A/N: I keep getting ideas for new stories. Which is annoying, because I WANT to finish the ones I already have up. Urgh...
Anyway, this is just something that quite literally popped into my head. It's supposed to be humorous and not taken too seriously, so I hope you enjoy it :)
Reading time: 27 mins.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.
To Dye For~
1. Getting The Nerve.
Leave set for thirty minutes. Shower and rinse.
Carol silently sighed, eyebrows knit in uncertainty as she turned the box of hair dye over in her hands.
While out on a run with Glenn and Maggie, she had come across a rundown salon in town. It was practically untouched (who would go for hair dye in an apocalypse?) and there weren't many walkers around, so she decided to look for some shampoo for herself and the rest of the girls back at the prison. What she found was hair dye. Well, and shampoo, of course, but she took the hair dye for herself. A small spoil, one might say.
The dye was temporary, and meant for older women (like herself) to 'get the color back in their life'.
Or so the box said.
She had read the directions at least five times, and she still wasn't sure whether or not she was going to go through with it. Sure, she was tired of looking 'old' and 'worn down' all the time, but she was used to the way she looked; what if she tried this and she didn't like it? What if it backfired? What if it never came out? What if everyone made fun of her because it turned her hair blue and ended up being a flop?! What if-
She shook her head.
This was ridiculous.
Gripping the dye kit with firm hands, Carol walked into the showers of the prison, her mind made up.
2. Getting Caught.
Nearly an hour later, Carol walked out of the bathing area, clothes damp and a towel over her head, hot-footing it back to her cell.
Maggie caught sight of her from above.
"Hey, Carol! Can I talk to you fer a sec?"
Carol froze. "Uh...sure."
Making sure to keep her hair covered, she waited as the younger woman trotted down the metal staircase to join her.
"Okay, great, 'cause I was wonderin' if you-" her eyebrows knitted. "Um...are you okay?"
Carol, having realized the obvious 'deer in the headlights' look she was wearing, quickly shook her head and flashed a smile. "Oh, uh, of course! I- I was just-"
Before she could say anything else, the brunette reached a hand up and peeled back the towel covering her head - not much, but just enough where she could see the beginnings of very light, very pink hair.
Maggie's eyes popped, her jaw dropping. She gasped. "Oh, mah God! You dyed yer-"
Carol put a hand over her mouth, shushing her as she guided them over to her cell.
She kept her voice in a whisper. "I'd really appreciate it if you'd keep it down! I don't want anybody to see me!"
Maggie's eyes widened even further. "What?! You mean no one's seen you yet? You're hair's flippin' pink-"
"Shhh!"
Looking out into the hallway to see if anyone was listening, the older woman stuck her head back inside her cell and, dreading it, waited as the young brunette reached up and peeled the towel off her head.
She gasped, and Carol placed her hands over top her hair self-consciously, whining, "I know, it's a disaster..."
Maggie gripped the fretting woman's shoulders comfortingly, a ready smile on her lips. "Look, try not to worry about it...uh, where's the box? I'm sure it's temporary."
She briefly glanced around her cell before spotting the dye kit and snatching it up, turning it over to inspect it.
"It's temporary," Carol assured as the brunette read the instructions. She added, "But not temporary enough..."
Maggie put the box down. "Well...I honestly don't know what coulda gone wrong. Did you leave it set for thirty minutes?"
"Yep. Followed the instructions to a 'T'," she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.
"Well, shoot, that...sucks."
Carol barked a laugh. "Yeah! Big time."
Maggie gave a lopsided smile. "Well, the box says it'll wash out after twenty-eight shampoos, if that makes ya feel any better. Now, I'll keep my mouth shut, but you're gonna have to face everyone eventually. We all got jobs to do. Okay?"
Carol nodded. "Okay."
Maggie smiled, and with that, she turned and strolled out of her cell, leaving the older woman alone with her worried thoughts and pink hair.
3. Getting Ready.
Nearly an hour later, Carol sat in her cell, sighing as she ran her fingers through her hair for the hundredth time as she stared into her little handheld mirror.
It was strange, seeing herself with pink hair.
She supposed it didn't look that bad, but it also didn't look good enough to go prancing around with in front of her friends.
Dinner was starting in a few minutes, and at any time, Beth or Carl would be coming by her cell to let her know.
