A/N: Here it is! 5.5K words and all! Thank you all so so much for your support with this story and the amazing feedback you've given. This chapter is a long one. And it was a bit difficult to get out because so much happens. But I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think, I love reading your comments and thoughts and suggestions. Just a few more days until TWD comes back! Get excited! Anyway here's the chapter. Enjoy!

Will Dixon was a bad man.

It's what was whispered around town; on the rare occasions Rosanna Dixon-Campbell was seen outside with a fresh bruise on her face, head down and eyes to the floor as her husband had ordered it. It was what Rosanna's mother had told her when the sweet 19 year old had announced she was in love with the sulking farmhand they'd hired for the harvest season.

"That man is full of hatred," Violet Campbell had told her young daughter, taking a hold of her hand and brushing her fingers towards her wrist where the faded letters spelling the name "Jack" rested. "You are not meant for him, Rosie...no one is."

The lack of a mark on Will Dixon's wrist sat heavily on Violet's mind since the day she'd inquired about it only to receive a grunting response that he "ain't ever had one". She couldn't imagine what kind of man could be deemed unloveable by the universe; but she should have known that if anyone had a penchant for loving unloveable things, it was Rosanna.

From the moment she was a child and brought back wandering animals into the house to nurse back to health, to the moment she left her mother in tears on the front porch of their Georgia home; her bags in the back of a beat up red truck, and Will Dixon's baby in her belly.

Violet had cried for weeks while Andrew Campbell had only muttered that he no longer had a daughter and hid behind his newspaper, a mask of calm hiding the grief of losing his only child; watching her walk into a life he knew would be a living hell.

"Will Dixon is not a very good man," were the more delicate words Daryl heard for a year. After Rosanna burned down that house of nightmares with herself in it and a six year old Daryl had arrived on Violet and Andrew Campbell's doorstep. Violet had never been more thankful to hear that her son-in-law was in prison; had never been more thankful to have her grandsons in her care and away from the evil man they called father, now that Rosanna wasn't there to protect them.

"Pa never even had a mark," the ever-observant Merle would offer in response. At 12 years old, there wasn't much to do to hide certain truths from him, and his perceptiveness surpassed Daryl's wide eyed naiveté about their father. Where Daryl still believed their father was someone to love, Merle had already been at the receiving end of his blows too long. "It's why he's angry an' drunk. Ain't no one ever care about him."

Daryl glanced at his brother's wrist: Andrea, it said. And he'd only just understood what it meant; having grown up in a home where no one but Merle was marked: his father had been born without one, his mother's had long faded away.

"Am I like him?" Daryl had asked once when the topic came up at breakfast. Violet had given him a look of concern but no answer and Daryl stared furiously at his wrist, willing something more legible than the faded gray blur to show up.

"Don't matter," Merle had quipped, throwing an arm around Daryl's shoulders. "Nobody's gonna care more about you than me, little brother."

Through the years, he'd learned to live with the illegible mark on his wrist. Coped with it well even when his father came for him and Merle after he was released from jail and spent countless years taking his rage out on them. He lived with the knowledge that somewhere deep down, no matter what he told himself, he was like the man that reigned down on him with a fist or a belt or whatever was on hand at the moment.

Despite everything, he had to admit there was a bit of relief that coursed through him on the night when he caught sight of his wrist and there were clear, crisp, black letters there in a neat scrawl.

Beth.

Maybe he wasn't a bad man after all.

Daryl had given more thought to what Beth could be like than he cared to admit. If someone asked, he'd say he sometimes all but forgot the name was there; which would be a blatant lie if there ever was one. He could practically feel the mark at all hours of the day, as if the name had a texture that rose above the skin to rub against his sleeve on the days he wore them, or just on thin air at all other occasions.

Some days were worse than others. On the good days his head stayed clear of all thoughts involving his wrist. He would go to work, then home to deal with Merle, and his mind would allow him the rest until he was in the privacy of his bare bones bedroom, staring up at a darkened ceiling and wondering what she'd think of the fact that he'd stomped into the bedroom with his work boots on and just barely had the energy to kick them off before plopping down to an unmade bed. Did she fuss over shit like that? Or was she like the ones he brought home from the bar; that were too drunk to care what he even looked like, never mind his old apartment.

