Here We Remain

by: FrankieLouWho

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Walking Dead, except for some comics. But that doesn't count, right?

Author's Notes: Hey, guys. I know I've been majorly slacking when it comes to my stories and updating, but I've hit a patch of writer's block. Sad, but true. Happens to the best of us. I took down 'To Infinity' because, to be quite honest, it was shit. It wasn't up to my usual standards and it wasn't worth your guys' time. I rushed it, because it was what people were asking for, but it just wasn't working. I wasn't inspired, I wasn't really interested. Writing a story with no sex is about as fun as a root canal. So, I WILL be working on a sequel to WOAA... But it's not going to be Lizzie/Carl centric. Sorry, they're just to difficult to write on their own!

Anyway, this new endeavor is a bit of an angst piece. Set directly after the mid-season finale, it follows Daryl and Beth as they are forced to grow closer and rely on eachother. It's a character-driven story, and there will definitely be SMUT. So I hope you guys will like it! Please review and let me know your feelings on all of the above statements. I'd greatly appreciate it :]

It was hot. Beth Greene leaned her forehead against the smudged glass window, her eyes drooping closed. It had been hard to sleep in this new place, harder than she would have imagined after all those months they spent on the road. Usually, in those days, she would be asleep before her head hit the pillow. In the quiet darkness of the small hunting lodge that she and Daryl had taken residence in, curled up on the double bed that he insisted she take, it was impossible to get any rest. Sure, she would slip in and out of heavy, dreamless sleep. But it was never restful, and it was never peaceful. Her body would jerk awake suddenly, after a few scant moments, and she would be awake again for long stretches of time. The worst part was the quiet, as Daryl Dixon was king of silence. There was no distraction, nothing to stop her racing thoughts. Most of the time, nothing canceled her tears except for her own will power. The majority of the time it was enough.

It had been four long days. Days that seemed endless, nights that seemed even longer. In the sunlight, Daryl would disappear for hours on end. Beth knew he was out there looking for signs of the group, though he always came back with some meat. They were close enough to prison that he could make a trip there and back before sun down, and usually he returned with a neutral expression and a carcass of some animal for her to cook. It was a good thing she had worked so much in the kitchen Carol, and Lori before everything had happened. They'd probably starve if not for the skills that she had learned from both women.

They rarely spoke. Except for the daily "good morning," the occasional "find anything?" and the odd statement about weather or walkers, the silence overwhelmed her. Beth had never been like the other girls her age - at least, that's what she was told. She was an observer, a fly on the wall taking it all in. Jimmy had enjoyed the fact that she didn't fill up their companionable silences with idle chatter. Zach had told her that because she spoke so little, the words that did come out of her mouth held more weight. Both times Beth had blushed, taking the compliments to heart. It was always nice to hear that she was unique, that she was different, that she was special.

She wasn't hearing anything like that from him, though. Beth yearned for social interaction, her depressing, grief stricken thoughts getting trapped and bouncing around in her mind. Daryl was even less of a talker than she was. Not that she had expected anything less. Beth knew better than that - Daryl Dixon was a man of the wilderness. The quiet evenings spent around the fireplace, Beth would study him. Always from a safe distance, always when he wasn't paying attention to her. There was a small shelf of books that held a wide variety of books, mostly classics. She was struggling to get through Moby Dick, but the language was just off. It was a good enough cover to do her staring, however. From over the tops of the pages, Beth would peer at him with curious, guarded blue eyes.

He was a wild man. Filthy, covered in grime and dirt and blood. His dark brown hair was limp with grease, falling into his face in wispy tendrils. His beard was scratchy-looking, speckled with gray. His tan skin stretched over high cheekbones, and his nose was slightly long and flanked by under-eye bags. However, Beth was surprised to realize that in the firelight his eyes were not simply blue. They were an intense, piercing kind of shade that reminded her of swimming pools. From behind her boring book, Beth had watched him, studied him, and found that those blue eyes were the most interesting thing about him. Other than his lips, which were a bit on the thin side but somehow appeared to look soft and somehow inviting, that is. She pretended to ignore the lips and focus on those eyes.

But after four days of silence and studying and avoiding thoughts of what had happened to them, Beth was exhausted. There was a steady pounding in her head, a throbbing behind her eyes and at the base of her skull, and her bones felt weary. The lack of activity, being stuck inside nearly twenty-four-seven, having no one else to speak to... It was quickly driving Beth to the brink of insanity. She was determined to speak to him today, however. Leaning her head against the glass, watching, waiting, Beth knew they couldn't co-exist in this miniscule universe without becoming friends. Or, at the very least, having a semblance of social interaction.

