Author's Note: I do not own any part of The Walking Dead franchise and no profit is being gained from this work.

Here's another AU, non-zombie diversion. I wrote this in a few days as a break while my other stories are getting some beta love. This won't be too long, maybe 7 or 8 chapters but it was fun to write, especially the narrative aspects I don't use too often and some of the experimental stuff that I played around with. Please forgive its rough edges and my complete lack of knowledge of both baseball and cars. No real spoilers, although this uses more of TV Michonne's backstory than comic Michonne's, partly to keep my two real world AU's straight in my head.

I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! Drop me a review if you're inclined.

Chapter One

Michonne groaned as she saw the "Check Engine" light flash accusingly at her from across the dash. She could also detect something not quite right going on under her hood, but 50 miles from her house, she was powerless to do anything about it. The finish line was so close and it was looking more and more like even limping the rest of the way wouldn't be possible.

Pulling over, she let the car to idle just in case turning it off meant that it wouldn't start up again. She punched instructions into her phone and pulled up car mechanics within a five-mile radius. Only one result returned: D+D Auto Body Shop.

She was hesitant. This last leg of her trip brought her relatively close to Atlanta but it wasn't an area that she ever wanted to find herself stranded in. It was just far out enough to cater to the hicks and rednecks that would have a serious problem with the likes of a dreaded black woman strolling about town.

Looking through the windshield and hoping she had only imagined the smoke coming from her engine area, she sighed and accepted that she really didn't have a choice in the matter.

Michonne turned back onto the road and followed the GPS instructions on her phone until she came to a deserted looking pit stop at the end of a short, local turnoff. It was a modest setup with an enclosed garage area and attached office. Dusty windows didn't reveal any movement inside but the repair area was open and empty. As remote as the place seemed, it surprised her that her map even picked it up. Not seeing any immediate activity when she rolled down the window, she was afraid that no one was there and then she'd end up stuck in this tucked away traveler's trap just waiting for a hate crime to sneak up on her.

She picked up her phone and contemplated her least desirable option, the only one left for her really. But desperate times, desperate measures. She took in a deep breath.

Before she could dial her ex-husband's number, a door opened on the side of the building and a sandy-haired, grizzled man emerged. His expression was far from friendly but she didn't sense any hostility to his demeanor, more like slight annoyance and curiosity. She both rejoiced at and dreaded how this encounter was going to turn out. Keeping her engine running, she stepped out of her car and watched for his reaction to her, surprised to get not much of one as he approached the rest of the way.

"I'm afraid to turn it off," she explained. "If I do, I'm not sure it'll start up again."

The man put his hand on the hood of her car and listened for a moment. "Probably so. Go ahead though cause you aint gettin' far no way with it soundin' like this."

And that was that. No introduction, no histrionics. The both of them were all business.

She reached in and shut off her car, wincing at the grinding sound it made before dropping off into silence.

The man whistled. "Yeah, that don't sound right, for sure." She popped the hood and he immediately looked inside. Not wanting to get in his way, she leaned against the car and took in her surroundings.

There were a few cars in various states of repair parked on the other side of the building and a couple of motorcycles tucked into the garage area. Despite the rustic nature of the business, things seemed surprisingly ordered. There wasn't a lot of random junk lying around, something she always associated with these kinds of places. Turning towards the tree line, she noticed that when you put aside the stress of being stranded out here, it was actually quite beautiful. The greenery and wildlife swayed in the breeze and she could see a couple of trails leading who knows where. Instead of the sounds of urban life or suburban activity, the only noises she picked up were birds chirping and animals scurrying to and fro.

"It's nice out here," she commented at the man's side. He seemed thoroughly occupied by whatever was going on in the bowels of her engine block but he grunted an assent. Not much of a conversationalist, she thought. That was okay; neither was she.

Finally, he popped back out and walked over to the garage area to grab some tools. When he returned, it was back under her hood, taking things apart. "What you doin' out in these parts anyway?"