Those types of girl were a steady constant in his life; ready whenever the fancy struck him to scratch an itch (although with Merle sleeping on his couch he found the urge for a hook up lessen) but he couldn't say his gut didn't tighten whenever he asked one of them for her name. He couldn't say he didn't breathe a sigh of relief when the answer was "Marianne" or "Kim" or whatever other name they had. He knew he had no right to expect the universe to think so damn highly of him, but he found himself desperately hoping that if he had to meet Beth (not that he wanted to, he'd insist, but if), it wouldn't be at the shit hole bar he'd been going to his whole life. He hoped at the very least, she didn't come from the same shit hole he did.

And those were the good days. The bad days were few and far between but he could almost physically feel the damn mark itch underneath his skin and he had to ball his hands up into fists to keep himself from scratching until he saw blood and maybe then it would all go away. Almost twenty years since the letters stopped being a blurry faded mess and formed a name and this damn girl he didn't know, who didn't even have a face, could invade his mind some days until he was ready to either crawl out of his skin or throw a punch to the nearest person.

Today was a bad day. He was almost grateful to have gotten a call from Rick because on days like these, he tried to steer clear of Merle as much as he could. Perceptive bastard that he was could always tell. Sometimes, when Merle was feeling a pacifist, they'd share a knowing look and he'd grin and shake his head at Daryl. Other times he'd make an obnoxious comment that Daryl would meet with his wish for his brother to "go to hell" or a half hearted shove on the shoulder.

Today, with the sun too hot on his back and neck and his wrist itching something awful, he wanted to stay clear of Merle and anyone that had any ability to say a smart ass thing to him. With no known vocabulary as of yet, the lil asskicker seemed like the best company Daryl could think of.

When he threw open the door to The Cake Counter, his frown only settled deeper into his face as he took in the too bright shop. There was too much white and yellow and sunlight bouncing off the windows and glass cases that made his eyes squint and burn.

Cake, he reminded himself. Get the cake, get out, get it to Rick. It seemed something that even in his recent sour mood was easy enough.

He made his way towards the back of the shop where the only other person in the place was standing, humming to herself and arranging cookies on a sheet with her back towards him. A tangle of blonde hair in what was probably at some point a pony tail swayed just slightly against the back of a yellow polo as the girl continued to hum, not even realizing someone had walked in.

"Hey," he growled out. "Here to pick up a cake."

She whipped around fast to face him, a blur of yellow shirt and yellow hair and big, startled blue eyes on a pretty face looking up at him. Daryl blinked. Once. Twice; completely aware that he was staring but he couldn't shake a strange feeling about her. Maybe she looked familiar; it was a small town after all, or maybe he was just a dirty old fuck that had to admit that for her hair looking a mess and a streak of flour smudged across her forehead, Bambi was pretty damn cute.

"It's um..." he cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from her doe eyes, glaring down at a display case of pink cupcakes. What the hell was he ogling the bakery girl for? "Cake for Rick Grimes," he finished lamely.

"You're not Rick."

"No I ain't; just his errand boy for the day. You gonna give me the damn cake or what, Girl?" He chanced a glance up at her through his hair and saw her so clearly taken a back. As if no one had ever spoken like that to her in her entire life. Looking like a cartoon princess, he wouldn't be surprised if no one ever had.

It did surprise him a little though, that as quickly as she looked insulted, she pursed her lips in a huff, sticking her little nose a little higher and fixing with him a look that Daryl thought might have been intended to be a glare.

"Y'all were supposed to be here hours ago. Tyreese is the one that keeps track of all the orders and he's out on a break so you're just gonna have to wait for him to get back."

"You've gotta be kiddin' me," he muttered under his breath. He took a few steps away from the counter and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes in frustration. This place was too bright, he couldn't look at the girl with the ridiculous dancing cupcake stitched to the front of her shirt without staring like a damn teenage boy, and now he was going to have to do one of his least favorite things: wait.

