The gift in this piece is based on an item we know to be in Glenn's possession, but I've tweaked it a little for my dastardly Bethyl purposes.
Fair warning: I think a lot of criticisms could be leveled against this story, but the main would probably be that it's a little boring. If you're looking for action and excitement, this isn't for you. This is just a small moment between friends that's stretched out and elaborated on longer than it rightfully should be.
Okay, enough hype! On with the show... :)
They'd been in Alexandria for a couple months and it had been a difficult adjustment. A struggle to re-civilize their feral selves and re-integrate back into society. A struggle to invest in something again, be a part of something again, trust people again, after everything they'd been through: the devastation of the prison, the depravity of Terminus, the duplicity of Eugene and his fake cure, and the inescapable spectre of death and despair that followed them everywhere. It had been a struggle, but they had all done it. With varying speeds of degrees of enthusiasm, they had all carved out new lives and new roles for themselves in the surreal suburbia they now called home.
And they felt good about it, too. Or good enough. Some were happy; some would never be happy again, but were content; and a couple were indifferent, but were at least relieved to be in a situation that allowed for the luxury of apathy.
Everyone, that is, except Daryl.
For Daryl, even apathy seemed like an unattainable dream. So unattainable, it wasn't worth dreaming about at all. He didn't even imagine a day when he could feel neutral about Alexandria. Couldn't conceive of a time when he wouldn't be suffocating there. It would be like imagining the day he wouldn't drown under water.
No, Daryl wasn't happy; he wasn't content; and he wasn't indifferent.
He was dying.
More and more everyday, he was dying in Alexandria. And the only thing that surprised him about that was that he had kind of thought he was dead already. He had felt like a man on life-support after Beth had been kidnapped: a shadowy figure living only in a purely mechanical sense. And when Dawn pulled the trigger in that hallway at Grady, it was like she pulled the plug on him, too. She killed them both with a single bullet: turning Beth into an angel and him into a ghost.
He was dead in every way that mattered.
He didn't think things could get any worse. He only kept pushing on, kept going through the technical motions of life, because his family needed him. And he simply wasn't a quitter. He wasn't going to kill himself, so living was really the only option. And it was a life so hellish, so hollow and empty and lonely, that it almost felt like a just punishment. Like he had failed and he deserved to suffer. Like this was his penance.
So discovering new depths of anguish in Alexandria had come as a bit of a shock and he had cursed himself for his failure of imagination. (Of course things can get worse, he thought mockingly, they always fucking do.) He wasn't remotely surprised that this kind of community would make him miserable, though. Only surprised to find out that it still existed and that he was capable of feeling worse than he already did.
He knew it was the kind of place other people dreamed of living in, including people in his own family. (Rick and Lori certainly had. Probably Carol, too, before Ed beat those dreams out of her. Maybe others.) This was the picture of American success, after all. This was the goal. But it was never his goal, never his dream. It was actually his nightmare. Almost aggressively clean and wholesome. All about impressions and appearances. Before the end of the world, he would have considered it unbearably shallow and fake. (And that's from a man whose own life wasn't exactly defined its depth and honesty.) But after the apocalypse, it felt inauthentic to the point of absurdity. It was a grotesque lie. An artificial island of neighborliness and normalcy in a sea of horror, where oblivious people hosted dinner parties and attended book clubs and played politics in a make-believe society.
It was ridiculous.
And it was killing him.
It was killing him and every day he thought about leaving. Thought about hopping on his bike, driving through that gate and never coming back. Maybe going back to Georgia. (Maybe going back to Herschel's farm. He thought about that possibility a lot.) He considered leaving all the time, but always came to the same conclusion: he couldn't. He couldn't do it. He knew that if he left, someone would come after him. He was confident they wouldn't find him, but he wasn't sure they wouldn't get hurt in the attempt and he couldn't accept anyone risking their lives for him. (He couldn't help but be stung by the bitter irony that this was the first time in his entire life that people actually cared about him and, for once, he wished they didn't.) He also knew that they still needed him. They were safer now, but he still served a purpose, both as a hunter and a protector, and the stability they currently enjoyed could disappear at any time. They might need him more in the future and he couldn't abandon them now.
(And, though he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge it, he also feared the prospect of being truly and completely alone. He knew that if he left, he'd never attach himself to another group again. That he'd be alone for the rest of his life. And while that had a certain brooding appeal, he wasn't so deluded as to think it wouldn't be awful, too. Knew he'd go crazy eventually. Or crazier, since he suspected he'd lost a fair amount of his sanity already.)
