Hey Bethylers!
This is my entry to BSW / My new fic. This came from a dark part of my mind (hehe) not too dark, but just enough. Because we all know that the Bethylers are angry about Beth's demise - and I just like this story so much better than the way the show ended her. Tis is most likely filled with errors and mistakes, and grammatical errors - but I wanted to get this up in time. I may be adding to this story, so if you'd like that - just let me know!I hope you all enjoy this one! Happy Smut Week! Love you all.
-Stephanie
I'm goin' home.
Those three infamous words.
They had saved her – maybe they really believed that. Maybe Dawn had been so far gone that she really did think that she actually needed saving. She knows the others know better than Dawn does.
Beth doesn't believe for a second that anyone there – Dawn included even really knows why they're there. How they ended up this way. But to be honest, she really just doesn't give a shit.
"We saved your life, Beth – both of yours." She watches Dawn drift her eyes down to her abdomen and her insides burn. She feels like glass is ripping through her eardrums because shit, she is so damn sick of hearing it. She doesn't realize that she's laughing until she stops – the growl in her voice severe and sharp, cutting edge.
"You saved me? You saved us? You stole us." She spits, actually seething into her face – saliva begging to drip from her lips – begging to be released and begging to show the anger boiling inside of her.
Her hand instantly flies to her stomach – round and hard, and she wants to squeeze – hard enough to get through to her small baby – hard enough to reach in and protect it.
"You stole me and his baby. Stole us from him – took us away from the man who loves us – who wants us – who doesn't hurt us. If you think for one second that he's going to let you get away with this you've got so many other things comin', Dawn." She thinks that he taught her the courage of stars before she left.
How life carries on endlessly even after death – or what feels like death. Sometimes she feels like he's gone – dead – eaten by walkers – because for all that she knows he could be – but she thinks he isn't. Maybe thinking is better than knowing these days.
She doesn't give a damn about what happens to her next – because she knows that if Dawn takes a single swing at her that she'll just rip out the letter opener from underneath her pillowcase and jab it right into her neck – mercilessly.
Why?
Because she's angry – incredibly angry. Because there is a man out there that she loves more than the ground she walks on and more than the skin on her body and she would rather die than think about him in pain. In pain of losing her – losing them.
It kills her to think that maybe he thinks they're dead – that they're gone – lost forever. But she's right here and she wishes she could call him, or that he could sense her because she knows that he's so close but so far.
She trusts him with her whole life, but that doesn't make her fearless. She doesn't fear the wrath of the bitch that decided it was okay to steal people – doesn't fear the world outside of these walls – the only thing that she truly fears is losing – losing him – him losing her.
The mere thought makes her heart ache and makes her want to reach inside and clamp it in her fist because it hurts so fucking bad to only think about him hurting.
She wants to call him – to tell him that she loves him and that she needs him to find her. Though she can't – she fucking wishes she could.
She knows that he won't let them know – and she fears that too – him dealing with this weight on his own. She wants him to cry and yell and scream and fight, but she knows better.
Maybe in a way she thinks that she's stronger than he is.
She knows that he made her strong – taught her that life wasn't peaches and butterflies, but she also knows that he gave her the ability to love unconditionally and because of that she is ruthless. She will do anything to get back to him. She would eat Dawn's throat out – she would pull her heart out of her body with her bare hands.
So maybe she is stronger than him. She doesn't give a shit about stepping on someone's toes or colliding her fist with someone's cheek. Hell – she doesn't give a fuck about sticking a pair of scissors into someone's right eye if it meant getting back to him.
She would start a fucking riot before she let him give up on her. For his love. For all that he is. She would rather never have a single sip of water again if it meant she could be able to touch him only one more time. To just see him again. That would be enough. Just to be able to stare into his eyes – because they were really all that she needed. They would tell her and give her every single thing she could ever need.
She knows that he knows she's got their baby with her. Knows that when she told him she thought he might have figured it out before even she did. She also even knows that he almost smiled when she told him.
She watches Dawn's face, and maybe she sees something – because she's trying to be sure that even this woman has to have some compassion. That this woman had to experience love before. But Beth knows better – she knows that the way she and Daryl love is something no one else has ever felt before. She knows that the fire that burns inside of her for him is too good for her to ever be able to feel it.
So fuck this bitch.
This world so rarely allows something good and she had found it. Had found a man she loved and she was so terrified that every waking moment she spent without him was another day checked off of their time together. That maybe sometime soon those days would run out and he'd be gone. That she would have no one to go back to. That she'd never get to kiss him again – never get to touch him again – love him again.
That terrified her.
She misses him – so much. Some days she aches in places she didn't know existed when she thinks about him too hard. Though – that's easy to do when she's got his baby right under her heart.
She's pulling away from him, gasping, spit dripping down her chin. He's glaring down at her, eyes bright, burning, and he can't think of a more beautiful sight than her in this moment.
He sweeps down and crushes his lips to hers, a hand entangling itself in her thick wild locks. She moans when his tongue forces itself into her mouth and he tugs hard on her hair. Tilting her face, her tongue smashes into his mouth, crashing into his teeth and scraping – hard until she finds the smooth surface of his tongue. He pulls quickly away, leaving her lips pouting and swollen.
Her chest drums frantically when she meets the heat of his gaze. He owns her - she's his. No question. And she'll do anything he tells her.
His lip curls as he growls. "Get your fucking mouth back on my cock, girl." She loves his wicked grin as he commands her – her own lips twitching into a devilish smirk – because who is he kidding? She craves this.
She obeys. She leans forward once again and swallows him like it's something she's done thousands of times – though that number might be close.
He is thick and hot and hard in her mouth and the taste of him drives her insane. She slaps her hands to his thighs, clutching onto him for dear life.
"Fuck, Beth!" he yells out, fingers curling tighter into her hair, hips rolling into motion as she suctions her lips around him. She's helpless as he presses her back against the couch, nails digging into his flesh while her eyes grow wide and desperate.
He swats her arms away with a curse, fists her hair into both hands now and angles himself deeper.
"Take it, girl." He tells her, eyes wild. "Take my cock baby."
She can feel her gag reflex poking her like an impatient child– telling her she's going to reject him – but she ignores it and takes him over and over again down her throat – seemingly deeper each time.
His hands move from their vice grip in her hair to her knees and he pushes them up onto the sofa cushion and pushes them apart, his hand trailing to her pussy – and she knows she's dripping at this point, and she grabs his hand, pushing it away.
She looks at him while she uses her fingers to spread herself before pushing her fingers in. One, two, three – she fills herself as he slams into her mouth.
A raw, guttural noise escapes his throat then, almost like a pained cry, and he mashes his crotch against her face. The heady, earthy musk that clings to his hair is divine and she inhales it like it's the best cologne she's ever smelt. Her face scrunches tightly with the need to breathe, but also because she is bucking between his legs as her juices spill from between hers.
