A/N: Thanks to everyone who's giving this little story a shot! I appreciate it! Once again, the past is in italics. :)

All I can say is what you think is going to happen in the future, probably isn't going to happen. I'm gonna keep you guessin'... I hope. I do love Daryl but for some strange, unexplainable reason, I love Merle too. So, happy reading, folks!

Disclaimer: I own nada from TWD so no infringement intended.

Chapter Three

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Merle had confronted her in her backyard and she hadn't heard a word from either of them since… and it was killing her. Why was it killing her? Emma wasn't sure but the fact was that she'd spotted the brothers a few times in the past couple of weeks and neither of them spared her even a glance. What had Merle told his brother? Was Daryl aware of who she was? And if he was, why in the hell hadn't he approached her even if it was to use a few choice curse words in an effort to push her away. Unless, he just didn't give a fuck… Which was a definite possibility.

"Did you hear me?" The young voice on the other end of line caused Emma to shake herself and she shifted her weight on the stool that was perched under the island of her kitchen. "Hellooooo…"

"I hear you," Emma replied. "I just refuse to respond. There is no answer to that question that will keep you from digging even deeper and any further digging is outlawed."

The girl giggled which made Emma grin wide. That giggle… "Outlawed? By who?"

"Remember a long time ago when I said that whatever I say is law?" Emma could practically hear the rolling of eyes on the other end of the line.

"I was sixteen and I barely recall that whole conversation."

Emma narrowed an eye. "Well, I can recite it word for word, you know. I have it memorized and stuffed neatly in the 'Mom's useful speeches' folder in the back of my brain." A long, dramatic sigh was released which made Emma smile even wider. "In fact, I haven't used that folder in a while so—"

"Mom…"

"Charlotte…"

"All I want is for you to be happy and if finding a good man makes you happy… well, then I want to know about it."

The apple didn't fall far from the tree in Charlotte and Emma's case which concluded that karma was a bitch because now Emma knew exactly what she had put her own parents through as a girl. However, it was also where each woman had gotten their independence and free thinking attitude from. They may be impulsive by nature but they learned early from their mistakes, even if that meant premature graying for parental figures. In Emma and Charlotte's case, Emma was the parent so it wasn't so fun when she caught her sixteen year old daughter sneaking out of her bedroom window so that she could attend the "party of a lifetime". Thankfully, the world provided the older woman with many selections of hair dye and a strong stomach to fight off the ulcers.

Emma had been a young mother and she hadn't been the best one at that. She'd had a dream to go to school and even though her mother had pleaded with her to put her baby up for adoption, she couldn't do it. Thankfully, Charlotte was an easy baby with giggles that could melt the heart so it wasn't long after her birth that Emma's mom, Glenda, had thanked her for making the right choice. It was a tough struggle until Emma was able to graduate college with a Journalism degree, since Glenda was playing mother to little Charlotte. Emma felt more like an older sister than a mother to the little girl but that changed as soon as she graduated from The University of Chicago. Charlotte was four and Emma finally felt like she could be the mother that she deserved.

Eighteen years later and Charlotte was embarking on her own adventure at the University of Georgia in Athens. Since Charlotte was moving to Georgia and Emma was terrified to be so far away from the girl, she'd decided to pick up and move along with her, much to Charlotte's chagrin. Then the whole buying her childhood home thing happened and the rest was history. Although, Emma promised not to stalk her at the dorms or show up with baked goods unannounced, Charlotte was anxious to be on her own for the first time in her life. Emma knew that feeling so she kept her phone calls to twice a week. Sometimes three. At the most, four.

"First of all, Char, a good man is not to be found in Milledgeville, Georgia and second, a good man is not the key to happiness," Emma replied.

"You sound like Judge Judy," Charlotte said with a smile to her voice. "Are you back to watching Soap Operas again because you already went through that twelve step program and everything."

"Ha ha," Emma deadpanned. "I called to talk about you. How's school?"

Char sighed. "It's okay. Different. People make fun of my accent even though I'm the only one without an accent around here."

The older woman let out a laugh. "Pretty soon, you'll have an accent just like they do. It's contagious. Like a virus."

"I like it, though," Charlotte replied and then proceeded to add a twang to her words. "I can meet a nice boy and settle down so that I can pop out ten kids, all of 'em boys of course. We can run the family farm, milk cows for a livin' and kill my own chickens for dinner."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Come on now, not everybody in Georgia hails from a farm."

"I swear to you, Mom, that every single person I've met from Georgia has lived on a farm at one point in their lives. I feel out of place because I've never touched a cow's nipples before."

