Dark & Dangerous Chapter 3, a walking dead fanfic

A/N Thank you all so much! At least one of our questions will be answered this chapter, we'll learn what Daryl does for a living.

His head was swimming and he sat holding it in his hands like that would help, like that would quiet his brain. Dammit, why did she come here? Why was she near him?

It was his own fault, he'd almost let it happen. He'd come so close to giving in and just going with it. But he'd come to his senses, he couldn't let it happen.

He wanted her to go, to move away, to leave. But the last thing he wanted was for her to be gone. It was true and he knew it. She really was the one person who could shine a light into the darkness. But he couldn't risk that. As much as the idea appealed to him, and as much as he'd like to have something with her. He couldn't risk her. He already cared way too much.

He was afraid but not for himself. He was afraid for her. This darkness that hung over him was too strong. What if it sucked her in? What if instead of her light shining in she became consumed by his darkness? What if he ruined her, or even worse. What if he hurt her so badly she couldn't be fixed?

He couldn't let that happen, he had to keep her safe. He had to stay away from her as much as he possibly could.

There was just one problem. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stay away. What if he wasn't that strong? He was so taken in by everything about her, it felt like he was losing the fight. It was one of those strange things a person can't seem to put their finger on. Like an unseen force leading him to her. It won't be denied and there is no escaping.

And holding her that way, touching her like he'd done. It had been all he could do to let her go, to send her inside and away from him.

Everything would be so much easier if she never would have come here, if he never would have seen her, if they never would have touched. Now though, now that he had seen her, now that he'd held her, now that he'd felt the warmth of her and seen the soft light…was it too late?

She knew he was watching them but it wasn't because she saw him watching. It was more like a feeling. It wasn't creepy though, not like he was being weird. She didn't have the sense he was just standing there staring at them or something. But she felt sure he'd observed them even if only for a moment.

Of course she knew he had to have heard them all, how could he not? They were loud as they talked, joked and laughed. It was her brother and Maggie and Glenn. They'd come by for a visit that Saturday.

They'd brought their folding chairs with them and a jug of homemade sangria and they all sat outside in the little space she'd created. They were just doing what people do on a pleasant afternoon, enjoying the beauty of the day and each other's company.

If she thought for even one moment he'd want to join them she would have gone right over to his door, knocked and asked him to. But she was sure he would decline. She knew that much about him. Still she couldn't help wishing he'd come out of his darkness and enjoy a little life with them, with her. Maybe if he'd let himself he'd discover that he liked it.

She'd made a big pot of chili and a pan of cornbread and she and her family shared a meal and a lot more fun and laughter. Just before dark they were on their way home again. She just shook her head at him, Shawn was so gross, "We had so much fun Bethie, we'll be laughin' and fartin' all the way home." Brothers. They never seem to grow up.

She was standing in her kitchen area, she was just about to put what was left of the chili away when the thought came to her. She stood there like she was frozen as she ran a scenario through her head. She'd knock on his door with food and wine. What was the worst thing that could happen? That was easy. He'd tell her to stay the hell away from him, that he wasn't interested in her or her food.

She almost laughed out loud at her own dramatic silliness. She was certain of one thing about Daryl Dixon, she felt it in her heart, as dark as he could go he wasn't mean.

She wasn't even sure exactly what it was she wanted from the man. Aside from the fact he was undeniably handsome and she was very intrigued by him, what was it that seemed to pull her to him? She didn't know but she could feel it more and more. Like she was meant to find this place, like she was meant to be here. Like she was meant to find him. It made no sense at all but it was the way it was. The feeling was so strong.

The heck with it she told herself. Her mind was made up, she was going to take her chances.

She poured sangria in a couple of mason jars and screwed the lids on tightly. She filled a large container with chili and wrapped some cornbread in wax paper. She placed it all in a reusable canvas grocery bag, took in a huge swallow of air and headed for his back door as she silently told herself, "it's time."

She'd barely knocked when his door opened. She couldn't believe how bold she was but with him being bold seemed necessary. She just stepped right inside his place without even being invited. She smiled happily like they did this all the time and said, "Hi Daryl. I hope we weren't bothering you earlier, I know we were noisy. I was wishing maybe you'd come out and join us but since you didn't, I brought a couple of things for you."

He was just dead-eye staring at her and it was so uncomfortable but she was full of sass and sangria and she wasn't backing down. Not after she'd come this far. She just gave him that same look right back and he broke first. "Yeah, okay, thanks. Uh c'mon in."

