Lifting his clipboard, his thumb pressed into the front page, a grimy fingerprint left behind on top of someone's full alias previously printed crisply on the now stained sheet of paper.

Sorry, Hank Preston. . . Or does that say Frank? Ah, it's all fucked now.

Tired cerulean scanned through the short list of names through hooded eyes to try and commemorate for the next few hours of interviews, but it didn't look as if he'd singe them into his brain any time soon. So far no one impressed him enough to tie names to faces anyhow. As he dropped his clipboard, his attention went across the old and young individuals sitting (and standing because the waiting area contained a maximum of three chairs). Curious orbs stopped on an adolescent's face, age not striking him odd because of the other adolescents in the area, but because she was the sole female in the room. Somehow, he sensed no discomfort despite being surrounded by others who obviously felt she didn't belong there. There seemed to be more of a disconnect with the males in the vicinity.

Whether it was because he wanted the stares to end or simply because her name was the only one he bothered to remember (an anomaly on his list for several reasons: short and feminine) he tapped his clipboard onto the nearby counter. He raised it into the air and gestured it towards himself as he started his gait towards his office.

"Lydia Dean, you're up," he muttered as he stepped into the small space. He rounded his desk, stacks of papers sitting atop its surface as he sank into his worn out rolling chair. A hand came up to scratch his chin, the other reaching for a manila folder sitting near one of the columns.

Lydia stood at the door at first, timorous in front of the wood of it as she stared at Daryl's office in wonder. Usually he sensed a bit of disgust or disappointment when clients came in, but she seemed to have stumbled upon candyland for the way she glanced about with wide eyes. He looked at her with disbelief, a gesture of his head occurring for her to sit down when she finally bothered to look back at him. She mouthed 'sorry' as she sank into the wooden seat. It was a good thing her long hair sat in front of her shoulders because the seat's screws usually caught hair stands and yanked them from the perpetrators' scalps.

"Says here that you're still in high school," he said, slight contempt laced in his tone that she quickly caught onto. His eyes went from the application to her and she nodded her head slowly, hands folded neatly in her lap.

"Yep… but I can do anything after 3:30. Senior year is easy anyway. I wouldn't fall behind on my studies… I'm even willing to work weekends," she responded in an attempt to reassure him, perhaps a little too eagerly.

Feigned enthusiasm generally irritated him to no ends, but she seemed genuine in her willingness to be there. It of course brought up another question in his mind, leaning back into his chair as he tried to decipher the reason before asking. Then again, his mouth sometimes worked quicker than his thoughts.

"Why do you wanna' work here? It's not exactly the greatest hangout spot for a kid."

His job as a mechanic hardly sparked creativity. The position required organizational skills and computer work he didn't want to be bothered with. He kept losing paperwork with how haphazardly he ran things so the available assistance needed to transfer everything to a computer system. His focus remained on rectifying the damage of the cars brought in and not anything else (which would explain how far behind he became on keeping records) so it's not like this entire ordeal looked glamorous in the eyes of a teenager. Whomever got stuck with the job had to sift through the mess he created before they could coast at the front desk and speak to customers.

Obviously, people weren't his strong suit either.

"My dad and I used to work on cars a lot when I was younger. I'm no professional, but I can get myself out of situations others can't. Thought this made the most sense… I need to get out of the house anyway and cheerleading isn't really my thing." She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, lips tucked together and pulled into her mouth. Nerves got the better of her facial expression and Daryl deciphered it easily.

"You don't need a whole lot of car experience for this job," he stated in an attempt to wave it off. He wasn't sure why, but he felt apprehension towards the idea of selecting her for this. But like a shark at the first whiff of blood, she leaned forward and continued.

"But I have it and the application said that it would help," she said in defense. It's like she could hear his thoughts of his impending doubt.

"... You know how to do an oil change? Change the spark plugs?" In truth, he sought out someone to help because his business started going down due to the lack of upgrading. If she held common knowledge under her belt, she could do more than sit behind a computer. While he preferred working alone, times changed far too often for him to run things solo.

"Yes, Mr. Dixon."