Her first reaction was to get defensive about the question but it was kind of a reasonable one. It was off-season for any type of recreational activity and there'd hardly been anyone about on the road due to the odd timing of her trip. And there wasn't any malice in his inquiry, only casual interest.

Perhaps he was more of a conversationalist than she'd first given him credit for.

Still, she couldn't help but challenge any assumptions he had about her, more out of instinct than anything personal. "Why? Not used to seeing someone like me in your neighborhood?"

The mechanic turned his head to her, scrutinizing her as if for the first time. "Aint used to seein' nobody I don't know out here. Don't bother me none. Work is work." He turned back to his tinkering on her car. "'Sides, whatever's goin' on with your car's a damn sight better than the game I was watchin'."

Michonne liked his matter-of-fact manner. It put her at ease about the situation. Usually in scenarios like these, mechanics would be doing their best to take advantage of a woman and, with the added country factor, she didn't think her urban savvy would win any points either. But the man didn't seem to care one way or another.

And his last comment amused her as much as it saddened. "Braves not doing so well I take it?"

The man groused in disgust which was answer enough. "Bad don't even cover it. Had me rootin' for the Red Sox by the third inning."

"Ouch." She smiled sympathetically, understanding all too well the pain of being a Braves fan. "Actually, I'm on my way back from a camping trip," she supplied, figuring it wouldn't hurt to answer his question honestly. That seemed to surprise him as he indulged in another inquisitive scan of her. "Black people do go camping, you know." She grinned and, to her delight, he returned it for a moment. Compared to his initial gruff impression, it was a very nice look on him.

"Aint that," he replied, leaning up. "Most folks aint doin' much camping yet. Too cold."

"Why do you think we went? It was good to get in a good trip before all the riff raff start trickling in."

His grin returned and he nodded. "Good call." He wiped his dirty hands on his already soiled trousers. "Your transmission needs flushin', filters replaced, the whole treatment. If you got some fancy insurance, you can have it towed to wherever you want and get somebody else to take care of it. Or I can do it for ya for a couple hundred bucks, plus parts and supplies. So you'll be lookin' at about a $400 fix. Won't have it done till tomorrow, though, if I can get all the stuff I need tonight."

"Shit," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed.

There wasn't any question that she'd have him take care of the fixing. He didn't strike her as the kind of guy to do a whole lot of bullshiting just to make a dollar.

She sighed. "It's not the cost. That sounds reasonable and, honestly, I'm surprised that's the only problem with this old thing. I'm just dreading the request to get my, uh, friend to pick me up from out here. I'm not going to hear the end of it." All her close friends were similarly out of town, leaving her ex-husband as the only available source for a ride. And he could be a total asshole sometimes, both when she most and least expected it. She did not want to get into it with him if she could help it.

The man seemed amused by her reaction and he pretty much pegged the situation. "Ex, huh? Well, I can give you a lift closer to your neck 'a the woods if you want. Gotta pick up some supplies anyway. And for the record, that aint the only thing wrong with your car, I just figured you only cared about the worst problem."

Michonne laughed. "How refreshing. I think I'll take you up on that offer, Mr…"

"Just Daryl," he responded, not offering a hand and returning to the engine to clean up what he'd taken apart. As he was distracted, she took in his toned arms and lithe body even under the tattered, baggy clothes he was wearing, cut off sleeves and all. He was a good ole boy alright but at least he was a cute one.

When he turned towards her again, she tried to look normal as if she wasn't just checking him out. The furrow to his brow led her to believe she hadn't been as sly as she would have liked. It was difficult to know how to take that. After a few awkward seconds, he appeared to let the matter go. "Give me five minutes and we can roll, Ms…" he mirrored, head propped up to meet her gaze and sporting that adorable grin again.

"Just Michonne. Pleased to meet you." And she was, given his straight-forward charm. Quite pleased, indeed.

TBC …