They're going to find out eventually, her mind reasoned. And besides, Maggie said it's not permanent. So go out there and just own it.
"Right..." she muttered, setting down the mirror and resting her hands under the tip of her nose.
Readying herself, Carol stood up and walked out of her cell, making her way towards the dining hall.
4. Getting Accepted.
She could see Rick talking with Glenn as he handed Judith over to Carl, the sounds of several different conversations echoing as she walked down the hall.
Rick spoke lowly to Glenn, probably talking about their ammo stock or defenses, when Carol walked into the room.
"So, I think we should-" the sheriff did a double-take, his face frozen in surprise as his eyes landed on her (well, her hair).
The whole room silenced, and everyone's - everyone's - eyes were glued to her.
Rick was the first to speak. "...Carol?"
Carol smiled nervously. "Yep. It's me, haha..."
His eyebrows shot up, along with Glenn and Carl's, and he reached a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, stopping halfway as he so often did, trying to find words.
"U, you look..."
"Ridiculous?" She supplied.
"...Different," he finished. "Real different."
"Like, really different," Carl added, eyes on her hairline.
Carol ducked her head, eyebrows raised and knitted as she looked to the ground, cheeks blazing. "I- I tried this hair dye I found on a run, and...well, it didn't quite work out the way I wanted it to...ugh, is it really that bad?"
"I think it looks nice," Beth piped up, smiling. "Not bad, just...different. You look fine. Younger, even...It's nice."
Carol smiled appreciatively at her friends, and raised a hand in thanks. "Thanks. I know I probably look like one of those moms that still thinks they're a teenager, but...Oh, well, right? Ha."
Rick and the others smiled, and she clapped her hands together to avoid an awkward silence.
"Oh-kay. Well...let's eat!"
Everyone gradually shifted their attention back to their meals and conversations, and she walked over to the meal trays by Rick and Glenn to grab her food.
She turned around, tray in hand, eyes flitting over the many faces to land on Maggie.
Smiling to herself, she walked over to her, setting down her tray and sitting beside her.
Maggie turned from her conversation with Beth to smile broadly at her. "See? I told you it'd be fine."
Carol playfully rolled her eyes, picking up her fork to dig into her food. "Yeah, yeah..."
As she took a bite of her instant potatoes, she noticed the absence of one of their group.
"...Where's Daryl?"
Maggie's eyebrows shot up, joining Carol as she scanned the crowd for the brooding hunter.
"Mm...I dunno. He went out with Michonne on a run earlier, but he should be back by now...maybe he went out huntin'."
She turned back to her sister, and Carol nodded in agreeance as she went back to her food.
She wasn't sure why, especially since she had everyone else's assurance, but she was relieved he wasn't anywhere in the room. She supposed it would only be a matter of time before he saw her, and it would really be best to just let him see her blunder and get it over with. Given her current mindset, however - wanting to duck and hide under a table and stay there for all eternity - that wasn't going to happen any time soon.
Tomorrow, she decided.
She'd catch him tomorrow. Yeah. Good plan.
"God, I feel like a teenager..." she muttered, cringing as she placed a hand on her forehead to hide herself.
Carol sighed, silently endured the feeling of the many eyes that repeatedly glanced her way as she finished her food.
5. Getting Directions.
The next morning, Carol awoke feeling...happy.
It was a strange word, most foreign given the current times, but it was a nice feeling to have upon opening one's eyes to greet the light of day.
Even if it was through barred windows.
Carol sat up in her bed, stretching her arms and neck, greeting Beth as she walked by with Judith.
She stood up, looking in the mirror over the sink in her cell, smile dropping.
Oh. It wasn't a dream.
"Dammit..." she muttered.
Beth was right, though; she did look younger.
Smiling lopsidedly at her reflection, she turned and walked out into the hall, spotting Rick on the far end.
She walked up to him just as he was handing Carl a rifle.
"Hey," she greeted, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Rick glanced up at her, eyes roaming over her face for just a tad longer than normal. "Hey," he greeted back.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, looking pointedly at Carl and the gun he was holding.
Rick briefly looked at his son before shaking his head. "No, no, I was just-" he paused to clear his throat. "I was just tellin' Carl to put it out by the bus. I think we need to have a stash of weapons around the perimeter in case of an attack."
Carol nodded. "Oh."
