A/N: Apologies for any mistakes - was eager to get this up (and out of my brain). Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who celebrate.
Thank you for the reviews - they mean a lot to me and are basically the only things keeping me motivated at this point. To answer a question (and I actually meant to say this in the last chapter notes): the song that I had playing over and over in my head during the last chapter when I wrote about THEIR song was "ALWAYS" by Bon Jovi (I know, I make myself sick).
Majority of this chapter takes place in the bar. Warnings for some sexual inappropriateness/attempted assault in addition to the regular warnings of language and gratuitous exploitation of Daryl's sexiness. We get to see a little of Merle here (I FUCKING LOVE MERLE, I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS!). And Zach makes his return. Beth's head is messed up - just throwin' that out there in case it wasn't clear enough. Daryl's is also, but he's trying to do right by her. "He believes that everything he's ever done, every move he's ever made, has been for love."
Look forward to hearing what you think.
chapter 3: hide my head (i want to drown my sorrow)
Beth had taken another shot – maybe two – when she'd returned to the bar after her talk – or whatever the hell it was – with Daryl.
She let a couple of men – new ones, who hadn't been there earlier, she'd noticed – buy her some drinks. Beers, mixed drinks. She didn't care at this point. She wanted to dull – or even better, numb – the frenzied pandemonium that had continued churning and building and layering within her chest and her head and her heart, long after she and Daryl had spoken.
He hadn't left. She was surprised by that, though she wasn't sure why. That's what he'd always been best at, after all – staying – even if he wanted to go, even if he could have more than this if he really wanted to. If he'd just take a step. He sat at a table by one of the windows and mostly stayed there, too, save for the few instances during which he'd walked up to the bar to get another drink.
Beth was talking with one of the men who'd been buying her drinks. He was sleazy, and she was well aware of that. But she didn't care. He was a person, just like the rest of them. Flawed and angry and disappointed and living life under the same sky as the rest of them. He was a little older than Beth, short and stalky and not altogether bad-looking, but his eyes were shallow and seemed to lack any capacity of staying on her face as they interacted, despite their relatively light-hearted and cautiously friendly conversation.
A few minutes prior, Maggie and Glenn had walked across the street to a diner to get Glenn some food to quell the nausea he'd finally begun to feel due to the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed throughout the course of the day. Maggie'd asked Beth to join them, but she'd declined in favor of sticking around at the bar to wait for Zach to arrive.
"So, what's a pretty young thing such 's yourself doin' here all alone?" The sleazy man – Brent, Beth thought he'd told her that that was his name – asked, eyes glued to her chest even as he spoke to her.
"Ain't alone," she said quietly, ducking her head for the umpteenth time to try and get him to just act like a normal fucking adult human being having a conversation with another adult human being instead of a horny fourteen year-old boy seeing his first pair of tits.
The man looked around the room. "Saw them people you's with leave." And wasn't he just a fucking sleuth?
"Yeah, but they'll be back. And I'm waitin' for my fiancé to get here." She shrugged, not entirely sure whether or not she'd mentioned the fact that she was engaged before he'd started spending his money to shove drinks down her throat.
His eyes did lift to hers then and she saw them widen slightly.
"Fiancé?" He repeated.
"'S what I said," she said nonchalantly. "Or do your ears not work properly either?"
She didn't know why she was feeling this way. Why she was being mean – a little mean, anyway, at least by her standards. To someone who was essentially a stranger. Why the alcohol was making her feel woozy but not dulling any of the anger or irritation or bitterness in her tone nor her emotional landscape. And those feelings weren't just confined to her voice – no, she'd actually be okay with that. They were strung inside her body, like Christmas lights or a livewire, waiting for something to ignite them so she could burn.
He huffed an irritated breath in her face and his lips curled into a grimace.
"Fuckin' bitch," he hissed. "Fuckin' cock-teasin' bitch."
He made to grab her arm but she moved it away easily. Lazily, almost.
"Think that's me bein' a bitch, then go 'head and see what happens if you try to touch me." And her voice was light, disinterested even. She'd been around enough in the bar scene – at her friends' and coworkers' insistence – to know how to avoid situations like these. Or get out of them, should they occur – mostly thanks to her smart-ass mouth.
And the asshole took the bait, surging forward and wrapping his arms around her middle. And she'd almost forgotten about the wound she'd incurred the previous night from Nelly, but she was quickly reminded when one of his thumbs pressed heavily and forcefully right on that very spot. And as she tried to struggle away, she found that she was limited by her lack of breath and the impact of the pain there that slowed her limbs. And it felt like she was being kicked all over again, the way her breath rushed out of and away from her even as she chased it with her nose and her mouth.
