AN: The usual disclaimer. I do not own any part of The Walking Dead franchise and no infringement is intended or expected.

Here's a tiny story I pulled from the depths of my hard drive. Life continues to keep me busy but I always love dropping a little update when I can. Hope you enjoy.

In the dead of night, their relationship was so uncomplicated. She was a woman, he was a man; how they related to each other outside of those basic roles didn't matter. In the dead of night, she wasn't a single mother fresh out of a relationship, a son the only reward for her trouble. He wasn't a rolling stone, rough around the edges and damaged, dangerous and vulnerable all at the same time. In the dark where they lay naked together side by side, she wasn't a professional, he wasn't a hustler. Yet they were both survivors. Warriors. And that spirit came out whenever they were together.

In the dead of night, all that faded away. The residual drama of their complex day jobs and responsibilities got drowned out by the passion, sweat and scandal. Or rather, the scandal it would cause if anyone knew about their dead of night activities.

By day, she was the lawyer sent on assignment from Washington D.C. to extend the long arm of the law into the backwoods of Georgia. And he was one of the fools she called herself reaching for, not necessarily a big hitter but an associate. A co-conspirator, even if he didn't know it. Whatever he called it, she'd been sent to shut him and his kind down. Ms. DOJ meets Mr. Degenerate.

Except when she'd come sniffing around to get her hands dirty with the goings on at the outskirts of Atlanta, she'd run straight into him and it was game over for both of them.

It made him cringe to think of those early days. The interviews and the hostility from both of them; then the negotiations as they separated the small fries from the big hitters and cracked down on the ringleaders of the crime ring that had gotten a little too cocky and a lot too careless. His brother Merle had barely escaped a federal charge, mainly by turning narc on his buddies and cutting a deal with the U.S. Attorney. The feds had questioned him too, a series of interviews when they were trying to confirm who was who in the operation. He hadn't been much help—all the folks they wanted, he barely knew. He may be a transient low-life, the instigator of a fight or two at the bar or a small time hustle on the side. But he tried to stay above board—no drugs, no guns and no illegal bullshit.

The first time he'd seen her in that interview room, she'd looked tough and serious. And also sad. Then he'd noticed how she looked in that suit she wore. It was a damn shame a woman could look that formal and still so damn sexy, a bit of cleavage peeking out of the blouse, the pull of fabric across her curves as she put her hands into her pocket. He'd shaken it off at the time, but something about her got a reaction out of him. When he next saw her walking into that tucked away bar outside of town, she intrigued him with her casual air and guarded demeanor. Before she'd spotted him, she didn't bother to hide the weight pulling down her heart. After she spotted him, she only shrugged, sat at the bar and sipped her bourbon without another glance his way.

Two weeks and three more run-ins later, they were spending nights together letting go of everything they'd been shielding from the world. In each other's company, they found a satisfaction long denied. They'd both felt it that first night when they'd stumbled their way to his bedroom and he'd let her undress him.

They told no one, her for concern about compromising her job, and him because he didn't have anyone to tell. However, she wasn't embarrassed and he appreciated that. It was more that she didn't want to be bothered to put a label on things. She wasn't about disclosing her business like who she fucked, as if her job was the IRS collecting what was due to them. And their "relationship" complicated things, even if the arrests had been made, the sentences doled out and her temporary apartment all but packed back up to return to DC following her 18 months on assignment in Atlanta.

They didn't talk about the "where is this going" part of things. They both knew, although accepting it was a different story.

Lying in bed beside her, he didn't look at her after their latest round. Instead he felt her turn onto her side to face him. There wasn't much to make out in the darkened room. And even if there was enough light, all he'd see was a reminder of how beautiful she was, how much he liked touching her and laying alongside her. In the dark, it all kind muddled in his mind as it was meant to be.

Her husky voice broke into the silence and into his thoughts. "Mike wants to stay here."

Daryl turned his head to face her and noticed a ray of outside light bounce along her shoulder, a passing headlight or maybe a movement of cloud cover in the moonless sky.

"And they offered me a permanent place at the Atlanta office here," she continued. "If I want it."

Had it been fate that she'd frequented his dive bar that night out of nostalgia for her modest upbringing? Happenstance that she'd requested the assignment that crossed their paths because her former lover and father of her child had taken a temporary job in Atlanta and begged her to follow? Or was it fate conspiring to complicate his life more than he could deal with for a little while.

Except now she was telling him she might stay. And whatever the situation, he was falling for her.

When they thought she'd be leaving in a couple of weeks, he'd pushed down his attachment to her. The entire time they'd been together, she talked about how things would be when she finally headed back north. It had never bothered him much; it wasn't like he figured any different and they were having a good enough time. He wondered when the hell he started caring.

Now? Well, now that she might stay, he'd have to face it; own it. That's not what he'd bargained for when he'd knocked on her door tonight with a smirk and something to prove.

Michonne turned onto her back, her arms across her abdomen and sheet pulled up to cover her breasts. Only a short time ago, he'd felt them pressed against him as she held on for dear life and moved intensely along his body. In that moment, he wouldn't have minded if she never let go.

"You gon' take it? You stickin' around for a while more?" Michonne's silence unnerved him. Or maybe it was the sound in his voice at asking her, in his own way, if they'd be spending any more nights together like this.

A minute passed and Daryl felt his heart speed up waiting for her to respond. "Andre likes it here. Mike and I have a system that works. Maybe I don't need to run from that."

Daryl glanced at her, his head cocked to the side. He could tell she was tense, her face mostly that serene calmness, yet he noticed the slight tightness to her mouth, those lips he'd been kissing moments before. Glancing back up at he ceiling, he stopped himself from sighing. That'd probably piss her off and he learned quick not to ever be about that. Instead, he glanced back at her again, her eyes now downcast and distant.

Before he could over-think it, he turned over on his side and took her in. Then he moved to hover above her, staring her down until her eyes slid up to meet his.

"Yeah?" he asked, gruff, harsh.

Their eyes held, steel-solid, sparked. A grin touched the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah." Her reply was tentative, almost shy. A whisper.

So she said she was staying? Well, he could handle that.

"Good."

He leaned down but didn't have to move too far before her lips were on his, their kisses lingering before turning passionate. Her hands skimmed his cheeks, through his hair and then wrapped around him in a fierce embrace—fierce like everything about her and everything that made him want more of her. He could spend every damn night tangling beasts with his Michonne.

Because in the dead of the night, he felt pretty fucking alive with this woman.

Fini