A/N: I DO NOT own any part of The Walking Dead. Glad to see there's some interest out there, keep on reviewing and let me know! I have a lot of plans for this story, and I hope to have a little fun with it too!

Daryl Dixon, Forever the Charmer

3 Days Before Wildfire

Scarlett stared at the faucet of the bathtub, counting the steady drips of water that fell from the silver metal arm as she sat quiet and still in the warm water, her entire body submersed in the liquid tomb.

Swallowing, she stared blankly, her mind empty and her body numb in the wake of a chaotic night, one that had completely managed to unnerve her, sending her into an emotional frenzy that now left her sitting in the bathtub, surrounded by scalding hot water and peaceful quiet.

It was all too much, the noises, the smells, the sounds, and then the events that had followed a day full of shouted orders and impatient customers, asking for more beers that they didn't need. The course of Scarlett's first day and night at Harry's itself would have been enough to bring about a panic attack, however even that had been followed by the stern questioning of police and constant inquiries by Michael that sent her over the edge and out of space.

And now? He knew. So far, the entire time they had dated Scarlett had managed to keep Michael oblivious of the fact that she couldn't control her emotions, taking her medication secretly and plastering a smile on her face each time that things got tough, however now, there was no way she could continue to pull the wool over his eyes, not after having a full-fledged attack in the passenger seat of his car and wheezing so sharply for air that he almost took her to the hospital.

It was humiliating, it was embarrassing, even more so than the swollen purple eye she now sported, thanks to the brawl she had broken up on instinct before even thinking. Perhaps if she had simply stopped to analyze her actions, she could have spared herself a mental breakdown and the immense humiliation that came with it.

There was nothing worse than the way he looked at her in the car, as she fought to catch her breath and clutched a hand to her pain-stricken chest tightly. The way Mike observed Scarlett with pity in his eyes, pity and concern bombarded her offensively in the way a vocal insult never could. He thought she was weak, he felt for her, she could see it in his eyes, and Scarlett loathed nothing more than being pitied. She hated the look in a person's eyes when they gazed down at her, wanting to protect her and let her know everything would be alright. Well, she didn't fucking need protection! She could damn well protect herself, Scarlett was not weak, and she refused to be treated as such.

Lifting up a foot, Scarlett felt the water slosh around her as she rested the limb on the edge of the tub and sank lower, submersing herself to just beneath the nose. Staring at the silver faucet, she quietly contemplated the up and coming days.

In two days, Scarlett was to tour the campus of the University of Georgia, an overnight trip where she would meet prospective professors, mingle with her future classmates, and observe the campus she would call home. She couldn't help but wonder bitterly however, how she would be received with a massive black eye that likely would not go down by that time. Scarlett hoped that if she continuously kept a cold compress on, she could reduce the swelling enough that she would be able to cover it with makeup, but that was looking a little bleak at the moment.

Several raps on the bathroom door drew her eyes across the bathroom, starting at the white door as Michael's voice sounded on the other side.

"Babe you alright in there?" he called, and Scarlett remained silent, mouth still underwater. After the passage of several silent seconds, the door creaked open and the handsome young man walked in, closing it behind him and walking across the bathroom then taking a seat on the edge of the tub. As he did so, Scarlett looked away quickly, facing her right side towards him.

To add to her further mortification, the natural vanity of a young woman also came forth, and Scarlett found herself unable to look her boyfriend in the face. She knew that the bruise was grotesque, revolting even, the way the swollen skin protruded in a sickening purple shade and leaked fluids. It was horrifying, and Scarlett foolishly did not want Michael to see her like this.

Over the course of two hours, the image of strength and independence she had worked so hard to maintain was crumbling, leaving Scarlett completely ashamed of herself, ashamed and angrier than anything else. Why did she have to be so damn weak? Why couldn't she just keep her shit together like everyone else in the world?!

"I was doing a little thinking. How about we take the morning off tomorrow? I'll close down the place, and you and I can do a little hunting. Maybe bag a deer, hit the creek and get a few fish for a fry. The people will love it, and I know it'll take your mind off things."

"I don't need a fucking break Michael." Scarlett snapped irritably, although deep down, the call of spending a morning and afternoon in the wild sounded like heaven. There, surrounded by nature, she would be able to forget about the world with a gun in her hand, connecting with the natural beauty of the world the way her grandfather had taught her.

At this, Michael raised his eyebrows, never having seen the side of Scarlett that replied angrily and defensively this way. Immediately, she felt the slightest bit of remorse irk at her. It would have been so simple for Michael to call her crazy, and give her a subtle reminder that he had welcomed her into his home when she had nowhere else to go. Michael Everheart was simply too kind for that however, something that spurned her guilt even further as she sat quietly in the tub.

