When You Care

A Bethyl Story

Chapter 1 - Introductions

She was an early riser, always had been, even on weekends. There wasn't anything wrong with that, just was a simple truth. The sun came up, and she rose with it, bright eyes and skin aglow; though she was one to never voice her readiness in the morning. She never was that overly cheerful person that would set someone else on edge and have them grinding their teeth until their morning cup of coffee was consumed. In fact, she was quiet. She was just a slip of a thing that could tread through the old farmhouse without anyone hearing, like a ghost that roamed through the halls, ethereal and soft.

Spring was in the air, though Georgia never got that cold in the first place. Any snow meant the end of the world down in the South, and this year had been no exception with a mere two inches shutting down the entire town for days as a few more inches had lazily drifted down quickly after. The day after that though, it was all melted under the shining sun. Now, green was everywhere: in the fields, in the trees, people's gardens. There wasn't a trace of cold or frost to come, a comfort for so many that relied on the damp soil this time of year to start plowing and seeding.

Junior year of high school was quickly coming to a close and then Beth Greene would soon be focusing on college applications, though more specifically which college to actually go to. The recruiting started early it seemed, and she already had a very nice offer for a pre-med program at the prestigious Johns Hopkins in Baltimore: something that her daddy had been bragging about to all his patients at the clinic for the last two weeks when he stepped in, human or not. However, in a town as small as hers, girls like Beth Greene didn't go to college, especially for such a strict study.

Girls like Beth Greene married their high school sweetheart young (currently Jimmy since winter formal, a tall and lanky shy boy of seventeen and just graduating with plans to take over his family farming business), got pregnant and had two little ones and a household to run with an iron fist by the time they were twenty-one. Girls like her might keep their little quirks as they went through life, but stayed strong with their Christian faith and regularly went to Church and taught Sunday school without fail. Girls like her didn't question the order of small towns, clicked their tongues disapprovingly as that black sheep of an older sister went off and had a whirlwind affair with a married professor while in college that went down in smoke, and most of all: girls like her didn't leave Georgia.

It was sad that these things were normally accepted where she was from. Maggie, while the middle child, was her oldest sister by half (different mothers). It was almost some unwritten duty somewhere in the laws of sisterhood that stated Maggie had to be the one that paved a casual path of slight self-destruction while running off to college and with new boys and then Beth reclaimed family honor by doing everything simple and right.

Beth went over to her dresser and looked at the letter again.

She wasn't so sure anymore what to do.

Daddy said getting the acceptance for the pre-med program was an honor, especially at the tender age of just turning seventeen. He told her that if it was something she wanted to do, she needed to keep her grades up and apply for scholarships to cover what the university didn't: books, food, and enough leftover money for a trip or two back home.

Hershel was the local vet in their sleepy little Georgia town. He was an older gentleman that relied heavily on his faith after his terrible brush with alcoholism, though was quite distrustful of many strangers with a heavy dose of old school Southern racism on the side. It was surprising for Beth overall at his ecstatic reaction to the recruitment letter she had received. Of all people, she expected that he wanted her to be like her mother and settle down with a nice, local boy.

However, Hershel had been full of surprises lately. In some strange effort of showing her that their little local slice of farming they maintained would go on without her, the vet had hired an older man that would be starting this weekend to ease the burden of chores, especially with Otis gone.

"Just some high school, redneck dropout that's been a mechanic and dabbled here and there," he had informed one evening while he sat in his recliner. His wife, Annette, sat next to him, knitting and nodding while humming some indistinct tune. "He won't need much pay, just a place to stay and his brother might drop by sometimes and help out. Told 'em they can hole up in the barn office, fix it nice how they want and we'll feed them free of charge. This is just to help us get some of the equipment fixed up and get organized so that maybe we won't need you next summer. I'm hoping Otis can be back on his feet by then. I know it's tearing him up something awful, but you don't fix a crushed pelvis that easily. If he doesn't turn out to be so bad, might be asking the man back. Otis is getting on in years, I don't expect as much out of him as I used to and we need someone younger and stronger."

The idea was...surprisingly optimistic.

Beth looked up from her magazine with a start. The idea was also very foreign.

Strange.

"You don't have to do this, Daddy," she chided.