"It's called an udder," Emma retorted.

"Whatever," Charlotte grunted.

"Come on, Char, you're the one who wanted to come to UGA. You have to stick with it and by the beginning of next year, you'll love it. I know you and you've never given up on a single thing in your life. Relentless is what you are, girl, and you're strong enough to overcome anything." Emma took a deep breath and tried her best to sound motherly, even though their current relationship was more like sisters. "Even with your lacking knowledge of cow parts."

That earned Emma another giggle. "You're right. Maybe, I should take an agriculture class so I have something to talk about on my next date."

Emma cleared her throat. "Speaking of dates…"

Another inaudible eye roll. "Yes, mom, I'm being careful."

"Just checking," Emma mumbled. "You don't want to end up—"

Her daughter interrupted. "I know, not like you." Emma closed her eyes and exhaled through pursed lips. "But for the record, I think you turned out to be a pretty cool mom."

Emma's shoulders relaxed. "Yeah, I got lucky with a perfect little girl. With your luck, you'd get a hellion little boy who'd make you want to tear out your hair with two pairs of tweezers."

"I have great luck!"

Emma replied with a laugh and a short silence followed which meant that it was time to say goodbye for another couple of days. She pouted and her heart ached; the loss of her daughter in her everyday life was critical. They'd had their moments, just like every other mother/daughter relationship but they were also extremely close. Since Emma was a young mother, she felt like she could relate to her daughter's problems as a teenager much better than other moms. She'd listen instead of trying to lecture; she'd understand instead of judge. They had formed a bond that made the separation physically painful for both of them.

"Well, I should do my homework…" Charlotte trailed off.

"Yeah, I got my own homework to do." Emma glanced at the computer screen, a wince forming on her face as she took in the empty e-mail field. She'd been trying to write something to update her manager on her progress but the words just weren't flowing and she dreaded further effort to conjure something up. Probably because she didn't have any progress to report and that wouldn't make her manager, Ted, happy at all.

"I love you, Mom. I miss you."

As many times as the two had talked over the past month, this part always made Emma emotional. She wanted to be able to wrap her arms around her girl and give her a nightly kiss on the forehead. Eighteen or not, she was still her daughter and that would never change. Watching her grow up and slip further out of her reach had been difficult but very satisfying as well. Charlotte was beautiful, down to earth and tragically creative, and Emma couldn't help but puff out her chest a little at how well she'd turned out considering the circumstances they'd started out in.

"I love you too, Baby." Emma held back a sniff because it was always embarrassing when she was called out on her crying. "Study hard, college parties suck and boys are nothing but trouble."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

The pudgy weatherman on channel 12 was predicting that the fifteenth of November was going to be the last nice day of the Fall. Emma hadn't put much stock into what past meteorologist had said in regards to the activities of her life but she wasn't going to let the day go to waste… in case he was right.

So, she woke up early that day and pulled on a pair of jeans and sweatshirt and after practically inhaling a banana and an entire bottle of water, she packed some necessities in her back pack. With a skip in her step, she pushed her feet into her hiking boots and walked out the door, taking a deep breath of the southern fall air that she'd missed all those years in Chicago. Some people may not be able to tell a difference but she could; even though she'd lost her accent after the many years of living up north, she would always claim Georgia as her home state.

Max followed her loyally, of course, which made her grin and run her palm along the course hair of his back. Just in case, Emma wrapped his leather leash around her body so she would have it if he saw a deer or rabbit that he wanted to chase. Not that Emma needed Max to help her find her way in the woods; she was familiar with the layout but the dog provided her a sense of security. There were times when she was without him that she'd had panic attacks because a creeping familiar feeling of dread would wash over her. She'd see eyes that reminded her of a traumatic time in her life or a seemingly wicked smile that pushed unwanted memories into her head. That dirty, protective dog seemed to keep all those panic-inducing memories at bay for some reason. Emma didn't question it; she just made sure to keep Max close unless she absolutely couldn't and then she just had to deal with it.

They walked quickly toward the tree line, both of them excited to get some much needed exercise in before the chill of winter bit into the air. Because she just couldn't seem to help it, Emma's eyes glanced toward the old trailer that the Dixon brothers cohabited and it was quiet. The rusty, old Chevy was parked in its usual spot but the place appeared empty.

Emma shrugged at her companion and said, "Must not be home."

Max didn't seem to give a shit because he didn't react to her words. His big brown eyes were alert and his ears pricked toward the sky like some sort of soldier on a mission.

