Written for day 3 of the bethyl week. No luck with tags on tumblr, alas. I sometimes think that Daryl is quite a bit more humane and less demeged that often portrayed in fanfics, and Beth is much more scarred - her suicide and decision not to cry for example. So I decided to play with that idea a bit. Prompt "numb" from bethyl week 2014.
It was a damn romance novel. With no happily ever after anywhere in sight, too. New people were coming and dying, and every so often a new attractive face will show up, and Beth would be herself, and the same tired scenario will kick off. 'Boys', she called them, and Daryl couldn't help but roll his eyes and point out her own age. "I am mature, though," she would always reply, and he had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep his comments to himself.
This time it was Andy. Or was it Adam? 'No matter,' he thought cynically, 'They all drop like flies.' Rick came across a small group of survivors scavenging for supplies on his latest run to town, and picked up those strays, as he was prone to do. They could use the hands, Daryl supposed, to keep up the trenches, and maintain the wooden boats. More importantly, somebody would always fall prey to the walkers on the inevitable runs, and he would prefer it to be anyone but the Prison group survivors and himself. After all, the strays did serve their purpose.
The heat was stifling. Andy was excitedly waiving hands, pointing out something on the shore to Beth, who was wearing an indulgent smile, blonde matted hair in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. How this guy had the energy, Daryl would never now. The only thing he could think about was the now very distant memory of a cold beer in his hand, somewhere in the shade, far from trenches they seemed to be digging day and night now.
It took them so fucking long to realize that walkers could not swim. After Terminus, after finding Beth, parting their ways with Abraham and his group, and losing Glenn to sepsis along the way they had finally figured out. These dead shits could not swim, and they had no balance whatsoever. Hence the deep trenches filled with water everyday on one side of the camp, and the fast moving Savannah River on all other sides. If only there were less mosquitos, and Daryl would almost call himself content.
The muggy evening was settling onto the sun-bleached tents, and his shift was almost over. Daryl peered carefully in the turbid water of the trench. The walker, attracted by the movement, strained to reach him, when the arrow turned spear pierced its eye socket, and the body sagged. Heavy guy, this one.
"Andy, a hand over here!"
This 'boy' turned out to be an Adam, after all.
Daryl loved evenings like that. Beth would get an odd night off Judith duty, he would be just done with his night shift, and they always ended up playing cards. It always took him back to their first game, right after the Prison Fall, when they just got into that trap of a funeral home, and desperately wanted to get their minds off of the tombstones in the yard. She started talking about Zach then, and it became a ritual ever since. He would sit there, grunt at the appropriate moments, and she would talk and talk and talk, which might have been annoying, but wasn't. It helped that she always got too distracted by her own talk to win.
"And Adam is really sweet. Was telling me all about his plans for when the cure if found."
"No kiddin'. Yer turn, Beth."
She was not really paying attention to the game. He knew for sure she had an eight of trumps, but instead she threw in a useless queen of hearts. All the better for him.
"Planning to move up to Tennessee after it's all over. I think he says that because I like horses, and the only thing he knows about Tennessee is its Walking Horse licenses you see around. Really sweet boy, that he is."
"Yea, yeah, spare me the usual romantic nonsense. 'N for pity's sake, make the next move!"
Thankfully, Beth returned her attention to the game. The silence was welcome. Their conversations were nice, but when she got on the subject of her love life, Daryl got uncomfortable pretty quick. She always ended up pointing out available women, giving advice and getting on her high horse of the 'everybody deserves some happiness, Daryl' speech that he was frankly getting tired of. What was the point of talking about it, if for her happiness meant 'getting to know someone', as she put it, and for him it was playing cards with her.
"I don't think it's romantic," Beth's voice jerked him out of his reverie. At his raised brows, she continued, "I think it's naïve and pathetic. There ain't no cure for this. Walkers – they are here to stay."
"So what? We gotta shoot ourselves 'n be done with it?"
"That's not my point. It's like the Black Death in Europe sometime in the Middle Ages?"
"What are you goin' on about?"
"Just quit interrupting and let me speak!" Beth was getting quite agitated. "Black Death, was this type of plague, the bubonic plague, and it wiped out so many people in Europe, that they all believed God was punishing them and the Second Coming was close. But they survived, but the infection still exists – just not a plague anymore. We cure the symptoms, kill the rats and fleas to keep the plague at bay – just like we're keeping the walkers away and stabbing the dead in the camp.
