This is my first try at Bethyl, and certainly my first time using prompts. I've been obsessively reading bethyl fanfiction for quite a while, and the bethyl week just seemed to be a great opportunity and fun to play with the characters. It's a T at most, I think. sheriffgreene - thank you for organizing the bethyl week. This is for day 2, prompt red.
That was not something that she should have been thinking about. And definitely not something that she should even consider doing. Probably ever. Discomfited by her train of thoughts, Beth shifted in her sleeping bag, the uneven ground of the campsite digging uncomfortably into her back. Maybe it was not the ground, maybe it was a rock that she didn't see when setting her bag down, or maybe a pinecone?
"Just stop your wriggles - people are trying to sleep here you know," – Maggie slurred sleepily.
Beth stilled. Everybody had to be sharp for the run tomorrow, her included. Especially if she were to pull her crazy plan off. Her body, however, had its own ideas. It felt asymmetrical and that was driving her nuts. One shoulder felt slightly higher up than the other at all times, one hip angled all wrong, no matter how much she fidgeted. That was it. 'Just commit to it. It's always better to regret something you did rather than something you didn't do,' – her dead mother's saying seemed as good a motto as any.
It all started a couple of days ago. Rocking Judith to sleep was not a particularly engaging activity, and Beth found herself bored something terrible when she couldn't at least sing to keep her mind occupied. After Terminus, singing was out of the question – just thinking about attracting walkers or humans to the camp made her shudder.
Beth was never really the one for eavesdropping – Maggie knew all of the juicy rumors anyway, so she never needed to bother with it herself. If she had to be perfectly honest, she enjoyed gossiping as much as anyone, really, but actively engaging in it seemed a bit undignified. But it was a small campsite, and sometimes you just couldn't help but over-hear people. Especially when those people just happened to have deep resonant voices that carried easily over the cracking fire.
Tyreese was grumbling unhappily about the colder nights to Rick, prompting a long-suffering sigh from the latter.
"Man, we sure as hell don't want to rely on those thin blankets to get though the coming months. Fucking hate this season too – that humid air gets right into your bones and doesn't leave 'til spring!"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. We gonna do a run soon. Everybody is just getting antsy staying here." Rick cracked his neck and got closer to the fire.
"Daryl just bit my head off for offering help on gutting the deer. Hands bloody up to his elbows, doesn't seem to bother him," Tyreese noticed. "His mood's been getting fouler by the day."
"Don't think a run will cheer him up. He got a case of his usual October blues. It feels like it might be October anyway."
Tyreese snorted. "Whatever you say, but he's not exactly the sensitive type, fall depression 'n all. We need supplies. Some action will cheer him up."
"He's just moping around the time his birthday. Merle being gone doesn't exactly help."
"How the hell do you know it's his birthday?"
"Got slightly drunk together back in Prison. Long story. We do need warmer clothes though. Hopefully some cans – I'm sick of squirrel meat by now. How much gas can we syphon off those cars at the pile up?"
As the conversation went on, Beth found herself biting her upper lip, still dutifully rocking Judith to sleep. She didn't harbor any particular illusions about Daryl's childhood after the moonshine shack, but hating your own birthday was really taking it too far. Was it? After all, he turned out all right – 'better than all right,' she thought. He found them – he had a new family now, and he was her friend. At least she hopped they were friends. With a bigger group it was harder to catch him around for a chat – Daryl spent most of his time obsessively hunting. Providing for all of them. That surely deserved some thanks. 'And that's what friends do for each other,' she decided. A surprise party was really infeasible, but maybe a token present was the right thing to do. 'To show all of their appreciation, that is.' Even in her head she sounded defensive.
Her plan was really simple. A nice birthday postcard – there were tons of them left in almost all supermarkets. Just snatch it on the next supply run, and get everyone to sign it for Daryl. She didn't know his age, or the actual date, but that didn't seem to be too important. Before the walkers, Beth used to do it often enough – birthdays always a big affair in her hometown. The only hiccup in the whole set up was the supposed birthday boy – his surly manner in the recent days did nothing to reassure Beth.
