Carol stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, disgusted by what she saw, the tell-tale marks of her misery etched into her skin in the form of barely visible lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She'd impatiently been awaiting this day. Glenn had been able to schedule an appointment for her to meet with Merle Dixon a mere two days after her last call to him, but the waiting was making her crazy. She couldn't even call the agency boss anymore to ask about Daryl. It had almost become habit to call there every day, and she'd caught herself more than once reaching for the phone. Now she could only hope Merle would have the answers she sought. Her biggest concern was if Daryl was okay.

Carol groaned, finishing up her make-up - a miserable attempt to cover the dark circles under her eyes - as the doorbell rang. At least, he was on time, she mused, hurrying to the door. She smoothed a hand over her top, willing away the nerves threatening to choke her.

A rough-looking man greeted her with a big grin and though Carol could barely remember the photo, she had somehow expected something different. This is Daryl's brother?

"Hello," she murmured timidly. "Come in." She blushed beneath his curious perusal, his gaze sweeping her from top to toe as he slowly and deliberately entered the apartment. He stopped mere inches from her, apparently waiting for a sign from her as one sardonic brow lifted in askance.

"Hey there, Sugar; nice t' meet ya … I'm Merle," he drawled in a saccharine sweet voice. So ya know what name you'll be moaning th' whole night, lil' mouse, he thought, his grin widening. New clients were always exciting for him. This one appeared to be a frustrated housewife, apparently too shy to confess her wants and needs to her significant other. Merle appreciated clients like these because they were always so thankful. This one was close to his age, and although he favored younger women, she was quite attractive. Enough to make his job easy.

Carol bit back a horrified giggle. Sugar? Did he just call me Sugar? Oh, my gawd!

"I'm Carol," she squeaked before clearing her throat and straightening her shoulders. She couldn't allow her nervousness to give him an advantage. This wasn't Daryl. "I think we should sit, uhm … in the kitchen," she said, pointing down the hallway. For her, it seemed safer to hold this conversation at the kitchen table rather than the sofa. The man still had no idea of his true purpose there.

"Kitchen?" he asked in confusion and got a nod from her. "A'right, whatever ya want, darlin'."

Merle followed her to the kitchen, leaning a shoulder against the door jamb as he watched her pull cups from the cupboard with trembling hands. The little mouse was nervous, understandable with new clients, and a grin spread over his face ready to lighten the mood between them. His feet were silent on the tiles as he stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms about her waist just as she set the cups down on the table.

"You can take a seat –" The words died on her lips, a gasp taking their place as she found herself trapped between him and the tabletop. "Don't touch me, ok?" she whispered, hating the timidity so evident in her voice. She didn't want to scare him away before she could ask her questions, but she didn't want him to think she was a pushover, either.

"Do ya want me to fuck ya on th' kitchen table, honey?" she heard his harsh voice whisper in her ear and felt his breath on her skin as he was still not releasing his grip on her. It was the wrong voice, the wrong touch, the wrong everything. It wasn't Daryl, who instilled trust in her with his very presence, but rather a stranger who had her alarm bells ringing loudly, warning her of impending danger … even if there was none.

Merle didn't know what hit him, the next few moments a blur, her actions too rapid for him to do more than blink. With a quick, flowing move, she broke free of his grip, landing an elbow to his groin. Before he could reach for his aching crotch, she'd somehow slipped behind him and had his arms twisted at an odd angle at his back. He opened his mouth to protest, but that too proved fruitless as she slammed his upper body against the table. The cups jumped up a few inches only to come down with a clattering sound next to his head. WHAT TH' FUCK, WOMAN!?

"I said, Don't. Touch. Me!" she repeated, slightly out of breath as she still stood behind him holding his twisted arms behind his back in a steely grip.

"S'that some kinda upside-down fifty-shades shit?" Merle asked anxiously, sweat beading his forehead. He couldn't move a single inch, and it was making him rather nervous. "Whatever ya want, I'm in! But ya coulda told me this was whatcha wanted earlier."

"I'm going to let you go now, but you're going to park yourself at the table and keep your hands to yourself, you got me?" she asked calmly but firmly, a slight tremor remaining in her voice.

"Yeah, I do, I … I promise, but lemme go, lady!" he pleaded. He'd never expected a woman could hold him in such a tight grip, especially thiswoman. But he suspected it was the way his arms were twisted, or her fast reaction … or both.

Carol released him and took a wary step back as Merle slowly straightened, rolling his shoulders until she heard them crack. His expression was still pained and a bit startled as he eyed her questioningly.

