She's so young.
He repeats it to himself inside his brain, over and over again – All the while, his eyes lock upon hers from across the large room, and in that moment, it's almost as though they were the only two people inside of it.
"She's so young", he whispers under his breath from where he sits, dropping his head down to stare at the ground between his legs, perched on a chair in the corner of the room of Rick's place, hoping that maybe if he said it out loud, it would make it seem more real. Doing so, almost as though it would change anything about the way he feels, and more than that, the way he just knows that she feels.
As though it would change the direction that he found his brain wandering lately, as though it made things easier for him; to stay isolated from everyone in his group, and remain quiet and undisclosed.
It doesn't.
In reality, her youth is something of a debatable topic; being that pretty little Beth Greene has an air of maturity to her that is far beyond her years, far beyond his own years if he was being completely honest. She had more of an understanding of the world and human nature than quite possibly anyone that he'd ever met – except, of course, that of Hershel Greene – the father of the current obstruction of his thoughts. The father of the woman in question.
Youth – being something that she embodied with such grace, was and is something that stood out stark in contrast to the jagged and raised pink tissue on certain areas of her clear porcelain white skin – One mark just across her cheekbone, below her bright blue eye. One raising from her eyebrow on the opposite side, deeper than that of the one on the raised bone of her cheek – still healing from the looks of it, and it still bothers him and worries the shit out of him all the same.
It'd been a while since he'd seen her smile, seen her teeth flash from behind the soft skin of her light pink lips, sending an ethereal glow to spread from every single inch of the room.
And he figured that her scars made her that way, made her seem tougher, even stronger, and dare he say it, older.
That's probably why he'd been having such a hard time staying away, keeping his distance, and not daring to overstep the boundaries that he wasn't sure even existed or not.
The thing was, ever since the fall of the prison, the funeral home, and that long dusty and winding county road he'd collapsed on all those months ago, he was having trouble with every single thought process he conjured up when it had anything even remotely to do with Beth. Everything became hazy, became difficult to understand and or decipher. His life had been turned inside out in a matter of only a few months, and he was still having a hard time understanding how it took losing the walls around them, to even get to know her.
Because before the prison, he barely knew Beth. And during their time at the prison, from the beginning of it all the way to the end – he still didn't really know her. Not like he did now.
He maybe would have appreciated her more, the little things that he just now was really trying to focus on in his memory.
Things like her hair tied into loose and sloppy pigtails – her soft voice singing some old John Waits song his mama used to listen to when she was completely blitzed off her ass and his father was nowhere to be found. Things like her soft laughter from across the small dining area near their cell block, or cradling a inconsolable Judith close to dawn, while everyone else slept soundly in their bunks – things that were often overlooked, or checked off more often than not as annoying in his book.
He wished sometimes that he could go back, and change those things. Really sit down, get to know her, what made her tick, what really was going through her head when she took that silver metal and sliced her skin wide open to the Georgia air. Wished he could have understood, instead writing her off like he'd always had.
"Penny for your thoughts?" A voice chimed, a little closer than he was prepared for, causing a small jump in his bones. He looked up, his eyes meeting with the blue ones that he'd only seen through his closed eyelids for so long.
Sometimes, he had to remind himself that she was here. That she was alright. That she actually was standing in front of him, and it wasn't just a figment of his imagination.
And maybe that was because she was so close before. Standing just off in the distance inside the fences of that hospital he'd gone to in downtown Atlanta. Standing there, feral eyed in a set of pale blue scrubs – holding a knife in a vice grip in one hand, and holding her injured and cast ridden one close to her chest. Her blonde hair frayed and wild, almost the way it had been outside of that moonshine still all those months ago. A fire burning in her eyes, out of anger, and probably fear and wonder all the same.
She was so close before. He was so close before.
And he lost her again, in a cloud of dark smoke and flashes of gunfire. Lost her again, not fully realizing just at the moment how painful it would be. Losing her to begin with was hard, but losing her twice, after being so close before, was absolutely devastating.
He realized he was staring at her, his eyes squinted and his forehead creased – probably scrutinizing the actuality of her face – making sure that he couldn't just see straight through her like he was looking at a mirage.