So, he stayed. He didn't leave, but he did everything he could not to be a part of it at all. To stay as far away from Alexandria as possible, either physically or mentally. He went on recruiting missions and supply runs to get outside the walls as often, and for as long, as he could. He hunted. And when he had no choice but to be behind the gate, he took as many shifts on watch as they'd allow: staying on the periphery of the community with his gaze fixed decidedly outward. He was there, but he wasn't really there. The only point to his life was to serve the needs of others, so that's what he did. That's all he did.
He worked and he avoided and he died a little more every day.
Which is exactly what he was doing that day in the watchtower: staring off into the woods around Alexandria, feeling trapped behind its walls, and once again entertaining thoughts of hauling ass back to Senoia and running away from it all. He was dreaming of going back to the Greene family home and imagining what he might find there. Trying to picture for the thousandth time what Beth's bedroom would look like and what secrets it might hold. He had often fantasized about what clothes might be in her closet, what books might be on her shelves, what trinkets she might have collected and treasured over her short life. Wondered what it would feel like to be surrounded by her things. To be in a place that was so deeply entwined with her. Wondered if he would feel her presence. If he'd sense a connection. If it'd ease any of his heartache or if it'd just make the pain that much more acute.
He was entertaining a particularly enjoyable thought about a hypothetical white sundress when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. It was nowhere near time for a shift change, so he had no idea who it could be and wasn't looking forward to the interruption. He really didn't want to deal with anyone. He wanted to continue exploring Beth's imaginary wardrobe and see what else he'd discover. There might be a pair of short shorts in her dresser he'd never noticed before. Maybe a surprisingly risque Halloween costume stored under the bed. Whoever it was, and whatever they wanted, couldn't possibly compete with that.
A fictional Beth Greene was better than a real anybody else.
When the door opened, he was relieved to see that it was Glenn. Of everyone in Alexandria, he was probably the guy Daryl was most comfortable with. He had known Glenn, and pretty much liked him, since the beginning; and unlike other members of his family, he hadn't really changed much over the years. He'd grown tremendously, he'd matured, but he was still fundamentally the same person. (As opposed to Rick and Carol, who Daryl used to be much closer to, but who had become almost unrecognizable to him over time.)
"Hey, man," Glenn said, walking in. "Glad to see you're back. Hear the run went pretty well."
"Yeah," Daryl agreed, with a characteristic lack of enthusiasm. "Got some decent shit."
Irritation seeped into his voice as he continued, "Coulda gotten more but we ran into a group of walkers and some of these Alexandria fucks can't keep their shit together in a crisis. Ain't even a crisis these days, just normal fuckin' shit, but they act like the world's comin' to a fuckin' end."
He let out a small parody of a laugh at the irony of that statement and Glenn smiled lightly.
"Yeah, I heard about that," he said. "Jackson's not exactly cool under pressure...and he's got nerves of steel compared to Marty." He laughed softly and admitted, "I felt guilty sending you out there with them, but you knew I couldn't go and I knew you didn't want to wait. So, I guess we can consider that a lesson in impatience, dude."
"And they all can't be as good as me," he added with false arrogance and a smile. "That's another lesson, too."
"Yeah, yeah," Daryl said dismissively, throwing out a vaguely obscene hand gesture. "You keep tellin' yourself that."
"I totally will," Glenn agreed cheerfully. "I like my delusions of grandeur. Besides, someone needs to think I'm awesome and no one else is volunteering for the job."
"Didn't Maggie volunteer for that job?" Daryl tried to tease.
"Not at all," Glenn chuckled. "She just volunteered to put up with me while I sit around and think she's awesome."
It was a lie and they both knew it. Maggie loved Glenn (almost) as much as he loved her. And she definitely thought he was awesome, if such a ridiculous word could be applied.
"Smart woman," Daryl said, quirking his mouth in a small smirk. He ran his hand over the back of his neck and, after a few beats, switched gears, asking a little more harshly than he intended, "So, you come up here just to talk about the run or you got somethin' else you wanna jaw about?"
He wasn't trying to be a jerk (and, Lord knows, he could if he wanted to.) He was just eager to get back to Beth's closet and that hypothetical sundress and other unimagined delights still waiting to be discovered.
Glenn had no idea what Daryl was thinking about, or rather what he wanted to be thinking about, but he knew him well enough not to be offended by his tone. A certain level of irritation was to be expected in any encounter with the man, especially these days.
