AN: Hello my fellow Bethylers! I have recently rediscovered my love for Bethyl, and wanted to publish a story of my own. This may be all over the place, but I love a good angsty/steamy/angry fic, so I had to make a Bethyl one to soothe my own needs. This takes place after Grady, when the group is already in ASZ (Alexandria Safe Zone). In my world, two people are assigned a house, and in this situation it's Beth and Daryl's house. I hope you all enjoy this and let me know some feed back. I was so nervous to write this because this is so out of my comfort zone, but I couldn't help myself. As always, I love you all. / DISCLAIMER: Beth/Daryl/Walking Dead is not mine.
Red.
That was all he saw. Knuckles were white gripped tightly against the cool white granite counter top of their kitchen sink.
He didn't know what exactly he was looking at, or if he was even looking at anything. It reminded him of the moment he sat on his knees in front of the giant metal basin pooled with deep crimson blood of strangers, staring up into something, anything – that would take his mind off of what was right in front of him.
Someone needed to talk some kinda sense, because there hadn't seemed to be any for as long as he could damn well remember.
"Damn you, Daryl Dixon. I hate you for doing this to me. I love it. It's my decision."
Losing her was something he didn't know how to deal with. How in the hell was he supposed to understand how someone so innocent and young could just be gone – ripped away from the world in such a quick and rash moment without any thinking or actions – how she could just be gone in a matter of seconds. He could remember the sound of the gun in his ears, ringing louder than any gun had ever rang before. He could remember the tightness in his chest the moment he realized it was her.
The tearing his felt in his whole body was something he would never forget – the feeling that she was gone. Knowing she wasn't there anymore – not his anymore. The moment she hit the floor he knew his life was done. Everything he had left was dead. Everything he had done up until this point had been for nothing, and now he had absolutely nothing left.
"You are so fucked up, girl – you know that? How the fuck you think it's gon' be? Huh?" His nostrils flared wide, anger reeling through his veins. She could see the veins in his forearms proturude from his skin as he gripped the counter, but her focus remained on his face - because to hell she would go if she shied down from this.
He remembered not being able to get up off of the floor with her in his arms. The feeling in his knees that locked them into place there kneeled on the cool tile floor of that hospital in her pool of blood. He could still feel the lead in his legs as he found himself walking towards the people she loved – her body limp and heavy in his own.
He still tasted the blood on his lips as he touched them to hers so lightly, so carefully – so desperately and so – so painfully. The way his heart ached deep in his chest was still there. It still crept in again and again - that terrible and sickening feeling of nausea at the thought and sight of her lifeless body.
"How do I think it's gonna be? I think it's gonna be good! I think it's gonna be mine – ours! It's ours, Daryl." Her lips moved fluently, never faltering or stuttering a word. She knew exactly what to say – all the damn time. Never did he ever hear her say something that didn' make sense – 'cept this.
He could feel the cement in his knees as he knelt with her, the shakes that raked through his body as he wept over her, and the deep breath he took when she opened her eyes to find his. His eyes locked on hers for what felt like an eternity before she started gasping for air – a sound that should have sent him straight to his grave over a heart attack.
He couldn't put a feeling or emotion to how he felt in that moment – and he didn't know if he ever would be able to. How can you tell someone how it feels to have the only person you ever really loved die in front of you only to be brought back to life minutes later?
Daryl Dixon never thought he would amount to much. He never expected to live longer than twenty-five if he was being honest, and never in his whole entire life did he imagine that he would be having this conversation with a younger blonde female with long hair and blue eyes – a woman who he loved so completely and so horribly.
Never did he ever tell her how he felt – because losing her once was more than enough and he refused to ever feel that way again. He knew that if and when god-forbid he were to lose her again, that would be it. He would be dead right along with her – and if he wasn't, he would make sure he was.
She had somehow been alive after a gunshot to her head, and that breath she took was another chance. Nothing would ever harm her if he was around again. He promised to himself that she would never be in danger as long as he could prevent it. No way in hell was he goi'na let her risk her life for somethin' so stupid. No fuckin' way.