He paused for a moment, far more persuaded than before as he tried to look past her gender. He didn't mean for his thoughts to be as biased, but her initiative made him think twice. Everyone else who passed through so far only wanted to be there for a paycheck and while that's as honorable a reason as any, Lydia fought against his restraints and uncertainty.

"You know your way around a computer?"

"Yeah, it's all we use at school now. Stuff's second nature." And while that did sound a bit sad in hindsight, it was better than his lack of technology use.

He wasn't a caveman, a smartphone in his possession while a laptop sat at home, but his knowledge didn't go beyond news sites and random searches off google. He dropped his gaze from her to the folder in his lap to examine her application further. Her handwriting scrawled messily on the lines, but the content intrigued him far more than aesthetic.

"Your dad cool if you have to stay late on weekends? Ain't sayin' you're gettin' anythin', but if I close up late, would that be a problem?" He had the tendency of sticking around later, but he foresaw he'd buckle and tell anyone at his side to scram for the day anyway. This was a precaution necessary in case he needed an extra hand. He wasn't about to interfere with her school work either regardless if he wasn't the brightest pupil when he went all those years ago.

"Super cool with it! It was actually his idea that I apply here. He's a real motorhead and… he's been really busy." Her face transitioned from jovial to harboring a sadness in her eyes. The dichotomy of it created a twinge in his chest, but he wasn't about to delve into her personal life. This was about his shop staying afloat and that's it, her issues with her father being just that: hers and only hers.

"Alright. What about these references? This one says text and/or email only." It surely put a damper on things. Actually calling someone to confirm they were real and a different person within a real profession as they held real credentials counted as a real reference. Or at least that was what he was thinking until she spoke her next words:

"Oh, she's my teacher from Junior year. She's deaf, but I don't think anyone has a way of words like her. She can confirm how hardworking and persistent I am."

"Listed someone to talk you up?"

"Isn't that what references are?"

The amusement in her tone coupled with a cheeky grin on her behalf had one of his own break out, but rather faintly. It's one thing the previous interviewees failed to do: get him to crack a smile. Was it really an accomplishment, though? She took it as one with how her grin grew wider.

"Gonna' be this much of a smart ass if you get the job?"

"I'll still be one if I don't."

He blew out a breath that he attempted to drench in annoyance, but her sense of humor casted an endearing aura inside of his office. He gestured towards the door behind them with a glance of his shifting eyes.

"Get outta' here. I'll let you know," he said, his arms crossing against his expansive chest. He watched as she nodded her head again and stood from the chair to head for the door.

As she grabbed the doorknob, she paused and turned her head and settled her gaze on him, eye contact established for the next few moments. He saw the cogs turning in her brain from where he sat, emotions written on her facial expressions, but not for a lack of control. There seemed to be enough confidence to drop a mask she quite possibly wore a majority of the time. The fact did not bring about a qualm between them, the opposite initiating as if they knew one another longer than ten minutes.

"Mr. Dixon… I really want this job. I know there's probably some guys out there with more experience or whatever, but I wanna be able to work with cars just like my dad and this seems like a step in the right direction. You wouldn't just be giving me an opportunity, but also a headstart in what I wanna do with my life… no pressure."

He took all of that in as she brought the door open, his thoughts currently running at a mile a second as he reconsidered how he felt about someone her age working alongside him. She stabbed out the uncertainty easily and the potential he saw through a small conversation proved how she could fit there and flourish.

"Lydia," he said, earning her attention as she stepped halfway out the office.

"M'name's Daryl."

God, avoiding the writing of emails is one of the reasons he put up a 'help wanted' sign up in his window in the first place. He ran a tired hand down his face as he sat in front of his laptop, Connie King's email address being reviewed in the box to ensure he spelled it right. The school's name lied in its entirety, a verification that this was a business way of contacting her. He got off the phone hours ago with another one of Lydia's old teachers, chalking it off as Lydia not knowing very many people outside of school and understandably so. After Mrs. Poudre talked his ear off about how Lydia excelled in class and mentioned her assortment of plants at home, Daryl was grateful to not have to make another call. He already set himself on choosing Lydia for the position after the trainwreck of people who came to him before and after, but he wanted validation in his decision making.

