[fic] Empty Handed [4/5]
Title: Empty Handed [4/5]
Author: badboy_fangirl
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Characters/Pairings: Daryl POV; Daryl/Beth; with appearances by everyone else.
Word Count: ~4600
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 / Spoilers through all of season four.
Summary:
Author's notes: The premise of this fic is that after Daryl goes through some pretty heavy shit, he gets reunited with Beth. It won't be so much the action of what he goes through as the mental anguish. It picks up with that all-night run at the end of "Alone." Title and opening verses lifted from Lea Michele's song "Empty Handed."
Previous chapters: [1] | [2] | [3]
If you came to me empty hearted
I'd find the pieces to make you whole
He thinks she's half proud, half ashamed of what she just shared, and the way her lower lip trembles seems to be her making up her mind about it. In the end, she starts crying, like she did that day on the railroad tracks. Deep wracking sobs shake her, and he drags her closer, holds her the way he should have then.
She clings to him and he finds that her grief mellows his anger. There isn't room for everything all at once, so he just tries to be what she needs. He scoops her up against his chest and moves over to the bed, settling them both down on it awkwardly.
He rubs one hand against the back of her head as her face settles in against the space where his shoulder curves into his neck. Her hair is longer than it was when he last saw her, and she's not wearing it in a ponytail anymore. He wonders about the perpetual braid she always had, and he misses it even while he likes being able to comb his fingers through the silky strands.
He just can't imagine anyone hurting Beth, not because he doesn't know what kind of evil is out there, because obviously he's seen it all, before Walkers and since. But he can't see how anyone who met Beth, or spent five minutes in her presence could ever want to hurt her.
Whoever they were, they're dead now, and they're in hell, he's sure of it. Because anyone who would hurt Beth, that's the only place they could be.
He holds her harder to his chest and whispers that he's proud of her. Her arms tighten convulsively around his neck, and her breath tickles his throat as her sobs lessen.
Eventually, she relaxes, the tears stop, and she snuggles against him. It's both perfectly comfortable and really fucking weird all at the same time, because even though she's been with him in his head every day of the last six months, they really haven't ever been this way with each other.
(Well, there was the time they were drunk and she held him while he cried, but, yeah, different.)
It's new, but it's old. She wipes her snotty nose on his shoulder and then apologizes, and Daryl just laughs. "No big deal, got lotsa clean clothes now."
Her answering chuckle is a bit watery, but it eases something in his chest. If she's okay, he'll be okay, too.
She tips her head back against his shoulder. "Wanna know why I killed them?"
He doesn't even miss a beat. "'Cause they fucking deserved it?" he asks.
She watches him, her gaze drifting across his face gently before focusing on his eyes. "I could hear you, in my head. I don't think the good ones survive. I was gonna survive. Or at the very least, I wasn't gonna let that be what got me. Walkers can't help what they are; bad men can. You had every reason in the world to be bad, and you're one of the best people I know. And I knew you woulda killed them. There was three of 'em. I had exactly three bullets." She sighs, dropping his gaze. "Poetic, right?"
Daryl snorts, but he runs his fingers lightly under her chin, caressing her face softly. "You ought to write a ditty about it."
She straightens up, lifting her head from his shoulder; her cheeks go rosy, which makes no sense to Daryl, but he can't think much on that when she's squirming in his lap, because now is not the time for those other thoughts to press their way through.
"I'm not one of the best people you know, Beth," he says, both because it's true and because redirecting his focus is all he's got now that they're alone together.
"Bullshit," she bites off. "You got me through this, Daryl Dixon, without even bein' there. Best. Person. Period." One of her fingers presses against his lips when he opens his mouth to argue some more. "Hush."
He does as he's told, if only to make her happy. "See that, over there?" he asks, nodding his head towards the desk across the room.
Beth turns her head and looks where he indicated. "What?" she replies automatically, and then she makes a little gasp and jumps off him and the bed simultaneously. "Is that my bag?"
"Yup," he confirms as she picks it up, looking at it with something like wonder. "Still got your spoon in it and everything." He wants to tell her about finding the spoon; about all the crazy thoughts he had about what it meant, and how it gave him hope even when he didn't want it to, and that basically the way she just described him is exactly what she is to him.
It's all too much, though, he finds. This morning he'd marked her up for a Guardian Angel and tonight, she sneaks into his room and cries all over him and he is so fucked.
In the best way possible, but still. His head is spinning.
She opens the bag and starts taking stuff out. She laughs softly as she sets the jar of jelly down on the desk. "That was good jelly," she murmurs, shaking her head. "We were so stupid, y'know. To stay there like we did. I've thought about it a million times. I just wanted it to be a good thing, but it was a trap."
Daryl makes a sound of agreement, but his eyes just trace the curve of her back, the small dip of it leading his gaze to her ass. He can't stop staring at her, all of her--she's new and different than the Beth in his head, but at the same time she feels like the only constant he's had since...maybe ever. (She's definitely the only good constant he's ever had.) When she turns and looks at him over her shoulder, he jerks his eyes northward. "But then I thought about the good things that happened there," she continues. "And even though it was a trap, I wouldn't've traded it. Those hours with you were what made me fight. They still make me fight, every day. I couldn't let you down."
"Beth..."
