Title: Sublimation
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Pairing: Beth/ Daryl
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Beth and Daryl stumble upon a river and uncover some things. 3000 words. Beth's POV.
Timeline: Occurs after 4x13 (Alone). If they had not been separated at the funeral home, and continued to survive while looking for the group.
When we found the stream, I thought I might cry. I don't think a human has ever kicked their shoes off quicker than I did in that moment. I ran directly into the water, clothes and all.
"It's probably ice cold." The rush of water drowns out his words. It is cold. Freezing cold. But it is glorious. All the rain we have had over the last few weeks had to go somewhere, and I am glad I can finally take advantage of it.
"It's just over waist deep." I call out to him, untangling my hair tie and shaking out the length of it.
"Waist deep for you, maybe." He watches me explore the river for a moment, his body stiff.
"Are you not going to come in?" I splash lightly in his direction.
"Nah, I don't think walking around in soaking wet clothes afterwards would be much fun."
"So take them off." I cringe as the words leave my mouth. His eyes shoot up towards me and I can feel the heat creep over my face. "I didn't mean all of them." I add quickly. His smile twists up as he walks towards the edge of the bank.
You don't even offer to buy me dinner first, Greene?" I roll my eyes to have an excuse to avoid his gaze. When I look back towards him, he is toeing off his shoes.
He's right about wet clothes though. Jeans especially. I unbutton my pants and try to step out of them as delicately as I can.
The fabric is hard to manage, but I get them off and I lift them out of the water.
"What are you doing?"
"You're right. I'll let these dry out for a bit - catch!" I throw him the balled jeans. He catches it with his hand, and stares at the unraveling sphere of blue. I yell out my apologies as he brushes water droplets from his shirt.
"What do you want me to do with it?"
"I dunno. Hang them on a tree branch?" I hear him grumble something as he turns towards the tree line and I lean back to dunk my hair under the water. It feels so refreshing. I splash the water on my face and stare at the rushing water, disappearing around a bend.
Daryl returns, his fist balled around something small.
"I got you a present. Catch!" He mimics me and throws the object my way, which I scramble to collect in my open hands. I nearly drop it. And when I realize it's soap, I nearly drop it all over again. I know I must be smiling something stupid.
"Do you have any idea how long it's been since I have seen actual soap?" I look up at him and he shrugs with a nonsensical grunt. I begin to wash my face.
"You should come in. It's cold, but you get used to it." He nods, eyes scanning the tree line.
When he begins to unbuckle his belt, I turn away instinctively. A hesitant glance in his direction reveals his boxer-brief form. He hesitates when he reaches the hem of his shirt. I look away, busying myself with the soap.
I hear him step into the river.
"Shit." He all but hisses and retreats from the water.
"How are you still in there?" He asks with disbelief.
I turn back to him, mindful not to gawk. "It's not so bad. Give it a chance." I walk a little closer to him, and the water rises to my shoulders.
"Damnit, all right." He steps down from the bank and into the river again, jaw clenched.
As he sinks into the river, I work the soap into my hair. The water only reaches to just over his waist and he scans the river, looking for obstacles that aren't there.
"I don't think they could handle the stream." I address the anxiety he didn't articulate.
"It's not just dead people I'm worried about." He finally looks towards me, raking his eyes over the horizon. He begins to cup handfuls of water against his face.
"Save me some of that, would ya?" He motions to the soap. I pause my lather of never ending hair and pass him the bar.
Daryl told me the other day that he thought it had been two months since we had left the prison. The hope within me that Maggie would emerge from the forest never faltered, although even I could admit that this was the most desperate I had ever felt.
Two months since the prison, two days since something else life altering occurred.
Thinking back to that day at the cabin; moonshine and an impromptu crossbow session - that's when things shifted around me.
After everything that happened at the funeral home I felt a shift in me too.
I was suddenly and vibrantly aware of his gaze. Of his touch. Of what he said, or didn't say, as was often the case. It's true that after the cabin we didn't have the luxury of alcohol to loosen our tongues; but our revelations acted like a floodgate. He still clamped down on himself like a bear trap whenever I prodded a subject he had buried deep. The difference now was that after he finished telling me why it was none of my business to ask, he'd answer. No alcohol needed.
I liked what I learned about him. He would sometimes tell me to answer the question about myself first, which I never minded. After his silent admission in the funeral home, I discovered something I never thought I would. Yes, I needed Daryl Dixon to survive, but he needed me too.
I hadn't felt needed in a long time.