So here he was, a forty-two year old man telling his twenty nine year old wife that she wasn't havin' no damn baby.
Her eyes were cold and fierce, anger so clear as he stared back at her as she leaned against the counter across from him. She was clad in a loose worn gray sleeved top, tight in the midsection, taught across the bump in her belly. Her black pants were tight against her legs, slim and slender as she crossed them so gracefully with one foot fit behind the other, her toenails painted a deep shade of crimson near black, and damn her for havin' the time to paint her damn toenails.
Her blonde hair was messy and long, waves running through, and he wasn't sure she had ever looked more fucking beautiful than she did right now, but fuck was she digging her damn grave.
He didn't remember exactly when she told him - it was last season probably, and he couldn't for the life of him remember what he said to her. He knew he probably told her somethin' stupid that made her mad because he does remember her not talkin' to him up until right now.
Because right now - it was there again - the problem. She was right jack in the middle of folding some stupid piece of clothing that was small enough to fit on a rat, and he damn near lost it. He exploded - pointing a hard finger at her and askin' What the fuck was she doin' with them damn baby clothes - cause we ain't havin' no damn baby! And after his shouting, she quietly looked up at him and sneered - going back to what she was doing happily a moment before.
And that was how they got here. Cause she was livin' in a damn fantasy - buyin' clothes for a baby she wasn't even goin'a have.
Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, bigger than it had been – growing to accomidate it, and in that moment all he could do was laugh. A throaty laugh coursed through him as he looked at her, pointing a sharp finger at her – accusing and angry.
"Fuck you, Beth…your fuckin' doin' this to me again. You think you ain't gonna die? That's a fuckin' joke, girl. Your givin' up your life for that damn thing that ain't gon' amount to shit." He bit at her, his voice harsh and course.
Her eyes never left his as they tilted up with her smile as she hatefully laughed back at him.
"You are so damn scared, Daryl…so fuckin' scared of bein' responsible for somethin' you know you gotta care for. God forbid you face reality. God forbid you care about somethin'! I didn' die that day – don't you dare forget that." She bit back at him, her arms now uncrossed and braced against the counter he was braced against.
She was closer to him this time, seething into his face across the table. His eyes searched hers and he opened his mouth again.
"I ain't afraid of nothin' girl. But you ain't havin' that ki-" Before he could finish, a small and hard hand came into contact with his cheek, a sting of pain running through it. The sting of it made his eyes expand, the look sporting to her one he hadn't ever given her.
Damn it. Never had she ever hit him. Looking at her with that look she should be scared of, she leaned closer to him.
"I'm havin' this baby, and if I die doin' it then so be it! It'll be your damn fault for wishin' it on me – on us! We could be a family here – theres a god damn nursery upstairs, sweetheart! We're havin' a baby – I'm pregnant with your child – my husband's child. And damn you for rejecting us. Through sickness and health. Fuck. You." She spit her words harsh at him as she turned on her heel away from him.
Without thinking, he darted behind her, grabbing tightly onto her arm spinning her around to face him, her hair whipping around her face, getting caught in her lips as she looked up at him. Her free hand came up to try and hit him again, this time failing as he grabbed her other hand, pinning them in the air beside her head as she struggled against him. Sure, he was so fuckin' angry - but no way was he goin'a let her walk away from him.
He watched her face as it contorted with anger and pain as she continued to battle him in the worst way – his face still and staring – watching her – studying her.
Her small whimpers and gasps along with groans rung through his ears as he held her arms in place, never letting them go as she struggled against them, not sayin' a word and then he felt her finally beginning to ease her force against him. Then he heard it.
"I hate you, Daryl – I hate you, I hate you!" Her head hung, words spilling from her mouth as her forehead leaned against his chest. Sure, it pained him to hear it - and hell, it was probably even true - but he loved her too much to give in - to let her have her way - not on this.
He felt her body start to quiver with emotion as she brought her body closer to his, seeking comfort – seeking him.
His hands found her head as he held her against him, that same tightness he felt so many times creeping up around him. Never did he ever want a kid – that wasn't ever something he thought about or considered. Why in the hell would he think about a damn baby? Specially right now - in this world. Fuck no.