"Can I sleep here?" she asks suddenly, and Daryl feels his ears go hot. "I just...I haven't felt safe, even though I know I am safe here. I haven't felt it, y'know? And I think if I slept here with you, I'd feel it."
She's looking at him with so much trust, he couldn't say no even if he wanted to, and he doesn't want to, but at the same time, it sort of freaks him the fuck out. "What about Carol?" he asks. "Ain't she gonna wonder where you're at?"
A little smile plays at her lips. "She knows," she replies, and even though that makes his eyebrows go up in shock, Beth is completely unfazed. "I'm a grown woman, Daryl. I can go wherever I want."
She slides her hand back into the bag and pulls the spoon out before coming back to sit next to him on the bed. "Why'd you keep my bag?" she asks, but her voice is all soft like she already knows the answer.
What changed your mind?
He shrugs, but the corners of his mouth twitch up in a slow, involuntary smile. "You know."
Her lips curve in an echo of his. "Yes, I do," she murmurs.
Did he mention, so fucked? Because, so, totally, fucked.
He lays down on the bed, and waits for her to lay beside him.
He takes a deep breath and then forgets to release it, and it's not until she rests her head against his shoulder that he remembers.
It couldn't be more innocent, really it couldn't. She rubs her cheek back and forth and mumbles, "Almost as comfy as that coffin, remember?" and he's taken back to an even more innocent moment.
Okay, so this isn't that innocent. At the funeral home, thoughts started, but they were like the smallest sapling bursting up through new ground. Mostly he'd been so puzzled by everything that Beth was, he hadn't been able to make much sense of it beyond the fact that he had found a reason to keep on because of her. Now, he knows, all the parts, because he's had so much time to think on it, and Beth's not stupid. She's not lying next to him for comfort only, but that's all either of them are ready for, and that's okay.
He's gotta be conscious of everything he does, of every move he makes; he's got to show he knows she needs to be handled with care, and that he'll do whatever it takes to make sure she feels safe. He's never wanted to do anything more in his life.
Gently, he reaches for her hand, and slides his fingers through hers.
And just like that, it's lights out.
Within a week, Daryl's on the Task Force with Tyreese, Maggie, and Michonne. Rick, because of his previous work being a Sheriff's Deputy, gets a gig as an actual cop, which is a different responsibility than the Task Force. Cops, like always, are meant to enforce the law, while the Task Force does grid sweeps and disposes of Walkers if need be.
So far, things have been pretty low key, but Daryl finds out that the population count is somewhere around 300,000, which is about half of what it was in the city pre-Apocalypse. Crime is low for the time being, mostly because everyone's just getting used to regular society again.
There are, of course, already people in jail, though, so it's not like they're suddenly living in Paradise.
But, if you asked Daryl, he'd be pretty hard pressed to call it anything else. They haven't found him permanent housing just yet, which is fine with him, because every night Beth comes to his room and they talk and snuggle and sleep (just sleep) and if that's the way life were to go on forever, he thinks he'd be fine with it. They laugh, and whisper about things (like how Rick comes calling at Beth's house for Michonne), and they have these discussions about how regardless of life being less dangerous now, Daryl's not really willing to go anywhere without his crossbow. Beth shows him the knife she wears strapped to her calf, and he gets a bit riled up about it, both because it's under her work pants, which are loose-fitting slacks that she tugs up to expose her leg to him, and because it's his knife, the one she continually stole from him when they were together. She had managed to make it all the way there with it, and she kept it on her body at all times, and well, let's be real, it doesn't take much now.
Just being around Beth, or just thinking about Beth, or just knowing Beth exists is enough to get him going these days.
He feels more alive than he ever has in his life; like every ray of light is brighter, and every peal of laughter is louder, and every moment with Beth is better than the last one because they have so many moments, not living in a constant state of fear.
They go places with their friends, they have picnics outside, and they take walks around national monuments he never thought he'd care to see, but they start to be special to him because of being with her.
And Beth laughs. At things he says, at jokes Carl makes, at the funny things Judith does. And her eyes are only shadowed sometimes. Daryl finds that they're always unclouded when she first wakes in the morning, when she blinks sleepily, whispering hi to him like he's the only person she wants to see. She holds his hand proudly and no one even bothers to ask him what's going on, which is good, because he doesn't know what he'd say.
Just, happy, he guesses.
Except for when he thinks on what she went through too much, but when those thoughts come, it just makes him more determined to treat her kindly.
Sleeping with her every night adds to his sweet misery. Because it is torture, but he wouldn't change a thing.
He'll take Beth on whatever terms she wants to offer, without a complaint. She's alive, and well, and happy, and that's all he wanted.
(He can't help but notice how much bigger her smile is when it's pointed at him.)
He wakes up on a Saturday a few weeks later with her between his legs. She's lying with her head on his upper abdomen, but her body is on top of his, and in his sleep, he'd accommodated her by moving his legs so that she's resting between them.
Which means her chest is over his crotch, and this will be hella awkward when she wakes up.
(Not that they haven't had some awkwardness already, come to think of it, considering they sleep fully clothed. It made sense when they were sleeping outside, when they were on the run, but now they should have progressed to pajamas or something, but no, for the most part Daryl slept in whatever clothes he wore that day, and Beth did too. Yes, he knows they are fucking ridiculous.)