"Okay, well I need a break then. So why don't you and I head out tomorrow?"

"Stop talking to me like that, I'm not fucking crazy alright?!" Scarlett suddenly shouted, sitting up aggressively so that water sloshed over the side of the tub, splattering Michael's jeans. He jumped slightly, then simple stared at her, cautiously and guarded.

In her furious agitation, Scarlett was determined to prove that she was not someone who needed to be taken care of, even if that meant initiating a spat with her lover. Her emotions rumbled like a mighty storm, thoughts and feelings churning inside of her head wildly and pulling Scarlett into a state where being defensive was the only way to keep herself from feeling like the shit of the world.

"I'm not talking to you like anything. You want to go off the deep end and pull yourself to pieces that's on you and you only, but you're not going to blame me for it." Michael said sternly, and Scarlett looked away. Perhaps it was the thing she liked the most about him, he was brutally honest and refused to give into her little games. Swallowing, she stood up, water dripping down her body as she stepped out of the tub.

Michael reached for a towel, then tenderly placed it around her body, drying off her shoulders and neck in a way that was both comforting and romantic. Turning her head slightly, Scarlett stared at him through her free eye, before standing on her toes and planting the softest of kisses on his cheek.

"I take it that means you're sorry. Let's go to bed, I'm beat." He murmured, kissing her forehead and Scarlett closed her eyes under his touch, forgetting all that had happened over the past day. With a deep hum, she leaned against Michael and placed her head on his chest gently, listening to his heartbeat. He replied by putting his arms around Scarlett and leading her gently from the bathroom to his bedroom.

Climbing into the bed, Scarlett pulled the covers over her nude frame, shivering against the cold. Shedding his clothing, Michael joined her, rolling onto his side and putting his arms around her so that his body pressed against her own. Arching her back slightly, Scarlett melted into him, placing a hand over his own and lacing her fingers.

She would have been content if the world ended tomorrow, an asteroid hurtling from the sky and obliterating the human race. It was still strange to Scarlett, the way she felt so safe in Michael's arms, protected from the world and all its cruelty. Never before had she felt such devotion and outpouring affection for someone, and as she lay there, feeling his lips travel the back of her neck, Scarlett again found herself wondering if perhaps she was in love.

"You know you're beautiful and you always will be." He breathed into Scarlett's ear and she sighed in happiness, wondering how she could have gotten so lucky in finding someone like Michael. He always knew just what to say, and when to say it, as though he could read her mind.

Slowly, Michael's lips began to rove Scarlett's body, and that night, the made love furiously beneath the dim lighting of his rom. After they fell into a sweaty heap, Scarlett's thoughts continued to rumble over and over again in her head, and she closed her eyes clutching Michael's hands around her and praying he would never let go.

WTTJ

Daryl clutched his crossbow tightly, calloused fingers running over the sharp tip of an arrow. Standing behind a massive tree trunk as he watched a buck prick its ears and listen to the world around it, the mountain eerily quiet.

Bringing the weapon up, Daryl stared at the animal quietly, watching with intent as he stared into the very depths of its mind, watching the inhuman and inferior thoughts that graced its head. Nevertheless, Daryl could not deny the beauty of the creature, tall and muscled with large antlers that branched out to the sky, signaling a formidable opponent for other bucks.

Crouching down slightly, Daryl leaned over, trying to get a good shot before losing his balance. It was the slightest twitch, but just enough to cause him to reach out of the tree beside him, grasping at the bark which crackled off and sent the buck dashing in the opposite direction, bounding magnificently.

"Damn!" Daryl mumbled under his breath and hopped from behind the tree, racing as fast as he could in the direction of the massive buck, relying solely on instinct instead of taking time to observe its tracks on the ground. Angrily, he stormed between massive tree trunks and hopped over their roots.

With surprising stealth and intense agility Daryl Dixon moved, the sun beating through a canopy of massive trees and trickling onto the back of his pale and sweaty neck. He wasn't thinking, he wasn't feeling, he was simply relying on his natural instinct, instinct that had been drilled into him from the time he was born. It came down to learning your place over the rest of the creatures of the world, rising to the top of the food chain because if you didn't, you wouldn't last long.

Survival of the fittest, in all aspect. Daryl Dixon was a survivor. He was a survivor of abuse from his upstanding father, a survivor of the nights he had spent alone, lost, and completely useless in the Georgia mountains. He was a survivor of the persecution of his fellow citizens who saw only his last name, assuming that Daryl was at the bottom of the barrel just like the rest of his God-forsaken family. Yes, Daryl Dixon was a survivor.

