Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, ect., are the property of their respective owners. The original character and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Some only see the pain behind a scar. For some they are worn in honor; proud badges of victory and bravery. For Lillian James Harper, they are a mark of survival. Every scar has a story, this one is hers.
Warning: This fan-fiction is rated Mature for Language, Gore and Adult Situations. Readers under the age of 18 are strongly discouraged from reading.
Pairing: Daryl x Lillian James Harper
Chapter Four~Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly. –Rose Franken~
The next morning I woke up to what had to be the most foul smell I had encountered in a good long while…and that was saying something considering how bad walkers smell.
It took me less than a minute to figure out what it was and by then I was already untangling myself from Daryl's legs and booking it for the door, making sure I kicked Merle extra hard on my way out.
As soon as I had the tent flap open I threw my upper body out, taking a deep pull at the fresh morning air, praying to all things Holy that the smell inside didn't linger too long 'cause I wasn't exactly dressed to be outside yet. Though, I wouldn't have given a care if I was lying naked on the White House lawn, that shit smelled awful.
Lying on my back with my legs still inside the tent, I laughed at the absurdity of the moment. Here I was in the middle of the apocalypse and I was still tryin' to outrun my brother-in-law's farts; God help me.
A rough but warm hand encircled my ankle before I heard rustling inside the tent, followed by Daryl's sleep rough voice. "Babe?"
He sounded all kinds of cute and disoriented and it made me want to kick the shit out of Merle all the more. Daryl was so damn hot first thing in the mornin' and Merle made me miss it.
"Out here." I tell him softly, trying not to giggle because I know it's only a matter of time before he realizes why I'm out here in the first place.
"What are ya—awe fuck! Merle!" He bellows and Merle—as expected—starts to laugh. I swear that man is like an overgrown five-year-old; he'd do anything to get Daryl riled up. Ass-hat!
Next thing I knew, Daryl is hovering above me, his delicious weight pressing into me as he scowls down at me sleepily. "Fuckin' bastard. Ya see what I've had ta live with?"
"Awe, my poor baby," I coo at him as I lean up to place a tender kiss to his scruffy jaw. "Ya want Mama ta make it better?"
He smirked down at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he captures my lips in a good morning greeting. The kiss isn't overly sexual but I'd be damned if I said it lacked any heat…of course that was before I started giggling.
Pulling back, he looks down at me confused, "What the hell ya laughin' at, woman?"
Still trying not to laugh overly loud, I fill him in. "Maybe we could bottle the smell, use it as walker repellant or somethin'. There's no way they'd think we were fresh if they gotta whiff of that. We could be the millionaires of the apocalypse."
He growls playfully as he buries his face in my shoulder, nipping at it lightly. "God I love it when yer mean, so sexy."
"Ya'know, I can hear ya'll." Merle gripes as the tent ruffles around.
"Good," we both yell, laughing as Merle mocks us with a falsetto voice.
Daryl leans down and kisses me again, laughing against my lips as Merle continues to moan and groan from inside the tent. "Ooooh Darylina!" he'd wail, then switch to teasing Daryl about how fine my ass was. Despite Merle's attempts to start a fight the kiss continued, slow and quickly bordering on inappropriate in public, but this was my Daryl and we could have been in the middle of the Coliseum for all I cared.
Suddenly Daryl stiffened as a large shadow fell over us just about the time someone cleared their throat.
"Can I help you, Officer Walsh?" I asked as I smiled up at the man from underneath Daryl.
With a sneer set firmly on his face, Shane informed us—none too kindly—that if Merle was going on the scavenging trip into the city that had to, and I quote: "Get his ass up." Of course that pissed Daryl off—both that Merle was going and that Shane was a dick—and I can't say I liked it either; but Merle is stubborn and we both knew that.
After Shane's little visit, it became glaring obvious that my day was gonna suck, especially after Daryl informed me that he would be huntin' today and I would be left here with these strangers. I tried everything in my arsenal to persuade him not to go…Hell, sex would have normally worked but this time Daryl was unmovable. He was adamant that I get some more meat on my bones; apparently I had lost more weight than he was comfortable with since the end of the world.
~Grief is the price we pay for love. –Queen Elizabeth ll~
It was around 3:00pm or so—if I had to hazard a guess—and even though I missed my wild man, I wasn't miserable. I had taken to stringing up some tin cans—a warning for geeks—with a really nice man named Jim.
Daryl wasn't back yet but that wasn't too uncommon, especially for him. Honestly, if he'd gotten on the trail of something big we most likely wouldn't see him again until he bagged it. Did I like him out there in the woods all by himself? Absolutely not; but I knew Daryl and this was just something he felt he had to do.
After a little while I decided to go an help the women fix supper—and as I expected, the questions started, but I was only slightly surprised when they didn't ask about my face.
