Notes: More sex LOL wat. Plot is coming...Wilkerson POV next chapter!

"You gonna come 'round tomorrow evenin'?"

Maya paused, body half inside the closet she had been investigating. The musty smell of mothballs tickled her nose, but she swallowed down a sneeze. "What's tomorrow?"

Mickey was leaning against the bedroom door, rifle in his hands. He was supposedly keeping an eye out for zombs but seemed to be watching her backside instead as she rummaged around in the closet on her hands and knees.

Not that Maya would complain. Mickey had started appearing when she was doing scavenging runs and having him keep a lookout was invaluable; Maya hadn't been touched by a zomb in days. She hadn't been surprised when he had materialized as she had started searching the house, unfazed by his presence.

Mickey shrugged, something shifting in the pack on his back. "Havin' another party. The boys found some crates of whiskey a town over. Job said we're all gonna break 'em open."

Maye pulled a moldy box towards her, wrinkling her nose as she rummaged inside for something usable. "A hillbilly hoedown, huh."

"You know it," Mickey hooked a thumb into his belt loop. "So you gonna come?"

Maya hesitated. Sneaking out might prove hard, but it was doable if she played her cards right. And there wouldn't be anything more public than a party. Seeing her with Mickey might reiterate to the goons that she was off limits. The few run ins she had had so far with them had been…uncomfortable.

"I guess," Maya shuffled backwards out of the closet. "I'll have to check my calendar."

Mickey chuckled, pushing away from the door. "You do that. I'll be lookin' for you."

Maya got to her feet, dusting down her knees. "Aw, leaving so soon?"

He strode forward, and Maya tilted her chin. Chuckling, he bent down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. His mouth was warm, beginning to feel familiar against hers. "Job'll be wonderin' where I got to. You play nice with those fellas shufflin' out front, ya hear?"

Maya snorted, hand moving to the axe at her hip. "No promises."

She watched him leave, a swagger in his step. Rolling her eyes, she crouched back down, rummaging in a drawer. She was truly out of her mind, agreeing to what sounded suspiciously like a date.

The drawer yielded nothing so she moved to the next, keeping an eye out for stashed guns. Her hands touched leather, and curious, Maya wrapped her fingers around what felt like a boot, pulling it out of the recesses of the drawer. She nearly laughed, managing a very unlady-like snort in her attempt to be quiet.

A pair of leather cowboy boots.

All she needed was a hat like Doc's and she'd fit right in. Curious, she checked the size and found them only one size bigger than her own.

"When in Rome…" she muttered, toeing off her combat boots. Sliding the boots on she was surprised at how comfy they were, and she gave a little twirl in the cracked and broken mirror set in the closet door. A rummage through the hanging clothes revealed a few tops she'd take back to the farmhouse for communal wear, some jeans, and a pair of the shortest shorts she'd ever seen. She shook them out, eyeing how the pockets dangled down the legs.

She held them up to her hips, smothering another laugh at the picture she cut in the mirror.

She knew exactly what she was going to wear tomorrow.

Shaking her head at herself, she took the boots off and tossed everything into her duffle, slinging the now heavy bag across her back. The rest of the house was pretty picked clean, and her own boots laced back on, she exited through a back window, avoiding the few moaning corpses loitering on the front porch.

The grasses in the fields were beginning to grow tall without a farmer to control them, and Maya found she had to push through some of them, their long stalks slapping against her thighs as she strode through. As per usual the fields were full with zombs, but Maya skirted around them easily enough, staying just out of reach of their rotting grasping fingers.

The longer time passed, the slower they seemed to get. Maya had hope that eventually they would just rot away completely and be harmless, but it could be years yet.

One of their outposts loomed to her left, and she glanced over at it, assessing. The traps looked still set, and she could see a small hoard ambling towards the barn from the road. Cutting up the hill towards the farmhouse, she heard a small boom in the distance, signaling one of their other outpost traps had succeeded. Maya smiled.

Tyler was on watch as she approached, shooting her a friendly wave. Maya copied it, shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun to look up at him.

"Any trouble?" she called up.

Tyler shook his head. "Nah. A few screamers out in the field but they're staying put. Marcus thought he'd get rid of them once you got back."

Maya chuckled, pulling open the gate. "Nothing I love more than doing some target practice on screamers."

"That's what Marcus said."

She dumped her pack in the bedroom, and had barely taken two steps before being assaulted with things she needed to do from three different people.

She stifled a sigh. Maybe a party wasn't such a bad idea after all. Anything to get away for just a little while.

The Barrett house was as rowdy as the last time she'd been there. The bonfire had been relit, throwing an orange glow across the partiers. The boom box was back, playing an eclectic mix of country and hip hop on repeat.

