Daryl was working on his bike when he heard the faint clattering of the gates rolling open in the distance. Normally he would have been part of the group returning from the recruitment run, or at the very least manning the gate to see in the new arrivals. But the last time he had gone out hunting, the ground had given way beneath him slightly and he had landed awkwardly on his ankle. A few years ago he might have been able to shake the injury off but, as Carl loved to remind him, he wasn't a young man anymore. Rick had insisted that he sit out all of his jobs until he was fully healed, asking Rosita to take his place on the next trip. So while Aaron and Rosita were outside of the oppressive walls, and Carl of all people was guarding the gate, Daryl was stuck hobbling around Aaron and Eric's garage, tinkering with his bike like an old man.
He ignored the sound, retreating further into the garage. Carol would accuse him of sulking later, but he wasn't about to go out and watch a kid do his job for him. And as much as he hated to admit it, walking all the way down to the gate would hurt his ankle. It was already throbbing from being up and working on the bike all morning.
Daryl had just settled down into the faded green camp chair for a break when a shadow fell over him. He turned to see Rick, silhouetted in the bright sunlight streaming through the open garage door. "You're goin' to want to see this," he said, gesturing for Daryl to follow him. Daryl normally hated when people chose to be cryptic instead of just coming out and saying what was happening. But it sounded vaguely important, and he was so sick of being made to sit around and 'rest' that he stood up, wiped the oil from his hands, and followed him without question.
Rick headed in the direction of the gates. The Sheriff seemed to be almost running towards his destination, and Daryl fought back a wince as his ankle protested at his attempt to keep up. When they rounded the corner to see the results of the recruitment trip though, all of his pain evaporated. Maggie was kneeling on the ground, her whole body shaking as she sobbed. And her arms were wrapped around a blonde woman.
Daryl couldn't see her face, but somehow both knew it was her and knew it couldn't be her at the same time. Her hair was the exact right golden colour, pulled up away from her face with that small braid running through it. The arms wrapped around Maggie's back were pale and slim, with bracelets stacked around her wrists. She was wearing a tanktop and jeans, and grey cowboy boots. Who else could it be? But she was dead. He had seen her get shot, had held her lifeless body in his arms. Maybe then, this was a dream. It wouldn't be the first he'd had like it. He would wake up soon, and spend the next week reliving the fantasy over and over.
But then the woman looked up from where her face had been buried in Maggie's shoulder, bright blue eyes staring straight at him. And he knew that there was no way it was a dream. For the past two years, he had spent every sleepless night trying to remember her face. He was determined not to forget it, but found that as time went on, the details got fuzzier. He could remember individual features - an eye, a freckle, the way she quirked her eyebrow – but he couldn't put it together to form a whole picture of her. And he had been starting to doubt that the parts of her he could remember were actually her, and not some false-memory he had created by spending so much time thinking about her.
But there was no doubting the face in front of him. Apart from anything else, she looked different. She was a little older, the last of her baby fat having given way to smooth planes across her cheeks. Her scars had faded, the shiny, puckered lines a stark contrast to the vivid red and freshly-stitched wounds of his memories. Andher eyes were somehow wiser, and less naive. Neither his imagination nor his memory could ever have created the face that was staring back at him.
But if this was real, if she was real, then it was even worse. Daryl felt his stomach drop and bile rise in his throat. If she was alive now then she had been alive then, in Atlanta. And he had left her, alive and alone, in a city full of walkers and people who were even worse. Because of him, she been through God only knew what, and had had to survive on her own for two years.
Tears had been leaking out of the corners of her eyes while she had been hugging Maggie, but when she spotted Daryl she let out a strangled cry and ran towards him. She collided with him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and sobbed into the fabric of his shirt. His arms came to rest automatically around her back, and his voice cracked when he spoke, "Beth?" She nodded and sniffled in response, burying her face further into his chest.