Her eyelids were drooping, feeling as though there were weights attached. Beth was dozing when the door thwacked open, smacking into the wall and causing her to jerk in surprise. Scrambling to her feet, Beth watched with wide, startled eyes as Daryl sidled into the cabin. Somehow, just his presence seemed to make the log walls jump apart, seeming bigger and more interesting. It wasn't much, but Beth had grown accustomed to more than four simple walls around her. There was a double bed pushed into one corner, a bear-skin run on the floor. A big stone fireplace was the centerpiece of the room, and a small kitchen was tucked into the corner. There was an out-house, thankfully, only a few feet behind the building. In the days before, Beth wouldn't have counted herself so lucky about that - but it beat doing her business out exposed in the woods...

"Nothin'," Daryl said, by way of greeting. Beth nervously wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on her jeans, watching as the man flopped onto the couch that he had taken over as his own. It was one of those seventies plaid numbers, terribly uncomfortably looking. Whenever Beth suggested they switch, that he take the bed, Daryl would roll his light blue eyes towards the cieling and ignore her. It was infuriating.

"Anything at the prison?" Beth asked. Her voice was filled with hope, and something flickered across Daryl's face at her tone. Their eyes held for the briefest of moments before he tore his gaze away, shaking his head.

"Nothin' there, neither." Scrubbing his hands over his face, Daryl sighed. She could tell that he was tired, too. Probably even more exhausted than Beth was - but he pushed on, determined to keep them alive, determined to survive. She would have laughed, a million years ago before all of this happened, at the idea of some back-woods hick keeping her alive. Shaking her head, Beth turned to the window again. They were out there, somewhere - she could feel it in her bones. Perhaps not all of them. The odds were against them, but they were a big group. Surely, some of them would still be out there. Trying to find each other.

"We should go." The sound of her own voice surprised her, mouth working before her mind could register. Glancing over her shoulder, she found Daryl watching her. He was so good at that calm mask he wore all the time - indifferent, revealing nothing of the goings-on inside of his mind. Beth wasn't dumb enough to believe that he wasn't constantly thinking, vigilantly planning. She had lived with this man - no matter how distantly - for two years. It didn't take that long, in such close quarters, to understand how a person worked. Daryl was every part the careful and skilled hunter/tracker. He was thoughtful, he was clever, and most of all, he was in control. These qualities bolstered her confidence in the man's ability to keep her alive. But, Beth also realized in the same amount of time that it took her to gather this other intelligence, the man was seriously lacking in the whole interpersonal skills department.

Understatement of the year, Beth thought, as she gazed at his shrouded expression.

"We should be out there, looking for them. Glenn is sick, he could be worse - and who knows what happened to Rick." Beth glanced down at her hands on the windowsill, surprised to find her knuckles white as she clenched the dark wood. She released it, shaking out her hands and turning her back to the windows. "Maggie is out there. We have to find them -" Tears sprang into her eyes, stinging. Beth swallowed against the lump in her throat. It was one thing to cry at night. Most of the time, she woke up that way, wet tears streaking down her cheeks - she couldn't control that. But to show this weakness, this vulnerability in front of Daryl in broad daylight... Well, she refused. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Beth tried to calm herself.

"We're better stickin' round here," Daryl said gruffly. "Ain't gonna do no good chasin' each other 'round out there. When you're lost in the woods, what do they tell you?" He was seriously asking her, leaning forward on the ugly, orange plaid, seventies' couch. Beth rolled her eyes - she didn't want to play question games with him. Not now, when they were actually speaking, finally about something that mattered.

"I don't know." Beth's voice was barely a whisper.

"They tell ya ta stay put," Daryl replied, wryly. "Ya stay put so others can find ya."

"So? We stay put, more than just our people are going to find us." Beth knew she was pressing her luck - she could see the tension in his shoulders and arms, muscles jumping, fists clenching. "Other people. Walkers. We could have a herd pass by at any time, and we're out in the middle of nowhere with next to no supplies, three guns with dwindling ammo... What are we going to do, Daryl?" The tears were here, in full force, and all Beth could do was try not to sob.

"We'll... figure it out." He glanced to the ground again, seemingly fascinated in the intricate grains in the wood.