They walked past the tree line, the sound of birds and insects echoed around them like a chorus. Emma smiled at the tree house that her father had built her when she was tiny. The ladder had mostly fallen apart but the actual structure of the small building appeared stable. For a moment, she stopped and remembered a distinct memory of being eleven and catching Merle "borrowing" her tree house for vindictive purposes—getting in Mary Louise Presley's pants. At the time, it was a scandal for the brown eyes of an eleven year old girl but now, when she remembers the way the older girl looked at Merle Dixon with passion and desire, it made her snort. Why in God's name would any woman trust that man; even as a kid, he didn't hide his rancid personality traits or fucked up quirks. Merle was bluntly crude and he'd never change.

For two hours, the dog and Emma explored the forest. When the hills started getting steeper, she decided that they should turn back and head toward home. Just as she stopped to turn on her heel and call for Max, a snapping of a twig brought her eyes up to the expanse of the forest. Her dog's body snapped taut and a low growl rumbled in his chest. Quickly, she uncoiled his leash from over her shoulder and snapped it on his collar. Most of the bears that wandered around this part of the country should have been already laid down for their long winter nap but every once in a while, there would be a few stragglers who were just a little slow on the uptake. Max was a tough son of a bitch but he couldn't hold his own against a black bear. Emma wished that she had brought along her bow or at least dug out her Daddy's old hunting knife that hadn't been used in decades.

She tugged on Max and hissed a command to follow her under her breath and he hesitated but obliged. Another twig snapped behind her and she paused, looking over her shoulder for any kind of movement. The threatening growl coming from her dog grew slightly louder and he jerked on the leash, instinctively trying to protect Emma. With a small effort, she got Max back on track and continued back the way they came until a strong feeling came over her. It was the type of chill that travels up your spine and onto your scalp, settling there like an angry squatter. Emma was being watched.

With a curse, she looked over her shoulder and saw the shape of a man approaching her from behind. His steps were fluid and graceful; his legs long and lean. The thin coat that he wore was old and dirty and the smudge of dirt across his forehead was enough to magnify that chill that was making itself at home on Emma's scalp. But then she saw the mop of dirty blonde hair and those narrowed eyes as they watched his feet as if any minute, they'd start doing some sort of circus act.

"Holy…" she whispered to herself. It was different seeing Daryl up close—almost five feet away from her—than getting a glimpse at a distance. Every muscle in her body seemed to tighten at the same time and any words that she'd had brewing in her voice box got stuck in her throat like a jagged rock.

Emma knew that he had to know she was there, standing there with her dog and staring at him like her mental faculties weren't up to par. He'd probably even snapped those twigs on purpose to keep from frightening the poor mentally unstable woman who was taking an afternoon stroll in the woods. But as he came closer, he didn't say a word and he didn't look up at her; instead, he just kept right on walking, putting a good distance between himself and the growling Max at her side. It wasn't until he had passed her, like she wasn't even there, that Emma dug deep inside and found her voice.

"Daryl…" she squeaked, rolling her eyes at how terrified his name had come out. "What are you…"

His footsteps halted immediately at the sound of his name and then he hesitated, his profile barely visible over the hunch of his shoulder. Then, with a sigh, he turned around and for the first time in nearly twenty years, their eyes met. There was question there and maybe a little animosity but then, as his blue eyes danced around her face, recognition set in. The tip of his tongue darted out of his mouth and he swept it quickly over his upper lip. Emma couldn't help but be fascinated with every movement, every facial expression that maneuvered over his face.

"The hell you doin' here?" His voice was gruff and just as southern as she remembered it. By the way he spoke, she knew…she finally knew that he recognized her and an unexplainable jolt of excitement shot through her. Max sensed her familiarity to the man and transferred himself from protectively grumpy to curious.

"Uh…I moved into my old house," Emma said dumbly.

Daryl shifted on his feet and rolled his eyes. "I kinda figured that shit out. I ain't fuckin' stupid."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "I thought Merle would have told you." He grunted and Emma put a hand on her hip. "Well, it's good to see you too."

Daryl squinted at her, annoyed with her tone and opened his mouth to say something but stopped short. Instead, he shook his head and started his journey back home with a muttered, "Whatever."

"Wait," Emma huffed as she hurried to catch up to him. The man had always been a fast walker and very rarely did he take into consideration that she had shorter legs than him. In the old days, he tried to remember but now, he was using those long legs of his as an advantage in an effort to escape. "Jesus, Daryl! Just wait a minute!"