It started with Lori.
"So you and Dixon's, how'd that happen?" She asked with a slight chuckle. At first, I bristled, already having a fair idea of what everyone here thought of the boys.
"I met him in the bar I was workin' in…well, I met Merle first." I said, my nose crinkling in distaste at the memory.
"That bad?" Carol asked, chuckling in a knowing way.
"If you only knew…
Flashback
June 2003
"Fuck!" No one commented on my choice word was I slammed the bottle of Jack back behind the bar. Everyone fuckin' knew better. I was pissed at myself for fuckin' up and it was common knowledge around these parts that you just didn't fuck with me when I was having an off day. I still couldn't believe I had been so distracted that I used Jack instead of Jim in Pat's drink.
Jerry—my boss—smirked at me from his stool by the till. It was where he spent most of his time on nights like this when he came in to pal around with his friends and watch me work. Fuckin' old fart!
"Somethin' on your mind, Jer?" I huffed sarcastically.
Like normal, he just winked at me and shook his head. Jerry was for the most part, a quiet man…but stuff a few cans Coors Light in his face and the man turns into Maury Povich. He had had damn near a case of beer tonight but we both knew he wasn't stupid enough to say anything when I was in this kind of a mood.
Grabbing the correct bottle from under the counter, I fixed my mistake quickly and made sure to tell Pat that he wouldn't be charged for my 'fuck up'. Instead of pouring the shot of Jack I had just poured down the drain, I tossed it back, gagging around the taste. I had never been a sour-mash kind of girl…that shit was nasty!
It had been a long time since I made that kind of mistake behind the bar and didn't catch myself before I served my customer a bad drink—or shot—in this case; so Jerry didn't pitch a fit when he saw me drink it and not pay for it. I kinda needed the drink right now anyway. Fuck, what was one free shot to a customer that had been frequenting this bar for the last fifteen years. Fuck, even I wasn't that loyal and I had been workin' here since I was legal.
"Corner table's wavin' ya down, Lilly Pad." Jerry whispered in my ear. I didn't have to see his face to know he was smirking. The bastard found this amusing, did he? I smacked him in the face with my wet bar rag as I looked up and immediately groaned. Life just wasn't fair sometimes.
Sure enough, that big-muscle-bound hick was wavin' his empty beer bottle in the air like a fuckin' flag of surrender. To my disbelief and annoyance, my mother sat next to him, happily sipping her glass of Blush that Jerry had probably bought at Walmart.
It disgusted me in ways that I'm sure everyone here understood.
She was what had me in a shitty mood to begin with. It hadn't even been two hours into my shift when she showed up with her honey of the month, pupils dilated and all. She was fuckin' high again and it pissed me right off. What the fuck she was doin' here anyway eluded me; that old bitch didn't even drink.
The man wavin' me down now was Merle, or so said my Mama when she introduced him. He was a big fucker with an even dirtier mouth than Jack—and that was sayin' somethin'. He—Merle—had tried to strike up a polite conversation, and some—not so polite—conversation with me several times, but he quickly found out that I was no more in the mood to deal with his bullshit than I would be gouging my eyes out with searing-hot pokers. It was almost funny how put out he was by my distaste of him in general.
When he finally realized that I had no intentions of waiting on his table, he got up tromped his big ass across my dirty, peanut-shelled floor and plopped that big country ass of his into the stool right in front of me. He didn't say anything—which was surprising—but his constant staring was starting to piss me off.
"Dollar for your thoughts?" I asked him with a sneer. If he wanted a beer he better get back on that shitty looking Triumph and ride his foul smelling ass back to Trenton, 'cause he wasn't gonna get served here.
The big bastard chuckled slightly, muttering something under his breath before placing that empty bottle of Bud on inside edge of my counter. "Thought it was uh penny?"
Growling slightly, I lifted my head to stare him down, "Yeah, well I always pay more to see the side-show freaks at the carnival."
Hoping to shut him up, I slid an uncapped bottle of Bud his way, not even bothering to charge him for it. The sooner he told me what the fuck he wanted the sooner he could get the fuck out of my face.
"Did ya just imply I's stupid, little girl?" He asked gruffly, his eyes shining in anger. Good, maybe now the meaty fucker realized I didn't wanna be his bestie.
"You hang around my Mama, you can't exactly be bright." I told him, shrugging my shoulders.
He was about to reply, most like to call me a "cunt" or a "bitch", I was sure of it. But his derogatory insult died on his tongue as the double bar doors swung open in walked a sandy haired man, with the bluest eyes I've ever seen and a permanent scowl on his rugged face.
I'm fairly certain my jaw fell into the beer I was pouring and I was possibly drooling too.
