AN: Trying to get back here.

Here's another chapter. Hopefully it won't be that long (this time) before the next!

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Daryl topped the hill to find Victor Strand just where he'd been told he'd find him by the last person that had actually laid eyes on the man since breakfast. He was up on the hill, working with Tyreese as they put some of the finishing touches on the final additions to their house in an attempt to have the whole thing finished before winter swept over them all. Tyreese was working, but Victor looked like his job mostly consisted of holding down a chair and making sure the shade didn't run away from him as the sun made her journey across the sky.

"There you are," Daryl said. "I feel like I've walked this community all the way around looking for you. You better get your ass on down to the main cabin and see the little boy your wife has for you."

At his words, Victor sat up in the chair in which he was reclining and Tyreese dropped his hammer. Daryl held his hands out to still Tyreese.

"Maybe I shoulda been a little more specific," Daryl said. "Strand—you gotta get down to the main cabin."

"Maddie?"

Daryl hummed.

"She's in labor?" Victor asked.

"Labor, hell," Daryl said. "You missed the whole fucking thing."

"Why didn't you come and get me?" Victor asked. He hit his feet and Daryl was pretty sure that he suddenly had a surge of excess energy that he needed to get rid of. He needed to diffuse it somehow, and Daryl wasn't certain that he wasn't considering using him as a method of diffusion.

"Tried! She's like—hey this kid is comin' right now so I go for Alice because that's who the hell I think she might need first and foremost," Daryl said. "But hell—by the time I get back there, my wife's cleanin' Maddie up and his wife's holdin' your son and tellin' me that I oughta come tell you that you got one. So that's what the hell I'm doing. I'm here to tell you—Victor—that you gotta go see that boy that your wife's got for you. And Ty? I'm here just to tell your ass that your wife? She's got that look in her eye, so you might just wanna know about it."

Daryl laughed to himself when everything sunk in for Victor and he darted past Daryl and down the hill as quickly as he could. Daryl had never seen him look so undignified, because that really wasn't Victor's style, but it seemed that the thought that Madison had brought his son into the world without him even knowing about it really lit a fire under his ass.

"Carol and Michonne delivered him?" Tyreese asked after he watched Victor take off.

"Between 'em I guess they got about as much experience as Alice," Daryl said.

"Maybe more," Tyreese said. "Carol's delivered four into the world herself, and that's not counting how many she's received."

"And 'Chonne's done brought five into the world—pitchin', not catchin'. They got him here—whether or not they knew what they were doin' or Madison just knew what the hell she was doing."

"Madison's alive?" Tyreese asked. Daryl hummed and nodded. "Looks strong?"

"Hardly even lost her color," Daryl said.

"He was alive and all?" Tyreese asked.

"Oh yeah," Daryl assured him. "Alive and soundin' like he intended to stay that way."

"Good," Tyreese said. "It's no good, you know? Burying babies."

Daryl nodded at him.

"I know," he said. "Tell you what. I'ma make sure 'Chonne don't need nothin'. I'll send Carol up here. You look like you could—use some water."

Tyreese laughed and picked up his hammer from where he'd dropped it.

"You do that," Tyreese said. "I am pretty damn thirsty."

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Michonne stood in front of the mirror and smoothed out the silky nightie she was wearing. She liked this one. It was one of her favorites because of the way it was cut. That's why she'd taken it out of the closet. She needed it, tonight, as silly as it was to ever need something so ridiculous. She dipped a washcloth in the bowl of water in front of her that she'd used for her bath and mopped at a spot on the front of the garment. It was milk. It was dried milk she hadn't noticed the last time she'd worn the thing.

She frowned at the damp spot over her nipple. Touching them too much would have them leaking again. It could be quite annoying, and she was even one of the ones who had to fight with her own body just to keep her milk production up high enough to feed her youngest consistently and her middle child when he occasionally asked her for milk— instead of doing without or going straight to the woman across the hall that was more than capable of feeding half the community, or so it seemed.

Michonne frowned at her own reflection for a moment as though she wanted to punish it for her contradictions.

She could feel, in one moment, entirely too feminine. She could feel trapped in the constraints of motherhood that persevered despite the downfall and rebuilding of society. She could feel like she was expected to be nothing more than a wife and a mother and someone who cleaned up other people's messes. She could feel like she'd lost herself entirely in running after children and worrying over if her milk was enough.

Worrying about if she was enough.

And the next moment she could stand there in front of the mirror and hate the muscular definition of her arms. She could hate the way that her body had bounced back from the last pregnancy—a way she would have killed for it to bounce back in a world-long-gone. She could hate the definition of her leg muscles and her abs and the way that her body shed fat under the hours of work it put in. She could wish for just a touch of the softness that she saw on other women's bodies. She could find herself aching for just a little piece of what she felt like made other women so feminine.