He took the things from her and set them on the table, taking out the two jars of sangria he twisted off the lids and handed her one before taking the other for himself. All the while she was looking around, checking out his place.

He had his living area set up at the back end of the unit, just like hers. But his wasn't separated from the work area, it all just ran together in the big open space.

Like hers his living quarters was very simple, basic. There was a sofa and chair, a couple of random tables, a bed and a dresser. He had pegs on the wall where he hung shirts and jackets and they looked almost like they were décor. He had something she didn't have, a T.V., and his kitchen was nicer than hers. She could see his cabinets were handcrafted, the tops were butcher block and his appliances were full-sized and included an upright freezer. It was all nice and clean and tidy, but not nearly as impressive looking as his shop.

This wasn't some small-scale operation; Daryl Dixon was obviously in production. There was a very nice high tech-looking lathe, there were two drill presses, an air compressor and a welding station. There was all kinds of wood and metal working equipment. There were so many hand tools hung from the wall it was hard to believe one man could use them all. A huge Browning Gun Safe sat in the far corner and there were big work benches. Although they stayed in the "living" section, she could clearly see on one, clamped in a vice, the grip of a gun.

That wasn't the only gun she saw, there were several in various stages of completion and it was an aha moment for Beth. That was the kind of smithing he did. Mr. Dark and Dangerous was a gunsmith.

He saw her looking and he knew she knew and his stomach tightened. Would she get all political with him now? God he hoped not. He wasn't at all a political sort of man and he sure as hell didn't want to be expected to defend what he did. He was a craftsman. He hoped she'd see that.

She simply asked the obvious, "Are you a gunsmith Daryl?"

He felt himself get a little rigid and he took a swallow from the jar, then he told it like it was, "Yeah I am. Pistols, that's what I build. But I repair and restore guns for people. Mostly old ones, the kind of stuff that's either been in a family for a lotta years or sumthin' a collector bought and wants restored. I also do restorations for museums." Okay she knew now and he just took another swallow and waited for the backlash.

Daryl

Everyone in the county knew about his Dad and the man that he was. Daryl knew too, no one needed to remind him. There were too many things about those years he'd never forget. But a long time ago he'd realized that even though his father was a supreme asshole, Daryl had learned a lot from his old man.

He hadn't learned how a man treats a wife and children, or people in general, but he'd learned about survival and self-sufficiency. They sometimes spent weeks out in the woods hunting, trapping, fishing. His Dad taught him the skill of tracking and he taught him about the weapons, particularly the guns and the knives.

There were always guns. Pistols, shotguns, rifles. He knew them all, understood them inside and out from the time he was a young child. He began to see them as something far more than just a means to an end. They weren't just weapons for him, they were works of art.

They did all their own reloading of shells and they fabricated bullets and when Daryl was 12 he became interested in the idea of actually building a gun. It was the only time his father was ever supportive of an idea he had.

He hadn't realized at first, he had no clue what was involved in the art of being a gunsmith, but he studied and he learned. He found that a gunsmith needs to hone many skills. Just having the desire and an idea of what you want to create would not get you there.

A gunsmith had to be a blacksmith and a woodworker as well as an artisan. He found out he was going to have to take a far greater interest in his math courses. It was precision work. He had to gain knowledge in ballistics, chemistry, and materials engineering.

There were tools and he had to become skillful with all of them, hand tools, power tools, machinists' tools and weight and measurement devices. He had to have patience making certain that everything, every tiny detail was right on. Attention to detail was critical.

In school he took every metal shop and wood shop course he could and he took an after school job in a machine shop. He observed the older machinists, the old boys with years under their belts spent working with metals, he begged them to share their expertise with him.

The woodcarving was another skill he took very seriously. He aimed to be a man who produced pistols with wood grips. But not just any pistols. These pistols would be both precision arms and works of art. He wanted his pistols to be easily distinguishable as his works.

Immediately after high school he moved on and spent two years working for an old gunsmith up in the Appalachians. The pay was meager but he made enough to eat and most importantly he fine-tuned his skills and he learned how a one-man shop could operate.

From there he moved to the city and took a job working in a big gun manufacturing plant. It wasn't the kind of work he wanted to do, he was there for an education and that's what he received.

He worked hard and he observed and he absorbed every bit of knowledge he could and at night he had a second job in a machine shop. He lived like a pauper and he saved every dime. He began to acquire the tools of his trade, building his dream one tool at a time.

Eventually he rented a small house, the important thing was the small house had a garage. That's where he set up his first shop. He retained his job at the factory but dropped the machine shop job. His evenings and weekends were now consumed with crafting his firearms.