Carol side-eyed him as she averted her gaze shyly, moving to grab the coffee pot after she'd made sure he'd dropped down into a chair. She was a little embarrassed by what she'd done. Although the last self-defense class had been some time ago, she apparently still remembered a lot of what she'd learned. It had never been her intention to scare him, but his gentle embrace had just been too much for her. He'd ignored her request not to touch her, and she'd acted purely on instinct.

Merle saw her trembling hands rearrange the cups on the table before she poured the coffee and sat down too, on the other side of the table. Still in shock, he eyed her skeptically and swallowed hard. What the hell is this woman up to?

Clearing her throat, Carol sought his gaze, a small smile forming on her lips. She felt empowered because she'd been able to gain the upper hand in the situation, but in no way did she want something like that to happen again. "Most people underestimate me," she murmured, still smiling though her eyes were deadly serious. "Don't underestimate me, Mr. Dixon."

Merle couldn't help staring at her in disbelief as she calmly lifted her coffee cup and took a sip.

"Enjoy your coffee; it's pretty good," Carol said as she pointed to his cup.

What a psycho lady! "What th' hell do ya want from me?"

"I need your help ... and it has nothing to do with … with sex!" she made clear.

Merle's eyes went wide, still not having a damn clue about what she wanted.

Carol breathed out a shuddering sigh as she fought to gather her courage. "I need Daryl's phone number … his address or information as to where he works … something like that. I –"

Now Merle couldn't resist the broad grin forming on his lips as he finally understood what she wanted from him. This woman didn't want to have sex with him; she wanted to question him about Daryl, who obviously didn't want to be her callboy anymore. "Was my sweet baby brother yer lil' boytoy, cougar?"

As a reaction to his words, Carol felt a sharp pain in her chest, which was immediately mirrored in her expression. "It's not -"

"Sugar, listen t' me," he interrupted. Merle felt a tad bit sorry for the woman, but on the other hand, he was more than a little surprised by his brother's apparently remarkable skills in his job. Had the boy finally learned something? "It's our job. We tell ya how beautiful ya are, how good ya feel, and how great it is with ya, 'cause we need ya. We need ya t' need us, y'know?"

"No, it's -" Carol tried to explain.

"We tell ya what ya need to hear," he said softly, not wanting to hurt her. If Merle was good at anything, it was his ability to satisfy women and make them happy. After he was done with her, she'd never ask for Daryl again, he was sure. And by the way Merle had gotten laid by her on the kitchen table mere moments ago, he was sure as hell this woman would be a great fuck. She had fire!

"NO! Let me explain! It's not like that, gawd!" Carol threw a hand over her face. Even though she knew he was wrong, the words hurt regardless. "He said it himself … the day he had your car. What we have … it's not like that … remember?"

"What?" Merle couldn't believe it, remembering the day when his brother had brought his car back to him far too late, his knickers in a knot when Merle had asked Daryl why he'd been so moody. "He was with ya?"

"Yes! I was standing next to him while he was on the phone with you."

"Don't mean nothin'," Merle protested, but somehow, he didn't quite believe it himself. He knew his brother better than anyone, and Daryl's behavior had definitely meant something.

"We were at his mother's grave ... your mother's grave," Carol admitted, hoping he would believe her if she told him details which she - as a normal client - just couldn't have known.

"Now I know yer lyin'," Merle shook his head in disbelief. "Daryl never visits her grave."

"I know, but he was there … with me. Her name was Emma, and I also know why she died and that your father … he punished Daryl for not being there when the house burned down. I know about the scars … I saw them." Carol's voice softened as tears began to roll over her cheeks. "He told me everything," she added desperately, praying Merle would believe her. The words continued to slip from her tongue in a torrent, wanting so much to prove to him she'd been more to Daryl than just a client. In that moment, she realized she should've already known how much she'd meant to him. How could she have been so blind?

The puzzled frown he wore deepened the lines in Merle's brow. As far as he knew, his brother had never been back to visit their mother's grave. How did this woman know all these things? It was inconceivable to Mere that Daryl had confided so much of his past to her. He wouldn't even talk to Merle. For a minute, he wondered if they were talking about the same person. Daryl - who in general - never spoke unless it was absolutely necessary? "So, ya weren't his client? I don't understand anythin' anymore!" he huffed indignantly.

"I was, but it changed ... for me ... for him. I don't even know exactly when it happened, but it changed," she whispered softly, her watery blue eyes searching his for answers.

"Why ain't he here then, huh?" Merle asked irritably. If this Carol was really that close to his brother, she should at least have his phone number. For Merle, the whole issue made no sense at all.

"Because we never talked about … this ... and then I made a mistake."

"What mistake? What did ya do?" he asked harshly.