Carl moved past Carol, smiling and greeting her as he went, leaving her alone with his father in an almost awkward silence. Which was strange, because that was something that almost never happened between them.
Carol cleared her throat. "Um, so...do you know where Daryl is?"
If she was going to let him see her like this, now would be the only time she'd have the nerve. And she was not about to duck behind corners and stay locked up like some embarrassed, lovesick high schooler.
Rick's brows lifted, eyes lighting in recognition. "Uh, yeah, he's out by the fences. He was clearin' out some walkers earlier, so I bet that's where he'd still be."
She smiled. "Thanks."
He nodded, eyes darting to the floor and back again as he did so.
"Any time."
6. Getting Noticed.
As it turned out, Daryl was by the fences.
He was busy stabbing a walker in the head with his hunting knife, and had just barely glanced in her direction before addressing her as she walked up to him.
"Hey, could you come 'ere a sec? I need some help with-"
His words died on his lips the moment he twisted his neck to really look at her, and he did a double-take as he stared at her hair, his eyes widening the farthest she'd ever seen them (which still wasn't much) as his brows furrowed together.
"...Carol?"
She squinted her eyes at him and scrunched her eyebrows together, as though expecting a scolding, and looked to him expectantly. "Yeah?"
"What the...what in the hell'd you do to yer hair?"
She lifted a hand to her pink locks, feeling very self-conscious. "I...I dyed it. Do you like it?"
"God, no!" He blurted.
Carol's eyebrows shot up, more amused than offended, and waited patiently for him to reply as he fumbled for an apology.
"I mean...Ya looked jus' fine before..."
She threw her head back, barking a laugh. "Ha! That's what I thought, too, until I looked in a mirror!"
Daryl continued to stare, having not moved an inch, paying no mind to the walkers trying to tear into him through the fence as Carol's laughter died and she tried not to fidget under his gaze.
"...What in the hell kinda look were you goin' for?" he asked, still unable to comprehend her new hair color.
"Well, it was supposed to be a Honey Auburn color," she said, wishing to God that this moment would end.
A hint of a smile twitched on Daryl's lips. "Well, Honey...you missed Auburn big time."
Carol laughed, despite the extreme sense of embarrassment she felt at his teasing. She knew he was probably trying to make her feel better by making light of the subject, but this was no laughing matter.
This was her hair.
This was how she was going to look for the next six months...or however long it took her to take twenty-eight showers.
She fidgeted with her hair, enduring the sound of Daryl's barely contained laughter as it rumbled out through his chest.
Wow.
This was not how she envisioned this going at all.
...
...
...
"Do- do you want some help?" she asked suddenly, and he came back into reality as he glanced to the undead beside him.
"Oh. Uh...nah. I got this."
"Um...well, okay. I guess I'll...go, then. But if you need anything-"
"You'll be there," he finished.
She smiled. "Yeah."
She backed away a few steps, clapping her hands together. "Okay, well...I'm gonna go..."
Daryl squinted at her in the sun. "'Kay."
He turned his attention away from her and onto one of the walkers reaching through the fence, and she prayed he wouldn't call her back and make fun of her.
When he didn't, she turned on her heel and walked back to the prison, feeling more than relieved and less than happy.
7. Getting Annoyed.
Carol went about the next few days cooking, looking after Judith, cleaning guns, talking with Beth and Maggie, helping out Rick and the others when they needed it...just minding her own business, really. She'd been showering at least three times a day, though it didn't seem to be helping much.
And in all that time, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of Daryl.
She tried to think, to put herself in his shoes and come up with a viable reason as to why he'd been so intent on steering clear of her, but she knew it centered around her hair.
There was no other explanation.
He hadn't decided to go on every supply run Rick mentioned and spend all of his free time in the watch tower and by the fences because he felt like it. No, he was avoiding her. And he was doing it on purpose.
And it was all because of her hair.
Maybe he's just trying to be nice, her mind told her.
Carol shook her head, sighing angrily as she wrung out the last of the wet clothes to dry in the mild morning sun, moving on to the clean ones as she watched Daryl walking the perimeter of the fence, killing walkers like there was no tomorrow. Four days, and this was the closest she'd been to him since the initial shock of seeing her hair.
'Being 'nice' wouldn't be avoiding me,' she thought.
