Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

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"Another sunny day in this little town of ours," a man's voice crackled through the radio softly. "You can expect some clouds rolling in around four this afternoon, but the sun oughta soak up the wet from last night's storm..."

Inside the small general store/gas station, a young man was helping an older woman decide on which oil would be best suited for her car. He was only meant to run the counter, but he did know a thing or two about cars. He'd learned from his brother, so it was more of second nature to determined what would work best. He knew cars from his big brother and oil from his job, so he selected the best one for car and wallet. He rung her up and offered a smile when she thanked him and offered a five dollar bill to their donation jar.

"Thank you. Have a great day." The young man moved shoulder-length chestnut hairs back from his cheek and leaned back against the counter behind him once the woman had departed. He didn't mind the slow pace of this town, or that it felt isolated from the rest of the world, but he did mind how the day dragged when he had nothing to do. He wanted nothing more than to just bail out and go fishing or just chill out in front of his TV, but he still had six more hours on his shift. He wouldn't verbally complain. Coming here saved him from the world outside the town line, so he wouldn't complain. Verbally.

The bell jingled above the door, a boy of nine darted inside, his father's voice chastising him when he entered, and Daryl chuckled to himself. This was an every day occurrence, and it was great, because the boy—Carl—never changed. He always bolted in here and over to the homemade, old-fashioned lemonade his boss's wife put out fresh every morning. Daryl had sold about half of it so far, mostly to himself, because it was so damn good, but he always was sure to save Carl some. He may be a part time city boy, but he loved his old-fashioned, country lemonade more than anyone else.

"I'm sorry about that." Rick ran a hand through his hair, dark bag evident under his blue eyes, and Daryl suspected it wasn't from stress or a late shift. He likely had stayed up the entire night with Carl, catching up on everything, because he hadn't seen him in months. His ex-wife had Carl for the school year, and Rick had him for the summer. They had a weekend arrangement that Daryl couldn't make sense of it, but it worked for them.

"It's fine. At least I hadn't just mopped this time." He pushed off the counter top and folded his arms over his chest. "You look like warmed over dog shit."

"Thank you. I've tried for weeks to get this look, and now I'm there." He grabbed a couple bags of chips, and cold sandwiches from the fridge, looking back to see if Carl was on his way back up. "How's life, Daryl?"

"Same old, same old." He rang up his items, sighing to himself. He was a thirty-four year old man working at a general store/gas station in a sleepy town with his two year old dog and a beat up truck. He had no goals beyond saving up to move back to the city, and even then he had no clue what he was going to do once he got there, and everything seemed to be teetering on a string-thin edge. He had no future here but the one he was trying to plan was so glaringly blank it hurt his eyes to look at the page. It hurt even worse that it confirmed every shitty thing his father ever said about him. At least he was still alive to try and better himself, despite having no clue how to do that. Or where to start.

"And you?" He flicked open a bag and placed the items inside, the blue of his eyes shifting slightly to mask the disappointment in himself and his future, lip twitching just a bit as he tried to smile, and he nearly chocked on the lump in his throat. It was such a Monday today.

"I'm great. It's finally summer, so I have my son, and there's a new theme park a ways outside town. He's been talking about it ever since I told him." He spotted the amount rung up and dug the cash out of his battered leather wallet. It was as old as his marriage, only this held together. For now, anyway. He would have to invest in a new one. Maybe Nadia had some for sale in her store. He'd have to drop by. "And we'll have the town fair in June, so there's going to be a lot for us to do this summer."

Daryl noted the flash in his eyes and accepted the twenty, digging out his change. "So, it's all good then?"

"Between us, yeah." He shifted his weight, clearing his throat and tilting his head to the side as he confessed, "He just told me...he's gonna be a big brother."

"Oh?" Daryl wanted to abort mission right now. He wasn't the type of person to handle these kinds of situations. He could barely handle a normal, small-talk social interaction, let alone a huge, life-altering conversation. Shit. He knew Rick's wife when they were married, and Rick loved her with everything. They just didn't last, and she left him when Carl was five. She remarried a couple years later and now apparently, she was having her new husband's baby. Jesus H, this was why he didn't ask how people were. He just smiled and waved and offered support if they needed it. What could he possibly say to make this better? Or less awkward?