She hears him – and for a moment he sounds like a wolf – a growl escaping his lips, and he explodes into her mouth, hot thick seed filling into her cheeks, and she swallows him – what she can't spills through her lips and he watches her like she's a glowing angel – and fuck she is.
He pops himself out of her mouth at last, knees wobbling as he takes a step back, and her chest heaves as she gulps down air. She can barely swallow before he leans down and presses their lips together. She doesn't have the charisma of mind yet to register the kiss. She can hear herself breathing heavily through her nostrils, eyes half closed in post orgasmic meltdown. When he finally parts from her mouth, peeling slowly away from her lower lip with his teeth, she's gained enough strength to speak.
"Who did the walker look like this time, Daryl?"
"Walker looked like a damn walker, girl." he replies, a devious curve to his mouth.
She stares at him, chest heaving, pussy aching as he fists his cock and begins stroking himself to the sight of her.
"Bastard," she hisses.
He grabs her chin and yanks it up to meet his eyes with hers. She barely sees his hand move.
"Manners, baby." he tells her lightly. She flicks her untamed hair out of her eyes and turns them back to him.
"Fuck you." She says.
Daryl tightens his grip on her chin, and he wants to grin so badly because fuck, this girl. This girl was going to be the death of him. She inhales quickly, maybe a gasp – and he kisses her again, this time hard and needy and angry.
She pretends to fight him this time, make him work for it. Her tongue pushes and shoves against his, infringing his mouth. He presses himself onto her and she reaches blindly between his legs, pulling at his wrist and wrapping her own fingers around his now semi-hard cock. He reaches up and palms her breast, squeezing hard. The twist of her nipple makes her cry out and he forces his tongue between her lips. She leaves imprints of her teeth on his bottom lip when he pulls away.
His mouth curls as he looks down at her. "You taste like cum." he tells her, voice low and throaty.
Beth twists her hand around his thickening cock, locking eyes with him. "Tastes good, don't it?"
He smirks. "Get up," he tells her, "get on your knees, baby. Turn around for me."
She leans on the couch, bent over, ass in the air and thighs spread when he shoves her knees apart. A groan escapes her as he shoves his face between her legs and his tongue into her pussy. He probes deep, hard and fast and she desperately grabs at the old upholstery, digging her nails into the fabric. Her spine arches and every muscle in her body grows tight, forcing the long, animalistic moan up from the depths of her core.
She's thrown into a frenzy, his mouth working furiously on her cunt. His voice hums through her as he feasts on her juices, a dam bursting inside of her as her walls pulse and she lets loose a muffled scream.
He revels in her high pitched voice as she continues to make small sounds after he's done, and he gets up and grabs her by her hips, almost throwing her onto her ass on the sofa.
He's on top of her in moments, and her knees are trembling and the room is still spinning. He grabs her and she barely registers his head nudging at her lips before his entire cock drives into her. He feels like steel between her legs, all man, all him, and she can't help but cry out as he enters her.
"You're so fucking wet, Beth," he tells her. "You've been dying to have my cock inside you, huh, baby?"
She meekly groans in reply. Then she gasps when he fists his hand into her hair and tugs her face away from the upholstery she's drooled over. He pulls her right up until her tits are pressed to his chest, putting his mouth to her ear as she breathes heavily.
"What was that, girl?" he murmurs, punctuating the question with a single sharp thrust. "I couldn't really hear you, baby."
"Yes." she finally whimpers, as a hand finds her breast and tortures a nipple, but he quickly slaps her arm away. "Yes, what?"
"I need your cock." She tells him, her eyes lazy but bright as they bore into his, and his eyes are wide and his pupils are blown and he knows that he's just gone.
He pinches and pulls at her nipple himself. "You don't sound very convincing."
"Fuck!" She yelps when he thrusts into her again. "Oh fuck, Daryl." she moans desperately. "I need it, baby. I need you to fuck me good."
"That's what I like to hear." He whispers. And then he throws her down onto the couch. She breathlessly looks back over her shoulder to find him motionless and smirking.
"Work for it, darlin'." he tells her.
Bastard.
So she works for it.
She pushes up to him, lips parting to voice her pleasure. He groans as she penetrates herself with his cock, her hand gripping him gentle but forceful, liberally slickening his rigid shaft with herself. She pushes until her pussy is full of him and he groans like he's at the end of the cliff and he watches her throw her head back. She's got one leg in her hand holding it up and he notices that her knee is at her cheek, and he takes that second to dip his head and watch. Her pussy is pressed to his groin and she slowly rolls her hips. She hears him hiss as she turns her face into the upholstery, biting down on her lower lip at the feeling of being so full.
The smell of old, worn linen fills her nostrils as she works her hips some more, grinding into him. Tossing hair out of her face to look up at him, she watches as his hair falls over his face, a curtain of deep dark chocolate falling over his features, and she looks at the beard that he's sporting and she looks at the way he has his mouth open as he slowly exits her body. Drawing herself forward, she then sinks back onto the length of his cock, and he looks up at her that little bit so that their eyes meet when they both groan out loud.
"Like what you see?" She's teasing him with a velvet tone, circling her full hips when she bucks up into him again. As an answer his hands clap underneath her to her ass cheeks, kneading her flesh hard as she fucks him. That small motion makes her press harder into him and she almost feels like he's so deep into her that she can feel him in her throat – but she fucking loves it and maybe she's just this horny slut but she loves it and she can't get enough of him and she really doesn't think she ever will.
She smirks in the knowledge that the power of speech has escaped him. He looks up almost as soon as the thought crosses her mind and snarls.
Fingers dig into her hips and he wipes the smile off her face with a fierce thrust into her. The wet clap of flesh rings in her ear and she only yelps. She grips the couch as he starts to strike up a relentless rhythm.
"Oh fuck!" she cries out, a rod of hot, hard cock slamming into her tender cunt.
"Fuck, Daryl!"
She holds out her hand to his chest, just to calm him for a moment. He catches her wrist with a growl and holds her arm prisoner. The palm of his hand drops like lead between her tits, forcing her down onto her back. She screws her eyes shut, teeth clenched as she's pounded into the couch.
Daryl's strokes are swift and deep and her body jerks forward with each one. Her forcibly curved spine pushes her up into him and he fucks her ruthlessly. She can do nothing but lay there and take it.
"Oh God." She's practically sobbing.
"He's not the one fucking you, baby. I am." He spits, grabbing her by the hair.
"Huh? Tell me whose cock this is." He's watching her face as her eyes are closed and she's making these faces and he's trying with all his might not to cum right there.
"Yours, baby," she moans.
"And you love it when I rail your little pussy, don't you?" He's practically hissing at her, and she couldn't love it more than she already does. She wants to squeeze his neck and tell him she fucking needs him, but she refrains and looks back up at him through daze and lashes.
"Yes."
"Then don't you fucking call anyone's name but mine." he snarls into her ear.
"Daryl." she whimpers when he suddenly pulls out of her, cruelly leaving her empty
and wanting.