Well maybe he knows how sensitive you are about it and he's just trying to make you feel better by giving you your space.
'If he wanted to make me feel better, he'd be by me all the time telling me I looked just fine,' she countered.
Yeah, but we all know that's not the Daryl way of doing things.
Carol folded a random shirt and set it aside, huffing.
Placing a hand over her eyes, she squinted in the sun and gazed across the distance to the fence, watching as Daryl stabbed another walker.
"What is wrong with that man..." she muttered to herself.
Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the laundry and absorbed herself in the task at hand, folding yet another shirt.
8. Getting Sick Of It.
On the sixth day of silence, Carol managed to run into Daryl in the hallway of Cell Block D - literally.
They were walking in opposite directions - her coming around the corner and him coming down the hall - when she turned her head up to gaze at Beth, who was holding Judith on the walkway as she rounded the corner and rammed into something hard, which happened to be Daryl.
Carol swiftly jumped back, embarrassed, and rubbed her nose as she stumbled out an apology. "Oh, I'm sorry, I-"
Upon seeing the hunter's odd look, an expression she couldn't quite place, she shut her mouth.
She stood before him, trying her best not to fidget as she waited for him to say something.
Finally, he snapped out of his trance, shaking his head and backing away as he answered, "Alright, that's it. I can't take this no more. I'm out."
She crossed her arms and scoffed. "Excuse me? Hey, where are you going?"
He turned his back to her, tossing an arm up in a half-hearted wave. "Out."
"Out where?" she pressed, voice echoing.
"On a run!"
Carol looked at the ground, arms still crossed.
She watched as Daryl left through the door leading outside, the heavy slab of metal slamming shut due to its own weight, the sound echoing off the walls.
She sighed.
9. Getting Help.
Nearly thirty minutes after he'd left, Carol sat on the metal staircase by her cell, resting her head on her hand in thought.
She sighed, long and dramatic, staring at the cement floors as she thought about the ridiculousness of the beauty industry. Really. What was the point in bothering if you had to worry about backfires like this?
Her head shot up at the sound of a door being opened.
She looked over her shoulder, standing up when she saw Daryl stalking towards her, a small bag and bucket in his hand and a wooden stool under his arm.
And he looked very determined.
Carol opened her mouth to speak, to ask him what he was doing, but nothing came as he walked up to her and grabbed her by the arm, not breaking his stride.
"What- Daryl, what are you doing?" she asked, trying to wrench herself free.
"I'm gettin' that damned dye outta yer hair. Ya look ridiculous."
She would have protested, would have jerked her arm away and told him to stuff it, it didn't look that bad, but simply put, she was just so exhausted from the enormous amount of energy it took to ignore everyone's stares over the past week that she didn't have the strength to anyway.
Besides, if the look in his eyes meant anything, this would be a welcome change.
Exhaling in defeat, Carol surrendered as Daryl dragged her off towards the showers, a flicker of hope sparking in her chest at the thought of being 'normal' again.
10. Getting Back to Normal.
"What is that?" She asked, eyeing the bucket, bottle, and box he set down on the floor as she sat on the stool.
"Water, dandruff shampoo, and a shitload o' bakin' soda," he replied, opening the box of baking soda. "Should get that gunk outta yer hair."
Carol sighed. "And where did you learn this?"
He looked reluctant to answer. "...Maggie told me."
She looked away to hide her smile, smitten with the thought of Daryl Dixon asking Maggie Greene for beauty advice.
"Alright, now lean over this here sink," he ordered, and, sighing dramatically, she obeyed.
Carol stared at the ceramic bottom of the sink as a flood of ice-cold water splashed over her head.
She barely had time to gasp in surprise as a pair of calloused hands met her scalp, fingers roughly weaving their way between her short, wavy locks.
She sat, silent as he moved his hands awkwardly around her head, clearly having no idea what he was doing.
Rather than endure an awkward silence, Carol decided to speak.
"So...do you often get advice from Maggie?"
She heard him scoff. "Like I would go to her for advice."
"But you did," she pointed out, and his hands paused momentarily.
"Yeah, well...this was a special case."
"A 'special case', huh?"
"Yep. A damned emergency."
She sighed. "I really don't see why you went out and got all this stuff for me. I mean, I know it's bad, but I didn't think it was that bad!"
"Don't get yer stockings in a twist, it ain't 'that' bad."
