They were living on top of each other, that was the damn problem now that society had ended and the world had gone straight to hell. Privacy was a luxury of the past, something that existed only in the memories of the survivors of days past. It was just another facet of history that was destined to fade away into non-existence like TV, cell phones and overpriced coffee shops that had populated every other street corner.

Daryl had been sitting in his cell and minding his own business, just trying to get a minute of quiet. The new additions of the Woodbury folks were making for cramped quarters now more than ever. The winter they'd all spent on the road together after the fall of the Greene farm had forced the once withdrawn man to adapt to living in closer quarters than he'd previously been exposed to before the dead started walking around the Earth. Back when it was just him and Merle drifting from place to place the Dixon's didn't have to worry about their person space being invaded. Whether they were from the right or wrong side of the tracks, people had instinctively known to give a wide berth to the pair of men.

Word always got around about the illustrious Dixon brothers whenever they rolled into a new town. It had been both a curse and a blessing. The downside had been people never gave Daryl a chance to be more than just a redneck piece of trash. The upside was that he never had to deal with anyone getting too close to him before.

Now that the former Woodbury residents were calling the prison their home Daryl didn't have that same luxury. The additions of new survivors arriving every week added to the number of people always trying to cosy up to the hunter. Rick, Glenn and Daryl had all been equally responsible for picking up stray's and offering them sanctuary behind the prison fences but for some reason the Woodbury people and the other survivors had attached themselves to the only surviving Dixon like barnacles latched onto the hull of a ship. Daryl couldn't take two steps without someone calling out for his immediate attention or yammering something in his ear about how thankful they were for the latest deer he'd managed to bag on a successful hunt.

He didn't do it for the attention. People had to band together now to survive, that was all. Safety in numbers. Didn't mean they had to hang off him like groupies. He wasn't used to that sort of attention. Merle would have been in his element, basking in the glow of the spotlight but that shit wasn't for Daryl. He was happy to live in the shadows. So long as his new adopted family survived to live another day that was enough for him.

He'd managed to steal away from the ruckus downstairs and catch a brief moment alone in his cell. When he'd lifted up the sheet and stepped over the threshold the first thing he'd noticed was a freshly laundered pile of clothing neatly folded on the foot of his bunk. When he'd set out that morning his clothes had been left rumpled on the floor where he'd thrown them the night before. There was no need as far as he was concerned to keep his cell looking like a slice of suburbia. No matter which way you dressed it up the group was still calling a prison their home. Only difference was this was the first time in history a Dixon was staying in the big house of his own free will. One person strived to make the place more liveable though: Carol. She was always doing things to make the cells seem more like a home and less like a cage.

Daryl knew without a doubt that she had been the one to gather his clothing and go to the trouble of cleaning it. No-one else was damn fool enough to try and mess with anything of his. He never saw the point of doing laundry; it was just going to get dirty again so why waste time washing something that was just going to get covered in filth five minutes later?

Her thinking to pick after him was nice but it did come with one downside; Daryl could never find half his stuff once Carol had cleaned.

If he left something on the ground in the morning at least he knew where it would be come nightfall. When Carol got in one of her cleaning moods there was no telling where he'd find any of his belongings.

The first time Carol ventured into his cell to spring clean Daryl hadn't been able to find his lighter for a week. Apparently the shelf on his old perch had been the logical place for the woman to put the small silver piece of metal. Turned out the case of the missing lighter was a half-assed attempt to make him quit smoking. For the life of him Daryl couldn't work out why she even bothered with that one. Soon enough whatever tobacco was left in Georgia would be a memory just like those overpriced coffee shops that were now just a ghost of the past.

The woman was stubborn though, he had to give her that. No matter how many times he tried to tell her she didn't need to worry about him she just went on doing what she was intent on doing. Washing his clothes and making sure he always had a plate come dinner time. It was nice change of pace from what he was used to. Before the world went to shit there hadn't been too many people who'd cared about him at all, but nice or not that didn't change the fact he could never find half his shit when he wanted it.