"Not so tough now, are ya, ya little bitch?" Brent hissed, pressing his lips up against her neck.
And she could've screamed, because for anyone watching, it could've very well appeared that they were just necking or embracing or something. They'd been sitting together – amiably – for a while, talking and even laughing a bit. But she wasn't about to make a scene. Not when all she needed to do was just catch her fucking breath and –
She felt her middle being released from Brent's harsh grip and she took a moment to suck in a few deep, slow breaths before she heard his voice.
"The fuck you think you're doin'? You fuckin' touchin' her?" She heard Daryl's voice, and it was low and serious and downright scary, even to Beth, who'd heard him several times throughout their past at what she thought had been his angriest.
She lifted her head up and forced her eyes open as her breaths evened out and she saw Daryl yanking Brent up by the collar of his shirt. And then he tossed him onto the floor, like he was weightless. Like a twisted, scumbag Raggedy-Andy.
"Hey! Knock it off or you're both outta here!" Wade yelled, leaning as much of his plump body over the bar as he was able.
Daryl spat at Brent's writhing body and then he crouched down and got right in the fallen man's face.
"Don't come in here again, you fuckin' piece o' shit. An' you better pray she ain't hurt."
Wade came waddling around the corner of the bar, partially helping Brent to his feet even as he lightly shoved Daryl backwards and away.
"You're fine, Daryl. Cool it. Just check on Beth Ann, a'right? Gonna get him outta here." And then he was ushering Brent out of the bar.
Daryl grabbed Beth's arm, pulling her down and off of the barstool, and she didn't have time to protest or ask questions, because soon he was tugging open the door to the one unisex single-stall bathroom in the place. He whipped her around his body and into the small space of the bathroom and locked the door behind him.
"Lift it up," he said, breathing heavily and flicking his eyes from her face to her middle. She couldn't see any blood on her shirt. But his eyes were serious and focused and cold yet heated and angry and simultaneously like he could be working under the hood of a car or punching a hole through a brick fucking wall.
"I can check it myself, Daryl," she muttered, suddenly feeling dizzier and altogether less edgy than she had been. And maybe the effects of the alcohol were finally starting to make an appearance.
"Let me see it, Beth," he said, and his tone was more demanding. He lifted his eyes to hers, and they'd changed yet again. And there it was again. That look - the one that made her want to curl up into a fetal position or weep or rip his fucking clothes off or maybe all of that, at the same time.
She leaned her backside up against the sink, unwilling to initiate or engage in another fight. She truthfully didn't have the energy.
He stepped closer to her, hovering over her – towering over her – and he kept his eyes cast down expectantly.
She lifted her shirt up and, though they'd been in a similar position the previous night, she somehow felt more exposed.
She looked down and saw a small ring of blood seeping through the gauze dressing he'd applied the previous night. And it wasn't that bad, really. She thought that it could wait.
But, of course, Daryl didn't agree. He peeled off the dressing slowly and she was too drunk or tired or something to fight off the incredibly visible shiver that ran through her when she felt his warm hands brush up against her skin.
He reached above and behind her to grab a paper towel and curved his arm around her body to wet it under the sink against which she was leaning. And he didn't speak. And he didn't meet her eyes.
But he sunk to his knees, face directly in front of her abdomen. And she couldn't do a damn thing to stop the hot rush of liquid that she felt beginning to soak her underwear.
There would apparently never be any curing her of that. And the alcohol wasn't helping, she knew.
He wrapped a hand around one of her hips, steadying her, and maybe himself, as he used the other to gently swipe and blot and apply pressure with the paper towel to try and stop the blood that was still gushing from the small wound.
She sucked in a breath and tried like hell to ignore the overwhelming sensation of his hand on her bare skin. But it felt like fire and ice and danger and him. And faded images of him – long ago – licking along and biting at the sharp edges created by her hip and pelvic bones and the sounds of his breathless moans began to relentlessly assault her mind.
"'S bleedin' pretty bad," he murmured. And his hot breath on her already-overheated skin did nothing to subdue the silent war that was occurring inside her mind.
"Yeah?" She asked, though she hadn't really heard him.
"Might need to run out to the farm or somethin', get it cleaned up better. Can't be bleedin' an' drinkin'. Drinkin' just makes the bleedin' worse an' bleedin' just makes the drinkin' worse." He stood up then, lightly using his hand on her hip as leverage. He kept his other hand pressed up against her middle. And he smirked a little, she thought.
"Serves me right," she sighed, finally able to delineate her mind from her body. For the moment, at least.
