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Fire at Midnight	By : tambrathegreat Category: S through Z > The Walking Dead Views: 1331 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. All recognizable characters and settings belong to The Walking Dead televsion series. I make no money from this endeavor.

Chapter List
- 1-Fire at Midnight
- 1
Another month gone by and the season was definitely changing. The days remained warm enough during the day for walkers to be out, but the nights chill left them sluggish until about noon. It wouldn’t be long before they would be frozen solid most days. Grimes planned to start a detail soon to do a sweep of the area and get rid of as many of the walkers as possible.
Daryl had volunteered to lead it.
It was a good way for him to escape the confines of the prison and his increasing restlessness. It was also a good way for him to get his mind off of her. He’d been as eager as a horny high school jock since they’d spent that day in the post office. He’d never really considered screwing around with a black girl, never thought he’d have the chance to, to be honest. It wasn’t just Merle that held is curiosity in check, though his brother had been pretty outspoken about those type of folks. Back home the black girls had either been churchy or wild, and neither one of those types really turned him on. He’d stuck with the little white cheerleader types who wanted a walk on the wild side before they rushed into marriage with whatever man their daddy would approve of.
Now though… shit, just a glance from her had him standing at full attention. He told himself that he didn’t have time for none of what she was peddling. If she was peddling at all… sometimes he thought she felt the same way he did, but most times she was just that hard shell that she wore, the one that balled up her mouth and let her keep everyone away.
It was that hardness in her that both drew him in and repelled him. He wasn’t too sure how she would react to him if he approached her.
He leaned against the still-warm, brick wall of the prison as he watched the group gathered around the bonfire they had made. He’d almost forgot about it being Halloween, not that he ever celebrated it before. The Dixon’s had twelve days in the year to celebrate and they happened once a month when the aid check came in. The rest of the time was filled with hunger, rage, and drunkenness.
Some dumb ass had found one of them old crank-style record players, the kind with a horn on it, and a bunch of old, scratched-up, heavy as shit records. The wooden-bodied device now played tinny music from his mam’s time, all of it shit as far as Daryl was concerned. Give him some Hank Williams or Willie and Waylon and he’d show the rest of the group how to cut a rug. Hell, he’d settle for that retarded banjo player from that old movie over this noise.
Daryl followed the actions of the group from his place in the darkness with a strange ache forming just behind his eyes. Rick was laughing as Beth dragged him to a space that had been left clear in front of the record player. It was good to see the cop loosen up. He’d had it bad after that bitch he was married to died. Not even the little ass kicker had been able to shake him from whatever crazy shit had been in her daddy’s head. Daryl had been afraid they were going to lose him for while there.
Carol stood to the side, holding the baby, talking to Tyrese. There was something between them. Everyone knew it, but no one talked about it. It wasn’t no one’s business as far as any of them were concerned.
The end of the world had sure changed things. There had been a time in the not too distant past that the big buck would have been strung up, and things wouldn’t have been much better for Carol.
Not that it mattered now, but Daryl had hoped, once upon a time… or maybe he hadn’t so much hoped as wished… that he could have some of what was normal, what other people had, and he had sorta, kinda hoped it would be with Carol. Short Round and the cowgirl had made him want something more than loneliness and relief he could find at the bottom of a bottle or in the sight of a crossbow.
He scanned the crowd again, not admitting to himself just who he was looking for. She wasn’t there.
He shrugged off the feeling of disappointment and closed his eyes against the soft glare of the bonfire.
The tell-tale scuffle of rock sounded to his right and then the soft, sweet smell of hair oil tickled his nostrils. He swallowed the smile that began to creep onto his lips. She sent a few more rocks tumbling in the wake of her footsteps and then he felt her heat next to him on his arm.
She leaned in closer and he opened his eyes. She was staring at him, nostrils wide, her dark eyes sparkling in the light of the distant bonfire. “If I was a walker, you’d be dead.”
“If you was a walker, you’d smell bad.” She was so close one of her little dreads was tickling his cheek. He pushed it away and she flinched. Without thinking he asked, “Why’d you flinch like that?”
Her expression closed like a fist. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
It was a little lie, one that he could live with especially since he didn’t know why he had asked in the first place. He’d heard rumors of what the Governor had done to some of the women in his group. Hell, he’d seen the cowgirl after she came back. He could guess what he’d done to a good looking woman like Michonne.
She was still close and it only took a little move for Daryl to be in front of her, arms resting on the wall on either side of her head. “Don’t know why I asked that, except maybe…”
He paused looking her over, wanting more than anything to taste her. Her skin was shiny dark, her eyes tilted at the corners, and her lips were moist where her tongue had snaked out to lick them. Her gaze darted to his eyes and then away. She asked in that sullen tone she used to keep everyone at bay, “Except maybe what?”
He dipped his head, “Well, Sunshine, maybe I wanted to keep you around to do this.”
He kissed her softly at first, his mouth learning the planes and valleys of hers. It wasn’t so much different than kissing a white girl, not really. And after all, The Old Man had always said all pussy was pink.
His languid exploration turned to hunger as she made a soft noise in her throat and opened her mouth to him, her hands working at his back. He moved his lower body against her, letting her know just how she affected him. Her hands found their way inside his shirt, their warmth nearly burning him in the chill of the evening. She pulled him closer and he obliged, his cock rubbing against her stomach, maddening him.
He found his hand snaking to the tight little globe of her breast; his mouth traced a path down her neck. The scent of her hair oil mingled with the sweet, briny musk of her skin. She was warmth, strength, and all woman.
He wanted her like he hadn’t wanted another woman ever in his life. Maybe it was the novelty of her being black, maybe it was that they both had always been outsiders to the type of people who clustered around the fire, it didn’t matter, not now.
He lifted one of her legs, the moist heat of her tantalizingly close, his mouth working at her neck.
“Daryl…” he heard her say from a distance. “Dixon! Stop! I don’t want…”
She was pulling at his shirt, choking him. He stepped back, anger and frustration roiling in his belly in a nauseating mix. He turned his back to her.
He heard her walk away with a scuffling of rock on the pitch surface.   She turned back to him, her face in deep shadow as she said, “It’s better this way, Dixon, for both of us.”
“Fuck you,” he said in a conversational tone. He was tired of always being on the outside looking in. He stalked to the tower. He needed some alone time.

Fire at Midnight by Jethro Tull from the Album Songs from the Woods, 1977
- 1
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Fire at Midnight