Daryl takes a deep breath and averts his eyes to the ceiling. It doesn't help to see her hair spread out across his chest, and he wills his body to relax. This has been happening a lot more lately (his general excitement, and the low-grade arousal he walks around with most of the time), and his trick has been to remember that Beth's not ready, that she'd been hurt, that he probably wouldn't be very easy with her anyway because the hunger inside him for her is pretty damn strong and the last thing he wants to do is frighten her. It works for the most part, and this morning isn't all that different.
Except for when he feels her shift against him and he lets his gaze move back to her. She lifts her head, gives him her normal sleepy smile, and then she moves forward, climbing up his body in this completely natural but thoroughly surprising way until their lips meet.
As far as first kisses go, Daryl might give it a score of half a million, but it goes from first kiss to second base in a split second. Beth, on top of him, her jean-clad thighs shifting to the outside of his in delicious friction while her hands surround his face and her head angles slightly to the left so that when his mouth opens and his tongue thrusts forward without his conscious thought, he's like a fly caught in a spider's web. His mind races to the fact that he shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't touch her, not when terrible things have happened to her, but his hands are under the hem of her shirt, her silky skin drawing his fingertips upwards, over her trembling stomach to her breasts, which fill his palms perfectly, and all logical, rational thought just fucking runs for the hills.
She pulls back for a breath, and Daryl whispers her name. She opens her eyes, and they look at each other, and he finds some superhuman strength within himself. Quickly withdrawing his hands from her shirt, he grasps her shoulders firmly, moving her off him so that she's lying beside him.
What rests on the tip of his tongue are a few phrases like, are you sure? or is this the right time? but the idea of the answers to those questions, either positive or negative, weigh on him with sudden intensity. He's not sure what he wants to hear her say, both possibilities huge responsibilities that matter to him so much, he just can't quite deal with them.
He finds himself shaking his head at her, and then jerkily sitting up and climbing over her to get off the bed. With space between them, he manages to feel like control is a reality.
(It's a fantasy, a fucking fantasy that he has been clinging to for what seems like forever.)
He knows he should say something, but words have never been his strength and they have completely abandoned him now.
She's just looking at him with those eyes, like she sees everything, which she probably does, and it just rattles him even more.
"Daryl--"
"I'm gonna go," he interrupts, and he bails. He just turns to the door, jerks it open, and practically runs through it. It slams behind him from the momentum of his own body, but he doesn't look back to see if it opens again.
He doesn't have anywhere to be, and since he's barefoot, how far can he really get? But he doesn't stop moving until he's out of the dorms and walking gingerly across the parking lot.
He has no idea what he's even doing until he ends up at Glenn and Maggie's door.
Pummeling his fist against the wood harshly, he waits.
Glenn comes to the door, his pants on, but no shirt, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Hey, Daryl," he says around a yawn. "What's up?"
"Maggie here?" Daryl asks, walking into their one-bedroom apartment when Glenn gestures for him to come inside.
"Nope, she's working," Glenn shuts the door and then follows Daryl over to the small sofa they have in their living room. "Is everything okay?" he asks, his voice no longer tinged with sleep, but instead filled with concern.
"Yeah, yeah," Daryl says, and then he sits down heavily on the little couch. Glenn and Maggie's other piece of furniture is a folding camping chair, and Glenn settles himself into it as he watches Daryl. "No," Daryl spits. "I don't know. Fuck," he mutters, dragging his hands through his hair.
"You want me to find out when Maggie has lunch?" Glenn offers.
Daryl shakes his head. "I wanted to talk to you, not Maggie," he says, and his half-formed thoughts finally come together. "I need to know--how did y'all deal with...when Maggie got hurt, y'know? When the Governor...what..." but he can't quite make the words come out.
Glenn looks completely lost; when Daryl realizes his friend doesn't actually know what he's asking, he wonders if talking to Maggie might be a smarter choice. He forces the words out. "When the Governor assaulted Maggie. How did you deal with it?"
Glenn's eyes dart away, and then he looks down at his hands. "Oh, that. Yeah, uh, well. I didn't handle it very well at all; I just sorta filled up with rage, you know, and Maggie had to have space from me. It took us a while to get back to a good place, but we did eventually." Glenn raises his gaze back to Daryl's face. "Maggie wasn't raped, though, Daryl. I mean, he scared her good, and all, but he didn't actually rape her. So, it's probably different with Beth. Is she needing space?"
Daryl shakes his head. He's a moron, and he knows it. Just hearing Glenn say I didn't handle it very well at all, he imagines a poster on a wall with his picture and that caption. "She kissed me this morning, but, like, uh..." He doesn't know why it's so fucking hard to say this. How many times had he teased Glenn and Maggie about their obvious sexual relationship, and now that it's him, he's like a seventh grader.
He just can't be light about it, not about Beth. It means too much.
She means too much.
"If she's initiating it, go with it," Glenn says. "That's what happened with Maggie. When she was ready, she showed me. I just followed her lead."
"Yeah, okay, I get that, but that was after y'all had been together for a while. Me and Beth never..." He tips his head and gives Glenn a meaningful stare.
"Oh!" Glenn says, his eyes going comically wide in apparent surprise. "Oh, I guess I just thought you hooked up, before, you know, when you were alone." Daryl shakes his head once negatively and Glenn shrugs. "I don't know, then. I mean, you guys are together, obviously. Everyone knows it. That's part of it. That sort of seals the deal, you know?"
