AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Daryl woke up long before the sun, but that wasn't anything too unusual for him. It was probably too early for Merle to throw in the towel and call it time to be up for work, but he would do the thing where he was awake for a spell and back to bed throughout the night.

It was maybe Merle's knocking around that woke Daryl, but it didn't matter. He wasn't really that tired and was content to get up anyway.

He was a little surprised to walk into the kitchen and see the scantily clad blonde rifling through their cabinets, but it didn't take long for him to come out of the last few seconds of sleep stupor and to remember that she'd come to show her interest to Merle.

Obviously, things went well, because Merle hadn't kicked her out of the house yet. If Daryl recalled correctly, that was twice that Merle hadn't practically thrown the blonde out the door and, as far as Merle was concerned, that was a Guinness Book worthy world record.

From behind, Daryl certainly couldn't say the woman looked bad, though he couldn't speak for her resemblance to Farrah Fawcett. Rather than ogle her for too long, though, he cleared his throat and announced his presence.

"Can I help you find somethin'?" He asked. "Or you just—robbin' us?" The blonde jumped and sucked in a breath with surprise. "Didn't mean to scare you. I'm Daryl," Daryl offered as she turned around. They had met only through the exchange of a whirlwind of text messages that had been intended to help her get to know Merle a little better and to arrange what had taken place the night before.

Daryl never expected the feeling like being doused with cold water that came over him.

"You're—Carol's friend…" He stammered, the moment he took in the blonde's face instead of her ass. Her wide green eyes said that she was just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

"You're—oh my God…you're Daryl. The Daryl."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I've never been the Daryl before," he said, putting emphasis on the words in the same way that the woman had. "You're…"

"Andrea."

"Andrea," he repeated. "I remember. You're always at the café."

"Not always," Andrea said with a laugh. "I'm there nearly every morning, though."

"Except this morning?"

"It's like—four," Andrea said. "I'll go later."

"Me too," Daryl said with a smile. He knew it was early, but he hadn't realized how early it really was. A glance at the microwave clock told him it was just about the time that Andrea supposed it was.

For a moment, they stood, facing each other, in awkward silence. Daryl wanted to say more to her, but he wasn't sure where to start. Her expression said that she wanted to say something, too, but hadn't quite figured out her own starting spot. Finally, Daryl was able to pull himself out of the awkwardness a little.

"Merle don't usually get up this early before work," Daryl said. "But—he has a tendency to get up through the night here and there."

Andrea smiled.

"It's hit or miss for me, too," she said. "Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I don't."

"If you're dedicated to being awake, I can make coffee," Daryl said. "We got—eggs and toast, if you're hungry."

"I'll eat later at the café," Andrea said. "But—I'd really love some coffee."

Daryl nodded his understanding and cleared his throat again. He'd done his best to keep his eyes locked on Andrea's, but the fact of the matter was that she was only dressed in so far as her bits and baubles were covered, but they were barely covered.

"You—wanna borrow a shirt or…?"

Andrea looked down, apparently having forgotten her state of near-nudity. Her cheeks blushed red and she somewhat covered herself with her arms. Daryl suddenly wished he hadn't said anything. It was clear that he'd just introduced a state of self-consciousness where it hadn't existed before.

"I had a coat somewhere, but I couldn't find it without waking Merle," Andrea said as an explanation. Daryl held his hand up to her to still her so that she wouldn't feel the need to try to explain everything.

"Coffee's in that cabinet with the filters," he said, pointing. "Coffee maker's right there. If you can figure it out?" She nodded. "I'ma grab you a shirt."

"Thanks," Andrea said as Daryl ducked back down the hallway toward his bedroom. He grabbed one of his t-shirts and brought it to her. She pulled it over her head with another declaration of thanks, and he gestured toward the kitchen table to invite her to sit. She sat across from him and accepted a cigarette from the pack that he put between them. "I don't think I ever knew your name," Andrea said. "I never—put it together that you were dating Carol."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"It's weird," he agreed. "Merle didn't tell me your name. Just—that you were better lookin' than Farrah Fawcett. Which—comin' from Merle? That's high praise, for the record. Real high praise."

Andrea smiled to herself, and silence fell between them for a moment. Daryl got up as he heard the coffee pot loudly announce the end of its cycle.

"How you take your coffee?"

"Cream and sugar, if you've got it," Andrea said.

"We got everything," Daryl offered. Rather than try to fix the woman's coffee, he brought her the cream from the fridge and the sugar cannister with a spoon. He poured two mugs of coffee and sat down again, across from her. She thanked him, and he lit a cigarette for himself. "You're Carol's best friend," he said. Andrea looked at him, clearly wondering if it was a question or a statement. Daryl wasn't certain, himself. She nodded.

"I guess you could say that," she said.

Daryl nodded. His stomach churned, slightly, but he pushed back his anxiety. Normally this would be uncomfortable—sitting at the table talking to some strange woman. It was uncomfortable now. Still, Daryl wanted to talk to this particular woman almost desperately.

"You like Merle?"

"I don't think I'd still be here if I didn't," Andrea offered.

"Fair enough," Daryl agreed. "He's the one put them—bruises on you?" Andrea looked at him owl eyed and then cowered somewhat as she stirred her already well-stirred coffee. "I couldn't help but notice. I ain't judgin'. And I ain't pryin'. Only—askin' if he did it."

"He did it," Andrea said. "But—it's not what you're thinking. I bruise easily. Too easily. And—things got out of hand. In a good way."

Daryl swallowed down some of the hot coffee.

"Then I don't wanna know shit else," Daryl said. "Good enough for me."

Andrea laughed quietly to herself, but she stopped somewhat cowering behind her coffee and clearly relaxed a little more from the ball into which she'd drawn herself in the chair.