"I ain't got time to sit around and wait, Girl! It's just a damn cake, can't you go in the back and find it?"

This time the girl didn't even try to hide her annoyance, rolling her eyes at him and starting to move around behind the counter, intent on going back to work and leaving him annoyed and pacing.

"He just left. So...you might wanna have a seat." She said with her gaze down at the cookie sheet she was working on. Daryl swore he could almost see a small smile on her lips. The girl was getting enjoyment watching him pace in front of the counter full of cupcakes while he debated if Lori would have his ass too if he showed up with no cake.

With a huff and as much noise as humanly possible, he dragged a chair across the floor before plopping down on it directly in front of her. She gave him one quick look before going back to her work, humming again in what Daryl had to admit was not an unpleasant sounding voice.

Beth was blaming this all on her lack of sleep. She'd over slept, ran behind on all the things that had to get done at the bakery, looked like a hot mess, and therefore she could blame her talking back to the grumpy man that stomped into the place demanding Judy's birthday cake on her exhaustion.

She hadn't even asked his name, now that she thought of it. She'd known the Grimes practically her entire life and had never met this man. And if she were being honest, he looked like more like the kind of guy Rick would be arresting, not inviting over for Fairy Princess birthday parties. For all she knew, when Ty handed the cake over, the Grimes may never see it...not that it looked like this man was interesting in stealing chocolate ice cream cakes, but one could never be too sure.

She looked up to where he sulked on the other side of the counter, sitting in a pink metal chair that he looked ridiculous in and keeping his eyes trained on his boots.

So maybe he didn't exactly look like a criminal. But he looked dangerous, she decided.

And handsome; which was as dangerous as anything, Patricia always said. She'd gotten a good look of his face when he glared at her minutes before and for all the grumpiness and irritation there, he was good looking, if a little rough. With icy blue eyes and thin lips and just enough facial hair and...something she couldn't quite figure out.

Looking at him now, while she could shamelessly stare without fear of being caught, she took far more notice of his shoulders, broad and muscular stretched out under sleeveless flannel and a leather vest that put on display some impressive biceps. Definitely dangerous. Like the kind of guy that got into fights and spent far too much time at the biker bars in town her daddy warned her away from walking near at night.

The kind of guy Maggie'd like, she thought to herself with a laugh.

She glanced over at him and saw him straighten a little, giving her a clearer view of his face as he brought his thumb nail to his mouth to chew on it in an almost nervous tick. His face was a little more relaxed, no mean glare in his eyes and he looked far younger that way, boyish, even.

"You want some coffee or something?" She asked before she could talk herself out of it. It wasn't like her to huff like she'd done before. For all she knew, Rick's friend was simply having a bad day; she knew she was.

He looked up at her from underneath his overgrown hair, his thumb nail in his mouth, and shrugged.

"Water?" She tried again.

He shrugged once more but this time took his hand away from his lips.

"Coffee's fine."

She nodded and quickly filled up a styrofoam cup of it, holding it out to him across the counter as he easily walked the two steps to take it from her.

It was the stupidest thing; she knew it. The silly part of her that was so in love with the idea of love that always had her looking down at strangers wrist to see what name sat there and the wonder about who that person was. Wonder if they'd met them yet or if they were waiting like she was. So it was merely out of habit that she caught a glimpse of his wrist and some writing there but she was caught out before she could even make sense of the letters. He pulled his wrist away immediately, not giving her a chance to see more than blurry black scrawl that didn't form any letters or words to her mind's eye.

She looked up at him still, wide eyes and a tiny smile on her lips to match his glare.

"What's she like?" she asked without even thinking of stopping herself.

He grunted.

"He like?"

He glared harder than she'd seen since he walked in.

"Fine, she. What's she like?"

He reached up again with his other hand to the cup that had been abandoned on the counter.

