AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Carol found the shop without any problem. The light was on, and she walked around to the side of it where there was a screened door. From inside the shop, there came the sound of rock music playing, but it wasn't loud enough it would have disturbed anyone even at the trailer.
Carol peered through the screen. Inside, Daryl was sitting on something. He was facing her, but looking at the car between them. He hadn't noticed her presence yet and, really, it looked like he was probably more lost in thought than occupied by any work he may be pretending to do.
Carol felt an unexpected rush of tenderness toward the man. She raised her hand and knocked at the metal part of the door. It rattled and knocked against the frame. Daryl looked up.
"It's unlocked," he said. He leaned over and switched off the radio that had been playing the rock music. He started to stand as Carol pulled the door open. It was an odd formality, she felt, given the circumstances and their location.
"Stay," she said quickly. "Please."
He settled back down on the stool where he was sitting.
"There's a stool," he said. "It ain't the most comfortable, but…"
Carol was already pulling it over near him. She sat down. It was low, and their legs were only a few inches from touching.
"What is this?" She asked, gesturing toward the car.
"Mustang," Daryl said.
"And you'll—fix this?" Carol asked.
Daryl laughed quietly. He nodded his head.
"It don't look like too much right now," he said. "But, believe me, it's a hell of a lot better than when I got it. It'll be fuckin' hot when I'm done."
"And you'll sell it?" Carol asked.
Daryl hummed and nodded.
"Why?" Carol asked.
He furrowed his brow at her. He clearly didn't understand the question.
"The hell else would I do with it?" He asked.
"Keep it," Carol offered.
"I don't want to keep it," Daryl said. "I mean—I like drivin' 'em around the block and all. Drive 'em to the sales. That kind thing. But keep 'em? I like my truck better."
"You just like—working on them?" Carol asked. Daryl hummed.
"This here? It was garbage when I got it. Scrap. Basically, I paid for the metal when I bought the body. When I'm done with it, though, it's gonna be somethin' somebody wants. Somebody's dream car." Carol smiled at the thought, even though she felt like she couldn't really see it for herself. It was clear that he could. "I like the makin' somethin' out of nothin'. I like the fixin' shit. I spend all day fixin' people's mistakes. You know? You backed into that pole, but it ain't no big damn deal. Someone run into you, but I got it. I like that shit. I do. But this part is my favorite."
"It sounds like a labor of love," Carol offered quietly when Daryl stopped speaking. He looked at her and his face ran red. It was clear that he hadn't really meant to say all that he'd said. He'd gotten wrapped up in his thoughts—his passion for his profession—and it had run away from him. Carol held his eyes, hoping to convey that she wasn't bothered by his musings. Daryl lit a cigarette from a pack he kept in his shirt pocket.
"It's just what I do," he stammered.
"And I understand you do it well," Carol said. "You should be proud of that." She could tell that Daryl wasn't entirely sure what to do with praise. It clearly made him uncomfortable to try to process it. She decided not to push it. "You'll—buy another car with the money?"
Daryl visibly relaxed. She saw his shoulders move in response to the release of tension. They were talking about something that made him comfortable again.
"Somethin' else to work on," Daryl said. "The rest I usually split up. Some goes into somethin' I need or want to do around here. I put all the rest in savings."
"For—a future," Carol said.
Daryl frowned and shrugged his shoulders.
"For a future," he echoed. "That's what the hell I always said. A family. Thing is—I figured out I can't control that shit."
"You like to control things?" Carol asked.
"Don't you?"
"To some degree," Carol said. "I haven't always felt very in control of anything."
Daryl laughed quietly.
"Yeah," he said, scratching an itch on his face with his thumbnail. "Me either. Maybe that's why the hell I've tried to control everything I can."
Carol's stomach fluttered. There was so much that she didn't know about this man. There was so much that he didn't know about her, too. Still, she felt a sort of connection to him. Sitting there, in his presence, in his shop, with their knees nearly touching, she felt comfortable and relaxed—something that her gut recognized as unusual. Thanks to her ex-husband, she had doubted if she'd ever feel comfortable and relaxed around a man in her lifetime.