Suddenly, Daryl found himself looking into nothing but empty space, and with a sigh, he crouched down, studying the ground and the disturbed prints left behind. The buck had been light on its feet, leaving only the faintest of imprints in the ground that would not have been detected by even some skilled trackers. Grasping his crossbow firmly in his hands, Daryl strung back and arrow and jogged at a steady pace, keeping up with the tracks.

Drops of sweat began to bead on his forehead, mingling with the strands of hair the crossed his forehead. As Daryl bounded through the lush padded forest floor, he caught a hint of movement that forced him to stop in his tracks and crouch down on his toes, legs shaking from exertion.

With its head bent over, the buck grazed delicately, teeth pulling pieces of grass from the ground. Its long limbs bent, Daryl studied the buck, eyes raking its elegant form and strong muscles. Standing up, he held up his crossbow and pulled back his arrow further, aiming for its head.

For a full minute, Daryl Dixon stood there, arrow pulled back, muscles taut, and the world still as he stared at his prey. His eyes watered, his breath hitched in his throat, and the entire world around him ground to a halt, the birds no longer chirping, the wind still. It was the moment every predator dreamed off, when life came to a halt in anticipation for that final moment.

Then, Daryl's fingers released the arrow, just as an explosion tore through the forest, ringing in his ears and sending birds from their nests, flying off into the sky. In confusion and milk shock he stood, watching as the buck swayed for a moment, then fell onto its side.

The sound of voices carried on the wind, and as Daryl made his way towards the carcass he looked down, clenching his jaw at the sight of a bullet wound in its side blood dripping down onto the glass below.

"What the-?" he began, just as the sound of heavy footsteps pulled his gaze up, just as none other than Mike Everheart emerged with his girlfriend, toting both a rifle and the black eye that had allegedly been given to her by his brother.

"What the hell do you want?" Everheart sneered, and immediately Daryl forgot where he was and what he was doing, aware only of the fact that he wanted to take this guy's head and bash it into the ground. Temper flaring, he glared angrily, fists curling.

"Could as you the same question." Daryl shot back angrily. Walking around the buck, he grabbed its head, yanking his arrow free and brandishing it in the air.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me. You see that bullet hole right there!" Mike exclaimed angrily, storming forward and his girlfriend whose name Daryl could not recall chased after him, her good eye wide as she looked from him to Daryl.

"I've been tracking this buck for five damn miles!" Daryl seethed as his enemy stepped closer. Without thinking, he held up his crossbow, aiming it right at that brunette head that he wanted to see splattered all over the forest floor. As he stood, he could think of nothing but just how much he hated Michael Everheart, hated everything about him from his attitude to the curly-haired bimbo that hung on his shoulder, carrying that rifle like she actually knew how to use it.

"Does that bullet hole mean anything to you? Or are to too damn stupid to hear what I'm saying?"

"Michael!" his girlfriend exclaimed as though shocked by his words, however Daryl barely noticed her voice as he lifted his weapon and swung it around violently, just missing his opponents head as he ducked, rolling onto the ground.

"What the hell you say to me?!" Daryl roared with another swing, fury coursing through his very veins. He could barely see as his mind filled with images of the bearded fuck down on the ground begging for his life like he deserved. The way he saw it his great great great granddaddy should've taken the whole Everheart clan and put a bullet through each and every one of their heads.

They thought they were so much better than everyone, the way they all sat on their pedestals and years upon years of money, handed down generation upon generation. The first Everheart had settled in the mountains underneath the eye of one of Daryl's ancestors, and somehow over the course of centuries, the tables had turned. Now the Dixon name was a disgrace while this shit lived off his family's money.

Daryl had gone to school for three years as a boy, and three years was more than enough. Even at the tender age of nine he knew he was an outsider, his brother made sure he knew each and every day, but that didn't stop him from wanting nothing more than the slightest bit of acceptance. It was Everheart and his friends that made sure that didn't happen, and the last day Daryl attended the third grade, he made sure they paid for it.

Without warning, Everheart reached behind him and pulled a gun from the back of his jeans, pointing it at Daryl menacingly, his mouth arranged in a snarl. Leaping forward, his girlfriend stood between him and Daryl, throwing her hands out.

"What the hell are you doing put that away!" she exclaimed.