"None of your damn business, that's what." He responded and Beth couldn't help the sigh that escaped her lips. She was just trying to be nice; make conversation. Even give him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn't a complete jerk.

"I'm sure she's just as pleasant as you are," she muttered, wheeling the cart full of trays of cookies into the back.

When she emerged from the back room where the ovens were, he wasn't alone in the bakery. He wasn't sitting either. In fact, he was at the register facing Tyreese as he gave him some bills out of his wallet and gathered the large pink box that she knew contained Judith's cake.

It was a strange urge she had that made her walk forward quickly, the heels of her boots clicking on the tile floor and causing him to look up. She felt almost a little insulted; that he was about to turn and walk away without acknowledging her, and she immediately realized how stupid that notion was because he didn't owe her a goodbye.

She certainly had no reason to expect one but she couldn't help the small smile on her face when the man very quickly, so much so that she almost missed it, looked her up and down and gave a nod of his head as a parting gesture. The front door opened and closed and she might have stood there all day staring after the empty space this virtual stranger had just vacated if not for Tyreese.

"You can go home now if you want, Beth. I've got it from here."

He's not much for "fairy princess" birthday parties. He's not even entirely sure why he's there at all; sitting in Rick's basement like some creepy, lonely asshole while everyone else is in the backyard looking after their kids. Rick had wandered up the stairs 20 minutes ago at the beck and call of Lori and hadn't been back yet. He sipped his beer and glared at Ed Peletier when he wandered down for a beer of his own and tried to make chit chat.

"You still at Martinez's shop?"

"You still an asshole?" He practically growled, fixing him with a glare that he hoped brought back memories of the beating him and Shane had bestowed on Ed the summer before; when the bastard had hit his little girl across the face in that very house. Rick had only half heartedly broken it up; and not before making sure him and Shane both got a few good hits in.

Ed mumbled something and made his way out of the basement, bumping into Rick on his way out who also gave him a warning look. Daryl always thought Rick's glares were far more effective than his own. Maybe because Rick had the power to put someone in a cell for a night or two.

"Cake's about to be cut," he said when Ed had walked out. Daryl only grunted.

"Still think I look like a creep up there with all those kids."

Rick laughed, "Well looking like the troll that lives in our basement isn't really that much better. Besides, you're family."

Rick gave him a nudge on the knee as he stood and Daryl felt little choice but to follow; besides, he hadn't even seen the little asskicker all day.

When he stepped out to the Grimes backyard he hardly recognized it. Kids, all over the place; running around and in and out of the giant pink bouncy house, screaming at the top of their lungs. The table he'd helped Rick carry back hours ago had been covered with purple plastic and gift boxes and bags laid scattered all over; he recognized his own box near the edge and couldn't help feeling a little bad about it as he inched closer to the table where it sat.

Sure the kid had been screaming about the doll every time the commercial came on tv for weeks, but on the outside, the box didn't look like much. It looked like tape, is what it looked like; he thought with a shake of his head. He kept accidentally tearing the paper every time he tried to fold a corner and at one point into the wee hours of the night he'd just decided "to hell with it", and resigned himself to it looking how it did. Besides, it was the actual toy that mattered, he told himself.

Next to his own sad looking box though, as if to mock him, was a pretty little turquoise one with a pink ribbon that ended in a perfect and complicated looking bow and Daryl glared it. Probably something done professionally and paid for by some rich friend of Rick's from the police station. Still, like a moth going straight for the fire, he reached his hand out to touch the soft, lacy ribbon until he heard someone step beside him and he quickly moved it back.

"It's just coloring stuff," Daryl almost jumped a foot when he turned and saw Bambi from the bakery staring up at him, this time with her hair combed and swept over her shoulder, a pretty blue dress showing off legs that he almost kicked himself for catching himself staring at. "Lori said she made a huge mess on a wall a few weeks ago. I got her some coloring books and crayons, maybe she'll keep her art work there," she continued with a bright smile and Daryl realized the perfect looking present he'd been touching like an idiot was from her. Of fucking course.

"The hell are you doing here?" Was the only thing he could think of saying.