Another glance around his cell confirmed that his poncho that had been conveniently tossed on the top bunk late last night when he'd come in from watch was now no longer there. Winter was fast approaching and that poncho had become his new best friend during the midnight rotations he'd been handed for the upcoming week.

Looked like Carol decided the ratty old saddle blanket had been due for a wash.

With a sigh Daryl bent down and started sorting through the laundry in search of the poncho. Now was as good a time as any to see if Carol had allowed it back into his cell. Hopefully it wasn't one of those things she decided to store somewhere else for 'safekeeping'.

He was half-way through the meagre stack when he finally found the object of his search. The slight scent of lemons filled the small room when he lift the folded item from the pile. Where the woman managed to find lemon scented laundry powder in a county pen he didn't know, but despite his aversion to clean clothing he was thankful Carol had taken the time to do this for him. She really did everything in her power to make them all as comfortable as possible at the end of the world. First person to give a shit about him at all beside Merle was Carol. He'd thought about it many nights while they were all stuck out on the road and he'd never been able to work out why the woman wasted her time on him when no-one else had ever given him the time of day before.

He wouldn't admit to himself just how many nights he'd fallen asleep trying to decipher the mystery of that woman. In his former life it had been unheard of for someone to give so much without expecting anything back, but that's exactly who Carol was. She gave and gave and asked nothing for her troubles. She offered him friendship when no one else had ever tried to just be there for him. At first he'd suspected it was just because she'd lost Sophia but as time wore on he realized there was more to it than just gratitude to her thoughtful gestures. More and more he found himself seeking her out.

At the end of the world he had found a real friend. It nice knowing someone always had your back regardless of the situation. He trusted every member of his new family but with Carol it was…different. They seemed to share a bond that went further than mere trust.

Something stuck within the neck of the poncho caught his eye, interrupting his thoughts about the mystery of Carol and why she always had time for him. Whatever it was certainly didn't belong there; the former saddle blanket didn't have any blue threads on it last time he'd checked. Daryl gave the garment a sharp shake in an effort to dislodge what was wedged inside the tattered fabric.

Despite his best effort whatever was stuck in there wouldn't budge. Daryl whipped the poncho around more vigorously, sending the scent of lemons out across the enclosed room. With one final shake the offending article was let loose and went flying up in the air before falling to the floor in the far side of the cell.

He took a tentative step towards whatever the hell was now sitting in the corner of the concrete room. It was bright blue and small, no bigger than the red rag he always kept in his back pocket. The closer he drew to the mystery item didn't seem to make an ounce of difference though in revealing what it actually was; nothing he owned was that bright shade of blue. The problem with living on top of each other like they were doing was that everybody's shit got mixed up with everybody else's. Not that any of them had much left to lay claim to. Daryl himself only had a couple of pairs of pants and a few shirts, but when he caught sight of the tiny scrap of fabric as it landed he knew without a doubt it wasn't his.

He bent over and snatched it up with the intension of finding out what the hell it was and who the hell it belonged to. Daryl turned the item over in his hands, smoothing the bunched fabric as he moved. Bright blue with small white stars dotting every which way and a yellow 'WW' printed boldly across the front...

With a start Daryl dropped the tiny piece of fabric like it was on fire. The blue fluttered down to land on the middle of his bunk, taunting him with its mere existence. The hand previously holding the offending item felt like he'd just dipped it in acid he knew the heat rapidly spreading across his face would be the worst kind of blush imaginable; that of instant embarrassment. He knew damn well what the fabric was but he had no idea how it'd landed up in his stack of laundry. He also had no idea how he was supposed to go about getting it back to its rightful owner, whoever that was.

Lying on the middle of his unmade bunk was a pair of panties. Bright blue, very small sized Wonder Woman panties to be exact. He recognised the distinctive logo the moment he laid eyes on it. When he'd been a kid he'd spent hours of his summer vacation watching Wonder Woman as she spun around and around on TV, catching Nazi's with that golden lasso…

He'd really liked it when she span around like that. That made his day when he was a kid.

