Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: This story is meant to fit in some point during the winter when they were going from house to house. Focusing on the scenario of: What if Daryl and Carol had met once before, decades before the virus and their escape from Atlanta? * Just to clear something up, this could be construed as an AU – however the way I plan to work it into the plot makes it virtually cannon compliant.

Warnings: Contains some minor season two and three spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to domestic abuse, sexual imagery, adult language and mature content.

Lady in Red

Chapter 3

She was still deep in thought when he leaned over and refilled her glass. His hand remarkably steady considering that the bottle, which had been full when he'd started, was now more than half gone. But even then, she barely noticed.

She ran a hand through her hair, raking the short strands into messy spikes as her fingers scratched across her scalp. Mind caught on a thousand different similarities as the minutes grew stale and the feeling only increased. Because it wasn't just in her head anymore, it was everywhere. It was in the firmness of the booth at her back, all unforgiving wood and lumpy cushioning. In the layer of dirt and grit grinding underneath her heels and the faint smell of cigarette smoke that seemed ingrained into the very walls.

She tried to remember the last time she'd even been in a bar, but failed. Things had changed since then, she'd changed. And not just in terms of looks or the slow progression of age either. It was more than that, something internal. Not exactly her personality, but not deep enough to be her soul either. All she was sure of was that for good or ill, she wasn't that person anymore. The person that had existed before Ed, before she'd made the mistake of settling for less than she should have.

And for his part, Daryl still hadn't said a word - letting her wrestle with her thoughts in silence as the minutes ticked by. She was well into her third sip when Daryl suddenly stiffened, his body language going on point as he turned towards the door. Seeming to defy both gravity and basic physics as he leaned out of the booth. Knife raised and poised to strike as the wind whistled through the eaves.

She listened closely, straining to hear what he was hearing as the fire hissed in the background. But it was no use; she couldn't hear anything above the wind and the sound of the others - nothing that screamed 'walker' or 'intruder' at any rate. But that certainly didn't stop her from dropping A hand down to her holster. Unclipping her belt knife just in case as she watched the frown on the man's face grow quizzical and tense.

It took a while, but after a handful of moments he finally relaxed, sheathing his knife and eying the door suspiciously as he took another healthy swig. The danger apparently passed, if it had been there at all, as he went back to picking at the label on the back of the bottle, flicking the sticky glue off his fingers as the pieces scattered across the table like paper rain.

She chanced a look behind her and couldn't help but raise a brow. The others hadn't even noticed.

Even so, it wasn't until he returned to the task at hand that she relaxed as well. The threat obviously unwarranted as the sound of his blade rasping across the grindstone lulled her back into complacency.

Her nails clinked rhythmically across the glass as the amber liquid sloshed up the sides, a hairs breath from spilling over as she covered her unease with an overly ambitious sip. - She nearly choked when the liquor hit the back of her throat. The unexpected burn making her eyes water and blur as she blinked back a film of tears.

Jesus, it really had been a long time.

She played with the rim of her glass before trying again, rolling the rich liquid around with her tongue before swallowing. But instead of enjoying it, her lips actually firmed. - It didn't matter what she did, she just couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been here before. That she'd sat here in this very spot, nursing a glass of the same liquor and nearly the same attitude.

Something that was both impossible and apparently possible all at the same time.

She sneaked a look as he raised the bottle to his lips. Finding herself unable to look away as his throat worked, downing more than a few careless swallows as he tested the sharpness of his blade and grunted in affirmation. Watching him unashamedly as he shook back his hair and squinted up at the photos that lined the walls, having to bite down a laugh a few moments later when his eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.

And call her crazy, but once again the feeling only increased.

She was broken out of her increasingly confusing thoughts when Glenn and Maggie dragged one of the tables closer to the fire. The metal legs grating across the floor with a discomforting screech that made everyone wince. Resulting in a disgruntled hum of conversation as everyone started shaking out their bedrolls and unpacking their bags. Slowly settling in for the night as Carl threw another armful of wood into the fire and sat down to read.

But it was the sound that did it. She wasn't sure how but it triggered some memory she'd half forgotten - a seemingly insignificant handful of hours that she hadn't thought about in decades, let alone years. Because that was when it hit her, it wasn't the place or the bar. It was everything put together. It was her, Daryl, the scratched wooden floor and the dusty neon signs that decorated the walls above. Somehow, it was everything.

She turned around to face him. Trying to picture Daryl fifteen, maybe twenty years younger, with an uneven fan of dark brown hair and a look fit to match the bruises that highlighted the span of his knuckles. He'd been dressed in a faded pair of blue jeans and a beaten up leather jacket that was about three sizes too big on his growing frame and- oh...

