AN: Here's another piece to this one!

I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do let me know!

111

Daryl followed Carol back to the place that Máible had called the galley. It was just the kitchen, and it was just as busy as it had been the night before—a bit busier, perhaps. There were a number of people preparing food, but there were quite a few people lined up to get plates, while others were leaving the space with their already loaded plates.

Daryl didn't know hardly any of the people, but he had the kind of twitchy feeling in his stomach that came with knowledge that he would come to know these people—he would have to go through the entire process of introducing himself, once more, to another group of people.

He had the chance, once more, to decide who he was—who he was going to be.

And his stomach fluttered, slightly, as his brain reminded him of the very real reality that he was going to be someone very different than who he had ever been before. He was going to be someone that, at best, he'd only ever daydreamed about being.

He hoped he could pull it off. He hoped he could actually be the person that he was going to be—the person he was now, perhaps. He hoped that he could be the person that he wanted to be.

He was going to be Daryl Dixon, as he'd always been, but this Daryl Dixon was different. This Daryl Dixon had woken, this morning, almost like a man being born into a different life. This Daryl Dixon had something that he'd never truly believed that he would ever have—a family of his own.

Daryl was Carol's partner—the person with whom she'd walk through what was left of her life, or his, if he should die first. Maybe, he would be her husband, if she had any inclination to marry him, and if such a thing mattered anymore. No matter the words they used, though, Daryl wasn't ever leaving Carol's side again. No matter what she called him, he intended to be there, being her person—her support—by her side forever.

And Daryl was a father—a Daddy, Carol had said. That word made Daryl's blood run a little icy in his veins. It reminded him of his own daddy. It reminded him of way he'd tried to call Rooster Dixon his "old man" to put distance between the man that Rooster was, and the man that existed behind such an affectionate term as "daddy." It made Daryl's mouth taste a bit salty, too, as he thought about Ed Peletier—and how he'd heard the man use "daddy" when he'd talked to Sophia, despite all that Daryl knew about the kind of man he was, and the kind of man that Carol worried he might be, given the chance to be even worse than she knew him to be.

The word made Daryl's stomach churn a little, but the concept wasn't as frightening as it had been.

Carol had pointed out that he was already fathering Laurent, and Laurent didn't seem to be suffering too much for it. Of course, Daryl knew that it was a great big difference to be dealing with a kid Laurent's age, and to be dealing with one that was fresh into the world and a blank slate of sorts.

But Carol seemed to believe in him, and Daryl trusted her instincts—even when it made it difficult to breathe to imagine that he would be entrusted with something so damn important as a kid, especially when he felt like he was hardwired to fuck it up and Carol just hadn't realized how very real a concern that ought to be for her yet.

Regardless of titles—which sometimes made things feel more complicated—Daryl was a man with a family. He had a whole family—a family all his own. This family belonged to nobody else. He was the man of this family, and it was his. He rolled the thoughts around in his mind, practically letting his tongue taste the words, despite the fact that he hadn't really spoken them aloud just yet.

And he felt an almost fierce need to protect what was his practically squeezing his chest, even as he stood beside Carol, waiting for eggs, and realized there was no threat around him.

He fought against the strange, nearly-primal feeling in his gut. He tried to be nonchalant. He tried to start making himself a part of this world that was his new world—his new life.

"The captain always serve eggs?" He asked, directing his words to the only person, besides his family, that he knew on the ship.

Máible looked up from where she was sliding eggs onto plates in something of a conveyer belt process, to smile at him. There was a bit of mischief in the smile—a touch of challenge. Daryl appreciated it. She wasn't easily offended, and he always got along better with people like that.

"Aye," she said. "Especially when the captain has a mind to eat her fill of them as soon as she's relieved."

"How damn many eggs can you eat? Two at best," Daryl said.

Máible laughed quietly.

"Four, if there's plenty to go around, which there is today. And toast, too. The bread's good. And what comes out of those jars over there is a kind of fruit puree that's like heaven after the fruit's been run out for a while. I don't usually indulge until I've had my fill, but when we're fresh in port, I make it a point."

"If you promise to hold the boat for me," Daryl said, "I'll put some fresh meat on the table."

"You've got a deal," Máible said, offering over plates to Daryl and Carol, both, from the assembly line. It was clear that they were meant to serve themselves from the jars of puree that had been mentioned. Daryl followed Carol's lead.

Daryl looked around. He felt the muscles in his body tense as he took inventory of the people in the galley. He found that one key person was missing. He cleared his throat, and reminded himself that the natural anxiety that rose up in him was a defense mechanism, and probably not truly necessary.