And that's it. Daryl stands up, pacing around the postage stamp-sized room while rubbing his hands against his face. He knows that if they go there, cross that line, it will change everything. Not that he'll love her more, or be anymore willing to do whatever he has to for her, but it will just take them to a place that he's never been before.
Maybe Beth loved Jimmy or Zach, he doesn't really know. What it means for him is bigger than all that. It's bigger than anything ever in his life before.
And that scares the shit out of him.
I ain't afraid of nothing.
Biggest fucking liar ever.
He says an awkward goodbye to Glenn and walks slowly back to his room, not really ready to face what he's got to face, but feeling full of shame for taking off on Beth in the first place; he goes back to own up to it, to see if she can forgive him. He imagines her getting in his face and calling him on his shit, and he knows he deserves it, and maybe part of him thinks the answers will come easier if they just have it out.
When he gets there, though, she's gone.
He changes his clothes and puts on socks and boots before heading over to her house, but she ain't there either. Carol gives him a puzzled look and says, "I thought she was with you?" to which he doesn't answer, he just asks her to tell Beth he's looking for her if she turns up.
Then he heads all over D.C. looking for her in the places they've most often frequented together, but he comes up empty. He spends all day walking around, hoping, but finally in the late afternoon he gives up and goes home.
He's had plenty of time now to think about what he'd say, but it all sounds so stupid in his head that he can't help but wonder if any of this is worth it. He knows whatever he could do to hang on to Beth is important, but what he's always thought, even if he tried to forget it for a little while, is that it's not worth nothing for her. She might attribute her survival to him, and he might even concede that he helped her some, but in the long run, what does he really have to offer?
He hadn't been able to keep her safe when it mattered most, and now he's not even sure if he can do right by her, largely because he doesn't know what the right thing is.
It's just a big fucking mess, and at the heart of him, Daryl will always look for the simplest answer.
He knows what that is, for Beth. Get out while you still can.
When he gets back to his room, he pushes open the door slowly and realizes he actually went out without his crossbow; he hadn't even thought about it once, and that was a first.
Maybe the whole thing with Beth is blown, but he might actually be adapting to normal society again.
"Have a seat, Mr. Dixon," Beth says, causing his head to jerk up and he all but screams in fright.
"Holy shit, Beth," he mutters, giving her a look. She's sitting on his bed, but she's pointing at the desk chair across from her. She moved it so it's dead square in the room, exactly in the middle between the desk and the bed. On the floor where Daryl's feet will go when he sits is a shot glass and a bottle of something.
He sits down, eying her warily. "Where'd you get that?" he asks, nodding towards whatever the bottle is.
The funniest thing about a city being rebuilt after utter and total devastation? The liquor stores were some of the first things to get restored, and they were certainly still some of the biggest money makers, at least according to Rick. But the drinking age was still 21, so Beth getting her hands on something wouldn't be super easy.
"I asked Michonne to buy it for me. I told her it was a present for you, so she didn't question it."
Daryl leans down and grabs the bottle. He can't smother the laugh that bubbles up in his chest. "She didn't question that I'd hate Peach Schnapps?"
"I told her it was a private joke."
He realizes then, though Beth isn't smiling, that she's not gonna go gentle on him, and he knows it's the least he's earned.
"Beth--"
"I'll go first," she interrupts. "I never ran out on someone when they were trying to share something super important with me."
She leans down and grabs the shot glass, shoving it towards him. "Drink," she says, her voice hard and unyielding.
He stares at her, but twists the cap off the bottle. She doesn't blink, just narrows her eyes slightly when he hesitates. Finally, he takes the glass from her and pours the shot.
He throws it back, grimacing as it goes down. "Yep," he mutters. "Just as gross as I remember it."
"It's your turn," Beth says.
"This isn't a good idea," he says, trying to ease the tension with a smile. "C'mon, Beth. I'm here, and I'm ready to talk. 'M sorry about--"
"Just play the game, Daryl," she interrupts him again, and his stomach knots up.
He takes a deep breath, his brain scrambling for something, anything that can turn this around for him.
He knows she's here because she cares, because she wants it to be set right, but she's also pissed, which is why she's doing this. He should probably remind her what happens when he gets drunk.
'Course, she already thinks he's a dick, he can tell by her facial expression.
He's quiet too long, because she says, "Your turn," again, sounding even angrier.
"I never..." and this is why he fucking hates this game, because he can't ever think fast enough to come up with something good, and he feels like whatever comes out of his mouth next better be the goddamn smartest thing he's ever said.
He clears his throat, trying to buy just a sliver of a chance more. And then it hits him.
It's do or die. Now or never. Right or wrong.
Maybe this will make her run, as fast and as far as she oughta.
"I've never..." His grip on the bottle tightens so that the glass squeaks under his fingers. "I've never...had sex...with someone I love."
He raises the bottle to his lips, and Beth's mouth opens, either in shock or to protest him drinking when it's not his turn. He sucks down a large gulp of the awful tasting liquid, and tears spring to his eyes, he hopes because of the alcohol, but maybe it's everything else. "And I'm scared shitless, Beth. God's honest truth. Do with it whatever the hell you want."