"I'm not still...in love with her or anything. This just came as a shock, because one of the reasons we divorced was I wanted more kids, and she didn't." He inhaled deeply, his breath catching, and Daryl tensed. "I suppose she just meant she didn't want more kids with me, and it's... it'll be fine."

"Dad, can I get this?" Carl ran back over with a huge bottle of lemonade, holding up a pack of Nadia's homemade fruit twists. Fresh from her backyard and kitchen, healthy and an energy boost—and covered in cartoon doodles from Nadia's granddaughter. She was a skilled artist, and it drew the kids in by hordes. "Please, Daddy? Please?"

Rick nodded. "Sorry, could you ring this up too?"

"No problem." He handed over the change from the first order and rang up the twists, letting the boy keep them as he hadn't offered to hand them over or anything, and Daryl wished them a good day on their way out. He helped himself to a bottle of water from the fridge in the back and shook his head at the conversation he'd been in.

To be married for twelve years and find out your wife wasn't in love with you anymore would be tragic. Then a couple months later when it came to light that she was involved with someone else and happy was a kick in the teeth. After two years, Lori had married her new man—whose name escaped him, because he didn't really care—and now she was pregnant two years later. Man, if that wasn't a warning against marrying your high school sweetheart, he didn't know what was.

He finished his shift right on time, mopping and dusting and restocking so Nadia and Dale didn't have to. He counted down his drawer, dropping it into the safe and clocking out. He locked up and checked the parking lot for any trash before climbing into his truck and heading for home with his windows down.

He had to admit this place did have one hell of a quiet night. Aside from the noise of night and nature, it was completely still. At this time of night, no one else was around, and it had quickly became his favorite time. To be alone with his thoughts and with his plans, to get some work done on his truck without prodding questions or terrible city noise, was a peace he didn't know he could ever long for. Perhaps that was part of what compelled him to stay. He had no privacy in the city, but here he was just Daryl Dixon, store employee, helpful hand. He wasn't the screw-up, drunk of his past, and that was sorely needed for his recovery. The last six years of his life had been hell, but he seriously doubted he'd found heaven here. It was temporary, like everything always was.

He sighed into the night air, the wind stealing his breath, and he found the usual path back home. He parked and sat in his truck for a moment, looking over the run-down house he'd been renovating for the past two years. It was coming along room by room, and he loved his work here, but it wasn't a home he'd live in and grow old it. It was to be prettied up and sold to the top seller, and he'd add those funds in with his savings and get out of here. Just because he enjoyed the silence, doesn't mean he liked what he found there.

Closing the door to his truck, he didn't bother to lock it, and he paused before whistling. He could hear the thunderous steps from inside the house to the porch and around to the door he'd made just for this reason, and he was knocked back against the truck door. He chuckled and found those big, blacks eyes shining up on him. He scratched his head.

"Hey, boy." He gently pushed the dog off him and bent down to rub down his spine and under his belly, being instantly attacked by tongue, and he groaned. "Nah, Spike, stop." He couldn't get him to stop, and he couldn't help but laughing. Had he known this dog would be this strong and this soft, he would have gotten him a different collar and better name.

The seventy-five pound dog stopped licking at his owners face and sat down in front of him, panting and waiting for orders. He had a beautiful coat of black and brown, a spiked collar resting on his neck with a bone-shape ID tag dangling there, and his tail still in its happy wagging. He was a smart dog, but he loved his own very much, so once greetings were side, he waited.

"Good boy." He dug out a bone he'd swiped from his work stash and handed it over. "Don't bury this in the flower bed. We have to actually put in flowers when we sell, and I'm not hittin' another set of bones."

He whined around the bone in his mouth but stood up and trotted inside.

"That doesn't mean hide it in my couch either," Daryl called after him, scratching a hand through his hair and following after his dog. He unlocked the front door and found Spike sitting on the couch, gnawing on the bone, and he hung his keys up, flicking the dead bolt.

