Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead.

The Open Road

Chapter 1

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What the hell's it look like I'm doin'?"

"Well," Rick Grimes muttered, rubbing his chin and crouching down on the pavement next to his buddy Daryl, "it looks like you got yourself a flat."

"Congratulations. You got eyes," Daryl muttered, struggling with the jack as he pumped the handle furiously in a desperate attempt to get the truck up so he could change the tire.

"Think it's time you got some new wheels. Third time you've had this thing worked on this month."

"It's just a flat. Ain't nothin' I can't handle," Daryl pointed out, wiping the back of his hand over his sweat-drenched forehead. "'Sides, I got canned today."

"What? Axel fired you? Why?"

"Hell, I don't know. Sumbitch got fired up 'cause I asked for a couple days off to drive down to Savannah and visit Merle. We got into it, and next thing I know, I'm out the door with my last week's pay and a hell of a sore jaw. He did time. Packs a hell of a right hook." He held out his hand, clenching his fist to show his bruised knuckles. "But I gave it back to him as good as he gave it to me."

"Aw, hell," Rick muttered, slumping onto the ground and leaning against the side of the truck. "You alright?"

"Ain't I always?" Daryl grunted, finally getting the truck propped enough. "Move your ass. You're gonna fuck up all my progress." Rick snorted at that scooted away from the truck, rolling Daryl's replacement tire toward him. "Thanks."

"You know, I could ask around at the station, see if there's any odd jobs. You know they're always paying informants."

"Don't have nothin' to inform nobody about. And I don't feel like doin' some cop's job for him anyhow." Rick nodded then.

He and Daryl had grown up together, been best buddies since they were still wearing their superhero pajamas. Rick had grown up in a little more fortunate environment with a sheriff for a daddy and a librarian for a mama. Daryl's daddy had been killed in a drug deal gone wrong before Daryl was old enough to remember, and his mama had spent most of Merle and Daryl's childhood trying to find a replacement father figure, and none of the many men that had come into their lives had stayed for more than a few months, and more than a few of them had been abusive pricks. But Rick had seen his friend through it all, even offering the bottom bunk in his room for a long weekend when they were schoolboys. Daryl had grown up relatively unscathed despite some scars and the occasional nightmare. Merle hadn't been so lucky. He'd gotten in with the wrong crowd from an early age and had spent most of high school in juvie before graduating into the general population at the state pen. Thankfully, Merle had turned his life around and was now a family man. Daryl was still struggling to pay the bills. He was still paying on the truck, even though it looked like it was due for the junk yard.

Rick always offered to help with money, and Daryl always refused. If there was one thing Daryl Dixon was, he was a man who didn't take handouts from anyone. If he needed money, he was going to earn it. And he always managed to make it by the skin of his teeth.

"Alright. Well, you know where to find me if you need a couple bucks."

"Pfft," Daryl scoffed, as he always did. But Rick always felt the need to offer. He had it pretty good. Had himself a pretty wife and a smart boy and a little one on the way. "Yeah, and I'll be takin' your money when hell freezes over."

"They say it's gonna be a cold winter," Rick offered, getting a dry laugh out of Daryl. "Alright, you want me to help with this tire?"

"Nah, it's done. Want a beer?" he asked, tightening the lug nuts.

"Yeah, but I better not. Promised Carl I'd help him finish that damned tree house we've been workin' on since the snow thawed."

"You better get on then. Lori ain't gonna let you hear the end of it if you don't."

"Yeah, you're right," Rick smirked. "Alright, well, you wanna come over for supper tomorrow night? Lori's been wantin' me to get some steaks on the grill. Friend of hers from college is travelin' through, and Lori wants her to stop by for a visit. It'd be nice to have another guy there. You know how Lori gets when her friends are around." Daryl snorted at that.

"Yeah, why not? Sounds good. I'm sure I'm gonna need a drink anyway."

"Alright, brother. See you then."

"Uh-huh," Daryl said with a nod. "See you." He didn't look up as Rick took off to the squad car to head home. He finished with the last lug nut, wiped his hands on the red, oil-stained rag hanging from his back pocket and stood to head into the house.

