Title: I Do Like You (or, Shane's a Jerk)

Author: GageWhitney

Rating: T

Pairing: Daryl/Andrea

Disclaimer: Very much not mine.

Summary: "There's shit about him you don't know. I'm thinking, if you did, you wouldn't be so quick to hitch your wagon to him."

Note: Just because I thought, what if Andrea didn't want to stick around after Dale's death?

Also, for the Daryl/Andrea fans that aren't already there: come join us at daryl-andrea[dot]livejournal[dot]com! And for the D/A who are there: love you guys! XOXO

Daryl wanders up to her while she's packing away her sparse amount of belongings – clothes and an awful book and Dale's ugly, floppy hat – into a duffle bag and eyeing the stakes holding her tent down.

"What's all this? Thought we weren't moving out for at least another week."

The group had discussed moving away from Hershel's farm following Dale's death only a day earlier, and were to leave as soon as enough supplies could be accumulated for the journey. Rick, T-Dog and Glenn had already run into town to raid the pharmacy one last time.

Andrea stops what she's doing to stand before him, hands on her hips. "After everything that's happened lately, I just… I can't be here with this group anymore. Shane's been talking about separating from everyone else for a while, anyway."

"And you agreed to that?"

She nods. "He wants to leave in the morning. Don't tell the others, okay?"

"Seriously?" he says, raising an eyebrow.

"I think it's a smart move," she tells him.

He chews on his lip for a moment. "Why?"

"Shane says –"

"Not Shane. You," he says, jabbing his finger in her direction. He moves closer and watches her eyes. "Why do you think it's a smart idea to run away?"

She sets her jaw and stands tall before him. "I'm trying to tell you that I agree with him," she says. "He knows what he's talking about, and he thinks we'll be better off fending for ourselves without everyone else. After everything I've seen… he's probably right."

Daryl shakes his head. "You don't know a damn thing about Shane."

"I think I have a pretty good handle on him," she scoffs. "He might have an indelicate way of –"

"Fucking a guy once or twice doesn't mean shit," he interrupts.

Her eyes narrow. "It's none of your business who I fuck," she spits.

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, backing away from her. "There's shit about him you don't know. I'm thinking, if you did, you wouldn't be so quick to hitch your wagon to him."

"Whatever," she says childishly, rolling her eyes.

Daryl stares at her a moment. "You think Dale'd want you to leave the group? Just give up and run off with Shane, of all people?"

She crosses her arms over her chest. "You heard Dale. This group is broken."

"Yeah, and Shane's the one with the sledgehammer." He laughs humorlessly. "Do yourself a favor and ask Shane what happened to Otis. Ask him what happens when it comes time to save his own ass. Then see how willing you are to run away with him."

With that, he turns on his heel and storms away from her. She stands there, staring after him, before marching off confront Shane.

Later, Andrea finds him sitting in the front seat of his pickup truck, parked at the far edge of the woods. He's cleaning an arrow with the old rag he keeps in his back pocket.

She wrenches the passenger side open and hauls herself up into the seat, slamming the door shut behind her. He glances at her, then goes back to focusing the arrow.

"What are you doing in here?" she asks.

Daryl jerks a thumb to the back of the truck. "Got a buck. A few squirrels. Got to haul it all back to camp."

"Oh," she says, twisting around slightly to get a look. "That's great."

"Yeah."

They sit in silence for a few moments before she speaks. "I'm sorry."

Beside her, he grunts. "For what?"

"For before," she says. "I'm not going with Shane."

At that, he finally looks at her. "You go get yourself an education or something?"

"You could say that," she sighs. "You could also say… you were right. He's a jerk."

"Imagine that."

She gives him a small smile. "Thank you."

He shrugs. "Thought you had to know."

"I just thought… I don't know," she sighs. "Shane didn't treat me like a victim, or some fragile mental patient, or whatever, and I was so desperate for someone to see me as useful that I guess…" She shakes her head. "I didn't want to see it, maybe. How he is."

Daryl nods slowly. "Rick's got the same problem, you know. He doesn't see it."

"I'm afraid you're right about that," she says quietly.

He lets it sit there for a minute before he asks, "I ever treat you that way?"

"Hmm?"

"Like the others?" He gestures to his head. "Nuts, or whatever?"

His question is unexpected, and she takes a moment to think about it, staring out the window. "Well… No. I guess not."

"Just checking," he says with a shrug. "Never did think you were, or that you're useless, for what it's worth."

She looks over at him. "For what it's worth, I don't think you'd leave any of us for dead to save yourself."

"Probably not," he says, meeting her gaze.

She smiles at him, nods, and scoots over on the bench seat until she's close enough to lean up and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He flinches, but only slightly.

"You're a good man," Andrea says thoughtfully, leaning back. "Dale knew it, I think."

He shifts awkwardly in his seat. "Okay," he mumbles, staring out the window.

She regards him a moment, watching the way he tries to pretend she's not there. "Why don't you believe that?"

He glances over at her. "Don't shrink me."

"I was a lawyer," she shrugs, a grin playing on her lips. "I ask questions. It's kind of in the job description."

"Well, stop it, Ally McBeal."

She laughs at the moniker. "Can I do something if it doesn't involve asking you questions?"

He snorts. "Can you?"

She rolls her eyes before leaning up again and, this time, pressing her mouth against his. He lets her kiss him for a few moments before jerking away and searching her face.

"The hell was that for?"

"Oh, now who's asking questions?" He doesn't respond, his eyes wide and staring, and she shrugs. "I wanted to. I do like you, Daryl, even if it scares you when people say that."

"Oh."

She kisses him again. There's a few moments of hesitation before she feels him respond, and then he's surprisingly willing and competent when he kisses her back. He leans into her, working a hand into her hair and tugging slightly to pull her head back and give him better access.

Her mouth opens under his, and they shift, leaning further back so that he's almost on top of her, his hands spreading her knees apart so he can settle himself between them. He ruts up against her, and she gasps against his mouth.

When she snakes a hand down to palm the front of his pants, she wonders if sex in the front seat of a car is some new fetish she acquired after the world ended.