Her older half brother, Shawn who lived only a few miles away on his own property, born from Annette's previous marriage, helped Otis out with the last of harvesting when Beth was in school at the very first signs of fall. In the summer, Beth was often in charge of the property lately when Hershel left to help with the vet clinic, the young lady having been trained to drive anything and everything, though not much of a mechanic (that was when Shawn would try to help, though that usually failed miserably). Annette had never been one for farming, the classic housewife running the household of cooking and cleaning, that helped with the chickens and milked the two dairy cows they had at five in the morning every day since she had married her husband until the arthritis made it too much to bear. Originally, their foreman Otis, took care of most operations, Beth helping out in Hershel's place. Otis had a wife Patricia and they lived at the Greene farm in the main house, but a freak tractor accident crushed his pelvis some months back and they had moved to Atlanta while he remained in the hospital recuperating.

A new person in town, though...that never happened often, and only admitting silently to herself did Beth allow the excitement to spread through her. Life on the farm, while quaint and simple, was quite boring. "What's his name then?"

Without looking up from his own reading, Hershel replied, "Daryl. Daryl Dixon."

Beth placed the letter down when she heard the putt-putt of an older pickup that took her out of her dreaming as it pulled into the yard. She went over to her window that looked out and over their farm, an unknown black Ford slowly coming to a rest beside the other vehicles in the yard. The back was loaded up with a few odds and ends, identifying someone with a nomadic nature owned the vehicle. One man sat in the driver's seat, finishing the last of a cigarette, the smoke making a hazy, lazy winding trail in the air before dissipating.

She couldn't see much of him from the window, merely his profile at best: short and messy Walmart hair cut, old button-up plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, with several days worth of stubble on his face that looked as if he had attempted to at least tame it recently. He was older than her, maybe even old enough to be her father, but a rough lifestyle had more dramatically aged him, considering the energy that seemed to hum through him that was not normally found in old men. The guess was probably early to mid-thirties: hardened by life, but not all the way broken.

The man stepped out of the pickup, cracking his neck as he stood up tall and Beth was struck by that image of pure male energy, his shirt creeping up to show hard lines along his stomach as he stretched, a smattering of a line of hair that dipped somewhere she had never been before. She felt something unfamiliar creep into her, a strange heat that made her head buzz and everything seem a little fuzzy. Then suddenly, the man was looking up at her window and seemingly directly at her, his eyes a brilliant slate blue that were stormy like the thunderclouds that hovered on the horizon. She backed away from the window, flushing at being caught peeping and ran to the bathroom to wash her face and maybe some of the heat caused by her heart beating so fast.

Unknown to her, the man had given a smirk with a bit of a guffaw as he threw his cigarette down on the ground and stamped it out. He cracked his knuckles this time and headed for the front door of the farm house, almost itching with unease.

Merle had been off on another bender and landed himself in jail, a drunken disorderly, thank fucking God or what the fuck ever was listening. The fact that it wasn't something like drugs or gun running was a bit of a miracle, to say the least. He was due to be released a few weeks from now, but in the meantime, Daryl needed money. The younger of the Dixon brothers, while normally hot headed, knew better and to stay out of trouble, usually more content to be the one that sat back and stay quiet.

Years of abuse made sure of that.

With any luck, Merle would try to sober up and go off with a lady friend for a little while after his release. Sometimes that would happen.

Daryl loved his brother, but there was a difference between the love and twisted familial sense of obligation he held in comparison with enjoying the company of a relative. He didn't like Merle, and to be honest, every time Merle winded up in jail was one less headache to worry about...at least for a little while. But, just because he didn't like him didn't mean he didn't love him. Merle was all he had left in this life, mother dead thanks to burning herself to death with a stray cigarette while passed out from drinking, and dear old daddy was a combination of liver disease and a touch of lung cancer at the end (may the dick rot in hell).

So it was at this time, earlier in the morning than he originally planned, that Daryl Dixon had somehow landed an under the table job as a farmhand at the Greene family farm.

Free food and a free place to sleep (even if it was a barn) was more than enticing, especially with the operation being as small as it was. The man Hershel had said he wouldn't be getting paid much as they weren't rich by any means and it was a temp job until their foreman Otis was back on his feet, but Daryl didn't care. It was far enough from the crapshoot that Atlanta was and he'd be able to pick up Merle on short notice when he was released if need be (hopefully not), without his older brother stumbling into this area as easily as he had in the past.

Merle had a way of finding where Daryl stayed and usually caused trouble: the main reason Daryl never put roots down anywhere.