She was there, she wasn't a mirage, and she wasn't an apparition. It was the living, breathing, Elizabeth Anne Greene, and her words were as sweet and soft and strong as they ever had been.
With a stalled clearing of his throat, and a shift in his body weight in the rickety ass chair he'd parked his ass in for the past few hours, he grunted. The only semblance of a response that his overworked brain could force out of his chest and press up out of his vocal chords. It was close to nothing, but it was something.
"I can't believe how tall he's gotten since the last time I saw him, " She said quietly, her arms folded over her chest, her hair falling down her back, staring out towards their family whom was gathered around a dinner table, lost in chatter. "He's taller than me now."
Daryl only tore his eyes away from Beth to look over to see Carl leaning over the back of one of the dining chairs, the one his father was sitting down in.
He nodded, snorting a little bit. "Everyone's taller than you, Greene."
"Very funny." She chided with a roll of her big blue eyes, "I'm serious, look at him." She nodded in Carl's direction with a small tilt of her head.
And Daryl noticed, continued to notice, watching every single move that she made, and every single subtle nod of the head or sigh of breath through her lungs. Noticed the way her eyelashes dusted the tops of her cheeks every time she blinked. Noticed the way that her fingers fiddled back and forth restlessly in her lap, no longer able to find purchase on the bangles that used to encase the area of her wrist.
"He looks just like Lori, don't you think?" She asked, her eyes blinking upwards to meet his, waiting for whatever response was to come out of his mouth. "I mean, he always sort of did." She shook her head again, seeming dissatisfied with her explanation. "It's just the older he gets, the more I see her in him. I don't know, maybe I'm not making sense."
Truthfully, he was found in this position more often than not lately, ever since a few weeks ago when they'd found each other again. When Beth had somehow meandered herself into Alexandria with none other than Rick's old friend Morgan, out of all of the people in the world she could've ended up travelling with.
He seemed to not know what to say, or do – didn't know how to react or even how he was supposed to react to anything she said or did lately. He wasn't good at this kind of stuff – whatever in the hell this was – and it was becoming increasingly difficult to be around her when everyone else was around. He was constantly unsure of himself, and it was more or less driving him up a fucking wall.
"Yeah." He agreed finally, picking at the skin of his fingernails with the knife he didn't even remember pulling out of his hip sheath. "Looks just like 'er, actually."
He means what he says, and at the moment he thinks it's because of the shirt Carl's wearing – the same shirt he'd been wearing when they all had been hunkered down in the beat to all hell church they'd been at for a little while. The plaid dark and light blue long sleeve button down shirt – he thinks that's why Lori shines so brightly through Carl at that very moment.
"I miss her," She continues, resting her elbows on her knees. "Lori, I mean." Her thumb makes a few slow and even strokes over yet another, and more familiar scar, the one made by a kitchen knife what seemed like ages ago.
"She was there for me when I lost it, don't know what I would've done without her." Daryl quickly took note of her slightly saddened tone as she spoke, "I feel so stupid, when I think about it now, you know?"
"Stay who you are." Daryl reminded her, using the words she'd said all those months and months ago for her benefit – knowing the truth behind those words.
Daryl still didn't think that she gave herself enough credit – she knew she was strong, and she was, but sometimes, some of her thoughts about where she'd be or where she'd end up didn't make sense to him. And he didn't figure they ever would.
"Not who you were." She says, her voice low and quiet, a knowing tone behind her words. He feels her eyes on him again, and he turns to her form, sitting just to the right of him on the carpeted floor of the house.
She looking at him with that face, that same look etched throughout her irises that he's been trying to decipher in his mind for days and days on end. The same look exchanged between them in the candlelight back when they were alone, when all they had was each other; and in some ways, that still rang true – when it was just Beth and himself, nothing else really mattered. It hadn't for a long time, and he didn't think it ever would.
"Hmm?" He asks, only after her eyes lock onto his for so long he can't help but look away, tear his eyes from hers and stare at the tan and withered carpet below his boots on his feet.