"No, I didn't come to talk about the run," he replied. Adding jokingly, "That was just me making small talk because I know how much you like it."
He cleared his throat and a slightly uncomfortable look crossed his face. He spoke again, his teasing tone gone, "Actually, I came up here because I have something I want to give you. Something I think you should have. Should have given it to you awhile ago, really. I just...well, I just didn't think about it. I didn't really see if for what it was, you know? I mean, I saw what it was for me. I just didn't see what it would be for you."
He pulled something small out of his pocket and Daryl was at a complete loss as to what it might be. And he was pretty shocked at the very notion of Glenn giving him anything at all, no matter what it was. It was definitely not a situation he had much experience in and it made him a little uneasy.
And, in typical fashion, he didn't handle his discomfort well. "What the fuck you talkin' 'bout?," he practically spat out.
Again, Glenn knew enough not to let phrasing of the question bother him. He just smiled a little and said, "Yeah, that wasn't clear, was it?" He glanced down at the object in his hand, which Daryl could now see looked to be a small card, a little black plastic rectangle, and then looked back up again. "I…," he continued. "Okay, so I have this and it's like the most important thing in the world to me. Like in terms of a possession."
"But I think it might mean even more to you, because…" he took a deep breath and averted his eyes, clearly a little distressed by what he was about to say. "Because at least I still have the real thing," he finished quietly.
He extended his arm to hand over the gift and Daryl reached out for it tentatively. He was stunned by what Glenn had said about its value. Completely unprepared for the idea that this was something of such consequence to him.
"What it is?" he asked in an almost hushed voice.
"It's my picture of Maggie," Glenn replied simply as Daryl took hold of the photograph.
He was about to ask Glenn why the fuck he thought he'd want a picture of Maggie, but he turned over the photo right as Glenn continued, and both of those actions answered the unspoken question.
"Well, that's always how I thought of it anyway," Glenn added. "But as you can see she's not the only one in the picture. I guess it's really a photo of the Greene girls."
The second Daryl saw Beth's face, he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Her image hit him like a physical blow, making him stagger slightly and take a deep, gasping breath. If his world existed beyond the small picture in his hand, he would have been embarrassed by his reaction. Was embarrassed by it when he thought about it later. In the moment, though, he didn't think about it at all. Couldn't think about it. Couldn't think about anything other than that sweet face, those luminous eyes, beaming back at him from beneath the shiny surface of the well-loved Polaroid.
It was clearly a picture of Maggie. It didn't just occupy that role in Glenn's mind, it was the conclusion anyone would draw. She was in the foreground and the main subject of the shot. But Beth was there, too: standing a few feet behind her and smiling, probably at Glenn, from over Maggie's left shoulder. She was slightly out of focus, but it gave the image a softness that almost seemed to capture her better than a crisper portrait would.
And, fuck, was she beautiful. She was so fucking beautiful, Daryl thought. So fucking beautiful and he started to cry. He didn't weep or sob or break down in hysterics, but a steady stream of tears began to fall down his face and he couldn't stop it. Didn't even really try until it started to impact his vision. Until it kept him from seeing her clearly.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and continued to stare at the picture silently, Glenn's presence in the tower temporarily, but entirely, forgotten. (And Glenn, for his part, was completely content to be ignored. To let the moment play out and give Daryl room for his reaction. It was one of the things Daryl liked most about the guy: he knew when to give him his space.)
If the emotions he felt had been more mild, they would have been called bittersweet. But bitter didn't come close to touching the depth of his anger, his pain, his resentment. Did nothing to reflect the despair that the seeing her face again elicited. And sweet couldn't even begin to describe the joy. The heart-stopping elation of re-establishing a connection, no matter how small, that he thought was lost forever.
No, bittersweet didn't cover it. It was a brutal bliss. An excruciating ecstasy. It was every feeling he ever had towards her and about her and because of her all balled up in a single fist punching him straight in the gut.
"I miss her so much," he croaked out after a long silence, his voice little more than a throaty whisper. His hands were shaking ever so slightly and his eyes still clung to the photograph as he continued more forcefully, "So fuckin' much."
"I know," Glenn said softly, though he was pretty sure Daryl wasn't actually talking to him.
And he really did.
He really did know.
And he and Maggie were the only ones who could truly say that.