For two years, he had gone over their time together and beaten himself up about the things he should have done differently. At the funeral home, he had forced her to make all the first moves, relying on her to pull him out of himself and assuming she must know how he felt just because he hadn't pushed her away. But it wasn't enough, he knew that now. This was Beth Greene, and she deserved to know without doubt how amazing she was and how much she meant to him. She had put up with his silent forms of communication, but he knew she valued talking out loud. And after what he did to her, leaving her there alone and injured, he would do things the way she wanted for the rest of his life. He forced himself to speak, "I- I left you. 'M so sorry Beth. Shit, s'all my fault."
"It's ok, it's ok," she murmured, cutting him off. Of course she would forgive him. He didn't deserve it, didn't deserve anything from her after what he did. But Beth Greene didn't hold grudges, and she saw the best in everyone. That was what made him fall in love with her in the first place. He squeezed her more tightly to him, and then the thought occurred to him that he should kiss her. Daryl had never been good at showing affection, and had never even considered doing something like that in public. But if someone had offered him the chance to kiss Beth one more time yesterday, he would have given anything. Now she was in his arms, and the only thing he had to give was the courage to do it in front of so many people.
He pulled back and she gave him a watery smile, the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. But before he could lower his lips to hers, she pulled away, grabbed his hand and said, "I need to introduce you to someone."
He followed her back towards the car she had arrived in. Aaron was sitting sideways in the open door of the driver's seat, a grin on his face as he watched their reunion. Beth led Daryl around to the rear door on the other side. As they approached, a man stepped out.
"This is Tim," Beth said with a smile, still gripping onto his hand. Tim looked to be in his mid-twenties, with olive skin and dark hair. He was tall and slim, but with enough lean muscle that he looked like he could take care of himself. The multitude of knives he had strapped to himself seemed to confirm that theory. He nodded at Daryl, and smiled a perfectly straight, white smile. He was good looking, as far as Daryl noticed that kind of thing, if a bit of a pretty boy. In other words, he was perfect for Beth.
Daryl let go of her hand. Of course. Why would he think he had any right to kiss her again, as if they could just pick up where they left off? Even if she could forgive him for abandoning her in Atlanta, and even if she might have been prepared to wait years for a man she would probably never see again, he had never given her any real indication of how he felt. They had been together while it was just the two of them, but she had had to make all the first moves then. She probably assumed he was just using her to pass the time.
Tim bent into the car, pulled out a little girl, and handed her to Beth. Daryl wasn't good at guessing the ages of children, but he would put her at somewhere between one and two years old. She had a head of curls, dark like Tim's, and blue grey eyes a bit like Beth's. The three of them stood together looked like the most perfect little family.
"And this," Beth said, shuffling the squirming toddler on her hip to get a better hold of her, "is Daisy."
"She your daughter?" Daryl asked, though he already knew the answer. Her colouring may have been more like Tim's, but her face was all Beth, glowing with the same sweetness as her mother.
Beth took a deep breath and smiled, "She's our daughter."
Daryl nodded at Tim, and Beth frowned. "You're a lucky man," he said gruffly, "take care of 'em." That was all he could manage. He didn't trust the strength of his voice to say any more, and his eyes were prickling embarrassingly in a way they never should in front of other people. A part of him was happy that Beth had found happiness, but it was too much to watch. Every time he had imagined seeing Beth again, having her there at all had already been a fantasy, so he had never bothered to consider the idea of her not wanting to be with him. He turned and started walking towards home, the pain in his ankle returning full force.
He knew that Beth was following after him, but he kept marching forwards, pretending he hadn't noticed. When Beth called out, "Daryl, stop!" though, he did as she asked. He couldn't deny her anything, no matter how much it might hurt him.
She caught up with him, a little out of breath from lugging the baby who was clearly starting to get a bit too big to be carried. "I said, she's ourdaughter." Daryl looked at her blankly. "This is Daisy Dixon."