A/N: Thank you so very much for all the reviews, follows and faves! I'm beyond delighted that folks are enjoying this little series.
We're picking up pretty much where we left off with Beth and Daryl heading after Rick and Co. I'll be totally honest, I've had 'Love Don't Die' by The Fray pretty much on repeat while writing this, so…yeah.
I'm going to try to stick with what I know of the Georgia landscape and I'll probably take some artistic licence with the locations. I'll also draw in some of the events from the last couple of episodes and see how that goes.
I'm not upping the rating just yet – but there will be violence and some bad language. Slightly lighter fare than the tv show, though.
I hope you enjoy!
He throws his other hand in the air and says, "All right, fine. Let's go find our goddamn fool of a friend, Rick Grimes and his clan."
Beth grins up at Daryl and grips his wrist that's still holding tight to her head with her hand. "You mean it? We're going after them?"
"We're going after them," he says. "God knows what kinda trouble those three'll find. But." He pulls her close with the hand on her neck and lowers his voice. "We're gonna be smart about this. We'll follow the tracks, but we ain't going to walk on them. We stick to the woods and we stay quiet. That means small fires and it ain't going to be easy."
"What we've been doing is easy?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.
"Hell, yeah," he says, loosening his grip on the back of her head, but not letting her go. "This has been a walk in the park, Greene. If we're going to go in there and save the day, we're going in quiet and we're going to figure out what this group is. Got me?"
"I got you," she says nodding. "I'm with you."
His hand slides from the back of her head and he just cups her cheek for a minute. Beth's stomach tightens and she stares back at him.
"I'm outta my mind," he murmurs. "You're making me lose what mind I got left."
She squeezes his wrist and just says, "You'd be going after them even if I wasn't here, Daryl. So don't pin all this on me." He sighs and she adds, "Fine. You can pin fifty-five percent of it on me, but that's it."
He drops his hand and she smiles at him.
"Fifty-five percent, huh?" he says. He shakes his head. "Christ. Let's go, if we're gonna go."
He heads off the tracks and into the woods, Beth close behind him.
The first couple of hours are spent in silence with Beth getting used to the weight of her new crossbow in her hands.
The sun is high in the sky as Beth and Daryl make their way through the woods, going parallel to the tracks. The air smells of fall – crisp and smoky. The leaves are just on the cusp of changing and every now and then Beth catches sight of bright yellows and reds. The leaves under her boots crackle as she walks beside Daryl and she's slowly figuring out how to step quietly. After a half an hour of focusing on her walk and watching Daryl, her steps are practically silent.
He hasn't said anything since they made the decision to catch up with Rick and he seems content to just walk.
To be honest, Beth isn't really feeling the need to fill the space with chatter, herself. The enormity of what they've decided to do is settling heavily in her stomach and a sense of dread tickles the back of her neck.
If Daryl's right, and he usually is, the group they're following is at least six men strong and while Daryl might be a match for a couple of them, Beth sure isn't.
Her fingers tighten on the crossbow and she starts to worry at her lip as second thoughts start piling up.
Who is she to decide that they're going to swoop in and save people?
How bad are these guys that are following Rick, Michonne and Carl?
Maybe they're not that bad?
What the blazes is Terminus?
What if things go wrong?
What if things go right?
Why didn't she just plant one on Daryl last night in the treehouse?
She stumbles over her own feet with that one. Daryl's hand hovers just under her elbow.
"You're thinking awful loud over there," he says, glancing at her.
"I know," she says around a sigh.
"Second thoughts?"
"A few."
"Good."
She glares at him and he shrugs. "We're sneaking up on people we don't know and I doubt they're the kind who can be swayed by a pretty song. Better to be on your guard than acting like you're off to a church meeting."
"Clearly, you've never been to a church meeting," Beth says with a grin. "Some of those ladies were fearsome when it came to the proper way to throw a picnic."
Daryl snorts. "Never was one for church-going."