The inside of the house was composed of mostly sheet-covered furnishings, white walls and plastic sheets dangling over the entrance to the sun room. He had yet to finish up his work from the weekend, so it wasn't fully a sun room just yet. It was definitely a room, though. Spike liked to spend his days in there, sitting and staring in on Daryl when he was off and not working on the room. It didn't make it any better than Spike was a black and brown blur through the sheets. He could only block it out for so long before Spike busted through the sheet and jumped on him to remind him to get off his ass and work. That, or go for their hike for that day. Probably both with that bossy ass dog.

He prepared a leftover casserole and stepped into the shower while it baked, Spike chomped on his bone, and a cool breeze blew through the plastic sheets. The house was horror-film quiet, but in the daylight and once finished, Daryl was certain it would be charming and tranquil to potential buyers. That was why he was throwing in a garden, to make it more approachable and lovely. Right now it was just a shack of white paint, plaster, plastic sheets and exposed wires. He'd been working on it for only a year and a half by himself, but he had hopes to wrap it up by next fall. He might need some help with it, though. He just didn't know who to ask. Two years and his best friend was the dog. He could remedy that, but at what cost?

He spooned out casserole into a bowl, scrubbing water from his hair, and he grabbed a fork from the drawer. Abandoning the leftovers on the counter, he plopped down on the couch beside Spike and began to eat his dinner.

Spike lifted his head at Daryl, not interested in the meal so much as his owner, and Daryl side-eyed him.

"What? You got a problem with how I'm dressed?" He wasn't dressed at all. He only had a towel wrapped around his waist, because it was just them here, and honestly, he didn't want to go upstairs just yet. He was still sore from the eight am jog with Spike through the trail behind the house, and stairs weren't his friends right now. His job had been brutal enough. Nine hours on his sore legs? Plus the cleaning and restocking? He didn't mind, but his body begged to differ. He'd regret this tomorrow.

Spike huffed and returned to his bone.

"You are so judgmental for a two-year-old, you know that? I don't have to impress you."

Black eyes moved to his, big and round and full of fake hurt at his words, and Daryl glared slightly at him. Spike collected his bone and headed upstairs with only one backward glance at his owner. He did the same motion at the top of the stairs to the rug at Daryl as he did when he tried to cover his shits outside with nature.

Daryl chuckled weakly and shook his head. Wow, why did he ever think he needed a woman? He had enough relationship trouble with a two-year old Belgian malinois.

The next morning had been hell. He'd slept through his alarm, Spike hadn't bothered to wake him up because he was still sore over yesterday, and he had no coffee. He threw on some toast, checked the weather report and grabbed a hoodie from the hall closet. He smeared jelly over the toast and headed out, telling Spike to be good and watch the house if he wanted a walk when Daryl got home.

Daryl drove the long way to work since his schedule was already behind and he had forty or so more minutes to spare. He noticed the grass was still wet and muddy, and he remembered going mudding with his brother when they were kids. It was so long ago, but it still came back to him. Clear as day he saw his older brother with mud in his curly hair, smudged onto his cheeks and even a couple of his teeth. His clothes were beyond repair, and the bike was gonna take weeks to clean. It had been worth it, and they had a great time. Until they got home anyway.

Daryl was startled out of the memory at a car zooming by him, and he rolled his eyes at the idiot youth of this town. He didn't take the long way, because of them. They were Paula Mason's kids, and they were loud and rude and often drunk or smoking around the general store on the weekend. He turned the hose on them when they lingered too long, but they still came. The two boys were the worse than the two girls, but they were all terrible. He couldn't wait until they grew up and moved on. At his progress with the house, that was the only way he'd be free of them.

"Get outta the road!" a voice howled laughingly on the wind. "Move it!"

Daryl looked over to see a woman walking just beside the road to avoid the mud, earbuds in her ears and reading a book. He watched as she was forced into the mud and fell as the oldest boy didn't slow down. He heard the boy cuss at her on his way by and saw red. That boy would be eighteen in a week. He really oughta watch his mouth before someone punched it shut.

