AN: Here we are, another chapter here!

There are a few things that I feel I need to address about this story. To be honest, a few of them have kept me from coming back here for a while.

Firstly, I need to address the fact that this is titled "The Dixon Code" because it's going to be looking at the Dixons—all of them. I promise that your favorites will have plenty of attention, but they're not the only characters driving the story. I ask you to be understanding of that.

Secondly, I need to say that I'm playing fast and loose with characters. That means that some characters, like the Governor, may be quite different than they are on screen. I'm taking liberties and doing what I want with the characters and situations.

I hope you understand, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please let me know what you think.

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"Well?" Daryl asked when Carol came into the room that they'd claimed for their own. He'd dragged cushions off the couch and, using the blankets that had been provided for them and their own items, he'd fashioned a pretty comfortable bed.

Jenner had kept his word about feeding them well. The amount of food available to them, honestly, had been staggering. There had been a great deal of alcohol available, too, and Daryl even had two bottles that he'd brought back to their room for drinking—wine for Carol and a bottle of whiskey as well.

The feast and the beverages hadn't gone over as well for some as they had for others, though. The rich food on stomachs that had grown mostly accustomed to being empty had not sat well for everyone. In addition, some had gotten too enthusiastic about the alcohol and, not being prepared to hold their liquor, they were paying for it now.

"She's not throwing up anymore," Carol said. "But I put a trash can where she can get to it and Sophia's sleeping with her. They're both already passed out."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Hopefully for different reasons."

"For some different reasons," Carol said. "And for some of the same reasons, if we're being honest."

"How long has it been since you seen Andrea fallin' down, cryin', and pukin' drunk?" Daryl asked with a laugh.

"I've never seen her that way," Carol said, stripping unceremoniously out of her clothes. Daryl and Carol had both showered, but Carol had taken a second shower, wearing her nightgown, after Andrea had accidentally puked on her and then, being so upset by what she'd done, had somehow slipped and skinned her knee by slamming it against the shower floor, dragging Carol down with her. "Have you?"

"Once or twice," Daryl said. He didn't protest when Carol dried off with a towel and slipped into something clean and dry. He waved to her, inviting her to come to him, and she came and settled in next to him. She leaned against him and he inhaled the smell of shampoo and conditioner—a floral scent—in her hair. It was a stark contrast from the smell of the world outside of the CDC. "Merle used to mix drinks for her sometimes and he'd get too damn heavy-handed." Daryl sat up and pulled away from her long enough to pour her a glass of wine from the bottle he'd brought. He passed it to her and she settled back against him. "Shit-Merle would really fuck her up sometimes—tell her it was less than it was. I told him he ought not to do it, but…he always said it was OK. She needed to let her hair down a little bit and he'd take care of her. He always did take care of her. I'll give him that. She'd puke on herself and he'd wash her just like she was a damn kid. Dress her in her pajamas and tuck her ass in to sleep with a glass of water and some Tylenol. Stay up all night, if she needed him, just to make sure she didn't choke or somethin'."

"That was before me," Carol said. "Before we met."

"Long time ago," Daryl admitted. "Merle never loved anyone like he loved Andrea."

"He loves you," Carol said.

"Not the same," Daryl said with a laugh. He pressed his lips to Carol's temple and she hummed at him, satisfied, before she squeezed his hand.

"I hope not. Not exactly the same," she said. "Still. You know—I'm not ready to talk about him in the past tense. He wasn't on the roof. That means he might be alive."

"Out there. Bleedin' like hell. Surrounded by them fuckers. Maybe outta his damn skull with crystal."

"I didn't say that it was an ideal situation," Carol said. "But—we've never given up on Merle before. It doesn't feel right to…I don't know…to start now."

"She ain't gonna choke to death, is she?" Daryl asked, remembering that Andrea was passed out, drunk.

"No," Carol said. "I tucked her in on her side. Sophia's spooning her. I think—she just needed to empty her stomach. I didn't even see her drink that much, to be honest. I mean—she was drunk, but I don't think she was that drunk. I think it was the food."

"Stomach's been pretty empty for a while," Daryl said. "Too hard to digest."

"Sophia will wake her up if she gets sick," Carol said. "She'll come and get us, if nothing else."

Daryl reached his hand around. He let his fingertips play with the lobe of Carol's ear absentmindedly. She squirmed against him and he smiled to himself. For some reason, her earlobes were sometimes a way to get her attention sexually. He could stir her up with certain touches, and he knew it. The way she wiggled—a certain arch to her back—he knew that she was dealing with at least a little smoldering interest. He didn't let on that he knew, though. He simply swallowed down the rest of the drink he was holding his hand, put down the glass, and let the hand that wasn't absentmindedly toying with her earlobe slip over to gently harass a nipple through her nightgown like he was only playing with a worry stone without thinking about it.

"You sure Sophia's OK?" Daryl asked. "Don't want her bein' uncomfortable with Andrea bein' drunk."

"She's seen drunk," Carol said. She was trying to control herself, but there was a heaviness sneaking into her breathing that changed the rhythm of her words. A sound escaped her. Almost a whine. Daryl felt it run through his body. His dick jumped in response to the sound like it had heard a dog whistle. "She's not scared of Andrea."

Carol drank some of her wine, but it was clear she was not doing well at paying attention to it. Daryl smiled to himself. He stopped rubbing her nipple and touched a finger to the side of her face. He turned her face, gently, to get her to look at him.

