A/N: Hi everyone! I'm going to try and make this not sound like an excuse, but I am beyond annoyed at myself for this being my first update in a year, as when I began this story I was so passionate about it, and still am. However I can't help the distractions that have been going on in my family, and maybe the biggest, which is me preparing to go to university, but I am hoping that in a few months I should get more time to continue this story! I don't want anyone to worry that I may have hit some form of writer's block, as that is far from the case; I'm having to write them down, I have so many!
But anyway, thank you for being so patient and I really hope some of you are still interested in this story and will enjoy this chapter. Things are starting to pick yp up in the plot now, so please stay tuned and as always, please review!

Thank you x

Sitting hunched over, picking at the dried blood on his knuckles, only some of which was his own, he breathed in and out, heavy like a bulldog, while staring pensive at his dirty brown boots. Phoebe tried keeping her eyes on the road, but she couldn't focus on anything but the man sat beside her. She hadn't said a word since he stormed into the truck and shouted at her to drive, left wondering what the hell happened. He was absolutely steaming with rage, covered in blood and hell bent on getting away from his house, as fast as possible.

The silence in the car was strong as they drove down the highway En route to Atlanta, but Phoebe was getting hungry, as they were yet to have breakfast and it was nearing lunch time, but there was a small diner coming up, which would be a perfect pit stop. She turned her head, hesitant, before clearing her throat, making him flinch at the sudden sound. "There's a diner up ahead… can get something to eat…an' something to clean up your hands." Pulling into the small car lot, she took Daryl's silence as an agreement.

The diner was typical; red leather seated booths, poor lighting and tacky tiled flooring. The costumers were people passing by, like them; families perhaps going on vacation, long distance truckers and the odd biker or two. As they entered, they instantly felt eyes on them, but Daryl just stared them off before trudging over to a booth in the corner, away from everyone. Phoebe had never seen him in such a bad mood, he was only ever ill-tempered when he was around Merle. She thought about what could have happened in that house while she walked over to the counter, being greeted by a faire haired woman, holding a half-empty pot of coffee. "Could I get some warm water and a towel please?" Phoebe asked, noting how the woman looked past her and over at Daryl who was staring out of the nearby window. She furrowed her brow in annoyance, feeling protective over him as she took the towel and small bowl of water that was handed to her.

Taking a seat opposite Daryl, Phoebe placed the bowl down and dipped a corner of the towel in, squeezing the access water out before going to dab it against Daryl's knuckles, but he pulled away before she could. She huffed and gave him a challenging look, reaching across the table and hooking her fingers under his, she pulled his hand towards her. Daryl continued to stare out the window, watching passing cars as Phoebe gently cleaned up his fists. She took a close look at the scraped and worn out skin, caressing his rough fingers, she caught his eye and he looked at her, moving his hand away again. He didn't want her to see him this way, he feared that she was scared of him or judged him for what he's done, although he hadn't actually told her what he'd done yet; he didn't know if he could. Daryl didn't even know if he could admit to himself what he'd done, it all happened so fast, he felt something he never previously had and before he knew it that emotion had taken him whole.

Phoebe stared at him as he looked blankly at the table, wanting so badly to just go over to his side of the booth and be close to him, but she knew he wouldn't appreciate it right now. So instead she looked him over, from her distance, checking to see if he had any other wounds, but except from the light scratch under his eye – which probably wouldn't cause any bruising - and his knuckles, he seemed physically fine but mentally she wasn't sure. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together, Daryl had obviously had a physical altercation, but with who surprised her. Phoebe didn't know if she was proud of him or… no, she was only proud of him. Daryl only did what she had wanted to do ever since she was old enough to understand what was really going on, and she needed him to know that she wasn't ashamed of him for his actions, but with such a delicate subject Phoebe knew she had to tread lightly.

Just as Phoebe was about to open her mouth to talk to him, while he reluctantly carried on cleaning himself up, the waitress came over and stood at the edge of their table.

"Are you ready to order?" she asked, looking down at her small notepad, pen at the ready.

Daryl just looked at Phoebe and shrugged, not really acknowledging the waitress's sudden presence.

"I can come back…" she said blankly, feeling ill-treated by Daryl's rudeness, but use to it in her line of work.

"No! Sorry…we'll order now," Phoebe intervened quickly, giving a confused look to Daryl before she quickly grabbed a menu that was placed on the table. Scanning it hastily, Phoebe let out a few 'um's' and 'hmm's' before finding something that they would both like. "I'll haave…the eggs Benedict…" she said, elongating her words and squinting at the menu, not because she couldn't read it, but because she couldn't decide for Daryl, but then her eyes lit up because she found it. Looking up from the menu, Phoebe turned to the waitress, who was awaiting her order, "And he'll have The Lumberjack." As the waitress wrote down their order on her notepad, Daryl looked at Phoebe inquisitively, wondering what exactly a lumberjack was. Phoebe just smiled at him. "And two cokes please."

"Okay, thank you," the server said, not sure what to make of their odd coupling.