He points to the end of the couch. "Get over there," he tells her. "Lie on your back and spread your legs like a little whore."
She aches to be filled again, but she's giddy at that sentence. She doesn't fight the grin, and she listens. She obeys without pause, every inch of her slick, hot flesh electric with the anticipation. She puts the back of her head to the armrest and parts her thighs wide.
He's standing on his knees between them, tall, strong in the shoulders and chest and his thick, hard cock in his hand. She can't help but moan out loud at the sight of him, face dark with lust as he glares down at her.
Masculinity oozes from every pore on his body and takes her breath away. She needs him to take her, now.
"Beg, baby." he whispers. "Beg for it, like the cock hungry dirty little girl that you are." His voice is seemingly gone because it's gravely and its rough – and though it always is, she knows the difference and she just needs him more than she can tell him.
She licks her lips as he strokes himself. "Fuck me, Daryl. Please, baby. I need it so bad. I need your cock inside my pussy. I'm so wet for you, please…please." And then she sinks two fingers into herself to prove it.
His eyes go wide and he pulls her hand away too fast for her to pick her head back up before he's doing it for her with a hand in her hair, and he slams himself back into her body.
She shouts for the entire fucking world to hear when he thrusts up into her.
Something overtakes him as he slams in and out of her. She can see it in his face, even though her vision is blurry and her eyes aren't fixed – she can see it in his eyes. In the maddening grip of lust, the most vile desire rises to the surface and exposes itself to her.
It's raw and it's wild. He can't hide it from her. She just doesn't know what it is yet.
He's positioned over her, arms braced to either side of her head. Her hands wander, satisfied one moment then the next seeking something else to grab, pull at, rake her nails down. She has the meat of his ass gripped in her palm now, squeezing hard as the muscle flexes and tightens.
She can see his chest and shoulders glisten and she can smell his sweat. He pants hard, mouth open, and his eyes are fixed on her with intensity that makes her ache like she's being held down by a massive amount of weight. She can't shift her gaze anywhere else, not even to relish the sight of him driving like a piston into her. And then he speaks to her.
"Choke me." he tells her.
Her face goes blank, and she blinks at him. "What?"
His eyes are full of fire and he tells her again. "Choke me, Beth." He says, only this time he isn't asking her – he's telling her.
Pleasure thrums through her body. His hips haven't let up and she's too full of his cock to think about anything else. She thinks that she isn't hearing him right.
"Daryl, what –"
He rams into her. Hard. His eyes are dark when she slowly looks back up at him.
"Put your fucking hands around my throat." he growls, and he's unapologetic about it. He glares at her and she doesn't have the energy to resist him right now.
And she wants to. Her face stings like hell and there's a fire in her belly. There's no better thought in this moment than to wrap her fingers around his neck. So she does. "More," he tells her, voice already beginning to strain.
So she obeys without thinking. She has both hands on his throat and she squeezes. But then she sees how tight his expression becomes, how his skin begins to flush red. She's suddenly afraid, and then she's conflicted.
A man possessed, he throws his hips forward. His pace is relentless and he thrusts so deep. Her eyes grow wide, lips split apart as she cries out in surprise, in wicked, sinful delight. He gasps, face growing tighter.
She watches his eyes sharply, and she loosens her grip on his neck.
"Don't!" he gasps sharply, seeing the intention cross her eyes. "Don't."
She doesn't know what to do now, how to feel. Some part of her is set ablaze by this, having her fingers around the throat of the crazed man between her legs. She feels so powerful in this moment. She could almost grin, could almost let a sultry taunt spill from her lips.
But he doesn't need stimulating. He's fucking her raw. Because of her, because of what she's doing to him.
She's choking him – denying him the right to breathe, and he's turned into a primal, frantic beast right in front of her. And then a sound she has never heard from him before escapes his throat and then she panics.
His face is tinged pink, muscles tighter than a coiled spring as his eyes flare wide. His mouth opens and he cries out.
It's so raw, so desperate. Her hands fly from around his neck at the sound. Beth's chest pounds as he buries himself to the hilt and explodes. She gasps aloud with the force of his release. He's throbbing inside her, spilling his seed into her body.
And suddenly all the strength leaves his body. She catches him and holds him tight against her body. Because as his orgasm rips through him a wounded voice leaves his lips, and her instinctive and only thought is to protect him, to keep him safe. Her arm wraps around his shoulders and her fingers are lost in his hair. She cradles his face to the crook of her neck and he quakes.
"Oh Beth." she hears him whisper, over and again into her skin.
And she can't help the smirk that tugs at her lips.
"Hey," she says softly once he falls still. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he replies, taking a deep breath as he lifts his head. "Yeah, baby, I'm good."
Her eyes then fall to the red marks around his throat and the cold grip of guilt tightens in her stomach.
"Did I hurt you?" she asks.
He shakes his head. She trails her fingers through his hair and brings them down to stroke his cheek.
"Fuck, Daryl, what was that? What the fuck was that?"
He shakes his head again. "I just...shit, I was in the moment. I needed it. I can't...I don't know why, Beth."
"Sorry." he murmurs, and his voice is low and he's looking at her, but then he's lowering his eyes.
She tilts his lips towards hers with a finger. "Maybe we can work it out." she says afterwards with a small smile. "Getting you to come like a hose on command does sound appealing."
He's slowly smirking. "I think I'm done for the night, girl." he says, slipping out of her. Then he sobers. "You didn't finish, did you?"
"Don't worry, baby. I'll put it on your tab."
"Bitch." He says it so low and so under his breath that she knows he wanted her to hear it. Wanted her to open her ears that much wider and hear it.
So she chuckles. "Just having fun, baby. I love you."
He kisses her on the mouth before she pushes him up off her. She doesn't let him go too far though. His chest is warm, broad and she wants nothing more than to keep it on her cheek. She molds her body to the shape of his and intertwines her legs with his. He kisses the top of her head, arms curving around her shoulders. She closes her eyes with a smile and listens to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
"I fucking love you, Beth."
It's a Friday – this much she knows. She knows because Leslie who lives two doors down from her tells her that she only gets to watch LOST on Fridays – and she hasn't shut the fuck up about it since two hours ago.
Beth doesn't give a shit about a TV show or her telling her that they "really are lucky enough to still be able to watch a DVD." Because she wants to scream at her that she's here against her will and she wants to fucking go home.
The people here are so fucking clueless that they can't understand that home doesn't have to be a place – and for her, it isn't. Home for her is him.
"Hey Bethy." She hears his voice from the doorway, and she doesn't turn. Her eyes remain on Leslie, and she can see the woman cower, and Beth just sits. She only waits. Her shoulders don't fall, and she doesn't take a deep breath. She just waits.
"Gorman." His name falls from her lips, and she's still looking at the woman across from her because she knows that she's afraid – and she wants to laugh. Wants to laugh at her and at him – because they have no idea. They have no fucking idea what's going to come to them.
