It ends up being an unplanned encounter in her cell, fueled on adrenaline from an almost-botched supply run and the way she'd felt pressed up against him on the back of the chopper.
It's rushed, clumsy, and he's as inexperienced as she is impatient.
(The first time does not go well.)
After, Daryl lies supine beside her on the thin prison cot, arms stiff and down at his sides. He chews on his lip, her unusual quietness making him unusually anxious. "That wasn't…"
"No," she agrees.
Slowly, he nods his head, staring straight ahead. "Could've been worse," he offers weakly.
Andrea's quiet for a moment, brow furrowed in thought, before giving him a low, drawn-out, "Yes…"
His head turns ever so slightly toward hers. "Uh, did you…" His eyes roam over her face, waiting on her response.
She looks back at him and confesses, "No." She scrunches up her face.
"Oh," he says. He presses his lips together and goes back to staring at the ceiling.
She feels him nod. "Well…" he starts, and trails off, searching for the appropriate words. "What didn't… uh…"
Andrea sighs and pulls the scratchy prison-issue blanket up to her armpits. "It's just…" She watches his face and plays absently with her fingers. "I guess it was sort of… in and out."
She looks at him and shrugs. "Well, I... I don't know, there should be a little… more, to it. I guess." Off the very concerned look that appears on Daryl's face, she curls a hand around his wrist and clarifies, "Not of that. That's fine. That's – that's great."
The corner of his lip quirks up. "Oh."
"Yeah," she says with a chuckle. "Um. I just mean… We can work on it."
Daryl fidgets beside her, like he's trying to be still, but just can't. "All right," he agrees. "Did you want to… uh, again?"
She makes a face. "I'm just so tired." As if on cue, she yawns. "You know what? Today was a little crazy. I think this," she waves her hand between them, "will be better once we've both had a good night's rest."
"Yeah," he nods. He sits up awkwardly, the blanket slipping down his chest. "Okay," he says, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot.
He slips into his boxer shorts and stands quickly. "Huh?" he asks distractedly, looking for his pants.
"Where are you going?"
He turns back to her, ripped jeans in hand. "Uh, I thought…"
Andrea lifts up the blanket. "Get back in here." She gives him a wide, hopeful smile.
Daryl looks at the empty space beside her, gaze lingering a moment at the hint of bare skin under the blanket, and back at her face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she says softly. "Come on."
He tosses the jeans back onto the floor and moves back to the bed, slipping back underneath the covers. Andrea curls herself against his side, draping an arm across his torso, a leg slung over both of his.
He tentatively snakes his arm around her, and she pillows her head against his shoulder.
"Tomorrow," she says. She presses a kiss to his chest. "We'll get it right tomorrow."
She falls asleep with his fingers tangled in her hair.
As it turns out, Daryl is a quick study.
(The second time is better.
The third makes her wonder why they hadn't done this earlier.)