"You sure you're alright, Mrs. Wilson? I got that light fixed for you, an' tomorrow I'll look at that door y' say is creakin', alright?" Daryl leaned against the frame of the back door of the old Victorian house owned by his sweet old landlady. Mrs. Wilson had lived here since she was 18 and she'd moved in with her husband; it had been his family's home before that. The truth of the matter was, it was far too big a house for an old lady whose children had long since moved away, and whose husband had died over ten years ago. But Mrs. Wilson was stubborn, and Daryl admired that. She refused to move away, not when she was still (mostly) mobile, and she refused to let her children convince her to move into a retirement home.

So she remained, in an old house that creaked and groaned, where more things seemed to fall apart every day. Alone, until he'd shown up a few months ago and answered the 'room available' add in the small local paper. Merle had been all for staying in some shitty motel just outside of town the way they always did when they rolled into some new town for a job, but Daryl had been just so tired of it. Tired of it all, really. Dirty motel rooms and cheap sheets, rooms lit by flashing vacancy signs, constantly moving and never settling as Merle moved from connection to connection peddling drugs or whatever else he could get money for.

He'd decided he'd had enough. That was how he'd ended up here, renting the attic room of Mrs. Wilson's old Victorian. The original arrangement had just been for him to pay rent; for a few hundred a month he got the bedroom and the nearest bathroom, and use of the kitchen. It was more than he needed, really. Over time his role in her home had slowly but surely increased; he helped her around the house, did some repairs, fixed up the car she kept out in the garage, mowed the lawn…

Merle would have teased him endlessly for helping the old broad out, but Merle wasn't around anymore and that was a good part of why Daryl was still here, actually. Merle's local job had gone bad, his brother had ended up in jail for at least a few years, and Daryl had been stuck here in this tiny town full of gossips. If it had happened anywhere else, he might have been angry. Stuck in some dirty hole of a town, in a crappy motel room where he didn't know anyone.

But here? Here wasn't so bad. Mrs. Wilson was sweet, even if she did always overcook the ham she liked to make on Sundays. The attic room was nice and cool when he opened the windows, and he kind of enjoyed spending his free time fixing things up around the house, or working on the old classic Chevy that Mr. Wilson had kept in the garage before his death. Plus, he had a good job. It hadn't been much, to start. In fact the diner had just been the first place he'd stumbled onto with a 'hiring' sign, and no one cared too much if the fry cook in the back looked a little rough or rode a motorcycle to work, as long as he kept the kitchen running and got the food out on time. It had been an easy job, for the first couple months. Key word: had been.

"Oh I'm fine, dear boy." Seated at her kitchen table, the old woman gave a wave of her hand at him before settling it back around her cup of tea. "You go on in to work now, alright? I'll see you this evening."

As he turned to go with a quiet nod, he heard her voice drifting out of the back door, "And you say hello to your pretty blonde friend for me, boy…"

Daryl just shook his head as he let the door close behind him, cause that 'pretty blonde' she mentioned was the exact reason why things at the diner had suddenly gotten far more complicated than he'd ever planned.

Her name was Beth Greene. She'd started as a waitress there about a month ago, after Rosita had run off to marry her army boyfriend Abe. The first day she'd come into work, her blonde hair back in a perfect swishing ponytail, her blue eyes bright and shining, a warm little smile on her full pink lips… Daryl had known, deep down inside, that he was screwed. That had been the first time he'd ever burned a burger in the diner, and unfortunately it wasn't the last, especially in the girl's first week or so on the job. It wasn't his fault she was so distracting, was it? It wasn't his fault that sometimes he'd just get drawn to her smile or her laugh and forget what he was cooking!

He'd figured that was all it'd be, anyway, her the somewhat distracting waitress, always on the other side of the counter like the other waitresses who had kept their eye on him long enough to be sure he wouldn't try anything, and then commenced just ignoring him unless they needed something. But that wasn't Beth, and it hadn't been from the start.

Daryl still felt a twinge of embarrassment remembering her first day there, when she'd popped into the kitchen and startled him so much that he'd nearly dropped a plate of fries on the floor.

"Whoops!" Beth had giggled as she'd caught the plate and offered it back up to him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you! My Daddy always says I can be way too quiet for my own good sometimes. Well, when I walk, not otherwise, cause he also says I could chatter a man's ears right off without even trying. Oh, see? I'm doing it right now!"

And he'd just been standing there staring at her like some gap-mouthed idiot, torn between wondering why the hell she was talking to him and being oddly fascinated by the faint flush that stole across the apples of her cheeks. "I'm Beth, by the way." She'd stuck out her hand almost formally. "Beth Greene. And you are?"