As soon as they were alone again, Daryl grabbed for the menu, looking for what was ordered for him; a stack of buttermilk pancakes, two pieces of bacon, sausage links, eggs and pieces of ham.

He peered over the top of the menu, eyebrow raised, across to Phoebe who was still smiling at him,

grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Don't ever say I don't take care of you!" she retorted. And it was true, Phoebe did take care of him, in her eyes Daryl was her king and all she wanted to do was serve him as his queen. The love she had for him is just so unexplainable, so true and so deep, that nothing could make that go away.

"A'right, but you're paying for all that."

Phoebe scoffed, "Fine I will, but you better eat it all."
Daryl eyed her, picking at some dried skin on the corner of his mouth. "You do Psychology; what's it say about a guy who dates a girl who acts like his damn mother?"
Bursting out with laughter, she gave him a coy smile, not really expecting him to talk much, none the less make jokes. "I'd rather not say," she said. Daryl smirked before dumping the cloth back into the bowl of water, deciding his wounds were clean enough.
"So, you gonna tell me what happened?"
"Do I really have'ta?"

"Babe, I'm almost packed. We'll swing round your place quick then go, yeah?"
"Whateva." Daryl replied, outstretched on Phoebe's bed, looking at one of her college text books intensively. His brow was furrowed by the amount of long words used, making himself certain that most were made up.
"Daaaryyyll…" Phoebe whined, elongating his name to emphasise her frustration. His eyes appeared over the text book, looking at her from across the room.
"I thought you wanted to do this."
"Ya think I don'?"
Phoebe sat at the end of the bed. "You don't sound too enthused."
"I am, I guess."
Laying back, Phoebe wrapped her arms around Daryl's leg, resting her head on his thigh. "Well you should be. It'll just be for a year anyway, then we can move to wherever you want; we can go live up in the mountains and grow fat and hairy if you want."
Daryl smirked at her, while still engrossed in the psychology textbook. Phoebe looked up at him, noticing that he was paying more attention to the book than her. Looking back down, and resting her head back on his thigh, "Plus, we can have sex as often as we want, and we can be as loud as we want." She smiled to herself when she heard Daryl put the book down, probably looking at her.
He scoffed at her teaing,"Pssh, better get packin' then."
Phoebe smiled, playfully hitting his leg as she sat back up. "Why are you reading that anyway?"
Daryl shrugged. "Sometimes there's pictures o' brains."
Making an amused face, Phoebe pouted. "That's adorable."
"Yeah, speakin' o' brains though." He smirked.
"Damn Dixon, you're so smooth; how could anybody say no?!"
Daryl didn't say anything. Grabbing Phoebe by the arms, he pulled her up to his chest, staring into her big blues before claiming her mouth with his.

It wasn't always that Daryl would be spontaneous and initiating, although in a way, Phoebe did start this one. It could have been his nerves, worrying about the big move; Daryl hadn't really been anywhere outside of the mountains and this town, where he still felt he didn't belong. He belonged with Phoebe, and she wasn't going to complain if he felt like being a bit rough with her from time to time; it was her not so guilty pleasure.

Their kissing intensified as Daryl fisted his hand into her curly tresses, while Phoebe snaked her hand down his torso causing him to grunt and Phoebe to smile against his hungry mouth. "Alright, I'll play with you for a little bit…" she spoke close to his lips, as he grinned back at her. Kissing his jawline, up into his hair, she moved her hand to his belt, making quick but careful work of it as she moved to his zipper, feeling Daryl's already hardening length. He closed his eyes, soaking into her unforgiving touch, tilting his head to the side, Daryl claimed her mouth once again.

Running the tips of her finger nails up and down his enlarged cock, sending shivers of electric pleasure down his spine, Phoebe nuzzled his neck, kissing the pronounced vein that always seems to grow when she touches him in this way. Daryl's breath hitched as Phoebe lowered herself, placing her mouth around his length's head, creating a suction that he would die for. He laid back, alternating between having his eyes shut tight and watching her, wide eyed in amazement, watching himself disappear down her tight throat.

Daryl reached down, collecting her curls tightly in his hand as he held them to one side, - keeping them out of Phoebe's way - but to also provide him with a better view. Phoebe's hair was soft, the softest thing that Daryl ever had the good fortune to feel. He never had a stuffed toy as a kid, and that was perhaps why he was often caught playing with Phoebe's hair; sometimes he couldn't sleep unless it was suffocating his senses. As Phoebe's sucking quickened, so did Daryl's breathing, unable to control his grunting he clenched his jaw and held on to her hair tighter, knowing it only egged her on anyway. And it did;she ran her tongue up his shaft to the tip, where she continued to swirl her hot, wet muscle around his now throbbing head, all while she pumped him with her hand.

Feeling his member twitch, Phoebe knew he was close, making her suck harder as she moved her hand down to his base, caressing his balls until they began to contract. Daryl could feel the swelling rising up, making it damn near impossible not to moan his loudest, and despite the fact that Phoebe's parents hearing what their daughter could do would entertain Daryl in some way that he'd never admit, he tried to keep it quiet as possible for everyone's sake. "Pheebs…" He moaned, multiple times, letting her know it was time, but she knew and she kept going, pleasuring him until his sweet release washed down her throat.