She sighs, lifting her arms above her head and stretching for a moment, and when he finally looks back over to her, knowing her eyes have broken their focus on him as well, he tries not to notice the way her small long sleeved black shirt rides up above her belly button at the motion. Tries, but fails miserably – feeling the tips of his ears heat up right along with the skin on the back of his neck.
"It's getting late." She says, her bright eyes scanning over the people in the room. It's only then that he realizes Sasha, Ty, Carol, and a few others have already left Ricks home, and headed back to their own. He tries to understand where she's headed with her commentary – but again, fails at understanding because he simply just can't figure her out sometimes. Hell, if he were being honest, it wasn't anything surprising. Because she tended to make his mind go hazy more often than not.
"I think I should head home." She says, letting out a elongated yawn and standing upright, brushing her hair out of her eyes. She looks at him then, and he swears he stops breathing. Now, as she's looking down at him, and he's looking up at her.
He actually recognizes the look in her eyes this time and it scares him half to death. That look of wonder, and endearment, and all of the things that he's never had before – and shouldn't recognize for that very reason – but he just knows.
Knows that she thinks the world of him. He knows, that she sees something in him that he doesn't even believe to exist, and nobody else in this world probably did either. It confused him, made him feel frozen in place, and almost made him want to shoot up out of the chair and hightail it the hell away from her.
Almost.
"I'll walk with ya," he offers, not really caring whether she wants him to or not, bringing himself to stand and placing his knife back in his sheath, ignoring the roll of her eyes at the weapon. Weeks of being behind the 10 foot steel walls of Alexandria had done nothing to ease his mind about protection. Protection for himself, and the people he cared about.
Besides, Alexandria or not, walls or not, Daryl and everyone else had come to realize that sometimes people were the greater threat. Beth walking the streets of Alexandria alone at night was absolutely not an option.
They walk in companionable silence, slowly, arms bumping occasionally but Beth nor Daryl do anything to let any space come between them as they walk on the sidewalk.
"I saw you lookin' at them, you know." She declares after a few minutes, turning a corner heading towards the white and yellow house that belonged to her. "It's okay, I know it bothers you. It bothers me sometimes, too."
It's her scars that she's referring to, he would have known it just by her words alone, but he watched as she raised her index finger to run against the line across her cheek at the moment she spoke.
"Ain't that," He says, running a hand down his face. "Just wish I coulda done more than what I did."
He should've known, mostly because not shit gets past Beth, let alone anything that he did or said, lately anyway. He should have known he would've gotten caught, and she probably saw that angry look that passed over his features when he thought about it too much. Thought about what those people had done to her.
"You did." She said, bumping into his shoulder playfully. "If it wasn't for you, for everything you taught me, and you bein' there in the back of my head I never would've made it out of there alive."
It's thoughts like those that he still can't understand. Doesn't get why she still insists that it was him that helped her through that whole ordeal – how in the hell is the same person that let you get taken the same person who saved you from the people that had done it? Daryl didn't care what she thought, or what she said about it. Because just like he'd told Carol that one night out on the road right after Terminus, Beth saved herself.
It's cold outside, has been for a few weeks now. After being in Georgia for his entire life, being here in Alexandria was farther north than his body had ever been ready for. But he wouldn't trade the blistering Georgia heat for anything – not while he's got Beth walking beside him.
She's walking in a pair of black boots, and they click across the pavement with every single step she takes. The black leather jacket she's wearing reminds him a little too much of the one he has, and he tries not to think about just how much something so trivial and stupid would make him smile like a damn fool.
"You never asked," She says, reaching into her pocket to pull out a knit beanie, pulling it tight over her head and over her ears. "About the hospital. You know, what happened."
"Didn't think ya wanted to talk about it." He replies quietly, his hands clenching and unclenching at their position hanging by his sides.
He didn't really want to think about it, let alone ask about it. If he was being completely honest, he was afraid of what her answer might be. At the end of the day, the scars across her face told enough of the story, he didn't need her to rehash it – unless it was what she wanted to do.
If she wanted him to listen, he would.
So he does.
"That was her favorite thing to say to me." She says, "'You're not strong enough.'"
Daryl shakes his head, eyeing the ground still; "That's bullshit."