His love life alone was never something to brag about – and he was still surprised everyday when he woke up next to her. Of course, he knew that had the world not ended, this woman would have never been anywhere in his sights – nor him in hers.
But now here they were – married and pregnant.
He really wasn't sure what to even call them anymore.
They fought daily, the both of them seething with anger before going to work, coming home tired and hungry not for food. They didn't kiss at all – him not being able to remember the last time his lips were on hers.
She never brought it up – never told him when she was in pain, or when she felt it moving – never asked him for food, or a foot rub. She did everything on her own. He could see in the steps she took that she was getting tired – bored and aggravated not only with him – but with it.
Her hands were constantly on her bump or her back, sometimes both as she would wince and then act as if it didn't happen.
He watched her constantly, when she showered - when she slept, when she ate – when she dressed. He bit back smirks when she would huff into her pants – tugging her shirts over the large mound planted in the middle of her body. He could catch her talkin' to it sometimes, words he couldn't hear - maybe words he didn't wanna hear.
She didn't get rid of it - not matter how hard they fought or how many nasty names he called her - she rebelled. Was she so damn wrapped around his finger that it hadn't crossed his mind once to drag her by her hand into that damn clinic and tell all of the staff that he didn't care what she said - to get rid of it?
So there, in their bed in the early hours of the morning, she had managed to wake him up - and ask him to fuck her. He stared at her and didn't say a word, and let her do what she wanted. Wasn't that all that was happening now a days? Somewhere, he had stopped yelling - stopped asking - and stopped telling.
Sharp nails dug intentionally into the tanned skin of his back, close to the scar that he could still feel underneath the thick skin that was back there.
She sometimes whined and squirmed in her sleep, a hand always on her belly – sometimes grabbing and sometimes clawing – and it was then that he would take her hand into his own and she would wake up, looking at him and then turning onto her side away from him – their hands disconnecting.
So right now to his surprise, in the winter – months away from when she told him in the spring, she is underneath him after dragging him atop of her in the middle of the night – bringing him out of his sleep begging him for sex. Sure, he missed it - missed her, but he hated her. He hated what she was doing to him - what she was taking from him and he was angry. He was so damn angry with her for being so stupid and so selfish.
"God dammit girl, what are you even fuckin' doing!" He hissed atop of her as her fingertips pressed harder and with increasing pressure into his back. Bruises formed just beneath the skin, and he looked at her, before his lips curved up into a sarcastic and menacing smile, cackling in a hideous malice. Fuck it all right now, I guess.
His body pressed down onto hers, her bump probing into his abdomen, reminding him of what they had done. Constantly fuckin' reminding him and never letting him forget it.
"Nothin', motherfucker," she responded, quietly and softly, a low rasp in comparison to his tone before he leaned down, face beside that of the smaller girl's in an almost condescending gesture of 'equality'.
The name made him blink, her never calling him a name before, her anger as clear as his right now - but fuck if he was goin'a let this moment perish. He missed her - missed touching her - missed being inside her. All because that little fuckin' monster that had taken root inside his wife without his permission.
"Nothin' my ass – you better watch yourself girl." he hissed loudly and without hesitation directly into her ear. He drew back from the sensation, a pained gasp escaping his lips, shocked and put off by the sudden bombardment of his eardrums.
"You're a goddamn jackass, that doesn't deserve shit!" she heaved, pausing with every meaningless attempt at flinging the man from off top of her.
For a split second , his eyes flashed to hers with a trace of real and true anger, rage that coursed through him before staring at her with the same eyes that saw her wake up after death, and he forgot everything all over again - and there it was. The one thing that could bring him to his knees.
He saw through that though - he saw through her weak attempts at fury, and at ridding herself of this 'jackass', he saw straight to her pathetic little lies. She cared for him just as he cared for her, and that was where it got murky.
It was pacifying, it was companionship, it was caliginous, it was all these things and more in a clashing of pity, disdain, hatred, competition, adoration, protection, possession - and all so much more.
