A cool, early fall breeze drifts through the open bedroom window, and the flames of the candles flicker. White wax drips onto the black iron of the candelabra that rests on the rustic oak nightstand.

Daryl closes the shutters while Carol turns down the quilt. She's wearing only a long T-shirt and her underwear, while Daryl still has on his worn wranglers and white, sleeveless undershirt.

"Everyone is settling," she says.

"Ain't the worse thing." Daryl pulls off his shirt and tosses it across the room. It lands half in the wicker hamper, half out. "Hell, ya settled for me. Didn't turn out so bad, did it?"

"Stop," Carol tells him. "I meant settling down. And I did not settle for you. I married up."

"Pffft."

Carol slides on top of the sheets and pats the empty spot on the bed next to her. He lies on his side, kisses her, and rests a hand on the tail of her shirt. He smiles and tugs on it, and she helps him to ease it over her head. The candles flicker gently, casting patterns on her bare flesh, and he traces the shadowy light over her stomach and up to her breasts, which he plays with lazily.

Carol murmurs beneath his touch and feels the heat grow between her legs. She puts a hand over his and moves it away, but then she touches her own breast. "I don't have a vibrator anymore," she tells him, "but do you still want to watch?"

"Ya serious?"

She bites her bottom lip shyly and nods.

He smiles, rolls off the bed, and stands to watch as she stretches herself out sideways over the bed. His breath deepens as she explores her own breasts. She closes her eyes, too embarrassed to watch him watching her. She doesn't open them even when she feels her panties being slid down her legs, or when he takes one of her hands, suckles each of her fingers, and presses them against her thigh. "Go on now, darlin'. Play."

Carol lets her legs fall open and does what he asks. She can almost feel the heat of his gaze, though she keeps her eyes shut tightly. Eventually, Daryl's belt buckle clangs and his zipper rasps down.

Carol stills. "Keep goin'," he tells her, "touch yerself, Beautiful," and she does.

He doesn't quite let her finish, though. When she's almost there, he moves her hand away and pushes into her with a low groan. Crying his name, Carol climaxes on his first stroke, but he brings her to the peak a second time before he's spent.

Afterward, they lay in bed under the quilt, limbs tangled, breaths gradually slowing to a normal rate. "Thank you," he murmurs.

"Can I let you in on a little secret?" She lays her head on his chest. "I like having sex with you as much as you like having it with me."

"Ain't possible." Daryl kisses the top of her head, rests his hand on her lower back, and soon surrenders to sleep.

[*]

Carol walks into the Mayor's Office and Council Chambers – which is in the old study of the historic mansion – and shuts the door behind herself. "Sorry I'm late. Hershey had a slight fever this morning, and I had to go to the clinic to get him something." Daryl and Henry had already taken off hunting before she and little Hershel were even awake.

"There's a bit of that going around," Enid says from where she sits around the circular council table that stands on the oriental rug where a coffee table once rested. At only 24, she's the youngest member of the Town Council. "We had two kids in the clinic last night with fevers. But they broke within a few hours. Did Siddiq give you something?"

"Yes," Carol replies as she walks across the wood floor. Sunlight streams through the open curtains of the window and casts dusty beams of light on the bookcases and great oak desk where Carol spends most mornings dealing with the business of the day before going out into the field. It's been a little strange, going from warrior to politician, but she finally feels settled in her role. "And Barbara's watching him now."

Aaron glances at Jesus. "Did you check if Gracie had a fever this morning before you dropped her at school?"

"Why would I check that?" Jesus asks. "It's not exactly part of the morning routine. She looked as fine as usual."

Carol takes her seat at the table, between Tara and Eugene. She nods to Aaron. "Why don't you start us off, Chairman?" This part of her day is easy. Aaron mostly runs the Council, and her role is primarily to observe and offer the occasional opinion. She doesn't even get to vote. With five council members, there are never any ties to break.

Aaron flings open the manila folder before him. "So the first order of business is to confirm the remaining deputy director appointments. Siddiq put in Enid for the Deputy Directory of Health Services."

"Is that allowed?" Tara asks. "Can a council member also be in the cabinet?"

Everyone looks to Eugene, because he has the Hilltop town charter memorized line for line. "This matter is presently unaddressed," Eugene replies. "But there is no explicit prohibition. And I am of the opinion that we may find ourselves with a dearth of suitable talents to fill the ever-expanding number of positions if we do not allow for the aforementioned overlap."

"In other words, yes?" Tara asks.

Eugene nods and Aaron asks, "All in favor of confirming Enid?"

"I can't vote for myself, can I?" Enid asks.

"I think Carol will have to vote in this case," Aaron replies.

Carol raises her hand. Aaron, Jesus, Eugene, and Tara follow.

Now Aaron holds up a sheet of paper that has scrawled on it the words: I want Cindy – Daryl Dixon

Tara snorts when she sees the official document.

"And Daryl has appointed Cyndie Santos to be Deputy Director of Forestry," Aaron says. "Although, Carol, you're going to have to get him to write the position for which he's appointing her on here. And her full name. Correctly spelled."

