Just a little drabble as suggested by a USS Caryl prompt based on MMB's experience with a plumber named Darryl Dickson.

AU: No walkers; Carol Peletier meets a plumber named Daryl Dixon.

Safe Haven

"Mizz Peletier?"

"Yes?"

"Uh—you called our service number, Senoia Plumbing?—here's my ID." He said 'Senoia' like a native, "Se-noy" rather than pronouncing all the letters.

Looking through the peep hole in her apartment door Carol saw the name "Daryl Dixon" on the credit card sized name badge that the man was holding up.

"I'm on the phone with your office now—just a minute," Carol said, and turned back towards the living room, leaning back on the locked and chained door. "Yes, he's here. What's the badge number? Yes, he had the right name, but I need to know the number as well." she turned back to the door, again looking through the small round hole, but startled back when she saw a vividly blue eye staring back at her—he'd been trying to look in!

"Put your badge back up." she ordered and he stepped back with a sigh, raising the tag again. 4377—yes that was it, Carol said to herself with a sigh. She had no reason to keep him waiting any longer, but she still felt some trepidation at opening the door for a man she'd never met. Ed had tried other such scams to find her in the last six months since her daughter's death. The last one had allowed him to find her at work two weeks ago and was the reason she was at home today instead of at her job. Reluctantly she unlocked the three chains and two deadbolts to allow the plumber entry.

Daryl waited until he heard the sound of the last deadbolt releasing and then knocked politely. The damn woman had serious trust issues, but he knew for anyone alone in today's world, letting someone into their home was a risk. He schooled himself to patience and picked up his tool box. The woman on the other side was a surprise in more ways than one. Petite, thin to the point of looking almost ill, she had short cropped dark brown hair peppered with gray, but an unlined face, making her true age hard to guess. That fact that she wore a bright white bandage over the bridge of her nose and sported two black and purpled half moons under the bluest eyes he'd ever seen just about broke his heart. As she crossed her arms in front of her he also saw the finger shaped bruises on her right forearm and the cast on her left wrist. Someone had hurt her, badly. Daryl scowled angrily, but he saw that she misunderstood and that his expression made her shrink back from him.

Daryl knew from experience that drawing attention to her injuries was the last thing she would want, so he schooled his face to a benign expression and asked her what the plumbing problem was.

"The bathtub won't drain...it's clogged...I tried Liquid Plumber, but it wouldn't go through or something."

"Still water in the tub?" he asked, all business. She nodded yes and led him down the hall to the bathroom. Daryl's left eye twitched as he noticed that although she was a bit too thin for his tastes, the woman did have a nicely rounded—

"Are you staring at my ass Mr. Dixon?" Carol asked archly as she met his startled eyes in the bathroom mirror. Daryl stammered an apology, but she surprised him by smiling.

"Been a long time since someone took the time to stare. Thanks." she said evenly and left him to his work. Daryl set down his tool box on the closed toilet and grinned.

So the plumber was hot...and he was looking at her ass...Carol mused, sitting in the kitchen sipping her third cup of coffee of the day. She really drank too much of the stuff, but seeing as how she hardly slept at night, she had to do something to stay awake during the day, and she loved coffee. It was 8:30 a.m. and the hot plumber—ok, she should really stop calling him that, even in her head—Daryl, Daryl Dixon, the hot plumber... Daryl had been there for almost twenty minutes. She had no idea how long a repair like this would take, or even why the stupid tub wouldn't obey and empty like it was supposed to.

She'd only lived here two weeks, her tenth place in the last six months. She'd used up most of the money she'd squirreled away in the last 15 years of her marriage on non-refundable deposits and had been just barely scraping by with her pay at the real estate office in Woodbury, but once Ed had shown up and beat the shit out of her in front of the entire office, she'd been asked to "vacate her position." Fired for cause—causing a disruption of business—which had been exactly what her son of a bitch soon to be ex-husband had been trying to do, thinking she'd come slinking back to him.

The only good thing that had come out of the whole mess was that one of the other secretaries had called the police and Ed had been arrested for assault and battery. She was supposed to testify against him in three days, but had just heard he was out on bail, so she was understandably twitchy. Her ex-employers were also paying for her medical expenses, since the incident had occurred on their property, while she was still in their employ. The other office workers had even taken up a collection for her, which though it stung her pride to accept, was the difference between eating and starving until her bruises faded enough that she could go on job interviews.

The plumber would be paid for by her new landlord, an extremely kind man who rented out the attic apartment in his house while he and his wife were out gallivanting around the countryside in their RV. She'd liked Dale and Irma the second she'd met them, not too long after arriving in Senoia. She'd been sitting in her car in front of their house, eating take-out and circling help wanted and apartment rental ads when someone had rapped on her window. They'd invited her in and she was in residence by that night. She took it as a sign that maybe this small Georgia town could be a safe haven.