He slid his calloused hand beneath her shirt, fingertips teasing over her heated and smooth, familiar skin. Nails dug down simultaneously, one on his neck, and the other dragging slow, skin-breaking lines down his side. Her back curved up along the mattress, a hiss of a gasp escaping her clamp-shut teeth.
By the time she found herself at this point, there was literally nothing he could do - it was simply the truth, and something he had found that he just had to get fucking used to. And yet he never seemed to, and never would, no matter how much the lovable but terrifying girl repeated the same systematic overbearing.
Soon she not only pressed her nails in, but clenched his neck entirely, cutting off the air just so from making it in and out of his windpipe.
He wanted to growl at her like a wolf – like an animal, but he found himself merely struggling for some time, until eventually relaxing, his head light and his gasps flowing slowly and evenly between his lips. In his lack of awareness he nearly missed her palm pressing against the curve of his jeans, just over his crotch.
Within his mind-lost stupor, his hips jolted in surprise with a hesitant mewl, before he quickly dug his row of sharpened teeth into his her soft pink lower lip, beckoning her blood he so detested to drip for all he cared, so long as his last ounce of dignity not be stripped from him.
And yet that was just her damn intent, as he snaked his tongue 'round her ear, breathing on the damp skin and adding some flow to the movement of her crotch-bound hand. He was doing all he could to withstand it, but with his own emotional attachments adding to the brewing pot of submission, the pleasures were coursing through him and bubbling to the surface.
It was within little time that she removed his hands from their current locations drawing a faint, raspy whine from her involuntary lips and onto her hips, hoisting her up and around onto all-fours, though without her cooperation ended up merely shoving her boney shoulders into the bed beneath her.
"Fuck, Daryl, quit it!" she hissed, trying to adjust herself, but again, he had nothing of that as he simply positioned himself comfortably on his knees behind her, quickly stripping both their skin of their garments.
Fear and exhilaration coursed throughout her while she continued to struggle, the cold, crisp air sliding with twisted vigor over her exposed rear. Grabbing her hip, his finger grazed against the bump, forgetting for a second that it was there – extra skin stretching and accommodating it.
She barely had any time to get comfortable and to adjust by the time his slimy finger was prodding at her entrance, the salty, only half-working layer of saliva coating it with just enough moisture to lessen the skin-on-skin friction.
"Shit!" She groaned, a powerful combination of both her own arousal and the initial pain the pleasurable pain she had become so accustomed to in their quadrant-skipping times together.
After some time of this, another finger inserted after another and she thanked the lord he bit his nails down these days, she seemed to be under the impression that they had had enough of playtime.
He withdrew his fingers and she bit down hard on her lip to hold back the involuntary gasp that would have otherwise been emitted - though she feared he had heard every noise regardless, and slicking his member, positioned properly, before going to slide in, tip just thin enough to not completely overwhelm her.
'Completely', being the key word there, as her back curved, her body betraying her and despite the feeling of helplessness that resulted, her hips responded eagerly as well. She began to build him a more steady rhythm, each thrust added to the thrusting of her own hips, her core pulsing around his hardened cock, her wetness helping glide in him in and out of her.
He then dug his fingers into Beth's long blonde nest of hair, pulling back on the girl's head as he plowed into her. He let out his own gentle sighs of relief along with heated grunts, all becoming more like a slow mumble of a cackle.
Their movements and their friction slowly harmonized, reaching passions and throws beyond proper comprehension, the tension and the pressure building up beneath skin and within nerves outstretched over every inch.
The pain that resulted was only more exciting - nails dragging through the skin of her scalp, the not-quite-lubed roughening of skin with each thrust in and out. It all made every sensation feel emphasized by millions, and though she continued to mock him through their tirades, he could no longer hear as he neared his final release.
"Shit, damn, shit Beth, I'm gonna…!" he hissed, trying to speak a warning - a roundabout way of saying God dammit, please tell me to pull out. And pull out he doesn't, as he leaned down once more, clamping his mouth onto the her neck so as to suck, tongue working at her skin in time with every thrust, hips quaking and becoming more forceful with each movement.
