Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: This is a response fill for the USS Caryl's 'Difficult Decisions' Fanfiction/Fanart Challenge – meant to answer the following prompt: "Carol and Daryl get together, but it is all a dream."

Warnings: Spoilers for all four seasons and should be considered AU after the events of the end of season four. References Daryl and Carol's past, mature language, mature content, allusions to an established Caryl relationship.

Hypothetically Speaking

Chapter Two

In a private suburb just north of Atlanta, Edwin Jenner jerked awake.

He wrenched himself upright, gasping, staring blindly into the dark as his heart pounded, heavy and high in his chest. After-images of the night terror streaked through his mind's eye, flighty and jarring as he forced himself to calm.

Jesus! It was just a dream. Thank god, it was only a dream.

His pulse was like cardiac arrest between his temples.

He unknotted his fists from around the duvet with difficulty, still too shell-shocked to be embarrassed when he realized his shirt was soaked with sweat. He peeled it off and let it fall, barely aware that it took his cellphone and keys with it as he stared blankly at the opposite wall. The damp material hit the hardwood with an audible splat, muffling the sound as his power-cord unplugged and his phone chirped a greeting.

Four new text messages. Urgent. CDC. One new voice message.

The clock on the bedside table flashed red – garish and bleeding as he rubbed his eyes.

3:47am.

He had to be up in less than three hours.

He did the math; pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes until sparks spread across his vision. He'd gotten home late - again. He'd lost track of time in the lab and then there had been something to do with construction on the way home. Candace had already been in bed for hours by the time he'd reheated some leftovers and crawled into bed. He'd only been asleep for two hours.

Somewhere below him, his phone buzzed.

CNN Breaking News Alert.

He ignored it.

Candace shifted beside him, making a soft, snuffling snore before flopping over to her other side, one leg hanging clear off the bed. Any other time, it would have made him smile, grateful he had a partner that could sleep through a train wreck and still manage to wake up five minutes before her alarm every single morning. She was the kind of person that deemed every morning a Monday, but would be up and about, running her usual ten miles – regardless of the weather - long before he could even stumble downstairs to answer the allure of the coffeemaker. Or, if he was feeling particularly bold, try to figure out where she'd hidden the expensive Hawaiian dark roast.

Only this time he didn't. His expression was slack, stagnant. Something wasn't right.

He tried to remember what had gotten him so riled up, but, as dreams were oft to do, he was already losing it. A handful of images – impressions mostly – was the only thing that remained. He remembered a rooftop, a sunset, a deserted town. There had been two people, a man and a woman holding hands and-

He shook his head. What had been so clear a moment ago - enough to make him sweat clear through the sheets, half-terrified of something he couldn't even put a name to - had melted away, wisping into the dark until he had half a mind to question if he'd just imagined the entire thing in the first place.

God, he needed sleep.

He slumped backwards, head hitting the pillows with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. Frustration coursed through him, momentarily overriding good sense as a little voice in the back of his head whispered – going on about work, meetings and the backlog of research that was collecting dust on his desk in the lab. Finding himself unable to shake the feeling that whatever he was missing was important somehow. That he needed to remember or-

He winced, guilty when she stirred. She didn't say anything, she just curled up beside him, letting him wrap an arm around her as they breathed into the quiet. He shivered, unable to stop the tremor as skin - still slick with the vestiges of his cold-sweat - met the warm air, prickling with goose-flesh as he tried to burrow deeper into the mattress.

"Edwin? You-you okay?" she slurred, fingers tugging at the thin tangle of reddish-brown that crowned his chest, making a soft sound as she breathed – rough-edged and uninhibited into the pale of his throat.

He opened his mouth, wondering what to tell her when they jerked, startled as her phone blared out into the hush. Ringing with the shrill, old fashioned tone she'd selected for unfamiliar numbers.

"Oh for Pete's sake," she groaned, flinging herself off in the opposite direction, "hold on…hold on!"

She cursed, knocking her tablet off the bedside table. But when she picked up the phone, something in her posture changed, stiffening as she fumbled for a long moment, untangling herself from the sheets as she answered.