She enjoys imagining it – tearing their flesh from their bodies with her fingers for what they're doing to her. She doesn't really have anything against Leslie, but she's here – so that makes her part of it too.
But Gorman – oh, Gorman. She wishes she could cut his balls from his body at this very second, but she knows better.
She feels his hands on her shoulders, and they remain still, and she glances up at him, and gives him a smile that would have him in his grave had he known the way it was meant.
He helps her out of her chair, and she knows that she can drop him within the second, but she doesn't.
Why?
Because she knows how she'll love to watch where Daryl will decide to shoot his arrow.
"How're my girls?" his voice sickens her, and she can't help but keep smiling through the question, and she only looks at him and shakes her head the slightest bit. She imagines ripping each and every tooth in his mouth out of his gums with her bare fingers and she imagines giggling while doing it. It'll suit her – it'll suit him.
"What is it, Bethy? Everythin' alright? Not feelin' well? Maybe I should get Dawn, she could help ya." Her eyes snap back to his and she pulls her hand out of his.
"I'm fine." She doesn't include her child because that's what it is. Hers.
"I don't know, you don't seem that gung ho on that." He tells her, and steps closer.
"You'd better tell me the truth, Beth – because I'm not too sure I'm crazy about that smile or the way you're ignorin' my real question here." Now he's the one smirking, and then he raises his hand and presses it to her belly. She feels the flips inside of her, and she swallows, thick, and moves her hand underneath his, resting on her belly.
She leans her face closer to his, and brings that smirk back to her lips.
"How is my baby, Beth?" He asks again. This time, his hand clenches on top of hers, and she brings her foot over his, and lowers it just that bit to make him flinch.
"He's gonna kill you." Her voice is low, almost a whisper, but she's still smiling wickedly and she's sure that she's snarling, because she can feel the scrunch in her nose, and she can feel the blood rushing to her head – her pupils must be saucers by now – that she's sure of.
Gorman says nothing, only looks at her, and she wishes that he would smile – because she would kill to bite that smile right off of his face – literally.
"Ain't no one comin', honey." She watches his eyes and they're both playing this game and she knows that she's winning. She knows that he truly doesn't understand – that he's going to die a horrible death and they are going to jump in glee when he does.
She doesn't know if she's always had this inside of her – she thinks that she does because there isn't a way that this world can turn an innocent little girl into a killing machine – no matter how many walkers she'd killed.
Sure, she'd been young and wanted fairytales – but now she knows better. She knows the difference between lust and love – knows that the fire inside of her that burns for him would burn anything else in its tracks – happily.
He doesn't say anything else and she doesn't either. She simply nods her head and keeps smilin', because she just can not fucking wait.
He knows that they're close. He can feel it in his bones.
They'd seen the truck two days ago by his count, and though they decided to leave it and look for another sort of transportation, he hasn't forgotten about it.
So they find the others again, and they find the gas truck and they make their way back. Carol tells him that she knows the crosses from somewhere. But then they make their way to the law firm and they find Noah.
Maybe he's his saving grace – and he could hug the boy – but he doesn't. He won't. Not until he gets his girl back.
Noah laughs in euphoria when he tells him that they have people. A whole lot of them. Noah almost cries when he tells him they're stronger than them. That they've killed more people. That they'd waste every bullet to get to her.
He thinks its been months. He tries to count seven – but he isn't completely sure. Hell – does it even fucking matter? It'd been too fucking long since he'd seen her. He was sick of it. Sick of the thought of her being held somewhere that she didn't wanna be – that someone had the balls to take her away from him. Take the baby out the equation – someone took her from him. He'd kill them. Every single one.
Noah's in the passenger seat and he's telling him the way – and Daryl only listens and takes the turns he points to.
She can see him coming at her. She faintly hears Dawn screaming at her, and so she moves. She steps a little bit to the right, and he collides with the wall behind her.
She can't hear a thing – only ringing in her ears as he grabs her by the shoulders, shaking her, and she finally looks at him – at this disgusting thing called a man, and she spits in his face. She feels his grip tighten around her arms, and his face is so close to hers that she can feel his breath on her upper lip, and he kisses her.
Its hard and its sloppy and its wet and she screams into his mouth.
He's got her held tight, and his lips are vile on her mouth, and her eyes are scrunched in disgust and she shoves away from him, and her eyes connect with Dawn, who stands there and smiles, and she just loses it.
She pulls the letter opener from her hip and stabs it into him.
She isn't even sure where she hits him, but she pulls back and she feels the blood. She feels the hot spray hit her arm, and she smiles. She stares at the stain above his heart, and she hears him curse before stumbling backwards.
She hears them both at once.
"Beth!" She screams.
"Bitch!" He spits.
He's standing in front of the open shaft, and her back is to the corridor, and Dawn is to her right.
She knows that she has to know that this is wrong. That she doesn't belong to him – that she isn't his – that she doesn't fucking want to be.
Then again, she knows that she doesn't give a shit about what Beth wants.
"Fuck both of you." She's spitting at both of them, her eyes wide and her pupils dilated – and she doesn't care who she's looking at.
"You're gonna pay for this, Bethy. Dawn – lock her in fifteen. Let the bitch cry."
His threats mean nothing to her. Let them lock her up - let them put her away and let them leave her with only herself. She welcomed that. She wants to laugh at their attempt to make her afraid – make her cower – make her beg. But she'll never, ever beg.
So she's about to walk forward when she hears it.
The click of his bow. She smiles.
She smiles so fucking wide and she looks at the man in front of her and she can't help the laugh that erupts from her gut. She starts laughing – hysterically, and she tilts her head back and looks up at the ceiling and two tears fall from both of her eyes.
It's about time, baby.
Her whole body runs hot, and her baby does flips, and she puts both hands on her belly as she turns around.
Her eyes lock on his, and he's got his bow up, and he's looking at her – hard and intoxicating, but scary and angry.
She can't help it as her eyes wander and she looks at him - really looks at him, and he looks like a mess. Looks like he's been running for miles - his shirt is ripped and he's got blood on his face, and sickly, she hopes that it's blood from somebody here - she hopes that he's left blood and bodies in his track. She knows that he has. She looks at the holes in his shirt, and she looks at the arm that's keeping the bow level, and she revels in the muscles there - larger than she remembers, if that's even possible - and she notes that he's darker than he was when she left and she knows that this means that he's been out there too long. His hair is a great amount longer, and she realizes that she fucking loves it. She can't wait to get her fingers in that hair. Have that hair on her thighs when she shoves him between them.
"Get, girl." He tells her simply, and there's a sharp snarl in his voice, and she thinks that she runs to him, but her feet feel like lead as her body carries her to him. She looks up at him and collides into his side, her head in his neck – his hand on her back, and he's squeezing. He's ripping at her shirt, and she can feel the material stretching over her skin in her abdomen, and she doesn't think she's ever had a better feeling.
