Artist's Note: This is my first try at a fic… Well, ever. I figured that I would take it for a spin. Please be patient, tell me what you think, and I really do love constructive criticism. (I couldn't help giving this man a haircut. I joke that this is his one flaw and all I would like to do is cut it. It is really not as bad in person - trust me, his hair is the last thing you notice - , but I couldn't resist opening this way.) Hope you all enjoy taking this journey with me!

A special thank you to my dearest Erica, who is always my first and most important editor in all matters of life and literature, and the very talented Emerald Kitten, for inadvertently planting the seed and getting this started to begin with.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to any adaptation of The Walking Dead, though I do own all plotlines and possible original characters.

Snip, snip.

The sound swam through his ears as he watched his brown locks fall to the floor, the girl's hands slightly caressing his neck as she pulled another strip of hair between her fingers. He could feel his face getting warmer, starting at the base of his neck and slowly rising to rest in his cheeks. He was glad she stood behind him and couldn't see the obvious discomfort plaguing his features.

His leg jiggled frantically under the cape she had wrapped around his shoulders, his boot clicking lightly on the metal bar under his heels. He didn't like to be touched, but his hair had gotten unmanageable, and it didn't help that his brother had gotten into the habit of calling him a pansy-ass pussy, and the constant goading was wearing on his nerves. That was the only reason he was even sitting in that chair to begin with.

Though, in retrospect, he guessed he couldn't complain. The girl was pleasant enough, and if she knew of his heady reputation, she didn't let it deter her from the task at hand. She hadn't shooed him away at the mention of his name. His lip pulled into an uncomfortable sneer at the easiness in her demeanor. He knew it wouldn't take long for her to realize her mistake. His thoughts drifted to his entrance, and he found himself immediately regretting his decision to stick around.

He walked into the barber shop, taking a glance around for Dale. There were no clients waiting, not unusual for a Tuesday afternoon. That's why he liked this place. No unnecessary conversation or delays. In and out, no hassles. There was a girl sitting in one of the chairs, her frame facing away from him as she read a magazine. She was humming softly, her legs crossed and one of her feet ticking away slightly to the beat of the melody. When she heard the bell above the door she lowered the magazine and turned, meeting Daryl with the widest blue eyes he had ever seen. Her short brown hair was cropped into a style that reminded him of a fairy and accented her soft features. He was certain that he hadn't seen her before, unusual for the small town in which everyone knew everyone else.

She smiled at him. "Can I help you?" Her voice matched her face and reminded him of the soft whisper of wind chimes.

He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his unruly hair, shifting uncomfortably. His voice was gruff as he mumbled his short response. "Dale here?"

She stood, setting the magazine on the table next to her and approaching him. She was taller than he originally thought, though still petite enough not to detract from her fairy-like features. He took a small, unintentional step back as she approached. "No, Dale's on vacation this week. I offered to come in to help him out. I'm Carol." She held out her hand and he peered at it for a second before taking it and giving it a small shake, his large hand engulfing her tiny one. He retracted it quickly, shifting again from one leg to the other. She smiled, slight dimples forming in her cheeks. "If you were looking for a cut, I can help you out, Mr..."

"Just Daryl. That's alright. I can wait 'til Dale gets back."

Her smile faltered a little, but she quickly recovered. "Now Daryl, don't insult me. I'm not exactly busy, and you could certainly use it. It will only take me a moment. Just a trim?" She didn't allow him time to argue as she pulled a cape from the pile folded on the shelf against the wall and made her way to the sink. He looked after her, battling himself on whether to stay or bolt. She stood by the sink and looked at him expectantly.

He sighed, clenching and unclenching his fists before making his way over to her. Wouldn't want to hurt her feelings. Not to mention if he returned to the shop with his hair in the state it was currently, he and Merle would inevitably come to blows. She grinned as he approached the sink, motioning him into the chair and adjusting the water temperature. It was warm as it pulsed against his scalp, her hand running it through his locks, saturating the ends. As quickly as it started, the stream was gone and she was toweling his hair, her bracelets tinkling together as she worked. It was almost relaxing, and he found himself getting lost in her swift and delicate movements.