"Well, obviously it is if it's gonna make you force me down and shove my head in a sink!" she laughed, tone teasing.
"Trust me, I'm doin' the whole damn community a favor."
She smiled. "I didn't know you'd appointed yourself sheriff of the Fashion Police. Does Rick know?"
She could practically hear him roll his eyes.
They stayed quiet after that, the laughter in the air more than enough to compensate for the silence, and Daryl continued to massage her scalp and rinse the color from her hair as Carol leaned over the sink, watching the waterfall of pink drip down and circle the drain.
"Don't forget the roots, Pookie."
"Stop."
11. Getting Kissed.
"That oughta do it."
Carol lifted her head, neck aching as she reached a hand up to touch her hair.
Even though she couldn't see it, it felt...lighter somehow. Cleaner. But maybe it was just the feeling of having the burdensome thing lifted from her shoulders. Who knew.
She looked over as Daryl began packing up the things he had brought to fix the 'emergency' as he so aptly put it, and sighed. She sighed a lot lately.
"Thanks," she said, smiling.
"No problem," he said easily, and she stood up as he tossed everything - shampoo, baking soda, bag - into the bucket and picked it up, moving to walk out into the cell block.
Carol followed closely behind him, stopping when she noticed her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall by the doorway.
She looked...normal. Older, yes, but normal.
Daryl halted in his stride when he noticed she wasn't behind him, and he turned to stare back at her as she looked herself over, backing up to stand beside her as she fingered her hair.
"Ya like it?" he asked, staring with her at her reflection.
"Yeah," she said, turning to smile at him. "You did a good job."
He looked to the ground, softly kicking at an invisible pebble. "It was nothin'."
She raised her eyebrows, smirking. "Uh, yes it was."
They both laughed and looked away, and Carol crossed her arms and twisted her torso playfully.
She looked back up at him. "Although, I would like to know why you hated it so much. I mean, everyone else was just kind of 'eh' about my hair, but you, mister, hated it."
Daryl scoffed. "Pfft. Don't know what yer talkin' 'bout, woman."
She looked at him expectantly. "Well, did you or not?"
He stayed silent for a moment, but after a few seconds under her stare, he relented.
Heaving a giant sigh, he replied, "With a passion."
Carol laughed, leaning against the wall. "Ohh, that's rich! Figures all it would take is a bottle of botched hair dye to keep Daryl Dixon away! Hahaha!"
Daryl bristled beside her. "Pssht. Please. It'd take more'n a bottle of damned hair dye to keep me away."
Laughter dying, she pushed herself off the wall, cheeks flushed with laughter, still smiling as she moved to stand directly in front of him.
She stood on her tip toes, noticing all too well the way he slightly shrunk back and gripped the bundle of things in his arms just a little bit tighter as she invaded his personal space.
"And what exactly would it take, then, Mr. Dixon?" she asked, brows raised.
Daryl swallowed, nervously alternating his gaze between her eyes and her mouth, before finally deciding-
"To Hell with it."
Huffing, the hunter dropped the collection of things in his arms, not caring in the least as they clattered loudly to the tiled floor and echoed off the walls.
Carol jumped, surprised, but didn't get the chance to move away as he cupped his hands around her face and leaned in, kissing her.
To say she was shocked would be an understatement.
She was...wait, what was she just saying...?
Daryl pulled away, and Carol blinked, eyes wide as dinner plates.
"...A lot," he said finally.
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts as she tried and failed to pay attention to what he was saying.
"What?" she asked, brows knit in confusion.
He didn't miss a beat. "It'd take a lot more'n that to keep me away."
Daryl bent down and picked up the things he'd gathered for Carol's hair on his supply run, and, grinning, walked off.
Carol stared after him, mouth hanging open, as Maggie and Beth slowly appeared from their listening place around the corner.
The pair slowly looked from Carol's flabbergasted face to Daryl's retreating figure, and the brunette slapped her sister's arm in victory.
"Told you he liked older women. You're rubbin' mah feet for a month."
Beth groaned.
A/N: The ending is really what spurred this whole thing. I could totally see Maggie and Beth making bets on the love lives of people in the prison out of boredom, most of all between Daryl and Carol ;)
Sorry if you found any typos, I proofread it several times but sometimes that's still not good enough.
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