"You found me." She whispers in his ear, and he's still gripping her hard as he pulls her closer to him.
"Who the fuck are you?" His voice rips through her, and though his grip doesn't loosen, she tugs away – turning around to find him gawking at him. She feels Daryl vibrate with a laugh, and he looks at her.
She nods her head and she knows that he knows. Knows that this man is him. Knows that he's the reason she's here – that he's here – that they're here.
"Those are my girls – so you best hand her back over here and lower your weapon. You see this badge? I can drop you in two seconds, ya hear?" This time it's him that laughs aloud, and he doesn't lower his bow.
"Your girls, huh? How the fuck ya figurin' that?" His voice rips through her entire body – because fuck it has been so god damn long since she's heard that rough sound and she feels it all the way to her core.
God, how she'd love to tie Gorman up and fuck her man in front of him so he can watch and so he can see him fill her up and so that he can understand that she belongs to him. That he's the only who owns her. That it's his baby she's got in her belly – that he's taking back what belongs to him.
But she knows better, and she knows that he needs his own justice.
"I found her – didn' see no one around when I did, I saved her – so she's mine. You ain't got no claim on her." She doesn't see a smile on his face this time, and she's glad – because had she seen that she knows that she would have taken that bow right out of his hands and shot him herself.
Daryl isn't holding her anymore, and she feels him push her back, and he gives her his gun – nodding over to Dawn, and she instantly points it at her. She smiles when she does, and Dawn cocks her head, and looks at her.
She watches him take several steps before he's standing over Gorman, on the floor in front of the shaft, and he's still got his bow aimed at him.
"I ain't got no claim on her?" She watches him cock his head and she's delighted. "I'm pretty sure I's the one who knocked that girl up. Pretty damn sure that's my fuckin' kid in there. Pretty fuckin' sure you's the one who took 'em from me – and I'm fuckin' positive I'ma kill you right now." She wonders how he does it. How he can remain so calm, but sound so deadly. She isn't afraid though – she's fucking turned on and she's ready for this.
She's giddy. She's happy. She's been waiting for this exact moment.
She watches him kick his leg with his boot, and he aims it there and shoots.
She hears the scream that rips through his throat, and she hears the flesh tearing as Daryl bends down and rips the arrow back out, reloading that same one into the bow. He takes aim and shoots the other leg in the same spot. She watches Gorman throw his head back and groan – and she watches Daryl take that arrow out once again.
"Think I'd never come? Think you'd get ta keep her?" She hears the arrow rip through his skin again. This time he leaves it there and reloads, and she watches him firing the others into each side of his chest.
She looks over to Dawn, who's watching the same sight that she is, and her face is flat. She doesn't see her falter, and he doesn't see any expression upon her face. She wonders why.
So she walks closer, shooting a bullet into her knee – ensuring that she can't walk. She hears the yelp, and she steps over her until she gets to him.
Her hand falls upon his shoulder, and he looks over at her – and she can see it. She can see the monster inside of him on the surface, and as she stares into his black eyes, she smiles at him, and nods her head – and that's when he fires another into the middle of his abdomen. Didn't even look as he did – held his eyes on hers as he fired.
She knows that he knows that bow as well as he knows her body, and bless him for that.
Then, she looks back to the bloody man on the floor, and slowly and carefully, she bends down to rip the arrows out of his body. But before she gets the first one out, his hand comes up to grip her wrist, and she can hear Daryl snarl above her, and she uses her other hand to touch his leg – telling him its okay, and she ducks her head to look into his eyes.
"What's wrong, Gorman?" She asks in a sweet voice that she knows she hasn't shown them yet, and when he opens his mouth she can see the blood, and she wants to curse, because fuck – she wanted this to take time.
She watches him gurgle on his own blood as he tries to talk to her, and she cocks her head and raises her brow – edging him on, because 'oh, come on, Gorman, you can do it.'
"I told you." She tells him with a roar in her voice, and she reaches for Daryl's hand, and he takes it and he helps her up, and he holds her against him, looks over at her, and she watches him drop the bow to his side and he pulls her frantically to him and kisses her hard and he sinks his tongue into her mouth, fiery and wild, and she opens her mouth and suck his tongue into her mouth and she can taste him – nicotine and heat, and it send shivers down her spine and she clutches his arm that's around her waist. But it's over as fast as it started, but he bites her bottom lip before pulling away and pointing the bow back up and firing into his face, just below his left eye.
She hears Dawn's gasp behind her, and she watches as Gorman's face go from hysterical, to pain, to sadness – to nothing as his eye becomes red and she watches the blood fall from his lids onto his face, and as Daryl pulls every arrow out of his limp body, but he leaves the one in his face, and then she looks at his eyes and she can see Gorman's one eye look up to her and she stares at him for a brief second before raising her foot and pushing it to his chest, dragging his body to the edge of the shaft, and he stares at her, and she keeps going until she watches his body fall over the edge.
She just revels in the sound his body makes as he hits the bottom of the shaft, and she feels relief. Feels weight lifted off of her body, and she turns and he looks at her and his bow falls to the ground with a loud crackle, and then he takes her into his arms.
He's holding her so tightly that she finds it hard to breathe, but she wraps her arms around his neck as he holds her waist, and she lets the tears fall freely from her eyes now. She lets them fall onto his vest and he can hear her quiet gasps and wines as he clings to her, and she knows that he's crying too, because she can hear him too – his small whimpers as he holds her.
And he's crying because he's so relieved. He's so fucking happy. He'd found her – got her back – and killed the son of a bitch who thought he'd never come for them.
He did though, and though it'd been hard and there were times where he was so hopeless and ready to just let himself go – he didn't because he knew that somehow, one way or another, they'd get back here.
"You ain't his girls. You're mine, baby. I gotcha." She can hear the desperation, and his voice is more high pitched than it usually is, and she smiles because she's saved this part for last.
"We wasn't ever his girls, Daryl. It's a boy." She says quietly, and she feels his arm tighten around her, and then he thanks her.
He thanks her for him – thanks her for being so smart and so brave and so fucking beautiful.
Then she hears the crashing of the doors opening, and she sees her sister and Glenn, and then she sobs – out loud. Her sister drops her gun and her knees hit the ground, and when Daryl lets go of Beth, she kneels in front of Maggie and hugs her – tight, and they cry together. Her hand wraps around the back of her head, and she holds her tight to her, and she can hear her sister crying for so many different reasons.
For their daddy – for this baby – for their time apart – for the fear of finding her dead – for the happiness that she isn't.
"I missed you so much Bethy. I missed you so much." She cries to her, and Beth laughs a little through her tears and tells her that she missed her too.
Then she rests her head on Maggie's shoulder and she opens her eyes. She sees Dawn staring at her from her spot on the floor, and Beth's tears dry. She stares back, and as she raises her head, she can see her that little bit clearer. That little bit shows her that she's crying.
She stares at her incredulously, and she instantly thinks that she's scared – that she's afraid of them – that she feels helpless and she knows that her time has come.