"Aaron, it's a miracle he turned in that much." Carol was fully expecting to show up this morning and find Daryl had forgotten to make the appointment. Again.

Aaron sighs. "Fine. All in favor of confirming the appointment?"

Five hands go up.

Aaron takes out another sheet of paper. "And Rosita is appointing Beatrice as the Deputy Director of Defense."

"That would be the fourth appointment from Oceanside," Enid says. "Yesterday we confirmed an Oceanside man for Deputy Director of the Interior and an Oceanside woman for Deputy Director of Supply Acquisition and Storage."

"Well, that might not be a bad thing," Jesus says. "We need to assimilate the Oceanside refugees, and what better way to do it than to make them feel like they have a role in this town?"

Enid shrugs but nods. "Fair enough."

"All in favor?"

Five hands go up.

[*]

Carol has put Hershey to bed early because, although his fever broke in the early afternoon and has not returned, he's still feeling a bit lethargic. She now sits at her roll top desk reviewing the citizen suggestions and complaints that have mounted in a pile of papers in her inbox. Daryl and Henry weren't home for dinner, and still aren't back from the hunt. That could mean one of three things: the hunt was bad, and they stayed out longer to salvage something; the hunt was great, and they're still cleaning up after helping to butcher the plentiful kill; or something terrible happened.

Carol tells the worried voice in the back of her head, which insists on option three, to shut the hell up. But as she tries to read, it keeps whispering nervously to her – they should be home by now.

Finally, the front door creaks open. Carol turns in her chair to watch her men come inside, hang up their weapons, beat their boots, and shed their outer garments. "Good or bad?" she asks.

"Good," Daryl grunts. "Two doe and a wild pig."

"Excellent work, gentleman."

"Well, 's fall," mutters Daryl, as though that makes it a non-accomplishment. "'N we got six hunters now."

"I tracked that pig, though," Henry says proudly. "The entire way. By myself."

Carol beams at him.

Daryl goes to warm his hands by the quietly crackling fire. The temperature tends to drop a good ten degrees at night, and it looks like they've been out without gloves.

Henry comes to stand beside Daryl, stretches out his hands palms up before the flames, and says "As matter of fact, next to Daryl, I catch the most game of all the hunters, and that's been true for two years now. Kind of makes me wonder why he appointed some woman who's only been here six months to be Deputy Director of forestry."

Daryl looks up from the fire and peers at Henry as though he's looking at him through a set of shaggy bangs, even though his hair is shorter now – almost as short as it was when Carol first met him. He finally cut it last year when it started graying quickly, because it looks lighter when it's short, dirty blonde more than brown-and-gray. Carol was shocked by the uncharacteristic act of vanity, but she likes the haircut. He claims that's not why he did it, but nothing else explains it to her, after years of stubbornly refusing more than the smallest trim. When he first cut it, he looked suddenly seven years younger. If he shaved his graying goatee, he'd probably look seventeen years younger, and she'd feel like a cradle robber. Fortunately, he'd never consider doing that.

"Now that's some passive aggressive bullshit right there," Daryl replies. "If ya gotta a problem with me, have some balls 'n say it right out."

"I've got a problem with you not appointing me," Henry says. "I think I've earned the position. Cyndie's an excellent fisherman, and she's smart, but she doesn't know these forests like I do."

"Aaron said I couldn't. Nepotism or some shit."

"How is it nepotism for you to appoint me, but it's not nepotism for Carol to appoint you?"

"I don't appoint the cabinet," Carol tells him. "The Council does that." As Mayor, she has a lot of responsibility, and a lot of influence, but not a great deal of direct power. "Didn't you study the town charter like I told you to?"

The children study the charter as part of the Hilltop's school curriculum, but school only goes until the age of thirteen, when apprenticeships begin. Henry was done with his formal schooling three years before the charter was formally adopted.

"Yeah, sure, I read it," he says. "Maybe I'll run for a Council position next year."

"You can't," Carol tells him. "Not for two more years. The minimum age for Councilmen is 21, which you would know if you'd studied the charter like I asked you to."

Henry draws in his hands and walks away from the fire. "Sorry I'm too damn busy keeping this whole damn town supplied with wild game to memorize a charter that's always being amended anyway."

"Hey!" Daryl barks. "Don't you dare talk to yer mamma like that!"

"Sorry," Henry mutters. "Sorry, Carol. It's been a long day. I'm just going to head to bed." He walks to where she sits, looming tall over her, puts a hand on her shoulder, and kisses the top of her head. "Nite."

And then he's gone.

Daryl pokes the fire. "Kid needs to move out."

"Then he'll never talk to me," Carol laments.

"Be surprised. Might talk to ya more, when he thinks ya see 'em as more of an equal. Needs his space, Carol."

There's a cry from Hershey's room. Carol starts to rise, but Daryl sets the poker back on its stand and says, "I got 'em. Ya get yer work done. Otherwise yer gonna be up all damn night."