He stood there in the doorway for a few seconds, his ocean blue eyes scanning the room once before zeroing in on the bar. I'll admit that I openly ogled him from over my shoulder. He was handsome; around six feet tall, with dirty blond hair and honey tan skin but, it was his cocky gate that did me in…well, until he opened his mouth and ruined it all.
Mystery man caught my gaze over the bar and his lips curled into one of the smuggest smirks, making my face flush hot. Then his eyes shifted to the tree-sized asshole that was still blubberin' to get my attention, and smiled widely.
"Hey bro," he called quietly, saddling up beside the older man.
Instantly, he went from being the hottest guy I'd seen in a good long while—to junior dick at his brother's table.
"What'll ya have?" I asked a little off-putting, but politely.
"Budweiser," he said, his eyes lazily sweeping up and down my body.
I think I growled at him.
He looked at me with confusion but said nothing as I handed him the longneck and turned away. I felt his eyes on my back for a few minutes more before he turned to his redwood sized brother and struck up a conversation about pouring footers and setting rebar.
When I realized that they were both the new guys working for John Logan—on my Father's crew—I wanted to fuckin' hurl that beer bottle straight threw the mirror behind the bar that held Jerry's office. That prick was no doubt, sitting back there with his feet kicked up on the desk and laughing his ass off.
I felt stupid; I should have noticed the shirt when Merle first walked in, but I guess the fact that my geeked-out, pill junky of a mother was dangling off his arm kind of distracted me.
Angrier than I was before, I raced down to the opposite end of the bar and hoped to strike up a conversation with Bobby, Jack, Heidi or Pat and forget about the hot redneck that I would never get to know now.
Pat smiled brightly at my ruffled appearance, sliding his trucker hat from his head and rubbing his fast growing bald spot. Jack chuckled under his breath and Heidi sat there next to him with a lost but happy look on her face—because, well…let's face it, she was trashed.
"Somethin' rufflin' yer feathers this fine evenin', Lil?" Pat asked with a slight slur and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
Jack leaned over, whispering something in Pat's ear while his eyes trained down to the other end of the bar where my hot redneck sat. Pat's eyes followed and his smile widened at whatever Jack had told him.
They were bastards; horrible old men, both of them.
Growling at the gossiping older men, I replied. "Nothin' a shot of Jager won't take care of."
"It's on me then," Jack said with a big grin as I tossed him the dice and told him to roll for the jukebox.
Jack was a good man, a bit of a player but a damn good man. Jack was a bit of a spender in Backwoods, and I can't begin to tell you how much tail I've seen the man take out of those front doors because of it. He wasn't a bad looking man for his age; he was just very far from my type.
"Mother-fucker," I groaned when I thought about the type of man that appealed to me. He was sitting at the other end of my bar, happily chatting up the bane of my existence.
It wasn't long after that when my mother—who must have gotten lonely—plopped her flirty ass right between what I've come to know as the Dixon boys. She feigned hurt when I refused to serve her until I reminded her of what happened the last time she tried mixing alcohol and pills and crank. She shut up after that and Daryl regarded me with a knowing eye.
Things went well for the majority of the night after that, Pat even gave us a drunken strip tease on the pool table on the pool table which sent the entire bar into hysterics.
The Dixon's didn't bother me much but as my regulars started to filter out, I got the feeling of being watched. I looked to Jack—ex special forces—my eyes and ears after dark, and he nodded; apparently he noticed the younger Dixon brother staring too.
Fed up with the all the drama of the night, I jumped up on the bar right in front of "hot redneck" and rang the offensive bell that hung right above him. The crowd cheered as I started passing out the free drinks while the younger Dixon looked confused and Merle shouted something about a table dance. I flipped Merle off and neglected both the Dixon's their free booze.
"What'd ya do to'er?" I heard Daryl—apparently—ask Merle in what he probably thought was a hushed whisper, but between the alcohol in his system and the loud music spilling from the jukebox, it really came out more like a shout.
To hide my laughing face, I turned to Jack and he just chuckled and raised his glass of brandy-wine in celebration of my small victory. It was some disgusting shit, but I poured myself a shot and did it with him anyway.
Not a second later, Merle raised up a gigantic arm, nearly knocking my trashed mother right out of her bar stool. Is it horrible that I would have laughed?
"Alright girly, I got a bone ta pick wit ya!" Merle hollered and winked at me. "A big one."
Jack just shook his head and palmed his face, marveling at the man's idiocy. Merle was a man who was about to have his ass handed to him by a 5-ft-2 barmaid.
Merle smiled lecherously at me as I approached; like the bastard's pig just won first prize at the fair. Daryl was a bit more wary and I think he might of understood what was about to happen a little better than his brother. Even Jerry made reappearance from his office to witness and make sure shit didn't get too out of hand.