He took his time in the shower, standing under the stream and scrubbing at his dirt-encrusted nails, getting what looked like a month's worth of grease and grime out from under them, watching the dirty wader swirl down into the drain. When the water ran clean again, Daryl washed his hair and then cut off the water and pulled a towel around his waist. He wiped the fog from the mirror and took a razor to the stubble on his face. He slid a hand over the smooth skin when he was finished and pushed the wet mop of hair out of his face, slicking it back so he could see the worn-out look in his own eyes.

He'd been working hard for too damned long, and he didn't have a hell of a lot to show for it. He had a house that was bought and paid for, but the electric bill seemed to climb every month and there was a leak somewhere in the house. Either that or somebody had switched his water bill with Sea World's.

And he figured he'd be a little more upset about losing his job at the shop than he was, but as he stood there staring at his own face in the mirror, he felt a little relieved. The job had been decent, the pay had been alright, and he'd had a lot of freedom to use his own repair techniques. But he'd been stuck in this damned town since he was born, and he hadn't even really ever taken a proper vacation. It wasn't exactly that he'd been itching for one, but at least now he had the time, even if he didn't really have the money.

He sighed then, pushing back from the sink and shuffling off to his bedroom to pull on a pair of jeans and a white, sleeveless tee. He shrugged on a button down, leaving it unbuttoned, and he headed downstairs to grab a beer and a pack of smokes.

His neighborhood wasn't the greatest, but it was a far cry from the street he grew up on, the place his mama still lived when she died. He and Merle had sold the house as soon as everything was settled, and they'd split the money right down the middle. Thankfully, she hadn't married the last abusive bastard she'd shacked up with, so kicking him out had been the only nice part about the whole ordeal.

It was a pretty quiet night. No fighting, no police cars, nobody screaming as awful things happened behind locked doors. So the last thing Daryl expected to see as he settled down on his porch step, lit his cigarette and pulled the cap off his beer was a big RV rattling down his street.

"What the hell?" he muttered to himself, as the monster vehicle sputtered. In the dim light, the thing looked about as big as a rock star's tour bus, and for a moment, he thought he'd nodded off to sleep. It wasn't often a body saw something like that in Daryl's neighborhood.

The lights flickered, and the driver pulled over, narrowly avoiding knocking his mailbox down in the struggle.

Daryl took a puff of his cigarette before putting it out on the porch step. He took a swig of beer, pushed his hair out of his face and started down the steps and out to the sidewalk. Just as he stepped up alongside the side of the RV, the door swung open, and a small slip of a woman came storming out, gray hair wild from travel, eyes weary but full of exasperation, flashing the bluest blue he'd ever seen. Even in the dim evening light, they sparkled, and Daryl stumbled backward as she brushed past him.

"Damn it," she hissed through her teeth. "Just what I need." She slapped her hand against the front of the vehicle. He watched her then, watched her remove the front panel and move some wires around.

"You need some help?"

"No," she grunted, tugging at something and getting her hand in there pretty good. "I've done this before." She struggled, and Daryl watched her work for a few moments longer.

"You sure?"

"Yep," she replied, brows raising as she apparently found what she needed and grabbed a screw driver out of her back pocket. She seemed to know what she was doing, but the second something snapped, her face fell, and she let the tool clatter to the ground. "Ok, I'm out of options. I guess you can give it a go. What are you, some kind of mechanic?" Daryl smirked when she put her hands on her hips, getting grease on the sides of her sweatpants.

"Yeah," he replied, grabbing for the fallen tool. "You got a flashlight?"

"Somewhere in there," she muttered, climbing up into the camper. He heard her rummaging around inside, and a few moments later, she appeared before him with the sought-after item.

"Turn it on and hold it straight," he urged, ducking down to peek into the engine. "Hell, what you got is a busted fan belt."

"Yeah, I could have told you that," she offered. "I've driven all the way from Martha's Vineyard." Daryl eyed her, dressed in her sporty white sweat pants and her baby blue tank top. Her skin was smooth and soft-looking. Her arms were toned, and he couldn't help but notice the way her clothes hugged her in all the right places. Coming from Martha's Vineyard, she could probably afford the personal trainer, he figured.

"Look, I got one in my garage that'd work just fine for this. You give me ten minutes, I can install it for you," Daryl offered, getting a look of uncertainty from the woman in response. "Or you can just leave this thing to rust in the street. Your call."