"I don't think God has anything to do with that mess – just nature trying out a new thing, you know? And babies are still being born, and people still survive, and we figured out the water trick, and we know they are faster in the cold, and at night, and we are here, aren't we? "
"When we die, we turn. This is not normal, Beth. It's so fucked up it can never be normal." Daryl threw the cards down. "Ya die – and al' yer hopes, yer dreams n' plans n' this fuckin' sweet voice of yers –they're all gone too. Yer pretty lil' girly eyes will turn milky, and ya will rasp and groan and eat my fuckin' guts out if ye get the chance. Shit, that can never be normal."
"I'll be long gone from that body. If you die – you die. Ain't nothing alive in walkers – just rotten flesh and a drive for blood.
"But this nonsense – moving somewhere, planning for 'after the cure' – this just pisses me off. I can't stand putting life off, and there ain't getting back to before, so why would I want to live like before?
"Judith will grow up in this world. She knows to be quiet, and she's not scared of walkers, and she knows that appearances don't mean shit, if there is no live soul in there. I think she might know more about the sanctity of human life than I ever did at her age."
"Judith, huh? She's a sweet kid. Tough Lil' Asskicker." He looked at Beth, taking in her wild eyes, and a tinge of red down her neck that she always got when excited. "That whatcha doin' with the 'boys'? Getting a new life now, but they keep on dyin' on ye?"
Beth visibly deflated. "Nah, it ain't like that. Maggie still looks like she is punched in the gut as soon as she remembers Glenn's gone, you know? She'll share a funny story with me, or laugh with Judith, and then she'll turn around, expecting him to be just there and share in the fun, and then she remembers. And it hits her hard, every single time.
"And I can't really remember their faces. Jimmy was always there for me before – but before is gone and it ain't coming back. Zach- ", she took a deep breath before pressing on, "was available. Ridiculous – I dated him 'cause he was there, and it's kinda ok. It was a good thing, getting to know him.
"And what, two more boys mooning around me, since the prison? And Adam now? I'm just so numb I can't even give a damn. Going through the motions of before, and what I would have been doing if these walkers never happened?
"It's just so easy to pretend that I'll just get the right guy, and then I won't be numb, and I'll feel like my heart is ripped out of my chest when he dies, and I'll finally start living in this walker world like it is the real world and not some effin' nightmare that's always about to end and thus doesn't matter," she pulled the hem of the T-shirt up to her face, wiping angrily at her tears, her stomach shockingly white against the backdrop of grass and trees in the flickering light of the campfire. Daryl kept his mouth shut.
"But they are all living in the before, nice little boys with wisps of facial hair and smooth untouched skin, and they all die 'cause they can't wake up from this dream of dreaming. And I don't have it in me to care for them. Not anymore. Not after Terminus –" she stopped.
The fire was about to die out, so Daryl added a couple of twigs to keep at least some gnats away.
"Scooch over!" He sat next to her now, and waited patiently, before promptly stretching his body out and settling his head on her knees. Did he imagine the sharp intake of breath from her? He thoughtfully filed this information away for later reflection.
"I was never numb. I always got that energy in me, pacing, pushin' me t' do stuff. I like the crossbow 'cause each time I shoot a crossbow, the coiled energy just goes with it," it felt weird sharing like that. He's been on the receiving end of her stories often enough, but he rarely felt the need to contribute much. The hips under his head felt nice soft, and he could almost drift off to sleep just like that.
"M-hm," – she started scratching his head absent-mindedly, playing with errant hairs, and he couldn't keep his approval in.
"Is it wrong to string Adam along like that?" Beth suddenly asked.
"Nah, t's fine. You gotta be clueless to ignore how you treat 'im – this patient smile n' all. Woudda driven me nuts," he mused out loud.
"So you and Carol..?"
"Oh just shut up, will ya? Can't a man just focus on more important stuff than chasin' tail and feelings?"
Daryl could see her smile slowly and reply, "Yeah, a man can." And then, a minute later:
"You know, if you ever die on me, my heart will be ripped out of my chest and stomped on, and it would still be better than what anyone else makes me feel like."