Carol sat, rocking the baby in her arms. He was a small thing, just like Sophia had been. His arms; however, they were long and strong. They were like his father's. She would be willing to bet her life that those same arms would carry a crossbow one day. He was strong, already attempting to hold his head on his own and nearly succeeding. Grunts of frustration signaled his failed efforts. Like both his parents, he was a born survivor. He would keep trying...and then he would succeed. He would live. This little one would have plenty of obstacles to face in a world infested with the living dead, but with so many looking out for him, he would know love.

Daryl's green orbs gazed up from the little Dixon, drawing Carol's breath from her body. She wondered often if she could still consider herself a mother, after Sophia died. Did the title exist when the child in question was gone? She helped raise Judith and she supposed that counted for something, but Lori would always be her mother, they'd see to her knowing that.

For the first time since her Sophia had wandered off the highway, Carol didn't allow herself to feel the usual pangs of sadness. How could she when such a beautiful creature lie in her arms? He was perfect. A small tuft of blondish hair stuck out from the freshly cleaned blanket that surrounded him. The week old child had her pale complexion and rosy cheeks, like a cherub. She kissed his forehead tenderly. For hours on end, she sat like this and stared at him. She couldn't believe that in the midst of hell on earth, she could still find this much joy.

A sound approached from behind her. She knew those nearly silent footsteps better than anyone. Daryl sat beside her in the cell newly designated as nursery for the two babies. Judith was learning to walk in the courtyard with Rick, so Carol took this time to enjoy her precious little one, even more pleased as her second half approached. Daryl looked over her shoulder, letting a small smile grace his features. After his constant state of worry during her pregnancy, Carol was glad to see him smiling more and more. Moments like this were rare for a Dixon. Hershel had assured her it wouldn't be an easy pregnancy, but they at least had some semblance of safety. After a 14 hour labor session, a boy was born and the rest of the prison breathed easy for the safety of the Dixon family.

Sure...Carol was scared as hell of raising her son in a prison. She was certainly afraid of a breech occurring and walkers invading the safe confines of their location. Scarier yet, the threat of dangerous men invading their safe haven. She would do anything in the world to keep him safe. Sophia had died on her watch, but this little guy would never know that sort of fear. With Daryl at her side, she knew this to be a truth. The parents would gladly lay down their lives before letting anything happen to him, not to mention the twenty or so other members of their group devoted to the pair and their child.

"You know, we have to pick a name..." Carol said quietly, staring at her son's sleeping form.

"I'm not good at that sorta thing," Daryl said shaking his head. "Maybe you should pick."

"I've picked before...your turn," she said carefully turning to place the baby in his father's arms. Daryl seemed to consider a moment, taking the child from her arms very slowly. He stared into the cooing baby's eyes, rocking him a moment back and forth. He was small, even smaller than Lil Asskicker when she'd been born. He would be a little child, like Daryl had been when young. He'd make for a good hunter, quick on his feet and deadly in the woods. Images of a little sandy blonde boy with a little bow danced through his head.

A slow grin spread across his face. "Archer."

Carol let out a small laugh. "Archer...how appropriate," she said smiling at Daryl's meaningful choice. "I love it. He looks like an Archer."

Daryl grunted in agreement, stroking his son's cheek with one calloused hand. He recoiled at first, assuming his rough skin would annoy the baby, but at the sound of his delighted squeals, he smirked and resumed his actions.

Daryl had never been one to lay down and take it. Even when his daddy put the wallop on him, he usually managed a couple good swings, which always earned him more punishment, but it was his nature. He would survive at all costs, kicking and screaming if he had to. Like Merle woulda said, "Nothing can kill a Dixon, but a Dixon". Now, his life meant so much more. Carol had shown him what it meant to be loved. She had shown him what it meant to be half of a whole, rendered utterly useless without her by his side. Now she'd given him this. Now she'd given him his own blood, a whole new reason to go on living. This world was a nightmare with a new horror story to be told every journey. Any trip outside could result in untimely death. Every success and every victory lay marred with the tragedies that littered the path to safety. Moments like this, when a father can hold his newborn son, in a world where threats lurk around every corner...moments like this make it worth it.