"Uh—Laurent…" He said.

Carol furrowed her brow at him and looked around, like she hadn't noticed he was missing, either.

"What about him?" Máible asked.

"Last accounts I had, I left him with you," Daryl said.

"That you did," Máible agreed. She laughed quietly and took a plate that, Daryl assumed, might be hers. She loaded it with puree, just as he and Carol had done. "And I left him with Tillie and Cat. Or, rather, I suppose you can say that he left me, when his plate was made. Come along. I'll show you to where we eat."

Where they ate was a dining room that was arranged a bit like a cross between a cafeteria and a restaurant. Daryl noticed, immediately, that the tables were bolted to the floor. There were tables of varying sizes, but most seated six comfortably. When he spotted Laurent, he and his companions filled up part of one of those tables of six.

Daryl followed suit when Carol made it clear that they would sit there, along with Máible.

"You alright?" Daryl asked Laurent, when they sat. He could tell, from a glance, that the boy was no worse for the wear.

"We're going to fish later," Laurent said, nodding his head.

"We?" Daryl asked.

"If you have other plans…"

The young girl spoke to them. Her name was Tillie. She was a healthy girl of fifteen or sixteen, by Daryl's figuring. She looked like she'd been well taken care of, however long she'd been on the ship. She was clearly healthy—a bit overweight, even, and with a complexion that made her look more alive than most people Daryl had seen in a long time. She had red hair, blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles.

And her voice trembled, slightly, like she was nervous or, perhaps, simply afraid of Daryl.

"If he wants to fish," Daryl said. "If you wanna fish," he said, directing the second statement toward Laurent.

Laurent smiled and nodded his head enthusiastically. He looked at Tillie, and Daryl felt a tugging sensation in his stomach that made him wonder if the boy might have developed some kind of crush on the red-headed girl.

The red-headed woman sitting with them, whom Daryl assumed might be Tillie's mother, though their resemblance went no further than the red hair, smiled at Laurent and Tillie both, like she might have thought the same thing. She looked over at Máible, who was focused on the breakfast she'd bragged that she intended to eat, and then she made eye contact with Daryl.

Daryl felt his cheeks burn warm. It was always embarrassing, he'd thought, to get caught observing someone. He cleared his throat and focused on his own food.

"This fruit puree is pretty good," he commented, as he sucked a glob of it off his finger, where it had dripped from his toast.

"You must be Daryl," the red-headed woman offered.

Daryl accepted that this conversation was started, whether he wanted it or not. He put his toast down and sucked his other fingers clean before Carol offered him a handkerchief that they clearly used as napkins.

"You got me at a disadvantage," Daryl said. "You know who I am, and I got no idea who you are and what you know about me."

The woman was clearly amused.

"My name is Catherine," she said. "But everyone calls me Cat. What I know about you is that—we've been hoping to find you. It's really remarkable that we were so lucky."

"That's fate," Máible said, matter-of-factly.

"Maybe the luck of the Irish?" Cat asked.

Daryl saw the two women make eye contact. He felt almost as if he weren't meant to witness the moment, even though it was hardly a private moment. As quickly as they seemed to connect, though, both women turned their attention back to the conversation at hand.

"I know that you're Carol's…well…I'm not sure that I know the proper label for things," Cat continued.

"I'm not sure we do, either," Carol said in response.

"Husband," Daryl said, at the same time.

He felt his face burn warm as he made eye contact with Carol.

"I mean, I guess…we ain't married, but…" Daryl said.

"Well…" Máible said, practically blowing the word out and elongating it, as she clearly searched for what she wanted to follow it. "It doesn't really matter all that much anymore, now does it? Call it what you want, as long as you call it what pleases you."

"Husband," Carol offered.

Daryl felt his chest tighten. He looked at her. She smiled at him, softly, and nodded her head. He felt his pulse kick up. To hear it come out of her mouth, was something else entirely. He liked the way it sounded, but it made his throat tighten.

"Husband," he said, feeling like the word was half-choked.

"Well, then, that's one more thing that I know," Cat said. "You're Carol's husband. And the father of the baby."

Daryl looked at her. She went wide-eyed.

"Have I misspoken?" She asked. She looked at Carol, a bit of something akin to panic on her features, and then back at Daryl. "I assumed…"

"I just—I mean I guess you knew about the baby," Daryl said. "I'm just—gettin' used to it."

"Baby?" Laurent asked.

Daryl felt a bit struck.

"Turns out—there was…some things I didn't know about. Carol and me…that we didn't know about, when I left."

