Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead. All characters are property of the creators of the graphic novels and television series.

Fervor

One

She waited until the last rumblings of giddy laughter and muted moans from the separate rooms in the basement of the CDC had quieted to pure silence. She tucked Sophia's doll under the sleeping girl's arm and slipped out of bed, padding barefoot down the hall to the bathrooms. She'd found a long sleeping gown that looked about fifteen years old, but it was soft enough it would be comfortable to sleep in. She carried it under one arm as she crept into the bathroom.

She was careful to step over the puddles on the concrete floor. She looked around anxiously before raising her shirt over her head and unclasping her bra. She gasped when a light in the corner flickered and buzzed, and she brought her hand to her pale chest. Her heart was beating a mile a minute. She looked around again. There were only two shower stalls, but as she stepped into the one, she realized somebody, probably in a drunken stupor, had broken the faucet handle. She shivered and quickly discarded her pants and underwear before draping them over a bench with the rest of her clothes.

She passed by a mirror beaded with droplets of condensation, and she saw the days old bruises dotting her ribcage from where Ed had shoved her. She grimaced and looked away before slipping into the shower stall. She shut the door behind her and turned the water on. It was cold at first, but it warmed up quite nicely. She slipped under the stream and shivered until the warm water slipped down her neck and back and the stall began to fill with steam.

The shampoo smelled good, and closed her eyes and smiled when she held the bottle to her nose. It was a luxury she'd missed. There were more important things to worry about now, certainly, but it was nice to take a moment and breathe. They had four walls and a roof, and as claustrophobic as she got sometimes, it was nice to not have to worry about sleeping with one eye open.

She washed her hair first, massaging her scalp to wash away the sweat and dirt and flecks of blood she knew she carried around with her, and then she took her time washing her body, passing the soapy cloth over her tender bruises first before washing between her legs and under her arms. She winced when she turned to put the soap down, placing her hand on her side, counting herself lucky Ed hadn't bruised one of her ribs.

He was gone, finally out of her life as she'd wished for a hundred times over. She hadn't shed one tear over him. The only tears she'd shed were of anger when she'd slammed that pickax down into his skull. She knew it was wrong, but she imagined doing it when he was still alive, still cognizant of who was killing him. She couldn't count the number of times she'd imagined how she'd do it. Slit his throat while he slept. A gun against a pillow to stifle the shot? Poison in his breakfast cereal? The only thing that had stopped her had been the knowledge that if she did it, she'd never see her daughter again. The hate she felt for Ed had been strong, but the love for her daughter was much stronger.

She huffed out a breath and shook her head, rubbing her hands over her face as she tried to wash away the memories of Ed. He was the past, and while the future was uncertain, at least she was alive. It was a start.

The longer she stood under the water, the more she let her mind wander to other things that certainly shouldn't be priority but were prominent in her mind. Like hearing her daughter's laughter for the first time in so long. She and Carl had played a game of checkers in the common room after supper, and for a few minutes, it was like the world hadn't ended, and she was truly a kid again. And then there was something else.

All through supper, she'd sat quietly, listening to the excited chatter of the other survivors. There'd been a buzz of hope in the air, but Carol had noticed the doctor had been awfully quiet. Dr. Jenner had eaten in silence, studying them all like they were rats in a maze. Of course, she couldn't blame him. They were probably the first people he'd spoken to in weeks. Still, Dr. Jenner had retired from the table first, leaving everyone to eat and drink before meandering off to sleep or shower or fuck.

Carol remembered one particular set of eyes meeting her gaze on more than one occasion. She remembered watching him, the normally brash, hot-headed Daryl Dixon who had ruffled a few of Rick Grimes' feathers on more than one occasion in the past few days. He was quiet until he had something to say. But tonight, he'd had his eye on her. She wasn't sure why. She'd sat there sipping her second glass of wine when he finished off a third beer and pushed back from his chair, leveling a lingering look at her that was something between a gaze and a glare. Whatever it was, her face had gone red, and she'd quickly urged Sophia to finish her supper and excused them both from the room.