Damn place was just short of paradise as far as he was concerned.

It was far enough from the highway but close to the woods with what was most likely the Chattahoochee River not far away, or a smaller river or lake that hooked directly up with it anyways. The hunting would be fantastic for some small game in the summer and early fall.

He parked his pickup next to the other cars, an unmarked parking lot of sorts. He placed it in neutral and shut it off, enjoying the last dregs of his cigarette before starting his first day on the job. With a sigh, he opened the door and got out, cracking his neck. He then allowed himself to stretch his body, relishing the feeling of the wire of his muscles becoming fluid and loose. While stretching, he felt eyes on him.

He always could tell if another person was around. Something about half living in the woods could do that to someone. You knew someone was watching; it was a feeling, sometimes unsettling, sometimes comforting, but usually the first. Daryl was never one for people and even out here, it wasn't an exception normally.

He looked up to the window of the spacious plantation home, catching the stare of a young woman that backed up, still staring a moment before rushing off.

Skittish as a deer.

He was at the door quicker than he wanted to be, but Daryl had already met Hershel, helping the older gentleman with his vehicle that had broken down a few nights ago. He was offered a job right on the spot after some light conversation and getting Hershel moving again.

Daryl knocked on the door, knuckles rapping sharply against the wood of the screen door frame, clear as day. An older woman answered the door, brunette hair with a long nose and delicate neck, the hair pulled back into an effortless bun.

She wiped her hands on the apron, smiling.

"Hi there, can I help you?" she asked.

"Mmh'ere for Hershel Greene?" He jammed his hands into his pockets, thumbs hanging out. "He live here, right?"

Recognition flashed in her eyes. She opened the screen door, motioning for him to enter the home. "You must be Daryl. Hershel said you'd be coming. I'm Annette. Please, c'mon in." The good 'ol Southern charm was in full flair. She did motion for Daryl to take his muddy boots off in the entryway, waiting patiently and then had him follow her to the kitchen, having him take a seat at one of the stools at the kitchen island. The smell of breakfast was strong, homemade cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven and Daryl tried to hide the growling his stomach gave off. "Ya hungry, Daryl?" Without getting an answer, she put one of the rolls onto a plate, pouring a large glass of milk and setting it down in front of him. "Hershel will be a few minutes yet. Why don't you git some food in ya before the day starts?"

Daryl gave a noncommittal grunt, however nodding and grabbing the warm bun with his hand, lips smacking loudly as he ate.

"Momma, have you seen my sweater?" A voice, young, light, and extremely innocent, drifted down from upstairs. There was the light tread of feet down the stairs and a young woman walked into the room, distracted with her hair. "It's the the one I crocheted for sewing class last fall." She finally got her hair into a hair ponytail, lush blonde locks flipped back to reveal the young woman's face, clear and fine boned, with most notable light blue eyes that were widened with surprise at the moment, then became like hard glass when turned on the stranger that was in her kitchen. "Oh...uhm...hi there."

"Beth, this is our new farm hand, Daryl," Annette said. She motioned towards Beth. "Daryl, this is my daughter, Beth. She can show you around this morning since Shawn can't seem to get away from his place lately." She turned to address Daryl briefly. "Shawn is my oldest boy, moved out last year a few miles over. Starting on his own." The pride at the success of her son was evident in her voice.

There was a brief silence. Beth's small lips opened a little, pink blush staining her cheek. Her blue eyes were large and wide at being put on the spot, only being a teenager leading to the slightest awkward situations as being the most painfully enduring in their minds.

Daryl was never one for conversation, his lack of tact and wish to be silent most days making situations such as now more incredibly awkward. He stared Beth down, recognizing her as the young woman in the window when he first parked his vehicle. He knew it was rude, making her uncomfortable by the shift of her supple hips, but his gaze was deep; eyes were like a rushing river, dangerous and bright.

"Beth, grab some breakfast quick," Annette interrupted. She set up a plate that was next to where Daryl sat and put her hands on her hips, frustrated. "Where are your manners, girl?"

"Mm'sorr," Beth mumbled in reply. She quickly took a seat and Daryl couldn't help but notice how frail she was, light bones like a bird and more skittish than a damn rabbit; muscles tight and poised, ready for flight. She glanced sideways at him as her thin fingers quickly grabbed hold of the cinnamon bun, a warm piece torn off and quickly disappearing into her mouth. "Hi."