He stopped his truck and got out. "Fucking asshole!" Daryl shouted after them, flipping them off as he did so, and one of the girls turned around and returned it, shouting something lost as the car sped away. "Pricks."

The woman was trying to stand up from the mud but slid again and silently gasped, Daryl heard the slap of mud and turned as she crashed back down. He cursed and ran over to help her out of the mud, seeing her shoes and dress were ruined by it, and he knew that wasn't a pleasant squish to have between your toes and thigh and other cracks.

"Here." He held his hands, she grasped them, and he hauled her out of the mud. Her shoes were lost in the process, along with her book, but she was out. He saw her earbuds were still in, her chest heaving as she soundlessly panted from the struggle and the assholes who knocked her down, and he apologized.

Sapphire eyes turned to him, appreciation sparking in the flakes of silver, and there were some tears of embarrassment at the entire situation there too. Her cheeks were painted in a soft rogue, and she inhaled deeply, preparing to thank him and attempting to even out her breathing. In this moment he took in her the long auburn waves down her shoulders, the color of those hair accentuating that flawless creamy skin of hers, and it was a soft beauty. She wore no makeup, revealing freckles along her nose and cheekbones, and despite exposure to sun, there was no hint of a tan on her. Sunblock, though. He could smell that. He'd never seen her before, certainly not on this road, because he would have remember her. She was...stunning, and it'd be hard to forget her.

He watched her hands move, and he frowned, not sure what she was doing. He wondered if the fall hadn't been as soft as it looked, and he pointed to her ear to pull the ear bud out. "Are you okay?"

She lowered her eyes and pulled them out, tucking them into an untouched pocket on her sundress. She chewed on her bottom lip and spotted the mud once more. She held up a finger and bent down, dipping her finger into it and writing letters on her hands.

"Uhhh?" Daryl frowned even more and bent down beside her, seeing her trace out T-H-X, and she showed him her hand with a smile. "What...does that mean?"

She shared his frown now and slowly stood up, rubbing the mud off on her dress and pointing to her throat, shaking her head. She then covered her ears and did the same. She studied him to see if he understood, and he slowly rose up off the ground.

"Oh, shit." He recalled her hands and their motions, and he felt a bit like an ass for not realizing it sooner. "You're deaf?"

She nodded.

"And mute?"

She held up a hand and made a so-so gesture. She didn't like to speak. She tried to when she was young and was made fun of for how her words sounded. It wasn't like she could judge the sound herself, so it was better to just...not speak.

"Then what the hell were you thinking walking on this road? It's always a death trap with those asshole Mason kids! You shouldn't be walking alone, and not here. There's a park for walking, and you're less likely to ruin your clothes and book that way." He gestured to the still sinking novel in the mud, and she crossed her arms at him. "And why the hell do you have earbuds in?"

She huffed and shook her head.

"Right, I... I couldn't understand your answer." He chuckled at his worthless lecture and looked at his watch. "Okay, I have some time. Do you need a ride home? Where do you live?"

She shook her head again and collected her items from the mud, straining to collect the book, and he leaned over and grabbed it for her. He was taller and had longer arms, and she smiled at him. She waved and continued down the road with her muddy belongings, and he let her for about five seconds. She looked over when he moved into her peripheral vision. She stopped, and he stopped.

"I can't let you walk home alone. You almost got hit by the trash kids, and they'll be back." Probably gone off to steal beer and find weed. "Let me give you a ride home, please."

You don't know the way, she thought to herself. And I couldn't tell you. She looked back at his truck and then to him to see he wasn't going to let this go. She didn't want to get mud all over his car, and she had no way to tell him how to get her home. He had to realize that, right?

"Here." He dug his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it, finding a memo pad and holding it out to her. "Just type in where you live, and I'll get you home."

Huh, crafty, she thought, accepting the phone and chuckling to herself, typing out the directions to her friend's house. It was closer, and Carol was on her way to see her anyway, so it was a win-win situation. She thanked him in the directions for the help and returned the phone with another smile.

"Great." He returned her smile. "You're welcome. C'mon."

She set a hand on his arm and gestured to her muddy clothes.

