Ferris Wheel Blues

Ah... I don't have much to say beyond thank you all for being so supportive and interested in this silly fic of mine. If I could give you all a hug, I would totally do it. Don't know where this chapter came from. Simple drabbles that exploded into this huge chapter. I hope you all enjoy.

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

Chapter 3

His pace quickened as he patrolled back and forth in front of the ticket booth, head jerking to look over to the heavy crowds still enjoyin' themselves at the carnival. For as late as it was people still milled about at the attractions. Booths were still crammed with people trying desperately for that one prize, wastin' their money on cheap thrills and shitty rigged games. The theory that some guests, he often overheard at times, had 'bout them games bein' rigged? All true. Not a single one was legit and it bothered him some that the kid had one of them prizes tucked protectively under her twiggy arm. How much money had been spent to win her one o' them things? 20 bucks? Hell, maybe even 30 bucks?

The kid had knocked out soon after they had settled against the ticket booth; head drooped onta her left shoulder, mouth hangin' open ta catch flies. Tuckered herself out from her anxiety of being away from her Ma. What with all the people bustlin' about, shoutin' and actin' stupid because they could, he weren't surprised that she had just crashed out on him as she did. Too much ta handle fer one adventure he supposed.

It had already been a half hour and the girl's Ma had yet to make her way over. What was takin' the damned woman so long? What was even goin' on? How much longer could he afford to be away from his work before he got yelled at again? He huffed in exasperation knowing trouble was gonna be on its way. He hadn't expected it ta take this long to hand off the child to her Ma. He could feel anxious knots beginning to twist and turn over in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like that feelin'. Always made it seem like there was hell to pay and lickin' or two to receive.

Daryl looked up from his pacin' having created a rather obvious pace trail in the dirt hopin' that this would be the last time he would have ta glance up. He stopped in his tracks, quirking his head at the pair of green-gray eyes that met his own pair of blues. Her head bobbed up as she timidly made her way over to him.

The woman ambled up to him, fingers clutchin' tight a flimsy lookin' canvas bag. It looked like she had stolen the bag from some hobo with all its random patch jobs and the two different straps that held it together. Her eyes were tired, her brow furrowed, and she worried her bottom lip unsure of how to formally approach him. He snorted, a slight sneer tuggin' at his lips. Like there could be any formalities to make him feel like some uppity citizen.

Daryl stared at her. He had half been expecting a large rotund woman with arms the size of his head, but instead the woman had been quite opposite. She was a small, petite woman, wrapped in a gray woolen sweater. Her silvery peppered hair looked as if it had been sheared with a pair of dulled scissors just several nights before, shagged out wisps of hair stickin' up here an' there like they didn't know which way ta go.

She pursed her lips before speaking. "I'm Carol Peletier. I believe you're the one who's been watching my girl?" She murmured softly, the fearful undertone in her voice catchin' in her pitch.

Daryl had to lean in a bit to catch all that she had said, but he already knew why she was there. He motioned for her to follow him 'round the front of the booth pointin' to the girl that lay curled up against the wall.

The woman's fearful expression ebbed away and a small thin-lipped smile graced her features. He arched a brow at the woman. He didn't quite understand ithis/i. It was like all her worries had been washed away at takin' that one look at her kid. His Ma had never looked like that when she looked his way. Maybe it was because she didn't wanna see him or that she was too fucked up on her wine to bother with him. Or perhaps it was because he looked just like his Daddy, same steely blue eyes and that spiteful scowl. All he knew was that his Ma never looked so vulnerable as this woman in front of him did in this one moment.

Daryl watched as she moved towards her daughter, delicately pushing a wisp of hair out of the girl's face. The sadness he had seen in the girl's eyes earlier were mirrored back in this woman's eyes and it bothered him the more he observed that they were of the same side coin. All of 'em.

She sucked in a shuddered sob as she grimaced slightly. "Baby, it's time to go. We have to leave. Please get up for me." The woman cooed as she cupped the girl's face in her hands. Sophia stirred from her slumber and her eyes seemed to light up at the sight of her Ma.

