This story is free of any claims except those made by Daryl and Beth for each other.
"Beth?" shouted Daryl as he walked into their house, shutting the door behind him.
Their house. It was such a new concept to him, having a home and someone to share it with. Even before the turn, he'd never thought his life would be like this. He figured he'd end up looking at the wrong end of a .45 after Merle had gone and messed things up again. But here he was, in a two-story house, safe from Walkers, instead of some shithole on wheels or some backwoods still like the kind he grew up in.
"Beth?" he called again. He was gonna kill her if she'd gone next door. He knew Maggie needed help with the new baby, little Hershel Rhee was a handful and she hadn't spent much time minding Judith, but Beth needed her rest, too. Her time was gettin' real close.
"In here," she said, her voice floating down from the bedroom upstairs.
He took the steps two at a time, unable to control his eagerness. Yet he couldn't help pausing at the door when he saw her sitting on their bed, her hair loose on her shoulders and her belly round and full with child. His child. Their child.
"You writin' in your diary again?" He strode over to sit beside her.
"Now, why would I keep a diary when you already know all my secrets?" She kept writing, filling the page with her delicate script or crossing things out. "Shoes."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, swinging his feet off the bed and setting them back on the floor. That was one thing he was still getting used to. Someone caring if he was tidy or not. He leaned over to pull off his boots.
She slid her arms around him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. "How'd it go today?"
"Not too bad," he said as he leaned into her embrace. "Started clearing out a new block. It's got a playground with a swing set and slides."
"Judith will love that! I don't think she's ever been on a swing before."
He turned and settled onto the bed, his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out on either side of her. Resting his hand on her stomach, he said, "I was thinking more along the lines of this one."
"You really think we can stay here that long?" She placed her hand over his and looked up at him with those wide, blue eyes. "You think we can finally have a safe place?"
"I think I wanna make this place our home, and I'll make sure it stays that way." He kissed her full on the lips, twining his hands in her hair. "So, whatcha writin'?"
"Nothing important," she said, looking away as her cheeks turned pink. "Just a song I been thinkin' about."
"Sing it for me?"
She shook her head. "It's not ready yet."
He nodded and tried to hide his disappointment. He loved to hear her sing, and the memory of her voice was the only thing that had gotten him those dark days when she was gone. But now that she was here in his arms, he didn't need those memories to keep his head straight and his heart true. She was everything he needed.
As he closed his eyes, he heard the first few notes of a song filter through the air. It wasn't the new one. This one was familiar and warm, his favorite. This was the one she'd sang when he realized that he was in love with her, when he realized that he could spend the rest of his life eating peanut butter and jelly from the jar, drinking nothing but diet soda, so long as it was with her. That was first time he dreamed of a better life for himself, a life with a home and a beautiful wife and healthy child.
His arms tightened around her, and he felt her voice seep into his skin, filling the empty spaces of those dead and gone, mending the hurt and pain of his life before and after the turn. This was home, wherever she was. She was his home, and he'd do everything he could to keep her safe.