#all hail the sparkly star god lady

[winds-of-zephyr416]

Hey everybody so uhhhhhhhhhh...............

Varda eyes.

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Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 14 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title:  Waltzing's for Dreamers

Rating: PG? 

Warnings: a little bit of language, some innuendo, consumption of alcohol. 

Characters/Pairings:  Carol/Daryl, Michonne, Lori Grimes, mention of Andrea Harrison, Philp Blake, Rick Grimes, mention of Shane Walsh, Jerry, Nabila, Carl Grimes, Sophia Peletier. 

 Posting this one in a hurry because I should have been in bed an hour ago, lol.  Hopefully, there aren't too many typos.

      Waltzing’s for Dreamers

  Almost a year and a half after Vegas. 

      King County Café is packed.  Literally teeming with holiday revelers and families old and young enjoying a Friday night out, tables and bodies pressed in so tight the frazzled but friendly waitresses look like they’re walking tightropes through the hubbub as they take and deliver orders. 

  By comparison, their claimed corner booth is quiet and Carol can’t help feeling a tiny irrational twinge of guilt.  Can’t help feeling like a thankless thief because they’re here celebrating her.  Lori and Michonne.  Andrea was supposed to be here, too, but she’s been working tirelessly since she joined Woodbury and Associates and Carol can’t hold that against her because she knows her friend wants to make a difference.  Knows she’s convinced that’s exactly what she’s doing, Michonne’s oft muttered reservations aside. 

  “I’m telling you right now.  That place?  That man?  As corrupt as they come.” 

  Lori frowns, sinks back in her seat because their friend is talking with her hands again and the more agitated she becomes, the more wildly the barbecue drenched rib she’s holding loosely between her fingers waves.  Like a drunken conductor’s baton, it moves up and down.  Back and forth and Lori’s brown eyes warily track its movements even as she makes a curious inquiry.  “How do you figure?” 

  Michonne merely lifts one of her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.  Vaguely answers, “Just a feeling.” 

  Lori accepts her response easily enough, stirring the ice in her drink with her straw and biting her lip.  “Maybe he’s a serial killer.” 

  Carol groans softly into her cupped hands.  “The serial killer thing again?  Michonne, tell her she’s being ridiculous.” 

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Michonne deadpans.  A beat later, she says, “The man’s shady as fuck.  There’s no maybes about it.” 

  Soda promptly spews from Carol’s mouth.  Flies across the table and does what the rib, thus far, miraculously has not:  hits Lori square in the face.  “Oh my God.  Lori, I’m so…I’m so...”  It’s all she can manage before she threatens to dissolve into girlish laughter, Michonne already sniggering beside her, her shoulders shaking with the effort to hold it in.  Both of them lose the doomed battle when the forgotten rib is launched across the table.  Skittering like a stone across a glass smooth pond and landing in some poor dumbfounded kid’s basket of fries a table away. 

  Lori snorts into the checkered table cloth she’s mopping her face dry with.  Uses it to hide her grin as she wisely hails their waitress for the check and she’s still smiling as they carefully pick their way to the front, single file with hands clasped as soon as the bill’s settled.  Spill out onto the sidewalk tittering like a bunch of school girls. 

  It’s a fanciful thought.  One that lingers with Carol as she allows them to pull her past Shrugg’s and toward the bar, the sign outside boasting of Christmas specials like Candy Cane Cocktails and Grinch Spritzers.  Before she knows it, her blood is buzzing with the combination of chocolate, Kahlua, and vodka and she feels warm and festive.  Loose and chatty while she watches her friends try to one up each other with the Santa shots that keep showing up at their table, her thoughts a little fuzzy but still able to focus on one distinct topic.  Which is more than she can say for either Lori or Michonne at this point.  “Got everything crossed off on Carl’s Christmas list?” 

  Lori slaps her latest shot glass down and shakes her head.  “His list only has two things on it.”

  Michonne’s brows pull together in a frown.  “That’s good, right?  Wasn’t it two pages long last year?  What does he want?” 

   “A Wii.” 

  “Oh.” 

  “Yeah, oh.  They’re sold out.  Rick’s looked everywhere.” 

