When Beth opens her eyes she can just make out Daryl's face before they fall closed again. She forces them back open and tries to focus on his stubbled jaw in front of her when the pain hits.
Her ankle throbs, her wrist screams and there's a debilitating ache at the back of her skull. She tries to sit up and gasps as pain shoots down her arm. Daryl's face snaps down to look at hers. He looks as wrecked as she feels; like he's been up for days. Maybe he has.
As the world slowly comes into focus Beth realises the sturdy warmth beneath her head is Daryl's lap. In her periphery she places them in the backseat of a car. But that doesn't make any sense so she tries not to think about it too hard. The early dawn streams across his face revealing a mixture of bruises and almost fear which quickly turns to relief when his eyes meet hers.
"Daryl?" His name comes out as a question because none of this makes sense, except for him.
Her semi-conscious brain latches onto him and holds tight like he's an anchor and she'll drift away without him there to ground her. The last thing she remembers is the funeral home being overrun by walkers. Daryl telling her to go while he fought them off. Limping frantically to the road, her heart pounding. Falling. The dead getting closer, their moans getting louder. Then nothing.
"They tried to take you," Daryl whispers, his large calloused hand pushing the hair back from her forehead.
Who? Something at the back of her mind demands, her brow creasing in confusion under his hot palm. She blinks the question back. It doesn't matter.
Daryl sounds pained and it tugs at something in her chest. His touch is gentler than she would have expected and she finds herself leaning into it.
"I stopped 'em," He grunts. It's only then that Beth realises the darkness under Daryl's eyes isn't shadows but bruises; deep and vicious.
She empties her lungs as a rush of feelings she can't name wash over her. Wearily, her eyes follow the motion of his Adam's apple as he swallows, then his tongue as it darts out, and catches on his split lip. His rough thumb strokes her cheekbone as his eyes bore into hers with a directness she's never seen from him before.
"I won't ever leave you again, Beth," he says, his voice raw and solemn; drenched in promise.
She feels a smile split her face. It feels inappropriate, like laughing at a funeral. But despite the bruises and the throbbing pain, there's actual joy as she feels something slide into place that wasn't there before. They almost lost each other, they were so close, but through some streak of luck they didn't. Instead here they are; beat to shit, cracked open raw and bound together.
As Daryl helps her move to the passenger seat of the car, Beth sees the bodies of what looks like two cops lying on the ground. She watches through the window as Daryl takes the gun from a man with a mean face and a snub nose. Then he's sliding into the driver's seat beside her. He hands her the gun and she takes it without question, checking the safety's on before tucking it into the back of her jeans.
Daryl drives until the sun is high in the clear blue Georgia sky. When the air starts to feel hot in her lungs, Beth rolls down her window and puts out her good arm, waving her hand up and down in the breeze. She tilts her head back, closing her eyes and feeling the sun on her face. She soaks it up; the warmth on her skin; the pleasant feeling of driving around with the windows rolled down. It's so nice and normal that its actually jarring.
When she opens them Daryl is watching her, his eyes full of curiosity. She blinks at him and smiles, expects him to look away but he smiles back, a soft twitch of his lips before turning his face back to the road ahead.
After a few more miles they both see it; a gas station just off the road. His eyes flick to hers momentarily and then he's turning off. As the car rolls up to the pumps there's crudely written 'No Gas' signs and a lone walker in overalls stumbling towards them.
Daryl kills the engine and hops out, putting an arrow through the walker as he makes his way around the car and opens Beth's door. She slides out, grabbing onto his shoulder to haul herself up, and pulls the hand gun from the back of her jeans. They stand there for a moment, weapons trained on the building in front of them. She can feel his sharp eyes assessing the situation and she tries to do the same.
It's a small gas station. Through the cracked window the shop front appears empty. The door is closed but an open sign hangs from it so she doesn't think it'll be locked.
"Stay here," Daryl mutters as he steps forward, bow raised.
Beth nods, lifting her gun up and looking around. It's quiet, but that could change in a heartbeat.
Daryl peers through the glass then raps on it loudly with a closed fist. His eyes keep scanning the inside and hers dart to the sides of the building, gut clenching as they wait to find out if they're alone.
When nothing emerges Daryl pushes the door open and goes inside. Beth watches him through the window as he quickly starts to clear the room. Her eyes flick back to the sides of the building and quickly scan her surroundings like she's seen him do countless times.
When she looks back to the storefront he's gone. Ice fills her veins as her eyes dart back and forth frantically but can't find him. She stumbles forward, trying to get a closer look through the cracked glass. All she can see is empty aisles scattered with items left behind by looters. She sucks in a shaky breath and holds it, trying to push down the desperate, debilitating panic rising in her chest every second.
Her fingers tighten on the gun and she can't hear anything except her heart pounding too fast in her ears.
"Beth."
She feels his hand on her arm and when she turns her head he's stood beside her. His eyes are narrow and his mouth is tight but his voice is soft as he repeats her name. She feels hot relief flood through every fibre of her being and suddenly the breath she'd been holding leaves her in a rush. Her arms tremble with spent adrenaline as she lowers the gun.
Daryl's eyes flick down and then back up to hers, laced with concern. He doesn't need to speak for her to hear his question.
"Couldn't see you," she says, pleased when her voice doesn't shake, and hoping her face isn't as red as it feels.
He just nods. He knows. His eyes look apologetic as his tongue runs across his lower lip. A habit, she's noticed, and is growing increasingly fond of.