He'd grunted a reply, and it took him a moment to realize that wasn't actually his name. By then he'd already moved around her towards the grill to check and make sure he wasn't going to burn another burger, but when he'd glanced over his shoulder at her he'd seen a faint hint of disappointment in her eyes. Maybe that was what had prompted him to reply lowly and quickly, "Daryl Dixon."

"Daryl Dixon." His name had never sounded musical before, but somehow, it had when she'd said it. "Well it's nice to meet you, Daryl. I'm looking forward to working with you."

He'd never have believed it, even with the sweet smile on her lips. Except later he'd overheard her talking to Sasha, one of the other waitresses who mostly seemed to avoid him. "Who, Daryl? He's quiet, doesn't talk much at all. I mean I'm not saying he's a bad guy or nothing, but I don't figure he's a good one, you know? I heard some things, about his brother…"

But as the woman trailed off, he heard Beth's sweet voice break in, "I don't know. He seemed nice to me, and I always trust my instincts. Just you wait, I'll get to know him better."

And she did. He'd expected her to give up, honestly. Figured it was some whim, maybe some silly challenge for her; the sweet country farm girl chatting up the rough looking fry cook. But it never seemed like that, when she leaned over the counter to chat with him. She always asked about his day before babbling away about her own, and he grew to kind of enjoy the periods where she'd slip back into the kitchen, or when the diner would go into a slow period and she'd lean into the doorway or over the counter window and just talk to him.

His favorite part of working with her, though, was when they both got assigned the closing shift. Dinner went from five to eight, and then they shut down for the evening; it was a small town, and they had no need of a 24 hour diner, what with no major roads coming close enough for the commuter trade. With every other waitress, it was a silent and quick routine; close it up as soon as possible and get the hell out of there.

Not Beth, though. With Beth… well, it was almost like it was fun. As soon as the last customer was out the door she'd lock up and turn off half the lights, and then it was straight to the jukebox. She'd gotten the key from the owner, the one that let her play as many songs as she wanted without putting in quarters. She had a thing for the girl singers, he'd noticed that. Patsy Cline was one of her favorites, but she'd listen to slightly more modern stuff, too, like Dolly, or Wynonna. (She'd told him once she liked plenty of other music, too, but the jukebox only played good ole country music, so that was their soundtrack each evening.)

The first song would come on and she'd grab that broom and go dancing across the floor with it as she swept. "Now let me tell you, my heart's so busy jumpin' that it skips a beat, got me runnin' round in circles, dancin' in the street." Like he'd said, it was more fun with Beth than it was a job. Which was a good thing, because it always took him twice as long to get the kitchen clean when he was distracted watching her dance through the diner, or sing along in that sweet, breathy little voice of hers. Mostly he just listened; he couldn't sing for crap, but he wasn't gonna join in even if he'd been able to sing.

Or so he'd always said. Until that one night the jukebox wasn't working, and Beth had looked so damn disappointed. (He didn't know he'd had just as much disappointment on his face, too.) He hadn't known what the hell to do, all he knew was that he'd do just about anything to get that sorrow off her pretty face. So without thinking, he'd just started drumming out a beat on the counter. She'd looked up at him with her eyebrow raised and he'd just chuckled and teased, "What? Ain't no jukebox, right? C'mon, Greene. Sing for us."

That had been one of the best closing nights he'd ever had, with nothing but her voice filling every corner of that small diner, and the sight of her little blue skirt spinning around her as she spun in slow circles with the broom, sweeping the checkered floor.

They had other routines, too, other things that were just their's. Like his habit of passing her a little plate of fries right before she went on her lunch break. He knew she didn't make much for her wage; everything the waitresses got was mostly from tips and it was a small town. Beth'd told him that she was living with a friend of hers, a young girl named Amy. There'd been a whole funny story once about how her and Amy both had overly protective sisters, both of whom had showed up one day and insisted on trying to help them out, buy them furniture or food, give them money, until Beth and Amy had refused every over. Beth was determined to support herself and Daryl truly admired that. It was what he'd done his whole life, after all.

But he didn't like the idea of her going hungry, either, so he did his own small part with the fries at lunch, or the little container of food to go home with on the nights they closed together. It was never much; an extra burger, some fries, some corn or salad. She'd only protested a few times before she started to just take it with a sweet smile. The first time she'd accepted it without protest had also been the first time she'd given him something in return; fishing out a small plate from under the counter and sliding it down the counter to him with a grin. Peach pie, his favorite, with a dollop of whipped cream on top. Over time, that became another little tradition. Peach pie for him, and french fries for her.

The memories had a smile on Daryl's lips as he made his way around the side of Mrs. Wilson's house to the garage, where he kept his bike (well, Merle's bike, but basically his now) beside the old Chevy he'd been working on. Tonight, he and Beth were on the dinner shift again, and lord knew he was looking forward to it. Hell, forget the Lord, even Mrs. Wilson knew he was looking forward to it. The old broad was far more perceptive than people might've expected, considering her advanced age. Then again, he hadn't exactly been as private as he normally was. She couldn't have failed to notice that his few stories from work always revolved around a certain blonde waitress, or that the usually gruff and reticent Daryl smiled a little every time he brought her up.