Daryl's devastation over Beth's death had been no secret, but it's nature wasn't fully understood by most people. Everyone knew he felt guilty over her abduction and assumed it was that sense of responsibility that made the loss so hard to handle. So poignant and so tragic. And after everything in the past two years, they were all getting to the breaking point. They were all getting to the place where one more death, one more setback, could be one too many. Could be the one they didn't come back from. The thing that crushes them entirely. So, that's what they all thought: he felt responsible for a murder, the murder of a friend, a murder he witnessed, and he just reached his limit.
A few weeks into their stay in Alexandria, however, Maggie and Glenn learned there was more to the story.
They had long known the basic outline about what happened between Daryl and Beth after the prison fell. He had told everyone about their escape, and her subsequent kidnapping, in the train car at Terminus. But he had only given the broad strokes. At the time, that had been enough for Maggie. They were in mortal danger and trapped with a dozen other people in a metal box. They weren't in a position to have a personal discussion. And, more importantly, she still had hope that they'd find Beth again. Didn't realize that the story Daryl had to tell would be one of the last known accounts of her sister's final days.
And once she came to that realization, once she saw Beth cradled limply in Daryl's arms, she was initially too numb to inquire. She was grief stricken, and so was he, and neither had any desire to talk. So they both just lost themselves in the daily struggle to survive and wallowed privately in their own despair. When they settled into their new home, however, Maggie found her bearings again. And when she finally felt like she had the strength to handle it, she asked Daryl to tell her everything. Everything he could remember about Beth and those weeks they spent together.
So he did.
He sat down with her and Glenn in their picture-perfect living room one night and told them what he could. Told them almost everything. Told them more than he had originally intended. He knew part of Maggie needed to know the story, had to hear the last chapter of the Book of Beth she had grown up reading; and he knew Beth would always try to give anyone what they needed, would always want to help; so he had planned on being as forthcoming as possible. Had known he would have to share more than he would like. Share things that felt incredibly private and personal and so deeply precious to him. But he had still planned on holding a little back. Had planned on keeping just a few things for himself. Once the words started coming, though, they wouldn't stop. He lost himself to the memories and, for one of the first times in his life, spoke without thought.
Despite what he felt for her, his relationship with Beth had always been strictly platonic. There was nothing in the events he described that would indicate a romantic relationship or even a romantic inclination between them. But there was something in the words he used, in the way he spoke, how his voice broke and shook at points, turned tender and soft at others, that revealed everything that was in his heart.
Exposed him completely.
He hadn't said it, but they'd known. And he'd known they'd known. Knew it the moment he looked up from his lap, where his gaze had been fixed the entire time, and saw their faces. Saw the pain and the sadness and the sheer understanding they radiated. The compassion. Compassion for him. They had been silent as he spoke, which is why he was able to lose himself to the experience so completely, and Maggie's first attempt at speech had faltered, "God, Daryl...were you in.." She had then stopped herself and, after taking a deep breath, shook her head and asked instead, "You really miss her, don't you?".
He was so grateful that she did that. So thankful that, for whatever reason, she decided to change her question. He'd known what she was going to ask him, of course. "Were you in love with her?" He'd seen her tongue reaching for the L and, even if he hadn't, her expression had pretty much given it away. Made it clear she already knew the answer. But he really hadn't wanted to answer it himself. Didn't want to have to actually say yes or no. He could never deny it, of course. Could never bring himself to tell such a cruel lie. To deliver such an insult to the woman he did, indeed, love. But he didn't want to confess his feelings to Maggie, or to anyone else, either. Not so much because he didn't want them to know (though he definitely felt it wasn't any of their business), but because he had never told her. He had never told her and it just seemed wrong to tell someone else first.
And, thanks to Maggie's kind rewording (and he ultimately came to that conclusion, that it was kindness that made her do it), he didn't have to. She had asked him a question he could answer without hesitation. And it was an answer Beth herself knew long ago.
Yes, he had said simply. He missed her.
He missed her so damn bad.
So when Glenn's hushed I know alerted him to the fact that the confession had escaped his lips unbidden this time, he didn't care. But it did bring his attention back to Glenn's presence. Brought his mind back to this man, this friend, who had just given him a small part of Beth back. And it really hit him for the first time just what he had done. The true enormity of it.
Glenn had given him the only picture he had of his wife, so that Daryl could have one of the woman he loved.
Daryl had received very few gifts in his life, but - even if he had been showered with them every day - nothing could have ever been as meaningful as that photo. Nothing could have ever touched him so much. And to know that something like that, something so priceless and incomparable, had come to be his through such sacrifice - had come at such a high cost to the giver - completely overwhelmed him. It was the kind of generosity he'd only ever found among this strange group of people he now called family, particularly the one girl he wanted to be his family most of all. And to see that generosity displayed to the greatest degree he'd ever encountered, to the greatest degree he could ever even imagine, through the sharing of a piece of Beth was such a fitting tribute to her kindness that it both warmed and broke his heart.