"Merle, right?" I asked, glancing at my mother with narrowed eyes; she looked about two seconds from puking all over my floor.
He nodded, all smiles and good humor gone from his face as he waited for me to get to my point. It was probably the only polite thing I'd seen him do all night.
"I'm gonna make this real simple for you so you won't waste any of them brain cells you'll need later when yer sparkin' yer foil…
Daryl's head jerked up, his eyes darting from me to his brothers as he waited with baited breath for some kind of a reaction to my insult.
"The next time ya decided ta come in here with my doped up mother on yer arm, don't!" I snarled.
His face turned a bright shade of red as he opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off with a hand, gesturing to the "We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone" sign hanging right behind my head.
"Get the fuck out," I growled, then as an afterthought I pointed to my mother frame slumped over in her stool. "Both of ya."
My Mama looked at me with tears in her eyes but got up and silently made her way out the door, but Merle looked pissed. He looked from me to Daryl—who was smirking again—but made no move to stand alongside his brother as he stood to depart.
He sneered, "Yer a real mouthy fuckin' bitch, ain'tcha?"
"Ya better believe it asshole, now make like a bunny and hop the fuck outta here!" I told him as I caught Jack starting to stand out of my peripheral vision. I held my hand for him to wait, and he did but he remained standing.
Merle left, grudgingly he headed for the door but not before calling back over his shoulder as he stopped just short of opening the door.
"Have fun, little brother, her pussy's got be tighter than her Mama's even if she is a cunt."
Jerry and Jack both raced for me…but it was too late, my body lurched forward and the shot glass in my hand hurled forward and shattered against the swinging door where Merle had just stood.
The bar went totally silent for a full minute before cheers erupted from all around me. Jerry stood behind me chuckling as he filled a large tub with chilled Jagermeister and told me to take a ten minute brake.
Without word, I left out the back door. The ally was still teaming with cars, some from my late night patrons and some left over from my regulars that lacked the driving capabilities to get themselves home that night. I laughed as I noticed Pat's rig still sitting in the parking lot and I wondered if it was him or Heidi that got the pleasure of driving her Toyota home. It didn't really matter who drove, the truck was always sitting somewhere on their property when I drove past each night. Though, there was that one amusing night when I did happen to notice Heidi's truck sitting in the middle of their front porch…she'll never live that down.
The roar of the jukebox and the sound of the back door slamming shut startled me from my musings, along with the flick of a bic lighter. I looked up, not really concerned but a little surprised that Daryl had chosen to follow me out after I had just hurled a shot glass at his brother's head.
"You the reason that sign says: Beware of Bartender?" He asked quietly.
Laughing a little at his amused face, I replied, "Sure am, almost four years runnin'."
Yeah, I was a little proud of that fact. It might not sound like much to anyone else but I was proud that I could keep old dickheads that acted like children in line. I thought of my part-time job as a Daycare for Adults.
"Four years, huh? Just how old are ya?" He asked, his eyes searching mine.
"Twenty-three, almost twenty-four. You?"
"Twenty-eight." He replied, blowing out a gust of air that strangely sounded like a sigh of relief.
I laughed, "Was that relief I heard, Dixon?"
"Kinda," he muttered, "Would have felt kinda wrong askin' ya out if ya weren't legal."
Brushing past the fact that he had inadvertently made a pass at me, I blurted out the first thing that sprang to mind. "I work in a bar, Daryl."
He just shrugged his shoulders as he thrust his thumb into his mouth and goin' ta town like he was in a rib eatin' contest. I almost felt bad when I realized I had made him nervous.
"So will ya?" He asked suddenly, looking down on me with those heavenly baby blues.
"What?" I asked thoroughly confused. Did he ask me something?
He shrugged again, toeing his boot into the gravel of the parking lot. "Ya'know, let me buy ya din—
"Daryl," I cut him off there. I hated to do this, because let's face it, I was already smitten with this Hillbilly Devil and I hardly knew anything about him. "Don't waste yer breath, the answers no."
"No," he parroted as his face fell. "Is it 'cause of my brother?"
"No," I replied, shaking my head as I stood. "It's because you work for John Logan. I have no interest in some fling. I've spent my entire adult life fendin' off Logan's boys and I'm not gonna fuck that up now. They should have warned ya."
I gripped his shoulder, popping up on my toes to kiss the mole that made his smirk curl just a little more as I whispered. "I'm sorry, Daryl, I really do like you."
Without word, I turned from him and went back inside.
~(Author's notes)~
Well, what did everyone think of Lillian's first meet with the Dixon's. Now obviously there is more to this back story—and it will be posted in flashbacks throughout the story.
Hope everyone enjoyed.
LittleRin26