He was pulled sharply from his thoughts by her soft voice. "So, Daryl, have you lived here a long time?" Her movements didn't falter as she waited patiently for his answer.

"Been here my whole life. Ain't seen you around before." His gravelly baritone was still low as his sentence hung in the air. He wasn't prone to small talk, let alone with someone he didn't know.

She shifted the chair slightly to work on the right side of his head, her fingers still quickly performing their task. "I just moved here, actually. I came in from Atlanta. Dale was a good friend of my father's, said I could take care of the shop while he was away. Thought it would be a nice change of scenery."

Daryl didn't respond, letting her answer circulate through his thoughts. That explained why she hadn't faltered at his entrance; she didn't know of his reputation yet. Well, not his reputation, per se, but his brother's and father's. In a town so small, guilt by association wasn't uncommon. The Dixons weren't exactly popular among the respectable citizens of Blue Ridge, Georgia. That was mainly due to his brother's "don't give a fuck" attitude, not to mention his habit of frequently getting arrested for any number of misdemeanors. He couldn't think of many people that hadn't gotten into a tussle with Merle at one point or another. All of this paled in comparison to his father's reputation, however.

Will Dixon built his reputation quickly and efficiently as an alcoholic and addict. He was an abusive son of a bitch, and both Merle and Daryl had their fair share of scars delivered at the hands of the man. Their mother had been beaten to within an inch of her life on several occasions before she died. Daryl had always found it ironic that the cigarette that had burned their house down had been what had taken their mother. He always expected to come home to find her battered and lifeless on the floor. That was a pretty harsh reality for any seven-year-old to wrap his head around. His only saving grace was that she had drunk herself unconscious before the house went up in flames. He supposed that it was better than the alternative.

Will had died almost a decade ago from an overdose, a toxic concoction of alcohol and meth riddling his system. Daryl had been in high school, and Merle had been away in the military, though he was immediately discharged and returned home as Daryl's legal guardian. They hadn't bothered with a funeral; no one would have showed up for the hateful man. They simply cremated him and moved on with their lives. Neither brother mourned the loss of their father. If anything, the man's death had been a form of absolution for their scarred bodies.

"So, Daryl… What do you do?" The question jarred him back to the present and he attempted to relax the scowl that had accompanied the memories and darkened his features. Carol was now working on the opposite side of his head, her fingers nimble as she neared the end of her task.

Daryl cleared his throat again, "My brother and I work in a garage on the other end of town. I'm under the hood, he works the bikes."

"Really? My dad was a grease monkey. I spent most of my youth sitting on the hood of a car, watching him tinker away." She came around to the front and began snipping away at the top of his head, working toward the bangs that had grown into his eyes. Her blue eyes met his and she grinned. "Don't tell anyone, but I kind of loved it. Learned a lot, too." The way she lowered her voice into a whisper like she was confiding to him some big secret made the corner of his lip quirk ever so slightly.

This admission surprised Daryl. He hadn't pinned her for someone that he had anything in common with, let alone a love for cars. Even when the rest of the world confused the hell out of him, he could always count on the machines. They were easy. Simple. No wrong answers, only a simple solution that he could always depend on to make everything function again.

Carol set down the scissors and comb and smiled, placing her hands on her hips and looking at him with a contemplative eye. "Well, Daryl, I guess it'll do. At least I can see your face now." She winked and he felt the heat rising from his chest again. He averted his gaze and rose from the chair, glancing briefly in the mirror as he stood. It looked a lot better, normal.

"Thanks. How much do I owe you?" He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, still avoiding her gaze. He wanted to get out of there. Her easy nature was making him more uncomfortable than normal.

"I think Dale charges seven for the cut. Seven it is." Daryl pulled out a ten and handed it to her.

"Keep the change." He turned quickly to leave and Carol grinned at his retreating figure.

"Thanks for coming in, Daryl." He turned before he exited, meeting her gaze briefly before giving a small nod. She smiled at him. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around." He hesitated only a moment before he withdrew his gaze and walked out to the parking lot, the bell above the door tinkling even after he was gone from her view. She stood with her arms crossed, thinking about his uneasy and shy behavior. A small laugh escaped from her lips and she shook her head, silently chastising herself for teasing the shy but handsome redneck. This was definitely a nice change from Atlanta.