Beth came before him, her core pulsing with her release, clamping around him and milking him for all he was worth, almost as if begging for his own release. The shocks went through her once more, twice more, and thrice more while Daryl continued, powering towards his orgasm, before heat wafted over him and he reached his own peace, coming inside her.
The second time he had ever came inside of her – realizing that the worst to happen had already happened, and hell if he wasn't going to enjoy it while he had it. But fuck - had he not learned from his mistake?
Did he even care? Was he really that stupid to risk her life for that one moment of irrational pleasure, just wanting to implode into her as if they didn't need to worry about the consequences. She was his damn wife after all.
And wife she was. Beth Dixon was his wife that he married in the damn apocalypse, a thirteen year gap between them, knocked up with his kid inside her belly.
And with a deep breath, he pulled out, a dazed and dumb and involuntary smirk on his face that stood in contrast to his look laced with sadism from before. He took the dazed girl into his arms, ignoring whatever mess or obligations there were for this moment, and enjoying the brief aftermath for what it was. He knew this would be different in the morning, and he might as well enjoy it while he's got it.
They supposed it didn't matter what to call them, not anymore.
He knew something was wrong when she was hunched over the bed at 3:30 in the morning. He was woken up on his own to seeing her across from him bracing herself and crying. He watched her for a moment before jumping to his senses and sitting up in the bed and meeting her eyes.
"I'm sorry." The words spill from her mouth so easily and he isn't sure if she had meant to say it aloud as she watches him, tears clouding her eyes. Her nose scrunches up as she grits her teeth and lets out a breath and a whine, her knuckles white gripping the sheets.
He continues to watch her before getting on his feet and rounding the bed, his hands coming to rest on her stomach, his hands warm against her skin as the tearing continues to rip through her.
She continues to cry and whine and he almost feels bad for her – guilty even.
But he then remembers that she did this. She betrayed him in the worst way possible and this was her fault - and he hated her for it.
Her hands go over his and grip them with such force that he hasn't ever seen from her before, and she pushes her body back against him. His hands are still against her bump, and then he feels it – the squirmy move against her taught skin and he almost shouts.
The jelly like movements against his palms doesn't stop, and it's like he's feeling a fish squirm against a bag, trapped inside. It almost brings him to his knees as he realizes that this is real – right fucking now is so real and she's having a baby. His anger seems to flood away for the moment and he's relishing in the thought of an actual human being living inside his wife.
A human is inside of her – grown by her for all these months alone, attached to her – part of her. And in this moment, she's getting ready to bring it into the world. It's grown into a baby and it's about to come into this scary and fucked up world.
It's also then that he realizes that this was his worst nightmare. This was the day he was going to lose her. He had stopped counting the days after she told him she was keeping it, and he had lost count so many months ago.
He put it off as much as possible, and now here it was. Here she was – doing what she said she wanted.
His gripped her hands back – not completely sure if he realized he was doing it or not, but he leaned his head against her shoulder and moved her hair away from her neck, his lips next to her ear.
All the years they had spent together had come down to this very moment in their lives. Married for two years, pregnant for almost one. Almost dead, lost, trapped, taken - all in their time together. And now this was it. Something anyone would kill for. Something couples cried over and smiled about – and this was what was going to end them.
"I love you." He says to her, his lips moving against her earlobe as he hears her groan in pain immediately after, a gritted scream coming from between her lips.
She doesn't say anything back to him – and he isn't surprised as this is the first time he thinks he's ever said that out loud – the first time maybe even thinking it.
Now of all times.
They never talked about what to do when this time came – and it isn't too surprising since they didn't talk much at all in the past few months.
His hands still were in hers, and he slowly turns her and helps her onto the floor, sure that knowing Beth, she would rather not ruin the sheets they had finally had.
He had called the medical department over the walkie that they had been given when she started getting those damn check ups.
Three hours passed and he was now a completely different person. Her labor seemed to be shorter, and not lasting really long like first time labors should be. Not that he knew much of anything about havin' babies - specially in a damn apocalypse, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining.