...Chapter Five...
Author: badboy_fangirl
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Characters/Pairings: Daryl POV; Daryl/Beth; with appearances by everyone else.
Word Count: ~4600
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 / Spoilers through all of season four.
Summary:
Author's notes: The premise of this fic is that after Daryl goes through some pretty heavy shit, he gets reunited with Beth. It won't be so much the action of what he goes through as the mental anguish. It picks up with that all-night run at the end of "Alone." Title and opening verses lifted from Lea Michele's song "Empty Handed."
Previous chapters: [1] | [2] | [3]
If you came to me empty hearted
I'd find the pieces to make you whole
He thinks she's half proud, half ashamed of what she just shared, and the way her lower lip trembles seems to be her making up her mind about it. In the end, she starts crying, like she did that day on the railroad tracks. Deep wracking sobs shake her, and he drags her closer, holds her the way he should have then.
She clings to him and he finds that her grief mellows his anger. There isn't room for everything all at once, so he just tries to be what she needs. He scoops her up against his chest and moves over to the bed, settling them both down on it awkwardly.
He rubs one hand against the back of her head as her face settles in against the space where his shoulder curves into his neck. Her hair is longer than it was when he last saw her, and she's not wearing it in a ponytail anymore. He wonders about the perpetual braid she always had, and he misses it even while he likes being able to comb his fingers through the silky strands.
He just can't imagine anyone hurting Beth, not because he doesn't know what kind of evil is out there, because obviously he's seen it all, before Walkers and since. But he can't see how anyone who met Beth, or spent five minutes in her presence could ever want to hurt her.
Whoever they were, they're dead now, and they're in hell, he's sure of it. Because anyone who would hurt Beth, that's the only place they could be.
He holds her harder to his chest and whispers that he's proud of her. Her arms tighten convulsively around his neck, and her breath tickles his throat as her sobs lessen.
Eventually, she relaxes, the tears stop, and she snuggles against him. It's both perfectly comfortable and really fucking weird all at the same time, because even though she's been with him in his head every day of the last six months, they really haven't ever been this way with each other.
(Well, there was the time they were drunk and she held him while he cried, but, yeah, different.)
It's new, but it's old. She wipes her snotty nose on his shoulder and then apologizes, and Daryl just laughs. "No big deal, got lotsa clean clothes now."
Her answering chuckle is a bit watery, but it eases something in his chest. If she's okay, he'll be okay, too.
She tips her head back against his shoulder. "Wanna know why I killed them?"
He doesn't even miss a beat. "'Cause they fucking deserved it?" he asks.
She watches him, her gaze drifting across his face gently before focusing on his eyes. "I could hear you, in my head. I don't think the good ones survive. I was gonna survive. Or at the very least, I wasn't gonna let that be what got me. Walkers can't help what they are; bad men can. You had every reason in the world to be bad, and you're one of the best people I know. And I knew you woulda killed them. There was three of 'em. I had exactly three bullets." She sighs, dropping his gaze. "Poetic, right?"
Daryl snorts, but he runs his fingers lightly under her chin, caressing her face softly. "You ought to write a ditty about it."
She straightens up, lifting her head from his shoulder; her cheeks go rosy, which makes no sense to Daryl, but he can't think much on that when she's squirming in his lap, because now is not the time for those other thoughts to press their way through.
"I'm not one of the best people you know, Beth," he says, both because it's true and because redirecting his focus is all he's got now that they're alone together.
"Bullshit," she bites off. "You got me through this, Daryl Dixon, without even bein' there. Best. Person. Period." One of her fingers presses against his lips when he opens his mouth to argue some more. "Hush."
He does as he's told, if only to make her happy. "See that, over there?" he asks, nodding his head towards the desk across the room.
Beth turns her head and looks where he indicated. "What?" she replies automatically, and then she makes a little gasp and jumps off him and the bed simultaneously. "Is that my bag?"
"Yup," he confirms as she picks it up, looking at it with something like wonder. "Still got your spoon in it and everything." He wants to tell her about finding the spoon; about all the crazy thoughts he had about what it meant, and how it gave him hope even when he didn't want it to, and that basically the way she just described him is exactly what she is to him.
It's all too much, though, he finds. This morning he'd marked her up for a Guardian Angel and tonight, she sneaks into his room and cries all over him and he is so fucked.
In the best way possible, but still. His head is spinning.
She opens the bag and starts taking stuff out. She laughs softly as she sets the jar of jelly down on the desk. "That was good jelly," she murmurs, shaking her head. "We were so stupid, y'know. To stay there like we did. I've thought about it a million times. I just wanted it to be a good thing, but it was a trap."
Daryl makes a sound of agreement, but his eyes just trace the curve of her back, the small dip of it leading his gaze to her ass. He can't stop staring at her, all of her--she's new and different than the Beth in his head, but at the same time she feels like the only constant he's had since...maybe ever. (She's definitely the only good constant he's ever had.) When she turns and looks at him over her shoulder, he jerks his eyes northward. "But then I thought about the good things that happened there," she continues. "And even though it was a trap, I wouldn't've traded it. Those hours with you were what made me fight. They still make me fight, every day. I couldn't let you down."
"Beth..."