Don't you think that's beautiful?
It is beautiful, he thought. It's so beautiful, Beth.
And, sometimes, the good ones do survive.
He had always thought that Glenn was a good man, but he realized in that moment that he never truly appreciated the depth of his character. Saw again, but for the first time, why Herschel thought he was the right man for his daughter. Why he was loved like a son by a man Daryl had so deeply respected.
He was at a total loss for words. He was speechless, but he knew he needed to say something. Actually wanted to say something. Wanted to try to convey his gratitude in whatever pitiful way he could.
"I don't..." he stumbled, unable to look Glenn directly in the eye. He ran his free hand through his hair and tried again, "I can't tell you how much this means to me, man. You don't...you don't know what this..."
He took a deep, shuddering breath and started to confess, "I was so afraid..."
He cut himself off quickly, completely stunned by what he almost admitted. He was so overwrought by the whole experience that he almost vocalized his deepest remaining fear: that he would forget what she looked like. He had once told Beth that he wasn't afraid of anything, but it was a lie and they had both known it. He was afraid of many things (most of which related to her) and that particular thought had terrified him. He'd been petrified by the idea that, over time, her image would fade in his mind. That, in the months and years to come, he'd slowly lose the details. Stop being able to recall the exactly color of her hair, the shade of her eyes, the precise shape of her lips, her brow.
He'd lose her all over again.
(Or, worse, his mind would fill in the gaps as they happened, altering her appearance gradually, changing her into something she wasn't, and he wouldn't even know it. Wouldn't realize he was remembering her wrong. He would corrupt her in death, just like he always feared he would have in life.)
But that wouldn't happen now. That couldn't happen now. Glenn had spared him that fear and that fate. He had given him a piece of Beth back and a small measure of actual peace. Calmed one of the storming parts of himself he thought would rage forever. And as he processed that idea, he realized that his problem wasn't that he couldn't find the words to express his gratitude for that, it was that there were no words to express his gratitude for that. There were no words for what his friend had done for him.
So, in a move that shocked them both, he took a large step forward and pulled Glenn into a brief, but fierce, embrace.
"Thank you," he said quietly, voice rough with emotion, before releasing Glenn and stepping back. He wiped the last of the tears from his eyes, regarded the photo one more time, and carefully slipped it into his breast pocket.
"She would have wanted you to have it," Glenn repeated easily, betraying no sense of awkwardness over Daryl's emotional reaction or his rare display of physical affection. He added sincerely, "I'm just glad it was mine to give."
It occurred to Daryl suddenly that maybe that wasn't true. Maybe it wasn't really Glenn's to give at all. What would Maggie think? How would she feel about her husband giving away this memento of her? He didn't want to ask, because he didn't think he could live with returning the picture. But he also didn't think he could live with knowing that his possession of it hurt Maggie. That it caused pain to someone Beth had loved so much. He couldn't let himself be that selfish.
She would never be that selfish.
"What's Maggie gonna say?," he asked reluctantly, casting his eyes back towards his friend.
"About what?" Glenn replied with mild confusion, oblivious to Daryl's thought process.
"What's Maggie gonna say about you givin' this to me?," he clarified.
"Oh," Glenn said, realization dawning. "She thought it was a great idea," he answered with a smile. "She agreed with me. Thought Beth would want you to have it."
"You talked to her already?" Daryl asked incredulously, convinced he hadn't really heard that right. That that couldn't have been Maggie's reaction. That it must have been Glenn's belief, or hope, about what her response would be. Not a retelling of what it was
"Yeah, dude," Glenn replied with a small laugh. "I'm a good friend, but I'm not suicidal. Believe it or not, I'm actually halfway decent at the whole husband thing. And, take it from me, just in case you were wondering, the fact that you even asked that question proves that you..." He stopped himself abruptly. His tone had been light, but it seemed like he was about to say something he'd regret.
Daryl figured he should probably let it go, but couldn't keep himself from asking, "What?"
"Nothing," Glenn answered quickly, clearly a little uncomfortable. He shook his head slightly and shuffled his feet, adding with false breeziness, "It was nothing."
"C'mon, just say it," Daryl prodded. "Don't be all coy." He crossed his arms and tried to stare Glenn down for a response, though he wasn't exactly sure why he was pushing the issue.