"I was invited," she said just a little defensively. "I've known Rick and Lori practically my whole life."

When he only nodded in response, she shuffled awkwardly; and Daryl thought about maybe counting until five and then bolting away from there. "How do you know them? I've never seen you before."

He wasn't really one to attend family gatherings like these, and if he did he usually kept to himself. But that wasn't something he was willing to share with the girl.

"Just around," he shrugged. "Friend of Rick's."

"Huh," she looked like maybe she wanted to say something else but thought better of it and kept her mouth shut. Good Daryl thought.

Just as he was contemplating walking away, he heard loud giggles approached from behind and both he and the girl whipped around to see Judith waddling towards them at full speed. He smiled and turned to set his drink down to be able to pick her up only to find that Judith was already happily babbling and hoisted up in someone else's arms: the cake girl.

He should've been annoyed, but instead he found himself smiling despite himself at the sight of the toddler talking in incoherent sounds and putting two tiny hands to each side of the girl's face. When the girl started talking back to Judith, carrying on a conversation as if the nonsense syllables the baby said made any sense, and he felt what he could only describe as a pang of...something in the pit of his stomach he knew it was time to find his way back inside: cake or no cake. He cleared his throat and managed to turn but just as he walked away Judith started to shriek.

"I think she wants you," the girl laughed as she offered a Judy with outstretched arms in his direction. He nodded once and stepped forward to take her, his hand accidentally catching on one of the dozen bracelets the girl wore around her wrist. "Sorry," he mumbled and she just waved it off and beamed up at him and Judy, who now had two fist-fulls of his hair and was pulling at her leisure.

"I should go help with the cake," she said, looking over her shoulder. Daryl made a mumbled sound that he hoped translated to "uhum" and she reached over to lightly pinch Judy's little cheek before walking back into the house.

He hadn't given much thought to the bakery girl after he walked away with the cake, but of all things that might have crossed his mind about her, seeing her again wasn't one of them.

Half an hour later and the cake was still not cut and the little peace Daryl had found hiding behind the inflatable bouncy house was disrupted when Bakery Girl rounded the corner, jangling bracelets like a gypsy.

"What are you doing?" She asked eyeing him up and down. He grunted and took another drag of his cigarette.

"What does it look like? Having a smoke."

"Those things are disgusting. And you were supposed to be with Judith!"

He shrugged. "I gave her to Carl."

"You're kidding?" she popped her hip and rested her hands there and damn her if she didn't look cute. But Daryl'd never say so. "A 13 year old doesn't know how to take care of a baby! Oh god, what if she got lost?"

"Settle down Mary Poppins!" He shook his head and stomped out his cigarette. "I'm sure she's around here somewhere."

"I shoulda never left her with you," she said and at those words, Daryl felt a pang of hurt and embarrassment flare up. He adored that little girl and he sure as hell could take care of her. He knew he maybe didn't seem like the type, but Rick and Lori trusted him just fine.

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" He took a step towards hoping to scare her off a bit, bring her attitude down a peg or two but instead she just looked him dead in the eyes and raised her chin.

"Cause you clearly aren't capable of keepin' on eye on her for twenty minutes."

"And what do you know about it Girl, huh? You probably ain't even old enough to drive yet, let alone take care of a kid."

"Oh screw you." She said throwing him a withering glare. She looked around the yard full of children, perhaps trying to spot a waddling Judy that was still a bit shaky on her feet. "Jerk..." he heard her mumble under her breath.

"Yeah, whatever. Best get to findin' her then." He waves her off, gesturing for her to leave his side of the bouncy house and she looks as if he's just insulted her entire family.

"You're gonna help," she declares and he only narrows his eyes at her.

"I'm tellin' you she's just fine! Probably inside this thing playing." He says gesturing towards the pink thing that's supposed to resemble a castle.

"You had her last," she goes on, "help me find her." There was something sweet and even about her voice that unnerved Daryl more than if she'd been yelling. Something like a sureness that she was used to getting her way.