"A baby?" Laurent asked, looking at Carol. She nodded. "You're going to have a baby?" He asked, rising slightly in his seat and sinking again, as though he'd been overtaken by the excitement of the idea. Daryl assumed, though, that all life was a bit exciting in a world full of death.

"I—hope so," Carol said. "If it's healthy, and I'm healthy…"

"You're as strong as anybody on this ship," Cat said. "And, from what I can tell, that baby is healthy."

"You know much about babies?" Daryl asked.

"Not as much as I would like," Cat said. "But I know enough."

"Cat is a doctor," Máible said. "An immensely valuable member of our crew."

"A real doctor?" Daryl asked.

Cat laughed, and her cheeks ran a touch pink.

"A surgeon," she said. "But I worked in a small hospital that required me to be quite flexible. Of course, these days, I'm a Jack-of-all-Trades."

"As we all are," Máible said.

"See—that's something I know about you, now," Daryl said. "But you still have a hell of a lot on me."

"Well," Máible said, "then, I'll tell you that…Cat's my partner."

"Like your pirate partner?" Daryl asked.

"Like my wife, partner," Máible said.

Daryl accepted the information. He was a bit surprised by it, but it didn't matter much to him. He nodded his understanding.

"You knew each other before all this?" He asked.

"No," Máible said. "I was—lucky enough to find Cat. Luck of the Irish," she said, winking in Cat's direction.

Cat laughed quietly in response.

"I was lucky enough to find Máible," she said.

"You Irish, too?" Daryl asked. "You don't sound it, but—uh—you do look kinda Irish. A whole lot more so than her."

The two women exchanged glances and laughed.

"Despite the stereotype, no," Cat said. "My great grandparents were Scottish, but…that's the extent of it."

"I'm sure, if you've been around him since last night, Laurent's already told you how we met," Daryl said, feeling a bit like he was enjoying the decently easy conversation, and getting to know people that he realized he was truly interested in coming to know well. "Is—Tillie your daughter?"

Cat and Máible both looked at Tillie.

"Tillie is very special to us," Cat said, reaching out a hand to affectionately squeeze Tillie's shoulder. "But—our situation is similar to your situation with Laurent."

"Family is what we decide it to be, eh?" Máible offered.

"I'll drink to that," Daryl said, raising the glass of water he'd carried from the kitchen in a toast. Everyone jokingly followed suit, and he felt his pulse kick up again with an unexpected excitement at feeling like he fit in with a group of people—a group that he didn't mind fitting in with. When he put the glass down, he addressed the two women again. "Y'all got any more kids?" Daryl asked.

"Well," Máible said, getting up quickly from the table and taking her plate, "I'd better be seeing to it that everyone's busy. Idle hands never get us out of port."

Daryl watched her walk away with enough haste that she looked like she was trying to stay calm, while also outstripping a swarm of angry hornets.

"Tillie—see about the dishes?" Cat asked.

Tillie nodded and got up, taking her own plate. She looked at Laurent.

"If you eat, you ought to help clean," she said, not that Laurent was showing any signs of telling her that he would stay, if she left. He agreed, enthusiastically, and followed after Tillie with his own plate.

"Good at clearing a damn table, if nothing else," Daryl commented.

"It's her story more than mine," Cat said.

"And I ought to know better than to ask questions that might be sensitive," Daryl said. "I just hope—she ain't too pissed."

"She won't be pissed at all," Cat said. "She just…sometimes likes to have a moment to herself."

"Sorry for asking stupid ass questions," Daryl said.

"Nonsense," Cat said. "You want to connect with the people around you. There's nothing stupid about asking a question. You'll see. Máible won't hold a question against you at all."

"It's just—some questions hurt more than others," Carol said.

"You know about…whatever it is?" Daryl asked, thought he could already imagine at least some of what it might be. Carol nodded at him. "And you let my ass walk right into that one?"

"I didn't know where you were headed," Carol said. "Finish your breakfast, Daryl, and then…have a cigarette. If you've got them. You'll find her above deck."

"All that aside," Cat said, cheerfully, and clearly deciding to try to make Daryl feel better and salvage the conversation, "Carol is really very healthy, and I feel confident that things are well with the baby."

"I like hearing that," Daryl said.

"Me, too," Carol said with a laugh.

"Much obliged to you lookin' out for her and everything," Daryl said.

"It's my pleasure," Cat said. "Are you coming back with us?"

"Absolutely," Daryl said.

"Then, I'll be able to help the rest of the time," Cat said. "And I'll get to meet the baby."

"Countin' on it," Daryl said, realizing how very much he meant that.