A/N - I have no idea what this is. It just sort of happened and I figured - gee, why not - I'd post it. It's total AU, but in my head I have this idea that maybe Daryl and Carol have a history before they meet on TWD and this would be a part of that history. Anyway, hope you like!

Disclaimer - The crazy stupidity of this AU one shot is all mine, but Carol and Daryl remain the property of TWD.

She fidgets as she waits. The pad of her right pointer finger glides back and forth across the sharp nail on her thumb. She's counting out the list in her head. There are ten things she absolutely must accomplish today. First, she must make a deposit for her boss at the bank. $2,000.00 into the escrow account. That's where she stands waiting. The bank. It's early yet. It won't open for 15 minutes. She's always early. It can be really annoying sometimes, but especially today when she has nine more things to do after this one.

First, the bank. Second, the town hall. Third, the house. Fourth... she's in the middle of ticking down her list when someone pushes through the revolving door at the entrance to the building. Soft footsteps echo off the tile floor and the intruder comes to stand a few feet from her at the plexiglass barrier that holds them both at bay until the bank opens.

She glances up from where her gaze had been fixed blankly. It is a man. He wears a black cap. It is boxy and the rim is shortened. She let's her gaze linger on his profile for just a moment. Then her eyes travel across broad shoulders as he turns away from her. His shirt is black and it spans the expanse of his back to frame defined muscles that taper into a toned waist. He wears jeans and it is here that she catches a glimpse of one arm.

It is the tattoo there that clues her in. It is a heart on his right wrist, small and easy enough to overlook but she sees it and dimly she realizes that she knows the man. He turns so that he's facing her, but his eyes are downcast, locked on his wallet as he opens it and peers inside. It doesn't matter. There's no way she wouldn't recognize him.

She panics slightly, considers turning away from where she's been standing and retreating to the cafe inside the building. The bank will open in 15 - no, 10 minutes now. She could go and get a cup of coffee and wait inside the cafe safely ensconced from having to make niceties with this man that she hasn't seen in eight long, but perhaps not long enough, years. He hasn't seen her. He hasn't paid her a lick of attention. He won't know it's her if she leaves now. He won't be insulted if he doesn't know it's her.

But she's thirty. She's an adult. She's not some frivolous child who can just run away from this. And what does it matter anyway. It's been eight years. The problem with him was never really hers to begin with and there's no reason she can't be pleasant.

"Daryl," she says softly, an acknowledgment, and he looks up, his eyes meet hers and surprise passes over his features before he bestows upon her a small smile.

For eight years she hadn't known him, hadn't spoken to him, hadn't actually even given him much thought. And as the notion hits her, she realizes that perhaps she wanted to run because she was worried that he would in fact hate her. Hate her for the way she exorcised him from her life all those years ago. Her reasons were justified, she knew that. But she could never truly know if he could know that as well. And it appears he does.

"Hey Carol," he mutters, the ghost of a smile still on his lips.

She catches the flicker of his eyes as they look her up and down, lingering in places that probably shouldn't be lingered on. She's conscious of the fact that she no longer looks as she did eight years ago. Her hips are wider, her waistline thicker – childbirth will do that to a woman. The years haven't been as kind as they should have been. She often thinks that she's ugly compared to how she looked before. His appraisal doesn't show his thoughts, his impression of this new her; but when his eyes lock on hers again she feels a tingle in the pit of her stomach. It's residual, this feeling, it must be. Something residual from a friendship, nay, a relationship born and died so long ago. It isn't her reality now. He hasn't been her reality in quite some time.

She asks how his father is. He is well. She knows this, but asks anyway because she's at a loss for what to say. She asks how his brother is as well. She smiles fondly thinking of Merle who had always liked her and who had once told her that Daryl was a fool to break things off with her.

He asks how her parents are. They are well also, and she's sure he knows this as well and only asks to reciprocate. He glances away from her as someone from the other side of the barrier comes to stand at the plexiglass, key in hand, ready to relinquish the barrier that keeps them from their desired task of banking.

He asks about her daughter as they enter the bank, moving towards the "Line Starts Here" sign, and she wonders briefly how he even knows that she has a daughter. She's six now, her little Sophia.

"So are you still married?," he questions, or something of the sort.

Her head is swimming as he asks because she's just approached the counter and handed the deposit slip to the teller. She glances back at him, a smile on her face and says, "Oh yea, of course."

