Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: This story is meant to fit in during the latter half of season three, episode: "I aint a Judas". Specifically after Andrea and Milton chopped off the arms and smashed out the teeth of that walker she used as protection on her journey to the prison but before they came across Tyresse's group in the forest. * Inspired but the following prompt on the kink meme: Milton/Andrea - First time: "He always meant to get around to having sex; more to just have the experience, really, connect the sensations with the physiological changes a healthy male should go through when getting aroused, but he just never got the chance. Until Andrea. - Bonus points if it's sometime during their little pet-walker making adventure together."

Warnings: Contains season three spoilers, references to Milton's background, adult language, possible consent issues, and mature content. And well, smut.

Statistical Improbabilities

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it. Biologically speaking, it was nearly impossible for a healthy, red-blooded American male not to. But in his case, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he'd never experienced any pressing need to put the ultimate expression of human sexuality to the test.

Not in the physical sense at least.

But still, the desire for the experience, purely for comparison of course, had always been there, stalled and uncertain in the back of his mind. He'd always figured he'd get around to it sooner or later. Just not now, not like this.

Either way, that lack of experience was probably why he'd completely missed the signs. He realized this just a few hours too late, recognizing the exact moment when Andrea had finally given up on patience, backed him right into a tree and basically declared a full out blitzkrieg on his lips.

But then, he supposed he was getting ahead of himself.

After they'd removed the biter's teeth, the rest of the process had been relatively easy. Andrea had been fearless, her movements natural and smooth where his were hesitant and unpracticed. There was pride there, too. Not on his side, but on hers. It was the kind that was self-assured because it had been hard-earned and had likely come at a price. The kind that spoke of desperation and anger, emotions which had been twisted together to form a new whole, until each kill echoed out more like restitution or some twisted sense of release than strictly necessity.

She approached the biters differently than he did, only natural considering their conflicting ideologies. She viewed them as either tools or obstacles - black or white with no grey area in-between. In her mind they were something to be dealt with quickly and efficiently, without such things as remorse or pity. And while he didn't share it, he certainly understood it, the survivor mentality. After all, she'd lived it. Meanwhile, he still believed that there was something in them that could be saved or at least harnessed and used for good. When he looked at them, he saw them as who they'd been rather than what they were now. Whereas Andrea only saw the monster, the creatures that went bump in the night.

He wasn't ready to give up on an entire generation of humanity just because of outward appearances - especially considering what he'd observed so far. Because he'd witnessed them, those awkward little glimmers of humanity. Like the occasional use of a tool or that strange, unnecessary pause that sometimes occurs as they approach you - something akin to recognition or regret, something human. He was convinced that something of the person remained. He just had to tap into it and coax it out into the light. …Somehow.

Or perhaps Merle had been right after all; maybe he had been spending too much time in the lab.

He wiped his hands fastidiously, momentarily torn on whether to put the filthy handkerchief back in his breast pocket or just discard it. He eyed the bloody smears distastefully, eventually wincing and trying to put it out of his mind as he tucked it into his trouser pocket. He'd disinfect them both later.

He watched with detached interest as Andrea wrestled the biter towards a nearby tree. The stumps of its arms waved rather impotently as she lassoed it by the neck and tied it to the sturdy willow on the other side of the clearing.

…Interesting.

His fingers itched with the desire to write it all down as Andrea made her way back across the clearing, eventually having to settle with making a mental note of the biter's behavior as she bent down and collected the machete. She paused to check the sharpness of the blade against the sole of her boot before nodding and wiping it across the trunk of a weedy looking oak. Nose crinkling as the blood, half coagulated and rancid, stuck to the bark in awkward lumps of dirt-encrusted gore until the blade glinted clean in the low light.

But he barely noticed. Hell, he was already writing the outline of the afternoon's excursion in the back of his mind. It was an important observation after all, one that deserved further research and experimentation at the very least. This could be a breakthrough in developing a base-line for their behavior. Perhaps even a rough determination of the point where instinct and learned behavior branch off into conscious thought and personal awareness.

