A/N Total and utter fluff. Not gonna apologize, it's just what's coming out right now. I think it's withdrawal. Six...more...days! If you're gonna alert, ya' better leave a review!

Girlie.

Part 1

It had taken awhile for him to get to this point. Surprisingly, Mr. Daryl Dixon, while amazingly swift at dispatching walkers, deer and the wily squirrel, was painstakingly slow at bringing down a lady. It was, well, like he was almost afraid to. Truth be told, we were both more than a little afraid to. Shit, most people nowadays would consider the end of the world a hall pass of sorts and nail everything on two non-rotting legs just on the principle "it might be our last day on earth." Not me. Apparently, certainly not Daryl.

I knew that he was shy. It took him days to say anything more than a grunt. Most of the time he would just nod. Or frown. If I caught him looking at me, he'd turn away quickly, embarrassment on his face. Idiot. End of the world and I have to pick out the one guy who's not acting like, well, a guy. I started to play a game of "don't get caught" watching him. I hope I wasn't failing miserably, at least I don't think I was. We rarely made eye contact. I don't know, maybe we're both not wanting to get anything started, not wanting to complicate things. Lord knows things are complicated enough. But still, it'd been a long time. A real long time.

He has this habit of chewing on his thumbnail when he's distracted, deep in thought. More often than not, I'd catch a glimpse of that hand going up and I'd count to ten to myself and then look at him and sure enough. Fleeting glimpse. Finally after a couple weeks of this, I just looked at him dead on. Straight in the eyeballs. One slow blink...and then I turned away with the slightest of Mona Lisa smiles. Just a hint. I would have loved to see his reaction after I turned, but I was too busy trying to be cool myself. Pretending. It's hard to be cool around Daryl Dixon. He's like nitroglycerine. One bump, one false move and he'll go off...and when he does, you don't want to be anywhere near. Boom. There he goes.

We won't even talk about the sweating-part. Makes me sweat just thinking about watching him around camp. Sleeveless shirts with those muscles. Just enough sweat and dirt and stubble to look like the guy on the cover of a cheap romance novel. He moves like no one I've ever seen before. Cautious, watching every step he makes but just barely maintaining control. Ready to fight at any moment. Volatile. Twitchy. When he's mad he's animated, arms flailing, legs on springs, gesturing wildly, his voice loudly spouting venom and insults, almost too much. It's as if he wears his anger like a shield...or insulation.

I've seen him move when he's hunting too. Predator. No other word for him. Sure-footed, soundless, totally in his element. The contrast is kinda' un-nerving between the two. Makes him complicated, which doesn't seem to be the vibe he tries to throw. He wants everyone to think he's the simple, uneducated, whiskey-drinking, Marlboro-smoking perennial redneck. I don't think he is, though. There's a lot going on behind those baby blues. A lot.

When Rick brought back a compound bow on one of their "raids," as the women have started calling them, it surprised me that no one fessed up to actually shooting one before. The guys all said they had used them and were satisfied with their guns. Shane and Rick both felt that this was a weapon that would be handy because of the relative quiet it afforded. It was also deadly as hell. But definitely not for close-quarter combat, as Daryl pointed out. Had to have some room to shoot it. He wasn't so enthusiastic about somebody picking it up.

So, when Shane asked Andrea if she wanted to learn how to use it and she declined, I spoke up about having had a semester of archery in college and that I'd at least actually shot a compound bow once or twice before. I said I would try, but I'd need a lot of practice. Little did I know. Shane was skeptical at first, I know because of my size, telling me he didn't think I was strong enough to use it. Well, now I know I have to, I thought. Instead of telling him to go fuck himself, I just grinned. "We'll see." I said.

Rick and T-Dog helped set up a place to practice on the outskirts of camp. Damn Shane was right. The draw on the bow was a real bitch, but that wasn't going to deter me. My arm hurt like a mother, but no way was I going to admit that. I practiced morning and evening, insisting on being by myself. I hated when people watched me.