Maya climbed out of her truck, slamming the door. She felt a bit self-conscious, but gave herself a shake, forcing a shimmy to her walk that had driven Colten and Strand crazy once upon a time. She had chosen a short sleeve white blouse to team with the shorts, and teamed with her new cowboy boots and shorts she felt like a country boy's wet dream.

It was some of the women who noticed her approach first, and they shot distrustful looks towards her. Maya recognized Dylan, one of the goons Job frequently sent to inform her of jobs needing doing. He was sitting down in a chair, his face buried in the neck of a top-heavy woman who looked a few years older than Maya. The woman sneered at Maya as she walked up.

"Well lookee here, if it 'aint the whore comin' to join our fun," she spat, the discolored globule of spit narrowly missing Maya's foot.

Maya arched her eyebrow. And what does that make you exactly?

Another woman swayed close, her hand down a man's jeans. "You 'aint wanted here, Princess."

Maya ignored them, pushing into the throng of bodies. Some drunken men turned to her, smiling goofily.

"'Lo there gorgeous," one slurred, hand groping for her thigh. "Bring some o' that honey over here."

Maya merely moved by, resisting the urge to break any wandering hands. She was here to cement her alliance with the Wilkersons, not ruin it.

It wasn't hard to pinpoint where the Wilkerson brothers were; it was here the throng of women was thickest, almost six in all. Job had two planted on his knees, whispering in their ears. The girls looked barely over eighteen, and Maya wrinkled her nose in disgust as she spotted Job's hands wandering up beneath their tank tops.

"Come on, Mickey," Maya heard a voice wheedle, and she turned, trying to peer through the crowd. "'Just a quickie, I swear."

Like his brother, Mickey was sprawled in a lawn chair, legs wide open as he drank from a bottle of whiskey. A middle-aged woman was trying to slide into the v of his legs, hands kneading his thighs.

Huh. Seemed Maya had some competition. It made sense she supposed, every other woman in the place wanted to bag the protection of one of the Wilkersons for themselves. The other women probably saw Maya as some kind of interloper.

And worse, Mickey wasn't shoving the woman off him. He didn't reciprocate her touch, but he didn't stop her as her hands slid up and down his thighs, moving closer to-

Maya had to do something. She had to get Mickey interested. The music changed to something with a louder beat, and there were drunken hollers, bottles clinking together as the men and women starting gyrating together.

Right, Maya thought stubbornly. I can play this game.

Trying to ignore how stupid she felt, Maya closed her eyes, listening to the beat. Slowly her hips started to move in time, and tossing her head back, Maya gave herself over to the music. She had loved dancing as a younger woman, happy to strut her stuff in the dimly lit clubs she had frequented with her female friends. It was easy to fall into the old habit, and with a smug sense of triumph, she felt several men sway closer.

Opening her eyes, Maya picked the closest man, a goon in ripped jeans and a wife beater. It was easy enough to slide into his space, and he didn't hesitate to slide his grimy hands over her hips. He stank of sweat and alcohol, his breath hot and sharp against her face. She allowed it for a while, before pushing away. Another hand grabbed her arm as she was dragged up against another man, and she followed the movements of his hips with her own.

It was a low snarl that made the man freeze, his hands leaving her as if scorched. Maya stifled a smile.

"Git," came Mickey's growl, and the man scurried off into the crowd. Maya turned, crossing her arms.

"Way to ruin the mood," she remarked drily. Mickey was breathing hard, his hands curled into fists. Behind him the woman who had been touching him lay on the ground as if pushed off him, glaring daggers at Maya.

"And what the hell was that?" Mickey snarled, stepping up into her space. His eyes were wild, every muscle tense as if ready for a fight. Maya tilted her head back defiantly to stare him down, unafraid. "Lettin' him put his fuckin' hands-"

"You were busy," Maya shrugged, as if uncaring. "Thought I'd entertain myself if you weren't going to."

His eyes raked down her body, lingering on her bare legs and boots. "'M here now."

Maya snorted. "Maybe you're too late."

Maya turned her back on him as if to leave. With another growl, he grabbed her, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as he pressed himself up against her back. His body was a hot solid weight against her, dwarfing hers.

"You fuckin' dance like that with anyone but me," he muttered in her ear, fingers digging into the curve of her hips. "And I'll shoot their goddamn cocks off."

Maya smiled slowly. Seemed Mickey was a possessive type of man, and that suited her just fine. She rocked back against him in time to the music, and he moved with her, following the movement of her hips with his own.

"You say the nicest things," Maya turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "I see another woman putting her hands on you like that, I get to cut them off."

Mickey groaned against her ear as she swiveled her hips. "A-fuckin'-men to that, darlin'."

Maya had staked her territory. In the crowd she could see a few of the women shooting angry looks her way, but no-one else approached Mickey the rest of the night, and no-man even dared to look at her.

