"Should this be the last thing I see
I want you to know it's enough for me
Cause all that you are is all that I'll ever need
I'm so in love, so in love
So in love, so in love."
-Ed Sheeran
…
He's not really sure how and when it happened.
Well, he knows how it happened, but it still feels like someone is pulling out the rug from underneath his feet every time he looks at her now.
Because, yeah, she's always been fucking gorgeous, but now her body has changed and developed and what had been just a tiny little swell that could be easily veiled underneath one of her thick cotton sweaters or his worn-down shirts less than two weeks ago is now a full-blown bump that makes it obvious to anyone who even momentarily looks at her that she's pregnant.
Obvious that she's going to have a baby; his baby.
And, really, he already knows he can be a possessive asshole and that Beth would slap him six ways to Monday if he ever tried to stop her from being her own person or making her own decisions but that doesn't stop the pride and the primal urge to protect her at all costs and against all possible threats that surges up in his chest and spreads throughout his entire body until it almost fucking hurts him every single time he thinks about her and how someone that beautiful girl had seen straight through all his bullshit and found something worth loving.
He knows she loves him; has loved him from the very beginning.
It's in the way she holds his hand, locking her soft fingers between his calloused ones like that's the only place they'll ever belong, when they're out taking a walk. It's how she presses her pretty lips against his cheeks in little chaste pecks, whispers 'I love you' against his skin just because she wants to show it to him but respects that he isn't comfortable with public displays of affection. It's how her smiles are always fucking beams that brighten up his day just as much as her tears will darken them when she's feeling blue and sad and hurt, but never hides either from him; trusts him with the amazing and with the ugly parts of her heart that no one else has seen before.
It's how she doesn't even hesitate or take a moment to think it through when they're lying naked in bed and she's curled up against him like a kitten, staring at him with her big blue eyes and her sweat-soaked hair draped across her forehead as he stutters out his barely audible but completely wholehearted 'will you marry me?' before she's even turned nineteen.
It's in the way she wears her engagement ring like it's a priceless artifact; worn by queens and empresses that had the world placed at their feet by devoted lovers seeking their companionship. It's when she drops her esteemed and respectable last name and legacy and takes on his tarnished and infamous one the moment the marriage certificates are signed, ink still fresh on the legal sheets.
'I'm a Dixon now,' she tells him, eyes bright and smile wide and radiating happiness inside the tiny city hall office where just a minute ago they'd been pronounced husband and wife. Her arms are wrapped around him and she's kissing him and blushing bright pink against her pretty white dress. 'Now and for the rest of my life.'
It's when Merle comes back barreling into his life two months after he gets married, loud and drunk and being every bit the redneck motherfucker he's mastered playing for the world, making crude remarks about Beth and her ass and stopping his laughter only long enough to ask her just what she'd done to pussywhip his baby brother into tying the knot. It's her firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him from lashing out against his brother, before she looks up straight at the asshole and answers, 'I'd do anything he ever asks for' with a finality and a defiance that makes Merle shut right up.
(Because she understands that his brother might be an asshole, but he's just trying to make sure, in his own twisted and inappropriate way, that she's not gonna run away and break his baby brother's heart at the first sign of trouble.)
(That Merle needs to work on his delivery is a problem for another day.)
It's her arms wrapped snug around his waist and her cheek resting comfortably against his back when they're both on his bike and he speeds them down an empty highway that's suddenly overflowing with her melodic laughter in the middle of their impromptu and destination-less trip. It's the bounce in her step as she waltzes into Dale's garage when she can sneak away from her own job during her lunch break, wanting to spend those few minutes of downtime with him and it becomes clear as day to everyone who knows him that little Beth Greene has him wrapped around her little finger.
(But that's okay, because he loves her and she loves him and he couldn't give a shit less what people have to say about it.)
It's when a few days after she turns twenty-two she's quietly walking next to him while they're out hunting together in the woods, scrunching up her nose in confusion and pouting her lips before she very casually muses aloud that pretty soon she'll be too heavy to walk through the forest with him without scaring off the game and 'Daryl, my tracks are gonna look like a zombie's once I start waddling around' and then a grinned out 'I swear to God I will murder you if you laugh when this baby has me walking like a penguin.'
It's how she only smiles and holds him when he drops to his knees the moment her words click together in his brain, head buried against her still-flat belly and arms tight around her thighs as tears of a magnificent feeling of completeness he'd never felt so effusively before start streaming down his face.
It's fucking everything; she's everything.
Even the half a dozen texts waiting for him on his cellphone when he gets off work and she's asking for 'half a pint of strawberry ice cream with lots of marshmallows, Babe,' and 'can you get me some popcorn, too?' and 'Carol said she made me a pot of sweet tea and can you pick it up for me?' followed by 'I really, really, love you and Peanut said to tell you you're the best daddy.'
Yeah, he's completely whipped.
(And fucking proud of it.)
…
It's nearly seven by the time he gets home, armed with all her requests and a couple more sweets she didn't ask for but that he knows she'll love and devour all the same.
He pulls his truck into the driveway, not sparing a second thought to the old beat-up car parked right in front of their property as he picks up his haul out the backseat and reaches into the pockets of his jeans for his keys. It'd be much easier to just knock for her to open up, but Beth's been commenting on how her feet are getting swollen and hurting and has taken to taking naps throughout the day so she can feel rested so he doesn't want to risk waking her up.