"We always went," Beth says, her arm accidently brushing up against Daryl's as they walk. But he doesn't move away, so neither does she. "It was just how things were. Get up early on Sunday, do your chores, put on a dress, grab your Bible, and go." She smiles. "Maggie hated wearing dresses."
"And you loved it," he says. It's not a question.
Beth shrugs. "I liked feeling the skirt flare out when I spun around. Mama would try to curl my hair from time to time, but one day she accidently burned my neck with the curling iron and I just decided to grow my hair long and braid it."
"Noticed that," he says flicking at the braid she put in her hair before they set out on the tracks. It's a shorter one than before due to her new, shorter cut. If she concentrates, she can still feel the glide of his hand on her back as he trimmed her hair. It's enough to make her cheeks flush and she looks away to hide it. She stares at the woods they're walking through and frowns.
"Wonder what Terminus is?" she asks.
"Nothing good."
She sighs.
"Don't start," he says shaking his head. "Just 'cause we're all right, don't mean everyone else is. In fact," he says with a smirks, "just you including me in with the good people certainly shows how low civilization has sunk."
"You are such a pessimist," she says rolling her eyes. "But!" She raises her hand when it looks like he's about to complain. "You have a valid point and I'm not about to running up to whoever we meet and making them a friendship bracelet, so simmer down, Mr. Dixon."
"Well, thank the Lord for small favors," he mutters.
They keep walking, only pausing briefly for Beth to try out her new crossbow on a rabbit that's grazing on beside a scrub pine. She aims and misses. The rabbit tears off into the underbrush.
"Damn," she says frowning. "It pulls a bit to the left as well as goes to high."
"Gonna have to compensate," he says looking the bow over. "Ain't nothing I can do to fix the sights on this." He makes a face. "Really ought to get you something better."
"Well, the second we come across a sporting goods store, I'll holler," she says.
They walk on and the next time they spot a rabbit, Beth moves just a little bit closer and aims the bow just to the side and higher. The arrow hits the rabbit and she grins.
"Yes," she says under her breath.
"You're skinning it tonight," he says as she goes to retrieve the rabbit.
"I know," she calls over her shoulder. She grabs the rabbit and hurries to catch up with Daryl as he keeps walking.
When evening starts to settle in, Daryl stops when they come to a small copse of pines and they set up camp. The scent of the trees is heavy and relaxing as Beth gets the fire going, Daryl setting up a perimeter around them.
They've managed to stay in line with the train tracks all day, but Daryl doesn't want to put a timeline on how far behind the others they might be.
"Hard to say," he says eating some baked beans out of a can and watching Beth skin the rabbit. "Haven't had any rain lately, so it keeps the tracks fresh."
Beth squints up at the darkening sky. "We must be due some soon, though. It's coming on fall."
"Yeah." He hands her the rest of the beans after she sets the rabbit on the fire. "Make it a bitch to walk in though."
"Did you ever hunt in the rain?" she asks.
"Done lots of stuff in the rain," he says turning the rabbit. Beth grins at him and he looks away. "Shut up. Ain't talking about that."
"Sure you aren't," she says.
He glares at her, but the corners of his mouth are turned up, so she just keeps grinning.
They pick the rabbit apart when it's done and they settle beside each other, leaning against the largest of the pines.
Beth leans against his side and feels giddy when he returns the pressure, inching just that bit closer.
We're getting somewhere, she thinks. Slowly, but surely.
She isn't just referring to whatever it is going on between them. No, she also means that something she can feel looming on the horizon. Something big and life-changing is just around a corner and it's both terrifying and exciting.
She rubs at her arms through her jacket.
"You cold?" he asks, his voice gone quiet as the night settles in.
"No," she says. "Just feeling antsy, I guess. Something's going to happen, isn't it?"
"You're going to take first watch," he says, sliding down a bit and closing his eyes. "That's what's going to happen."