"Candace Jenner speaking."

He was aware on some level that there was something wrong with her tone. All the softness, the good humor, was gone. Replaced by that PR 'swimming in bullshit' edge she only ever used for the most serious of committee meetings, usually when the state senate wanted to reduce funding or allocate resources to a different sector. She never backed down. And when that edge came out, it sent seasoned politicians scrambling.

But his mind was still spinning.

"Yes, I understand. Of course, but-"

Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.

"I don't understand, there were protocols put into place to stop this from-"

He turned, rolling onto his side, drawing the covers tighter around him as the mattress dipped and she got to her feet. He clamped down on the urge to face her, to watch as she paced, bare feet shying away from the chill – a vision in pale pink silk and messy brown hair. But for reasons beyond him, he didn't. He kept his back to her – to whatever it was on the other end of the phone that'd put that tone back into her words.

"Maximum containment. Why is this even a debate? Don't wait for my arrival. Quarantine those exposed and start emergency procedures. We can't let this get any more of a jump on us than it already has. I want-"

Containment?

He felt like a child hiding under the box springs. Like a toddler playing hide and seek. Thinking that closing their eyes and plopping down in plain sight would be enough to save them. His pulse thrummed underneath his skin, spiking high as a remnant of his dream wavered teasingly – darting to and fro in his mind's eye – only just out of reach.

If you can't see me. You can't get me.

"It's not containable? How did this happen?! I thought I'd advised the Governor that-"

His counted out his pulse, closing his eyes when she turned on the light and started fishing through her briefcase. Somewhere close by the first siren was joined by a second. Then a third. Was something on fire?

"Well, that would describe the mutation, but yes- no – you can't be serious! I said no, damnit!"

He rubbed his toes against the duvet, thoughts spiraling out, feigning sleep as he stared through the slots in the blinds. The neighbor's porch light was on – motion senor. He arched a brow. Weren't they in the Bahamas?

"I understand. Yes. ETA twenty minutes. We'll be there."

He sat up in bed when she ended the call, blinking owlishly as she flipped on the light and all but threw herself into the closet. The unfamiliar number flashed once – long and irritatingly jumbled before the screen on her phone went dark.

His head whipped up when the sudden klank-klack-creeeeak of the lock-box screeched into the early morning quiet – a coded fire safe that had been there when they'd bought the place.

What the hell?

"What is it?"

She nearly tripped coming around the corner, trying to walk and yank on a pair of pants at the same time. A thick manila folder with red and black edging fell into his lap. The metal bindings were heavy, cold and biting through the thin material of his sleep pants.

There was something stamped across the front.

Code name: Wildfire.

He tried to catch her eye but she was already moving, tossing clothing from both their drawers into the big duffle bag they kept for emergencies. There was a muscle ticking in her jaw – she was grinding her teeth again. She hadn't done that for a long time, not since-

"The governor just gave you clearance. I'm going to need you on this one," she answered, already miles away as a pair of pants and a work shirt sailed across the room, nearly taking out the folder in his hands as his fingers tightened reflexively.

"Remember that hypothetical scenario we talked about when I took this job?" she asked, startling him when he realized that somewhere in between the folder and the closet she'd come around to his side, sinking down on her haunches in front of him, eyes wide – imploring – worried.

Hypothetically speaking?

In the back of his mind, a woman's voice - heady, rich, but ultimately unknown to him - chuckled.

And for reasons beyond him, as the sound of a chopper thrummed in the distance, something in the back of his mind itched. Unable to shake the feeling that he was missing something insurmountably important.

A/N #1: Thank you for reading. This story is now complete! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Whoo for a twist ending, huh?! Hope you enjoyed!

Reference #1: According to the Walking Dead wiki, "Candace" is the name of Jenner's late wife. Whom we learn in the season one finale, ran the CDC and was 'a veritable genius in their profession'. She is also referred to as TS-19 – a nod to the manner of her death and how she asked her husband to record the process of her turning and use her brain samples in an effort to find a cure.