The fire had died low by the time Mickey dragged her into his room, mouth hot on hers. She could hear the sounds of others nearby, other women who had found their protectors for the night, and it was with a certain smugness that she undressed, throwing her clothes towards the chair. Outside she could hear a few rifle shots signaling that the Wilkersons had at least posted sentries before the party.

"Fuckin' love those boots," Mickey said, pulling them off her feet. Stretching her leg up, he pressed a kiss to the back of her knee. "And damn, woman your legs…Every man was lookin' at you, but you were with me."

Yes I am, Maya thought fiercely, as he took her on top of the blankets of his bed. And you're mine.

Maya noticed a change, after that. Any goons she ran into were respectful, merely giving a nod and moving on their way. No leers, no cat-calls. She fell into a new routine, heading out to do her runs during the day, and usually when she was halfway through gathering, Mickey would appear.

Sometimes he helped her load the bags into her truck, sniping any zombs that came too close. But usually, Maya would find herself sliding up into his space, pressing her curves against his hard angles as the supplies lay forgotten on the floor.

She wasn't sure where it was she lost control of the situation with Mickey Wilkerson. Could be she had lost control that night she made the decision to seek him out in the first place, or maybe it was the first time he showed her that a Wilkerson knew more than just violence.

Whenever it was, Maya found herself fucking Mickey Wilkerson in quiet places all over town. Closets, storerooms, hell they even did it in the big walk in freezer over at the restaurant. It was like she couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get enough of how he made her forget things, even if just for a little while.

The minute his hands touched her skin she forgot about zombies, about the responsibilities awaiting her back at the farmhouse. Mickey didn't need saving, and Maya reveled in the brief respite of his arms.

Today's spot was a hayloft at a barn outpost a few miles away from the farmhouse. It was cliché, but Maya forgot to care as Mickey tumbled her into the sun-warmed straw, his mouth demanding and full of promise. The moments grabbed in town were always rough and quick, both ever mindful of the danger lurking around every corner. But out here, with zombs fewer and further between, they could take their time, and it was like the first time, slow, quiet and far too intimate.

Afterwards he sprawled out on his back, hands folded behind his head looking like a pleased tom cat. Maya sat up, picking a loose strand of hay out of hair, not bothering to cover herself. She had lost her embarrassment about being naked around Mickey.

"Sometimes I think I'm dreamin," Mickey mumbled. "And I'm gonna wake up soon." Maya paused, glancing over at him.

"What?"

Mickey rolled onto his side, uncaring of his nudity. He stretched out his hand, stroking her bare thigh. Goosebumps rose at his touch. "You, me. This."

Maya blinked at him, trying to wrap her head around what he was implying.

"You've lost me."

Mickey snorted, sitting up. His palm slid up her thigh, towards her belly. "Back before all this, you wouldn't be caught dead with me. A pretty woman like you, I bet you had men linin' up outside your door to just get a look. A poor bastard like me wouldn't get close."

Maya frowned. He wasn't exactly wrong. Before all this, Maya would probably have crushed men like Mickey under her heel in bar brawls.

His fingers touched her hip. "What changed?"

Maya narrowed her eyes at him. "What changed? How about the end of the world?"

Mickey chuckled. "Sure. 'Cept you've got plenty of strappin' men at your beck and call back in your group. And most of them a hell of a lot younger than me."

He moved closer, wrapping his hands around her waist and drawing her into his lap. "Why me, Maya? Why an old dog with bad manners?"

"You're not old."

"Older than you."

"I have a rifle older than myself."

Mickey rolled his eyes, pressing a light kiss against her lips. "Quit your bitchin' and just tell me."

Maya considered the question. The truth was off limits, but lying didn't sit well with her.

"Because…" she shrugged helplessly. "You're a survivor. I'm tired of looking after people all the time, Mickey, people who look to me as some sort of leader. I wanted…" she frowned searching for a word. "I wanted an equal. Someone who could even look after me from time to time."

Mickey laughed, nuzzling his nose into her dark hair. "And you thought a Wilkerson would suit."

"No," Maya said truthfully, stroking her hands down his arms. "Just you."

Mickey went quiet at that, and she lay in his arms, content with the silence. She trailed her fingers down his forearm, head resting on his shoulder. The hair on his arms was dark and coarse, and she played with it, tracing patters with her fingertips.

"When I first saw you," Mickey suddenly said, and Maya paused. "I thought you was some uppity bossy bitch come to make our lives a livin' hell."

Maya snorted. "Not much has changed."

Mickey squeezed her lightly, and she fell silent. "You just sauntered in and…that was that. You took care of Eli, though he was no kin of yours. You helped us fight off that fat fucker and you didn't kick up no fuss 'bout it."

He stroked her shoulder, pushing her hair away. "You helped folks. That one fella, the one Job beat up so bad-"

"Sam," Maya murmured. "His name's Sam."

