There was a time Daryl wouldn't 'a known his ass from his elbow when it came to babies. He'd never had any call to. Wasn't like he was the settlin' down type, and he sure as hell wasn't the kinda person a lady turned to when she needed a baby held for some reason or another.

He was glad for it, too, back then. It was probably stupid – Merle sure as shit woulda given him grief about it if he'd ever found out, but hell, Merle gave him grief about just about everything, the son of a bitch – but babies made him antsy. Little bundles of soft skin and fat, always cryin' out or shitting themselves or throwin' up for no good reason. Couldn't even hold their own heads up for a while, and at least where Daryl grew up, they had a nasty habit of dyin' in the middle of the night.

No, far as Daryl was concerned, there wasn't nothin' good to come of havin' a baby around, and soon as he found out about Lori, he was already bracing himself for a righteous pain in the ass.

He's not real sure when he changed his mind. He was doin' a lot of it back in those days, it seemed like, but he reckons once they lost the farm, that was really when he stopped lookin' at the bump on Lori's belly like the eighth plague of Egypt – or would it've been the eleventh? Hell if he knew – and started actually hopin' they could make it work. 'Cause wouldn't that be somethin'? A big middle finger to that damn virus or whatever the hell it was turnin' the world all to shit, or at least turning it more in that direction than it already was. The world'd always been shit for Daryl; there's just a different shape to it, now.

He busted his ass for that baby, though. Didn't mean nothin'; wasn't looking for nothin' or expecting nothin' in return. He just…wanted to help. Wouldn't 'a felt right knowing there was somethin' he could do to keep them in food and not doin' it. Especially Lori, eatin' for two. She needed the food more'n anybody.

Then when it happened. When everything went to hell in a handbasket because of that bastard inmate, and Lori….

But then there was Lil' Asskicker. He knew that was no name for a baby; he wasn't an idiot. But he'd been calling it that in his head near enough since day one, his own private joke, 'cause in his head, Rick was Asskicker. Doin' what needed doin', kicking all their asses into shape and keeping them that way all winter. There were times he didn't much like it; he'd never been as wild as his brother, but he didn't care for bein' told what to do, neither. He realized pretty quick, though, that Rick was somebody worth listenin' to, and probably the only reason they made it out in more or less one piece.

Way Daryl saw it, it was his turn to shoulder the load a little. Least he could do, and he wasn't loosing anybody else. Wasn't lettin' Rick lose anybody else, neither. Everything he had anymore, he reckoned he owed him and the rest of the group; they coulda just left him. Tossed him aside like everyone else'd done his whole damn life, but they hadn't. Least he could do was find food for the baby. Save one life.

He knew it didn't make up for the ones he couldn't – Lori, T-Dogg, and, far as he knew at the time, Carol – but all he could do was try.

It's what we do.

The moment he held that baby, the second he had her in his arms, it was like a light switch flickin' on in his head. Everything he thought about babies bein' useless, bein' nasty little shit- and puke-machines, it went right out, because he was holding a goddamn baby. Flesh and blood, and much as he tried tellin' himself she wasn't his flesh and blood, it didn't take. He knew right then he'd die for the little bundle in his arms, just as soon as he'd die for anybody else in their group. In a heartbeat.

Nah. Not even that.

He hopes it don't come down to that, though. Maybe it don't scare him as much as it ought to, dying, not after the way he's lived, but it ain't somethin' he's chomping at the bit for, neither. Besides, if he bites it, that's the end of all the good times, too. Times like this.

It's a quiet evening. There aren't many of 'em, since the Woodbury crowd piled in. They got walkers herding at the fences more often than not now days, and there's a lot more mouths to feed. But they've got food for days – at least, three or four of them, which compared to the winter before feels like bein' set for life – and Daryl's not goin' out 'til tomorrow to check the snares. There's still shit to do around the place, the usual day to day cleaning up and cooking and guard, but none of it's Daryl's for the night.

He's not real sure how he ended up like this, though.

He's babysitting. He says he is sometimes to Rick when he's taking newbies on some of their first runs, but this's the genuine article. He's sitting in his cell, two hands full of six-month-old, and she's gurglin' and gagain', and damned if it's not the strangest thing Daryl's laid eyes on. Not bad. Just…strange.

"C'mon," he says, hefting her up onto her little booted feet again. 'Cept there's not much hefting to it; she don't weigh twenty pounds soaking wet. "On yer feet. Ain't gonna be kickin' much ass if you can't even keep upright, are ya?"

She don't say nothin', just gurgles a little more, giggles some, and her pretty little eyes go all bright. She eats like Daryl's the best thing since sliced bread. Or formula or somethin' he guesses, since she ain't really on a lot of real food just yet. But anyhow, she's looking at him with this big old gummy smile, and Daryl can't remember a time he's ever seen anybody look at him like that, 'cept her. No fear, no judgment, no disgust or nothin' like that. The others don't look at him with much of any of that, neither, but there's always something in their eyes. Even Rick gets that look sometimes, like he's not real sure about him. He knows he trusts him, if only 'cause he keeps tellin' him so, and he reckons they do a lot of things together they wouldn't be doing if Rick had a problem with him.