Daryl laid warn and beat, but satisfied to no end, as Phoebe released him with a pop, sitting back up to admire her work. Laying back, arms crossed behind his head, Daryl painted the perfect picture of smugness. He eyed her smirking at him. "Can take care o'you if ya want."
"You will, when we get to Atlanta." She promised, gripping his stubbly chin and pulling him in for a tender kiss, but before she could pull away, Daryl held her in place, smiling against her mouth before kissing her once more.

Pulling up to a small shack, Daryl quickly swung his Ford pick-up around, positioned ready to leave when they were.
"Do you want me to come with you?" Phoebe offered sweetly, lightly running her hand up the back of his head.
"Nah, jus'wait here. Hopefully he'll be passed out in his own vomit anyway," he enthused before getting out the truck and making his way for the door.
"Here's hoping," Phoebe muttered to herself, turning on the radio for her wait.

Stomping up the wooden steps, Daryl pushed the front door open, hearing it creak and slam against the wall. He took a moment to eye the small, dank room, hoping it'd be for the last time. He hated everything about this house, and that's all it was, because it never felt like a home. Daryl hated the faded and peeling wallpaper, he hated the old, creaky wooden floor covered in a stained and matted carpet. Taking it all in, Daryl actually felt glad he would be leaving, he wanted to turn around and thank Phoebe, and he would after he picked up a few things.

Before he went to his room he turned to 'his' chair, noticing his reflection in the dated TV screen that was positioned opposite. He was sitting there, slumped in his chair passed out from a jar of moonshine, just like he was every day. Daryl thought about saying goodbye, but the thought of his father's response just made him heated. Air blew from his nostrils at the thought, as he turned back and stomped on to his room.

Daryl began shoving his clothes into a duffle bag, being as quick as he can, hoping that he could escape unnoticed.
"Daryl?! That you boy?!"
Sighing heavily, he put the last of his things into the bag and zipped it up roughly, throwing it over his shoulder as he left his room. His father heard him enter the room again. He was still sitting in his chair, too jaded to even move enough to reach for the TV remote. "What're you doin' Dixon, get me a beer from tha'fridge would'ya!?"
Moving silently to the small open planned kitchen, he threw open the fridge door. Daryl flinched backwards, crinkling his nose at the smell that came screaming out at him. He slammed it shut again, and began heading back to the door, shouting back "Nah, we're out!"
He scoffed, "Well damn boy, you betta'get some when you're out then."
Daryl stopped in his tracks, running his hand through his hair. He thought about just agreeing and leaving, but a nasty pinch of humanity was making him feel that just walking out without him knowing that he was actually moving out was too harsh.

Daryl's father turned in his arm chair, annoyed by his son's prolonged silence. He brought his worn and aged hand to his eyes, rubbing them to clearer his vision. Noticing that Daryl had a bag packed over his shoulder, he was curious. "You goin' somewhere?" he questioned.

Daryl looked down,"Uh, yeah. I'm gonna live with Phoebe for'awhile." He paused to see his dad's confused look, before carrying on. "Movin' to Atlanta."
"Atlanta?!" he proclaimed, chuckling low as he managed to get out of his chair. "Since when did my son become so pussy whipped, huh?! You'd move to North Korea if that skirt told ya too!"
Daryl felt enraged by his father's words, he threw his arms out in annoyance. "What'do you care anyway? Been gone almost all summer. Not like you noticed."
Laughing again, he picked up his packet of cigarettes off of the window ledge before opening his arms out to Daryl in a fake gestured hug. "I'm sorry son, here have a hug." He laughed again, before lowering them, while Daryl just stared at him. "Ya really think' you'd belong there? Think you'll fit in?"
"Doesn' matter…-"
"Ya fallin' yourself boy. Hell yourlil' relationship 'as only lasted this long cause us Dixons ar'good at pleasin' the ladies."
Daryl wrinkled his nose in disgust and anger, "You don' even know her!"
"No, but I know college chicks," he retorted while lighting a cigarette. "She'll outgrow you boy, wipe you from her shoe like you's dog shit."

This was nothing new, Daryl was used to his father laying into him every chance he got, but it was new; he was talking about Phoebe. This man had single-handedly taken everything from him, ruined his childhood, and sabotaged any chance at a normal happy life. But not her. He couldn't have her too. "You're wrong." He said it, plain and simple, his voice calmer than how he was actually feeling.
Anger displayed on his face, he stepped up to his son, invading his personal space. "How thick are ya boy?! Crawl out of that tart's pussy for a minute and realise who you are!"

Red. From that point all Daryl saw was red. The constant abuse during all these years, and now he was going to try and tarnish the one thing that Daryl knew for sure was pure in this world, in his world. He didn't even hear him hit the ground, he couldn't feel the blow that he had suffered to his cheek, or the sting in his knuckles, but when he looked down he saw him; laid out on the floor, motionless, cigarette burning a few inches from his hand.