Within a couple weeks the shoulder and arms went from a feeling of being on fire to a dull ache and I was getting pretty sure of myself. I'll bet I walked five miles a day back and forth to retrieve arrows. I was hitting the target mostly now, and more often than not, hitting clusters towards the center, where T-Dog had spray-painted a circle for a bullseye.

"Want me to loosen that draw now?" the voice from behind me said quietly as I raised the bow and sighted in the target. I lowered the bow and turned around to find Daryl sitting on a fallen log, behind me, studying his fingernails. His legs were sprawled lazily in front of him, his Horton leaning against a thigh. His hair was ruffled and he looked like he'd just gotten back from a day in the woods.

"Now?" I repeated.

"Well, din't want to startin' out. Had to build up yer' arm."

"You knew how much I was struggling and you could have fixed it?" I said, walking towards him.

He grinned sheepishly. "Ain't strugglin' no more. Hit it."

"What?" I said, a hand on my hip.

"Hit tha' target. Go on. Take a shot. From here." he said, putting his hand down and standing up. We were about three foot apart. The target wasn't quite what I wanted to hit right now. I turned, sighted in and let one fly. It missed the little spray-painted circle by about an inch.

Daryl nodded, a little half-grin on his face. "Nice," he said quietly. "But can ya' do that with a pack a' walkers runnin' at ya'?"

"Dunno. Why don't you go over there and we'll pretend?" I said, looking at him blankly.

"What, you're pissed 'cause I din't make it easy on ya'?" he said. "That made ya' stronger."

"Well, gee, I guess I should thank you for letting me flounder out here for two weeks all by myself then?"

"Weren't flounderin'."

"How would you know?" I snorted. His thumb instantly went to his mouth and he rolled his eyes. "What?" I said. "You were watching?"

He frowned. "Course I 's watchin'. Ain't gonna' let a girl out here by herself. What if a walker'd come along?" I hated the way he said girl, almost like it was a bad thing.

"I would have shot him!" I said, my voice raised in exasperation. "You think I can't shoot a walker?"

"I think you ain't never shot one with a bow." he said, taking the bow out of my hands gingerly and laying it down beside me. I think he was half afraid I was going to prove him wrong and put one in him to make a point. " 's a whole diff'rent thing." he drawled.

At this point I was keenly aware of two things: number one, how much I wanted to punch his lights out and number two, how blue his eyes were. I knew he had steely blue eyes but I don't think I'd ever been that close. "You think I'm just some delicate little thing that needs protecting, some scared, helpless woman? You don't know me very well." I turned to leave, sidestepping him and trying to retrieve my bow.

Never said that." he said. He sounded exasperated. "I never said that." He reached out and grabbed me by the upper arm. "I know you ain't."

"Ain't what?" I wheeled around, facing him, glaring at the hand on me.

He dropped my arm and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yer' not...girlie."

"Girlie? Oh, please, Daryl, do explain." I said. I don't know why I was so mad, but I was truly pissed.

"Jesus." he sighed. "I know you ain't helpless. You can take care a' yer'self. I just mean, you're not into all that...stuff."

"What stuff?"

"That girl stuff. Yer' not worried about the hair, 'r makeup, shoes, clothes, you know." He was saying each with a slight whine to his voice. Mocking. "Ya' don't give a fuck if ya' break a nail. I've seen ya' up to yer' elbows in deer guts. I've heard ya' tell dirty jokes too. You're not a...prissy, stuck-up, girlie-girl." He was looking down at his shoes now, face flushed.

"When have I told you dirty joke?" I said, exasperated. I knew that I had never. Not in front of any of the guys, especially if there was a chance Carl would overhear .

"You were washing clothes with Andrea 'n Carol 'n you were all tellin' jokes. You told the one about the guy 'n the bar orderin' a cheese sandwich." He broke into a big smile and then caught himself.

"How did you..."

