A/N: So I've always been a fan of the Carol x Daryl ship, but since season four I've started favoring Beth x Daryl. Personally, I'm not sure I believe it'll be introduced in the show simply because a lot of the audience would not appreciate the age difference (which I find rather frustrating, but nothing can be done really). Anyways, I thought I'd try a Daryl x Beth 'fic. The writing isn't the best, but it's more of a side project that I, admittedly, won't be updating much with NaNoWriMo coming up in seven days.
Title: Under a Very Black Sky (Theme song by Sick Puppies)
Rating: M
Pairings: Daryl x Beth (eventually)
Thanks, any suggestions feel free to post.
Chapter One
What Are You Thinking?
Footsteps whispered down the hallway and slipped into the subconscious of the sleeping man, his chestnut wisps a mess. His eyes opened, his lips parted in a yawn as he wiped at his face; weariness slithered through his veins. He cast a haphazard glance at the crossbow settled within arm's reach and smirked.
"Daryl, you up?"
"Yeah," he muttered, tossing his legs over the side of the cot and stretching. He'd dozed off some time earlier, and he figured he'd slept for a couple hours. It was more than he was accustomed to as of late.
"Sorry to wake you," Rick said, brows furrowed as he ran a hand through his sweat plastered locks. The man sat on the empty cot across from Daryl and sighed heavily. "You still wanna go on the run?"
Daryl nodded, gaze locked with the man's dark eyes. He didn't comment on what Rick was getting at; he wanted to avoid the conversation since he'd decided to go on the run.
"There's no shame in getting help," Rick said, inadvertently pleading for his renewal of sense.
Daryl shrugged. "Beth's comin'" he muttered.
Rick scowled, his lips quirked minutely. "Yeah, but-"
"But nothin'" Daryl interrupted, voice taking a sharp note. "I'd just a' soon have Beth with me as anyone else."
"Daryl," Rick tried again, making a broad gesture. "We both know Beth's not good on runs."
Daryl raised a brow, his tone darkening. "How would ya know, Rick? Ya haven't been on a run in months."
Exasperation flickered in the man's eyes, a grimace tugged at his lips. "Beth's good with the kids, she's good 'round here. We all have our strengths."
"Yer strength is leadership; leave the runs t' me an' whoever I choose." Daryl stood and walked to the entrance of his room, jerking his head for Rick to follow him. After a strained moment Rick got up, his stare levelled at the bowman.
"Where're you going?" Rick asked.
The man didn't answer, instead walked out in the hall and started toward the infirmary, his long strides carrying him halfway down the hall before Rick jogged to catch up. "So," Daryl said and glanced sidelong at the exasperated man. "What else did ya wanna say?"
Rick took a breath. "You know I don't like just the two of you going cross-state, so I wanted to ask you guys to wait a week. Strategize for now."
Daryl nodded, seeming to contemplate the man's words, before he shot down the idea. "I've waited a week; I'm not waitin' any longer."
"Why?" Rick asked, his temper elicited. He placed a hand on the man's shoulder and Daryl turned, jerked free of the restraint. Rick watched the anger flare in the redneck's eyes and had to bite his tongue not to yell. "You aren't invincible."
"No," he growled, "I'm not. I know that. Leave i' be; I've got my reasons." Daryl felt his anger boil, felt the irritability he'd been fighting for months; ever since he found Merle as a Walker. His breath came out in a hiss as he turned and walked off, cursing under his breath.
"When're you leaving?" Rick yelled, his patience dry with the turn of events.
"Mornin'" Daryl yelled back as he let the metal door clang behind him. He wandered a bit further before he leaned against a wall, his lolled back as he stared blindly at the ceiling.
He had to leave in the morning, before Rick forced him to wait so others could come. He needed away from the concerned attempts at conversation each time Carol walked by. He was tired of Rick trying to reason with him, and Glenn starting awkward discussions about his feelings.
The only person who did not try talking to him about what happened was Beth; and he knew Beth was in the same boat. Everyone kept asking how she was; if she needed anything; if she wanted them to take care of Judith and the kids instead.
