If tomorrow never came

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, or anything at all of value, please don't sue. I am poor.

A/N: This is a companion story to something I will be posting shortly called Yesterday. This takes place in The Walking Dead Universe if the dead never started walking. In the real story that I'm working on for TWD these people meet, and form a relationship during which, they both begin to ponder if they would have met if the world hadn't gone to shit. Each chapter of this story would be a dream that they have, not knowing that this is what would have happened. This was just a thought and I am curious to know what people think. So if you do read this I would appreciate a review stating if I should continue or not, and whether its a good or bad idea. So with out further Ado please enjoy!

Chapter 1: Mouth breathers

Hayden stood in front of her car staring down angrily at the smoking motor. Her cell phone was dead, she had no money on her and if one more testosterone fuelled mouth breather came over calling her sweetheart, Toots, Doll ,or any other condescending term she was pretty sure she would castrate them. She was vacationing down in the states with her mother and younger brother. They had just got to South Carolina the night before from Georgia. She was tired, and undoubtedly cranky. Her mother and brother were at the motel waiting for her to return from the sporting store with the supplies. The whole point in coming here was to go camping but her know broken down car seemed to have other plans.

Across the street was a small gas station, where all the ever so helpful men had decided to saunter on over to "give her a hand". Yeah, they tried to give her a hand all right, a hand right on her rear. She didn't even need the help. Not really. She knew what was wrong, but didn't have the parts or tools to fix it. She couldn't even MacGyver the damn thing with what she had to get it too a garage. And after all those dickheads had come over she was too proud to ask to use the phone at the gas station. She was in a pickle.

Daryl Dixon had pulled up at the gas station to fill up his truck. When pulling up he noticed the broken down 67' Impala but saw that someone else was already helping the girl driver so paid it no mind. Only as he was filling up his tank did he look over again to notice another man was now giving her a hand. On the back side. Daryl narrowed his eyes but kept to himself. After walking into the gas bar he stood in line at the cash. It was a hot Summer Day in South Carolina and as he wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead he couldn't help but look out the window.

The girl was still there, shooing yet another man away. Even from this distance he could tell from her body language that she was irritated. Poor girl. "Anythang else wit that Sweetie?" The cashiers voice twanged in his ears. He looked at the girl talking. She was smacking her gum loudly and twirling a fake nailed finger in her big bleach blonde hair. She was leaning on the counter purposefully sticking out her chest. Daryl just rolled his eyes as she gave him a quick wink. He glanced out the window again.

"Bottle a' water." He drawled. Grabbing one from the fridge by the cash and shoving it in his back pocket. He gave her the money and turned to walk away.

"Y'all come back Sweetie." Her voice was thick as honey and as fake as the color of her hair. He didn't reply just walked out the door. He was still mulling over whether or not to go and help. He looked at the broken down car. It was a classic. Looked to be in pretty good condition too, minus the smoke pluming out of it. The silver detailing over the wheels, its shiny black coat of paint, he was smitten. It looked to have all its original parts, and he was dieing to get a look at what was under its hood.

Curiosity over the car won out. He could do his one good deed for the year, and get to check out a sweet ride. As he removed his attention from the beast of a vehicle he actually looked at the girl who owned it. She had black hair pulled into a messy ponytail, and noticed an abundance of tattoo's covering her upper body. She was wearing a black form fitting tank top, the kind with the thin straps, and short green camouflage shorts with a dirty red bandana sticking out the back pocket. He looked down her thin long legs and saw that she was wearing black high tops. As he continued looking she pulled her leg back as if to kick the car. He inwardly flinched just thinking about her foot connecting with the car, but she stopped herself, turned and kicked one of the trees. Repeatedly.

"Darlin," He said as he approached the girl who was still unmercifully kicking the defenceless tree. At the sound of his voice she stopped kicking the tree and whirled around in a blur to face him. Her large doe like bright blue eyes were narrowed into a scowl and she looked as if she was about to give him a right piece of her mind. Her mouth was open as if to yell but no sound came out. She just stood, with her mouth gaping open, staring at him. He stayed silent as she sized him up, and noticed that she had the fairest skin he had ever seen. It reminded him of one of those old porcelain dolls, that his Ma had when he was a small child. Only she had a rather large oil smudge on one of her cheeks, and another atop her chest. "I don' think kickin th' tree'll fix yer car." He stated with a smirk after she still hadn't said anything.

The girl's mouth snapped shut instantly. "Well I've tried everything I can think of to fix it, with what I have at my disposal, and I couldn't." As the words exited her mouth he could tell it pained her deeply to admit she couldn't fix it herself.

"So yeh thought beatin a tree would help yah?"

"It was the only logical next step." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly blowing the air out as to move her long side bangs out of her eye. She had one hand on her hip, and used the other arm to wipe off some sweat, leaving another dark smudge on her brow. He looked at the girl as if to ask permission to check it out. "Knock yourself out." Was her reply. Daryl put his hands on the edge of the car and leaned over looking at the situation.

Everything under the hood was original. It was both beautiful and horrifying. The fan belt was ruined, and the engine was shot. Even with the tools in the back of his truck he wouldn't be able to get it moving. She needed all new parts and if she wanted to track down all original replacements it would cost her a pretty penny, especially if she used a mechanic around here. They would squeeze her for all the money she had, not being from around here. He would kill to get to work on a car like this.

Hayden watched as the man inspected her car. She was slightly embarrassed that he had walked up behind her while she was taking her frustration out on an inanimate object. She was also going to tell him straight where he could go and how to get there when she heard him drawl out the word 'Darlin'. Only after turning to look at him she lost her nerve. He had messy sandy brown hair, and a sort of goatee/beard hybrid that he was rocking in all the right ways. He was dressed in redneck chic with the flannel button up shirt with the sleeves ripped off and dirty jeans with steal toe boots. It wasn't like her but she couldn't help but gawk at his blue eyes, and the way he gave her a cocky half smirk as he mentioned the tree.

She continued admiring his muscular arms, as he fiddled around under her babies hood. After a few moments he stood up and looked at her. She quickly moved her gaze to meet his, so that he wouldn't catch her staring. "What's your diagnosis, Doc?"

"Yer car shit th' bed."

"No shit Sherlock. I figured that out on my own." She rolled her eyes. "Got any other blatantly obvious things to tell me? The sky is blue, the grass is green, I'm royally fucked up a creek without a paddle?" She gave him a smile to let him know it was all in jest.

"Yer not from 'round here ar yah?"

"What gave it away?" She let out a laugh. She had heard that one line more times in the last few days, then she ever had in her entire life.

"Th' funny way yew talk mostly." The man shrugged giving her another smirk.

"The funny way I talk?" She repeated his words in the form of a question. "Okay, Mr Southern drawl." Hayden mimicked his accent. "Names Hayden, by the way." She extended her hand.

"Daryl." He replied shaking her hand. His handshake was firm and strong and she liked the way his calloused hands felt against her own.

"Pleasure to meet you, Daryl." She let go of his hand.

"Same t'yew, Darlin."