She didn't know Daryl, but she knew he was different. Something far beneath her consciousness knew that he was different—and she trusted the feeling.
"Maybe it's better to—just control the things you can and leave the rest up to chance," Carol offered.
"I don't think there's no other choice," Daryl said. "I was shovin' money away for years. Figured—I would have a future someday. A family. Figured out I can't control people. Don't want nobody that's just there because I'm controllin' 'em somehow, either. Couldn't guarantee love or…a family that way, you know…with money."
"But you could buy a baby," Carol said.
"When you say it that way…" Daryl said. "But, yeah. I mean, I could pay someone to have the baby. If I could do it myself, hell…I would. Make my own damn family. I can build about any damn car you want, though, but I can't build a baby."
"You genuinely want this," Carol said. "A family. A baby."
Daryl chewed his lip and nodded.
"More'n any damn thing in the world," he admitted.
"Can I ask—why?" Carol asked. "I know what you said about—about wanting a future and…and not being good with women. I know that. But—why do you want to be a father so badly? You were willing to do it alone. Not many men feel that way. So—why do you?"
Daryl shrugged again. Carol had already figured out that the quick shrug of his shoulders didn't really mean that he didn't know something or even that he didn't intend to answer her question. She'd already figured out that the quick shrug meant that he needed a moment to get his thoughts together and to decide what he wanted to say.
They had time. Carol had nowhere to go at the moment, and she suspected that Daryl didn't either. His brother and sister-in-law were inside, but Carol had a pretty good feeling that they wouldn't be disturbing them. His brother felt guilty for possibly upsetting Carol, and for definitely upsetting Daryl, and it was likely that his wife was having her own kind of conversation with him in the privacy of Daryl's kitchen.
"I don't want your pity," Daryl said.
"I wasn't offering it," Carol responded.
Daryl nodded his head.
"Merle and me—didn't get a lot of love growin' up," Daryl said. "Just the way it was. In our house—there wasn't a lot of emphasis put on that kinda thing. My Mama…weren't around that long. Died when I was a kid." Daryl stopped short. Carol waited him out, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. He continued after a moment more of thinking about and, no doubt, very carefully selecting his words—the opposite, maybe, of his brother. "I always felt like I had more love to get out than I ever got out. Stupid as that shit sounds—and, believe me, Merle'll be the first damn one to tell me that shit's stupid. But a kid? I could love a kid."
"And they would love you back," Carol offered, finishing up what she assumed to be Daryl's thoughts on things. He nodded his head somewhat.
"Your turn," Daryl said.
"What?" Carol asked.
"Your turn," Daryl said. "I told you mine. You tell me yours."
"My what?" Carol asked.
"Your why," Daryl said.
"For all of this? I—answered your advertisement. I'm pretty well broke. I could use the money."
"Fine," Daryl said. "I'll give you that. But if your ass was in it just for the money, you'da never made me rewrite that contract. The minute I said that you wouldn't be saddled with the kid, you'da been pleased as shit and signed that right away. So, why you want a kid?"
Carol's stomach felt like it twisted violently. She suddenly felt like Daryl; turning the words over in her mouth like worry stones. She thought about how they would sound—how all the truth inside her might sound if it came out. She smoothed it as she turned it over, and Daryl waited.
"I always wanted to be a mother," Carol said. "I wanted—to have a big family. A bunch of kids. I know it's cliché and, maybe, that's not what women are supposed to want anymore, but…I did. I always did. I wanted to be Mama."
"And—I wanna be Daddy," Daryl said, laughing to himself. "Makes sense to me that you wanna be a mama. That'cha always wanted it. Why the hell's it gotta be different for me just because I got a dick or whatever?"
Carol laughed and her muscles relaxed some. She shook her head.