Ah, the plumber. Maybe he was another good sign? Dressed in well worn jeans, steel toed shit kickers, a short sleeved blue and white striped uniform shirt with his name sewn on the pocket under the logo for "SPS" Senoia Plumbing Service, he had a navy blue baseball cap pulled down over his dark hair, which had been long enough to brush his collar in the back. The sleeves of the shirt were pulled tight over impressive biceps, but overall he gave her the feeling of a whipcord thin readiness—for what she wasn't sure—but he seemed like a coiled spring, ready for action. The brim of his hat hid most of his face in shadow, but she did see that he had a moustache and a red-brown goatee on his pointed chin.

Carol checked her watch again. It had been almost a half an hour now—maybe the plumber could use a cup of Joe? Face it Carol, you just wanted to get a better look at the hot plumber. And what was so wrong with that? She self consciously touched the bandage covering her nose, looked at the cast on her wrist and sighed. She'd seen the look he'd given her, as if he knew exactly how she'd gotten her injuries and wanted to do something about it. Yeah, it had been the look of someone who knew...

Standing, Carol went to the cupboard and grabbed her second favorite mug bearing the legend "Java Saves." She was using her most favorite. A misshapen lopsided one with the letters "Mom" painted on it by a twelve year olds' hand.

"How are we doing?" Carol asked in her most pleasant secretary voice as she peeked through doorway of the bathroom. Her heart almost stopped. Bent over the tub, snaking a long bendy tool down the drain opening was the most perfect butt she had ever seen on a living man. Not trouser cleavage, his jeans were low slung, but the shirt was tucked in and the pants belted. No, this was the curve of a muscular, rounded, perfect derrière the likes of which she'd only seen on male ice dancers or gymnasts, her two favorite buttastic Olympic events, winter and summer respectively.

"Think I almost got it—somethin' caught in the trap down here." Daryl said without turning around. Not that Carol minded one bit, no sirree...He rose up on his toes a bit to get better leverage, pulling the jeans tighter over his muscular thighs and Carol sighed with what she recognized as lust, something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

"Brought you some coffee—"she began, but just then he made a sound of triumph and turned the tool with his vinyl gloved hands so he could twist the grabber attachment at the other end.

"Got it!" he crowed and started pulling the metal snake back out. Carol leaned closer, curious, and heard a squelch-pop noise as the grab claws pulled the offending item up through the drain.

"Huh." Daryl said as he lifted the tool to examine his prize.

Carol set the coffee mug down in the sink with a clunk. Daryl turned to face her holding a quite anatomically correct but purple small silicone dildo. He pushed his hat back on his head so he could peer more closely at it, inspecting it as a treasure hunter would his latest find brought up from a shipwreck. Raising one eyebrow his eyes rose to meet hers.

"Lose somthin'?" he drawled with a tiny side of the mouth grin, fighting to stay professional.

Carol blushed scarlet.

"That's not mine." she protested.

"Yeah? What yours like then?" Daryl asked curiously, winding her up.

"Well, it's not purple!" she blurted indignantly, and he burst into real laughter. Oh shit, she was in so much trouble here. Carol thought. He'd just been the hot plumber before, but when he laughed he was beautiful. Those so blue eyes merry and knowing, a dimple appearing in his scruff covered cheek under those high cheek bones, his broad shoulders shaking with it.

"I see." he said, repressing his mirth. "Well, good to know I guess. Shouldn't be usin' anything battery powered in the tub, ya know," he admonished, tongue in cheek, as he set the purple vibrator down on the seat of the toilet and turned back to check that the tub was now draining properly.

"Your coffee's in the sink." Carol said stiffly and fled, mortified.

I should just go—get in my car and drive around until he's gone... she thought as she paced the kitchen. Either that or invite him to your room to see what your vibrator really looks like so he won't be confused... the little demon on her shoulder said into her ear.

"Mizz Peletier?" his honeyed Georgia drawl made the name sound good—like a caress—but she wanted him to say her name, not that name she couldn't wait to shed along with the man who thought it meant he owned her.

"In the kitchen—down the hall past the living room." she called out, directing him to her rather than going to meet him. Daryl came into the kitchen, his hat in his hand, and found her standing in front of the sink, back lit by the sun coming through the window behind her, making her glow in a nimbus of early morning light. He was carrying the now empty coffee mug and held it out to her.

"Mizz Peletier, I...well I wanna apologize for bein' outa line back there." he said apologetically.

"Carol." she said and he looked puzzled. "My name is Carol." she repeated and held out her hand. He handed her the coffee cup.

"Carol." he said and smiled, his face lighting up again in pleasure. "Thanks for the coffee." he added and started to back away.

If he left, she thought with relief, she'd be alone again in her little safe haven apartment, with its locks and chains and deadbolts.

If he left, she thought with panic, she'd be alone and she might never see him again... she took a step towards him, still holding the Java Saves mug.

"That is mighty fine coffee..." Daryl said, stopping and looking at her a bit shyly through his long fringe of dark bangs, turning his hat over and over in his hands.

"Like another cup...Daryl?" Carol asked with a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Don't mind if'n I do, thank you... Carol." he grinned back.

I am working on my WIPs, I promise! but my Muse must be obeyed & she insisted that this be written tonight. Merry Christmas: )