He got a state and a federal license and he began to take his pistols around, showing them to various gun shops and dealers. His reputation as a first-class craftsman who built high quality precision pieces grew quickly.

He was just 24 when it happened. When he went to the party to blow off a little steam. It all seemed so normal, no big deal. Everyone goes to parties to drink and have fun. But this party began a period in his life he would never forget. It was a time of fun and happiness and great sadness and it was all followed by darkness. It was then he became convinced just how dangerous a person he was. And he became convinced of something else, he was powerless over it.

It was two years later when he was 26. That's when he bought the factory and put all of himself into his business. That was all he felt he had left, all of himself. He began to retreat, to become more and more reclusive. It wasn't that he didn't like people or that he was shy, he just figured they were better off keeping their distance from him.

He was good on the business end because he knew and loved his craft and business relationships were different than personal relationships. He was respected and he was always happy to talk about guns with those who appreciated the artistry of them. But as far as friends or any serious lovers, he stayed away from that stuff.

Merle tried many times to talk to Daryl and to convince him that what had happened wasn't his fault. He was just there and if he hadn't been there things might have been worse. Merle could talk all he wanted, but it didn't change the fact Daryl felt responsible for the way things happened. Just like he felt responsible for a lot of things.

He felt responsible when his mother died, like he should have been there to stop it. He believed that if he would have been home doing his homework like he was supposed to be he could have saved her.

He felt responsible when his best friend Caesar died while they were still in high school. Daryl beat himself up with the thought that he'd reacted too late. Maybe if he hadn't waited he could have saved his friend. Never mind that the coroner said nothing could have been done by anyone. Daryl still felt responsible.

It was the same way that last time and he took on all of the responsibility for that too, all of it, it was his fault. If not for him it never would have happened. He didn't think he could ever forgive himself.

That's when he started to feel it so strongly, the feeling that there was something about him that caused the people around him, the people he cared the most about to be hurt. To die or to be broken. He was tired of losing people.

He couldn't allow anything to happen to Beth Greene. She was too special, she was too full of light and warmth and goodness.

"I'm intrigued Daryl. I've never known a gunsmith. I can't say I'm a huge fan of guns. I mean I did grow up on a farm and I've shot guns, but they just never appealed to me. I think it's the noise, it's so jarring."

She didn't hate him for it? She didn't judge him? He felt so relieved in knowing she didn't and he became more relaxed. "Well everythin' ain't for everyone and that's a fact. Me? I always been fascinated by the workin's of a gun. The engineering and artistry of it. The chain reaction. The precision of the tool and the skill of the user workin' together."

She smiled, "That's beautiful. I've never thought about those things. I guess I have a lot to learn about this craft of yours. Maybe you'll let me see what you do and explain to me how this all happens."

He felt it and he wanted to tell her to run, run now while she had the chance. But he couldn't. He wasn't that strong and he wanted her there. He wanted the warmth of her smile and the lightness of her words. "Sure, I can do that."

"Sorry bout my manners. I ain't used ta havin' callers. Sit, we'll have our drink. It's good stuff."

"My crazy brother makes it. Daddy would kill him if he knew he's brewing up alcoholic beverages on the farm."

Daryl almost felt himself smile, "He's your brother huh? I was thinkin' it might be sumthin' else."

"What? Oh. A boyfriend. No, I don't have one of those."

She saw he'd embarrassed himself and he looked down for a moment chewing on his bottom lip, before looking back at her with that small smile. She thought it was pretty darn cute really and she could feel her cheeks were flushed.

He just kept his eyes on hers and asked, "Ya gonna show me your shop too an what all it is ya do?"

"Yes, I'd like that. You can come by any time."

She spent some time there chatting with him as they told each other the shortened versions of how they'd gotten into their professions. Then she heard his stomach growl and she felt it best to go. They'd made a big start, she wasn't going to push it. "I'd better let you eat your dinner. I'll probably see you tomorrow, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah lemme walk ya over. And thanks for bringin' me that stuff. That was real nice of you Beth."

It was progress. She was feeling good about the possibility of getting a little closer to Daryl Dixon. And she was more curious than ever to find out just what the man was all about.

A/N Now we know what Daryl does for a living and Beth doesn't seem at all disapproving. They've made a little start and we'll see how it plays out next chapter. Please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts. There's a chapter photo on my tumblr blogs gneebee and bethylmethbrick. I hope to see you all back here next Wednesday for more of Dark & Dangerous. Until then remember, I love ya large! xo gneebee