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Lori never realised how lucky they were with Carl. He was a quiet, content baby who rarely cried or kept them up at night. Little Judith is different, unsettled and kolicky. Lori can’t remember the last time she slept more than two or three hours at the time and she can’t help but wonder if the reason for why Judith makes such a fuss is because she somehow knows she was shafted from the get-go, born into such a hostile world.
Rick takes more than his fair share of nights, but Rick isn’t here right now. He and Glenn and T-Dog left two days ago to try to find more gas for the generator in the basement, and they’re not back yet. It’s not time to start worrying about them, not yet, but here, in the dead of night, as she walks the dark hallways of the old prison with a wailing, squirming baby in her arms, she can’t help but think ‘what if?’ What if Rick doesn’t make it back this time? What if she’s left alone to raise two children in a world that doesn’t seem to want them alive?
Little Judith won’t stop crying. She’s not hungry and she doesn’t need to be changed, it’s like she’s just crying for the hell of it, and Lori’s so exhausted by now that she feels like crying herself. She daydreams about beds these days, soft, plush beds where she can just lie down and sleep for hours without being woken.
It has to be almost three o’clock in the morning. There aren’t many clocks still working, but they all seem to have developed a sense of time anyway. The concrete walls are institution green and claustrophobic and Judith’s cries are echoing in the enclosed space. Lori can’t take any more of it. She decides to head outside, hoping that some fresh air might clear her head and help her stay awake.
It’s spring now and the night air is cool, but it’s not so cold it’s uncomfortable. Lori knows how lucky they were to be able to spend the winter in this place, and even if the walkers thawed out with the rest of the world when the warmth returned, it’s beginning to feel like it's okay to hope again. Like they might actually be able to survive this after all.
If only she could get some sleep.
Lori walks round and round what used to be the exercise yard, follows the chain link fence while she rocks Judith in her arms, murmuring soft little words, pleading with her to just be quiet and go to sleep.
It’s all silence around them, the night soft and velvety dark. Lori is so focused on her daughter that she doesn’t realise that she’s not alone in the yard until she almost walks right into the man who’s leaning against the fence. She jumps and can’t hold back a yelp before she sees who it is.
“Jesus, Daryl, you scared me!”
He ducks his head in silent apology. During the long winter, the group has come together, gotten closer, but Daryl is still something of a stranger. He became Rick’s right hand man after Shane, he always steps up when he’s needed, and Lori feels safe with him around, knows that he’d give his life to protect the group. But Daryl still doesn’t talk much and he rarely shares anything about his personal life or his past.
Judith’s wailing even louder now. Lori must’ve scared her when she jumped in surprise.
“Here, let me take her for a minute.” Daryl holds his hands out, motioning for Lori to hand over the baby.
She hesitates, watching Daryl’s hands. Rough and calloused, covered in little nicks and scars from fletching arrows. She’s used to seeing him killing walkers and dressing deer. She can’t imagine him holding a baby. Then she remembers all the time he spent searching for Sophia, how he keeps looking after Carol and Beth and even Carl sometimes, how she trusts him to make sure they’re all safe.
Daryl motions for her again,a little impatient now, and Lori figures it won’t hurt. Her arms are getting tired and a few minutes’ rest is better than nothing. She carefully hands Judith over to Daryl, expecting to have to show him how to hold her properly. He surprises her by taking the baby so gently, cupping a chapped hand around her neck to support her little head and holding her close against his chest, like he’s done it a thousand times before.
Judith squirms a little at first, but then she stops crying, makes a snuffling little sound, snuggles up against him and drops off to sleep almost immediately.
Lori really does start crying then. Judith won’t settle down with her own mother, but goes quiet and happy in the arms of Daryl Dixon, of all people.
Daryl looks up at her and then looks away, his expression uncomfortable and annoyed, and Lori hates herself for falling apart like this, but she’s so tired, she feels like a terrible mother, and it’s all so unfair.
“What am I doing wrong?” The last word comes out as a choked off sob.
Daryl winces, keeps looking down at Judith so he won’t have to meet Lori’s eyes. “You ain’t doin’ anything wrong. You’re just tired and worried and the kid knows her mama’s unhappy so she’s unhappy too.” He carefully strokes his big hand down Judith’s fragile back. “They’re a bit like animals. They won’t let you come close if they can sense you’re unsettled.”
Lori doesn’t know if she ought to take offense to her daughter being compared to wild game, but she decides she’s far too exhausted to take offense to anything right now. “I didn’t know you knew anything about children,” she says instead.
Daryl shrugs. “I had a little sister. Josie. Only good thing my old man ever did in his life.”
It’s the first time Lori’s ever heard Daryl talk about his family, other than Merle. She pauses, wonders if she should just leave it at that and not say anything else, but something makes her continue.
“Did she... was it the virus?”
Daryl shakes his head. “Naw. She died in an accident, long ago. No more than seven years old. She got off easy. Pa was never the same, after.”
He holds Judith a little closer and Lori feels a lump of something undefinable in her throat. She knows she’s just been handed a small piece of the complicated jigsaw puzzle that makes up Daryl Dixon, and it’s almost a little humbling to discover that he trusts her enough to tell her about this. She opens her mouth to say something else, but Daryl turns away from her, his body language signalling that sharing time is over.
“Go get some sleep,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ll watch her little highness for you.”
Lori’s ready to go to sleep standing up but she figures she has to give him something in return. She reaches out to put her hand on his shoulder and immediately feels his muscles tense up under her fingers. He does that a lot, she’s noticed, like he’s expecting a blow every time someone tries to touch him.
“Thank you,” she says. “For everything. I know we don’t say it enough.”
Daryl meets her eyes for a split moment, gives her a short nod, and then turns his head again, looking out into the darkness. Lori leaves him and Judith there in the yard and staggers off to bed, secure in the knowledge that her daughter couldn’t possibly be safer.