"It's fine. I have a dog, and he gets muddy all the time. I'm used to having to clean it up." He shrugged a shoulder. "It's fine."

She didn't feel any less guilty, but she did follow him back to the truck and accept his ride. It was a bit awkward. He seemed to want to talk to her, but he had no way of understanding her answers. He had a notepad in his car, she noted, but it was dangerous to ask him to look at it while driving. She kept her head down and waited for the truck to stop, and he wished to God he had a radio. Then he wished to God he had a brain, because it wouldn't make anything less awkward for her. She couldn't hear it and feel less uncomfortable able this situation. Only he could. He no longer blamed Spike for looking at him like he was an idiot, because he was.

He dropped her off at her house, she smiled a thanks and headed inside, and he spotted a woman waiting for her. He leaned forward a little to see them having a conversation... sort of. The woman was one he'd met many times. She was the reason he had Spike. She owned the pet shop and offered him one of her dog's puppies as a welcoming gift, and she'd given a discount on food, bowls and a couple of toys. Michonne was her first name, and he didn't know or remember her last name. She seemed close to the woman he'd met, and he wondered if they were a thing. They did live together, and Michonne knew ASL, so maybe.

Although that was rude to assume. Maybe Michonne liked learning and met this woman through some random event like he did. They hit it off, because Michonne could understand her, and this was just a great friendship. They just moved in together, because who wants to be alone, and now Michonne was walking over to him with an unreadable expression on her face. He really should have driven away. Oh, fuck.

He turned his truck off and climbed out to meet her. "Hey, Mich."

"Hey." She smiled at him. "Carol told me you helped her?"

"Carol? That's her name?" He looked over his shoulder at the woman watching them from the porch. "Uh, yeah. I... Those Mason kids ran her off her road, and I helped her get out of the mud. I figured it was too much of a risk for her to walk home, so I brought her."

"Well, thank you. I appreciate that." She tucked her hands into her pockets. "She wants to talk to you."

"Talk to me?" He glanced back again, and she waved. "How can she talk to me?"

"Through me." She straightened her posture. "Are you busy?"

"I have to be at work in ten minutes."

"All right then I'll give you the short." She cleared her throat. "She wants to thank you for helping her, and she would like to make up dirtying your car. She wants to clean it for you."

"No, that's not necessary. I can handle it."

"I told her that, but she wants to make it up to you."

"It's not a big deal. Anyone would have helped her."

"No, they wouldn't have." Michonne searched his eyes. "We both know small towns aren't full of nice people, just people. They would have marked her off as not their problem and driven on. You didn't. We both appreciate that."

"I accept the thanks, but I got it. I should get going, too, so I'm not too late. Um, I'll see you around, though." He grasped the handle to his truck and hesitated. "Hey, Michonne?"

"Yes?" She paused on turning to leave.

"How long has she lived here?" He honestly have never seen this woman before. Carol. "I don't think I've seen her before."

Michonne chuckled. "She works at my shop, Daryl. You've literally tried to talk to her twice before she come and got me. Do you remember when you switched from puppy to dog food? That was her you asked for help from."

He blinked. "No."

"Yes, and you talked to her about ways to train Spike so he doesn't need a leash. She offered you books. You bought three of them."

"Oh, God." He couldn't remember any of that. He did recall the events of training and the food, but she wasn't present in his memories, only checking out with Michonne. Damn, how did he not remember her? "And she's always been there?"

She pressed her lips together and stepped closer. "Are you sure you're not blind?"

"I'd say no, but I can't promise that anymore."

She laughed. "Get to work, Dixon. I'll take care of her from here. Thanks again." She waved on her way back to the porch and told Carol of the conversation.

He doesn't want my help. She frowned. But I want to make it right. He helped me so much.

"Nope," Michonne spoke and signed to her friend. "He says he'll handle it."

She nodded and looked over at the empty space where his truck once was. I'm going to shower. Do you have anything I can borrow?

"You know I do." She grinned at her. "C'mon. I just made lunch, too."

Good timing then. Carol smiled and closed the door behind them.