"I mean, down the line," she says. "Something's coming, I can feel it."
"You gone psychic on me?" he asks, chuckling. "You gonna charge me money to tell me that I'm going to be rich one day and meet the woman of my dreams at the Dollar General?"
"That's awful specific," she says, smiling. "Besides, I would've predicted the local honkeytonk, not the Dollar General."
He nudges her with his arm still chuckling.
"And no, I'm not psychic," she says, staring out into the dark woods. "Just…you know that feeling the air gets, before it rains? All heavy and still? That's what I'm feeling. Like something's about to rain down on us."
He's quiet but she can tell he isn't sleeping.
"You know," he says eventually, "you call me a pessimist, but you are downright spooky sometimes, girl."
Beth sighs. "I know. End of the world's brought out all sorts of weird instincts and premonitions."
"Helped us out so far," he says and Beth thinks of the funeral home. "That's all that matters."
"Yeah," she says.
The fire's dying out and she stares at the flames as they get smaller and smaller and Daryl slides further and further down as he drifts off, until his head rests on her thigh.
She's too busy recalling the lyrics to 80s pop songs to even realize that she's running her hand through his hair.
When he wakes for his shift, she mimics his position before he can say a word and is asleep, the minute her head settles in his lap.
The next morning, Beth wakes to the sensation of a hand curved around her shoulder, and a thumb gently sweeping back and forth. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to memorize precisely what it feels like to have Daryl Dixon caress her because the second he knows she's awake, the hand will be gone and he'll be up and walking away.
She breathes in deep and sure enough, his thumb stops mid-sweep and then his hand is off her shoulder and his thigh is fidgeting under her head.
"Rise and shine, Greene," he says gruffly, and she has barely lifted her head up and he's across the camp.
"There are pancakes, right?" she asks attempting a joke as she stretches. "And maple syrup?"
"Sure," he says taking down their alarm system. "They're on their way, along with some home fries and three strips of bacon."
Beth groans. "Oh, Lord. Home fries." She rummages in her pack and pulls out a can of pear halves. She opens the can and eats two of the pears, then passes the can over to Daryl.
"Used to hate these things," he mutters before practically inhaling the fruit.
"Used to be a vegetarian," Beth counters, smirking. "Funny what happens to a body's appetite when the dead start walking around."
They clean up their camp and head on into the woods. It takes less time for Beth to adapt her walking and she lets herself feel a touch of pride.
Once again, they walk along in silence and Beth catches sight of a small brown butterfly, or maybe it's a moth, which darts along beside them for a spell, then flies off into the woods.
Chaos theory, the words pop into her head in the voice of her physics teacher. Where one thing leads to another and there is no way to accurately predict what will happen next. The most clichéd example of this is a butterfly flaps its wings in California and a typhoon hits Hong Kong.
Beth stares after the moth and hopes it doesn't start any hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico.
What happened, she wonders, to get me to where I am now? Walking in the woods beside a man that I most likely would never have even come across.
She glances at him and smiles to herself. Did a butterfly fly left instead of right in Australia, and did that kick up some dust and did that get into someone's eyes and did something happen after that, then again and again until I'm here? Deep in the woods of Georgia, crossbow in my hands, with a man I trust more than I've trusted anyone else, besides Daddy, at my side?
Must've been a heck of a butterfly to do all of that, she thinks fondly.
She bumps her shoulder against Daryl's and he looks over at her, eyebrows raised. Beth just grins at him. He frowns and shakes his head. She can practically hear him saying 'crazy girl' in his head. Still…he bumps his shoulder back against hers.
A little after noon, the sun high in the sky, Daryl lets them stop for a minute to drink some water. He eyes her crossbow.
"Should get you some more arrows for that," he says. "You've only got the four."
"Where from?" she asks.
He nods at the woods.
"You mean, branches?" she asks, eyes widening. "Actual wooden arrows?"