He would probably flip over. Or run away hunting to escape it all. But she imagined that after a couple of days he'd come to appreciate the gesture. Or maybe he would like it right away. Beth felt her ears warm at the thought of Daryl liking the postcard. And maybe squeezing her hand appreciatively. He might even look at her from under this overgrown hair mop of his and smile just so… just like he did at the funeral house before the herd happened. She could totally risk his bad mood – not like he was Mr. Sunshine now anyway.
Beth decided against telling anyone of her plan before actually getting the postcard. She told herself she just didn't want Daryl to overhear it and spoil the surprise, but it had something more to do with her unwillingness to listen to all the objections Maggie, or Rick, or anyone else, were going to inevitably raise. In short, she really didn't want to lose her nerve.
She managed to persuade Carol to stay at the campsite to look after Judith ("If anything happens, I trust you can take of her"). Maggie was harder to deal with ("You always go on runs! I'm not a kid anymore, and I have been stuck behind in all the supply runs since Terminus"), but she finally relented. Michonne was uninterested in the ride, running her own reconnaissance missions in her usual style – alone.
The closer the day of the run came though, the more doubts Beth faced. 'You are such a chicken, Bethany Ann!' she sternly told herself. 'Afraid of Daryl not 'liking' you. He's your friend and he deserves a birthday present. And if he can't take it – it's his loss!' Pumped up by her own pep talk, she finally fell asleep, still feeling like her body was lopsided and just plain wrong.
The ride to the nearby town was tense. It was their first supply run since Abraham had left with Eugene, Rosita and Tara for D.C., and everybody was concerned about how small their numbers actually were. Carl was pissed he had to stay behind in the camp with Carol and Maggie, and that soured Rick's mood. Daryl mostly communicated with grunts of various degrees of disapproval. Tyreese was full of nervous energy and babbled about things he was going to look for all the way down to the store, to Sasha's obvious annoyance. Beth was keeping her mouth shut, trying to attract as little attention to herself as possible.
"I will go with Sasha – focus on cleaning out the clothing aisle first of all, and look for comforters or quilts in the household items, might be worth a shot. Beth, stick with Daryl – cover the baby stuff and whatever else you can. Tyreese, you keep the engine running and an eye out. Come and get us at the first sign of trouble." By the time Rick finished laying out the plan, Beth realized she was screwed, to put it mildly.
How was she supposed to get her postcard when paired with Daryl? It's not like she could tell him "Daryl, dear, I'll just go all by myself to this aisle there, please don't watch me while I do it". After the funeral house he had taken to obsessively tracking her every step in any even remotely threatening situation, and she would bet that a supply run qualified as such in his book. She'd have to be very fast. Maybe she could distract him with a "Oh! Walker over there!" routine.
The parking lot had no walkers on it. In the store, two walkers, both extremely decomposed and weak, did not present a real challenge to the group. Beth carefully followed Daryl into the store, noting a postcard stand next to the checkout stand with miscellaneous items and old, so out of place in this walker filled world, US Weekly and Stars magazine issues.
That was her chance. She slowed down just a bit, lagging behind him, with the postcard stand so close, when Daryl turned around and hissed angrily:
"Whatcha doin' - tryin' to get killed? Hurry the fuck up!" and strode towards the baby foods section.
Panicking, Beth grabbed a bunch of postcards without even looking at them, and, as in slow motion, saw the whole damn stand falling backwards. At the loud 'thump!' Daryl turned around and stared at her incredulously. The postcards, tucked into her jeans and covered up by the shirt, were burning through into her skin.
"Are you tryin' to get every walker on our asses, or you just forgot anything I taught you?" – Daryl grabbed Beth by the wrist and physically dragged her towards the right aisle, cursing under his breath and looking for any signs of other walkers.