She wasn't delicate enough.

But she didn't want them to think she was delicate.

And her own contradictions could make her feel like she was suffocating. So, she glared at her reflection in the bubblegum pink nighty and tried to cower herself into submission at her own feet.

There was a tap at the door and every muscle in her body tensed without reason or rhyme.

Her mind offered to her that it would be Carol. When she opened the door, it would be Carol in Tyreese's button-down shirt and socks and nothing else. Ready for bed. It would be Carol with at least one baby and maybe two. It would be Carol with her youngest, asking Michonne if she needed anything—if she needed her to keep an eye out for Liam because she'd mentioned it earlier that she might want the night off from just having to hear complaints of any sort.

And part of her thought she might tear into her friend for no other reason than it might make her feel better just to relieve her frustration—and who better to carry her frustration than someone who couldn't escape it? Someone who would know how to carry it so well.

Michonne immediately felt sorry and repentant for even thinking it. She shook her head at her own reflection.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Don't mean to bother you, 'Chonne, but—you comin' out tonight?" Daryl asked from outside the door.

Michonne smiled to herself. She saw the smile reflected in the mirror.

She quickly swept the bits of hair from where she'd shaved her head to the floor, clearing off the bathroom counter. She'd sweep the mess up in the morning and toss it outside. She shook the nightie off, making sure the bits of hair were at least mostly off of it.

She unplugged the electric clippers that she'd used and she blew out the candles that she'd burned to ensure that the razor and her hot water were all she used to drain the grid that evening. In the darkness, she turned and opened the door. Daryl somewhat peered around her. In his arms, their youngest slept. Michonne smiled at the sight of them.

"You was in the dark?" Daryl asked.

"I just blew the candles out," Michonne said.

"You shaved your head again," Daryl said.

"It was either shave it or start to keep it up," Michonne said. "You said you liked it. Did you change your mind?"

"I don't change my mind, 'Chonne," Daryl offered her. "Not about you. I like you however. I don't care what'cha wanna do to your hair. Called you earlier—didn't you hear me?"

Michonne had vaguely heard Daryl calling her, but she'd ignored it. Maybe she'd only heard it in the back of her mind. Maybe she'd even convinced herself she hadn't heard it.

"Something wrong?" Michonne asked.

"Liam's pushin' up," Daryl said. "I don't think it'll be a couple days and he'll be crawling."

Michonne smiled again. She reached over and brushed her hand against the cheek of the sleeping baby.

"Did he eat?" Michonne asked.

"Good," Daryl said. "Some of them carrots and then Carol nursed him." Michonne nodded her approval. "Thought you might want a kiss before I put him down. The rest of 'em's already down."

Michonne leaned and pressed her lips lightly to the warm forehead of the baby she knew would be her last born and her heart tugged with another of those shifting emotions that sometimes slid around inside her.

"You look pretty, 'Chonne," Daryl offered.

"I picked it out without you," Michonne said, knowing that he'd noticed the nightie. "Do you mind?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I don't ever mind," he said. "And that color? It looks good on you."

Michonne laughed in response.

"You say that about every color, Daryl," she offered.

"And yet I always mean it," he mused.

Michonne followed him to the crib where Liam slept most nights if he wasn't in with someone else. She watched him lower the baby down and stand there with his hand pressed against him for a second to assure himself that the baby would keep on sleeping.

"Can I ask you something?" Michonne asked.

"Anything you want," Daryl said.

"Do you think—I'm delicate?" Michonne asked.

Daryl snorted.

"Delicate like—whatta you mean delicate, exactly?"

He moved away from the crib when he was sure the baby was settled and crossed the room to put some distance between them and the baby while Liam really settled into a deep sleep. Michonne followed him. When he sat on the edge of the bed, she straddled him with her knees on either side of his legs. He put his hands on her hips and, for just a moment, simply offered her support so she didn't go toppling backward if the mattress should shift.

"Delicate," Michonne said. "Like—maybe—I don't know. Maybe Carol's delicate."

"She's delicate?" Daryl asked.

"Fragile," Michonne said. "Breakable."

Daryl laughed.

"See—now I know you're full of shit, 'Chonne," Daryl said. "There ain't nothin' breakable about you. Like—you the breaker, not the breakee."

Michonne kissed him and he trailed after her, eyes closed, with his lips searching for hers again as soon as she pulled away. She smiled at him and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Then—am I not feminine enough?" She asked.

"Not feminine enough?" Daryl asked, the same sound coming to his voice as she might expect from someone who was heavily intoxicated or half asleep.

"If I'm not delicate," Michonne said. "Am I feminine enough? Am I—enough woman for you?"

