The Walking Dead Fanfic: "America's Pastime"
Title: America's Pastime
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Characters: Daryl/Beth
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1500
Summary: A little distraction in the midst of the chaos.
Notes: Three 500-word ficlets written for tv_universe's One Little Spark challenge, and posted as one story because the second two are sequels to the first. Prompt words were: run, spellbound, and loser.
America's Pastime
by Severina
Part One: Run
"Run!" Daryl shouts.
Beth takes off like a house afire. Dead leaves crunch under her tennis shoes, slippery under her heels, but she pinwheels her arms and keeps her balance. Her breath is harsh in her ears, her chest heaving when she hears someone closing in on her from behind. She can see Maggie angling in toward her on the right and puts on an extra burst of speed, diving beneath an outstretched arm to slide through the dirt. It's gonna be close.
"Aaaand… safe!" Rick calls out.
Beth grins and picks herself up, slapping at the dirt grimed into her only decent pair of jeans. She shakes out a dead leaf from her pony tail before surveying the rest of the field. Carl grins at her from second base, and throws her a cocky thumbs up. They both made it.
Maggie nudges her shoulder. "Almost had you," she says.
"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," Beth says, sounding a bit cocky herself. But heck, she earned it. That was one hell of a steal. "That’s what Daddy used to say."
Maggie sticks her tongue out before trotting back to stand guard at the base, her eyes now only for Daryl up at bat. Beth can relate. She usually only has eyes for Daryl herself.
Today he's squinting at Abe, trying to use his own Daryl brand of intimidation to faze the pitcher. Beth privately thinks that a herd of walkers could amble through their makeshift baseball diamond and Abraham wouldn't bat an eye, but that doesn't stop Daryl from trying. She's not even sure how he manages to see with all that hair in his eyes, and his boots sure ain't made for rounding bases, but he somehow manages to be one of the best players whenever they get up one of these impromptu games.
The thought of the geeks makes her shudder, and she lifts a hand to shield her eyes and scan the field behind her. Just 'cause they ain't seen a walker in a month or two don't mean one can't amble up any minute. She catches Tara's eye and returns her nod. All clear.
Beth runs a hand through her hair again before turning her attention back to the game. Bounces on her toes and shakes out her limbs and gets ready to run again because this is their last chance at bat, but Daryl's up and Daryl rarely misses and in a few minutes she's going to have to make a mad dash for home plate. Losers this round have to take night shift guard duty for two weeks straight and them guard towers are darned cold in the middle of December.
She bends at the waist and props her palms on her thighs. The wind is bracing, but the sun is shining brightly and the man she loves is about to bring it all home.
The world might have ended, but it sure feels like a good time to be alive.
* * *
Part Two: Spellbound
"Strike one!"
Daryl curses under his breath and rolls his shoulders, darts a quick glance at the score scrawled on a piece of ripped up cardboard. Five to four, and hell if he's gonna let Glenn's team spend two weeks burrowed down in the blankets and gettin' a good sleep every night while he's freezin' his damn ass off on the tower. He's just gotta bring Beth and Carl in and it'll be Asian popsicle on lookout and him and his teammates sawin' logs.
He looks over toward third, watches as Beth swipes a hand through her ponytail. The sunlight glints on her hair, givin' her a halo. He can't help thinking how fitting that is, the light all envelopin' her like that. Makes her look like an angel. He ain't never bought them bible stories his mama used to read him and Merle about angels in long white cloaks holdin' little harps and singing all the damn time. Real angels would have to get their hands dirty. They'd have to do a lot of the heaving lifting for normal folks, 'cause when things go to shit most people wallow in it like pigs in a sty. Angels are the ones that remember what's important in the long run. They never give up and they never stop believing that things will get better.
Those bible stories got one thing right, though. Angels like to sing.
"Strike two!"
Daryl blinks, scowls over his shoulder.
"Don't blame me," Carol says with a smirk. "You're the one swooning over a cute blonde instead of paying attention."
She's right. He's got to concentrate on the damn game, not on how beautiful his Beth looks poised out there on the base. He smooths his hand down the bat and eyes ol' Abraham on the mound. This third ball ain't getting past him. No matter how cute Beth looks when she leans forward like that, big blue eyes all intense, watchin' him like he's about the only thing in the world. Can't look away from her eyes when they get like that, whether it's when she's stirring up oatmeal in the morning or strumming somethin' nice and light on her guitar or when she's moving above him in the dark, the moonlight slidin' in through the window and turnin' her skin all golden in the light. It's times like that that he starts to think he's dreaming the whole damn thing; thinks maybe they never got out of that funeral home at all and his dying brain is just givin' him a happy thought to leave this world on. 'Cause there ain't no way on this damn earth a redneck hick like him should've been able to have a girl as pretty and smart as Beth Greene even look at him twice, never mind actually fall in love with him.
"Strike three!"
Daryl slumps, hears Carol snort behind him as he drops the bat into the dirt.
