It's late. Possibly early morning again. Daryl lies awake, staring at the ceiling. Has been for hours now. Unable to quit thinking about her, about Beth. She's alive, she's alive, she's alive, those two words play on repeat. Even though he saw her, held her, he doesn't feel quite sure unless she's with him.
Finally, he climbs from the unfamiliar bed. In the next room over, she's meant to be sleeping. Daryl tries to make like of his footfalls as he goes to her door that's left ajar. Slowly, he eases it open, trying to see her through the darkness.
She's there on a twin-sized bed, the blankets pulled up to her shoulders, curled on her side with her back to him. A window provides minimal light, but it's enough to make out those details.
He stands there, leaning against the door frame. He doesn't want to disturb her. Yet...he can't bear to leave. He still drags his guilt by a chain shackled to his ankle and the only way he can soothe the pain is to be near her. But she's alright, she's safe now. He can leave her for the night. Convincing himself of that proves difficult though finally he turns and as he pulls the door shut it lets out a wail of protest.
"Shit!" the swear rushes from his lips in a quiet hiss.
Then, her whisper follows. "Daryl?"
He looks over his shoulder, "You should be sleepin.'"
Sheets rustle as Beth shifts to sit upright, legs crossed. "So should you."
"Ain't tired." He's turned around to face her again.
Beth smirks at him. "Mhm" is all she says for a moment before silence ensues. "C'mere," her voice breaks through again. She pats the empty space on the bed next to her.
He crosses the bedroom, the mattress sinking under his weight. They're close enough so that his knee touches her legs. Daryl spares a glance at her before training his gaze down at their legs. He's better now too.
She grabs his hand and holds it in her lap, brushing her fingers down from his knuckles to his wrist. He opens his palm, an invitation she gladly accepts. Her thumb traces circles gently over his skin and that's when she feels the raised white burn scar.
"What happened?" Beth asks quietly, looking over at him through the dark room.
Daryl only shrugs, mumbling an incoherent "dunno" in reply. He's ashamed to admit that he burned himself from the pain of having lost her.
Beth rolls her eyes and nudges him with her knee. "Don't give me that again. What happened?"
He's quiet for a long minute as he thinks of their last night in the morgue. How she was confronting him about his change of mind. The moment he confessed his feelings for her and her expression as she realized what his muttering symbolized. Only for everything to fall to hell afterwards.
"Was after Atlanta, 'bout three weeks. I missed ya so bad...an' I just was hurtin' too much. Wanted to feel somethin,' anythin' except pain. I wandered off and lit one up...burnt it out there." The guilt soaks Daryl's voice. His self-harm is nothing he cares to recall.
She swallowed hard, trying to keep her breathing steady. Under his dark, mysterious exterior, he's a puppy abandoned in a storm, curled up and shivering. Or at least he was until she took him in; showed him compassion, hope, gave him strength. Her thumb continues circling his skin as if by doing so she could take away this particular mark, erase this terrible memory for him. On a sudden whim, Beth lifts his hand to her lips and kisses the burn.
"There. It's okay now," she says.
She expects him to pull his hand away, or at least tense up, but he doesn't. Instead, he shifts his eyes to meet hers. One corner of his mouth is just barely upturned, about as close to a smile as he's given in God only knows how long. Really, it isn't any better. The scar isn't gone, neither is the memory. He pushes those thoughts away though because she's here and like before, she's changed his mind.
