that'cha have after somethin' like losin' your baby. That's a rainbow baby."

"There somethin' wrong with 'em?" Merle asked. "Makes 'em different or whatever?"

"It ain't like there's nothin' about 'em that makes 'em different," Daryl said. "Rainbow baby is like—you know. A rainbow. Like all them tears you gotta cry to heal after the losin' is rain, so then you got a rainbow."

Merle hummed and mused on it a moment as he ate—moving on to the first of his Big Piggy sandwiches.

"I like that," he said, finally. "I do. Rainbow baby. That ain't half bad."

"I liked it when I read it. Been all over town during my lunch break this week gettin' together presents for Carol, and…"

Merle interrupted Daryl before he could say another word.

"Presents? We was supposed to get 'em presents for tomorrow?" Merle asked. He was clearly trying to hold it back as much as he was trying to hold back his emotions earlier, but there was some very evident panic in his tone.

"Not for the gender thing," Daryl said. "And—don't worry. I ain't gonna give Carol nothin' in front of Andrea. It ain't about that. This is for later. For just Carol and me."

"It's her birthday or somethin'?" Merle asked. "Holy shit—that reminds me that I don't know when the hell Andrea's birthday is."

Daryl laughed in response to his brother's downward spiral.

"I'll find out from Carol," Daryl said. "Text it to you. I can show you how to put shit in your phone and all so you can get reminded that'cha gotta buy a present and shit like that. But it ain't Carol's birthday, neither."

"Then why you been buyin' up presents—and how damn many presents we supposed to buy for their birthday?" Merle asked. "You find all this shit on your damn phone?"

"If you'd learn how the hell to use yours, you'd know that there's more shit in there than you can begin to imagine," Daryl said. "But, listen—you buy however many presents you an' Andrea think is right. I don't know. One or two. But it wouldn't hurt you to buy your wife somethin' every now and again just because. Maybe she'd be a lil' bit more cheerful if you'd buy her somethin'."

"Like what?" Merle asked. "I buy her food all the time."

"Like dinner, Merle?"

"Like—shit she likes from the bakery," Merle said. "And chocolate bars and shit. On my way home."

"That's a start," Daryl said. "Throw in a damn flower every now and again. Now that we gonna know what Peanut is, you can buy a few lil' Peanut things to surprise her."

Merle smiled to himself. He clearly liked the idea of buying Peanut things. His smile fell, though, and his brow furrowed quickly.

"I don't know what the hell to buy Peanut, though," he said.

Daryl shrugged.

"Ask somebody in the store. They'll help you. Besides—it ain't gonna be so much what you buy her as the fact that you bought Peanut somethin' to have. It's the symbolism of the whole thing that'll be important to Andrea."

"I like that," Merle said. "Symbolism can be important. Thanks for the idea and all."

"You welcome," Daryl said with a laugh. "If that shit had to be said out loud."

"Is that what you buyin' all the presents for Carol for?" Merle asked. "Just because?"

"Mmm mmm," Daryl hummed in disagreement. Merle gave him time to wash down his food with a swallow of piss warm beer that finished off the bottle so that he could move onto the other one that was sweating all over the table. "It's week eighteen this week. So, I wanna have some shit to give her on Monday. We gonna celebrate the comin' in of week nineteen."

"That's a thing, too?" Merle asked. "There's too much shit to keep up with, I'm not even lyin'."

"It's a thing for us," Daryl said. "It ain't for you. It's because, you know, Sophia didn't make it to week nineteen. And that's real damn heavy in Carol's mind right now. So—I wanna do some shit for week nineteen to…you know…remember Sophia, and celebrate that Sprout's doin' his own thing. You know? Goin' strong. Headin' toward the next damn day that's gonna tear Carol's nerves all the hell up."

"Which is?"

"Day Sprout's born," Daryl said. "Hell—my nerves'll be torn up, too, but I know hers'll be. Just the whole hopin' things is perfect, you know? It'll be different, but it'll be the same for you and Andrea."

Merle hummed—a noncommittal sound.

"You looked on that phone of yours to see if we was supposed to bring somethin' to the lil' baby party tomorrow?" Merle asked. "Because—I sure as shit don't wanna get there and I was supposed to bring Andrea a present and I didn't."

"No—they ain't no presents for this," Daryl said. "It's supposed to be like a party for us, too. Just findin' out what we got."

"You got any preference?" Merle asked. "I mean—not like a we tell Carol and Andrea kinda preference. Just like a…two beers in kinda preference?"

Daryl shrugged.

"I don't think I do really care," Daryl said. "Most I'm worried about is what's gonna be good for Carol. Either way, I never had a boy or a girl, so I guess I'll be just as happy with one as the other."

"Ain't no damn kinda answer," Merle said with a snort. He laughed and shook his head.

"Fine," Daryl said. "What the hell you want?"

"I told Andrea if Peanut was a girl we was givin' her up," Merle said. "Or I was sendin' her ass back to whatever asshole it was that found her at Salty's an' knocked her up." He gnawed some meat off one of the last remaining ribs from the open container of ribs, and spoke with his mouth full. "Prob'ly weren't my best idea given that she's been sensitive as hell and might not take a joke as good as I woulda wanted."

"You better get your ass prepared to do some quick convincin' you was jokin'," Daryl said. "If that icing turns out pink."

Merle laughed to himself.

"I was just givin' her hell to pull her leg a bit," Merle said. "But—really? I don't know what the hell I'd do with a girl, but I don't know what the hell I'd do with a boy, either. Might as well have one as the other, because I don't know shit about neither."

"That's what the classes are for, right?" Daryl asked.

Merle hummed.

"You still goin' to the daddy one with me?" Merle asked.

"Got it put in my phone," Daryl said. "It'll remind me—what? Next week?"

Merle nodded in response.

"If I don't forget," he said with a laugh. "You gotta show me how to make the damn phone make sure I don't forget shit."

"I will," Daryl said with a laugh. "If Andrea don't kill you tomorrow for talkin' shit about Peanut's parentage."

Merle laughed.

"Don't worry. I might not have bought her a baby-day present, but I can sugar her up pretty damn good 'fore the party."