'The subject clearly has no awareness of its recent handicap. No outward reaction to either its recent dismemberment and the removal it's incisors. Must explore the possibility of sensory memory versus instinctual memory at a later date. Outwardly, its behavior indicates that-'

But he was cut off when Andrea leaned forward unexpectedly, small palm curling around his shoulder as she balanced on one foot and tugged off her boot. She caught him off guard as the flush of her hip bumped against his, hopping about with an endearing wiggle and an awkward sort of grace as she balanced herself against him, shaking the rocks out of her boot before slipping it back on. Her fingers lingered just a second too long as they slid down the length of his lapels, grazing across the dips of his collarbone in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, skin suddenly alive with static and warmth as she left red marks across the span of his chest – like tire tracks on a worn dirt road.

Slightly bemused, he adjusted his glasses and sent her a small smile. The actions and antics of women were largely a mystery to him, as they were to any man, he supposed. He tried to put it out of his mind - deciding to chalk it up to stress and personal quirks as he shook himself and took stock of their surroundings.

"Is that all you needed?" He asked, distracted despite her closeness as the walker snapped its jaws ineffectually in their direction. Its milky eyes rolled up in its head as it tugged just a bit too hard on the ropes and thudded back against the tree in a way that would have been amusing if it hadn't been so horrible.

Uncomfortably pathetic also came to mind now that he thought about it.

"Not quite," she purred. It sounded ridiculous to admit it, but it sounded like something you'd be more likely to hear during the climax of some superfluous Hollywood romance. Only there was no other way to describe it. Because somewhere along the line her tone had gone deep, sensuous and appealing in a way that it nearly caused his brain to misfire, thoughts peeling off like geese migrating south as his head snapped up so fast he swore he left half his face behind in the process.

The tips of his ears grew warm as he blinked into the stillness. Trying and failing to fight off a heady dose of confusion and discomfort when he realized she hadn't moved away. What did she mean by 'not quite?'

He took a pointed step backwards when she flipped her hair and smiled, twirling one of her curls between her thumb and index finger as she cocked her head and grinned. Almost as if she found his nervousness amusing as she invaded his personal space with barely a pause. Full hips swaying almost hypnotically as she advanced a few worrisome inches closer.

Did she really have to stand so close?

He rewound their entire conversation in his mind's eye, desperate for some sort of clue that would explain her strange behavior. Looking for something, anything that would make all this make sense. Had he inadvertently offended her? Jesus, what had he said now? Whatever it was, it had to be bad. Bad enough to explain the reason why she was looking at him like she was sizing him up - taking him in from parted hair to dirty cuffs in a way that made him feel more like a prized steer up for auction than he was particularly comfortable with.

He took another step backwards, mouth opening then closing again as he struggled to put his thoughts into words. He lost his train of thought completely when she simply followed him, matching his steps with her own as the muted hush of his boots flared out into the stillness like surrender.

And all the while, that same, smug little smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Mysterious and elusive as his eyes darted across her face, just a few emotions shy of pleading when his search revealed nothing. He didn't understand. He didn't have a baseline. Why was she being so-

Action, reaction, causation – hell, it was basic chemistry. But why?

The entire thing made him feel as though he'd just been thrown into a brutal game of cat and mouse but with no idea of how or even why he was there in the first place. It just didn't make sense.

"Andrea, what do you think you're…I-I mean, what are yo-"

But he didn't get a chance to finish because suddenly, in less time than it took for him to process what had just happened, his back met with the broad side of the old maple that crowned the edge of the clearing. His center of gravity tilted, causing him to stumble backwards and lose his footing, boot heels struggling to find traction in the hard, Georgian clay as his knuckles scored painfully across the unforgiving bark.

And with barely a pause, she was on him in less than five seconds flat.

Almost as if she'd known all along, and the metaphor of leading a bull around by its horns took on a whole new meaning.

A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This is the second story I have written for the pairing, so feedback would be much appreciated! The next part should be ready in a few days.

"The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other." ― Victor Hugo.