"I don't guess it has to be different," she ceded. "I guess it's more unusual, maybe. Maybe—maybe it's not even more unusual. Maybe we're just taught that…women want babies, and men don't. And some men back that up."
"Some men back all kinda shit up," Daryl said. There was a hint of something like anger or bitterness to his tone, but he didn't expand upon his thoughts.
"Can I ask you something else?" Carol asked.
"Why the hell stop now?" Daryl responded, lighting another cigarette. Carol gestured toward it, and Daryl passed it to her before lighting another for himself. He didn't say anything, though, and Carol took a drag on the cigarette. It made her feel a little lightheaded.
"If you don't want me to ask…"
"Go ahead," Daryl said.
"Is it going to matter if it's a boy or a girl?" Carol asked.
Daryl's eyes widened for a moment.
"You sayin' you still…thinkin' about doin' it?" Daryl asked.
"Thinking about it?" Carol responded. "Daryl—I made up my mind at dinner the other night. I never changed it. But—I do want to know if…if boy or girl is going to matter to you. Because your answer to that does matter to me."
Daryl shook his head.
"I don't think so," he said. "I don't see why it should matter to anyone."
"It matters…" Carol said. "Sometimes. To some men."
"Not to me," Daryl said.
"You sound so—sure," Carol said. "Are you sure?"
"Are you sure you ain't changin' your mind?" Daryl countered. Carol nodded her head. "Then—you're makin' me a baby. Boy or girl don't matter. Just details. But…"
Carol's stomach tightened.
"But?" She urged when he stopped.
"I'm not wantin' to control you too damn much, but…I'ma expect you don't do that while you're pregnant," he said, gesturing toward the cigarette she was slowly smoking.
Carol laughed quietly.
"I won't," she said. "I only smoke every now and again. When there's a lot on my mind."
"It's my fault you got a lot on your mind," Daryl said.
"No," Carol said. "I mean—this is something else on my mind, but…it's not the only thing on my mind. Not at all."
"Look—I'm sorry about my brother," Daryl said after a moment.
Carol smiled at him.
"He apologized," she said. "And—you don't have to apologize. No harm was done. It's a—tricky subject. He is right, though. There are options, whether or not…you know…we take them."
Carol's pulse picked up, and she wondered if Daryl's did too. He looked about as nervous as she felt, suddenly.
"I mean—there are options," Daryl said. "But—I don't want you to think that I'm sayin'…you know…I'm…I'm payin' you for all that goes into havin' the baby…not…"
Carol felt her face run warm. She smiled at him.
"I think I understand," she said, interrupting his desperate search for words that might convey what he wanted to say. "You're not—pushing for anything. But does that mean you're…open? Because I'm just considering my options, but…I'm not pushing either."
"I'm…open," Daryl said. "But—not pushin'."
"Not pushing," Carol agreed, shaking her head. "So—whether I decide that…I'd rather take all those kits or…"
"Whatever you decide," Daryl said. "Take the kits and…you know…whatever you decide…"
"There's time," Carol said. "I mean—I'll start with the ovulation tests—tomorrow, even, but…until I'm ovulating, there's time to decide. To think about things."
"Just think…about whatever you want," Daryl said. "Most important thing is you're comfortable. Andrea read that. Said the most important thing is that you're stress-free and comfortable so…whatever the hell that means to you…whatever makes you feel all right."
Carol's heart was drumming wildly in her chest. It felt like it was missing a beat here or there. Her face was hot and, more than likely, every bit as red as Daryl's face. Still, she didn't feel like running away from the whole thing. She didn't feel like this was a mistake.
As crazy as it all seemed, it simply felt right.
"I feel all right," Carol said. Daryl smiled softly in response. He looked relieved. Carol could practically feel his relief, and it made her feel a bit more relaxed. "Didn't your sister say—something about dessert earlier?"
"Bought a cheesecake," Daryl said.
"I love cheesecake," Carol offered.
Daryl's smile was sincere.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get you a piece. You can take the leftovers home."