"Hope you got your long underwear ready!" Glenn crows.
* * *
Part Three: Loser
"Sorry," Daryl says.
"It's not your fault," Beth tells him again. She leans across to nudge him on the shoulder. "There's more than one player on the team, you know. We're all as much to fault as you."
Daryl sniffs and looks out over the courtyard, and Beth follows his gaze. Ten foot high brick walls and reinforced gates have kept them safe for this long, but she knows as well as he does that it'd only take one big herd to breach even the strongest of defenses. Curled up next to him in the night, she's whispered her fears: that the lack of individual walkers in the vicinity only means that they're all bunched up in a herd, and there's no way of knowin' which way that herd is gonna end up. Keepin' watch at night might be cold, but it's necessary.
"You know, now that I think about it," Daryl says when they've scanned the perimeter with the night scopes, "us losin' today is kinda your fault."
"What?" This time she reaches over to slap playfully at his shoulder. "Did you see that slide into third? I was amazing," she answers. She puffs up her chest, lifts her chin in the air... and then promptly ruins the effect by giggling.
"Damn straight," Daryl agrees anyway. "But if you weren't out there lookin' so pretty I wouldn't have gotten distracted."
He ducks his head after the compliment, and Beth's pretty darned sure that if there was dirt up here on the guard tower he'd be stubbing his toe in it. Heck, not too long ago he'd have made his escape after saying something like that and she wouldn't have seen him again for hours, but now… now he takes a breath and looks up to meet her eyes. Whatever he sees in her face must reassure him, because he smiles tentatively and reaches across the divide to take her hand.
She squeezes his fingers. "You're pretty darned distracting yourself, you know."
Daryl snorts, but the fingers wrapped around hers tighten as he tows her in, and one arm drops over her shoulders as he turns them to face the wasteland outside the barricades. She's immediately enveloped in the scent of him - leather and wood smoke and dry leaves and damp earth. The smell always brings her back to their night together in the cabin, sharing truths and moonshine on a rickety ol' porch. It makes her feel safe in a way that thick walls and constant vigilance never can.
She tucks her arm around his waist and snuggles closer, and never mind Rick's rules about no fraternizing while on watch. She's perfectly able to keep an eye on the horizon even when her fingers curl around the edge of Daryl's vest and she buries her nose into the fur of his muffler. And Daryl never loses his concentration. Well, except maybe during one thing.
Beth hides her smile and curls closer around Daryl's body. Night watch isn't so bad.
.
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Characters: Daryl/Beth
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1500
Summary: A little distraction in the midst of the chaos.
Notes: Three 500-word ficlets written for tv_universe's One Little Spark challenge, and posted as one story because the second two are sequels to the first. Prompt words were: run, spellbound, and loser.
America's Pastime
by Severina
Part One: Run
"Run!" Daryl shouts.
Beth takes off like a house afire. Dead leaves crunch under her tennis shoes, slippery under her heels, but she pinwheels her arms and keeps her balance. Her breath is harsh in her ears, her chest heaving when she hears someone closing in on her from behind. She can see Maggie angling in toward her on the right and puts on an extra burst of speed, diving beneath an outstretched arm to slide through the dirt. It's gonna be close.
"Aaaand… safe!" Rick calls out.
Beth grins and picks herself up, slapping at the dirt grimed into her only decent pair of jeans. She shakes out a dead leaf from her pony tail before surveying the rest of the field. Carl grins at her from second base, and throws her a cocky thumbs up. They both made it.
Maggie nudges her shoulder. "Almost had you," she says.
"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," Beth says, sounding a bit cocky herself. But heck, she earned it. That was one hell of a steal. "That’s what Daddy used to say."
Maggie sticks her tongue out before trotting back to stand guard at the base, her eyes now only for Daryl up at bat. Beth can relate. She usually only has eyes for Daryl herself.
Today he's squinting at Abe, trying to use his own Daryl brand of intimidation to faze the pitcher. Beth privately thinks that a herd of walkers could amble through their makeshift baseball diamond and Abraham wouldn't bat an eye, but that doesn't stop Daryl from trying. She's not even sure how he manages to see with all that hair in his eyes, and his boots sure ain't made for rounding bases, but he somehow manages to be one of the best players whenever they get up one of these impromptu games.
The thought of the geeks makes her shudder, and she lifts a hand to shield her eyes and scan the field behind her. Just 'cause they ain't seen a walker in a month or two don't mean one can't amble up any minute. She catches Tara's eye and returns her nod. All clear.
Beth runs a hand through her hair again before turning her attention back to the game. Bounces on her toes and shakes out her limbs and gets ready to run again because this is their last chance at bat, but Daryl's up and Daryl rarely misses and in a few minutes she's going to have to make a mad dash for home plate. Losers this round have to take night shift guard duty for two weeks straight and them guard towers are darned cold in the middle of December.