His smile seems forced... although maybe not. It could just as easily be her own smile reflected in his.

The thought lingers in her mind for a moment, but she doesn't have time to form an answer before the teller hands her back her receipt for the deposit. And she's done. Her banking task accomplished, and she moves almost automatically out of the way.

"Well, have a great day," she says to him, smiling as she retreats. He says something of the same to her in response and she's moving mechanically to the door, her mind still racing, her heart suddenly in her throat. The heat of the day smacks her in the face as she steps outside, and she knows she should hurry along. She has nine other tasks to get done before work. Nine more places to go. She doesn't have time to dawdle. Yet she stops a moment and looks out across the buildings courtyard to the motorcycle that's parked at the curb. It isn't a motorcycle that she knows, but she knows it is his. He rode a different motorcycle when she knew him last, much different from this one, but still somehow the look of it is familiar. It's him through and through. And somehow even after all these years, she'll always know him when she sees him.

The breeze of the door moving behind her and she knows it's him as someone steps out. A chill travels her spine and she could swear she has goosebumps in the heat.

"Still here?," he says, his voice bordering on hesitant and she turns to look at him.

The words spring forth from her mouth without thought, "did you want to go somewhere and get some coffee with me?"

Warning bells should go off in her head, but they don't. A flashing neon sign should display before her eyes, but she sees nothing except the cool blue of his eyes looking into hers.

She knows this. The fact of it is ever present in her mind. She's still with the same man she's been with for nearly nine years now. The same man who hates Daryl with every fiber of his being. The same man who demanded that Daryl be removed from all walks of her life. Demanded is too strong of a word. Requested is too light. Her husband is a… the words "decent man" come to mind, although she wonders if Ed is the same man he was back then, eight years ago. Things aren't as they were anymore, things are different now. Back then, Ed was a decent man, but he'd lacked reason when it came to Daryl, when it came to her ex.

The thought of Daryl as her ex makes her smile slightly; the corners of her mouth turn up wryly. She can think of Daryl as a lot of different things, but an ex just feels incomplete.

"Sure," he says and she nods before angling her chin at the entrance to the cafe, the set of doors that match the ones they now stand before, doors that open up into coffee shop tucked in the corner of the building that houses the bank on the first floor, and countless other offices on all the rest.

As she orders, she knows that she shouldn't be here. This has trouble written all over it, and she feels the forbiddenness of it in her chest. But the history between them keeps her grounded, soothes her churning stomach as she requests extra honey in her tea. He gives her a glance as she orders and she wonders if he finds it odd that she's asked him for coffee but has ordered tea.

As he orders, thoughts of the past consume her mind.

She was twenty - naïve and innocent - and he was nineteen – hotheaded and unpredictable. She doesn't remember not knowing him in one regard or another. He was her father's best friend's son, and a friend of her father's now. They dated briefly. He was her first boyfriend, the first boy to show any interest. Ed was the second, the last. Maybe the whole affair with Daryl lasted a month. He ended it, but almost reluctantly. She remembers the day in the sandwich shop when she'd just known that something wasn't right. She'd pushed just enough and he'd told her. He wanted to slow it down. Things were moving too fast. They'd still be friends. They weren't still friends. Not that she wouldn't have wanted to be, but somehow it didn't shake down that way. They went out just once after that day, as friends, and then she heard nothing of him for over a year. Time passed. She met Ed who would become her husband. She was happy, and she forgot about Daryl. Or at least, if she didn't forget, her memories of him faded into something old and worn and easily shelved and ignored.

She'd been with her husband-then-boyfriend for a year when she saw Daryl next. The last time she saw Daryl actually. It was a party that her parent's threw every year. All of their friends were there, and some of hers as well. Daryl spent the evening getting wasted, sitting at the picnic table in a hate-filled glower, casting out curses and threats of havoc he wanted to wreak on Carol's boyfriend. His mouth ran as it did when he'd been drinking, and word of it made its way to Carol's friend's ear, and then eventually from her friend's mouth to Ed's ear. The night ended. Ed went home. Daryl, too wasted to leave, was forced to stay on her parent's couch downstairs while her friend and she shared her bedroom upstairs.

She spoke to him only briefly, tiptoeing downstairs to see if he was still awake. He was. It was unremarkable really, the conversation. She commented on how he'd hurt her. On how happy she was now. She hardly even remembers what was said, just a general gist of it. And then she went back upstairs to bed.