It had been the end of summer; four years to the day since she'd walked across the stage at city hall and received her high school diploma. All gussied up in her brand new dress and graduation gown as she'd tried and failed to fend off her tearful mother and at least a few generations of distant relations as the entire family came out to celebrate. - And much like that day four years before, it was hot. Hot in way even Georgia rarely dared to equal.

Actually, it was the year one of the worst droughts in state history blanketed Georgia from top to bottom. It had the state in a strangle hold, ruining crops and tanking the economy from Atlanta to Albany faster than you could say bankruptcy. Leaving nothing but a stifling layer of dry heat and a carpet of dust as thousands of acres or farmland slowly fractured - filtering through the air in a blizzard of dirty brown flakes until only parched earth and a network of miniature grand canyons stood it's stead.

The air had been thick, the way it often is after a long, dry summer. It was no different from the countless other days that had come before it, only somehow it was. In fact, it seemed as though the weather had stalled. Everything had seemed backwards, redundant. - All else considered, it didn't take much to be transported back there. Back to the pressing heat and the clouds edging onto the horizon - back to the goose bumps and heartache as she relived the memories of that day in less time than it took to blink.

The air was still. Heavy with the scent of burnt electronics and singed ozone as what felt like the entire state held its breath. She remembered thinking that it felt like it was going to storm. The air had just felt possible. …Possible and alive. Like the entire universe was just waiting on something.

And believe it or not, but it had also been their fourth anniversary.

She stalked into the bar with a slam that rattled the very windows. Her glossed lips curling downwards as the sound reminded of her of the way Jay had chased her down the driveway only a few hours before. He'd been half naked and blubbering by that point, grabbing at her arms in an effort to make her listen as the hem of her new dress flared out behind her - siren red and strapless as she'd kicked off her heels and marched barefoot towards her car. Still stuttering out excuses and high pitched pleads as he'd hitched one of their bed sheets higher on his hips and trailed behind her.

She couldn't deny that a film of red had hazed across her vision when she'd punched her foot down on the gas. Pelting him with gravel and dirt as he'd trailed behind, arms waving and face desperate as the blond he'd been…entertaining ducked through the neighbor's hedges and disappeared from sight. The scene growing small in her rear view mirror as she stamped down on the gas and turned onto the interstate.

She walked in with more confidence than she felt. But the truth was that she'd never even been in the place before, and for good reason.

Sam's Grill was the type of place that mothers warned their daughters about. Her mother had been no exception. Claiming that any woman caught dead in such a place was either a cheap tart or was asking for it. - And old fashioned sentiments aside, it certainly had a reputation. Fights, blood, and biker gangs seemed to be the order of the day when it came to that place. Hell, when she'd been in school even the guys on the football team had avoided it.

It was basically the old dive bar on the edge of town that everyone knew about, but few had ever been in. There was a stigma around it just as much as there was an atmosphere of violence. A mood that was ripe with unpredictability and wildness for the brave few that actually made it past the parking lot.

But in her mood, none of that had even so much as given her pause as she'd pulled into a space right next to a small convoy of Harleys. Blowing through the front door like hell on a runway. - Bold as brass, straight backed and dressed to the nines, she set her eye on a table near the back and sailed right past the bar. Ignoring the sudden hush of conversation as she chose a booth next to the stage and tried to look like she knew what she was doing.

She wasn't sure what she was trying to prove or who she was spiting by coming here. Jay, her mother, or just the world at large, but either way she hoped to Christ that it was worth it.

Back then she had a tilt to her walk and the ability to turn heads as she'd made her way through the sea of bar stools and pulled back chairs, ignoring the cat calls and appreciative stares as she smoothed her dress underneath her and slid into a booth. - She'd been a fuming mess of curly auburn hair, putting on brave face and a flare to her step as she tried to convince herself that he wasn't worth it. That he wasn't worth her tears and heart break any more than he'd been worth the last four years of her life.

His name had been Jay Olden and up until an hour before she found herself walking into the only place in town he'd been too chicken to take her, he'd also been the man she'd been planning on sharing the good old fashioned American dream with. They'd had it all figured out, the house, the car, and the kids. He was the man she'd being going steady with since her junior year. The only man she'd ever been with, her first, his first too, his first and only - or so she'd thought.

…Bastard.

A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"Your past is always your past. Even if you forget it, it remembers you." ― Sarah Dessen, (What Happened to Goodbye?)