The first few months were tough. Neither of them could really believe it was real, Carol especially was not confident about trusting the happiness they were feeling. She felt it wouldn't last, couldn't possibly last. She'd keep telling him not to get his hopes up. It had been hard enough to fall pregnant with Sophia, and that was in the best of circumstances. She'd known miscarriage before, so she knew the risks, and knew they had only increased with time and circumstance.

But every time she threw up in the trashcan in their cell; every time she felt woozy; it was a sign that the hormones were doing their job and hope bubbled under.

He'd taken his cue from her and tried not to get carried away, but it was hard. He'd never imagined this for his life, never even contemplated it, and to have it so close, but so unsure, was tantalising. Outside of their cell they didn't say much, but at night they'd lay together in their bed, whispered possibilities bouncing off the walls as his hand would rest on her belly - as if somehow he could will the life inside to keep living, keep growing, just with his very touch.

It seemed to work, because soon her normally flat stomach had been replaced by a soft curve that grew and grew. And his love for her had grown with it. He'd spent so much of his life burying and denying, he didn't quite know how to deal with a reciprocated love that he could express. She was a wonder to him, and never more so when she was physically showing their evidence of their love.

He remembered the couple of close calls of his youth, when a girlfriend would say those ominous words - "I'm late" - and he'd feel nothing but terror. It wasn't the prospect of a child so much as the idea of being tied to the woman forever. He always hated looking into the future and seeing the same woman in it. It scared him more than Merle leaning over him with his fist. He couldn't imagine wanting a woman to be around him for 10 days, never mind 10 years. But with Carol that had all changed. He desperately wanted to look forward and see her and them all together, but sense tried to keep him grounded.

And there was a nagging feeling that gnawed at his brain throughout that whole time. It was voices he'd silenced the moment he gave himself entirely to Carol, but they were back with the baby in her bell. They were quiet at first, but insistent.

It had started in his dreams. Babies leapt out his arms and ran away; boys that would shoot him with his own arrows; Carol angry and disappearing off into the horizon; and face after face turning into walkers in their cell, their bed and in his arms. How could he be a father with his own Pop and Merle were his role models? He'd made promises to himself even before he lost his mom that he wouldn't be like them. But were promises enough? He wasn't Rick, he didn't have patience and empathy and the ability to connect with every person he met.

What if he was never able to connect with the child, what if his temper got the better of him; what if it made Carol hate him? He was too scared to let her know, but he'd known he was getting more irritable; more distant from the idea of the baby - conflicting with his overwhelming love for her and that rounded belly of hers. His doubts were never about her. He was as sure about her, as he was sure he was breathing. There was no woman on earth he'd rather do this with, but what if even her love wasn't enough to fix him?

But as was ever the case, she knew him better than he knew himself and though he'd never verbalised his fears to her she had sensed them.

It became clear the day Carl sidled up to him while he was eating. Carl had looked about suspiciously, and with only Carol and Karen working away at the food, he'd sat down beside Daryl at the metal table.

"Can I speak to you about something?" he'd whispered in a harassed voice.

Daryl was on edge. He never liked whispering, it always meant secrets or lies that would eventually blow up in someone's face. He'd shrugged and let Carl carry on.

"How do you let a girl know you like her? I mean, you know, let her know you want to be more than friends? Like, what move do you make without seeming like a creep?" He'd rushed out in garbled haste.

Daryl had stopped chewing and was pretty sure he'd heard Carol suppress a snort.

"Why don't ya ask yer dad?" he'd replied

"That's just weird talking to him about this stuff, plus, like, you know lots more about girls than he does. You must have had tons of girlfriends, ya know, before. Merle spoke about it a couple of times."

Daryl definitely heard Carol laugh at that. Yeah, no doubt Merle would have delighted in regaling them with some of his glorious failures and more dubious choices.

He'd sighed, realising the eager young man wasn't going to be brushed off.

"Just don't be an idiot," he'd finally told an unimpressed Carl, who in return gesticulated his frustration.

"C'mon, Daryl, ya gotta give me more than that."

Daryl had searched his brain for something to tell the kid. It wasn't like he had a stock of advice passed down from Dixon generation to generation. He didn't even think he could remember his own father saying much that could be considered advice, unless you included "You'd better get outta my way or I'm gonna tan your hide" advice. He thought of Carol, of girls he'd known in his younger years and of the young women who shyly smiled their way around the prison halls.