She's laughing, and her cheeks are bright pink from a combination of the cold air and her upturned and teeth baring grin. She turns to face him and seems to start laughing a little harder, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise.
"That's exactly what I said."
"Hm." He replies, shaking his head again at her. "Startin' to think that's your favorite word. Bullshit."
She giggles again, a sound that makes him forget about the blistering cold weather around him, and warms him from the top of his head all the way down to the soles of his feet. She giggles, and everything is right in the world. There's no walkers, no Governor, no Terminus, no crazy fucked up Hospital – there's just them. Himself and Beth, and her soft laughter through the quietness of the night around them.
"Anyway," She says, her hand reaching out to his and lacing them together – much like she had done in front of that tombstone during their last few days together on the road. He figures he probably jumped at the sudden and unexpected contact, but she doesn't let on if she noticed either way.
"She busted me up pretty bad, more than once." Daryl tries his hardest not to let his anger take over as he listened.
"This one here," She faces him and lifts up the band on her beanie, showing him up close the gash that stretches from her hairline down to her eyebrow, "That's from the first time I tried to get away, right after I helped Noah get out."
He squeezes her hand back tightly, not really knowing if his actions help or if they only make her feel uncomfortable, but he does it nonetheless. As she speaks, it's damn near impossible to prevent the tension from creeping throughout his body, impossible to stop his teeth from grinding against each other in a blind rage as he thinks about someone doing those kinds to her.
And it's almost as though she just knows what her words are doing to him, knows that he can't take too much more of the imagery that her words are creating before he storms off in the opposite direction and slams his fist into the wall – truthfully, the more and more he'd thought about it, or pictured scenarios in his head, the closer he was coming to completely losing it. He'd lashed out on a few members of the group lately because of it – her sister included.
So, she pauses. Halting her walking process, and it's only then that Daryl realizes they've arrived just at the gateway of her fenced in little house – only about a block away from his own. He feels a twinge of agitation creep into his bones at the thought of being away from her – even if it was only a street over. It wasn't like he slept much to begin with, when the dead began to walk, but it became increasingly harder to get any sleep at all when his brain just wouldn't cease its thoughts about Beth Greene, and whether she was okay.
Because he'd been careless before.
Because he'd lost her before.
And he'd be damned if he'd ever let that happen again.
They stand there for what feels like ages – Daryl doesn't make any move to leave and head home, nor does Beth take those last some fifteen steps up to her front door and say goodnight. Together, they stand, looking up at the yellow and white house with the wrap around white front porch – saying no words, because as always with the two of them, words were rarely necessary.
"I like it here." She says, and it comes out as barely above a whisper. The quiet of the night, besides the distant sound of the trees rustling back in forth in the evening breeze leaves him to feel like they're the only two people left in the world. Like back on the road – when he wouldn't have known the difference if they were or weren't the only two people left in the world.
He sighs, readjusting the hand that was tightly clasped in hers; "Don't like ya livin' here alone."
"Is that right?" She says, and he ducks his head as he feels a little embarrassed at the underlying meaning behind his words.
He knows she's not alone, per say. Knows that Rick lives a few blocks over, and Maggie and Glenn's place is directly across the street and a couple houses to the left – but to Daryl, that's not enough.
And he's not sure if she knows, and he wouldn't dare admit it or say it out loud – but ever since she'd walked into this place, ever since she'd stepped foot inside these walls – he's hovered close by, most of the time finding himself perched by a tree just off into the distance, but still close enough to her home that he can see when her upstairs bedroom light shuts off. Close enough, that in the event something were to happen – he'd be there.
"I can take care of myself, remember?" She says; low and quiet, still. She steps a little closer to him, craning her neck upwards and looking at him with all the love and wonder that he knows he doesn't deserve – and still doesn't fucking understand.
He nods again, flicking his eyes down to the pavement because if he stares at her face for any more amount of time – he doesn't think he'll be able to keep his shit together. And he wonders in that moment how he'd only recently realized just how fucking beautiful she is.
He knows that if he keeps looking at her, he'll lose it. She just looks too good, standing beneath the moonlight, the glow coming off of her white skin, the soft skin of her upturned neck just practically begging for his attention. The combination of it all is making his head spin.