"Hey." He nodded back before shoving the rest of his breakfast in his face, lips smacking loudly and sucking at his fingers, oblivious to the winces on the lady's faces. He tried to remember some form of manners and start a conversation, the act alone foreign. "So what're we gon' git done today?"

Beth chewed slowly, eyeing him nervously. She wiped her hands on a napkin ever so daintily and took a sip of milk to clear her throat, all the while making note of how he sized her up. While Beth was an innocent and naive young woman for the most part, she had seen that look on many boys in her school before; especially around long, slim legs with nothing but skirts and shorts that barely skimmed along the thighs and left little to the imagination. However, their stares weren't necessarily as hard or sharp as this man's. Boys could never compare to a man that way.

A hunter.

This man seemed to be more at home shooting and skinning deer than being around people, and the way his gaze pierced her made her feel hot and extremely uncomfortable in the most confusing of ways. Goosebumps tingling along her skin with lightning speed, much like when listening to the perfect song. The electricity of it was almost tangible.

She broke the small moment.

A loud clearing of her throat and she replied, "Well Daddy told me that tha tracter was actin' up. I'll show you the barn and the property. And then I'll show you the chores we do. That okay, momma?"

Annette nodded, busying herself with dishes and turned her back to the pair. Daryl looked over to Beth, whom quickly stared down at her plate, focusing on finishing the rest of her breakfast. He turned away, aware of her obvious discomfort, though he knew he had done nothing to necessarily offend her. He may not have been the most cultured man, but he knew how to be polite to a woman when necessary and gave nothing but respect, the opposite of his father. Beth looked like she had bitten into a rotten apple he told her was ripe and now intensely distrusted him.

An older gentleman walked through the doorway of the kitchen. He was put together quite well for the most part. However, a tiredness dragged at him. Daryl could recognize inner demons. Like sought out like after all. It was Hershel Greene: iron pressed shirt with suspenders and white hair combed to perfection, and eyes harsh with steely blue-grey. He set down the Bible he carried, well worn and obviously loved for more than a few years.

"Good morning darling," Hershel greeted his wife, giving a quick and chaste kiss. Annette hummed back her hello and smiled warmly. The head of the household then took a stand at the counter, close to Beth. "Sweetheart." It was spoken with affection, Beth kissing his cheek quickly in response, and he accepted the plate that Annette handed him. "Hello, Daryl. Glad you could make it."

"Mornin." Daryl's answer was polite as possible, but short as he finished his breakfast and broke eye contact.

"I apologize for not greeting you right away. I'll also have to apologize for not being able to show you around the place. I don't do as much hard labor anymore, and Beth and Shawn have been helping with the workload since I have to play nice in town and Otis is away," Hershel explained. "I can talk to you more about pay and at least show you where you can stay if you wouldn't mind. Beth can show you around after."

"Sounds fine to me," Daryl stated as he stood and stretched. Some days, there were more kinks in him than he'd care to admit, especially if he sat around for more than a few minutes. He caught Beth observing him and she turned away, ears becoming bright red as she blushed furiously. He merely raised an eyebrow in return. "Get the day started, I suppose?"

End Chapter 1

Author Note: I wanted to get some more of this story written before I posted, but it's been sitting on my Google Docs for a little while now, and I figured I might as well take a plunge and get it out there for some good 'ol genuine feedback. After that horrible MSF for season 5, I know Bethyl in itself took a bit of a dive. There's the pockets of resistance on Denial Island that went down with the ship, and I love visiting every now and then, but I'm on Team Acceptance as of late *sobs*. However, I still want to celebrate Bethyl. I think they deserve to be celebrated in a proper way, and that's why I'm writing this. I tend to process feelings through writing, it's been a way of coping with life in general. Anyways, as you can tell I'm writing their speech with inflection and tone, so that's on purpose, not spelling/grammatical errors. Any other errors are my fault, I don't get this stuff beta'd (I know I should, I'm a bit of a lone wolf, sorry). Again, please tell me your thoughts on this. Comments, criticism, praise(?) are all totally appropriate. Sorry for the long notes, I tend to do explanations and rants in here, so always feel free to skip if you wish. Have a lovely summer day :D

General Warnings: Abuse mentions/happenings, sexual situations, violence, sexual assault, other intense situations, etc. - Anything that actually happens in the chapter, I will post a warning ahead of time for actions like that to avoid triggering for anyone.

Ciao