But now, in the quiet as the warm water cascaded down her body, she couldn't help but think about the way her skin had prickled, the way her heart had beaten a little faster, how there was a dull throbbing between her legs. She hadn't experienced that kind of desire in a long time, and it had caught her off guard.

She shivered under the warm water, and her body began to respond as her mind wandered, and just after she cut the water off and prepared to leave the shower before her mind got too carried away, she heard the distinct squeal of the door on its hinges.

She froze, her hand on the faucet handle. She heard the distinct sound of bare feet padding against wet concrete, and then she jumped at the slam of the other stall door followed by a gruff curse word. And before she could think or do anything, her stall door opened. She was met with the shocked expression of a very naked Daryl Dixon.

"Shit," he hissed under his breath, grabbing a towel to cover his half-erect dick. It was too late. She'd already gotten an eyeful, and her face was probably as red as the cloth he held over his groin, but she didn't move. Oddly enough, neither did he. His face was red, partly from embarrassment, partly from the drinking, but the way his gaze passed down her naked form showed he was sober enough. "What're you doin'?"

"What am I doing? I'm taking a shower. What are you doing?"

"Didn't hear no water."

"I was done," she huffed out. Daryl was standing in the doorway. She could either brush past him to get out, or he could step out of the way, but they both stood there staring at each other. She noticed the way his chest was marked with scars. Even his shoulders had curved scars that she imagined extended onto his back.

The way his gaze continued down her pale belly, marked with pale lines, down between her legs had her knees trembling.

"Done?" he asked, dragging his gaze back up to her face in time to see her bite her bottom lip. She opened her mouth to speak but said nothing. Instead, she shook her head. "No?" He narrowed his eyes at her, and he noticed her own gaze was trailing down his chest and toward his stomach. His face flushed red when her cool blue eyes met his again.

She'd spent so many years being told what to do and when to do it, being told she was worthless and undesirable, and now she was standing naked in front of a man, and instead of feeling like a prop, she felt alive. Her blood felt on fire, and sparks of electricity scorched a trail up and down her spine.

She took a step toward him, and he took a step back, but he didn't move out of the way. Instead, he watched her reach for his towel. He hadn't expected this. She'd been so quiet and meek back at the camp. Even at supper, she'd barely said much of anything except to Lori or to her kid. And now she was looking at him with something in her eyes he hadn't seen from anyone in a long time. Was it need? Desire? Longing? Hunger? Whatever it was, she was taking that red towel in her hand and tossing it aside. His cock twitched, and he took a step toward her, thinking her resolve would crumble. It didn't. Instead, she brought her hand to his chest, feeling the coarse hair under her gentle fingertips.

"What are you doin'?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her again. This time, she spoke without words, letting her hands do the talking. She brought one hand down around his hip and the other curled around his cock, gripping him at the base before sliding upward. He sucked in a sharp breath, clenching his teeth before involuntarily bucking his hips against her hand. "Fucking Christ." He groaned then, pawing at her hips, bringing her closer.

She didn't kiss him. Instead, she buried her face against his neck, sucking lightly where she could feel his pulse hammering against her lips. As she pumped her hand around him, he dug his fingers into her hips, gripping her firmly until he realized he might be holding her too hard. He softened his hold on her, and she pulled back to look at him. The fire that flashed in his eyes made her core throb. He gruffed out a low groan before pushing her back against the shower door. He looked her straight in the eye, a little bolder thanks to the few drinks he'd had at dinner. And then his hands slipped between her legs. She gasped and squeezed her thighs around his wrist as he touched her, fingers clumsy and fumbling, but when he brushed against her clit, her mouth fell open in a whimper. She squeezed her eyes shut and stroked him a little faster, feeling his cock pulse against her palm.