He sat in a fold out chair next to a hospital bed that he assumed was for having babies, her arm connected to an IV and her belly strapped with a monitor.
She clung onto him almost as if her life depended on it – which maybe it did, and he would not let go. He never imagined being here – in this moment when it actually happened, and he knew that even if he wanted to – he couldn't leave.
He watched her breathe through painful contractions every two minutes, and Daryl would get his hand squeezed and sometimes knuckles rolled when he quietly reminded his wife to breathe.
She was in no mood and as much as he wanted to tell her he forgave her, to tell himself he did, he refrained and just watched her – hoping that maybe his eyes could say what his mouth couldn't.
"Remember to breathe." He said gently and quietly, feeling his hand going numb once again and Beth biting her lip and crying out a bit.
"Tell me to breathe one more time and I'll make you never breathe again." She quietly growled back hostilely as she tried to breathe through another contraction.
Daryl said nothing, as he usually wouldn't do – usually hadn't done in the last seven months – and even now it was a surprise that they were conversing as much as they were, since she was experiencing the worst pain of her entire life and hell if now was the time to finally converse.
When the contraction was over, she started to pant, "I want him out…"
Hearing her words, he looked up to her and squinted, trying to comprehend her words – trying to process that she had just referred to it as a 'him' – that this thing was actually a possible boy – a son. What the fuck.
Just then the nurse assigned to monitor her during her labor knocked on the door and entered the room.
Jessie was her name and she was a bright blonde who obviously loved her job.
She heard Beth's announcement and she gave a small smile, "Then let's check how far along you are."
He watched her as she put on a pair of rubber gloves and gently helped Beth move her legs into the blue rests on the end of the bed, spreading them apart.
He rubbed her hand as she let out a whimper as Jessie checked her dilation. When she reappeared from between her legs, she had a light smile on her face,
"Good news - you've reached 10 centimeters." She said with a chip in her voice – and he couldn't understand how she could be excited – happy even. He knew what was going to happen and damn her for flaunting hope in their faces.
"What does that mean?" He finally asked.
"Beth is fully dilated and ready to push." Jessie replied, changing her pair of gloves for a new pair, the snap making him jump.
That made his heart skip a beat - fear laced through his veins and damn it that he felt that bile in his throat threatening to arise. he was fuckin' terrified.
"Now, I don't think Beth or this baby has the patience to wait for the doctor, so I'm going to deliver." She saw the apprehensive face on Beth but gave her a reassuring pat on her thigh, "Don't worry, I've delivered several babies before."
Beth nodded before she started to sit up, Jessie quickly gathering towels to put underneath her. Within seconds, she was on the edge of the bed with each of her knees bent apart and her hips spread. His eyes remained on the nurse, watching her cautiously and while he knew she was trying to help her - she would only end up hurting her in the end.
Jessie was between her legs and he was sat off to the side, his hand moving cautiously on her lower back and the other gripped tightly in his wife's grip.
"Okay Beth you're in control. On the next contraction, I want you to give a nice big push and hold it for ten seconds, okay?"
She answered with a grunt as she finally gave in to the pressure between her legs. Daryl felt her tense up and looked to see her face contorted in pain and then watched her body relax after Jessie finally said 'ten.'
After a few pushes, Beth finally cried out in pain; her head resting against the pillow behind her and her fingers digging into her legs, bracing herself against them.
"You're making excellent progress Beth; the head is starting to crown!" Jessie smiled brightly and she groaned in response.
Beth looked over at Daryl, "Do you want to look?" What?
The man gave her a blank stare not knowing the answer. He had had no part of this whole thing, never helping her - never bonding over it, and really didn't even realize the reality of it until three hours ago.
He truthfully didn't want to look, but he also didn't want to upset her…even more. He's already pissed her off earlier today, and all the other days before today and he definitely didn't want to do it while his wife delivered their baby.
God – their baby. How badly he wished he could be happy – could appreciate her for giving him this gift. But to him – his reality was that this kid was taking her away from him - and how could he accept that?
Eventually he found his voice.
