Darkness fell over the group's shabby campsite like a blanket tossed over a bed. Through the tree limbs, little stars dotted the black sky. Somewhere an owl screeched then leaves rustled as the winged beast took off to hunt. Cricket song overwhelmed the atmosphere, filling up the silence. Here and there a yellow light flashed as fireflies drifted around. It was a dazzling night, if one could ignore the bitter chill.
Pale gray smoke whirled upwards, evaporating into the air as the last few embers from a fire died out. Next to no warmth was being provided, yet the surviving Dixon brother sat with his shoulders against a tree and legs stretched out before him. As always, his crossbow was propped up next to him. The awful cold didn't seem to perturb him.
His eyes closed, thoughts drifting away to earlier in the afternoon when he'd been reunited with Beth. How wonderful it was to touch her, hold her again in his powerful embrace. All the guilt, the shame, the disappointment in himself vanished when he first caught a glimpse at her shining blue eyes. He longed for more though, more than just a lingering grasp. He wished to feel her fingers clasped with his, to hold her, and above all else, he yearned for the taste of her lips. Nothing much, just the simple privilege to kiss her, no matter how brief.
To his right, something stirred. Reflexively, Daryl positioned his bow, ready to aim and fire. In the darkness there was a lighter color visible…blonde hair. Beth. He relaxed, setting his weapon of choice beside him again.
Without a word, she plopped down in the foliage next to Daryl on the opposite side from the crossbow. Beth offered a smile, her sweet-looking face giving off the warmth it always did. "What're you doing out here?" she asked, her voice quiet.
All he did was shrug, mumbling something close to "dunno."
"You aren't cold?"
To this, he shook his head. "Nah," he half muttered, half grumbled in that low Southern accent. He looked down at her, letting the faintest wisp of a smile tug momentarily at one corner of his mouth. Despite the surrounding night, he still saw her, and thought she was absolutely beautiful.
Beth had grown accustomed to his one-word responses. He wasn't the sort of man to express his thoughts or feelings vocally. Instead, Beth read his body language, putting together his mind like puzzle pieces. With time she had become quite good at that. Watching him now, Beth noted how calm and soft he appeared. His eyes weren't darting around on constant Walker radar. His shoulders slumped, suggesting relaxation. The veins weren't visible and his muscles weren't taught for once. He wasn't in that…hunting phase bunched up and senses on overdrive. When the group travelled or when he hunted, Daryl reminded her of a wolf stalking through the forest; agile, limber, skilled in his trade.
Her eyes shifted downwards. In the waning fire light, she saw that she'd put her hand over Daryl's, slim pale fingers curled over his thick, rough palm.
"So, Daryl Dixon," she began with her voice still quiet, "did you miss me while I was gone?" The question was rhetorical, but she was only curious to see his reaction.
His hand shifted under Beth's, palm turning upwards to meet hers, and he slipped his fingers between hers to entangle them. He gave a gentle squeeze then his eyes locked with hers. She knew his answer now, though she'd never doubted it.
What she did next was probably completely crazy, but she couldn't let the moment pass without trying her luck. It wasn't even really luck. He taking her hand was plenty to assure her of that. Slowly, Beth leaned in towards the ruggedly handsome man. Lighter than a moth's wing, she pressed her lips to his. Daryl returned her fluttering kiss, but he pressed harder, sealing their lips for a couple of shorts seconds.
Despite the small length, Beth was filled with joy. As they broke apart, her eyes gleamed in the dark night. On Daryl's scruffy face he wore a faint smile as he lifted his hand, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. That moment was all they needed to fill their gaps of emptiness.