Daryl saw it in her eyes, the look of pain, anger, and loss pooled just behind the strained smile and polite "no" she offered everyone. He saw she wanted normality and an escape, when it seemed everyone else felt treating her like a kid benefited her.
Daryl took a breath and walked off, returning his attention to finding Beth where he hoped to find her; in the infirmary tending those who were wounded with the recent fortification failing due to the Walkers.
::::
Beth bowed her head in silent remorse for the grey faced woman that laid before her; her lids had been shut for nearly a minute, her chest motionless. Though the wrinkles in her skin and the hollows of her cheeks were so very different from Maggie's when Carol put the knife in her hand and told her to kill her sister, the similar situation sent a pang through her heart.
Now, with a blade the length of her forearm she was quick and precise with her cut, the weight in her stomach bubbled and threatened to nauseate her. Blood that was not her own dripped from her hand but she was quick to wipe it on a towel, cleaning the blade next.
With a mournful look at the woman Beth turned away, flicking her sweat-frizzed hair so her gaze was hidden behind the blonde curtain. She took small steps out of the infirmary, casting a sidelong glance at her father who watched worriedly from a distance, just before letting the iron door clang behind her. As she walked, eyes angled to the ground, she did not see the crossbowman until she ran into him, his solid form a shock as she stumbled back, apology fleeting from her lips.
Daryl looked equally surprised to see her, his eyes clearing as he recognized it to be Beth. "Hey," he greeted quietly, glanced around them, brow furrowed. "Thought ya'd be a' the infirmary," he commented, gesturing for her to walk with him.
Beth blinked, ears strained to discern the peculiar note in the man's voice. It edged on anger, but it was the only indication offered. She studied his back for half a moment before he glanced over his shoulder with an inquisitive smirk.
"Comin'?"
She ducked her head and caught up with a few swift steps, cool hands shoved in her jean's pocket. It was unseasonably cool outside, and the chill seeped into the prison walls easily. It added an unwelcome bite to the normally humid air. "So what's up?" Beth asked quietly, a note of her old, bell tone sneaking in.
Beth watched as Daryl fumbled with something in his vest pocket, the old denim unwilling to release the paper he withdrew. He unfolded it and handed it to her, then patted his pockets until he found what he was looking for; a cigar and lighter.
Beth shot him a curious look. "Thought you quit," she said lightly and stared at the map, the lines faded and the numbers nearly impossible to discern. Any town names were erased with age and abuse.
Daryl shrugged. "New guy grabbed some last run." He lit one and smoke swirled around him, a thin vanilla scent touched the air. "We're leavin' in the mornin'" he said quietly.
Beth glanced sidelong at him, brow arched. "Morning," she repeated, thoughts distracted as she realized in just a few hours they would be leaving. She pursed her lips, her breath released in a steady stream. "Alright," she nodded. "Where're we going?"
He reached across her and pointed at a badly faded part of the map, then trailed his finger until they were out of Florida and headed to Alabama. "Wanna find somethin' 'n Alabama. If not we'll keep goin' west." Daryl took a breath and rolled his shoulders. "Ya gotta bring somethin'... a weapon t' defend yerself."
Beth nodded. "I know," she said quietly. A shiver ran down her spine as they walked outside, the chill biting deep into her skin. "I can't shoot," she murmured to herself. "I'll bring a knife."
Daryl angled so they were headed back to Block C and Beth almost walked on, her shock sprung when he spoke next. "Ya throw alright. Ya up t' practicin' a couple hours?"
Another nod and they fell into comfortable silence. Daryl didn't say anything until she was left at the doorway to his room. "I've got some throwin' knives 'round here somewhere," he muttered, searching around his room with a peculiar weariness about his movements. It wasn't natural; the lack of grace in his movements. It caused worry to sprout in the corners of her mind, but she chose to ignore it.
Beth watched him, her scrutiny catching his attention.
"What?" he asked
Beth shook her head, smirk twinkling. "Nothin," she said, keeping her gaze averted from his room.
His gaze didn't waver for a long moment, but then he seemed to give a mental shrug, his search continuing until he made a small, triumphant sound as he found the knives in a small box at the foot of the bed. He revealed them with a smirk and went to hand them to her, snatching a second set.
