All music belongs to their respective artists and writers. I do not own them or claim to. I do not own The Walking Dead or any of it's characters, I merely borrow them for creative purposes.

Love Song by Sara Bareilles

Echo performed by Jason Walker

Track One: Love Song - Sara Bareilles

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To the world, Daryl Dixon was a bit of a rock god. No, he didn't write music that inspired chills and awe, instead he beat out lyrics that were an emotional middle finger to all the things in this world that had done him wrong. For Daryl, his music was the only way he could let out the scars of his past-be it the damage his abusive father had done to him emotionally and physically, or the loss of his older brother, who had been the only person who'd given a damn about him. His top hits included 'You, Me and Meth', 'Scars' and 'Damaged Goods', and three of his records had gone platinum. Daryl Dixon didn't do the fluffy upbeat shit that got artists on the top 40 stations, he didn't do love songs, or ballads. He stuck to what he knew-pain and loss.

Daryl Dixon didn't know a damn thing about love, or being loved.

Honestly, he didn't want to. He saw what love did to people. Love drowned his mother in liquor and cigarettes. Love was the beatings and curses his father had laid on him almost daily. Love was Merle caring more about his next fix to the point he'd overdosed in some shit hole motel. Love brought nothing but pain and misery. Daryl had enough of both in his life to far go the emotion.

His publicist, Michonne Lawson, and manager, Andrea Harrison, had him going out with a new actress/singer/model every other day, all in the name of keeping up his image as a playboy. 'Scandals sell albums' was his manager Andrea's motto. And to be honest, Daryl did enjoy having money for once in his life.

He wasn't stupid with it, the majority going into the bank while the rest was divided towards his lifestyle and whatever charity Andrea thought he should be supporting-the only one he cared about was St. Agnes's Home for Children. Daryl made sure that a large chunk of his profits went towards the charity. On holidays, he made sure to swing by the local centers and bring gifts for the kids-much to Andrea's displeasure.

"Playboy rock stars do not spend their Christmases with kids, they spend it partying," she'd gripe.

"Shut up," was Daryl's usual answer when Andrea would get snippy about him doing as he pleased.

Heaven forbid he spend a weekend hunting or working on his bike. Nope, he had to be in the eye of the public, doing this talk show, or going out with that actress, appearing at this event whatever.

Daryl was about ready to call it quits when Andrea strutted into the studio, in the middle of him recording a song for his upcoming album. She walked right into the sound booth, looking like the devil himself was on a warpath.

"You're going to do a ballad," she announced.

Daryl's exclamation of 'what the fuck' died on his tongue with Andrea's sudden declaration. Instead the man stared at the woman as though she had sprouted a third eye.

"The hell?" He asked, placing his guitar against the stool he'd been sitting on.

"Your little Good Samaritan bullshit act? The press got wind of it. It's all over People, Star-everywhere. I hope you're happy," she huffed.

"The hell does any of that have to do with me doing a fucking love song?" Daryl demanded.

"I saved your redneck ass, Dixon," Andrea hissed. "I made a press release that you're recording an album for St. Agatha's-"

"St. Agnes'," he growled.

"I don't care! You and a bunch of other artist are putting together an album-all the proceeds will be donated to the charity."

Daryl was taken aback by Andrea's generosity. In the seven years Daryl had been doing music, Andrea had never proposed something like this. She wasn't really a cold hearted bitch. With Andrea her less than warm attitude was simply because Daryl was her only successful client, and she wasn't keen on losing her source of income. She was good at what she did, and though she could get on his nerves, Daryl trusted her.

"Why do I have to do a damn ballad?" he asked as he rubbed his palm over his face his tone defeated.

"Because we are not putting out an album for a kids charity with you singing about a night of drinking. You're doing a ballad-whether you like it or not."

Daryl growled a curse as he aimlessly kicked at the air, his hand balling into a fist. "I don't know the first fucking thing about writing a damn love song, Andrea!"

"Either you write it or I'll start going through lyricist and find someone who can," Andrea said with a double edged smile. "But you're doing it."

Daryl cursed at Andrea's back as she turned on her heel and started out the sound booth.

"Do you even got bands to go on this shit album of yers',"Daryl called after her.

"You just write the song and I'll worry about getting the other talent." And with that Andrea was gone.

Daryl fumed under his breath as he flopped back down on the stool, bracing his head in his hands.

He just couldn't catch a break.

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"Betty, where is my latte?"

Beth Greene bit her tongue against the biting retort that was simmering inside her, threatening to break free. Beth had been working at Terminus Records for three months as a intern/assistant/slave to Andrea Harrison. In those three months, Andrea couldn't be bothered to learn her name and she made Beth do an enormous amount of grunt work and gofer-ing all over Atlanta to pick up her coffee, her dry cleaning; Andrea named it, Beth would do it.