"Can I sleep here?" she asks suddenly, and Daryl feels his ears go hot. "I just...I haven't felt safe, even though I know I am safe here. I haven't felt it, y'know? And I think if I slept here with you, I'd feel it."
She's looking at him with so much trust, he couldn't say no even if he wanted to, and he doesn't want to, but at the same time, it sort of freaks him the fuck out. "What about Carol?" he asks. "Ain't she gonna wonder where you're at?"
A little smile plays at her lips. "She knows," she replies, and even though that makes his eyebrows go up in shock, Beth is completely unfazed. "I'm a grown woman, Daryl. I can go wherever I want."
She slides her hand back into the bag and pulls the spoon out before coming back to sit next to him on the bed. "Why'd you keep my bag?" she asks, but her voice is all soft like she already knows the answer.
What changed your mind?
He shrugs, but the corners of his mouth twitch up in a slow, involuntary smile. "You know."
Her lips curve in an echo of his. "Yes, I do," she murmurs.
Did he mention, so fucked? Because, so, totally, fucked.
He lays down on the bed, and waits for her to lay beside him.
He takes a deep breath and then forgets to release it, and it's not until she rests her head against his shoulder that he remembers.
It couldn't be more innocent, really it couldn't. She rubs her cheek back and forth and mumbles, "Almost as comfy as that coffin, remember?" and he's taken back to an even more innocent moment.
Okay, so this isn't that innocent. At the funeral home, thoughts started, but they were like the smallest sapling bursting up through new ground. Mostly he'd been so puzzled by everything that Beth was, he hadn't been able to make much sense of it beyond the fact that he had found a reason to keep on because of her. Now, he knows, all the parts, because he's had so much time to think on it, and Beth's not stupid. She's not lying next to him for comfort only, but that's all either of them are ready for, and that's okay.
He's gotta be conscious of everything he does, of every move he makes; he's got to show he knows she needs to be handled with care, and that he'll do whatever it takes to make sure she feels safe. He's never wanted to do anything more in his life.
Gently, he reaches for her hand, and slides his fingers through hers.
And just like that, it's lights out.
Within a week, Daryl's on the Task Force with Tyreese, Maggie, and Michonne. Rick, because of his previous work being a Sheriff's Deputy, gets a gig as an actual cop, which is a different responsibility than the Task Force. Cops, like always, are meant to enforce the law, while the Task Force does grid sweeps and disposes of Walkers if need be.
So far, things have been pretty low key, but Daryl finds out that the population count is somewhere around 300,000, which is about half of what it was in the city pre-Apocalypse. Crime is low for the time being, mostly because everyone's just getting used to regular society again.
There are, of course, already people in jail, though, so it's not like they're suddenly living in Paradise.
But, if you asked Daryl, he'd be pretty hard pressed to call it anything else. They haven't found him permanent housing just yet, which is fine with him, because every night Beth comes to his room and they talk and snuggle and sleep (just sleep) and if that's the way life were to go on forever, he thinks he'd be fine with it. They laugh, and whisper about things (like how Rick comes calling at Beth's house for Michonne), and they have these discussions about how regardless of life being less dangerous now, Daryl's not really willing to go anywhere without his crossbow. Beth shows him the knife she wears strapped to her calf, and he gets a bit riled up about it, both because it's under her work pants, which are loose-fitting slacks that she tugs up to expose her leg to him, and because it's his knife, the one she continually stole from him when they were together. She had managed to make it all the way there with it, and she kept it on her body at all times, and well, let's be real, it doesn't take much now.
Just being around Beth, or just thinking about Beth, or just knowing Beth exists is enough to get him going these days.
He feels more alive than he ever has in his life; like every ray of light is brighter, and every peal of laughter is louder, and every moment with Beth is better than the last one because they have so many moments, not living in a constant state of fear.
They go places with their friends, they have picnics outside, and they take walks around national monuments he never thought he'd care to see, but they start to be special to him because of being with her.
And Beth laughs. At things he says, at jokes Carl makes, at the funny things Judith does. And her eyes are only shadowed sometimes. Daryl finds that they're always unclouded when she first wakes in the morning, when she blinks sleepily, whispering hi to him like he's the only person she wants to see. She holds his hand proudly and no one even bothers to ask him what's going on, which is good, because he doesn't know what he'd say.
Just, happy, he guesses.
Except for when he thinks on what she went through too much, but when those thoughts come, it just makes him more determined to treat her kindly.
Sleeping with her every night adds to his sweet misery. Because it is torture, but he wouldn't change a thing.
He'll take Beth on whatever terms she wants to offer, without a complaint. She's alive, and well, and happy, and that's all he wanted.
(He can't help but notice how much bigger her smile is when it's pointed at him.)
He wakes up on a Saturday a few weeks later with her between his legs. She's lying with her head on his upper abdomen, but her body is on top of his, and in his sleep, he'd accommodated her by moving his legs so that she's resting between them.
Which means her chest is over his crotch, and this will be hella awkward when she wakes up.
(Not that they haven't had some awkwardness already, come to think of it, considering they sleep fully clothed. It made sense when they were sleeping outside, when they were on the run, but now they should have progressed to pajamas or something, but no, for the most part Daryl slept in whatever clothes he wore that day, and Beth did too. Yes, he knows they are fucking ridiculous.)