It could have been her imagination but she swore that he slowed down just a fraction. Or maybe she sped up, she wasn't sure; whatever the case, she finally caught up with him. Max wagged his tail as he looked up at Daryl's back, obviously confused as to why the new man hadn't acknowledged his presence yet. Not even a glance. Max always got at least one petrified glance from new people.

"What'cha want?" he asked, not looking back.

"Well, I just wanted to talk," Emma stated.

"'Bout what?"

"I don't know… uh, what have you been up to?" She smiled a little, thinking about how annoying she was in that moment. Daryl never was much of a talker. He was a doer and occasionally, he'd comment while he was doing which was part of the reason why they'd always got along. Emma's impulsivity plus Daryl's motivation and they were a pretty badass team as kids.

Daryl's response was to put one foot in front of the other at a faster pace.

"Oh, come on, you can't even tell me what you've been up to the past twenty years?" Emma asked.

He turned on her quickly, finally giving Max the cautious look that the dog had been waiting for. There was anger in his words, laced with annoyance and contempt. "What'cha think I been up to, woman? Ya think I got time ta sit around all day an' do nothin' like you do while the rest of the world works their ass off? Ya think I got some rich motherfucker takin' care a me while I play house out in the sticks?" He shook his head and sneered at her. "Some people have ta fuckin' go ta work ta pay their bills."

Emma's eyebrows rose to her hairline. "I assume that you're talking about me…well, who you think I am." Daryl looked down at Max who was on high alert, sensing the tension between his master and the stranger. "You don't know me, Daryl so don't sit there, on your redneck high horse and judge me."

"Damn straight, I don't know you," he grumbled at his feet. "Fuckin' fine by me."

Then Daryl walked away, leaving an open mouthed Emma staring at his back.

"Like this?" Emma held the recurve bow in her hands and wrapped her fingers around the wood and squeezed like her life depended on it.

Fifteen year old Daryl sighed and let out a frustrated grunt. "Damn, girl, you're gonna break your fuckin' fingers if ya squeeze it that tight." He put his hand over hers and started prying her smaller fingers off the instrument. "Fuckin' relax, would ya? Ya can't hit shit if yer all uptight like that."

"How am I supposed to pull back the thingie if I can't hold onto that part, huh?"

"Give it," Daryl barked and grabbed the bow out of her hands before she had the opportunity to follow his order. "I'll show ya how it's done."

Daryl went through each step… again, giving explicit instructions each time; his deep southern accent making words like "string" sound like "strang". Emma watched him carefully, determined not to give him the opportunity to be disappointed in her yet again.

The two had been best friends since they were tiny and he was the only person that Emma felt comfortable with telling her darkest secrets. Like how she stole Mr. Garmin's fancy gold pen right off his desk when he wasn't looking or when she caught Jenny Parsons gettin' felt up by Paul Johnson in the girl's restroom. Daryl didn't have much of a response but when he did, they were always words that made Emma feel better about whatever predicament she got herself into.

"There. Now, you do it." He pushed the bow back at her and she took it from him with determination written all over her young, pretty face. Emma had matured early for her age and during her entire freshman year of high school, she'd gotten teased relentlessly for it. But now, she was a sophomore and boys were startin' to notice her for more than just her pretty brown eyes or long, dark hair. She went from being just plain unpopular to the town slut in the eyes of all her female classmates, just because she got unwanted attention. And it was definitely unwanted.

"You're a horrible teacher," Emma stated before setting the arrow on the string and using her fingertips to pull back the string.

"Just do it, a'right? I ain't got all day."

Emma smiled and squinted at the target that they'd set up on a nearby Oak. She released the string and the arrow hit the tree but missed the target by at least two feet. She squealed and hopped up and down a few times in excitement.

"What'cha so happy for? Ya didn't even hit the target?" Daryl complained but the hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Do it again. This time, hit the fuckin' bullseye."

"Oh shut up," she said, grabbing an arrow out of his hand. "You're just jealous that I'm a natural at this stuff."

He snorted and ran a hand through his shaggy, blond hair.

After seven more attempts at hitting the target, Emma sputtered out a frustrated sigh through pursed lips. "Can I borrow this thing?" She asked, holding up the recurve.

"Uh…" Daryl shifted on his feet and avoided her eyes. "It's ma Daddy's."

She raised her eyebrows. "He know you have it?"

"Hell no," he replied. "He's been gone for four days. Who knows when he'll be back but…" He stuffed his hand into the pocket of his dirty jeans. Daryl's father went on little unannounced vacations since The Dixon boys' momma had died. Sometimes he was gone for three days and sometimes it was over a month. You never knew when the old man would be back but you could count on a beating the second he walked into the door. It was like he'd went to war or somethin', got all pissed off and then came home to take it out on the first living thing he came across. And since Merle had involuntarily joined The Marines and been gone for the past three years, Daryl was always the lucky one. "You can practice whenever ya want."