"Wind was in the right direction. I was in the woods. Heard everything you women said." I started shaking my head slowly, feeling the heat break across my cheeks. "Funny joke." he was grinning again.

"So you think I'm a tomboy?" I said, my hand on y hip. "Is that it? That I'm not a girl?"

"There's no good way outta' this, is there?" he was almost laughing now.

"Not really. Either end of the continuum, I get insulted." I said, glaring at him. "So which is it?"

"Jesus, don't get your undies in a bunch."

"Well, after that enthusiastic vote of confidence for my femininity, how can they NOT be in a bunch!" My voice was hard, strained. "Truth is, Daryl, if you knew anything about my undies you'd be singing a different tune." Aw, shit.

"Yeah?" he said, taking a step towards me. "How's that?"

"Because!" I said, realizing now I was getting into an argument with no good way out.

" 'cause why?" He took another step closer. He was close enough for me to catch a whiff of him now. Mother of mercy, he was all sweaty and woodsy, and manly. It'd been a long time since I'd smelled anything that good and bad all at the same time.

"Because it's none a' your business."

"You brought 'em up."

"No, you did! You said not to get them in a twist."

"Think I hit a nerve." he shook his head slowly, teasingly.

"You sure fucking did." I hissed. Neither of us was moving an inch.

"Oh, I ain't never heard you cuss before. Hit a big nerve. What do I need to know about 'em?"

"What?"

"You said if I knew anything about your undies, I'd change my tune."

"I...You..." I sputtered. "Forget it."

"Nuh-huh. Make me change my tune. Come on."

"Not on your life."

"Chicken shit."

"What did you just call me?"

"Chicken shit. You can't throw it out there and fold when I call your bluff. Chicken shit."

"What, you want me to show you?"

"Yeah, show me." He was grinning from ear to ear now. He knew damn good and well he had me and there was no way I was going to go that far to win the argument.

"Not on your life."

Daryl looked at me with an evil grin on his face, that little mole above the corner of his mouth pulled sideways. He opened his mouth and made a chicken noise. "Braaaaack. Braaaack."

"You ass." I glared at him. He just smirked even harder. "You're lucky I don't put an arrow in your butt."

"You best not even try."

"Or what?"

"Or it'll be the last time you use that arm." he said cooly.

"Really? You would break my arm?"

"Shoot me 'n see what happens."

We stood there a foot apart for what seemed like an hour. In reality it was a minute. Neither of us was willing to blink...or back down. I could hear his breathing and I'm not so sure he couldn't hear my heart pounding. I'm sure he could see the vein in my neck pulsing. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I don't know why he got to me so fast. I never thought of myself as really girlie, except for a couple things. But coming from him, it made me, well, sad. I used to wear makeup. Do my hair. I bought my share of cute shoes. But that's over. Hair now has to be walker-proof. Shoes should be made for running, kicking, stomping. Makeup? In this heat and humidity? I guess Daryl's right. I'm not girlie anymore. Well, except for the one thing about which I just should'a kept my mouth shut.

"I said sorry."

"What?" I blinked.

"Sorry."

"Wait, what? You're apologizing?"

"Jesus, how many times I got to say it?" he was squirming now.

"Sorry. I didn't hear the first one." I sighed. "It's ok. I shouldn't have been so thinned-skinned. It just..." I shook my head. "I don't want to argue. You hardly talk to me the way it is." Did I just say that?

"You could talk to me. 'stead a' tryin' to catch me lookin' at ya'."

I pressed my lips together as hard as I could to keep from smiling. He knew. "Truce?"

"Aw, what tha' hell. Don't wanna' end up with a bolt in my ass."

"It could still happen." I couldn't contain a grin any longer.

Daryl got a funny look on his face. He looked away and then cocked his head sideways, looking at me again. "Don't think so." he said He picked up his crossbow as he walked back towards camp. "Get busy. Ya' ain't that good yet, Girlie." he called over his shoulder.