"Momma!" The girl cried and she threw her arms 'round her mother's neck. The two fell back into the dirt; the silver-haired woman rockin' back an' forth as she hugged her kid cooin' sweet things inta her ear.

Daryl seemed to not exist to the pair and it bothered him none. He was always bein' ignored in one way or another. He had gotten used ta such treatment. He shrugged his shoulders figurin' this would be the same as all the other times he had done favors for others and started makin' his way back towards the carnival. Back to where he belonged.

"Wait!" A voice cried out from behind him.

Daryl stopped and looked over his shoulder, eyebrow drawn up. The woman rushed towards him, her girl held tight in her arms, legs danglin' like a rag-doll's all limp-like. What did she want now?

"'Scuse me, I didn't get your name." She moved closer towards him.

He took a step back in the direction he had been heading. Daryl snorted at her statement. "Cos I didn't give it." He replied thickly as he stared down the woman.

Her brow furrowed in confusion at his tone and she blinked at him a few times unsure of what she had done to warrant such a response.

Daryl just wanted her to leave him alone. He had wasted enough time waitin' for her to pick up her damned kid. He sure as hell didn't want her takin' up anymore of his time with her forced gratitude. "I'm sorry. You must be busy. I just— just wanted to thank you was all." She mumbled softly ducking her head at him and hurrying off in the opposite direction.

Daryl quietly whirled around stalking closer to the gates, his fingers latching onto the rusted fence links. He watched her retreating form as she moved swiftly towards the parking lot and took off in a busted ol' Cherokee. The car speedin' off, tail lights a strip of red trailin' in the distance. He harrumphed at the car that disappeared into the night and meandered about the front before he kicked a flurry of dirt up and derisively went back to his typical duties.

He shoved his hands into his pockets fishing out his box of matches wanting to finally let loose his nerves. That was when he saw it. He turned to look back at the woman's car but it had already gone outta sight. He approached the plush bunny prize that lay on the ground; its pale white fur stained with dirt. He stooped to his knees, joints poppin' and picked it up, fingers runnin' along the soft faux fur. Daryl's lip curled up as he pushed back to his feet, trying to understand why the woman would spend all that money on a prize toy at a booth and not take it with her.

He turned the thing over in his hands, fingers playin' with the long floppy ears, eyes scannin' over the onyx button eyes and the sewn pink mouth. There weren't any tears in the limbs, nor any real damage done to the thing 'sides the stuffing in the neck havin' been thinned due to the girl's vice grip. Otherwise, the toy was still good. At least this was what he considered to be good. He didn't have no toys like this growin' up, even if it were just a poorly thrown together piece of fabric. His Ma and Pa never had the money to get nice things for him an' Merle. It was either Good-Will or Salvation Army an' both was pushin' it for his Pa to step foot into. He'd never been one to take a handout and steppin' inside a one of them second-hand stores was just as close to a handout as one could get and he didn't like that one bit.

Daryl tucked the thing into his belt unsure of whether he planned on keepin' the plush or just chuckin' it when he found a dump bin. He passed several bins on his way to a run-down attraction, fan belt havin' come loose again. The main operator of the ride was cacklin' up a storm at the silly plush danglin' from his belt, but he didn't care. None of the things they said about him being a 'faggot' or a little 'bitch' got under his skin. Their words held no water in comparison to the merit his Daddy flung at him.

He shut the hood and shoved the operator out of his way, making his way over to another busted ride. It had been a long night and it sure as hell weren't over just yet.

The filtered sun rays danced about his face, blinding him as the curtain fluttered open from the stagnant breeze. Daryl squinted, yawned and then stretched, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, rubbin' the sleep from his eyes. It was already mid-afternoon and the air was hot, a dry heat. He grumbled at the sweat glistenin' off his tanned skin and his bangs plastered to his forehead. Another day at the carnival. Another day under the hood of the same bullshit broken-down machines. Another day as this fuckin' shitty mechanic. He sighed before readying himself for another day's worth of work ahead of him.