"Don't be stupid," he said quickly. "Ain't nothin' you could do that'd be reason for anyone to put their fuckin' hands on you."
And it meant something, she knew, coming from him. He'd had a shitty childhood and was abused – physically and mentally – by his parents. Only familial relationship he'd ever had, outside of her own family, was with his brother, Merle, who wasn't exactly brother-of-the-year material – this year, or any other, as far as Beth was concerned.
It'd taken him a long time to get past all of that. To get past the belief that he'd somehow deserved the way he'd been treated. And, no, he wasn't a beacon of self-esteem. Still didn't see his own worth, as she'd discovered from their conversation earlier. But he'd transformed into an entirely different person from the time that Beth met him until they'd fallen apart. Maybe not a different person, but a different – a better – version of himself. And she'd always liked to think that she'd had something to do with that. That her family – her father, especially – had had something to do with that.
"But," he continued, face more serious, "next time ya wanna damn drink, just ask me for fuck's sake. Or Zach – I mean, or whoever the fuck you're with. Not some random dude just lookin' to get in your pants. You ain't that dumb."
"Got it," she whispered as she looked up at him, feeling a little silly about it all. That she'd put herself in this situation because she was pissed at this man – this man who was taking care of her and watching out for her and acting protective over her, even after everything they'd been through and everything he'd finally admitted.
"He comin' soon?" He asked, shifting his eyes back down to her bare belly, experimentally removing his hand and the paper towel briefly before pressing it back in place. She guessed she was still bleeding.
"Oughtta be," she answered, bracing her hands on the sink behind her. "And, look, Daryl. You don't have to give me a ride home. Don't expect ya to give Zach a ride, either. Maybe Maggie can ride with ya. I'm sure Zach can drive their truck home, if I can teach him how to drive a stick." She laughed a little, thinking of Zach attempting to master the necessary coordination of hands and the pressure of feet for driving a vehicle powered by a manual transmission. Her daddy'd made all of them learn to drive a stick first before letting them even think of driving an automatic.
He brought his eyes back to her face. Shook his head slowly. Just once.
"Nah, 's fine. I'm good with it long as you are. I was just bein' a jackass."
"No. I get it, Daryl." She kept her eyes on his, trying to get him to understand. He wasn't the only one that still felt it. Still felt something.
"Might be fun, actually," he said, smiling a little, mostly just with his eyes rather than his lips. "Ya helped me pick that bike out. If ya weren't so damn lit an' prone to accidents lately, I might'a even let ya drive it."
She laughed, then. And it was unexpected but as genuine as anything. She brought an arm up off of the edge of the sink and shoved lightly against his chest.
"Bullshit. Only time you let me drive it was when you were literally too drunk to stand. Still don't know how ya didn't fall off'a that thing and die," she laughed.
He smiled then, with his lips and his eyes. And he maybe even laughed, just a little, somewhere in the quick wave of the exhale that left his mouth.
He removed his hand and the wet towel again, this time lifting it up completely. He knelt again, wordlessly, and his other hand returned to its previous position on her hip.
He inspected the wound closely, blotted it a few more times. And she should've expected it, after the previous night. Should have known and somehow prepared herself. But her mind was a mess and she hadn't expected to feel the warmth of his breath again as he started to blow against her skin - to dry it, she assumed.
And then she fucked up. Badly. But she couldn't help it. Couldn't stop it, not when she hadn't even felt it – hadn't felt any of this – coming.
And she cringed inwardly even as she heard the release of her own breathy, needy, quiet moan, which occupied the entirety of the empty space left in the bathroom. And she may've even cursed or breathed god or Daryl or something. And it'd happened before she'd even had the chance to recognize the inner workings of it inside of her.
And, though she prayed that he hadn't, she knew he'd heard it. Because he paused. Just for a moment. He didn't say anything, but his hand squeezed her hip a little harder and she resisted the next sound that she knew had been coming before it could escape her.
And then he inched his face closer. Just slightly. And she wanted to thread her fingers into his hair and slam his head against her body and beg him to bite her and lick her and taste her but she couldn't.
He started blowing again, a little softer this time. Like he didn't want to hurt her – physically or otherwise. And he stopped fairly quickly. And she expected him to stand up and ignore it and her reaction and just reapply the damn dressing and leave her in there so that she could collect herself or cry in shame or touch herself until she came.
But he didn't. Instead, he slowly leaned his forehead against her bare skin, right above the wound. And she could feel his breaths, deep and heavy and loud, against her. And, god, they were only human. She was only human.