His face went red with embarrassment instantly, thinking that his calloused hands had been holding onto-

Shit! Hershel would have his hide if he knew Daryl had those in his procession…on his bed no less! Accident or not, there was no way a father wanted his daughters' unmentionables in the hands of a no-good redneck like him. If she was Daryl's daughter he'd shoot first and ask questions later if a man ever set about returning a piece of underwear. The old 'found these in my room by accident' sounded like a bullshit excuse for having that item in your possession in the first place.

The panties had to belong to Beth. That's all there was too it. She was the only kid at the prison those tiny-looking things would fit. Wonder Woman was the sort of thing a teenage girl would be wearing, right? End of the world or not, he'd seen Beth wear some damned stupid looking things as part of her wardrobe. All the other women living at the prison would be too old for that sort of shit, wouldn't they?

The underwear had to belong to Beth; there was no question about it. Carol must have taken some of the younger Greene's laundry to do as well that morning and gotten it mixed up with his by accident. It wasn't in Carol's nature to play this sort of a prank on him. Sure she liked to tease him and push the boundaries but Daryl knew she would never do something as downright underhanded as sneaking Beth's unmentionables in with his laundry just for her own amusement.

The blush on his face threatened to intensify, thinking about having to track Beth down and hand over the skimpy piece of cloth that apparently passed as underwear.

Daryl eyed the bright blue sitting on the middle of his mattress. The damned things taunted him like a snake poised to strike. Having a pair of Beth's panties in his possession was a nothing short of a venomous situation that was for sure. And it wasn't just the old man he had to worry about neither; Maggie had one hell of an Irish temper on her and Daryl did not want to get on that woman's bad side.

He'd seen her swing a blade at a walker's head. He could only imagine what part of him the woman decide needed to be lopped off if it crossed her mind that her baby sister had been knocking boots with someone like him.

As embarrassing as the situation was he couldn't seem to bring himself to move forward and get rid of the magnet for trouble. Daryl stood frozen to the spot, watching the panties that were now settled on his bunk. The longer he stared at them brighter they seemed to become until he was certain that the damned things were practically glowing in the darkness of the poorly lit cell.

He admitted to being a lot of things, but one thing Daryl Dixon never expected to be was scared shitless by a pair of Wonder Woman panties.

Looked like his moment of peace wasn't going to last after all.

"Don't be such a pussy," he said, working up the balls to just lean down and snatch the underwear up. He paced back and forth across the enclosed space, keeping his eyes firmly on the space inhabited by something that most definitely did not belong there.

If Merle had of still been alive he would have had a field day watching his baby brother pussy-foot his way around some cartoon underwear. Daryl could just hear that mocking drawl in his head now, 'Look at ya Darlina, scared of a pair o' panties like a damned pansy. Though you was only scared of what's hidden underneath drawers like that!'

"Shut up jackass," Daryl muttered under his breath. Merle had always given Daryl shit about how shy he was with women and apparently even death wasn't enough to silence his brother's taunting voice.

'Come on son…they ain't gonna bite,' Merle mocked inside Daryl's head again.

The memory of his older brother's cackling laughter was enough to break Daryl out of his holding pattern and finally make a move forward. With a crack of his knuckles the redneck swooped down and scooped the panties up, balling them tightly in his fist. He didn't want to anyone to catch a glimpse of the cargo he was delivering back to Beth.

Bracing himself, Daryl stepped out of his cell and cast a quick glance left and right glance down the empty walkway before he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and set up in search of the youngest Greene daughter.

Daryl just prayed that the girl wasn't with her father when he found her. Embarrassment aside, her old man was a decent shot and now that Hershel had an artificial leg he'd be harder to outrun then when he was on crutches.

A/N: Thanks for reading. This started out as a little something to write while I was on a plane, purely because all my other WIP seem to be at smutty/sensual points in the story and I needed something I could concentrate on that I wouldn't be worried about people reading over my shoulder mid-flight. Plus I happened to be seated next to some children and I didn't want them reading anything like that by accident (you know how curious kids can be). This was only going to be a tiny piece (my offering for Operation Levity) but it kept growing and growing so I decided to break it into several chapters to make it more assessable. There was also three breaks in the story that easily translated into separate chapters.

Hope you join me for future chapters Daryl and his search for the Wonder Woman fan.