He clambered over the crowded hall with its boxes of junk and what-god-knows else trying his best not to ram his arms and hands into the boxes. He'd already received a nasty cut along his arm after he tried gettin' past Jackson's fat-ass earlier that morning after all his tasks had been completed. Ran right into an old bureau, arm catching a shard of wood which dug, splintering into his skin. He'd done what he could, using a knife to whittle the piece of wood shards out of his arm. Weren't like there were any tweezers he could snag and use to get the pieces out. Daryl glanced at the still open and fresh wound. He'd wrapped it with an old shirt he had found, cut it into thin strips and made a generic tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but had been soaked through when he'd gotten up that mornin'.

He found himself wandering in the kitchen. Not findin' much anything to eat 'sides a vast amount of hard liquors littering the counter tops an' tables, he left the confines of the kitchen, figurin' he would be goin' without food once more.

He weren't expectin' nobody that day. 'Specially not her.

He'd caught her seeking him out as he stalked over to his first routine maintenance of the day. She tried hailing him but he ignored her, not thinkin' it was him she was wantin' to talk to in the first place. And why would she? She had no business with him.

"'Scuse me." She cried, takin' longer strides, hobo bag bouncin' 'long side her hip.

Daryl finally stopped and turned to glare at her. He wiped the sweat from his brow huffing that this woman had the nerve to come after him like he owed her somethin'.

"The hell you want?" He barked, eying her up an' down. He noticed the sparkle of her eyes, bright mixed with a glint of fear. Her lips pursed an' she slowed down in her brisk walk towards him.

She hesitated before taking a step closer. He seemed mad, which he was; havin' been interrupted in his work twice in the past 24 hours by this woman and her lost kid weren't somethin' he was fond of.

"I got shit ta do, lady. The hell d'ya want?" He barked again after she failed to respond to him. He didn't have time for this shit. He threw his hands up in frustration before takin' off towards the carousel after he failed to receive a response from the woman. Daryl could hear the soft patter of her footsteps behind him and he whirled on her finding it a large annoyance to him that she followed him like some lost puppy-dog, not a word spoke. "What're you doin'?"

The woman stumbled back surprised at his sudden reaction. She was a jumpy thing. Her mouth hung slightly open. She worried her lip before muttering, "I wanted to thank you... For last night."

Daryl's sneered at her, not buyin' her bullshit excuse. "You already did that. What're you really here fer? It sure as fuck ain't to say no 'thanks'. What d'ya want from me?" He snarled, glaring daggers into her trembling form. He backed off slightly realizing that he was somewhat overreactin' by the way she seemed to flinch at his words. He could feel the other carnival hands eyes on them. Audiences. He didn't like them.

He huffed, cockin' his head at her, hands hooked into his belt loops. "Look either ya tell me or we're done here. I have shit that has ta get done 'fore all them assholes show up fer the nigh'."

The woman massaged the base of her throat before whispering, "Can I talk to you fer a moment? Privately?"

Daryl drew a brow up not understanding why she would ask that. He shrugged his shoulders, wiping his brow again. Them standin' in the heat as they were wasn't doin' nothin' to quell his already burnin' temper.

He absently nodded and guided her to where he was expected to be. He threw open the hood of the engine and began his tinkerin'. Daryl could feel her eyes on him, watchin' his every move like she expected him to stop what he was doin' and provide the utmost attention to her. He huffed annoyed by her presence, quickly duckin' his head out of the hood, slammin' it shut in the process. He hadn't meant ta do that. She jumped back startled by the sudden noise, takin' a step back.

"The hell ya want?" He growled, yanking his grease rag from his pocket. "Seems ta me like I owe ya somethin' when I don't even know you."

The woman shook her head. "No not at all." Her lips pursed again and she looked away from him. That was when he caught sight of it. The caked on makeup beneath her eye. He'd been so pissed that he hadn't noticed the amount of foundation shit that women used to hide blemishes. There were still swirls of purple and blues peeking through her hasty patch job. His brow furrowed and he felt himself pull down his anger.