"Put a point on 'em and they'll do some damage," he says. "We'll grab some as we go. Look at the size of the ones you got and look for sticks close to that."
Beth studies the arrows and rolls them between her fingers to memorize the feel of them. Then they head off, stopping every so often to grab a branch off the ground.
"Look for cedars," he says. "They're strong and can be whittled."
By the time dusk rolls in, Beth has found a good ten sticks that should work and Daryl's killed two squirrels.
"This'll be the last fire for a while," he says. "I don't know how close we are, but we've gotta be catching up to them."
Beth nods and does her best to savor the hot squirrel. Sadly, squirrel is pretty darn hard to savor, still she eats all of it.
Daryl inspects the sticks she's found and only tosses one of them away. "Too short," he explains.
Beth watches as he strips them down as best he can, his fingers smoothing down the length of the stick. He takes his knife to the tip and with a few quick strokes, there's a sharp point on the end.
"Nice," Beth says, notching it into her crossbow. She aims and stares down the sight. "It's a little crooked, but it fits in there."
"Good," he says picking up another. "It might not fly as straight as you'd like, but it'll sink into something."
"Want me to do them?" she asks as he starts stripping the next small branch.
"Nah," he says, knife in hand. "I don't mind."
Beth leans against a pine and smells the sharp scent of the needles she's sitting on and the musky scent of the sap in the tree.
She watches Daryl's hands as they work efficiently and carefully and she documents each move. He turns the branch one way and then another, then his knife moves around the end methodically, making a point.
This you can predict, she thinks absently. The way his hands move and what he can create. This is predictable.
Watching the sure way his hands move and the sounds of the knife on the wood lulls her into a daze, until the branch he's holding snaps in his palm and he curses.
Not so predictable after all, she thinks absently.
"Shit!" he says, shaking out his hand. "Pressed too hard. Goddamnit."
Beth's over by his side before she even realizes she's moved. "Are you hurt?"
"Nah, just splinters is all," he says rubbing at the base of his palm below his thumb.
"Don't rub them in!" she admonishes, taking his hand. She tilts it towards the fire and says, "Better get them out before they get infected. Move closer to the fire."
She practically pulls him with her as she scoots closer to the flames, the orange light dancing on his palm. There they are; she spots three tiny pieces just beneath his skin.
"Can get 'em out myself," he mumbles. "Just splinters."
"Nope," she says, her index finger digging in gently just below one of the splinters. "This is something I'm good at. Shawn decided to take up whittling one summer and I was the only one who could get them out." She wiggles her fingers. "Small fingers come in handy on occasion."
He nods and she ignores how he swallows hard and his hand is tense in hers. She wonders if the tension is because he wants to pull his hand away or if it's because he doesn't want to pull his hand away.
"As I thought," she murmurs working out the first splinter. "You've got a nice long lifeline, there."
"You going psychic again?" he asks. "You gonna read my palm now?"
"I might," she says looking up at him and giving him a smile. He sort of shrugs his shoulders and adjusts where he's sitting so that he moves slightly closer to her. The warmth that floods her cheeks is not due to the fire.
"So, Shawn was your brother?" he asks.
She glances up in time to catch his wince and she nods. "Yeah. I don't mind talking about him, you know. He was a pain a lot of the time, but I loved him." She grins. "He was always teasing me. He left Maggie alone 'cause Maggie'd fight back and fight dirty. But I was such a wimp most of the time."
She tilts his hand to see better and continues, "This one time, he decided that he was going to see how far he could catapult the heads of my Barbie dolls. He sent five of them flying into the field before I came up on him and oh, I yelled. So loud. Then I went off into the field to find them. Got myself covered in cowpats, but I found all of their heads and Shawn was grounded for a week."
"How old were you?" he asks, his head bending close to hers.
"Seven or eight," she says, not looking up from his hand, not wanting to spook him, and just wanting to feel him close to her. "But he stopped teasing me as we got older. He's the one who taught me how to drive."