"This ain't your business you stay out of this." Daryl said harshly. The ole of dramatic heroine was not impressive to him, in fact, he downright found it annoying and degrading as she stood there, chest puffed out like some sort of peacekeeper. He may not have known her well, but Daryl knew that people were the company they kept, and this chick was no exception. She even held her head the same way as Everheart, as though she thought she was better than Daryl. Well she wasn't, and while he would never hit a girl, he sure as hell would deal with her as he saw fit.

"Don't you talk to her that way! I swear to God Dixon I'll blow your fucking brains out you piece of shit." Everheart growled, pulling back the hammer of his gun and within a matter of seconds, his girlfriend whirled around in front of him, somehow managing to disarm him and throw him back several feet.

Daryl could not help but stop and stare, watching as Mike's face grew dangerously dark. Again, the air became strangely silent in preparation for an attack, and he wondered if Mike would indeed hit her right then and there. Instead, with a clenched jaw, he grabbed her by her elbow and yanked her forward, whispering in her ear through raspy breath loud enough for Daryl to hear a few feet away.

"I'll deal with you later." He murmured darkly, and as Daryl watched, his girlfriend's face remained strangely calm. Perhaps it was the black eye, however her expression stayed impassive, not a trace of feeling written from her full lips to her arched eyebrows.

"Take the damn animal." Mike growled, then turned his back, hurrying away angrily. As he did so, Daryl faced his wide flannel-clad back and could not help but get the last word in.

"You accuse my brother of beating on girls and you go home and do in your woman? Fucking joke." He shook his head, and Mike turned around, letting out a loud scream then raced towards Daryl in full rage, teeth bared and hands extended.

Because he was so tall, Daryl just managed to dodge him, jumping out of the way at the last moment so that he flew right past him and fell to the ground.

Pulling himself to his feet, Mike spit out a mouthful of dirt then turned to Daryl, lifting his fist.

"STOP!"

In seconds, Daryl found himself facing a head full of curly brown hair. As Everheart's girlfriend stood dangerously close, blocking Daryl from her boyfriend's blow, Daryl inhaled, catching the scent of ripe apples on her locks. Apples and pears, a delightful mixture of fruit that made him forget his current situation.

She was standing close, closer than any woman had really ever gotten to him. So close in fact, that her body almost brushed against Daryl's own.

Unlike the previous night, she was clad in a pair shorts, boots, and a rather large t-shirt that hid her frame. Her face was completely devoid of makeup, although Daryl wondered if perhaps it was just because she could not apply it with her bad eye. Nevertheless, she looked not like the painted-up whore he had seen last night, but an extremely pretty girl, much younger than he thought.

Her eyes were green, a shade of emerald that reminded him of lush leaves, the beautiful forest around him. What caught Daryl's attention more than anything however was the way she stared, as though she felt some sort of connection with the nature around her. It was a stupid thought but…he knew the look. It was the same one he always saw in his eyes when he returned home from hunting.

Turning around, she faced away from him and Daryl looked up, momentarily dazed. What the hell had just happened? He had left his mind, letting his thoughts wander like tiny colorful butterflies, dancing under the sky.

"Michael, it's not worth it, please let's just go. There's deer all over the place up here we'll find something else."

Instantly, anything he felt for her was gone with both her insinuation that Daryl was worthless, and her sheer willingness to give up. She was weak and pathetic, just like the company she kept.

"I don't want your charity." Daryl spat, backing away slowly. Quickly, the girl turned around.

"Honey I'm not being charitable, I'm just trying to be civilized here. We all need to just calm down and leave. You take it, it's fine." She put her hands up, and Daryl simple stared at her, upper lip curling in disgust.

"You can play nice all you want Scarlett. Dixon's don't know the meaning of being civilized." Everheart said behind her, and Daryl spat in his direction, before turning around and walking off, crossbow in hand.

Damn both of them, they could rot in hell for all he cared. He was done with all the shit in the world, the very shit he was forced to surround himself with every day. It made no sense, how one could live in the mountains and still find no respite from humanity. He would do away with all of them if he could, making himself the last man on Earth.

Angrily, Daryl traipsed through the forest, knowing that the heavy sound of his footsteps would drive away any prey within a mile radius. There was no point in staying out any longer. So now, he would be going home empty-handed, with nothing to do but face Merle who after getting out of jail with a hangover, would be in bad a mood as ever.

In fact, Daryl doubted his brother would come home at all, which was fine with him.

Being the last man on Earth sounded pretty damn good right now.

"What the fuck were you thinking Scarlett?!" Michael shouted the moment he slammed the driver seat door shut, turning angrily to his girlfriend. Attempting to remain calm despite the frustration that was building within her, Scarlett took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before responding.

"Mike, you pulled a gun on him. For all I know you would've pulled the trigger had I not done anything."