"Sam," Mickey acknowledged. "He owed us. And you just stepped in and paid it in full. You didn't expect nothin' in return you just did it 'cause that's what you do."

Silent, Maya let him speak. Mickey sighed.

"I couldn't understand it. No-one ever treated me and mine like that, so why should we go 'round treatin' strangers like they're family? I thought you were outta you're goddamn mind."

He kissed the curve of her shoulder. "Now I'm the one outta my goddamn mind. I'm fuckin' useless back at the house, always just waitin' till I can come out here and see you. I feel like a goddamn teenager again, horny as hell every time I catch even a glimpse of ya. Hell, I don't even get all that mad and lose my temper no more. What you done to me?"

Maya raised her head from his shoulder. "I keep hearing about this fabled Wilkerson temper. Never seen it."

"And you don't wanna," Mickey scolded her, tucking her hair behind her ear. "'Aint nothin' a lady should see."

Maya laughed. "A lady? Is that what I am?" She shifted on his lap, grinning as he growled at her. "Would a lady be in such a delicate…position?"

Mickey's eyes were heated. "Naw. Only a fuckin' zombie killin' Goddess."

Maya choked back a laugh and Mickey seized the opportunity to topple her onto her back, pinning her wrists to the straw as he hovered over her.

"Guess what I'm tryin' to say," he muttered gruffly, embarrassed. "Is you're goddamn beautiful, Maya. And I'm a lucky bastard."

Maya smiled, pleased and unexpectedly touched. "See? Compliments. You're just full of surprises, Wilkerson."

He leaned down to kiss her, nipping her lower lip.

"Lord knows I try."

Being with Mickey…was so much easier than she had ever imagined. As he released her wrists, she wound her arms around his shoulders, hooking her knees over his hips.

He made her forget things, made her…feel.

Even only being with him for a short time had shown her a different side to him, so far from the arrogant hillbilly she had thought he was. With his men he was brisk and authoritive, not afraid to get his point across with harsh words and fists. With her, he was…softer. Gentler. And that gentler side was hers, and hers alone.

As he made love to her in the straw, the dead shuffling below them, Maya could admit to herself that she was starting to actually like Mickey Wilkerson.

The sun was low in the sky by the time Maya trudged through the front gate to the farmhouse. Lily was waiting as she entered, watching her as Maya stashed her pack and weapons.

"You're back late," Lily said.

Maya chuckled, reaching out to give the young woman a mischievous poke. "What are you, my mother? Took a while gathering stuff."

Lily watched her as Maya crouched to check that the contents of her bag were still intact.

"Maya," she began haltingly. "You know you can count on us right?"

Maya paused, glancing up. Lily was twisting her hands, avoiding her eyes. "Sure I do. What's wrong, Lil?"

Lily shook her head. "It's nothing just…we've got your back okay? You spend so much time making sure we're safe. You save us when we get into trouble and get us supplies. We're all alive because of you. But you don't have to be superwoman all the time, we can help you too, if you let us."

Maya got to her feet. "I appreciate the sentiment, Lil. What's brought this on?"

Lily smiled shakily. "I just…wanted you to know. That if you're in trouble, we're here."

Her piece said, Lily scuttled back towards the radio room. Maya stared perplexedly after her. What exactly had gotten into her?

Maya shrugged, heading for the kitchen. Marcus was there, sitting at the table and reading a manual on gardening.

"Gonna try your hand at a farmers life?" Maya asked, grabbing the chair opposite him. "I bet you'd look good in overalls."

Marcus put the leaflet down with a snort. "I've been reading this damn thing for fifteen minutes and it still doesn't make a lick of sense. I don't think farming is my thing."

He pushed the leaflet away. "How you been, Maya? Haven't seen much of you lately."

"You know how it is. No rest for the wicked."

Marcus cracked a smile, but it was tired. "You hear about our neighbours across the way?"

Maya frowned. "No. You mean the group up on the hill by the water tower?"

"Yeah. Sam stopped by this morning. They're…well. They didn't make it."

"Christ," Maya leaned back in her seat. "What happened?"

Marcus grimaced. "By the looks of it one of those big ones got in. They didn't stand a chance."

"Fuck," Maya ran a hand through her hair. "They had like ten people over there. All of them gone?"

"Sam couldn't exactly figure out who was who. Way she told it, the bodies were just…mush."

"Godammit," Maya slapped her palm on the table. "Just…fuck. I knew we should've tried to get them more supplies."

"Probably wouldn't have helped," Marcus tried to console her. "Not against one of them."

"Still. We should double the watch for a few nights. Make sure we don't get the same visitors."

Marcus nodded. "You got it."

Maya rose. "Thanks, Marcus. I know I never say it but…you do a great job around here."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Not nearly as great as you. But thanks, Maya. Appreciate it."

Maya headed for the comm room. There was a call she needed to make that she'd been putting off.