"Sure." He rasped, and Jessie gestured for him to come next to her.
Standing from the chair, he looked at her as to ask "are you sure", before breaking the stare and moving a few steps down to the end of the bed.
When he looked between Beth's legs, he suddenly felt sick and a disgusting taste in his mouth. Beth, who wanted the pain to end, pushed with the next contraction, and Daryl saw his son's head emerge a little; it was dark and covered in blood and other fluids, "That's the head." Jessie said, even though he already knew what it was, "And I see hair!"
Beth gave another push and that was the end of it for Daryl.
Jessie announced, "The head's out! Daryl, do you want to-" He watched as she turned the head of the baby, it's face towards him and he damn near fainted. Dear fucking Christ - there it was. There was this thing between her legs coming out from inside of her and this was real…this was life and this was fucking terrifying.
"No." He bit sharply, looking away from the baby in front of him and moved back to his wife's side, kicking the chair away from the spot he stood in, standing next to her and taking her hand. His eyes connected with hers and he brought his head down to hers.
His other hand went into her hair, caressing her scalp as he leaned into her ear, telling her how sorry he was. In that moment, seeing something coming from her - her doing it all on her own made him so fucking sorry. So sorry that there was nothing he could do - nothing he could say that would change this or make up for that.
"I'm sorry, girl." He grunts only loud enough for her to hear, and her eyes clench tightly as she finds that as encourgment to push hard, gritting her teeth and groaning out a long cry before following with another.
"I'm going to pull the shoulders through, and I want you to breath deeply for me." Jessie tells her, making eye contact with Beth.
His head is still next to hers, but he is glancing down at the end of the bed where her legs are parted and she's holding her legs from underneath, gripping tightly. He watches the baby as its still inside her, coming from a place he had been do many times, slowly moving out of her and holy shit - that thing is inside of her. They made that thing, and here it was.
No matter how many walkers he had driven a knife through, and how much blood he spilled and wore on a daily basis - this was something entirely different. This was blood that shouldn't have to be spilt.
He watches Jessie move her hands between her legs, twisting and pulling the baby, and he watches Beth's stomach contort and move like jelly and it's the strangest sight he's ever seen. He can't compare it to anything else in his life, and right here – right now is it.
He grabs her knee and squeezes lightly letting her know he's there, and he looks back at her as she looks at him and he can see pain in her eyes as she holds the stare, slowly moving her mouth open to cry out in pain – a scream louder than he has ever heard from her before.
Her eyes still hold his as he can hear suction from the other end of the bed, never breaking his stare with her.
He moves closer to her, and before he knows it – he's telling her he loves her and tears are welling in his eyes as he tries to blink them away before kissing her hard and needy, feeling the tears fall down his face.
She presses her lips back against his as the grip on her knee tightens and her body is tense, pushing the baby out the rest of the way.
He heard her groan into his mouth, a wailing cry erupting into the room, and he finally hears it.
"It's a girl!" He can't believe he manages to hear Jessie's voice over the wailing, and he finally breaks away from his wife and looks at her – expecting to see her fall limp against the bed – now gone that it's here.
But to his surprise, he pulls away and sees her crying as she looks at him, a smile spread wide across her face and he doesn't realize what's happening before he sees a bloody and squirming thing on his wife's bare chest, small blue fists flying in the air.
He watches her hands find the squirming mess and hold it against her, crying and talking to it – talking to the baby – the girl. He just went along with her when she said it was a him, and now that wasn't true.
"A girl – it's a girl!" she smiles brightly up at him, tears still freshly flowing from her eyes as he realizes that his own are flowing too.
He looks down to the screaming mess in his wife's arms, and he can't believe it. He gently reaches out to touch the baby, the skin soft and so warm. His hands move on her back, as if trying to soothe her and he watches her as he hears Beth whisper to the baby.
Suddenly, he realizes that he isn't mourning - he isn't saying goodbye, and he isn't losing anything. He's gaining a kid - a baby with the woman he loves more than anything in the entire fucking world.