Daryl diverted his eyes away from her not wantin' to be caught starin' at her. She was just as pathetic as himself, but he just wasn't sure who was more pathetic: her or himself.

"What do you want from me, lady?" He drawled, the edge in his tone less aggravated than before.

Her eyes met his in the first time they had came in contact with one another since earlier that night. He'd lie if he said he'd never seen eyes like hers. Truth was he saw hers in his own all the time. She quirked her mouth before speakin'.

"Carol. I'm Carol." She replied, looking back to her feet. "I don't want anythin' from you— I'm sorry. I never did catch your name."

Daryl sighed, not wantin' to create a tie with her by givin' his name. That was all it took and then you were stuck with people ya never wanted to be known by in the first place. "Daryl Dixon." He grudgingly offered up, a scowl settling his lips, his eyes focused on her.

He noticed the way her throat bobbed like she was nervous 'bout talkin' with him.

"Mr. Dixon—" She was cut off. He held up a hand stoppin' her firmly in place. He couldn't stand bein' called 'Mr. Dixon'. It sounded too much like he was his Pa and he wanted no ties to that sonuvabitch. "That's my Pa. Don't care fer formalities. Just 'Daryl'." He said as he tucked the grease rag back into his pocket, havin' tried riddin' his hands of the grease and grime still stuck defiantly under his nails.

Carol bobbed her head at him, takin' heed of his tone. He may not have outright snapped at her but she caught on well enough that Daryl didn't care about no titles. Shit like that never belonged to him and they wouldn't no matter whose mouth it came out of. It could be the goddamned president awardin' him some fuckin' medal and he'd still feel like a nobody.

"Daryl." She let his name sit on her tongue as the corner of her mouth tugged slightly up. The way his name rolled of her tongue seemed okay. He wasn't used ta people callin' him by his name 'sides Merle who could never pronounce it right. Dumb bastard lived with him for near two decades and could neither figure out the correct pronunciation.

"Oh!" She chimed, breakin' his train a thought. She was suddenly realizin' somethin' he had no idea of. It may have been her reasonin' fer showin' up in the first place. Daryl couldn't be sure. He raised an arched brow not quite figurin' out what she was doin' rummagin' in that damned hobo bag of hers. Fuckin' thing musta been like 80 years old with the way it was tattered and frayed. He was surprised the thing was even useful or had even lasted as long as it did.

She finally brought out a small paper bag that looked like it had been hastily shoved to the bottom a her bag. It looked rather heavy the way she held it with both hands offerin' it out to him like it were his. Daryl shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands on his hips unsure if he should take it. "Made this for you." She stammered, offerin' it up once more, a slight crease in her brow as if she were preparin' for the worse.

Daryl hesitantly took a step forward and took the package in both hands. He hugged it to his chest tryin' ta get a better grasp on it. He cradled the bag in his arms opening it up to a wafting smell of freshly baked cornbread. The smell hit him like a truck fillin' his nostrils 'till all he breathed and tasted was the sweet honeyed glaze causin' him to lick his lips like some starved idiot. The corners of her mouth tugged into a smile at his reaction, her eyes seemin' to light up like she had done alright.

He felt the flush of heat creepin' into his ears, stainin' his cheeks like a damned fool. Daryl embarrassed by his achin' belly shut the bag and glared at her.

"The fuck is this fer? I ain't no charity case, lady. What're you tryin' ta hide?" He fumed settin' the bag rather harshly on the top of the engine hood. He didn't care that he may have broken the pieces of bread up or that she had taken special care to come all this way to bring him somethin' like this. Honest truth, Daryl never had no woman bake him anythin' like that before and it somewhat softened his temper. His problem with the mousy thing before him was that he had allowed this woman to chisel down his walls in one single gesture and he weren't havin' none o' that today. He'd already bent over backwards waitin' on her hand an' foot to grab her girl and now wastin' his time dilly dallyin' with some familial bullshit he wanted no part of.