Did this ruffian really want her to tell him everything? It was hard enough to talk about it at all. Should Carol actually unburden her heart to him? Did he even want to know all that? "I didn't think he could feel the same way I feel for him, so … I wrote a letter. I wanted to end it because I was so afraid of getting hurt. He … uhm … misunderstood the message and left.

"Show me!"

"What?"

"The letter, lady!" he barked, steadily losing patience with her.

Hesitantly, Carol got up and left the kitchen. She didn't want to show him the letter, but felt she had to. Would he blame her for everything, or would he finally help her?

Back in the kitchen, she handed the letter to him and took a deep breath. It couldn't get worse, could it? She was so hopeful to finally get in touch with Daryl and his brother might be her last chance. Even if she doubted they were even related - he was so different from her sweet Daryl - maybe he would find it in his heart to help them.

Resuming her seat at the table, Carol watched as his eyes moved rapidly over the paper, his mouth drawn in a thin line of displeasure, his brows knit. Suddenly throwing the letter on the table, he gave her an angry look. He wouldn't be helping her, she thought, choking back a bitter sob.

"Do ya wanna know what our daddy always told us? He said we were useless ... worthless, good-for nothin' trash!" Merle spat.

And again, her heart broke for Daryl. She had known it ... sensed it ... and much worse, she knew exactly what it felt like being treated like this. Her tears wouldn't help her. She gasped, overwhelmed by all the pain and guilt she felt.

"An' that's exactly what he thinks he is right now … 'cause of this," Merle added, explaining as he looked at her contemptuously.

"I know," she whispered tentatively. "But I have to know if he's ok. Has something happened to him?"

What Merle saw in the eyes of this woman was a strange mixture of feelings he'd probably never seen before. She was desperate, and she was grieving, mourning for Daryl. And he saw something which looked like honest affection … love, even if Merle Dixon didn't really know what love was.

Dixons didn't love women, they fucked or beat them, or they were fucked by life and beaten by others. And as a Dixon, you didn't even know which pile of crap was the better fate. Something like love had never been in the cards for a Dixon.

If ever there was love for anything, it was for drugs or alcohol. But Daryl had always been different. Daryl had never been one to dabble in vices, nor had he ever wanted to chase pussy. His brother had always been a riddle to him - too soft, sensitive - one he'd never had the patience or smarts to solve. It made Merle wonder if his baby brother might escape the cycle or if this lady had broken him and Daryl had finally learned his lesson that there really was no hope for a guy like him.

"I have no idea," Merle took a deep breath. "He doesn't answer his phone ... most of th' time it's off. An' when I tried t' call him yesterday th' damn mailbox was full. I've been trying t' call him for more than a week. But I don't think anythin' happened t' him. I'm his contact in case of emergency. They would've called me," he said, his voice a little softer than before. "An' he hates phones. There were always phases where he didn't answer th' phone."

After a short moment of hesitancy, Merle looked around for a pen, finding one on the other side of the table, and then he turned the letter over and wrote. "That's his number, his place, an' th' shop where he works," he finally said after he'd finished jotting the information down and returned the letter to her. "Maybe you'll be luckier than me an' be able to contact him. But don't screw it up," he warned.

"Thank you," she whispered, reverently holding the letter tightly against her heart. "I won't. A small smile finally reached her lips, a spark of hope bursting to life within her soul.

"So, I guess my job here is done," Merle said and stood up, slowly heading into the hallway.

However, when he stood at the door he just couldn't help but ask her something. "Where did ya learn that? That thing with th' arms?"

"Self-defense course ... my husband was abusive. I know the words useless and worthless all too well. Maybe that's why … I think Daryl and I have the same insecurities," she quietly admitted with a sad smile.

Merle snorted. At first glance, this woman and his brother had nothing in common, but on closer inspection, he couldn't deny there was something about the silver-haired lady who appeared like she was actually capable of loving a Dixon.

Carol reached for the prepared envelope, but he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. "It's alright, take care!" he said with a small grin and left.

OOO

He stood there in a mild state of shock, his entire body trembling, his knees threatening to buckle. He didn't know what to think or feel, what to believe. She wouldn't do that, would she? Daryl was now wishing he'd have thrown the damn phone out the window earlier. It would've spared him the extra pain. He would rather not have known because this would surely kill him.

Daryl had needed to call Glenn, feeling he could no longer hide from that obligation. For over a week, he'd avoided reading his messages or accepting his phone calls, but ultimately his sense of responsibility had been stronger. He'd owed his boss an explanation for his behavior at the very least. The phone had been beeping for what had felt like hours after being turned on, but Daryl had ignored all missed call and message notifications, just wanting to make that one call.