"I love you sweetheart. Mommy loves you so much." She whispers, pressing kisses to her head again and again, and he quickly realizes that holy shit…she's here. They both are – somehow his wife is still breathing and she's alive and then there's this tiny version of his wife crying and squirming in her arms and watching her cradle the baby against her - he realizes that that baby is him too. He put that thing inside of her and she took care of it while he neglected it. She brought it into the world - fighting the whole time. She endured pain he would never understand, and his heart swooned.
He watches the baby squirm against her chest, lips latching on her skin, moving against her mother searching for warmth and he realizes he's crying. He's crying like a baby - just like the one they just had. She cradled her against her, and he's in a moment of adoration watching her hold their baby for the first time.
She's a mommy…said so herself. That thing right there on her chest moving and breathing is her daughter – is his daughter – is their daughter, and holy shit he's a father.
It's then that he finally hears Jessie's voice again and when he looks to her, she's throwing away her gloves, and Beth's legs are down and she's just laying there – okay.
"Congratulations you two – do you have a name?" She asks a question he's never heard and no – a name? For what? The baby he didn't even plan for and didn't even face having until now?
But it's then that he hears her speak up, and he's so thankful that she does - because one of them has been loving this child all along.
"Scarlett" His head turns to his wife and he sees her looking down at the baby, smiling proudly as she takes his hand in her own, squeezing tightly.
"Scarlett Dixon." She says, and he finds himself staring dumbly at her as he understands what she's saying.
His daughter is amazing. She's everything he never thought he could be – or could have and she's bright and she's vibrant and she's theirs.
The first time she calls him daddy he nearly faints, and he thinks he cries but he doesn't let her see it – and instead her just goes to her because she is calling him, and she's holding out a writing worm in her hand, and he laughs at her in amazement and tells her she'd better put that down before her Mama sees and she blames him for makin' their daughter a scavenger.
Beth is sunshine and he can't understand why he ever doubted her. Why he ever questioned her ability to be a mom, or her choices to become one. He sure as hell doesn't know how in the world he thought she could leave him with this little spitfire of a daughter on his own.
He watches her every day - take care of her, put her to bed - brush her hair, cook dinner, dance around the house.
She's a fox and she's one sexy wife and one sexy as hell Mama and he thanks her every day for it. He takes her in any way he can – any time he can – as much as he can and he nor she never complains.
So when she comes to their door one night, calling his name while he's inside her, and he looks down into his wife's eyes, asking – and she of course – nods her head to the door, he realizes that this is life. This life was a nightmare - and nightmares end. Nothing was more important than her – especially not sex.
So he presses a chaste kiss to her lips before handing her the blanket off of the floor and watches her pull it tight against her, naked underneath and he longs for it, but he knows it can wait; before pulling his pants on, shooting her a wink before making his way to their girl.
He opens the door for her and sees her long hair messy and brown, her small hands clung to a teddy bear he had gotten for her – and she looks up at him – and it nearly brings him to his knees.
"The hell you doin' up, girl?" he whispers, his voice hoarse as he pickes her up easily into his arms hugging her against his bare chest, turning her around to face her Mama.
"Want mama." She says, and her fist reaches out for Beth, and she clutches the sheet closer around her and reaches out for her baby, taking her from her husband's arms as she sits her in her lap, stroking her hair as she lays her head on her chest.
He steps back and looks at her for a moment, and she flashes him a smile and a small "I love you", and he smiles back and winks at her before making his way to his side of the bed.
Settled in, he glances over at his girls and sees that Letta is already asleep, the bear hung from her hand freely, and Beth is looking over at him.
"Didn' think we'd get here." She whispers, and he takes her hand in his and runs his calloused thumb over the "A" on her wrist.
"Me neither, baby." He whispers back to her before moving close to her and cupping her face in his hand, hovering over her keeping their gaze before he kisses his wife, and his daughter goodnight.
I hope you guys enjoyed! Give me some feedback of ANY kind - and let me know if you'd like to see more Bethyl like this. After the SF of season 5, and being a little bit on Team Delusional, this is my outlet, and Bethyl will forever live on. TWD XOXO
-Stephanie