Glenn took a deep breath and released it in a loud, almost exaggerated, sigh. Breaking eye contact in defeat, he finished his thought, speaking with reluctance, but quiet conviction, "I was just gonna say that you would have been pretty good at it, too. The husband thing."
"You really would have, Daryl," he repeated after a few beats, his voice stronger and his reservation gone. He looked him straight in the eye and added, "If that's what you wanted, you would have been good at it. You would have taken good care of her."
Daryl had thought he'd reached his emotional limit when he asked about Maggie's opinion on the gift. Thought he really couldn't feel much more than he was feeling already. But Glenn's words touched him even further. He couldn't believe that Maggie wanted him to have the picture. That she - the person who knew Beth better and longer than anyone - thought it should be his. Thought that's what Beth would want. And he was moved beyond understanding to hear a man like Glenn tell him he would have been a good husband. A good husband to his sister-in-law. A good husband to Beth. In his mind, it was the highest praise he could have ever been given, given by a man who could offer it with true meaning. With real weight behind the words. Because Glenn knew him, and he'd known Beth, and he knew what it took to love a good woman well in a terrible world.
A large part of him screamed that it was a lie, of course. That if he could have taken good care of her, she'd still be alive. She wouldn't have been kidnapped. She wouldn't have been killed. But even if he couldn't believe it, he knew that Glenn believed it. Knew that he was being sincere in his praise. Knew that this good man, this good husband, looked at him and saw something kindred. And that affected him deeply all the same.
(Because, if nothing else, the comment - just like the gift itself - felt like a validation of Daryl's feelings. Here was an outside observer behaving as if the love he often felt so unworthy of harboring was completely acceptable. Even respectable. And that was confirmation he desperately needed. Because before he could worry about loving Beth well, he had to believe he had the right to love her at all, and there were a lot of times when he questioned that. Times he felt dirty or perverse or just plain pathetic for feeling the way he did. Arrogant and stupid for dreaming of something he didn't deserve. And, though all that self-doubt and self-hatred would still linger, Glenn had just given his feelings a small, but valued, sense of legitimacy. Told him through his actions and his words that it was alright. It wasn't wrong to love her. It was such a simple message, but it, too, meant so much.)
"Fuck," Daryl sighed heavily, once again at a complete loss for words. He rubbed his face firmly with his palms in an effort to compose himself and forced back newly threatening tears. "Is this Make Daryl Cry Like A Fuckin' Baby Day or some shit?," he tried to joke, needing some relief from the heavy atmosphere in the tower. "Christ, I'm worse than Asskicker."
Glenn laughed more than the weak attempt at humor warranted, obviously willing to play his part in lightening the mood. "Yeah, you found me out, man. Just wanted to make you cry," he said teasingly. "I thought about just kicking you in the balls, but I figured this would be better. Still got my thrills, but you got something out of it, too. More of a win-win."
"Was I wrong?" he asked, voice full of mock sincerity. "Because I can go back to Plan A if you want."
"No, you were right," Daryl agreed with a small grin, grateful for the forced levity. "This was better than a kick in the balls." He laughed lightly and shook his head, "Thought I might try to find a nicer way of puttin' it than that, but it sounds 'bout right. Sounds more like me..."
He put his hand over his breast pocket, resting on top of the photo now residing there, and repeated in a highly exaggerated version of his Georgian drawl, "'Preciate th' picture. 'S bettah than a kick in th' bawls."
Glenn chuckled, the pretend response such a contrast to the real one he just witnessed. "That's what I'll tell Maggie when she asks about your reaction," he joked back. "I'll tell her you just shrugged and said it was better than a nut shot. She'll love that."
Daryl let out a small, but genuine, laugh. Mostly just at the idea of Glenn trying to lie to Maggie (or anyone else for that matter) about anything, even in jest. "Doubt she'll love it," he responded, "but I bet she'll believe it. Woman knows I got a way with words."
"Yeah," Glenn agreed with a grin. "You're a poet."
Before Daryl could respond to to the tease, his attention was caught by movement in his peripheral vision. A lone walker had stumbled out of the woods and was slowly shuffling towards the wall. Reaching for the crossbow that had been abandoned at his feet, he loaded a bolt and shot it straight into the creature's skull.
