AN: Here we go, another chapter for you all.

Keep in mind we have a long way to go with this story. The first part of this chapter is Caryl centric and the second part begins introducing us to some of our other characters, because…if you know me well…you know that they get their own spotlights and one thing I want to do in this story…one of my intentions from the beginning…is actually to give the other characters a chance to shine some and to showcase their particular personalities and lives in the story.

I hope you enjoy the chapter (although this may be one that I mean I hope it's not too badly written). Let me know what you think!

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Daryl usually fell asleep immediately following sex. He had always felt like he was one of those stereotypical men that immediately came and then rolled over, passing out for at least an hour in the sweet aftermath of the release.

But this time, he wasn't falling asleep…his mind was racing…and Carol was already asleep, leaving him alone with his thoughts in the bed that he'd been in before, though he hardly remembered the first time, and abandoned shortly after.

And for the moment, he'd decided not to abandon it this time.

The sex that they'd had together, at least this round that he could remember clearly, had been different from sex that he'd had with a lot of women, and he was trying to put his finger on exactly why…since clearly the mechanics were the same.

And he thought that finally he might have put his finger on it.

It wasn't that Daryl was a man who expected a round of applause or a standing ovation for his performance during sex…but he did appreciate a little enthusiasm and even a little bit of confirmation that he was on the right track and what he was doing was doing something for the woman he was with.

And he'd been with quite a few women who didn't offer this in the slightest. It was almost as though they feared that he would be put off by any guidance whatsoever…it was, sometimes, like he was having sex with someone who he felt he needed to keep checking for a pulse.

Those types of women had always made Daryl think about the men he knew who talked about getting whatever you wanted out of it because it was impossible to please a woman. It was impossible to do anything for her…it was impossible to feel like you'd done anything at all worth mentioning because she wasn't going to confirm it in any way.

But being with Carol had been different.

This was a woman who hadn't exactly talked to him and commanded him verbally, but she'd made sounds…moans and soft sighs…things that said to him "right there…do that again…that's the spot" all in their own way. She'd taken control of her half of the scenario smoothly, moving her body into his, changing her own position, and even changing his to feed whatever was going on…mostly behind her eyelids as she kept her eyes closed for most of the encounter, until she'd unmistakably gotten what she wanted out of things.

And that in itself had made the experience different for him. The moans…the soft sounds…the biting of her lip and the scratching at his back and tugging at his hair. All of it had made him feel, as he'd gone along, like he was doing things right…like he was doing them well. They'd almost been like rewards and since it hadn't taken him very long to identify them, they'd become something he was striving to earn from her again.

And it had made the sex even more rewarding for him than much of what he'd had before, when he'd felt like the encounters he'd had with some women were about as satisfying as anything he could and had done for himself in the shower.

At least he did silently congratulate himself on a job well done…that couldn't be said for many women.

Now she was sleeping, though, seemingly unaware that he was awake and in her bed. The makeup she was wearing was smudged, but despite that she still looked pretty, lying there with her eyes closed…breathing softly.

And Daryl worried about staying. He worried that if he stayed, the magic might be broken…he worried that whatever it was that had him feeling, at the moment, lighter and better than he'd felt in ages might fade if he stayed and let the whiskey wear out of his system entirely…if he waited for the harsh light of the morning to shower down on both of them.

Because even if the night had been far more than he'd imagined it might be…and even if she seemed like something, in this moment, that he liked so much he might have believed he'd been looking for her…she was still so very different than anything he'd known before.

And even though people said that different could be better, Daryl had always found it a little intimidating.

He stayed in the bed a little longer, thinking things over and then he got up as quietly and carefully as he could. He found his clothes, trying to be as silent as was possible, and he cast a glance at her as he finished dressing, assuring himself that she wasn't awake…that he wasn't going to have to explain himself in the moment. He could think about it later…he could consider it further…before he had to call and explain why he'd slipped out instead of waiting for the conversation that would have to be awkward to come in the morning.

He left the house, an uneasy feeling that he couldn't right for himself, settling into the pit of his stomach. When he closed the door, locked from the inside, he knew that the decision had been made. He was out…he was gone at least for the night. That part of the deal was sealed.

And as he made his way to his truck, he chewed over whether or not he'd made the right decision in leaving…he chewed over all the implications of what it might mean if he'd chosen to stay the night…and he chewed over if he was ready, really ready to stay with anyone.

Because it was easier…it was always easier…to assume that his reservations came from the idea of staying with just anyone…and it didn't have a thing to do with her specifically.

It was a lot easier than admitting that maybe, just maybe, he was making something that felt, in his gut, like a very big mistake simply because he was as close minded as he harassed his brother about being.

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Andrea spent the rest of her time, when she got off the phone with Carol, slipping into the outfit that she'd excused herself to Shane's bathroom for in the first place.

It wasn't much. Just a black silk nightie that she'd bought…but she loved it as soon as she'd tried it on.

In fact, most of her girlfriends teased that she was as in love with her own image as anyone else might have been. They teased that she had a true streak of narcissism…one that was about as thick as a skunk stripe at the very least…running through her.

And Andrea only wished it were true. But she laughed along with her friends' jokes and their teasing…because the fact that they believed it all to be true only confirmed her acting abilities.