"Can I ask you a question and—expect an honest answer?" Andrea asked. She brought her eyes to meet Daryl's then. "Quid pro quo?"

"If I can answer it," Daryl agreed.

"Do you like Carol?" Andrea asked. "Because—she's not going to take it well if you're just playing with her. And—if you're just playing with her? I'd have to ask you to leave her alone. Move on to someone else."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"See—that's exactly how I meant for you to be when I told you Merle needs some direct ass shit. No going sideways toward a thing. State what you mean right out. You're good at that."

"And you didn't answer my question," Andrea offered, tipping her head to the side and raising her eyebrows.

Daryl cleared his throat. He examined the coffee mug in front of him. Merle somewhat collected them, though he wasn't really too much of a curator. This one had probably come from a yard sale somewhere. The chip in it may or may not have been there when Merle had picked it up for a quarter or fifty cents. On the front of it was a picture that looked like a stamp with a pink flamingo on it. More than likely, Merle had bought it to commemorate his ever-growing population of the ridiculous lawn ornaments.

"I like Carol very much," Daryl said. "And the only game I'm plannin' on playin' with her is—whatever one she deals the cards for."

"She deserves that," Andrea said.

"She does," Daryl agreed.

"Her ex-husband was awful," Andrea said.

"So I gathered," Daryl said. "As far as that goes, I'm not sure her father was a peach. She's got this whole—eating thing. Like—if she eats, she's gonna gain five pounds or some shit, and I'm going to totally change my mind on everything." Andrea laughed to herself. "What?"

"Maybe—we all have that," Andrea said.

"I don't understand it," Daryl said. Andrea shrugged her shoulders.

"Maybe it's more of a woman thing," Andrea said. "Men have their things with their bodies, but…maybe it's a little different. Everything you see tells you to look a certain way."

"But that shit's fake," Daryl said.

"As fake as anything else," Andrea said. "The older you get, the easier it is to be OK with your body. You learn to love it—especially when you're alone together. But the minute that there's someone else, you realize they're judging your body and they don't know it like you do. They don't—love it like you've had to learn to love it over the years. My—I guess he might be my ex now—he was terrible about it. Always—making me feel…"

Her voice trailed off to nothing. Daryl got up and refilled both coffee mugs without request. When he sat, he helped himself to another cigarette and pushed the pack in Andrea's direction to make it clear that she was welcome to have as many as she wanted.

She'd broken off without saying how she'd been made to feel, but Daryl imagined that he could guess.

"You ought not to let him make you feel that way," Daryl said. "I'm just sayin'—there's nothin' wrong with your body."

"I'm not fishing for compliments," Andrea offered.

"And I'm not comin' on," Daryl responded. "I'm just sayin' the truth as I see it. And it's too damn early in the morning for lies." Andrea laughed to herself. Her cheeks ran red, but she looked pleased enough with the compliment. She added a few more ingredients to her warmed and refilled coffee. "As long as—you're a woman with some experience and all…you wanna tell me…in your personal opinion…what the hell someone could do to make that better, I guess?"

Andrea shrugged.

"There's no magic solution, I don't think. Just—patience."

"I got the king's ransom of that."

"And—just make it clear that you don't feel that way, I guess. Make it clear that—you love her body as much as…she does. More, even. Because you love it even when she doesn't find it very loveable."

Daryl nodded his understanding of what Andrea was saying.

"You sure you don't want nothin' to eat?"

Andrea laughed to herself.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "I don't like to eat this early. I like to—wait until I'm a little more awake. Up and around. Besides—Carol's always got something for me to try when I get there."

"I like her a lot," Daryl said. "Like—a whole lot."

"I'm—honestly? I'm so happy to hear that," Andrea said.

"Sometimes I don't know if she likes me or if—she just wishes I'd get the hell away from her," Daryl said. His stomach churned. He was going out on a limb, expecting this woman to tell him something. He didn't even know what he hoped she would tell him. But he'd told her everything he could think of to prepare her for the night before with Merle. Maybe she'd remember that.

She smiled to herself.

"Carol's my best friend," she said. Daryl nodded. "And—frankly? Sometimes she's her own worst enemy."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Ain't we all?"

"Some worse than others," Andrea said.

"I'm—serious about this," Daryl said. "And I don't want to play games, like I said. So—you think you could throw me some kinda bone here? As long as I'm over here playin' defense for you with Merle?"

Andrea cocked an eyebrow at him and gave him a smirk.

"Quid pro quo?" She teased.

"Only fair, don't you think?" Daryl responded.

"OK. What do you want to know?" Andrea asked.

"I'm readin' this book she give me to read," Daryl said. "A romantic book. Got a handful more from her last night."

"Carol loves those books," Andrea mused.

"I know," Daryl said. "They aren't bad, really. I mean—I like the story. But—I guess…there's so much goin' on in there. What the hell is the most important part? I mean—is it the whole drag her away to a whole new life or…I gotta buy a ranch, or what?"

Andrea laughed to herself.

"They're not all about ranches or whole new lives," she offered.

"I've only read the one."

"I'm telling you, they're not all the same. Not exactly."

"Then what's the most important part about the romance?" Daryl asked.

"The romance," Andrea said. "You—you just answered it yourself."

"But—there's a lot of types of romance."

"And Carol loves every single type of it," Andrea said. "The simple stuff. The big gestures. And—she's never had any of it."

"I wanna change that," Daryl said. "But—like you said, Carol can kinda be her own worst enemy. She don't exactly offer ideas over freely. I could use a little guidance."

Andrea smiled at him.

"Do you have—anything sweet?"

"Got some cookies," Daryl said. "Chocolate chip and Oreos are almost always in the cabinet."

"This early, I could probably think better with cookies," Andrea offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Comin' right up—and I'll freshen up your coffee, too."