And oh, Dawn, it has.
"I'm sorry." She can see her mouth the words to her, and through her own tears, she still watches hers shine.
Slowly, she lets her sister go, and she stays on her knees in front of her. She's still got her gun in her hand, and for a moment, she wants to raise and aim it – pull the trigger and be done – but she doesn't. She watches her slowly and she can see that she's truly crying. Tears flow down her cheeks in streams, and she slowly shakes her head.
"I'm sorry, Beth." She tells her again, and then she feels her sister stand up and she knows hell is about to get a lot hotter.
Beth shakes her head at the woman on the floor, and lets her sister help her up.
"I told you he'd find me, Dawn. I warned you." She tells her simply, and she follows Daryl out the double doors.
She can barely take a step without someone hugging her, and if she didn't have Daryl by her side, she might just scream and run – because she doesn't need them. Doesn't need their pat on her shoulder or their rub on her belly. She doesn't need any of that.
She was here because of herself. She got them through this. She didn't need anyone else's reassurance.
He tells her that they've got a place, and she looks at him and asks him where, and he just tells her that he'll show her.
So they make their way back to Alexandria, and when she walks through the gates, she cries. He does his best to hold her up, but her knees are weak, and she's tired – she's happy – she's relieved – she's okay.
Her hands wrap around her stomach, and she grips Daryl's arm, and she thanks him. She cries and she says thank you. She can see the people walking toward her, and one man in particular comes up to Daryl, and pats his shoulder and simply says, "Thank God." And she wonders what his name is.
Then, he looks at her and tells her that his name is Aaron and that he'd incredibly glad that he'd found her and brought her here. She tries to stifle her cries, but she meekly nods and shakes his hand.
Then a small woman introduces herself as Deanna, and she smiles brightly and gives her a hug, and as she breathes in the scent of rose petals and jasmine, she giggles.
"Welcome to Alexandria."
They're quietly assigned this house that's a house away from Maggie and Glenn, and they all stay together for hours – how many she isn't sure, and she hasn't even seen Daryl – and as she's talking to Carol, her eyes roam for him, and when they don't find him, she shoots up out of her seat, and again, her eyes search the room.
As she's about to call for him, a hand falls on her shoulder, and she turns around too quickly, collapsing into his arms.
She feels the steam on her cheeks as she opens her eyes, and finds herself naked – and she doesn't think before flinching quickly, before her eyes focus to her right and she sees him there.
He's kneeling on the floor next to the tub, and he's watching her, and she looks up at him to find him crying. Hot tears are falling over his cheeks and onto his chest while he stares at her, and she smiles meekly and reaches her hand out to touch his cheek.
"It's okay, Daryl. It's better now." Her voice his raspy and she can't really get the words out the way she wants to, but he leans into her hand and gives her a 'hmm' before taking her hand in his and squeezing hard.
She moves and the water sloshes over her skin, and she looks down to see her belly sticking out above the water, and she realizes that she's warm. They've got hot water here, and she's so thankful. She hasn't looked at her belly in maybe the entire time she's been pregnant.
She knows it's because she's been too afraid. Because she's been in a place who saw her belly as a science project, and rather than enjoying it, she's been terrified of it.
She feels him twirling and twisting, and she moves his hand over to her belly, and she pries his fingers open, and she rests it over her skin and she places her palm over his hand, keeping it in place. She feels the kick through his hand, and she smiles – laughs – and she cries – happy.
Finally, she was okay again.
"I love you, Beth. I'm sorry." He tells her, and he sounds so broken and she's so sad for him – because though there were days she had her doubts – she knew they'd be okay. And they were. He'd survived without her, and she became brave and she fought for him, and he was so fucking proud of her.
So he told her. How proud he was of her, and he thanked her again for being so brave and trusting him.
She tells him that he doesn't need to thank her – and that she knew that he'd come for them. He only nods his head and rests his forehead on hers.
"Thought so many times that I might never see ya again. Made me so fuckin' scared, girl." He tells her honestly, and she holds his hand and she tells him that he can't get rid of her that easily.
"We're havin' a baby." He says quietly, and she smiles and she nods. He looks up to her and he smiles, taking her face into his hands and he kisses her – climbing over the tub and into the water with her. Slowly, he helps her up and he turns the shower on, letting the water fall over him – wetting his hair and his body and she grabs onto his shoulders, and she lets her hands roam over his body.
Her fingers dig deep into his shoulders and they trail down his arms and they squeeze that much harder, and he's only standing there letting her do whatever she wants, and he's just watching her watch him and she's trailing her hands everywhere now, but her eyes fall lower and they land on his penis and he's hard between his legs.
He's aching for her, but he's holding back – because it's been so long and though he needs her he can wait for her. She lets her hand fall to his cock and she rubs it carefully and she looks up to him as he moans and watches her, but her fingers don't stay there – they trail back up his chest to his neck to his face, to his hair, and she wraps his locks into her fingers and she pulls him down to her and he looks at her lips and he kisses her.
Her hands drop to the bottom of his waist again and then he scowls. She takes his lips again, and they're wet from the shower and they glide easily over hers. She bites his bottom lip lightly, sucking it in, and he growls quietly, nipping back.
"Let's get out," she whispers when they finally pull away. She takes him by the hand, and he follows her like a puppy. They're dripping water all over the bathroom floor as she walks across to the sink, where she lets him bend her over.
Her eyes connect with his through the mirror in front of her and he's got a hand on her belly, protecting it from resting on the sharp edge of the counter, and she braces herself with her elbows on the cool marble.
He looks at her before rubbing a hand between her legs and he can feel how wet she was before he lines himself up to her pussy.
It's been too long, and he's looking down at them now, looking at his cock probe the hole between her lips and he's leaking so easily, and he isn't sure he can hold on that much longer.
"This good for you?" he whispers, leaning over her body to get right next to her ear. She nods frantically, heavy with want, and then he pushes himself easily inside of her.
"Oh yes, much better." she said, breaths becoming heavy and panted as he thrust in and out of her, slamming her midsection into his hand and against the edge of the sink.
She grips the sides of it for balance, and he circles his other free hand around her front and slides it between her legs, finding her clit and rubbing it torturously slow with his index and middle finger.
He moves down the back of her neck with kisses the valley between her shoulder blades as he fucks her, lazily dragging his lips over her shoulders, through her hair as her movements became more and more erratic.
He rubs her faster as he pushed into her harder and deeper, and it wasn't long before her low mutterings began to turn into louder shouts. Her voice cracks and then become silent as she comes around him, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her body spasms.
"Fuck, Beth, fuck." he says, not able to form words eloquently anymore.
"Fuck, you feel so good, baby." He feels her laugh as she collapses happily against the sink. He feels his orgasm rising and it only takes a few more thrusts before he too comes, pressing his fingers hard into the skin of her hips. His thick seed coats her walls and she moans with him as he rests his chest on her back, his hand now around her neck, raising her face next to his, and he isn't squeezing, but it's harsh enough for her to love it.