He continued to teach me how to use his crossbow, and I continued to listen. I was an unwavering support, and he would find any excuse to bring joy to our lives. To my life.
I remember one morning when I woke, body aching from the earth's uneven floor, there was a collection of tiny flowers, tied with a stem near my head. I must have mentioned how much they reminded me of the farm.
Before the world changed, I would have been embarrassed to admit, but I didn't know what intimacy was. Not physical closeness, but intimacy. Where you can be with someone and not say a word and feel at home. Or share your dreams, your hopes; who you are at your core. A closeness that dissolves personal boundaries, where you feel like an extension of someone else. Today, in this moment, I feel well versed on the subject.
Daryl communicates with his body where I might communicate in endless words. I didn't know how to interpret it immediately, if I recognized it at all. I'm beginning to understand.
When he turns away while talking to me. It makes me uncomfortable to tell you this.
When he says 'doesn't bother me' while walking away. This bothers me.
When his back is to me when he speaks. It hurts me to say this.
When his eyes flicker over mine when I answer him. I want to hear what you have to say.
When he instinctively makes it his business to always know where I am. You're important to me.
Two days ago we kissed. Or more correctly, I kissed him.
For nights at a time we would set up camp in the woods, different places, but the set up was always the same. Our makeshift camp provided partial coverage, and we shared the space beneath it. Taking turns keeping watch and sleeping, it did the job.
It was his turn to survey the darkness and I laid with my head close to the tree we used for both structure and a watching post. Most nights we talked. About nothing or about the most personal things. For different reasons it seemed we both felt more at ease sharing under the protection of night. I couldn't see his eyes carefully avoiding me as he revealed more of himself, and he couldn't see me blush when I did the same.
That night was no different. Except it was. The light from the moon was faint and after Daryl had been watching the nothingness for a while I heard him sit up. It instinctively made me follow his lead, heart already beginning to race.
"Well would you look at that." He stood and he lowered his hand to help me join him.
"What?" I said, whispering out of habit.
"Fireflies." He motioned in front of us. Sure enough, a few yards away there were tiny glowing orbs. I used to see them all the time at the farm.
He turned to me, "Stay here." He soundlessly moved towards the cluster and I wait. I can barely make out his outline as he gently cupped one out of the air. I stood a little dumbfounded as he walked back over to me.
"Hold out your hands." I did, and he placed his in mine, folding the tiny glowing big into my hands. He lets go of my cupped hands - I can feel it fluttering against my fingers.
"Prob'ly only have a few seconds before it will fly away." He said and I couldn't tell what was fighting harder, the fly or my heart. I opened my hands and the glow slowly rose between us before rejoining his family. My eyes were wide, mouth open in surprise.
"Thank you." I heard myself say.
And while he was still in front of me, I lifted my head and pressed my lips against his. I instantly panicked when I felt his body stiffen against mine. 'What have I done' running through my head on repeat. In that split second of paralyzing fear, I felt it. The softest pressure of his lips returning my kiss.
I could feel his hand at the side of my face. I pulled back, and a million questions sprang to my lips. They didn't stand a chance when I felt his lips on mine once more, with more pressure and sureness than before. I opened my mouth under his, my hands finding his arms as a way to pull him closer to me.
He deepened the kiss, and a quiet noise of approval escaped me. My body was on fire. The tightness in my limbs was almost uncomfortable, and when my hands found skin on his arms it felt like I grabbed a live wire.
When his lips left mine abruptly, I nearly fell into him. My head spun. My whole world spun. His hand fell to my shoulder, bracing me at arms length. I suddenly felt cold fear wash over me. All I could hear was our struggling breaths and my racing heartbeat.
Out of self-preservation or something equally stupid, I muttered, "I'm sorry." My voice shook, and as Daryl dropped his hand from me, I could feel the warmth in my body disappear. I wish I could take the words back, because they weren't true.
"I shouldn't have done that." He said, even though I was the one who had kissed him. My heart dropped. "I made a mistake." He finished, and the air in my lungs was sucked out.
"Daryl, wait-" I started, but he walked into the woods and over our clanging walker rope-shield while I was frozen in place. I was breathless and the pain in my chest spread out to my limbs.
We hadn't talked about it since, although it lingered in my mind like a cancer, spreading without abandon.
Here in the river, he's somber. Washing himself, he averts his eyes from me; out of modesty for himself or for me, I'm not sure.
Needing to rinse out my hair, I lean back so the natural direction of the stream begins to remove the soap. I work my fingers through it as best I can before emerging from the water, ringing out my hair as I go.