"First off, stop thinking there's some magic word that'll make her pants drop off."

Carl had looked suitably uncomfortable at that and Daryl had known he was on the right track.

"Girls are people too. Give 'em the same respect you would yer pa, don't forget they got feelings too, never try and guess what they're thinking 'cos you'll always be wrong and don't forget some of them have a mean right hook and've got every right to use it if are being an ass."

Carl had squirmed obviously not happy with the answer, so Daryl had continued.

"And if you find one that makes you forget every bit of advice you ever got, just in the hopes she'll even breath in your direction, fer fuck's sake say something and don't let her get away."

Carl had grinned and cuffed him on the shoulder at that, as he sprung off on his long legs likely to set to work on putting the advice into practice.

When he went to bed that night Carol was already there with the sheet pulled up to her chin, a baby book lying discarded on his side of the bed. As he sat on the edge of the bed untying his boots, he'd glanced at the title - "How to Be a Better Parent". Inside he'd scoffed, there was no hope for him and he doubted Dr Spock could help. The next thing he'd known, he'd felt the bed shift and then her face was pressed against his shoulder.

"You'll make a great father, you shouldn't worry."

She could always read his mind.

"How can I when I only got Merle and my pop to learn from? I didn't know what to say to Carl, what do I do when our kid comes asking questions. I ain't got any answers." He had to be honest with her, always would be.

"You did just fine with Carl, and you'll do just fine with this little one. When you fall off a bike, it's the fall that teaches you how to ride it right. It teaches you what not to do, far more than any book can teach you what you should do. We learn from the negatives as well as the positives."

She'd wrapped her arms round him then, stroking the area above his heart. He'd said nothing, just put his hand over hers.

"I learned from Ed."

He'd stiffened at that name. She very rarely mentioned him and he was glad. Any time that plump, pallid, putrid face came to his mind Daryl had to clench his fists. Whenever he thought back to what Ed had done to her for all those years, and worse, for those days when Daryl was just feet away; Merle telling him it was none of their business what a man did to his wife. He fantasised about being back there, about pummelling that bastard's face to a pulp before Carol had to take a pick axe to it.

"He used so many pretty words with me, and I thought his words were proof, I thought it was all I needed. Every time he said he loved me, or he was doing everything for me and Sophia, he only wanted to keep us safe and protect us. I thought that was love. I thought words were love. I was wrong, so wrong. I knew it a long time ago but it didn't sink in until I met you. That's when I understood."

He remembered how he'd twisted round in the bed to look at her then, as she'd sat back on her knees. The sheet had fallen away from her body, pushed out of the way by the burgeoning bump. It was as if it was light by a spotlight; as if the baby wanted to take part in the conversation.

"Words aren't important," she'd continued. "Actions are what matters. I knew you loved me a long, long time before you said it. I knew it because everything you did was out of love. You didn't need to say it. And you don't need words to be a great father. You have the actions down pat."

She'd grinned at him then, but he still found it tough to take her compliments.

"You've been a father to Carl and Judith and Grace and all the kids around here, you just didn't know it. You looked out for them, taught them, made them laugh, set them straight and gave them confidence. No one could ask more from a father."

She'd begun rubbing the baby subconsciously as she spoke. And he thought his love for her would explode out of his very chest. Every time, every day, she knew just what to say, what to do to make everything okay again. He could never explain to her what she did for him, and if he tried she'd just smile and make a joke, so he'd taken her word and stuck to actions.

He leaned forward and kissed her, his hand resting on top of hers on their unborn child. She pulled him down onto the bed and they made love. He'd been very resistant about doing it when they first found out about the pregnancy. It all just seemed weird and intrusive and like he'd risk hurting the baby in some way. But Carol had eased his fears, and as her health improved and her libido grew with her body he found all his fears rushing away at the site of her blooming figure.

He'd be a good father because he was doing it with her, and everything with her was always good.

Carol had fallen asleep before him that night, and he'd lain next to her, watching her sleep and breathing with the rhythm of the rise and fall of her belly. Then he saw one side of her belly twitch. He'd immediately placed his hand there and felt it - the baby was kicking. He tried not to chuckle.

That was a Dixon all right. It should be asleep along with its mother, but no it was awake causing a ruckus. Carol stirred in her sleep.

"Shhhh, " Daryl had whispered putting his face to the bump. "You'll wake your momma. Go to sleep. It won't be long till you can scream and fuss all you like."

It was sooner than they'd like.