Emma smiled. When Emma smiled, it made Daryl feel like he'd just hung the moon. He'd do just about anything to make her smile like that. The boy didn't know how to make sense of that feeling so usually, he just pushed it deep down inside of him and ignored it.

They started packing up the bow and pulling the arrows out of the tree. Emma could never stand Daryl's beloved silence so she decided to fill it with nonsense.

"You should come back to school, Daryl," she said, yanking an arrowhead that was embedded well into the bark of the Oak.

Daryl let out his customary grunt.

"I mean, we'd have fun together and it'd be nice to have someone to hang out with." Emma peeked up at him but he didn't seem to be paying attention. "I'd feel better if you were there."

He stopped moving and looked down at her. "What's that s'pposed ta mean?'

Emma's tanned cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. "Nothin'."

The pale blue of Daryl's irises nearly vanished as he squinted at her. "What's goin' on?" Emma swallowed and shook her head. "Why is it that you'd feel better if I was there?"

She plopped her butt down on the ground and sighed. "Just…usual stuff."

"What usual stuff," he said impatiently because Daryl Dixon had zero patience for tittering around the facts. "Why is it that ya ramble on and on when I want ya to shut up but when I ask ya somethin', ya sit there starin' at me like I got two heads?"

Emma bit her lip. "These people have been…they've been…"

"What?" he asked, his patience hanging from a thread.

She picked up a small rock and lobbed it at him. It hit him on the forehead, right between the eyes. "This is hard, okay? Stop being such a jackass!"

His fingers absently rubbed at the spot where the rock had hit him. "Why's it so hard? Just fuckin' say it!"

The young girl pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, the position making her appear fragile and distressed. "It's just embarrassing, that's all."

Daryl was done with the begging for answers parade so he plopped down next to her and just waited for her to speak. It took a few minutes but when she finally did spew out the words, Daryl saw red.

"These boys have been sorta pickin' on me," she said quietly. "Callin' me names and…and grabbin' at me." Emma chanced a peek at the young man sitting next to her and held her breath. "I thought that maybe if you came back that they'd—"

"Who's doin' it?" His voice was gruff; the anger volatile in his words.

"Daryl, I don't want—"

"Didn't ask what you want, Emma," he admonished. "I asked who's botherin' ya."

She sighed. "Shawn Combs, Brad Garrett, and a few others that hang around with them but mostly it's Shawn and Brad." His jaw clenched and his hands formed fists in the grass behind him. "Usually, it's harmless stuff that I can ignore like making disgusting noises at me as I pass 'em in the hallway or asking me my bra size…stuff like that. But today…"

"Today what?"

Emma's face fanned with embarrassment as she thought back to her eighth period PE class. Unfortunately, she shared that class with a gaggle of girls that hated her and Brad Garrett so her guard should have been up like a force field but it wasn't. Tears filled her eyes as the sound of teenage cackles echoed in her ears along with the taunting deep voice of her disgusting classmate. "Brad walked in on me when I was changing in the locker room for gym class. The girls had let him in and…and he wouldn't leave." She brushed a tear off her cheek, hoping that she caught it in time so that he didn't even realize it had been there. Daryl got awkward around tears—she'd learned that back when she'd cried over a skinned knee as a clumsy eight year old. "I was half dressed and I was tryin' to cover up with a t-shirt but he kept trying to pull it off me. I was scared that he'd…"

Daryl grunted but this wasn't his typical don't-give-a-shit grunt. This grunt had some fucking meaning behind it. In fact, it would be better described as a growl.

Emma shook her head, trying to extinguish the rancid memory along with a deep sigh. "Never mind. I just thought that if you were back in school, that you could keep them from—"

Suddenly, Daryl rose to his feet, grabbing his father's bow in one hand and the arrows with the other. Emma watched him, her mouth hung open in mid-sentence as he shifted from foot to foot awkwardly in front of her.

"I gotta go," he mumbled before turning on his heel and stalking off toward his family's cabin.

Emma shut her eyes and shook her head. "G'night, then!"

Later that night, Brad Garret showed up in the ER at Oconee Medical Center on an ambulance gurney. He'd been severely beaten by an unknown assailant after he'd left his Junior Varsity football practice. Brad suffered a broken jaw, seventeen stitches in his head and a fractured wrist.

And he never bothered Emma ever again.