And on an impulse driven by nothing that she was able to fully comprehend, she lifted one her hands and curved it, hesitantly, around the back of his head. She mindlessly rubbed formless shapes and patterns there, in his long and unkempt hair, pressing further down to his scalp underneath.
And then she felt his lips press into the lacerated skin. And she didn't know what was happening. Or if she was cheating on her fiancé right now. Or if she'd even tell him about this. If she'd tell anyone about this. If she should feel guilty – which, yes, the logical part of her brain knew that she should.
But some other part of her – a part that was growing stronger by the second – knew that they both needed this. This one small moment, after all of the other moments that'd happened over the past twenty-four hours.
And then they fucked up more. Because his tongue, hot and wet and so distant yet familiar, flicked against the scrape. Against the skin surrounding the scrape. And it was hesitant at first but then grew in fervor, like he was lost and needed this to find his way. Like he was dead and this - this - was the only way he'd find any peace. A deep sound that was something between a groan and a sob exited his mouth just as his tongue did. And just like his tongue, the sound sent a shock from her belly to her heart to her core.
And she was squirming and pushing his head harder against her, and maybe she was sobbing a little too – for so many reasons. For how wrong this was. For how right it felt. For how much she missed him. For how angry she was. For how much she loved him and always would – even if he drug her bare-assed through hot coals or castles of ice or carried her to hell.
But finally, and with what appeared to be a profound and nearly-palpable amount of effort, Daryl jerked his head backward. Suddenly. Jerkily. Away from her. And she was breathing so hard and so helplessly turned on that there was nothing she could do but stare at him and try to regulate her breathing. Try to ignore the invisible marks he'd left with his tongue – marks that she could feel, hot and wet, all over.
"Fuck, Beth," he breathed out with an uneven voice, rocking his weight back and onto his heels.
"'M sorry. Shit, I'm sorry." His eyes were wide and his mouth was partially open and his chest was heaving in time with his labored breaths.
He stood then and let his arms hang limply at his sides. And she could see a spot of her blood near the corner of his mouth. And when his tongue came out and he licked it – lapped it up like it was meant to be inside of him – she felt a sharp, distinct aching in her cunt. And he closed his eyes momentarily and released a sigh, and it reminded her of the face he'd made after licking other parts of her, before. And she didn't quite feel shameful about how wet she was, how slick her inner thighs were just then.
"Fuck. I – I'unno – I'unno what the fuck just happened. I'm – shit, I'm sorry," he repeated, biting at his thumb while maintaining a decent amount of distance between them. He was pacing a little and his eyes were shifting from hers to her wound to the floor to the door of the bathroom and back again. And she hadn't really moved yet. And no fully-formed thought had really entered her mind yet.
"'S okay," she said quietly, picking up the gauze dressing that he'd removed and reapplying it as best she could over the wound on her stomach. She pulled her shirt back down, hoping that the tingling sensation on her skin would be rubbed away by the fabric. "'S not your fault, Daryl."
"Jesus," he muttered. "The fuck am I doing?" Beth wasn't quite sure if the the words were meant more for him or for her or neither or both. Or if he'd meant to voice them at all.
"It's okay, Daryl," Beth repeated in shaky voice, trying to assemble inside her mind what'd just transpired here. "You – you just – you cleaned my wound, made it stop bleedin'. You helped me. That's all. Okay?"
And she wasn't quite sure why she was trying to comfort him. He wasn't the one engaged to be married to one person and moaning for another in small, nasty bar bathrooms.
And it wasn't as though she felt what'd happened hadn't been wrong. A lot of shit that'd gone down today hadn't been exactly right. And she'd deal with it.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For takin' care of me." And she knew she wasn't just referring to the wound care. And she only hoped that he knew it, too. That he'd be able to hear the words that she hadn't spoken.
"'S all I've ever wanted to do," he replied in a whispered voice of his own. And she knew he knew.
Beth let her eyes linger on him for a moment longer. And then she walked out of the bathroom.
Xxx
Beth returned to the bar quietly. And she quickly spotted Maggie and Glenn sitting at a corner booth. Glenn's eyes were closed and his face was pained and he was shaking his head and Maggie was turned toward him, talking quietly.
Beth stopped by the bar to grab another beer, since, for all intents and purposes, she'd mostly sobered up. And she heard Daryl exit the bathroom a few moments later.
She was standing behind the filled stools surrounding the bar, waiting for Wade to deliver her drink when she felt the presence of someone behind her. And before she could turn around, the person had covered her eyes with his – or her – hands. But they felt like the hands of a man. Not Daryl's, not quite. And definitely not Zach's. And Glenn probably couldn't even have walked over here at this point.