He's thought about it a lot – just grabbing her by the nape of her neck and dragging her lips to meet his own. Thought about the way it would feel, the way it would make her feel. Thought about doing it multiple times – from the first time he'd seen her after she walked through those tall gates, covered in guts and blood and dirt and god knows what the hell else.
"Like old times, right?" She says, glancing down to where their hands are joined by their sides momentarily, before flicking them upwards to meet his gaze.
He nods and purses his lips a little bit, not really knowing what the hell to say or what to do or where he's supposed to go from here. He supposes he should say goodnight, perhaps walk her up to her door, even. But he doesn't – mostly because he's been rendered immobile by what he thinks is her proximity to him, or some shit like that.
She yawns, a little squeak escaping the back of her throat and he doesn't even try to fight the smile creeping onto his face at just how god damn cute she is; "Go on," he says, acting against every single bone is his body that is begging him to just stand there as long as possible. "Get some sleep, Rick and I got fence duty tomorrow. He'll prob'ly be here early as hell with Little Ass-Kicker."
She nods, and her eyes flick down again. His eyes register the sadness that washes over her face, but only for half a moment before she slips her hand from his and wraps her arms around his torso, tugging him to her tightly, pressing her cheek to the flannel over his chest.
He's oddly proud of himself when he actually allows himself to relax a little bit – returning the embrace as gracefully as he could, resting his chin on top of her head letting his hands find a home in the middle of her back in a sort of awkward fashion. Before he knows it, she's adjusting her head underneath where his chin was gently placed. He figures she's moving away, but instead, she rests her chin on his chest, putting her face the closest it's ever been to his own and looking up into his eyes. And for once, he looks back into her gray-blue eyes and doesn't feel the overwhelming urge to look away, not even remotely.
Her arms are still locked behind his back, and his own have relaxed somewhat to a degree and are now resting on the lower part of her own back, fingers resting just on the ridges of her spine. It's in that moment that he doesn't see anything but her – the only thing that exists in whatever the hell is left in this world is just Beth. In that moment, she's the only thing that matters, and she's been the only thing that's mattered for quite a while now.
"Wanted to thank you." She speaks softly, "Just haven't really gotten the chance to, not until now, anyway."
"What for?"
"For thinking of me." He feels his brows lift as she explains, "Comin' after me when you saw the car, shootin' up that place, not givin' up on me." She says, a smile pulling at her lips. "Take your pick."
"Beth."
"I'm serious." Her chin lifts up off of his shirt, but only so that she's level with his eyes.
"Stop." He says, his own voice dropping lower and lower, and the tone his voice sounding foreign, even to his own ears. "I got lucky." He explains, "right place at the right time, seein' that car."
"Doesn't matter." She says, shaking her head and moving away slightly. Her arms pulled gently from their resting place on his back to slide around the sleeves of his arms, cupping the area of his elbow with her hands. "You did. So thank you."
He merely nods, because he has absolutely no idea what to say. The words 'thank you' refuse to form in his throat. She understands, though. Sometimes he figures that she probably understands him more than he ever has or ever will understand himself.
She tilts her head to the side ever so slightly, and he's immediately rendered useless when she stands up onto the balls of her feet and presses her lips to his cheekbone. He's torn, because at that very moment he really has no idea what to do. Her actions had effectively paralyzed him right where he stood – and he was teetering on the line between wanting to jump backwards and run far the fuck away, or allow himself to finally just do what the fuck he's been thinking, dreaming, about doing for a long time now. Just grab her chin between his forefingers and make her lips press not on the skin of his cheek, but directly onto his own.
But he doesn't. He stands as still as humanly possible, and watches as she slowly shifts her weight back evenly onto the full length of her foot and she smiles up at him.
And it's not just any smile, it's that smile.
That bright, teeth-baring smile that could light up any room in the god damn world as far as he was concerned – the smile he dreamed about for so long and feared for even longer that he'd never be able to see again. The one he hoped and prayed that would reappear one day. And dare he admit, that she would be smiling that smile for only him – and there it was, right before his eyes.
"Goodnight, Greene." He says, finding himself smiling right back at her.
"Goodnight, Daryl."