Daryl groaned and for a moment considered retreating back to the safety of Rick's basement but on the off chance that the little asskicker had wandered off, he stomped over to the front of the bouncy house and pulled back the curtain. Sitting and giggling, happy as ever, was Judith Grimes, who was having far more fun being bounced by the force of the bigger kids jumping around. With one arm he reached inside and scooped her up, stepping back just enough to make sure the girl saw before placing Judith back inside, as she gave a delighted little shriek.

"You about done now?" He asked when he walked towards her again.

"You're still a jerk," with no bite in her voice.

"Uhuh," he grunted out, brushing past her; definitely ready for the basement again.

"And for your information," he heard her call out, "I am old enough to drive!"

"Didn't know two year olds partied so hard," he said, lifting up yet another plate of half eaten cake from the kitchen counter and tossing it in the trash bag he was carrying with him. Everyone had left over an hour ago, leaving him and a few of Lori's friends, bakery girl included, to clean up the mess the toddlers had left behind.

Behind him, Rick chuckled. "At least it tired her out," they both glanced at a sleeping Judith sprawled out on the couch, plastic tiara askew on her head.

"Hey," Rick held out a few garbage bags towards him. "Do you mind giving these to Lori and the girls? They're outside."

Daryl nodded and started to make his way to the back door, stopping abruptly when a photo he seemed to have never noticed before caught his attention.

"It's the day Judith was born," Rick called out from across the room when he saw what Daryl was looking at. He looked back at the picture. He'd been there that day. He'd gone in late because he'd had a long day at work and he only managed to see Lori and the kid for about 10 minutes before visiting hours were over.

"Who're they?" he gestured with the empty bags towards the picture. He knew who one of the girls was; the only holding Judith. It was the bakery girl. She sat smiling happily at the camera between a younger looking Carl, and another girl with brown hair.

"They're Hershel Greene's daughters. Maggie's Judith's godmother."

Maggie. Was that the girl's name? He frowned a little. She didn't look like a Maggie, but what the hell would he know about that?

With a noncommittal noise, he slid the backdoor open and wandered out, only finding the girl with arms full of used paper cups.

"Finally!" she complained, ushering him to give her a garbage bag and he quickly did, holding one open for her. He caught her again. Looking down at the mark on his wrist and this time when he looked up at her face the look she gave him was so strange he didn't dare even pull his arm away from her. Her eyes were almost impossibly wide, staring like she couldn't believe he had a mark there at all. A surge of irritation coursed through him at that thought. That this girl could think he was like his father; that there could be no one out there for him. He almost snapped at her again, almost snatched his arm away and bit her head off but their stare-down was interrupted by the sliding door and Rick calling out.

"Hey Beth! When you're done out here, Maggie needs you."

He disappeared back into his house just as quickly. Completely unaware of what he'd just done and then Daryl was returning her wide eyed gaze with the same shock. Beth. What were the odds that this was just some other Beth? He quickly looked down at her wrist but to his irritation all he saw were bracelets there, covering up what, despite all logic, might have been his name.

It didn't matter, he decided. It didn't matter what was underneath the tangle of beads and string because he didn't want to know. He dropped the bag to the ground, shoving his hands as deep into his pockets as he possibly could, vowing to wear sleeves every day of his life from now on, and began walking away as fast as he could without breaking into a full out sprint.

Then he heard it.

"Daryl?"

It was a question. She was asking someone who's name she didn't know if he was written on her arm and he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard his name said in her sweet, gorgeous voice. Because at some point in the past 30 seconds, against his own will, something in him had decided that her voice was the most gorgeous, just like she was, and he was so thoroughly fucked realizing how little choice he had in this matter. How right he'd been in avoiding her all this time because he'd known who she was for all of half a minute and he already felt powerless around her and at that moment the best he could do was stop and tilt his head just so towards her. That was as much as his self control allowed to keep him from turning around completely to face her.

"Daryl," she said again. And perhaps he had a little more time to process it this time, but with a deep breath and a strength he didn't really feel he had in him, he lowered his head and walked away.