It had been Mrs. Wilson who had pointed out something that had seemed blindingly obvious the moment she said it. "You like that girl," she'd said bluntly over her cup of evening tea. "You ask her out, boy. She sounds sweet. I reckon she'd be good for you."

You like that girl. Four simple words, but they'd cut right to the heart of the matter and he couldn't deny the truth of them. He hadn't been able to, since. He'd burned three burgers this week, for the first time since a month ago and Beth's first week at the diner, because he hadn't been able to focus ever since the realization had hit him. He kept getting distracted by the way she smiled at him, or her little habit of twining her stray curl of hair around her finger while they talked. He kept watching her laugh, the way she lit up every time, how everyone in the diner seemed to drawn to her genuine warmth.

But each time he'd thought about saying something, about maybe even asking her out, he'd just kept thinking about wrong it probably was. A man like him- the sort of man everyone in town gossiped about constantly, no matter that he'd not done a single thing wrong, no matter that he spent his days working at the diner and helping out Mrs. Wilson- had no place asking out a girl like her. Beth was sweet, kind, loved by everyone and never gossiped about in the same way he was, no, the only gossip about her was if she was seeing anyone and if so-and-so thought she might be interested in their son or nephew or cousin, because wasn't she just so sweet and pretty?

A rough guy like him, one with a checkered past and a brother in jail probably had no right asking her out. Lord, would they all gossip if he even dared, let alone if she said yes. But he wanted to. He wanted to ask out Beth Greene. He wanted to see that smile outside of the diner, wanted to hear her laugh out in the crisp warm air. The idea just wouldn't go away, and finally, he caved. It had taken him a full week after realizing to work up the nerve, but tonight he was going to do it. Tonight he was going to ask out Beth Greene.

As he climbed onto his bike and drove the short distance to the diner at the center of town, he kept running over in his mind what he was going to say. Will you go out with me seemed the simplest, for obvious reasons, and yet it somehow didn't seem enough in comparison to the mental image of her in his mind; that sweet smile and those warm, welcoming eyes. She deserved more than just a boring, basic request and yet he didn't know if he was capable of anything else. He wasn't exactly the eloquent type, wasn't even a talker. He knew he couldn't just grunt at her, he had to say something, but what?

Over and over he churned the words in his head, right up until he parked his bike behind the diner, climbed off, and headed inside. Cause there she was, scrubbing over the counter, and when the bell above the door jingled she looked up and flashed him the brightest, warmest smile ever, making it absolutely impossible to think, let alone worry. He just wanted to ask her out, that was all he wanted. All he had to do now was make it through the next six hours, and then he could do it. He just prayed he'd keep his nerve… and that she'd say yes.

...

Though Beth proved to be a distraction as always, he'd somehow managed not to burn any burgers so far, by the halfway point of his shift. Apparently he wasn't the only one who'd noticed. As he popped out the back for a smoke break, the door opened next to him and there she was, in that little blue dress all the waitresses wore, with her hair drawn back and a stray curl dangling by her cheek. He'd learned by now not to offer her a smoke; she always said no, but she didn't seem to mind standing out there with him, side-by-side as he exhaled smoke into the cooling evening air.

"You having a good day so far?"

He hummed his agreement to her question with a little nod.

"I noticed you haven't burned a single burger yet today…" Was his mistaken, or was there a knowing smile on her lips as she looked him over? He couldn't quite be sure, but then she giggled up at him, and bumped her shoulder against him and he just knew she was teasing. "Keep it up," Beth joked, mischief lighting her big blue eyes. "I've got a bet with the other girls that you won't burn one today. You don't want to let me down, do you?"

It was only when she was up the steps and halfway through the door that he managed to reply gruffly, "Never."

He wouldn't have been sure if she'd even heard, except she paused, looked over her shoulder, and flashed him another slow smile. It was a good thing he'd been outside and not in the kitchen, because he'd have burned at least four burgers for the pleasure of watching her smile like that.

...

The night seemed to go on forever. Daryl thought it would never be 8:00pm, that maybe time had slowed down or even stopped, just to fuck with him. Wouldn't be the first time life had tried to screw him over but this time, anyway, Daryl was pretty sure he was just being dramatic. Soon enough it was 7:30, and the diner's residents had dwindled down to one lone man sitting at the counter.

Daryl'd had his eyes on the man from the moment he'd come into the diner. He was a regular, but not the good kind. There were always those kind of distinctions. There were the regulars you perked up at the sight of, the ones whose orders the girls' memorized and brought over with a grin, the ones they saved extra slices of pie for or set things aside to share with. Then there were regulars like this, the ones that had a frown instantly crossing the waitresses' faces before they did their best to hide them, the ones that had even Beth's constant sweet smile faltering as it had ever since the man had come into the diner.

