I always get caught on the practical details, when it comes to the end of the world. I attribute this to growing up in a place where half the year feels like a snowy apocalypse, with roads often unmanageable, power often lost and a woodpile as a bit of a necessity. So basically, and especially as this is a side project, expect lots of meandering survival-type fun along with your inter-personal zombie drama!
.
.
.
.
Beth liked this house.
She'd ridden past it plenty on runs to the nearby ghost town, and when a fire had taken out most of their last home (of all the things to worry about, between other groups and the warmth-emboldened undead, their home of two years had been taken out by a fire. Raccoons in the generator. Even Daryl had laughed, noting that he thought they'd left the south in the south), she had quickly suggested the large blue farmhouse down the road. Whomever had lived there had run a florist off their farm, and the greenhouse was vast. It was closer to the road than Glenn had liked, but with winter coming and having to transport their crops, that greenhouse had decided it for all of them.
And for all the disadvantages of being close to a main road, there were good things too. You could see other humans coming real quick, for one. It had been the living, who'd killed Sasha last year. Might have done worse, if their own group had been any less experienced. Beth suppressed a shudder, banishing the memories, as they were busy clearing out overgrown or dead flowers from the greenhouse, bringing their own vegetables in.
It was heavy, dirty work. Beth liked it. She liked arranging the corn stalks in rows, the herbs, the peppers and transplanting the potatoes. Oh lord, the potatoes! They were the best things, come winter. They never stopped growing, really, and they kept really well in cellars and bins and...
Sometimes Beth did still take pause, shaking her head at the things that got her excited now. Potatoes and defensible walls. Be still her heart.
Her sister was running her hands through the various medicinal herbs they were now bundling to hang up and dry. They hadn't really been able to transplant those, they'd had to harvest swiftly. The existing herbs would be dried out and rationed until the new crop was up, to the anxiety of Maggie and Karen, the women who regularly relied on them. Frankly, Beth was thinking more about how nobody had better get shot or cut themselves open on anything for a couple of months, but there were more mundane and inevitable worries too.
Condoms had expired three years ago, any back-stock of the pill, four. There was skullcap and pennyroyal now, that was all. And those were still not nearly as reliable, obviously. Orion had happened. Beth pressed a palm to Maggie's shoulder, giving her a little smile, hoping it was comforting. So they'd have to be a little more careful for a while. It was no reason for Karen and Tyreese, for Maggie and Glenn to stop living, stop having the one good thing still left in the world.
Not that Beth knew firsthand, of course. End of the world, 23 years old, still a virgin.
She'd heard good things, though.
.
.
.
Daryl taking up leadership after Rick had died had come easily for everyone, except Daryl. He'd been Rick's right hand for so long, naturally people looked to him next. He'd only resisted the role for a while though before accepting it, and Glenn slid right into that right hand spot. Daryl carried the mantle lightly, but firmly.
What's less clear is when Beth took over as protector of their hearth. That was much slower, but here she was, directing household things while her sister and Glenn set up a perimeter. Beth was a much better fighter now, she could hack a walker to pieces without breaking a sweat. But her first strength was still in keeping everyone else fed and warm and feeling like they had a real home to come back to, if only for a while. Maybe it had truly happened after Carol died. Maybe it was during their first winter, when things had been quiet, cold, but for the warmth and light she kept kindled.
However it had happened, here she was putting their new home to order in half a day. And there was Daryl, relying on her for all the things he couldn't do for the others.
"How's it lookin'?" He asks her, as she finishes hanging the herbs from the rafters in their rustic, new-to-them kitchen. He's scrubbing black and grey soot from his hands and forearms, having spent the morning cleaning out and repairing the three wood-stoves in the house. Beth shrugs, leaning back against the counter, allowing herself to relax.
"We're lucky we were still storin' most of our food in the cellar, and that most of the garden could be saved, but..." She sighs, flexing her aching, filthy fingers. "...We lost most of the dry goods in th' fire, and we damn near lived off those, end of last winter. All the warm clothes were stored an' went up too..."
"We'll get more," He tells her, taking her dirt-caked hands almost without pause, rubbing the stiffness from them. "Shit's everywhere, we'll go into town soon, get you some rice an' beans."
"Gettin' your hands dirtier," Beth murmurs, looking up at him. He smirks, and it only falters a little as their eyes meet.
"I can scrub 'em again."
His thumbs on her palms slow, eyes still fixed on each other, blue and blue. Beth catches a breath, as for a second the whole ugly zombie-filled world is reduced to the pressure of his rough fingers on her hands, the darkening of his eyes, one digit stroking the inside of her wrist.
It's longer than ever, before he goes jittery on her. Before his eyes finally slide away from hers, his hands go to his sides, his hair, his gaze darting around the kitchen. Beth bites down on her lip, and where his nervous, little-boy ticks regarding any kind of closeness would usually get her grinning, teasing him, this time her heart's turning over in her throat.
He's never looked at her like that before. Like she was the whole world, too.
"Gonna check the generators," He rumbles, rough and raw on his way out. Daryl does pause, though, just inside the kitchen entry, eyes gone softer again, fingers tapping on the door frame."You been runnin' since dawn yesterday, girl. Go steal a nap with the kid, or somethin'."
"S'a good idea..."
She watches him go, his hands brushing Hershel's bible in its place of honor, over the fireplace, as he passes through the living room. Like he always did in their last house, every time. Beth lets out a shuddering breath, her heart dropping back to its proper spot in her chest, a new, long-forgotten warmth curling in her belly. She reaches up, tapping a bundle of mint and watching it sway back and forth, a little smile touching the corners of her lips.
New house, new eyes...she pulls in another breath, before slipping off to curl up with Judith.
.
.
.