She spins around as soon as he pulls out of her, laying a massive kiss on his lips.
"Didn't do much for my first shower." she says with a smile. She pulls two towels from a basket and loops it around his waist, pulling him close. "But I think I like it better."
He so badly wants to kiss her again, but he knew if he let himself get too close for too long, he'd be inside her again, before she even had the chance to nod okay. He takes the towel from her hands, and starts to dry off his body as he admires her drying hers.
He watches her intently as she rubs the fabric over her taught stomach and he watches her go further.
She looks up to him to see him watching her, and instead of wrapping the towel around herself, he watches her drop it to the floor and she's naked again. He doesn't complain as he locks the door and picks her up, placing her bottom on the cold marble counter, her whimpers like bells in his ears.
She tells him that she wants to have their baby on their own.
He doesn't give her an expression, he only nods and tells her okay. The others tell her that they don't know how good of an idea it is, but she doesn't care.
She even tells her sister to mind her own damn business and that she'll be locking their doors.
Maggie wants to shake her and tell her she's bein' stupid, but she doesn't – and lucky for her because she doesn't have to argue too much with her sister.
Beth didn't really care about what the others thought about it – she was going to do what she wanted, and hell – she wasn't even sure she would care if Daryl told her no – because she knew that she wouldn't be accepting that answer.
They had medical staff close by if they needed – but she asked Denise to teach Daryl some things, and she comes back to her and tells her that she told him everything she could think of , but she wasn't sure if he heard any of it because he didn't say a word – and she tells Denise that that meant he heard all of it, and then she thanks her.
Denise gives her a weak smile and tells her that if they need her she'll be right next door. Beth doesn't reply, and she goes home.
Over the past two months that she'd been there, she'd gotten to know the people that lived here – and while she had her opinions, she didn't care about theirs. Not one of them really knew her and she knew that they sure as hell didn't know them – and she also knew that had they never found this place this would have been the way it would have happened anyhow.
So much shit kept them apart, and so many months went by that they missed the things that they should have shared together. They'd missed the first kick and the first ultrasound and he hadn't been there for the sickness and the headaches, and they hadn't been able to feel it grow together, and she just needed this.
She knew that he wouldn't deny her – no matter his apprehensions.
So the day came, and it was early – in the very early hours of the morning when it started, and they'd been alone – so she told him to lock the front door and he did as she told him to, and when he got back, she thanked him.
He kept track of her contractions, timing them and he couldn't help but grow worried as they grew closer together.
Her first few had been about forty minutes apart, then three were thirty minutes apart, then twenty-eight. It was close to two in the morning then, and she had spent the hours pacing the length of the living room or kneeling on the floor, not knowing if her water would break and stain the couch.
He told her that he didn't give a fuck about the couch, and she glared at him and told him that it was the only one they were ever gonna get, so he kept quiet and nodded his head.
Not that the floor was any better, but it was easier to toss a blanket or throw rug over a stain on the carpet than to replace a couch that couldn't be replaced. She dozed for an hour or two that way, kneeling and leaning against the couch, and he anxiously kept himself behind her to massage her back or shoulders.
So he let her sleep, even though when she woke up he told her that he had been able to feel the tightening of her muscles as the contractions continued.
"Twenty-five minutes for a bit." he told her. "Feel like walkin' any more?"
"I'm tired." She said, smothering a yawn. "Another nap?"
"If you can manage it, I guess." He tells her with a grimace. "It's got to hurt, don't it?"
"Imagine a belt around your belly that's squeezing hard enough to cut you in half." She tells him as she pushes herself up to her feet. A wave of pressure descends upon her, and she grasped the arm of the couch tightly. "Ow" she cries with feeling, swaying on her feet.
"Twenty minutes." He tells her, eyes flicking toward the clock.
Waiting until it passed, she nods and heads into the bathroom. As she was wiping up, she groaned. "Oh, gross." Daryl told her that she had just passed the mucus plug, which meant she was pretty far along in the process. She couldn't help but grin, and he just shrugged his shoulders and replied with a "Your fault, girl."
He laid out towels and old sheets on the floor as she continued to pace the living room in circles, a hand at her back to try to relieve some of the tight pressure.
"Do we have any way to weigh the baby? Or get the length? And everything else they usually do?"
"Denise' gotta luggage scale." He told her, his thumb at his chin, biting his lip. "And there's the tape measure in the sewing kit we got."
Of course he'd thought of that. She nodded and another contraction hit, and grabbed the couch to keep from buckling from the pain.
"Fifteen minutes." She hears him say, and all she can do is grit her teeth and try to remember to breathe.
The times grew closer together, eight minutes twice, seven for five contractions, then five minutes. It was steady there for nearly two hours, and she was in tears with each one. When Daryl had offered his hand for her to hold, she grabbed it and squeezed so tightly she swore his bones ground together. He took it without complaint, likely because she was dealing with so much more at the moment.
Wrapping his other arm around her shoulders, he kissed her sweaty temple. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry our lives are so dangerous you're going through this."
Beth's eyes flash with irritation. "Don't you fucking feel sorry for this." She hisses. "I am having our baby and you are not going to feel sorry about it."
"I'm sorry you're in pain." He tells her simply.
"Would've been a hell'ova lot worse if we was out there." She snaps.
"You know they don't give pain meds anyway. Would slow labor or something." She groans as another contraction hits her, and she leans into his chest, which helps support her weight. Four minutes.
The countdown continued, and fairly soon she didn't feel like she could support her own weight, even kneeling. She lays out on the nest of towels and sheets, naked to the waist, pillows at her back to help her sit up. She was sobbing and cursing with each contraction, and didn't even notice when a wet warmth hit her thighs. Then, his panicked gaze he threw her way didn't really register as she grasped the edge of the towels in her hands and squeezed.
"Uh... I don't know what I'm looking at." He admits after a moment, kneeling between her spread knees.
"If you don't know what it is, then maybe you shouldn't have put anythin' in it!" She notes that she snaps cruelly at him, and she knows that he's really trying here, and she doesn't mean to be crude, but she doesn't apologize.
"I don't mean that, girl." He tells her, wounded. "I mean... I think I can see the head? There's hair and I know it ain't yours." He tells her, voice gravely and thin.
Oh, dear God, he was terrified.
"I wanna push." She's groaning and resting her cheek on her forearm, sweaty and panting. "I don't know if I should yet. Can you tell?" She asks him, glancing behind her at him, and she can see him kneeling behind her, looking down at the spot between her legs.
"I don't know what I'm doing, girl, fuck!" He yells, whites of his eyes showing when he looks at her.
"What does the book say?" She finally asks, because Denise had given him a book to read every night until the day came. She knows he'd been reading because he'd turned her down in bed every night since then.
"You have to be ten centimeters dilated and one hundred percent effaced, whatever the fuck that means." He's calm again, and she breathes in and out, even.
