Heavy brown shoes made deceptively quiet steps as they made their way through one of the empty, concrete halls of the prison. The hunter, with his ever-present crossbow swung over his shoulder, was going to the council room, also known as the prison library and part-time storage unit.
The steps were even quieter than they normally were, having stopped earlier when he'd thought he heard an extra set of footsteps trailing his. This section had been cleared and checked twice over for Walkers so he'd passed it off as slight paranoia and continued on.
And then he'd stopped a second time, whipping his head around that time, blue eyes searching the long corridor and spotting the ends of a head of shiny blonde hair whip back around the corner. Accompanied by a small, faint gasp. That was when he knew he hadn't just been hearing things the first time.
He'd pretended to shrug it off again and continued on his way, his usual swagger along with it. His attuned tracker's ears could hear the small steps that followed a few metres behind his back, a slight shuffling sound piercing the rhythm every time he'd passed a corner or exit into another corridor. Biding his time, he walked on a little further, looking as if he'd completely forgotten the earlier sounds, until he heard that telltale shuffling in the quiet space again.
Then he'd stopped and continued to face forward, pausing and drawing out the anticipation, almost waiting for something. As nonchalantly as possible, he flicked his head the tiniest bit to get the grown out bangs out of his eyes, a giggle erupted from behind him as soon as he did. The childlike voice of a little girl following next, barely holding in more giggles.
"Mr. Dixon, you look so silly! You need a haaaaircut, Mr. Dixon!"
His hunch had been right. It had been Sara following him. Of course it was.
"No sillier than a li'l girl hidin' behind a wall and insultin' a grown man...ya gonna come out now, ya midget, or 'm I gonna have t'keep talkin' t'the air?" He knew he sounded stern and a little grouchy...but he did have a reputation to uphold.
There was a moment of silence and he was just about to take another step forward when he heard her smaller ones make their move and suddenly the girl who was no taller than his waist stood in front of him. A pair of kids' scissors clutched in her pale hands and a mix of determination, expectancy, and barely concealed awe on her fairy-like face.
"Your mom know ya have those, kid?"
Embarrassment flitted across her features for only a moment before she looked back up at him with that sweet, little lying face that only a child can ever perfect. "Yes, she said ya need a haircut too!"
Daryl snorted at that one, and adjusted his crossbow slightly.
The girl put on her determined face again before addressing him.
"Mr. Dixon, ya need a haircut and I can do it for ya, I already got my scissors...they're pink and everything!" She added on the last part hoping it would be an added incentive for the tall, and kind of weird she thought, man in front of her.
He almost, almost, laughed at the pure conviction in her voice. One of his hands rubbed across his mouth giving him a moment to compose himself before his face took on his usual, unamused expression.
"Not today, kid...now get, an' bring those things back to yer mom, 'fore I tell Rick t'make ya a snack for them damn Walkers outside." He reached out and ruffled her hair a little, the threat being an empty one.
He watched as she pouted up at him, patted her hair down and almost poking herself in the face with the scissors at the same time, and made her usual, little huffing sound before going back the way she came. This time an amused expression did overtake Daryl's rough features before he continued on to the council room, knowing he hadn't discouraged her just yet.
The next attempt to snip off Daryl's shaggy mane by little Sara was only a week later. Like clockwork. This would be her third attempt and she was more determined than ever.
This time Daryl was sat in his cell, having moved from the perch a few months back, cleaning his crossbow and bolts of residual Walker fluids. Fully engrossed in the task when his little wannabe hairdresser made a visit. A bold move on her part. Only a few people, and certainly none from Woodbury, had the privilege of walking right into his cell without permission.
But, Sara's blonde head peeked around the edge of the cell's door frame for only a moment before she stepped inside.
Daryl, however, kept his eyes on his current bolt, knowing who it was without looking and waiting for the inevitable-
"Mr. Dixon, ya need a haircut!" Her bordering-on-shrill voice pierced the peace of the small cell.
"Don' reckon I do, kid." Came his gruff drawl while he swiped a hand across his forehead, intentionally brushing the dark strands out of the way.
Her tiny giggles erupted from her again; she always thought he looked like a dog shaking his coat when he flicked or brushed away the shaggy cut.
"Yeah, ya do, Mr. Dixon and I can do it for ya! I'll be really careful, won't cut ya either, mama says I'm real good at cutting straight now!"
He was sure the tiny concrete room was about to explode under the pressure of her childlike excitement.
When he finally looked up from his work, she was right beside him, scissors in hands, her wide blue eyes boring into his. "Kid's gettin' better at sneakin' 'round..." He thought with an inward smirk.