After the walker fell, lifeless for a final time, he lowered his bow and took a steadying breath, unsure how to resume the conversation after the interruption. Whatever lightness they had tried to forced into the atmosphere had dissipated with the creature's appearance and Daryl felt the full weight of the moment return. In a gesture that would soon become second nature, he unconsciously reached up and touched his breast pocket again, finding comfort in the feel of the picture beneath the fabric. He pressed his palm firmly against his chest and took a deep breath, as if he could fuse the image to his body by pressure alone. Like if he just applied enough force he could absorb Beth straight through his skin. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he dropped his hand immediately, feeling like the action was far too personal, too private, to do in company.
Glenn watched the small internal drama unfold, of course, and could easily read the shifting mood of the room. Letting his friend of the hook, he took his cue to exit and breezily announced his departure. "Should let you get back to it," he said, throwing a small wave to the surrounding woods. He turned around and opened the door without giving Daryl a chance to speak. But, before he left, he looked back and asked with genuine interest, "You want come over for dinner tonight?"
No, Daryl thought, I really don't.
When his shift was over, he just wanted to go back to his room and stare at Beth's face for the next year. Or two. Maybe then he could take a break for dinner.
Maybe.
Glenn could see his reluctance and, once again, spared him the verbal struggle. He threw up a hand as if to stop Daryl from speaking, though they both knew that no words were imminent, and said, "Listen, you don't have to answer right now. Just think about it. If you're in the mood, swing by. No big deal."
"If it helps, we're probably gonna have some of Carol's casserole," he added with a smile. "And Maggie's been permanently banned from the kitchen after the creamed corn incident, so worse comes to worse, I'll be cooking. You'll be safe."
Daryl let out a small laugh at the assurance, remembering that meal (and it's aftermath) all too vividly. "Yeah," he responded noncommittally, running his hand across the back of his neck. "I'll think about it. Thanks."
And he meant it. The last part anyway. He didn't want to go, and probably wouldn't even think about it, but he did appreciate the invitation. Appreciated the sincerity behind it. at least
"Cool," Glenn said cheerfully and then left the tower without further comment, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Daryl's hand was back on his chest, pressing the photo in his pocket, before the first footstep echoed down the stairway. As before, it was a gesture of pure reflex. Like his hand had been drawn by some invisible magnet: it's movement completely outside of his will or control. This time, however, when he realized what he was doing, he didn't stop. He savored the feeling. He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and tried to focus all of his attention on the small area between his palm and his heart. Tried to concentrate all of his awareness, his entire sense of self, on that single spot.
The only spot in the world where they were together.
Part of him wanted to let the moment linger. To just enjoy the comforting presence of the picture and appreciate the warmth and relief that came from its mere existence. But a larger part of him couldn't be satisfied with such an abstract connection. So, even though he was on watch and should technically be paying attention, it was less than a minute before he broke down and took the photo out again.
He spotted the walker when he was talking to Glenn, he reasoned. He'd notice another one if it came along, too.
The first time he saw the picture, he was assailed by every emotion imaginable. But, when he looked at it this time, one feeling rose above them all: grief. Sheer, blinding grief. The photo just underscored a loss that was already inconceivable to him. He couldn't understand how everything Beth was - everything this sweet, funny, kind, stubborn, strong, loving, hopeful, maddening, amazing girl was - could be reduced down to one square inch of plastic. That entire life, that incredible soul, and this was all there was left of it. He was holding it in his hand. One picture and it wasn't even really of her. She just happened to be there. The only woman he'd ever loved (and the only one he could ever imagine loving) was nothing more than a background player in another woman's portrait.
In a perverse way, it almost felt worse than when there was nothing. Nothing could be almost magical. Like she left no trace on the world because she was simply too good for it. Like she was an enchanted pixie that came and worked her wonders and disappeared once her good deeds were through. He had never really considered that before. Had never considered the strange beauty of the nothing. Had only seen the gaping absence of it. But now that the nothing was gone, all he could see was the stunning inadequacy of the something that took its place. How could this be all there was? How could this be it? How could this be it?
It wasn't enough.
It just wasn't enough.
And he knew what he was going to do. In an instant, every argument he'd made to himself for the past few months was negated, and his path was blindingly clear: he was going back to Senoia. He was going back to the Greene family farm. He was going to go to Beth's room, find her things, and surround himself with her in every way that he could. He wasn't going to let this picture be the only thing there was left. He wasn't going to let her things rot away unappreciated in a dilapidated farm house. Wasn't going to let them go uncared for, unloved.