She tucks the gun into the back of her jeans and follows Daryl inside. As soon as she's over the threshold, Daryl's locking the door and shouldering a drinks fridge in front of it. If someone wants to get in then they will but at least Beth and Daryl won't be caught off guard.
Beth casts her eyes over the room; it's been looted, but not trashed. There are blood stains on the carpet and most of the food is gone. However, she can see some water in the fridge Daryl just moved and a few candy bars scattered in front of the counter. Her stomach growls at the promise of food and her mouth waters at the thought of tasting actual chocolate on her tongue.
There's one door at the front and one at the back, both now blocked by sizeable objects. There's sweat on Daryl's upper lip from the effort it took him to move the fridge, and Beth hasn't met many men as strong as him. She sighs and feels her shoulders relax. They're ok; for a while at least.
"Let's take a look at that ankle," Daryl rumbles, his voice scratchy from dehydration and her own throat suddenly feels bone dry.
Before she's turned her head his hands are around her waist lifting her up and putting her down on the counter like she doesn't weigh a thing. Beth feels her cheeks grow hot as he slides her boot off with one hand and pushes her jeans up her shin with the other.
His palm is hot as it wraps around her foot and she cringes because she can smell her own feet from way up on the counter, although it brings them about face to face. They ran for days. They haven't washed since the prison fell. Her foot stinks but he's wrapping his palm around it like he would her hand.
He pushes her foot up causing an agonising twinge to shoot through her ankle. She flinches and a yelp escapes from behind her teeth. Instinctively, she tries to pull her foot back but he holds it steady in his strong grip. His eyes lift to meet hers.
"Sorry," he murmurs, his thumb making feather light circles on the sole of her foot. The motion should tickle but somehow it doesn't.
"Take these," he says, pulling a medicine bottle from his pocket and opening it with his teeth. "Pain meds. Found 'em in the back," he grunts as he shakes a couple onto her palm.
Beth looks at the pills for a moment and then back up at Daryl.
He nudges her elbow with his fingers and she huffs a laugh before dry swallowing the pills.
"Best we wrap it up, won't slow you down so much," he says as he shrugs off his leather vest.
Beth can feel her eyes grow wide in her head as Daryl starts to unbutton his shirt.
"Couldn't find any bandages," he mutters by way of explanation, the tips of his ears turning pink as he makes quick work of ripping the sleeves off at the shoulder.
Beth takes in the landscape of his broad shoulders and the bared muscles of his bulging arms as they flex with each movement. The skin on his chest is so much lighter than his tanned arms. She finds herself wanting to reach out to place her hand over his heart and feel him beat under her palm.
The second he's done he hastily throws what's left of his shirt back on but doesn't bother with the buttons as he starts ripping the fabric into strips. Even under all the dirt she can see his face is burning red. Beth swallows hard, realising she must have been staring at the hard earned muscles of his body. She drops her gaze to his hands and watches them as they tense and tear the remaining fabric.
Daryl's thick fingers cradle her foot as he starts to use the strips to bind her ankle. His movements are quick, practised and she wonders who taught him how to do this. Whether anyone took the time to teach him at all, or if he taught himself.
His movements are fast but careful and when his rough fingertips graze her leg a shiver chases up the back of her spine. The softness of his touch contrasts the rough texture of his skin and it reminds her of this morning when she lay in the back of the car with her head on his lap and his fingers in her hair. She doesn't know how long they stayed like that; maybe minutes; maybe hours; maybe even days. He looked like hell but his soothing touch melted her to the core, just like now.
Too soon his hands are gone from her skin and he's tying the fabric as she bites back a whine.
"How's your wrist?" he asks, wrapping his fingers around her forearm, turning it over.
She rolls her wrist experimentally between them and winces.
Daryl hums, taking her fingers in his and pushing them back. She exhales sharply, watching him move her joint back and forth experimentally, feeling his focused gaze hot on the side of her face.
"It's fine," he nods, letting go and using his free hands to button his shirt with a swiftness that reeks of discomfort.
Beth drags her eyes away from his skilful hands and raises them to his face.
"Thank you," she smiles.
For giving me the literal shirt off your back.
He glances at her through his hair and shrugs like it's nothing. On impulse she reaches out and takes his hand. She half expects him to snatch it back but he doesn't, just watches with a curious expression as she wraps her fingers around his.
"We'll stay here tonight," he murmurs, his gnawed thumb stroking across her knuckles softly, "Take what we can find then move on. See if we can find somewhere to hole up 'til your ankle gets better."
Beth nods, hopping off the counter and putting weight on her ankle experimentally. She winces but it's at least bearable now.
"Let's get some rest then," she says, sliding down the counter until she's sat on the floor, still holding his hand and letting gravity encourage him to join her.
Daryl watches her for a moment and then grabs his bow and drops down next to her. He stands his bow beside him before he leans against the counter with a weary sigh. Closing his eyes, he lets his head fall back with a soft clunk.
There's maybe an inch between them and Beth closes it, resting her head on his shoulder and letting her eyes flutter closed. She's close enough that she feels Daryl's breath catch in the back of his throat, the wide muscle of his bare bicep tense as her bare skin presses up against his, shoulder to shoulder.
He freezes for a split second and then his body turns to liquid as he lets out a slow breath. She feels his chin against her temple as he lets his head come to rest on top of hers. He's heavy but she likes it; finds the pressure a comforting reminder that he's there and he's not going anywhere. Not without her. She listens to the steady rhythm of his exhales and feels the hot streams of air against her scalp, and soon it lulls her into an exhausted sleep.