Daryl takes a deep breath and averts his eyes to the ceiling. It doesn't help to see her hair spread out across his chest, and he wills his body to relax. This has been happening a lot more lately (his general excitement, and the low-grade arousal he walks around with most of the time), and his trick has been to remember that Beth's not ready, that she'd been hurt, that he probably wouldn't be very easy with her anyway because the hunger inside him for her is pretty damn strong and the last thing he wants to do is frighten her. It works for the most part, and this morning isn't all that different.
Except for when he feels her shift against him and he lets his gaze move back to her. She lifts her head, gives him her normal sleepy smile, and then she moves forward, climbing up his body in this completely natural but thoroughly surprising way until their lips meet.
As far as first kisses go, Daryl might give it a score of half a million, but it goes from first kiss to second base in a split second. Beth, on top of him, her jean-clad thighs shifting to the outside of his in delicious friction while her hands surround his face and her head angles slightly to the left so that when his mouth opens and his tongue thrusts forward without his conscious thought, he's like a fly caught in a spider's web. His mind races to the fact that he shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't touch her, not when terrible things have happened to her, but his hands are under the hem of her shirt, her silky skin drawing his fingertips upwards, over her trembling stomach to her breasts, which fill his palms perfectly, and all logical, rational thought just fucking runs for the hills.
She pulls back for a breath, and Daryl whispers her name. She opens her eyes, and they look at each other, and he finds some superhuman strength within himself. Quickly withdrawing his hands from her shirt, he grasps her shoulders firmly, moving her off him so that she's lying beside him.
What rests on the tip of his tongue are a few phrases like, are you sure? or is this the right time? but the idea of the answers to those questions, either positive or negative, weigh on him with sudden intensity. He's not sure what he wants to hear her say, both possibilities huge responsibilities that matter to him so much, he just can't quite deal with them.
He finds himself shaking his head at her, and then jerkily sitting up and climbing over her to get off the bed. With space between them, he manages to feel like control is a reality.
(It's a fantasy, a fucking fantasy that he has been clinging to for what seems like forever.)
He knows he should say something, but words have never been his strength and they have completely abandoned him now.
She's just looking at him with those eyes, like she sees everything, which she probably does, and it just rattles him even more.
"Daryl--"
"I'm gonna go," he interrupts, and he bails. He just turns to the door, jerks it open, and practically runs through it. It slams behind him from the momentum of his own body, but he doesn't look back to see if it opens again.
He doesn't have anywhere to be, and since he's barefoot, how far can he really get? But he doesn't stop moving until he's out of the dorms and walking gingerly across the parking lot.
He has no idea what he's even doing until he ends up at Glenn and Maggie's door.
Pummeling his fist against the wood harshly, he waits.
Glenn comes to the door, his pants on, but no shirt, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Hey, Daryl," he says around a yawn. "What's up?"
"Maggie here?" Daryl asks, walking into their one-bedroom apartment when Glenn gestures for him to come inside.
"Nope, she's working," Glenn shuts the door and then follows Daryl over to the small sofa they have in their living room. "Is everything okay?" he asks, his voice no longer tinged with sleep, but instead filled with concern.
"Yeah, yeah," Daryl says, and then he sits down heavily on the little couch. Glenn and Maggie's other piece of furniture is a folding camping chair, and Glenn settles himself into it as he watches Daryl. "No," Daryl spits. "I don't know. Fuck," he mutters, dragging his hands through his hair.
"You want me to find out when Maggie has lunch?" Glenn offers.
Daryl shakes his head. "I wanted to talk to you, not Maggie," he says, and his half-formed thoughts finally come together. "I need to know--how did y'all deal with...when Maggie got hurt, y'know? When the Governor...what..." but he can't quite make the words come out.
Glenn looks completely lost; when Daryl realizes his friend doesn't actually know what he's asking, he wonders if talking to Maggie might be a smarter choice. He forces the words out. "When the Governor assaulted Maggie. How did you deal with it?"
Glenn's eyes dart away, and then he looks down at his hands. "Oh, that. Yeah, uh, well. I didn't handle it very well at all; I just sorta filled up with rage, you know, and Maggie had to have space from me. It took us a while to get back to a good place, but we did eventually." Glenn raises his gaze back to Daryl's face. "Maggie wasn't raped, though, Daryl. I mean, he scared her good, and all, but he didn't actually rape her. So, it's probably different with Beth. Is she needing space?"
Daryl shakes his head. He's a moron, and he knows it. Just hearing Glenn say I didn't handle it very well at all, he imagines a poster on a wall with his picture and that caption. "She kissed me this morning, but, like, uh..." He doesn't know why it's so fucking hard to say this. How many times had he teased Glenn and Maggie about their obvious sexual relationship, and now that it's him, he's like a seventh grader.
He just can't be light about it, not about Beth. It means too much.
She means too much.
"If she's initiating it, go with it," Glenn says. "That's what happened with Maggie. When she was ready, she showed me. I just followed her lead."
"Yeah, okay, I get that, but that was after y'all had been together for a while. Me and Beth never..." He tips his head and gives Glenn a meaningful stare.
"Oh!" Glenn says, his eyes going comically wide in apparent surprise. "Oh, I guess I just thought you hooked up, before, you know, when you were alone." Daryl shakes his head once negatively and Glenn shrugs. "I don't know, then. I mean, you guys are together, obviously. Everyone knows it. That's part of it. That sort of seals the deal, you know?"