He had sex with her friend that night, on her parent's deck, on a park bench that had been dragged up to the deck for the party. Which was amusing because Daryl and Carol actually had never gone so far as to have sex in their month long fledgling relationship the year before. There were other... activities... for sure, but things had ended before anything could escalate further between them. It was made more amusing by the fact that Carol knew, that before going to bed that night she'd given her friend the condom and sent her on her way. It didn't matter to her. She was happy. She wanted him to be happy too.

Ed didn't take kindly to the fact that Daryl stayed overnight at her parent's. In fact, the whole matter blew up into proportions that might have never been recovered from. She almost lost the boyfriend, but in the end it was Daryl that was lost.

She numbly takes the cup of tea from the woman behind the counter and turns to him. He looks at her expectantly and then motions to an empty table in the corner. She nods, and follows him to the table, slides herself into a seat across from his and lets the cup rest on the table.

"So...," he says, and she detects a flicker of nervousness in his tone.

"I shouldn't be here," she blurts out.

He laughs. She doesn't know what she expected, but laughter wasn't it.

"I wondered if he still hated me," he says, his expression suddenly earnest.

She smiles because really, what else can she do? "Oh yes, he certainly does that," she speaks plainly.

"Even after all these years? What has it been..."

"Eight years," she offers, and he takes a sip from his cup, nodding at the thought of it.

He puts down the cup and gazes at her a moment. "And you... do you still hate me?"

"I never hated you," she says, shaking her head, "I just did what I had to do."

"Oh," he utters thoughtfully, "I didn't... I mean, I knew that, but I thought that you... uh... that maybe you hated me as well."

She tilts her head and stares at him a moment before speaking. Her lips curl up hesitantly as she says, "I could never hate you, Daryl. You were my first love."

The words aren't meant to hurt him, but a look not entirely unlike that of a kicked puppy crosses his face quickly before he replaces it with a more bland guise. The words are true though, and it surprises her how easy they were to say given the fact that she never gave them much thought before now.

"I actually kind of figured you would hate me," she continues softly before he can speak. He looks down at his cup and then back at her again.

"I could never hate you, Carol." The words linger there a moment between them, the weighted silence of what he probably wanted to say as well but dared not, the end of the words that so closely mirrored her own.

She wasn't his first love. She couldn't have been, but she let the thrill of those maybe-words live in her head just a moment before dismissing them. She would have wanted to be. She would have wanted to be his first love all those years ago. She would have wanted to be a lot of things. All of which she would never actually be.

She picks up her cup and takes a delicate sip. The tea is nearly cold, having sat there untouched for so many minutes. As she places the cup down again, her eyes catch on her watch and she sees they've been there for nearly twenty minutes. They've hardly spoken but somehow twenty minutes have ticked by unbeknownst to them.

"I have to go," she says, the words reluctant even though she knows that they shouldn't be.

"Me too," he agrees and the chairs scrape against the floor as they both stand up to leave. He lets her exit first, and then they are back in the heat outside again. She turns to look at him one last time, letting her eyes linger on his face because she wants to remember this moment, she wants to remember the way his eyes caught with hers, and the simple ease of it. He's leaning forward and before she can think better of it, she does as well and they are hugging. It is a tight hug, one of his arms just below her shoulder and the other around her waist. She squeezes him back and enjoys the small excitement of being caught in his arms before he releases her. The scent of him - cigarettes and coffee - stays with her a moment after she steps back to stand separate from him.

"It was really nice seeing you," he says, his eyes averting suddenly. There is a shyness to him that counters the boldness that she remembers from all those years ago.

"It was," she says, and she ducks her head slightly causing him to look back at her and their eyes to catch one last time. She smiles because there's nothing left to do, nothing left to say, and then nods as she steps away from him, nodding a second time then with a resolute look on her face before she turns and hastens down the street putting distance between them. She doesn't look back but she feels his eyes watching her as she retreats, as she hurries on her way back to her life, her real life, with a husband, a daughter, and a job, and still nine more things to accomplish before she makes it to work today.

As she turns the corner at the end of the street towards the parking lot where her car awaits, she hears the motorcycle - his motorcycle - turn over as he starts it, rumbling loudly as he pushes off the curb and heads on his way in the opposite direction at the other end of the street. She reaches her car just as the rumble of the motorcycle engine begins to fade into a dull roar that echoes the thrum of her heart.