She bends at the waist and props her palms on her thighs. The wind is bracing, but the sun is shining brightly and the man she loves is about to bring it all home.
The world might have ended, but it sure feels like a good time to be alive.
* * *
Part Two: Spellbound
"Strike one!"
Daryl curses under his breath and rolls his shoulders, darts a quick glance at the score scrawled on a piece of ripped up cardboard. Five to four, and hell if he's gonna let Glenn's team spend two weeks burrowed down in the blankets and gettin' a good sleep every night while he's freezin' his damn ass off on the tower. He's just gotta bring Beth and Carl in and it'll be Asian popsicle on lookout and him and his teammates sawin' logs.
He looks over toward third, watches as Beth swipes a hand through her ponytail. The sunlight glints on her hair, givin' her a halo. He can't help thinking how fitting that is, the light all envelopin' her like that. Makes her look like an angel. He ain't never bought them bible stories his mama used to read him and Merle about angels in long white cloaks holdin' little harps and singing all the damn time. Real angels would have to get their hands dirty. They'd have to do a lot of the heaving lifting for normal folks, 'cause when things go to shit most people wallow in it like pigs in a sty. Angels are the ones that remember what's important in the long run. They never give up and they never stop believing that things will get better.
Those bible stories got one thing right, though. Angels like to sing.
"Strike two!"
Daryl blinks, scowls over his shoulder.
"Don't blame me," Carol says with a smirk. "You're the one swooning over a cute blonde instead of paying attention."
She's right. He's got to concentrate on the damn game, not on how beautiful his Beth looks poised out there on the base. He smooths his hand down the bat and eyes ol' Abraham on the mound. This third ball ain't getting past him. No matter how cute Beth looks when she leans forward like that, big blue eyes all intense, watchin' him like he's about the only thing in the world. Can't look away from her eyes when they get like that, whether it's when she's stirring up oatmeal in the morning or strumming somethin' nice and light on her guitar or when she's moving above him in the dark, the moonlight slidin' in through the window and turnin' her skin all golden in the light. It's times like that that he starts to think he's dreaming the whole damn thing; thinks maybe they never got out of that funeral home at all and his dying brain is just givin' him a happy thought to leave this world on. 'Cause there ain't no way on this damn earth a redneck hick like him should've been able to have a girl as pretty and smart as Beth Greene even look at him twice, never mind actually fall in love with him.
"Strike three!"
Daryl slumps, hears Carol snort behind him as he drops the bat into the dirt.
"Hope you got your long underwear ready!" Glenn crows.
* * *
Part Three: Loser
"Sorry," Daryl says.
"It's not your fault," Beth tells him again. She leans across to nudge him on the shoulder. "There's more than one player on the team, you know. We're all as much to fault as you."
Daryl sniffs and looks out over the courtyard, and Beth follows his gaze. Ten foot high brick walls and reinforced gates have kept them safe for this long, but she knows as well as he does that it'd only take one big herd to breach even the strongest of defenses. Curled up next to him in the night, she's whispered her fears: that the lack of individual walkers in the vicinity only means that they're all bunched up in a herd, and there's no way of knowin' which way that herd is gonna end up. Keepin' watch at night might be cold, but it's necessary.
"You know, now that I think about it," Daryl says when they've scanned the perimeter with the night scopes, "us losin' today is kinda your fault."
"What?" This time she reaches over to slap playfully at his shoulder. "Did you see that slide into third? I was amazing," she answers. She puffs up her chest, lifts her chin in the air... and then promptly ruins the effect by giggling.
"Damn straight," Daryl agrees anyway. "But if you weren't out there lookin' so pretty I wouldn't have gotten distracted."
He ducks his head after the compliment, and Beth's pretty darned sure that if there was dirt up here on the guard tower he'd be stubbing his toe in it. Heck, not too long ago he'd have made his escape after saying something like that and she wouldn't have seen him again for hours, but now… now he takes a breath and looks up to meet her eyes. Whatever he sees in her face must reassure him, because he smiles tentatively and reaches across the divide to take her hand.
She squeezes his fingers. "You're pretty darned distracting yourself, you know."
Daryl snorts, but the fingers wrapped around hers tighten as he tows her in, and one arm drops over her shoulders as he turns them to face the wasteland outside the barricades. She's immediately enveloped in the scent of him - leather and wood smoke and dry leaves and damp earth. The smell always brings her back to their night together in the cabin, sharing truths and moonshine on a rickety ol' porch. It makes her feel safe in a way that thick walls and constant vigilance never can.
She tucks her arm around his waist and snuggles closer, and never mind Rick's rules about no fraternizing while on watch. She's perfectly able to keep an eye on the horizon even when her fingers curl around the edge of Daryl's vest and she buries her nose into the fur of his muffler. And Daryl never loses his concentration. Well, except maybe during one thing.
Beth hides her smile and curls closer around Daryl's body. Night watch isn't so bad.
.