"Yeah?" His voice has gone low and a pleasant tingle trips up her spine.
"Yeah," she says and goodness, her voice has gone all breathy. "He said that Daddy would only teach me the basics, while he'd teach me the fun stuff, like how to spot a state trooper and not get caught. Not that it ever worked for him, he got his first speeding ticket two days after he got his license."
She works out the second splinter and starts in on the third, marveling at the way they're affecting each other. She breathes out, her breath fans over his skin, he shivers and twitches his fingers, those fingers curl in, and his head bends closer to hers and her skin tingles.
All just because she's breathing.
I'm the butterfly now, she thinks distantly.
"I didn't mind," she says, trying to keep talking and not break the spell she's managing to weave. "I mean, it could be annoying how he and Maggie would act all older than me and like they knew better. Be all protective when I didn't want them to. But…" She curls a finger around his wrist and works at the last splinter. His head is bent so close to hers, she can feel the puff of his breath on her temple.
"I always wanted to be like them," she practically whispers, almost coming undone inside by the heat his body is giving off. "I wanted to grow up to be the one that took care of other people and I wanted to be able to take care of myself."
"You are," he says, his voice raspy. "You do."
Her finger slips just a fraction and the splinter slides out. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, then says, "Done."
Calling on every ounce of Greene tenacity and courage at her disposal, she bends her head just that touch more and presses a slow kiss to the center of his palm.
He sucks in a breath and makes a noise in the back of his throat. Beth lifts her head to find him staring at her as though he's never seen her before.
"I don't know what to do with you, girl," he says, his voice breaking a bit.
Beth just smiles, her heart full to bursting, and says, "Whatever you want to. I'm not going anywhere."
He curls his hand into a fist that rests in her palm. He reaches out and lightly trails the backs of his fingers down the side of her face, her breath hitches in her chest.
The last log in the fire pops and hisses and they both jump. Daryl gets to his feet and walks off a few steps and Beth blinks several times, then scoots back to rest against the tree she'd been leaning against.
"I'll take first watch," he says after clearing his throat.
"Okay," she says, turning the collar of her jacket up and laying her head down on her backpack. She closes her eyes and falls asleep much faster than she expects.
When they head off the next morning, Beth is completely prepared for Daryl to do his usual shying away from her. But he doesn't. He stays close and every now and then brushes his arm against hers as they walk. It has to be deliberate because his eyes slide to her face every time it happens. So, she brushes back.
They pause only briefly for water and Beth pulls the map out. She points to where she thinks they are and Daryl nods.
"We could cut over to the state road that runs here," she says, pointing to the other side of the tracks. "Maybe head them off at the pass?"
He nods. "Might do that. Want to see the group first, though. Get their measure."
"Looking for that big picture, right?" she asks.
"That's me," he says gruffly. "Come on, then. Time's wastin'."
They start walking again and it's an hour before Daryl puts his hand on Beth's arm, stopping her.
She doesn't say anything, just looks at him, but he's staring straight ahead. She follows his gaze, but doesn't see or hear anything. The trees are whispering above them as branches sway in the light breeze. Then she hears it. The steady stomp of people walking and the murmur of their voices.
Daryl shoves her to the ground and she immediately flattens under a low-lying viburnum shrub and he scrambles in beside her, his body half on top of hers, shielding her from sight. She prays that the shrub's large leaves will hide them from whoever it is out there.
The footsteps get louder and so do their two different voices – harsh, thick, deep Southern accents. They must be carrying something with them because there's a steady sound of leaves being dragged up.
"How far we gotta carry this sack o'shit?" one of the voices asks.
"Here's fine. Just drop him."
The footsteps stop a foot ahead of where Daryl and Beth are hiding. Beth can see the black of their boots and she bites down hard on her lip. Daryl's hands tighten on his crossbow and he presses his body down hard on hers.
A body drops directly in front of their faces.