"You've lost all your clients," Glenn said reproachfully. Daryl rolled his eyes, the news not coming as a big surprise.

"I'm out anyway," he replied. He should've hung up that very moment, hung up before Glenn could drop the bomb which shattered his whole world.

"Fortunately, I was able to convey Mrs. Peletier to your brother after she'd been asking for you for days, but Mrs. Monroe didn't even call. We lost this client completely, Dixon!" Glenn told him angrily, but Daryl had lost the train of the conversation after Glenn's mention of Carol. No, no, he couldn't believe that.

"What?" he asked, his voice a trembling whisper. Glenn's heated statement had pulled the ground from beneath Daryl's feet. How could she? It just wasn't possible, was it?

"I don't know what happened at your last meeting with Mrs. Monroe, but we completely lost her, unfortunately." Glenn added.

Daryl threw the cell phone out the open window to the street below, not bothering to watch it smash to bits before he found himself going from room to room. His apartment seemed foreign instead of familiar, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, blood pounding in his ears as it rushed through every fiber of his being. He staggered into the bathroom, his gaze catching on his reflection in the beveled glass hanging above the sink, and it was the last straw. With a roar, he planted his fist in the center of the mirror, shards of glass flying in every direction.

Daryl stared down at his bloody fist, an unceasing flow of desperate tears still running mercilessly over his cheeks. He couldn't breathe.

He never could have hated her or blamed her for not feeling the same. It wasn't Carol's fault she couldn't love him, but the thought of her wanting a new escort and had chosen Merle was the final nail in the coffin. Daryl never would've expected that. This was not the Carol he had known. He'd been nothing more than a tool to her. She'd used his patience and sensitivity to her needs to open her up, to ready her for sex with others. But why had she even asked for him if - according to the letter - she hadn't wanted to see him any longer? For Daryl, nothing made sense anymore.

He couldn't even ask Deanna for advice any longer because she didn't want to see him either. He wondered why. Could he have really been so wrong about both women? Carol would never open up so quickly to another man, not after the battle of her insecurities they'd fought together, would she? Thoughts like these would eventually drive him crazy.

In addition to all the disappointment and jealousy, Daryl was suddenly overcome with fear that Merle might not treat her well enough … that he would scare her. As horrible as it was to imagine another man touching her, the idea of it being Merle caused his stomach to roil with upset.

Between Carol and Merle and Daryl's complete desperation, the thought of Deanna suddenly crossed his mind again. Had she decided talking and eating together wasn't enough anymore? Would she just kick him off without at least saying goodbye? She was the only person he'd ever been able to talk to, and maybe that was what he needed right now.

It had been a long time since Daryl had felt so lonely. Although he'd never liked interacting with other people, he just wasn't able to help himself at the moment and could do nothing to relieve the pain. He needed answers and Deanna had always been able to shine new perspective on his troubles.

OOO

He knew something was off. The strange feeling in Daryl's stomach as he parked in front of Deanna's house was getting worse. Something was wrong, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come here, but something inside Daryl made him feel restless and uncomfortable. She'd told him she'd enjoyed their last meeting and had said goodbye as always with a hug and kiss to his cheek. He would've noticed if she'd been angry, right?

Getting off his bike, Daryl looked down at the makeshift bandage on his busted hand. She would ask him a lot of questions about it, certainly, and he would feel the need to explain. Then he could unburden himself and pray she would be able to help him find the answers he sought so desperately.

The light was on in the house, and Daryl hesitated briefly before he rang the bell, shaking his head. This was probably a stupid idea, showing up unannounced. I'm jus' here visitin' my friend, he tried to convince himself, realizing Deanna hadn't really been a client in quite a while. He jerked to attention when he heard the quick heavy footsteps approaching the door, so unlike her usual soft tread. When the door opened, and a young man stood before him, Daryl's mind went blank.

"Oh, uhm … there must be some kinda misunderstandin'. I'm sorry," Daryl stammered as he ducked his head and turned, his pulse speeding up as he made his way back to his bike.

"Wait!" the stranger hollered.

"Naw, I ... I was at the wrong door," Daryl murmured, still shocked when he moved away, back to his bike.

"Did you know my mother?" the man asked.

"What?" Daryl stopped and turned around. What had he said?

"Did you know my mother?" the stranger repeated.

Daryl was completely confused. Did? Jus' what th' hell did he mean by that?

OOO

Chapter End Notes:

Thank you for reading! :)

I hope I haven't donated too much confusion. More about this in the next chapter and yes, our two babies will meet soon! ;)

Thanks a lot again to CharlotteAshmore! As always, you've done a brilliant job! *kisses*