He snatched a longer blade and Beth couldn't help the forlorn look that crossed her features. Daryl noticed and strapped the sheath on his belt instead.
Daryl didn't wait, instead slipped by her and started to guide them outside where they could find a proper target.
Beth followed wordlessly, brows furrowed when she caught Daryl shooting a glare at a bedraggled Rick, who merely looked at her with pity. When the cool air fluttered her loose hair about her face she sighed. "Daryl, what was that about?"
He glanced at her, anger unbridled in his piercing blue orbs. He shrugged. "Dunno what yer talkin' 'bout."
Her hands flew to her hips, her head cocked unbelievingly. "Ya glared at him," she said, stance set.
She watched irritation flicker in his gaze and repressed the urge to back off. Whatever the reason probably didn't have to do with her anyway, and Daryl and Rick had been at each other's throats since Daryl convinced him there was need to relocate.
Rather than listen to reason though she continued to stare, waiting his response that seemed would not come. Daryl turned away instead. "Ya really wanna know?" he asked quietly, taking a moment to find a suitable target. When he found one-a wooden pole-he looked back at her, brow arched when she didn't respond.
She nodded, resolve set, and he shook his head. "Rick doesn't think yer good on runs."
Beth chewed on her bottom lip, tossing his words around in her head. After a moment she brought her gaze back to his. "What do you think?"
:::
Daryl stared at the girl, her determination and genuine curiosity sparking the urge for honesty. He wanted to tell her he thought she could hold her own, but realistically he knew she wasn't the best. She froze up when faced with hordes of Walkers, and while she had gotten better in practice she still had minimal experience.
He closed his eyes for a moment, thoughts racing as her gaze bored into him. After a moment he sighed. It wouldn't help her any if he gave her false confidence, and he didn't want to treat her like the rest of the group did; babying her and taking responsibility where she could hold her own.
When he opened his eyes again she was watching, patiently waiting for his answer. Daryl withdrew one of the throwing knives and watched his target; the red dot someone had painted on the pole. He took a breath, released it, and threw.
It hit the target right on.
"Practice can help anyone," he said finally, attention averted. "Beth, yer not defenseless, but ya need experience."
When he looked at her he expected her expression to fall, but instead amusement and gratitude gleamed in her eyes, the corners of her lips quirked. "Thanks," she said, withdrawing her own blade.
Daryl watched as she replicated the technique, blade twirling over itself to land no more than an inch from the center. He gestured for her to continue, correcting her technique a couple times before he told her to stop.
She looked at him curiously, a thin sheen of sweat coating her brow. It had taken a while but at last she had hit the center a dozen times and Daryl was content with her progress.
He withdrew the blade on his hip and handed it hilt first toward her. His gaze watched for the forlorn look to return, but it flickered only a moment before her fingers wrapped around the hilt, fingers brushing his. Her fingers were cold compared to his and for the first time he noticed the cool wind.
Daryl glanced at her as he noticed she was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, gooseflesh covered her bare forearms. He had her demonstrate a couple strikes with the blade, then nodded and stepped back. "Right," he said quietly, "keep those with ya for tomorrow."
Beth thanked him and started to walk away, the sun having long since set past the horizon.
"Hey Beth," Daryl called out, his voice rough with discomfort. "Don't ya have a coat?"
The petite young woman glanced back over her shoulder and shook her head. "Nah," she said. "Never had a reason to. 's always been warm out."
Daryl scowled, noting that the next run they made for supplies to snatch coats for everyone, just in case the abnormal weather persisted. He was always warm, he thought wearily, so he never thought about that.
Now, shedding his brown, leather jacket, he felt the nip of the air. He smirked at the shocked expression he was met with as he held the jacket out to her.
After a moment she smiled but shook her head. "Nah, 'm alright," she declined.
Daryl rolled his eyes. "I've got others, girl; take it. Ya gonna need it tomorrow if 's still cold."
After a moment longer of hesitance Beth flashed another, genuine smile at him and accepted the coat. "Thanks," she said, putting the jacket on. It was too large on her and hung down so that if she zipped it, it could serve as a conservative, low thigh dress.
Daryl felt a smile tug at his lips as he walked off and headed to his room where he hoped to sleep decent that night.