"You're damn right I would!" he shot back, and Scarlett found herself immensely surprised. In fact, this entire situation was shocking, for up until the last two days, Scarlett had never seen Michael so angry. In fact, she had never seen him anything less than the cheerful sweet Southern boy who had swept her off her feet with his unfound kindness and chivalry.

And now…Scarlett was looking at someone entirely different. Someone who had pulled a gun on another human being with fire in his eyes. She couldn't help but wonder now if there was something she had missed, if she had let her foolish infatuation blind her. Here she was, wondering if perhaps she was in love and now Scarlett realized that she barely knew Michael at all.

Oh she knew the fact about him, the intimate details of his life, but family lineage and childhood stories didn't speak as much for a person as hidden peeves and behaviors. Had she been missing out on this all along?

"So what, you're going to go to jail for the rest of your life over a damn buck?" she shook her head incredulously and continued to stare at him, wondering if his hair might suddenly change color or something else strange would happen that Scarlett didn't know about.

"You think anyone down here would give a damn if I popped one in that guy's skull. Baby, I forget you ain't from around here, but I can assure you, me killing Daryl Dixon would be doing a big favor to everyone out here." Michael chuckled cruelly, and Scarlett simply stared, completely unable to fathom this change in personality. It was as if he was a completely different person, the way hate burned inside him like a might fire. It set about many things within her, from terror to anger, anger for the fact that he would dare consider killing another human being.

Scarlett had learned from an extremely young age that life was precious. Each and every life, whether it be white or black, rich or poor, was as important as the next. It was something her grandfather had stressed throughout her life, and something Scarlett clung to.

"How can you say that? I don't know what there is between you two but he's still a person." She shook her head and looked out the window, away from her boyfriend.

"Let me tell you about the Dixon's Scar. They're rotten. Each and every one of them, going back to as far back as they go. Daryl Dixon and his good-for-nothing brother Merle have been nothing but trouble, just like their father, and his father before him and his father before him. My daddy always told me to keep away from them and I did, but when I was in the third grade, I remember some friends and I went off during lunch at school. Went off into the forest, and we found Daryl, sitting there with a pile of dead squirrels like he was having some kind of party or something. We were scared as hell, but we were boys and we did the only thing we knew, we picked on him. Should've know then that something was wrong with him. He was always real quiet you know, not like his brother Merle. No, Merle was loud and proud about everything he did. But Daryl…well you know what they say about the quiet ones…"

"So what happened?" Scarlett swallowed, urging him to continue.

"Well, one boy he shoved a dead squirrel in his mouth. Sent him home with his pants pissed. When he started jamming it into his mouth I tried to get him to stop but he went after me. Bashed my head against a tree until I broke my nose, I thought my momma would kill him herself when I came home. He never came back to school after that, and our teacher didn't care enough to go after him. The Diixon family is nothing but a bunch of racists, trash, and criminals. You still want to defend him?"

"Yeah but he doesn't deserve to have his brain splattered all over the forest floor! You're going to stoop to his level?"

At this, Michael simply stared at Scarlett then sighed, tilting his head back on his seat.

"Look, I can tell you feel sorry for him, and believe me, once upon a time I did too. The guy's father and brother used to beat the shit out of him, and you should've seen how scrawny he was as a kid. All underfed, dirty, never taken care of. But once you get to know Daryl Dixon, you won't feel so bad for him."

With that, he started the car, and the two drove back to his home in silence, where Michael dropped Scarlett off then headed down to Harry's.

Sitting on the kitchen counter, Scarlett held a cold can of beer in her hand, taking sips of the beverage and thinking as she kicked the back of her legs against the sink. Daryl Dixon.

She didn't want to believe that he was everything Michael made him out to be, but at the same time she didn't want to delude herself into thinking there was always good in people. In truth, there wasn't, and Scarlett couldn't always come to the rescue, but something told her that perhaps Daryl Dixon was just misunderstood. So far, she had not seen or heard of him causing any trouble. Last night he had been trying to protect his brother and today he was just out hunting, same as her. What was so bad about that?

The way the Michael simply said his name with such loathing was astounding to her, leading her to again question just how much she knew about him.

What Scarlett did know however, was that when Scarlett had looked at Daryl, he had found herself looking into the eyes of another nature enthusiast. She could see it from the way he wore it proudly on his brow.

It was interesting that he used a crossbow, but clever. He would be able to shoot without making noise and driving off any other prey. As Scarlett sat, drinking her beer, she wondered if perhaps she should give Daryl Dixon a visit.

Yes, that was exactly what she'd do.