When Beth had arrived at T Records, she'd been a starry-eyed twenty year-old, thinking that this internship was her ticket to getting into music business. Beth fancied herself a good writer, having dabbled in song writing since she was thirteen when her father's closest friend, Otis, had taught her to play the guitar. Her parents had paid for her piano lessons, and from then on Beth knew she wanted to be in the music industry.

When Beth got the letter saying she was one of a dozen people being considered for an internship at Terminus Records. Beth had taken a leap of faith, applied and within a month she received her acceptance letter. Hershel and Annette Greene had been supportive as parents could be when sending their youngest child off to live in a city as big as Atlanta. Though she missed her quiet farm girl life, she did enjoy living on her own.

Beth's boyfriend of two years, Zach Turner, had been a little less enthused. They had had the biggest fight ever about her leaving. Zach was three years older than her, they'd met at the hole-in-the-wall diner Beth had worked at while she attended the community college. Beth's had been flattered that an older man had wanted her but truthfully Zach was very much a boy still. After their blowout Beth had been sure that things were over for them. The next day though, Zach climbed through her window, laying kisses on her shoulder till she was awake and presented her with a one karat diamond ring.

Beth had said yes, and promised they'd be married as soon as her one-year internship ended. Zach had agreed. His ring on her finger seemed to put him at ease in some weird way. Beth gazed down at said ring in thought. Beth still couldn't quite believe she getting married in a year.

"Hello? Betty, you do not get paid to daydream; where is my latte?" Andrea had left her office and now stood in front of Beth's small cubicle.

Beth plastered her best sweet as ice tea smile on her face, as she turned towards Andrea, presenting her with a cup from Starbucks.

"Right here Andrea, I was just about to bring it to you," Beth kept her tone chipper, holding back the weariness from showing.

Andrea eyed her closely as she took a tentative sip from the cup. After swallowing Andrea's ice blue eyes flicked from Beth to the cup in her hand.

"Too much foam," she commented before turning on her heel and heading back to her office. "Come."

Good job, Beth. Thank you for getting me coffee, Beth, Beth thought sourly with a roll of her eyes before grabbing her notepad, trailing after Andrea.

"I need you to call everyone on this list," Andrea handed Beth a sheet of yellow notebook paper, two dozen or so names scribbled on it in Andrea's slanted script. "I need you to tell them I need a song done. A ballad. The sappier and sadder the better."

Beth couldn't help but frown at Andrea. "Mr. Dixon is doing a ballad? And he's not writing it himself?"

Andrea was tapping something into her blackberry, as she shook her head, absentmindedly answering Beth. "Dixon got himself into a mess. A love song is his way out of it."

Beth simply nodded and asked if that was all. Andrea nodded, shooing Beth away with a wave of her hand. Beth couldn't exit the office fast enough, returning to her cubicle to stare at the list of lyricist Andrea had given her.

In her three months of working at Terminus Recorders, Beth had never met Andrea's most infamous client, Daryl Dixon. His posters and albums decorated the walls of Andrea's office, badges of his-or her-success. Beth would find herself staring at the posters, taking in the man in them-shaggy dark hair dripping with sweat, casting the sharp angles of his face in shadows as he leaned over a microphone, his bare chest covered by his signature leather vest with hand stitched angel wings, the same angel wings that were on every album he released in the last seven years. Torn pants that hung low on his hips, the muscles of his arms flexed caught the lights of the stage; Beth thought him sexy in that way only rock stars could be.

After her first day on the job she had swung by a small record store and bought some of his CDs, listening to them as she drove home. After a 40 second electric guitar intro, drums followed accompanied by the strum of a bass. Beth almost considered skipping the track-but then he sang.

That first line was a knife to her heart, raw emotion laced his whiskey dry voice, the sound of it vibrating from the speakers of her car. Though Beth wasn't one for rock or heavy metal, but Daryl Dixon's music struck a chord in her soul. The next thing Beth knew she had downloaded all his albums onto her iPod and found herself listening to his music hours on end. There were two things Beth knew for sure about Daryl Dixon when it came to his music.

The first was that he wrote all his own music. Yes, he had co-written a few songs with other successful lyricist but every song on all his albums read 'by Daryl Dixon'. The fact that he wrote every song told Beth that music was as personal to him as it was to her. Beth carried a notebook with her at all times, a journal of sorts filled with her poems and lyrics, she never let it leave her side. Second, he did not do ballads. His songs were heavy hitting, a constant rapid beat of electric guitars and drums, loud and punishing. It made Beth wonder if the man had ever been in love . . . if he had ever known any kind or gentle emotion.

"Betty!"

Beth was jolted from her thoughts by Andrea's shrill voice. Jumping to her feet, Beth craned her neck to see Andrea standing in the doorway of her office, eyeing-more like glaring-at Beth pointedly.

"I'm sorry, Andrea," Beth was quick to apologize as she reached blindly for the phone her desk lifting it up into Andrea's line of vision. "I'll call them right no-"

"Never mind about that," Andrea cut her off with a tired sigh before continuing. "I need you to go meet Michonne at Antonio's and pick up the promotional sketches from her."