Her pupils were dilated far beyond what the lamplight in the room should have caused. Her breathing was clearly heavy.

He licked his lips before he even thought about the fact that he felt naturally inclined to the action, and he tasted her lips. She kissed him fully. His dick responded, egging him on. Daryl slipped a hand down, beyond Carol's clean nightgown, and found the cotton of her panties. He rubbed his finger over the cotton, finding the spot he knew would get her attention.

She stiffened, moaned into his kiss, and then relaxed into him as he increased pressure and speed on the spot. Her natural reaction was to spread her legs, making room for him, and he moved his hand again, slipping it into the band of her underwear and pushing it down enough to harass the same spot—bare this time—with his thumb. He kept the kiss going as best he could, and hooked a finger into the warm, silky wetness beyond.

Carol bit his lip, hard, and whimpered at him.

He didn't know how long it had been. He felt like time was a concept that didn't even make sense anymore. He felt like it passed in a blurred, staticky, impossible-to-even-conceptualize manner. It had been too long, though, and he was sure of that.

He laughed to himself and it broke the kiss. Carol kept her mouth close to his, though. He continued his harassment, and she rode his hand, either absentmindedly, and driven by instinct, or purposefully—he couldn't really tell.

"How you doin'?" He asked. "You doin' OK, Sweetheart?"

"Mmmm," was her only response. She moved her mouth away from his. She nuzzled his face, practically head butting him in some act of desperation.

"You need somethin' else?" He asked.

"Please," she breathed out.

"I didn't hear ya…what was that?" Daryl asked.

"Please," Carol said, a little louder, practically croaking out the word.

"You know I won't make you beg," Daryl said, laughing to himself. "Not too damn much at least. Here—get you a good swallow of this." He tipped her glass up and she drank from it obediently. The smile in her eyes said she was pleased with whatever he wanted. "One more," he instructed. "That good? Relax now, OK?"

She nodded at him and let him take the glass and move it to the floor beside the bed. Her lips were chapped from dehydration and exposure to the elements. The wine stained them and almost made her look like she was wearing lipstick. Daryl tasted her lips. It was the only way, really, that he liked wine—secondhand from Carol.

He hummed his appreciation.

"Taste good?" She teased.

"Your lips always do. All of 'em," Daryl said. He moved the blankets away, revealing her to him. At first, she'd been very self-conscious and she hadn't wanted him to see her. She'd even wanted the lights off when they'd been together, and she'd wanted to be covered by a blanket. He'd worked hard to get her to understand that, like they say a meal is better enjoyed with the eyes first, Daryl liked to see her. And, where her ex-husband hadn't appreciated her body, Daryl thought she was a gourmet meal in every possible meaning of the word. "You know I got me a cravin' for the taste of you I like the best—don't'cha?"

He slipped her panties off and smiled at her expression. Her motor was running at full power. He could practically blow his breath on her clit, at this point, and she would come. In contrast to the things that had made her ex-husband feel like some kind of man, the ability to drive her crazy with pleasure made Daryl feel powerful. It made him feel like a man.

He kissed from her navel down to where the soft curls started, feeling her body jump beneath his lips.

"Open your legs for me, Sweetheart," he said. "All the way. Don't be shy. I wanna see all of you."

She wasn't shy. And it wasn't long after he latched onto her, hooking a finger inside her, that she reached for his pillow and used it to cover her face so that the whole of the CDC wouldn't know that they had a little steam to blow off.

Daryl feasted on her, enjoying his time between her legs more than he'd honestly enjoyed his time at Jenner's overflowing table, and he only stopped when his jaw began to loudly protest his actions. He didn't know how many times she'd come, but he knew that she was shaking when he changed his position and gathered her hips up.

He knew, too, that she held him in total lockdown when he'd slipped inside her as far as he could.

She pulsed around him before he'd even begun to move, and her body jerked. He moved, kissed her neck where her head was tossed back, the pillow still muffling any sound that escaped and covering her face. He licked her neck and then let himself start to move. It only took one good thrust for him to realize that he was too hungry for her to control his actions as much as he might like.

"I don't got long," he warned, but she didn't seem to mind. She dropped her pillow to the side and looked at him with damp eyes.

"Come on," was all she said, but it was enough. She invited him to take what he wanted—what he needed—and he did. He took every bit of it. He let himself drive into her hard, and fast, and just the way his body cried out for him to do. He muffled his cry of satisfaction by biting her shoulder—careful not to bite as hard as his nature wanted, so as to not really hurt her, and she bit her own hand in response to trying to muffle the noises that escaped her.

Daryl was exhausted and completely spent when he found his place next to Carol. He kicked off the blankets that they were using for cover. The sweat between them and the heat was too much for blankets right now. He nuzzled against her, instead, exhausted. He hummed when he felt her rubbing his face tenderly.

"I love you, Pookie," she said. He smiled to himself, too exhausted to even open his eyes.

"I love you, woman," he offered.

"You were wonderful," Carol said. He hummed. He was too tired to speak. He made himself speak.

"You, too," he got out.

"Sleep," she said softly, still rubbing his head delicately with her fingertips.

Daryl didn't know how long they stayed that way. He didn't know how long she kept from moving. He didn't know when she got up to clean herself, or if she got up to check on Sophia and Andrea. He didn't know when she pulled the blankets over the two of them and settled down to sleep, herself.

He didn't know anything. Her permission to sleep, it seemed, was all that he needed.