"I think that means you have to feel for it!" she snaps, feeling another contraction bear down on her. She cries out loud, gripping the towels tight, trying to breathe through the pain as best as she can.
"Alright then, get up – get onto the couch. I can't see shit down here." He tells her sharply, and he didn't give a fuck about the couch anymore, so he grabs her hand and pulls her up, putting her back down onto the sofa. She didn't say anything about it, and he was glad.
Though, he knew he was in trouble already, so he took the towel from the floor and placed it down underneath her, and she looked at him as if to thank him as she lifted her bottom, wincing as he pushed it underneath her.
He nudged his hand against her knee and she let them fall back open, and he was thankful. He looked at her and she has her eyes closed, so he takes this second to reach down and spread her with his index finger and slowly reach inside. He hears her whimper and though he doesn't want to hurt her, he knows he more than likely is. So that's when he inserts the next one.
Daryl's terror had to come second to this then, because her mind simply didn't have room for it. There was pain and there was pressure, this baby insisting that now was the right time to show up, whatever they had wanted be damned.
The feel of his fingers inside her hurt, and she whimpers quieter as the contraction lessens. Three minutes, maybe less? She had no idea what time it was anymore.
She met his gaze, and felt a flash of fear herself. For all her brave words, what if something did go wrong? What if she tore? What if she bled out? What if the cord was wrapped around the baby's neck? They hadn't even picked out a name…but what if their baby didn't survive to be named? And what if?
What if because of her selfish needs they didn't have enough time to get help?
She cried out as another contraction hit, pain more intense than anything she had ever felt in her life.
"A minute, girl." He tells her, voice wavering a bit. He was trying to keep his anxiety under control, which was good. "I think you're at ten. I'm not sure what I should feel for with the effacement shit."
She wanted to cry. She probably was, she couldn't tell. Another contraction, and she tried her best to resist the urge to push. So he shuffled closer to her, and leaned down to kiss her forehead tenderly.
"You're doing great, baby. We're almost there." All she could do was whimper in reply, and look up at him with tears in her eyes.
"On the next one, start pushing, okay? Push with the contractions, like the book said." He tells her, gripping her knee.
It hurt, and she had no idea how long it took. She was pushing and stopping, screaming with each push, not even paying attention to the soothing sounds he was trying to make to help her. She thought about screaming profanities at him, telling him never to touch her again, but she had loved that part. Hell, he'd fucked her yesterday – against Denise's "professional opinion".
And then suddenly the pressure lessened. The baby was through, and Daryl was trying his best not to drop the slippery, slimy baby that he held in his hands. There was water beside them, and he tried toweling off their baby as best as he could. But he protested, wailing and flailing his small arms, letting them both know that he was not pleased with this particular arrangement. He was cold and unhappy, and he was loud.
But he was perfect.
Cutting the cord was traumatizing for Daryl, especially since all he had was torn strips of towel to tie off the end of the stump and the kitchen scissors to cut the cord. He'd done what he could and though his hands shook uncontrollably, he knew he'd done it right.
The afterbirth and placenta were bloody messes that made him turn positively green. She didn't really have to do anything - just let it spill from her, but she let him handle that - hell, she'd been the one to push him out. Least he could do was handle the mess of it. So Beth cradled their son while he did this part, shushing him, keeping him right over her breast, right over her heart. That slowed the cries to hiccups, and then she was crying with happiness now.
She hadn't yet taken the time to thank him for doing this for her. Because she knew that he was amazing - of course she knew that, but after this - she knew he'd never be the same. Neither of them would. He brought their son into this world for her and he'd obliged by her wishes and he hasn't crumbled under the pressure, and he'd been so fantastic. Her heart swelled with the love she felt for both of them. She thinks that this might have just made her love him that much more - no matter how impossible it already seemed to be.
Ten fingers and ten toes, a shock of light brown hair and blue eyes. That was her nose and his chin, and that stubborn cry could have been either of them.
Daryl stood afterward, and he'd left a towel wrapped around an ice pack between her legs to stem the bleeding, and he looked like a ragged mess. Even running from walkers he didn't look that bad. It nearly made her smile, but she managed to hold it in while he washed up enough to measure their squalling son, then write everything down in his careful hand.
Eventually they would go to the medical house to get checked out, let them do whatever they did to make sure things were okay. For the moment, she kept watching their little boy, a beautiful grin on her face.
"We did it, baby." she whispered, voice hoarse and mouth parched.
He carefully cradled both her and the baby in his arms. "I'm the luckiest man alive, girl." he murmured, then kissed her temple.
"Good. Then in a moment, I'm going to try feeding him, and then you can hold him while I sleep. I'm exhausted." She rasped. He laughed a little, still shaken, and nodded willingly.
For all of their worry, it worked. They would deal with the rest later.
He watches them sleep and he doesn't think he's ever been happier in his whole entire life. Sure, getting her back was the best thing to happen to him to date – but this – this was something entirely different.
He'd pulled their baby from her body – he'd been the first thing that their boy had seen – he'd held him in his hands as he took his first breath of life.
The rest would come later, and the worry would undoubtedly come back – but he knew this. He knew that he would worry for the rest of his life. He'd worry every single second for the both of them. Never again would he ever be the same. Now, he needed to survive for them. He had loved ones to protect and to live for – and he'd be damned if something took him away from them.
Never would he lose them. Misplace them. He'd be there for everything. He swore it.
They name their son Hank Dixon, and they both think it's fitting, and Maggie loves it, and Glenn can't stop smiling at the baby. Rick pats him on the shoulder too many times to count, and tells him how he's real proud of him for what he's done. That he looks up to him now. That Beth is so lucky to have him.
But he knows that he's got that mixed up. He's lucky to have her. Too fucking lucky. The world went to shit and after his thirty-seven years living in normalcy, he'd finally found his soul mate.
Gabriel marries them the day Hank is born, and she asks him if he'll wear a ring, and his mind is screaming that he won't, but he smiles and tells her that he'll wear whatever the hell she wants him to wear.
So she tells him she'd rather him wear silver, so he finds the shiniest silver ring he can find, and he lets her put it on him, and she doesn't even tell him that she wants a ring before he's bringing her the most beautiful ring she'd ever seen.
She's his wife now, and he'd give her the moon if she asked for it.
Four years ago, his life changed completely. He'd gained a son and he'd become a husband.
Over these years, he learned to love the dirty dishes in the sink, and her slight sneers when he'd ask her what else they had for dinner, and the way their son giggled when his momma would play peek a boo with him, and the way she scolded him for leaving his shoes in the middle of the living room so that she would trip on them.
He'd come to love her and all of her kinky sexual desires, and he came to fucking love her nature of being the horniest girl he'd ever met.
Now, years later, he was used to his life. They'd gone one thousand, four hundred and sixty eight days without an accident, and he could only hope he'd get another eighteen thousand, two hundred and fifty something more.
fin.