And that's it. Daryl stands up, pacing around the postage stamp-sized room while rubbing his hands against his face. He knows that if they go there, cross that line, it will change everything. Not that he'll love her more, or be anymore willing to do whatever he has to for her, but it will just take them to a place that he's never been before.
Maybe Beth loved Jimmy or Zach, he doesn't really know. What it means for him is bigger than all that. It's bigger than anything ever in his life before.
And that scares the shit out of him.
I ain't afraid of nothing.
Biggest fucking liar ever.
He says an awkward goodbye to Glenn and walks slowly back to his room, not really ready to face what he's got to face, but feeling full of shame for taking off on Beth in the first place; he goes back to own up to it, to see if she can forgive him. He imagines her getting in his face and calling him on his shit, and he knows he deserves it, and maybe part of him thinks the answers will come easier if they just have it out.
When he gets there, though, she's gone.
He changes his clothes and puts on socks and boots before heading over to her house, but she ain't there either. Carol gives him a puzzled look and says, "I thought she was with you?" to which he doesn't answer, he just asks her to tell Beth he's looking for her if she turns up.
Then he heads all over D.C. looking for her in the places they've most often frequented together, but he comes up empty. He spends all day walking around, hoping, but finally in the late afternoon he gives up and goes home.
He's had plenty of time now to think about what he'd say, but it all sounds so stupid in his head that he can't help but wonder if any of this is worth it. He knows whatever he could do to hang on to Beth is important, but what he's always thought, even if he tried to forget it for a little while, is that it's not worth nothing for her. She might attribute her survival to him, and he might even concede that he helped her some, but in the long run, what does he really have to offer?
He hadn't been able to keep her safe when it mattered most, and now he's not even sure if he can do right by her, largely because he doesn't know what the right thing is.
It's just a big fucking mess, and at the heart of him, Daryl will always look for the simplest answer.
He knows what that is, for Beth. Get out while you still can.
When he gets back to his room, he pushes open the door slowly and realizes he actually went out without his crossbow; he hadn't even thought about it once, and that was a first.
Maybe the whole thing with Beth is blown, but he might actually be adapting to normal society again.
"Have a seat, Mr. Dixon," Beth says, causing his head to jerk up and he all but screams in fright.
"Holy shit, Beth," he mutters, giving her a look. She's sitting on his bed, but she's pointing at the desk chair across from her. She moved it so it's dead square in the room, exactly in the middle between the desk and the bed. On the floor where Daryl's feet will go when he sits is a shot glass and a bottle of something.
He sits down, eying her warily. "Where'd you get that?" he asks, nodding towards whatever the bottle is.
The funniest thing about a city being rebuilt after utter and total devastation? The liquor stores were some of the first things to get restored, and they were certainly still some of the biggest money makers, at least according to Rick. But the drinking age was still 21, so Beth getting her hands on something wouldn't be super easy.
"I asked Michonne to buy it for me. I told her it was a present for you, so she didn't question it."
Daryl leans down and grabs the bottle. He can't smother the laugh that bubbles up in his chest. "She didn't question that I'd hate Peach Schnapps?"
"I told her it was a private joke."
He realizes then, though Beth isn't smiling, that she's not gonna go gentle on him, and he knows it's the least he's earned.
"Beth--"
"I'll go first," she interrupts. "I never ran out on someone when they were trying to share something super important with me."
She leans down and grabs the shot glass, shoving it towards him. "Drink," she says, her voice hard and unyielding.
He stares at her, but twists the cap off the bottle. She doesn't blink, just narrows her eyes slightly when he hesitates. Finally, he takes the glass from her and pours the shot.
He throws it back, grimacing as it goes down. "Yep," he mutters. "Just as gross as I remember it."
"It's your turn," Beth says.
"This isn't a good idea," he says, trying to ease the tension with a smile. "C'mon, Beth. I'm here, and I'm ready to talk. 'M sorry about--"
"Just play the game, Daryl," she interrupts him again, and his stomach knots up.
He takes a deep breath, his brain scrambling for something, anything that can turn this around for him.
He knows she's here because she cares, because she wants it to be set right, but she's also pissed, which is why she's doing this. He should probably remind her what happens when he gets drunk.
'Course, she already thinks he's a dick, he can tell by her facial expression.
He's quiet too long, because she says, "Your turn," again, sounding even angrier.
"I never..." and this is why he fucking hates this game, because he can't ever think fast enough to come up with something good, and he feels like whatever comes out of his mouth next better be the goddamn smartest thing he's ever said.
He clears his throat, trying to buy just a sliver of a chance more. And then it hits him.
It's do or die. Now or never. Right or wrong.
Maybe this will make her run, as fast and as far as she oughta.
"I've never..." His grip on the bottle tightens so that the glass squeaks under his fingers. "I've never...had sex...with someone I love."
He raises the bottle to his lips, and Beth's mouth opens, either in shock or to protest him drinking when it's not his turn. He sucks down a large gulp of the awful tasting liquid, and tears spring to his eyes, he hopes because of the alcohol, but maybe it's everything else. "And I'm scared shitless, Beth. God's honest truth. Do with it whatever the hell you want."
...Chapter Five...