Daryl tried to stay focused, prepping food for tomorrow but glancing up in between just to keep his eye on things just in case... and it turned out, that was for good reason. He looked up and there that man was, leaning over the counter to grab a handful of Beth's ass as she bent over to fetch something from under the counter. In an instant, Daryl saw red as a raging fire filled his veins.. It roared through his head as his pulse pounded in his ears and he growled low and ferocious as he stripped off his apron, threw it to the ground, and rushed right to the kitchen door.

But he only made it halfway through before he realized Beth already had it under control. She'd grabbed a ketchup bottle of all things, pointed it at the man, and began to squeeze it all across his face and his clean white shirt. As the man began to sputter and put his hands up, Beth stopped, but only to jab the bottle at him. She was like a wild cat standing there; if she had hackles he knew they'd be up. Her feet were braced, one hand on her hip as she pointed at the asshole with the ketchup bottle and spat out, "You get out! Right now! And don't you dare come back here ever, you hear me?"

Now it was his cue, not that he thought Beth truly needed him. As he saw the man begin to open his mouth as if to protest, Daryl came up slowly behind Beth and crossed his arms over his muscular chest. That seemed to be all it took for the man to freeze and go wide-eyed before grabbing his keys and hurry off, dripping ketchup in his wake as he went.

Beth turned to him slowly, giving him enough time to see the fire in her big, wide eyes. And then, completely unexpectedly, she burst into giggles and the fire disappeared. "Did you- Did you see- his face?" She choked out the words in between laughter, and Daryl felt a smile beginning to tug at his own lips, too. A rarity, but one that seemed to happen more and more when he was in Beth's presence.

"You really got him good with that ketchup, girl." Daryl chuckled, and without thinking he reached up to rub the lapel of her dress between his fingers. "Looks like you got yourself a bit, too."

"Oh lord." She looked down at the ketchup stain with a sigh.

"C'mon." Daryl's voice was faintly gruff, but his gaze lingered on her as he lead the way back into the kitchen and over to the sink. Before he could guide her anymore, Beth took the initiative to hop up onto the counter beside it, dangling her legs in front of her in a way which was rather distracting if he were being honest. He did his best not to stare; that was probably the last thing she needed after what she'd just gone through.

But that image of her all fierce and fiery in defense of herself lingered in his mind as he dampened a cloth and began to gently clean away the stain on her uniform. He kept remembering the fire in her eyes and then the way she'd turned and just laughed, as bright and happy as always. She kept cycling around in his mind, laughing and smiling and giggling and singing and shouting, and when he looked up at her and saw her just inches away, a soft smile on her lips even now, the words came spilling right out of him. "Would you maybe wanna get dinner with me tonight, Beth? Not, uh- Not at the diner, I mean."

Earlier he'd discarded the words as too simple, but in the moment, they seemed right. He was a simple man after all, and there was nothing wrong with that. Judging by the smile on Beth's lips, she agreed. She just looked into his eyes with that sweet expression on her face, and breathed back with a soft little laugh,"As long as there's no ketchup."

"No ketchup," Daryl agreed with a chuckle of his own. "Deal."

As his reply trailed off, he caught himself just looking into her big blue eyes as if he were mesmerized; by her, by the fact that he was pretty sure she'd just said yes to a date with him, by all of it. To his amazement Beth wasn't saying a word either; she was just looking right back at him with that damn sweet little smile on her lips, and he just felt like he had to do something. Anything.

But just as he drew in a breath to say something (what, he had no idea), they both heard the jingle of the bell as the front door of the diner opened. Her gaze lingered a second more and then Beth was hopping down off the counter, her body sliding lightly against his in the process. "Be right there!" She called out through the window with a grin. But before she left she turned, leaned up on her toes, and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Half an hour left until we close. I'm looking forward to it."

As he watched her walk away with a hint of a bounce and sway to her step, the heat of her kiss lingering on his cheek, Daryl knew without a doubt that he was looking forward to it, too. Just as he knew that stopping in this random town and taking the first job he'd seen had probably been the best decision he'd ever made.

**A/N: I know, I know, I have so many other fics I should be working on. But this idea popped into my head, inspired by a gif-set I saw (and Emily Kinney's role in the Bulletproof Picasso video) and after the little ficlet I wrote seemed so popular, I had to get it out. I promise, I will update my other fics soon. (Especially once my anxiety about TWD coming back gets better.) In the meantime I hope you enjoyed this little prologue/first chapter! This seems like it'll be another multi-chapter fic, too, though hopefully not too long. It depends on how much people like it and how the muse is.