He had long wondered whether such a trip would help him heal or if would just deepen the wound, but now he had his answer: it would do both. The picture brought him a kind of happiness he hadn't felt since her death. The kind of happiness - no matter how brief - that he thought he'd never feel again. And it also brought a new level of pain: accentuated a loss that was already standing in such viciously sharp relief. Her home would do the same, he realized. It would bring him both joy and sorrow. It would be wonderful and it would be horrible. He'd want to die all over again, but he'd feel alive in the process.
He'd feel alive.
He'd been a ghost for too long. Dying for too long. And that picture, even with all the grief it brought with it, had made him feel alive for the first time since Beth's death. Allowed him to take his first real breath, make his first true smile. And, yes, it made him cry like a baby. And, yes, it was tearing his heart out every second he stared at it. But he felt something other than death, something other than pure emptiness, and he couldn't give up the chance to feel that again.
He didn't want to be a ghost any more.
He knew people would argue that making a pilgrimage to the abandoned childhood home of the dead girl you loved but never told probably wasn't the healthiest road back to the realm of the living, but it didn't matter. Healthy or not, it was the only road for him. He knew it wouldn't fix him. Knew he'd always be broken without her. But it would be something.
It would be something other than this.
He wouldn't have to stay, he reasoned. Wouldn't have to abandon his family forever. He'd just go for a little while. A few months maybe. A year if he really enjoyed it. But he'd come back. He'd come back and he'd bring heirlooms for Maggie and Glenn. He'd repay their kindness, their generosity in sharing the photo and their acceptance of his love of Beth, and act like the kind of brother-in-law he wished he had had the chance to be. He'd do it for Beth. And he'd do it for Herschel, too. He'd do something for the remaining members of the family he liked most of all. The family he most wished he had been a part of. (Because as much as he wanted Beth to be a Dixon, he would have been almost as happy to become a Greene.)
And he'd make them understand. He'd make sure they didn't follow. He had nothing to lose any more, after all. No fear in tipping his hand, in exposing too much, in feeling too vulnerable. They already knew he loved her, already knew what a wreck he was, had already seen him fall apart. It was pretty simple now, actually.
It was really fucking simple now.
"Gonna find out your secrets, girl," he whispered to her picture, imagining her room in his head. He smiled to himself just thinking about it, "Gonna make you blush, wherever you are."
...
Maggie and Glenn were surprised when their invited guest actually showed up for dinner that night. And even more surprised to learn that it would be the last meal they'd be sharing for a while. They thought the plan was insane of course, tried to tell him Beth wouldn't want him to do it, wouldn't want him to risk it, but none of that mattered. The decision was made and it was clear that he couldn't be dissuaded. So, in another act of what Daryl could only label true friendship, they let it go. Didn't fight him on it. They just ate Carol's casserole instead, drank some off-brand vodka pilfered from the latest run, and told jokes about the old prison days. When they parted ways late into the night there were no theatrics, no goodbyes, just well wishes for his safe return and a (deeply appreciated) promise not to stop him.
He left at dawn the next morning, without a word to anyone else.
And as the gate shut behind him and Alexandria disappeared into the distance, he was assailed by a strange feeling. He had been a storm of emotions since he first saw Beth's picture, but this was something different. Something bubbling in his chest, fluttering in his stomach, and it took him a moment to place it.
It was excitement.
He was excited.
"We're goin' home, girl!" he shouted above the roar of the engine, the wind carrying his voice beyond his own ears. "Don't you think that's beautiful?!"
So? Boring? Stupid? Passable? (God forbid) enjoyable? I'd be really interested to know. This is the first work of fiction I've ever written and it totally came out of nowhere. I was just reading a piece that I really loved and started typing one of my own because I couldn't sleep the other night. (The one I was reading was "I'll Be Yours for a Song" by DynamicSymmetry. If you haven't read it, do so NOW! Let that be the one good thing that comes from slogging through my story. It's absolutely nothing like this, so don't let my writing turn you off!)
Anyway, the whole thing's totally out of character for me and posting it here is even more bizarre, so I'm really curious what to make of it. If you have a moment and are remotely inclined, I'd really love to hear your feedback. And please feel free to tell me it was awful, that's fine. It'd actually be really helpful. Just tell me why. (You have plenty of options to choose from!)
(Oh, and I realize there's a camera in Alexandria. Obviously Glenn can get another picture of Maggie, but I kinda liked the idea of it being a bigger gesture. And, well, I figure I was making a lot of shit up, so why not ignore facts, too? Just for fun.)
Thanks for reading! I hope you don't feel like you totally wasted your time. If you do, go watch the trailer for Season 6 again and you'll feel better. :)