By the end of the ride back to camp, Beth was both exhausted and fuming. The nerve of him! All this effort just to be called a 'ham-handed trouble' and a 'pest'. Not that he knew of the plan, but the ease with which he just assumed she naturally regressed to her Prison level of skills was highly disappointing.
Back at the camp she begged off to the only tent, saying she needed to change. Her back felt clammy from the wrapped postcards sticking to her skin for good two hours. She gingerly puled them out of her jeans, trying to avoid crumpling and bending them any further, and for a minute just stared at them. It was just her luck. Just her rotten luck.
What would she do with a postcard that read 'Happy Anniversary'? A beige postcard with a gold trim with effing bright red carnations on the front? That was just perfect. Beth could imagine just how much Daryl would like this one. Beige. Gold. Red. His favorite colors, no doubt. A helpless giggle bubbled up through her lips.
There was nothing to do. Beth was not about to give up on her plan now, after all this trouble. She almost did when she realized she did not have a pen to sign the card. Thoughts of using Sasha's red lipstick instead crossed her mind, but that would have been ridiculous. Red carnations, red lipstick. 'Happy Anniversary Birthday, Daryl Dixon!'
She first approached Maggie. The look her sister gave her was priceless.
"A postcard? For Daryl Dixon? Do we know the same one – the dour almost mute hunter who spends most of his time shooting things and then gutting them?"
After a couple more sarcastic comments, Maggie gave in.
"I do have a pen, luckily for you, and I will sign the postcard. But I want nothing to do with getting it to him, and if you want a 'happy birthday' chorus, count me out!"
Michonne just signed it promptly, and then took a good long look at Beth.
"I hope you know what you're doing."
Carol looked almost disappointed she didn't think of it herself. Her big flowery signature on the postcard made Beth inexplicably annoyed.
Sasha drew a caricature crossbow and an overly muscly arm next to it, with the tagline 'keep up the good work!' To be honest, Beth didn't know if she approved of the message.
Carl was easy enough to deal with, and she left Tyreese and Rick for last.
"Listening to private conversations, Beth? Maybe I should worry about Judith spending so much time with you!" Rick quirked his eyebrow, while Beth felt the familiar heat work its way into the ears, thankfully covered by her hair. "Seriously though, if he asks – I had nothing to do with it." That sent Tyreese empathically nodding.
After dinner – venison, compliments of the 'birthday boy', and canned beans – Beth was summoning her courage to approach Daryl. He seemed to be in a particularly bad mood, shooting her nasty glances throughout the evening.
It was now or never. No sense prolonging the inevitable, really. Especially with everyone right around the campfire, waiting for the surprise.
A couple of deep breathes, and she walked right up to him. Daryl eyed her warily.
"Here!" Beth just thrust the postcard at him, glaring preemptively. "Your birthday is just around now, we all wanted to do something," she continued a bit more quietly as Daryl continued to just stare at the postcard, red carnations and all. She scratched anniversary out with the pen and wrote 'Birthday' in her best cursive, but it was not particularly pretty. "Daryl..?"
A somewhat strangled cough was her only response. Immediately after that sound, Daryl jerkily got up and marched away from the campsite clearing, right into the woods. His Horton lay next to his sleeping bag, forgotten.
With bleary eyes, Beth was watching the dying coals. After that spectacular failure of a birthday party, everyone in the camp tried to give her some space. She was tired, but determined to wait up for Daryl to make sure he came back ok.
His slow steps behind her back were a welcome sound to Beth. Finally. Slowly, she turned towards him, not sure what to expect. He sat on the ground next to her, quiet for several minutes. Finally, he said:
"I like yer inscription." Beth saw his lips curl upwards, and her heart stuttered, only to dramatically pick up its pace right after. He was watching her carefully from under his bangs.
Beth could not have been happier with any other outcome. It was so worth the effort.
Happy Birthday, Daryl!
Your Beth,
and Family