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Michonne snorts as she lifts another shot glass to her lips, “but I’m not so sure Rick could find his own ass if his nose was buried in it.  His man Shane…” 

  Carol nudges Michonne’s foot with her own, cuts her off before all of her uncensored thoughts can trip right off her tongue and burrow right underneath Lori’s skin.  Blurts out a question she hopes will distract them before their happy little train skids off the tracks and their night out on the town is ruined.  “What’s the other thing?” 

  It’s Lori’s turn to frown.  Her brown eyes overly bright in the dim room.  “What other thing?”

  “You said there were two things on Carl’s list,” Carol reminds her softly.  “What’s the other thing?” 

  Lori blows out a frustrated breath before responding.  “A puppy.” 

  “Damn,” Michonne whistles.  “Sounds like Carl’s shit out of luck.” 

  Far from being offended, Lori actually seems to agree and her lips twitch into a bit of a rueful, tipsy smile.  “You can’t flush a puppy down the toilet.” 

  Michonne nods her head sagely, the off-color comment apparently making perfect sense in her alcohol-soaked brain.  “The kid still hasn’t passed obedience training.  It’s probably for the best.”  Picking up her forgotten White Christmas Mojito, she takes a sip.  “So.  Carol.” 

  Carol winces and lifts her drink back to her lips.  “I don’t like that look.” 

  “My look?  This isn’t about my look,” Michonne smirks.  “This is about your look and Lady, let me tell you.  You look happy.” 

  “I am.”  Carol squeezes Lori’s hand when she slides it across the table to cover her own.  “Happier than I’ve been in a long while.”

  “And I’m glad for it,” Michonne says.  “But I wasn’t finished.  Not yet.  As I was saying, you look happy.  And horny.” 

  Her cheeks flaming even as they dimple beneath her helpless smile, she sputters out a denial.  “I’m not…it’s just…is it hot in here?  I think, yeah.  I think I’m going to step out.  Get some fresh air.”  Shoving her chair back, she stands on legs that feel slightly unsteady.  Stumbles away but not before catching the rest of Michonne’s laughing prediction. 

  “…she gets home, she’s going to do Dixon six ways to Sunday.” 

  Their night out doesn’t last long after that. 

  Rick shows up in his squad car.  Packs them all in the back.  Promises that Michonne is going to safely sleep it off on his and Lori’s couch when he drops Carol off at home.  Offers his own congratulations on her first semester completed with a smile before saying his goodnights and U-turning in Jerry and Nabila’s driveway. 

  For a moment, Carol just admires the soft pretty glow of the twinkle lights and the shimmering outline of the tree in the window.  Breathes in the crisp December air and the possibilities she hasn’t allowed herself to believe in for so very long.  She lingers there under the glittering carpet of stars.  Soaks in that happy feeling until her feet start moving of their own volition and carry her inside.  And what she sees there?  Well, she’ll keep that picture on her cell phone for years.  Open it up and stare at it with a wistful smile whenever her heart feels heavy and longs to go back in time.  But this night?  This night she toes off her shoes and pads toward the couch in her socked feet.  Tiptoes to keep from waking them because it’s a picture that shouldn’t be disturbed.  Too bad her husband sleeps with one eye open. 

  “Hey,” Daryl croaks as he blinks awake.  Tries to tunnel a hand through his hair only to stop short. 

  Tinkling laughter spills from Carol’s lips when he realizes the error of his ways.  Tries to yank the hair ties free of his bangs.  Attempts to scrub his sleeve over the sparkly eye shadow that positively makes his blue eyes pop, all without jostling her baby girl awake.  “Love the new look.” 

  He gives up at that and drops his head back against the cushions.  Curls his arm tighter around Sophia when she whimpers in her sleep and grunts out a laugh.  “Never gonna let this one go, are you?” 

  Carefully crawling onto the couch beside him, she tucks herself beneath the protective wing of his other arm.  Feathers gentle fingers across the furrows in her little girl’s forehead until they smooth away and drops a kiss to his collarbone.  “Nope.  Would you?” 

  “Shit, no.” 

  “Didn’t think so.”  They laze there on that sofa for a while yet until the moon is high in the midnight sky and their bed starts calling her name.  And yeah.  Michonne wasn’t exactly wrong, but Carol’s always heard it put a different way.  Somewhere between six and forty ways to Sunday, she has her own celebration. 

  Daryl is only too happy to oblige.