Then again, his folks didn't seem too damn happy with each other, and Daryl's still walking the earth. So who the hell knows?

He shakes his head. That was a different life, way back when, and for all everyone pisses and moans about the walkers and the end of the world, Daryl's not real sure if someone offered him the choice, if he'd choose to go back to it. Might be that's selfish as shit. People like Rick and Hershel and most the folks there are the prison, they had lives before all this. Good ones. Sayin' he wants the world like this just so he don't have to go back the way he was….

Judith all the sudden lets out a little whimper that snaps Daryl out of his head, and he knows that sound, just like he knows the sound of a squirrel in the trees or Rick's boots on the ground. Means she's got it in her little mind to do some hollerin', unless he figures out real quick what she wants, and gives it to her.

"Alright, alright," he says, picking her up and tucking her up against his chest in hopes of staving off the outburst as long as he can while he rises from his crouch on the floor. He's no expert in babies even now, but he's got it down to a few things she usually wants when she gets all bent outta shape. Food, sleep, or a diaper change are usually on the shortlist, except she's started teething lately, so that's a whole different story. Considerin' Beth changed her before she passed her off – Daryl near enough told her she had to, 'cause he'll take on a herd of walkers if he's got to, but changing diapers is somethin' he'll avoid if he can help it – and Daryl just finished feeding her a little while ago, he reckons it's really down to two. And much as he wishes it'd just be sleep, she's drooling somethin' fierce all down her front and his, and she's got her fingers stuck up in her mouth, so he's thinking it's probably those baby teeth Carol says she'll be cutting soon.

He frowns in sympathy. He can't rightly remember it himself, what she's going through, but he's been socked in the teeth a few times more'n he likes to remember, and there ain't nothing fun about a sore mouth.

"Poor Lil' Asskicker." He feels bad for her; he really does, and there's nothing for it but picking up the little rubber ring from the table and sticking it in her mouth. He's just hoping that's enough. "Chew on that a while." As he speaks, he's shifting her around, cradling her in his arm and bouncing her a little 'cause she seems to like it. He jokes with himself it's 'cause she spent so long inside Lori getting all bounced around when they were running like they were, so she's just used to it.

There's a terse moment where she keeps right on whimpering, and Daryl's not real sure what he'll do if she starts out and out crying. It ain't like she's never done it to him before, but he hates it every time she does.

But then her jaws start working around the toy, and her fingers curl around the hard plastic ring at the end. She's still whining a little, but it's a step in the right direction. It's enough to make Daryl smile in relief.

"That better? Huh, Lil' Asskicker?" he whispers, bouncing her gently with the one arm and holding onto her toy with the other just in case she thinks of somethin' more interesting to do with her hands. "That helpin' any?"

He reckons it is, even if she doesn't say so, and that's a relief for the both of them.

"Never could stand to see a pretty girl cry," he says. He swears, he dotes on this little girl like she's a princess, and he knows he's in trouble come time she learns to talk, 'cause he can't hardly imagine any request comin' out of her mouth he wouldn't bend over backwards trying to fill.

That's a problem for another time, though. Right now, she's starting to settle down. She's stopped wriggling around so much and is just sitting there kind of gumming at the rubber toy.

And that's when Daryl hears it: one of those noises he's got down like the sound of his own heartbeat. Boots on concrete, not real hurried, with a particular kinda gait that Daryl knows near as well as his own.

It's Rick.

He can feel his eyes on him, on his back, and Daryl can't rightly say why – it's just this feeling he's got – but he don't turn around. He waits. For what, he can't rightly say either. Maybe for Rick to say somethin'. To come on in like he usually does. To do something.

But then he hears those boots again. The walk's a little faster now, a little more deliberate, and Daryl finally turns just in time to see him disappearin' off down the walk like he's got someplace important to be in a hurry.

Daryl don't claim to be much of an expert when it comes to people, but he ain't blind, neither. 'Specially not when it comes to Rick. Rick's the man in control, even if he says he ain't, and Daryl learned early on to get a good read on the big man in the house. It's how he steered clear of at least some of his old man's rougher nights.

He ain't trying to compare them, mind. That back then, that was fear makin' him look out for his old man. And maybe it started out that way with Rick, but it ain't like that anymore. Now he just…knows. It's instinct. And Daryl's instincts are tellin' him there's somethin' up.

Frowning deeper, Daryl tears his eyes from the cell block outside and looks back at Judith. She's settled right down, eyes closed and mouth still workin' over the toy like it's natural as breathing. "What's goin' on with your old man, huh?" he asks the sleeping babe. And just like always, she don't answer. That's just fine.

Daryl intends to find out, though.