Carol's smile faltered. "I wanted to ask that you not say anything about finding my daughter or meeting me here." She mumbled in between playin' with the hem of her sweater. Hell the damned thing was just as ratted as her bag from the looks of it. Had she never seen the inside a one a them fancy department stores? He'd never be caught dead in a place like that with its shiny floors and perky sales clerks bombardin' him with fruity colognes and cheeky sales tactics. He was terrified of shit like that with their fake smiles and overly happy voices. It was disgustin' the way they whored themselves out to the general public fer that extra dollar a week.

A small hand waved in front of his face, shakin' him from his thoughts and he shuffled back from Carol havin' not seen that she'd moved in close ta him tryin' to grab his attention. "Sorry! You weren't sayin' anything. Didn't mean to scare you." She apologized. He noticed the hint of worry in her tone and shrugged like it were nothin'.

"Don't say anythin'. Right. You don't want that husband a yer's findin' out, right?"

The color in her skin drained and she looked like she was on the brink of havin' a panic attack. "How'd you know?" A hand flew to her mouth tryin' a hold in her gasp. She acted like he didn't notice the horribly applied makeup or the way she carried herself, shoulders drawn down like the world was out ta punish her fer existin'.

Daryl snorted at her statement, lip curlin' up. "You act like I'ma hitcha if I look at ya funny or tellin' me not to say shit. Only time I ever heard shit like that is when ya want someone not knowin' somethin'." He shrugged at her like it was no big secret ta him. The wispy-haired woman looked ta be on the verge a tears the way she seemed to cower at the stark realization of what she had done. He hated when they cried. He never knew what was wrong with 'em or how to calm 'em down. Bizarre creatures women were and he had no clue how to deal with 'em. A mystery to him they were.

There was only one way he would be able to keep the woman from cryin' and he knew he would kick himself fer it. Trouble seemed to know where to perch itself each chance it got. And it sure as hell knew the name Daryl Dixon.

"Fine. I won't tell nobody." He grumbled through a scowl, rollin' his eyes all the more that shit was never easy fer him. Even when it should be, it weren't. Always had ta be some kinda catch.

He glowered at the woman as she seemed to perk up slightly. There was a plea of thanks and hope in those misty eyes that had seen a lot more shit than Daryl could figure. What was one more rung of problems fer him on the ladder he had already climbed?

Carol bit her lip before thankin' him one last time, holdin' out her hand as a sort of peace offerin'. Daryl eyed her slim hand with the gaudy silver band on her ring-finger. It was a mockery of the marital vows she and her piece a shit husband had pledged, but who the fuck was he ta judge? He'd never bedded down with a woman, more or less held one a their hands. Weren't like he was one a them bachelors that had all the ladies clamberin' to get into his pants.

He sighed before quickly shakin' her hand and lettin' it go. Carol softly smiled at him before walkin' up ta him, touchin' a gentle hand to his shoulder. He recoiled from her grasp, watchin' as her thin-lipped grimace never faltered. He could tell that he had hurt her by his reaction. It was her eyes that gave her away. The slight flinch at the corner of her eye as if he had already struck her with some invisible force. He didn't like bein' touched. It was as simple as that. It was her reaction that made him feel bad. He weren't no woman beater. Even if this mousy woman did annoy him, he'd never thought to strike her fer anythin' of the sort. It wasn't his nature, nor would it ever.

"Thank you, Daryl." Without a skip of a beat she was gone.

Daryl didn't stop watchin' her as she left. The way her slouched shoulders still pulled her down by the weight a her worries and shitty life she had ta endure, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. His hands slipped into his pockets, pulling the half-empty packet of cigarettes out. He removed two, tuckin' one above his ear and the other placing between his lips. He lit his cigarette and took a drag, lettin' out the smoke through a half sigh.

What the fuck had he just gotten himself inta?

A/N: Please leave a review! Thank you for reading.