Another little growl escaped his throat, and he pulled his hand out from between her legs. She whimpered then, and when his lips pressed against her throat, she arched backward. His hand, slick with her fluids, brushed over her breast, teasing a pert nipple with his thumb before he leaned down and sucked it between his lips. She cried out, and her nails bit at his shoulders as his teeth and tongue teased the little bud. Her fingers gripped him a little more firmly, and she ran her thumb over the head before stroking downward again. He was panting, his breath hot against her skin, and when he pulled back from her breast and straightened to look at her, and he tugged her against him. She looked up at him, her lips parted, her eyes searching his, but in a moment, he looked over, searching for something, and when he apparently found it, he tugged at her hand and brought her over to the marble countertop of the bathroom sink.

"Daryl," she moaned, as he lifted her up to sit before immediately bringing his hand back down between her legs. She was throbbing, dripping for him, and his nostrils flared when he caught her scent. His pupils were large and dark, and when he leaned in, she swore he was going to kiss her. Instead, he gripped her hips and pulled her ass toward the edge. He took his cock in his hand, gave it a couple of tugs and then he slid into her, fast and hard. She reached back, gripping the side of the mirror and the paper towel dispenser for purchase. Daryl pulled out before slamming back in, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. His face was red, his eyes were dark and focused on hers, and for as rough and abrasive as he'd been in the weeks she'd known him, she still hadn't expected him to be so damn ravenous. It had been a long time for him. She could tell. Maybe longer than it'd been for her. And when his fingers tightened on her hips, she pulled her arms around his neck and slid closer to take him in deeper.

"Fuck," she cried out, burying her cries against his neck. "Yes. Unh….harder." She bit down against his shoulder, and his own groans threatened to wake the whole group. She reached up and clamped a hand over his mouth for a moment, and he let out something between a snort and a laugh before pulling out completely. "No…don't stop. Please!"

"C'mere," he grunted, helping her down from the counter. She followed him over to the bench where her clothes were strewn, and he nodded toward it before turning her hips in his hands. She realized what he wanted and turned her back to him, bending down over the bench as he pressed up against her from behind. She bit her lip to mute the low moan when he slid in slowly this time, filling her, letting her walls stretch around him again. She gasped at the sensation, and when he reached around and slid his hand down her belly and between her thighs, she nearly lost control.

His fingers slipped against her clit again, and he thrust into her faster and harder. Her hands were white knuckling the bench, and as he pushed into her, she squeezed her eyes shut tight. She clenched around him, gasping as an intense orgasm tore through her. His mouth was on her neck then, and his hand moved up to squeeze a breast, teasing and rolling the nipple between his slick fingertips.

His tongue was hot and wet against her skin, and she desperately wanted to taste his lips. Still, she couldn't get enough of his hands on her and the way he filled her so perfectly, how her body stretched around him and how he was doing that thing with his tongue on the back of her neck.

"Fuck. Daryl…I'm…ohhhh…" Her thighs began to tremble, and as her walls pulsed around him through another orgasm, he let go. He spilled into her, thrusting through his own orgasm until he was spent. He huffed and panted, running his hand down the back of her neck and over her sweat-slick back. He pulled out of her then, and she straightened up, nearly tripping over her own feet when she turned to face him. His chest was heaving, and his hair was slicked down with sweat against his forehead. He brushed it back with his forearm and suddenly looked uncertain of what to do or where to go. So, Carol made the decision for him. She reached for her dirty clothes and tossed them into the bin with everyone else's, and she slipped the long sleeping gown over her slender frame. She looked back at him, uncertain if they needed to speak or hug or kiss or just be on their way, and when his gaze fell to her feet, she swallowed hard and turned to leave.

She stopped just shy of leaving, and turned just as he started to shut the shower stall door. His gaze zeroed in on hers, and a half smile tugged at his lips.

"Good night," she whispered. He nodded at her, a little half grunt escaping his lips, and then she turned and fled, her heart still pounding and her thighs still shaking, and all she could wonder was if tomorrow she'd wake up and it would all be a dream.