Dear, Mrs. King:

Wait, he didn't even know if she was married or not. Mrs. Poudre made it certain that she explained her husband worked on cars in the 80s and now worked in a car dealership, so no mystery lied there. He deleted the line, opting to just go by the name Lydia gave him. He always over thought things like this. He didn't need to know the woman to not want his line of business to look shoddier than it already did on the outside. He both did not give a damn while simultaneously giving all the damns as any red blooded human.

Dear, Connie King:

My name is Daryl Dixon and I own Fixed Mileage off of Crescent drive, and I am writing to ask about Lydia Dean.

Lydia applied for a job at my shop and listed you as a reference, so I wanted to ask about her work ethic and skills I should know about.

He read over what he wrote a couple of times, a grunt surpassing his lips when he went back to the tab googling how to write himself a business letter. He felt rather foolish typing his name at the bottom with a 'thank you' adding onto it, so he hit send to not dwell on it any further. He stood from his chair and walked to the small kitchen to pour himself a cup of water. His main focus was getting someone to get to work at his shop and yet that held a shit ton of complications he didn't think would come. He was finally close to getting some help while jumping through the loops of his weaknesses, attempting to prove those wrong that he wasn't a simpleton by any means.

Lost inside his thoughts thick with insecurities, his head shifted upwards as his computer elicited a notification sound. He blinked slowly, turning his phone on to see the time:

2:56 am

Someone also had trouble sleeping apparently.

He walked over to the laptop and sat down to read the contents of the email reply. He gulped down some water, the webs of surprise cleared from his mind as he viewed the message.

Greetings, Daryl Dixon!

I'm quite aware of your shop since it's always nice to be in tune with local businesses instead of bigger corporations. Lydia approached me and asked to put me down as a reference so I was expecting some form of contact.

Lydia is by far one of the smartest individuals I've had the privilege of teaching and learning with. While she can prove that in books, I was always much more interested in her determination to achieve and prosper with odds stacked against her. At times her frustrations may be visible, but she always manages to find a solution that works for her and those around her. In truth, she's a student who I saw grow as a person because of her inability to give up.

She'd be a great addition to your shop's staff and I believe she's a great candidate for what you're looking for.

Sincerely,

Connie King

When he finished reading, he found the email in response to be quite interesting. Growing up, Daryl never encountered a teacher who believed in someone so much as Connie seemed to believe in Lydia. Sure, he disrupted his classes often because of building aggression and uncontrollable obnoxiousness, but not one person stopped to see if he held substance under his torrid exterior. It's not like he would've allowed anyone that close, especially at his young age where his family remained in more shambles than it ever was. That period of time was rougher than others and while he encountered a myriad of hard times, something about those experiences in particular still stuck with him after so long. His long gone father passed his mind for a split second and he sighed out to himself, hitting the reply button so he could type something back quick. Connie was the final nail in the coffin and now all that was left was calling Lydia at a reasonable hour (one where she wasn't most likely sleeping or in school) to tell her she got the job.

Thank you, this has helped me a lot in making a decision. I'll let Lydia know soon.

He kept it short and sweet, standing up from his chair to place his cup into his sink. (That was later Daryl's problem.) Just as quickly as he got to the sink, however, the computer sounded off yet again. Was this lady gifted with super speed or what? He felt like he took ages typing out the two emails he sent her. He walked right back, laptop lifted for him to get a better look.

Of course! I hope that means what I think it means and if it does, I look forward to meeting you.

Meeting him? What was that supposed to mean? Was she going to stop by to check up on Lydia's first real job? Swing by to judge and ridicule what she chose as a career path? Was he going to regret this by opening himself up to others he didn't know? Would more of Lydia's acquaintances and friends also be coming by?

He shut his laptop and let out a huff, his next destination being his bedroom to finally get some much needed rest. Tomorrow would be filled with good news and maybe some headaches depending on whether or not Lydia could come in as soon as possible. His patience went through the wringer throughout the years, now steely and wise, but time passed since the last time someone/events tested it.

Things were going to change… hopefully for the better.