Beth felt her heart plummet into her stomach.

"Antonio's . . . that's across town," Beth said as she checked the time on her phone. Almost 4 PM, traffic was going to be a nightmare.

"I'm aware of that, Betty," Andrea rolled her eyes. "Michonne is expecting you at four thirty sharp, she has a meeting right after you get there. You're late, it's your job."

Beth didn't say a word, the young woman merely jumped to her feet, shoving her journal, phone, shoving both in her purse and took off at a jog towards the elevators. (She was on the fifteenth floor, there was no way she was taking the stairs). Of course they took what felt like an eternity to arrive, once the doors slid open she was inside pressing the down button frantically until the doors eased closed.

These short deadlines were Andrea's specialty. Beth could swear she enjoyed watch Beth squirm almost as much as the woman enjoyed calling her Betty. Beth had given up trying to correct her after two weeks of working for her. The woman was exhausting.

At the ding of the elevator, Beth rushed forward colliding directly into a hard, male body. The man stumbled forward in surprise consequently knocking Beth backwards. The blond hit the ground of the elevator hard, her purse flying out of her hand, the contents scattering across the floor. The man fumbled with a harsh curse the folder and papers in his hands mixing in with the contents of Beth's purse.

Normally Beth would have apologized, and offered to help with the mess-but today her job was on the line. Beth scrambled forward, shoving whatever she spotted into her bag before leaping to her feet, stepping around the crouched man as he gathered his own possessions.

"Watch where yer goin' lady," he called after her.

"I'm sorry!" She called, not bothering to look back as she raced down the hall past the reception desk and out the front doors.

Beth would be damned if she was going to lose this internship. She made a promise to herself to make it up to the man later, should fate bring them together again.

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Daryl watched as the petite blond raced down the hall, her ponytail swinging after her like a banner. When she was out of sight Daryl mumbled something along the lines of 'damn interns'. She was probably one of Andrea's newest serfs. The woman got some hellish thrill making her interns jump through hoops for approval. And all of them ate right out of her hand.

Shaking his head, Daryl turned back to the mess of papers scattered across the floor of the elevator. The doors gave an impatient ding, prompting Daryl to scoot forward, allowing the doors to slide shut as he reached up and hit the 15th floor. As the elevator began to rise, Daryl went about gather the sheets of paper.

Since Andrea had breezed into the sound booth, announcing her batshit crazy plan, Daryl had attempted to write a ballad. He'd ended up destroying a whole damn 100 page notebook in his attempt. Needless to say, it hadn't gone well. Then he had received the fax of possible songwriters and Daryl had physically cringed as he read the names there. Most of them wrote poppy top 40 bullshit or being desperate and broken without some chick. No way in hell was he gonna perform any of their songs. Just hell no.

After reading the damn fax he had decided to storm Andrea's office and tell her where to shove her damn love song. He wasn't Elton fucking John, Daryl didn't do sappy, feely music and whether she liked it or not he'd visit the kids at St. Agnes's as much as he damn well pleased. The direction of his anger fueled train of thought was derailed when he found the notebook. Under a pile of his bullshit attempts at lyrics, it was open on the floor, pages folded and bent.

Damn girl left her shit, he thought sourly as he lifted the notebook up by its spine and turning it over, his eyes scanning the page if had fallen open to. In looping script, half cursive, half print, there were musical notes written underneath the words on the page. Daryl read that one page, the frown on his face deepening.

'Echo'

Hello, hello
Anybody out there? Cause I don't hear a sound
Alone, alone
I don't really know where the world is but I miss it now

I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name
Like a fool at the top of my lungs
Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright
But it's never enough

Daryl flipped the notebook to the first page, his piercing blue eyes scanning the inside of the cover.

Beth Greene

1238 Manderson Ave, Apartment 6B.

The doors dinged open at that moment, breaking Daryl's concentration. He quickly gathered up the rest of his papers, tucking the notebook among them. Climbing to his feet, Daryl hit the down button, and the doors eased closed once more.

Daryl clutched the notebook like it was a lifeline as his brain began working a plan to get him out of this mess, get the kids their money and maybe a chance to watch Andrea's head spin. A crooked smile hitched one corner of his lips.

Daryl wasn't as screwed as he thought.

A new fic. Again. Tumblr was an enabler as was my good friend and shipmate Sam aka doncellerespire. It started with an image that popped into my head of Daryl on stage, went from a one-shot to a short fic that should hopefully wrap up in 6 parts. Daryl may get slightly OOC, I will try to keep him as true to cannon as I can but this is a very different universe we are seeing him in. I have this fic mapped out in my mind and I hope you all enjoy the ride.

I will try to update within the week, I have three other fics going so my time is a little stretched but I'm willing to make it work :)

Please review, I always enjoy hearing what you guys have to say.