Daryl laughed and buried his face in her neck. He brushed his lips against her collar bone. He rested his face there a moment before he lapped and sucked at the skin on her neck. The shiver that ran through her in response ran up her spine and all the way down until it tugged at her clit. Without even intentionally doing so, she rolled her hips and bucked into Daryl. He buried his fingertips into the soft flesh of her ass—one of the few places she felt she had any remaining "soft" flesh to find—and he breathed against her neck.

"You too much woman for me, 'Chonne," Daryl breathed out. "Most days—you too much woman for me."

After a second, he pulled back from her, just a little. He pulled back just enough to look at her instead of to have his face buried in the soft skin of her neck.

"But why are you askin' me all this?" He asked.

"Sometimes—I feel like there's two women who live inside me," Michonne admitted. "One of them is so bogged down in domesticity that—she's drowning in diapers and…and board books."

"And the other one?" Daryl asked.

"She's just hard," Michonne said. "She's hard and she's tough and—nothing can touch her. She's built for survival and nothing holds her down. Nothing holds her back."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Except diapers and board books?" He asked.

"Sometimes I'm not comfortable in either role," Michonne said. She frowned at him and he moved his hands to affectionately knead at her back muscles.

"What's got you stirred up?" Daryl asked.

"Shaving my head," Michonne said.

"If you didn't wanna do it," Daryl said.

"I wanted to do it," Michonne said. "I just don't want—people to say I'm not feminine enough. Or I'd look womanlier if I grew my hair out."

"Who says that shit? Lisette?" Daryl asked.

"It doesn't matter who says it," Michonne said.

"You find someone out there that don't think you're all woman, 'Chonne? An' you tell 'em to come talk to me. I'll tell 'em that—you more woman than any woman around here."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"But I don't want to be delicate," Michonne said.

"No," Daryl said. "Absolutely not. Never delicate. All woman but—tough. Like deer jerky."

Michonne moved her hand to pinch his side playfully and he twisted.

"Asshole," she growled at him, shifting her weight to push him backward. He went down without a fight and she straddled him. She couldn't help but smile at him. He smiled back.

"There's my smile, 'Chonne," he teased. "Whose ass you want me to get for makin' it go away a minute?"

"Maybe it was just—Madison had the baby," Michonne said.

"I'll do whatever you want me to do, 'Chonne," Daryl said. "Whatever it takes to make you happy. But—it don't feel right just goin' to slap around some woman that just give birth this afternoon."

Michonne laughed at his teasing.

"It's just—births and deaths and things like that," Michonne said. "They seem to stir everything up. Turn everything on its head. People just…I don't know. Maybe it's just me."

"It ain't just you," Daryl said. "Births and deaths bring out a lil' of the instinct in all of us. The animal. We ain't that far separated from it, 'Chonne. None of us. We're all animals and, maybe, these days we're gettin' a little closer back to it than we've been in a while. It's only natural these things get everybody stirred up. Every body with his own madness."

"And Maggie won't be long," Michonne said.

"Yeah?" Daryl asked.

"A week, if even," Michonne said.

"You gonna get stirred up then, again?" Daryl asked.

"I might," Michonne said. "Is that a problem?"

"No problem," Daryl said. "But—did you ever decide which role you like better? I mean the—motherin' type or the wild an' hard type?"

"Maybe I'm just not ready to choose," Michonne said.

"That's fine, too," Daryl agreed. "I like both of you. But—if you ain't opposed to a little role playing…"

Michonne sighed dramatically. She winked at Daryl, though, to make sure that he knew she was teasing.

"What'd you have in mind?" She asked.

"What if—I was a man who was desperately, desperately interested in getting to know you better, 'Chonne, and you were—you were just like you are—but you were like a vixen you. A vixen you that desperately, desperately wanted to spend some with me."

"That sounds really romantic, Daryl," Michonne teased.

"I ain't done yet," Daryl said. "The best part. Cherry on the whole thing."

He leaned up to kiss her and Michonne let him. She closed her eyes to the feeling of him nipping at her bottom lip. She kept her eyes closed to the feeling that shot through her body—the feeling that made her feel more like a woman than any other.

"Yeah?" She breathed out. "What's that?"

"We pretend that—we don't even got to do all this gettin' to know each other before the next time somebody needs some milk or a drink of water or—has a nightmare or pisses the bed. It'll be like—we don't go no responsibilities at all for at least a half an hour."

Michonne laughed to herself. She let her body collapse onto his. He didn't protest. Instead, his fingers found her ass again and he moved his hips to grind into her and remind her that he was very much interested in her. No matter what passing struggles she might have with herself or her life, he was very much interested in her.

"I can't turn down a role like that," Michonne teased. "So, you better make the most of it."