"That righ'? Well...," He drawled the last word out and rubbed his scruffy chin thoughtfully. Her eyebrows rose higher and higher on her forehead with each passing moment of anticipation, unconsciously snipping the air with the blades. "Sorry, kid, not today." He mussed up her hair like usual and she, as expected, pouted, huffed indignantly, and stomped her way out of the cell; thwarted again.
Daryl watched her leave, the slightest hint of a grin playing along his thin lips as she did.
Sara, more determined than ever, made her last-ditch effort one week later. Her young stubbornness refusing to let her give up against Daryl's own adult-like stubbornness. She was going to cut his hair today whether he wanted her to or not.
Daryl stood near one of the metal tables in the prison yard, getting himself ready to walk the perimeter and check for any breaks in it.
He sensed a presence behind him and quickly turned around, realizing he had to look down a foot or two to see who it was. "Damn...kid must be learnin' fast...follows me 'round 'nough..." Sara stood there with her little arms crossed and tapping her foot, looking as stern as her mother when she did the same thing during some group meetings.
"Mr. Dixoooooooon, ya need a haircut!" He knew she must be breaking when the name all the Woodbury kids had adopted for him came out in a whine.
"Ain't ya supposed t'be in Story Time'r somethin', kid?"
"Yup." She said, almost proudly.
"Ya take those things from your mom 'gain?"
"Yup." Slight hesitation before she answered, but still truthful.
"Ya gonna go be wherever the hell yer s'pposed t'be if I tell ya too?"
"Nope."
"'Course y'aint..."
"Mr. Dixoooooooon, ya need a haircut!" She repeated.
He decided to take a different approach this time.
"An' why's that?"
"'Cause you're not gonna get a wife if ya don't cut your hair, Mr. Dixon." She replied, the conviction in her logic coming through loud and clear.
A faint pink spread across Daryl's sundrenched skin, not being one to ever speak about those topics.
"Ain't got time for no wife in the damn apocalypse, anyhow, kid..." He mumbled, sheathing his knife and waiting for her short attention span to wander.
"Well...well...," She struggled to come up with another reason before he could send her away again, "Well, what if one'a those things tries to grab ya by your hair 'cause it's so long and crazy, Mr. Dixon?!" She practically yelled out her newest excuse in excitement and desperation.
He'd been just about ready to repeat their usual parting hair tussle and indignant huff routine when his head tilted to the side a bit, an amused expression on his face, a little impressed at her line of thinking. She WAS learning fast.
Hiding any emotion on his face with a scoff and a shake of his head, another unstoppable giggle erupting from the little body in front of him, he went back to getting his stuff ready.
The silence between them was drawn out, the only sounds being the distant groans of the Walkers at the fences. He methodically gathered his weapons up, counted his bolts and placed them in his makeshift holder and slipped on the old, leather vest he always had with him.
He heard a quiet sniffle beside him and the sound of dejected footsteps starting to walk away when he eased himself down on the end of the metal bench he was at.
"Hey, kid." He called out, the footsteps faltering, and gestured with a nod of his head for her to come back.
"Yes, Mr. Dixon?" All the bravado in her voice was lost as she stood just out of his peripheral vision.
"Those damn scissors of yours sharp?" He asked, his voice gruff and serious.
"Yes, Mr. Dixon..." She admitted, thinking he was going to finally take them away from her this time.
"Ya cut off more than this much," He showed her the length of maybe two inches with his fingers, "ya best believe I'll feed ya t'them Walkers faster than ya little blonde head can imagine, got it?" He practically growled, making sure she understood.
There was silence for a few beats, and he thought he may have really scared her off this time and then the sound of small feet climbing up onto a metal bench sounded behind him.
"Get on with it, kid, ain't got all day..." He voiced, slightly disbelieving that he was actually letting her do this.
And then, he heard the smooth snipping sound of the scissors behind his head.
Immediately followed by a shrill squeal of childish delight and a bout of excited, uncontainable giggling.
He quickly ran a hand down the back of his darkened hair, satisfied that she hadn't appeared to shear off more than he'd warned her to.
He stood back up when she'd hopped off the bench and turned to face her again.
"Happy now, kid?" He muttered, seemingly exhausted by her exuberant nature.
"Yup! Thank ya, thank ya, thank ya, Mr Dixon!" She beamed up at him, her smile so wide he could see every empty space where she'd lost a baby tooth that had yet to grow back fully and two small dimples appearing on her little, fairy face.
He grunted in reply. "Now go on an' get back t'story time, ya midget."
She knew enough to not push her luck and try to hug him around the waist and quickly pranced off, holding her scissors the safer way with the blades in her closed fist this time.
The stoic hunter watched her until she'd gone back inside the musty prison, and turned to make his way to the fences. A smile curling up the corners of his lips and a glint of hope in his eyes when he did.