We'll figure it out. The words bounced and echoed in her brain. A sarcastic bark of laughter left her chest, and Beth shook her head. This was his idea of comfort? Was that what he was going for? It certainly wasn't working, wasn't nearly enough. Less than a handful of days ago, her father had been beheaded by a mad-man that wanted to steal their home. Their sanctuary. Hershel Greene had been a good man, the best man. Losing him was a kick to the gut that Beth wasn't sure she would recover from.

"Do you even care, Daryl?" The tone in her voice was bitter and cruel, but she didn't care. Beth had been holding it together, holding it in, and the dam had suddenly burst. Tears tracked down her dirty, pale cheeks, and her eyes seemed to burn from the salty water.

"Excuse me?" Daryl asked. Beth glared at him through her tears. He stood, and she could tell that he was restraining himself. His hands were balled into fists, tense at his sides, and his chest was rising and falling quickly. Anger flashed in those piercing blue eyes, and Beth was suddenly nervous from their intensity. In three quick paces, he had crossed the room and was standing in front of her, closer than he'd ever come to her before. With bravery she hadn't known she posessed, Beth stood straighter and lifted her chin, staring right back at him with a flush of anger working up her chest and neck.

"You don't talk about it. You don't say a goddamn thing," Beth hissed. "My father died, Daryl! Others could be dead, too! But you don't do anything!"

"You think I don't know Hershel died?" Daryl asked, leaning closer still until their faces were mere centimeters apart. "You think that I don't know that they're out there, that they could be hurt or dead or hungry or scared? You think I don't know that, Beth?" He was getting riled up, angrier by the second, and his voice quivered with emotion. Beth wondered if she should have dropped the subject when she had the chance, but knew deep inside that they needed to have this conversation. The elephant in the room was finally acknowledged. Hopefully, they would come out the other end of this better off. "Just 'cause I ain't talkin' about it, 'cause I'm not bitchin' and cryin' at night about it... Don't make me not care."

"I shouldn't have said that," Beth said. She willed her voice to be steady and strong. "I just don't get why you don't talk -"

"Talkin' 'bout it ain't gonna bring yer daddy back. Don't bring nobody back, girl." Daryl stiffened, took a step back. "I know it's... hard on you. But ya gotta be strong."

The silence stretched between them. Images of her father sprang into her mind, and Beth could no longer push them away, to be thought about later when she was tucked soundly into the bed. He wasn't a saint, not if you asked him - but in Beth's eyes, her daddy had always been strong, indestructible. Even after the end of the world, when people that were dead rose and began to walk the earth and eat other humans... Beth had taken for granted that Hershel would always be there. There were a few instances, some reminders... But it had been so long, and they had been doing so well. Until the flu hit, she had lived under the impression that they were rebuilding lives together. That they were safe in the prison, behind the fences and the stone walls. It had all crumbled around her, and Beth couldn't seem to put the pieces back together.

"He's dead," Beth whispered. She missed Daryl's softening expression, the tension that flowed out of his shoulders as he sagged. She didn't seen his baby-blues drift over her, watching uneasily as sobs began to wrack her slender frame. She wrapped her arms around her middle, bending over as the air was sucked from her lungs. "Dead - dead - dead -" Over and over, she gasped the words as her chest heaved and tried to pull in oxygen. She couldn't breathe.

He studied her for brief moment, confused and unsure, before placing his palms flat on her shoulders. They were so slender and delicate beneath his big, dirty hands. Shaking the thought off, Daryl began to spoke in quiet, hushed tones - like he would speak to a frightened animal. "Breathe, Beth. Ya gotta calm down. It's ok." He rubbed circles into her skin, watching as her breathing slowed, then became even. When her blue eyes finally flicked up to meet his, Daryl nearly stumbled backwards. The broken, sad look in them was completely disarming; beautiful. He didn't like it.

"I'm sorry," Beth said in a raspy voice. She took a shuddering breath, before taking them both by surprise. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into the leather of his vest. Once pressed against him, she realized her faux pas - they'd only hugged like this before, under similar but such different circumstances. Instead of pulling back, she clung to him tighter. Awkwardly, Daryl put a hand between her shoulder blades, the other hanging limp at his side. Beth didn't know if it made him feel better, but in that moment, it was the most comforting thing she could do. She clung to him tightly, soaking up as much as she could from the physical contact. Who knew how long it would be before she felt another person again.

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