"You'll help me?"

"Why not?" Daryl asked with a shrug. "You lost or somethin'?"

"Something," the woman said with a nod. "I think I missed my exit. Or I didn't drive far enough."

"Where you tryin' to get to?" Daryl asked. "I grew up around here. Been here my whole life."

"Uh…Rosewood Avenue," she offered.

"Yeah. Uh, Rosewood? That's downtown. You took the wrong exit, but if you take this street all the way down to the light and turn left, take it all the way downtown. You'll cross Rosewood. Can't miss it. There's a Starbucks on the corner."

"That narrows it down by a few million corners," she chuckled, getting a snort out of him. "Well, I really appreciate the help." She cleared her throat and stepped back into the RV before coming back with a couple of twenties. She held them out to him. "Go on. For the help."

"Ain't fixed it yet. I don't take nobody's money 'til I know I fixed the problem."

"That's very honest of you," she said with a little nod.

"It's just good business," he replied. "I'll go find that fan belt."

"Thank you, uh…"

"Daryl."

"Thanks, Daryl. I'm Carol." He considered her for a moment, and her face tingled when she saw his gaze flash over her body before his own face turned pink. "I'll just wait here." He nodded and headed off toward the house, while Carol ran her fingers through her short locks and felt the strong urge to fan herself. For a random stranger that her RV happened to stop in front of, he sure was nice to look at. She couldn't help but admire his ass in those pants as he walked away.

And then she paused, shrinking back into herself. She clenched her jaw and stepping back into the RV that was still cool from the air conditioning. It was warming up by the minute, so she shut the door, closing herself inside. She moved to the back of the camper, washing the grease from her hands before splashing some water on her face in the small bathroom sink. She leaned over the counter, peering at herself in the mirror. She stared for a good, long minute until she heard someone clanging around out front of the RV. She took a deep breath and got herself under control before slipping back out into the dusky, humid evening.

Sweat was already beading at his brow, and he'd slipped off his button up, wearing nothing but a white, sleeveless shirt, showing off his impressive, sculpted arms. Remembering herself, she cleared her throat and put her hand on the RV door.

"Daryl, would you like a glass of lemonade?"

"You got lemonade in there?"

"I've got just about everything in there," she chuckled. He eyed her for a moment.

"Sure," he said with a nod.

"I'll be right back." She disappeared into the camper again, re-appearing a few minutes later with two glasses of cool lemonade. "Sorry it's not colder." He accepted a glass and swallowed half of it down in three gulps.

"It's good," he said with a nod. "Thanks." Carol's eyes brightened then, looking as if it was the first compliment she'd ever received. But she turned quickly and moved to stand on the sidewalk with her own glass in hand.

Daryl put his glass down on the ground and continued working until he had the new belt in place.

"Alright, give it a try," he offered, closing up the panel on the front of the RV. He grabbed his glass and finished the rest of his beverage, while she climbed into the camper and started it up. It sounded brand new. He heard her laugh and give a loud clap, and then she cut the engine and stepped back out.

"Thank you, Daryl." She tugged the two twenties out of her pocket and handed them to him. He shook his head and handed her the empty glass, refusing the cash. "C'mon, the lemonade wasn't that good. Just take the money." She gave him a little grin, and Daryl couldn't help but blush.

"Best lemonade I ever had," he offered with a shrug, pulling a crumpled pack of smokes from his jeans and lighting one up. Carol watched the way his eyes fixed on hers, and she felt a shiver run up her spine. His gaze moved to the RV, and she saw the curiosity on his features.

"Everyone wants to see the bathroom," she laughed. At his quizzical look, she blushed. "It's custom. Has a shower and everything." She chewed her bottom lip. "It's practically an apartment on wheels."

"Been in a camper before," he said with a nod, taking a long pull on his cigarette. "Nothin' this fancy though." Carol cocked her head to the side a little, and she smiled.

"Would you like to come in, Daryl? I can give you the tour." Despite himself, he felt a tug that reached from his belly to his groin at the thought of pressing her up against the side of that camper and kissing her slowly and deeply. He nearly choked on the last puff of his cigarette, before he tossed it into the street and gave her a little nod.

"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. "Sounds good."