Daryl's lost count of how many times he's gotten home to find her curled up on the sofa, wrapped up in thick blankets to fight off the winter chill and with a random Disney film on because she might be his little badass and she might get down and dirty with him and she might be a mom in the making but she's still the girl who sings along to "In Summer" with the stupid snowman and tries to serenade him with her surprise renditions of "Kiss The Girl" when she's feeling mischievous and bubbly.
He'll be damned if he ever lets her lose that.
So when he opens the door, he's expecting the music. He's expecting the music or the radio or the old record player he gave her for her twentieth birthday, along with a stack of disks. He's expecting her to be resting or watching television or baking in the kitchen or a dozen other possibilities, none of which include her laughing in the spare room they've started transforming into a nursery.
None of which include his brother sitting on his ass inside said room, surrounded by a chaos of plastic pieces and wheels and screws and bolts, glaring at his wife as she only giggles louder at his obvious bad mood.
"Do I even wanna know?"
Both culprits turn to stare at him, Beth's face breaking into an immediate smile at the same time that Merle's scowl deepens and his lip curls in mock disgust. There's no malice in his eyes though, and Daryl is fully aware that the faces he's pulling are just Merle being Merle and that his brother is happy for him.
"Thank Heavens you're finally here," he grumbles, pushing aside the wrench in his hands and leaning back on his elbows. "Maybe you can convince your woman that I know what the hell I'm doing and she can stop tryin' to shove those directions up my ass."
Daryl turns to his wife, raising both eyebrows that adequately convey his confusion.
"Merle brought us a stroller as an early birthday present for Peanut," she explains, leaning against him and snuggling comfortably into his hold. Her hand searches for his and he squeezes their fingers together when she finds it. "Which is lovely, except now he's trying to build it and refuses to read the 'How To' manual or let me help out."
"I ain't never needed no fucking guide book to tell me how to get things done," he pipes up, grabbing two random pieces and trying to force them together until it's obvious he has no clue what he's doing and just shoves them away.
"You're building the stroller that your niece or nephew is gonna be using almost every day, Merle," Beth argues back, not at all successful in keeping the humor out of her voice as she places her hands on her bump for added emphasis. "Don't you wanna make sure they don't fall straight through the moment I place the baby down on it?"
Merle's glare intensifies, and Beth holds her own right back.
"Fine," he finally concedes, making a show of reaching for the directions and gingerly picking them up before viciously opening it to the front page with so much force that he almost tears it right out. He holds it out to her, shaking it around in the air for a few seconds before bringing it back down to his lap. "Happy, now?"
"Ecstatic," she beams, moving away from her lover so she can walk the six steps it takes to reach his brother, right hand resting on the top of his mostly-bald head and affectionately ruffling the few strands of wispy-thin hair left with her fingertips. "You're a good man, Uncle Merle."
"Yeah, yeah," he tries to shake her off, which would be more believable if his head wasn't leaning, just barely, into her soft and comforting touch. "Still think you're a fucking nag," he adds, because this is Merle and he'll never let anyone make him look soft without at least getting a word in to prove just how tough he is.
"Yeah, yeah," Beth echoes his response, grinning as she begins to walk out of the room in search of her goodies and pulling Daryl along. They both ignore his colorful remarks about how they can get it on without a rubber now that she's all knocked up, anyways.
He stays for dinner, which consists of leftover lasagna and fresh garlic bread and it's quiet and domestic and fun and everything neither brother ever thought they'd have in their lives, all courtesy of Beth Dixon (formerly Greene).
It's not until later that night, once the stroller is all set up and Merle is long gone and they're both watching a movie in bed and eating some of her strawberry ice cream with marshmallows that Daryl decides to bring up just how 'State Of The Art' his brother's gift really was.
"Ya know he probably stole it, right?"
Beth nods, burying her nose into the juncture of his shoulder and taking a deep breath, closing her eyes and letting out a little sigh of content that has the hairs at the nape of his neck rising to attention. "I know."
"I mean, I've seen them in the store sometimes and they're worth up to a couple grands and we both know Merle ain't got that kind of money."
"They are," she agrees, shifting over until her back is pressed up against his chest and he can wrap his arms around her. Lately it seemed like she was always desperate for his touch and proximity, accommodating herself for the greatest contact possible with his own body, and he's still trying to figure out why they didn't get on having a baby the moment they got married. "But it's the thought that counts and the last thing we should do is try and scold him for wanting to give something nice to his blood."
"Guess not," Daryl grunts, sliding his hand underneath her pale pink blouse and onto her bare belly, rubbing soothing circles with the base of his palm. She moans low in her throat, like a kitten purring while being pampered, and Daryl feels a different kind of heat start to work through him.
"He's trying," she reminds him, stifling a yawn and voice dropping as sleeps starts to steal away her consciousness. She wiggles her butt around until it's being cradled against his hips, a little giggle breaking out from between her lips when she feels his arms pull her closer to him. "Let's just be happy he's excited for us and wants to be around for it."
"Lord help us if Uncle Merle wasn't around to make things fun; teaching the kid to cuss and how to get away with stealing cookies without their momma noticing."
"Hmm," she murmurs, and he can tell she's seconds away from falling asleep. "Imagine that."
"Yeah," he chuckles, closing his eyes. "Imagine that."
…
AN: Hope you guys liked it!
The endless amount of fluff holds steady on this one. I've got a couple more planned out because I'm having so much fun writing them.
Also, Chapter 8 of High & Low is now up so check that out!
Next up: Aaron and Eric pass by because I love them and they're adorable and amazing people and yes.
-Ashley