His eyes aren't on me when I look to him, and I don't recognize the feeling that builds in my throat. When he lathers his hair, it sticks out in a million directions. I smile, a soft laugh interrupting the silence.
"Somethin' funny?" His tone is light.
"Your hair." I say nodding to the disheveled mess on top of his hair. He looks up even though he can't see it. I walk over to him, laughing.
"Here, let me." I reach up and although he has a look of apprehension, he lets me pull-up and smooth his hair into a soap mohawk. I can't help the laugh that escapes me. He reaches up to touch the tip of towering hair.
"Think this should be my new look?" He jokes. I look at him, pretending to consider it.
"Well, I don't know...might be hard to find enough gel." He huffs and I see a smile form as he flings a handful of water in my direction. I take a few steps back.
"Hey!...Punk." I mumble, fending off his splash with my own. His eyebrow quirked up.
"Whatdya call me?"
"You heard me." I say without fear.
"Smart ass." He teases and bends over, dunking his new hairstyle in the river. He rinses out the style in few sure movements. When he stands he flicks his hair, sending a spray of water into my face.
I yell out in surprise and sputter as I blink away the water. When I can see, Daryl's face is soft with humour, his hair slicked back, and a light in his eyes.
"What are you looking at?" I ask with mock venom and rub my eyes.
"You." He says it lightly and I try not to let my body react the way my heart does. Don't be stupid, I beg myself. His eyes stay on me and I open my mouth to speak; I end up breathing out a deep gust of uncertainty instead.
Noticing my hesitation, he teases, "What? Got any more names to call me?"
It's the clearest I've ever been able to see his face. With his hair slicked back, I can see the colour of the river in his eyes.
I don't know how the sight of him convinces me to bring it up, but I feel the words bubbling in my throat, my brain yelling expletives at me, but my greedy heart says, don't hesitate, it's now or never.
"I wasn't sorry." My voice cracks. It's like I turned off the world. It's so silent I can hear myself blink.
Confusion clouds his face and I press ahead on my suicide mission, "I said I was sorry, and I wasn't. I meant to kiss you. I wanted to." I realized I had squeezed my eyes shut in terror at some point during my word-vomit. When I open them, he's the one who looks scared.
He's silent for a second, running his fingers through his hair with an unsteady hand. I see how uncomfortable he is to be unable to hide behind it.
He doesn't look at me. "Then whyd'ya say it?"
"I panicked." I answer without thinking, and feel incredible heat take over my chest. I try to look away but I can't. He looks up at me with an expression I don't recognize. It's my turn to ask a question.
"Did you mean it when you said it was a mistake?" His eyes lock into mine. After a terrifying and infinite minute he swears at nothing and a resounding 'no' echoes through the air.
I feel my blood surge through me. Equally begging for me to move and immobilizing me.
"I don't know what to say." He grinds out, pushing both hands through his hair. He looks as lost as I feel.
"I don't know either." I offer. I mean it. I can see the sincerity in my voice register on his face. I step closer to him, completely unsure if it's something I should be doing.
My face feels hot, and I don't know how long it actually takes, but after eternity I mercifully feel his thumb run over my cheek. He steps closer and I feel impossible tightness in my chest, my breath halting before his lips reach mine. When they do, I know I was right.
It's instant lightning through my body, and his lips are warm against mine, if a little hesitant. A hand presses into my wet hair; a light grip pressing our lips together with more sureness. The weight of his hand brings me closer to him, until I can feel his skin against mine in the water. His free hand falls to my hip, shaping me against him. I break away to breathe and sigh at the sensation.
I return to his mouth, my arms finding their way around his neck. My mouth opens to his tongue seeking my own. My stomach flips at the touch. I can hear his throat rumble with satisfaction and I want to hear it again. He tries pulls me closer, if it were possible, I would pass right through him. Despite the freezing river I feel incredibly hot. I press up to deepen the kiss, my hand idly displacing his hair. His lips leave mine, and his hot mouth works down my neck. I audibly gasp, grip tightening.
The hand in my hair pulls my head back ever-so, and his mouth sucks gently where neck meets shoulder. I hear myself moan, but I don't recognize the sound. It causes his grip to tighten, a strangled and primal noise escapes him and I feel it in my core.
He brings his lips back up to my own, softer this time. I'm blind with light as my eyes flutter open; our lips part, but his grip doesn't lessen.
"Beth, I-" He begins, but is interrupted by the snapping of twigs. Our heads snap to the tree line.
Daryl glances to the other side of the river - home to both our clothes and his crossbow, "Shit."