When she was young…very young…she'd been convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything bad that happened in the world was somehow indirectly caused by her existence. It had been a full on belief system for her…one fed, in one manner or another, by her parents.

And then, when she'd gotten a little older, and things had started to look up for her at all, she'd always held her breath, waiting for the crash that she knew was coming.

Perhaps those feelings had always bled into her relationships too.

It hadn't taken her long, when she was young, to learn that men responded to her. They liked being around her, no matter if her own family wasn't that fond of her, and they liked having her around them, no matter if she thought she was some kind of human bad luck charm.

Men liked blonde hair and blue eyes…they liked women that were willing to do whatever they wanted to please them. They liked women that could take anything that they could dish out…and would take it in exchange for their presence alone, not even requesting kindness.

And more than anything, men liked confidence in a woman.

And they never questioned if the confidence was real or if it was artificial, so long as it was there.

So Andrea had, early on, designed and perfected her confidence. She'd hidden behind it all the fears and insecurities…she'd hidden behind it all the feelings that she might not ever, no matter how hard she tried, be truly worth someone's real love and affection.

And she'd worked hard to paint the picture that she wasn't interested in love and affection. It wasn't anything she wanted…and she'd worked to make herself believe that it was true, because if it was true, then it would never hurt as much when she realized that she would never have those things.

Part of her confidence was that she loved herself…part of her confidence was that she believed herself to be a true goddess in human form. If other women had things to offer…things of quality and substance perhaps…to a man…she had at least her body and her beauty.

And she taught herself to love her physicality…or at least to pretend that she loved it entirely. She taught herself to hide the fact that she feared, like most people might fear snakes or heights, the passing of her own beauty into oblivion because she would feel, then, that she had nothing left to offer the world.

She wasn't as funny or as personable, perhaps, as Alice. She wasn't as smart and well-read as Michonne. She wasn't as sweet and as graceful as Carol. And she wasn't as nurturing or even as frank as Jacqui.

She didn't have the things that they had. All she had…all that there was to her, really…was her physical self and the sexual self that she'd worked years to hone and perfect.

Andrea studied herself in the black nightie and rubbed her hands over the silk a moment, enjoying the feel of it on her skin. The feeling of silk, to her, was almost orgasmic in its own right…and she enjoyed it more than any of the other fabrics that she collected to build her fantasies.

"Andrea…what the hell is takin' you so long?" Shane's voice rang out.

"I'm coming," she called back.

She took down her hair quickly and combed through the curls with her fingertips…trying to decide if it was better up or down. She knew that Shane preferred it down, even if she preferred it up, so she left it down and exited the bathroom, almost hopping on the balls of her feet as she made her way quickly to the living room where he was waiting on her.

Shane Walsh had become, for lack of a better term, something of a constant in Andrea's life.

She doubted that he felt any real affection for her…in fact, she doubted that Shane had the ability to feel any real affection for anyone. He had the attention span of a goldfish when it came to women and if she could judge how he talked about her when she wasn't around by how he talked about other women to her, he probably painted her in the worst kind of light possible.

But for all the conquests she could have boasted about in her past…things weren't quite as lively as they used to be…they weren't even as lively as she pretended they were.

And Shane was always down for a fuck…and whether or not it was particularly flattering to her, it was much more flattering than going home empty handed from Salty's.

Andrea pasted on her best award winning smile as she came into the living room and found Shane sitting on the couch, a beer in his hand.

"Well…?" She asked.

Shane looked at her, took another swallow of the beer, and she wondered how much he'd had to drink. Shane with one drink, maybe two, could lead charm that you didn't even imagine he had. Shane with much more than that under his belt could be the biggest asshole this side of Georgia. It was for that reason that they cringed to see him come in on his off nights to the bar…she'd seen him get in one too many people's faces over stupid things…and there was only a certain amount of touchability available when it came to the man since he'd been on the police force in town since he was damn near a kid.

When he tipped his head to the side, scratching his fingers through his short hair, and sucked his teeth as he swallowed the beer, humming…Andrea could already tell that he'd been drinking more before she got there than she'd realized when she'd excused herself to change into something more comfortable and answer the buzzing phone crammed in her jeans pocket.

"I'd like fuckin' ya a whole lot more if you'd lose some weight…" Shane said. "Nice outfit…but it'd look better on someone with a nicer body…"

Andrea did her best to hold the smile she had and not let it drop into a grimace. She did her best to pretend the comment didn't sting as bad as it did.

"I'd like fucking you a whole lot more if your dick was bigger," Andrea said. "But I guess we all have to deal with disappointment…"

Shane spat something at her that sounded like "fucking cunt" but she couldn't be sure. She stood there, trying to decide her next move. She didn't really feel like sleeping with him anymore…but her options were limited and she didn't want to cut him off…alienate him…when he was often times one of the only men that was available when she was looking to have one of the so-called wild nights that her friends still believed she had…the nights that she still wanted to pretend she had.

She stepped forward, ignoring the still biting sting of Shane's comment and slipped onto his lap. He jerked his head away from her as she leaned to kiss him and she caught it with her hands, almost pushing his face into her breasts, sighing as he accepted her advances and one of his hands reached around, digging roughly into her ass while the other didn't bother to put down the beer bottle.

Sometimes…fantasies are all we have…and sometimes fantasies are just that…