And then she heard his raspy voice, right in her ear.
"You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips," he crooned. And, god, the asshole still couldn't sing his way out of a wet paper bag.
She felt a smile form across her face, in spite of herself and her continual emotional turmoil.
"And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips," she finished. "And that ain't a lie. You need to get you some lotion, stat, Merle Dixon."
He released his hands and she turned around to meet the face of the older Dixon brother. And he was smiling. And he looked older, but, in all honesty, much better than the last time she'd seen him – physically, at least.
"Ain't you a sight for sore eyes, girly. An' I damn near just went home for the night. Thank the lord above for my goddamn addictions. C'mere. Give big brother some o' that sweet Beth Ann love." And then he was pulling her towards him forcefully, lifting her up and into the air by her hips and swinging her around in an overstated, theatrical fashion.
"The hell you doin' here, sweet thing? Ya lookin' just as fine as ya always have." He winked and pressed a kiss to one of her cheeks.
And, yeah, she didn't think much of him in general. But, throughout the course of her relationship with Daryl, the two had bonded. And by bonded, she meant that he'd developed some kind of respect for her over time. Because she called him out on his (frequent) bullshit. And didn't shy away from his grossly sexual innuendos, which he generally inserted as often as possible in any conversation.
"I had a free weekend," she started. But he'd grasped her hands and she could see the curiosity blooming over his features – which were rougher than Daryl's.
"The fuck's this?" He asked, yanking her left hand up and in between them, staring down at the ring on her finger. And Merle had never been one for tact. Or bullshitting. He was honest and expected honesty, and that had always been one of his more humanly and admirable qualities. But he was also impatient. And jumped to conclusions. And -
"Holy fuck, did he finally do it?" He continued, cutting off Beth's attempt at an explanation. He dropped her hand without another word and jogged toward Daryl, who was waiting for his own drink at the other end of the bar.
Confused, Beth turned her head towards them. And she saw Merle hurl his body into Daryl's, wrapping him up into a tight embrace and even picking him up and swinging him around in a fashion similar to how he'd greeted Beth moments earlier.
And she could see Daryl shaking his head and trying to explain but Merle was loud. Anything that Daryl lacked, Merle more than made up for. He was dragging Daryl behind him as he returned to Beth's side.
"I am – oh, sweet fuckin' Jesus – I am so happy right now. Fuckin' finally. You need t' wait an' see her again 'fore ya found your fuckin' balls, Darylina?" Merle laughed, patting Daryl on his back with one hand and pulling Beth tightly to his body with his other arm. "When's the goddamn weddin'? Gonna make you a Dixon yet, girl!"
"Merle," Daryl growled, flinching away from his brother. "If ya'd fuckin' listen to me you'd o' known better. Ain't – we ain't."
Merle's expression changed then, almost comically, from one of actual delight to confusion and anger.
"The fuck you mean? You mean t' tell me –"
"I'm engaged to a guy I've been seein'. In New York," Beth said quietly, not quite meeting Merle's eyes. "His name's Zach. He's gonna be here soon. We – uh – we just got engaged recently and I wanted to bring him here to meet my family."
Merle's mouth was slightly ajar and he blinked a few times as he processed what she'd said.
He dropped his hands to his sides and cut his eyes to Daryl's. And they'd always had this - some kind of silent language. At one time, it'd infuriated Beth, that she didn't know what passed between them in those looks. And she wasn't infuriated now, but she'd be lying if she didn't admit that she was curious.
She saw Daryl shake his head – so, so subtly – and shrug his shoulders. Merle nodded then, dipping his eyes to the floor.
"Good for you, sweetness," Merle said, lifting his eyes back to Beth's. "Congrats." His voice was quieter – as quiet as it could get, for Merle – and his tone was lacking in the enthusiasm and excitement with which it'd been saturated only moments earlier.
"Thanks, Merle," she said, forcing a smile.
"Got your beer, doll!" Wade's voice interrupted the conversation – or lack thereof – that'd become almost uncomfortable. There was a certain energy radiating off of Merle – his voice, his stance, his eyes, or something else entirely – that was almost choking her.
"That'd be me," she said quietly as she turned around and pushed through the drunken people sitting at the bar to get her drink.
And when she turned slowly back around to face whatever else might be in store for her, the Dixon brothers had migrated back towards the other end of the bar. And Merle was standing close to Daryl, talking at him with a kind of terseness that she didn't need to actually hear to know. And Daryl had a thumb in his mouth and his other hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans and his eyes were on the ground.
Beth sighed and walked over to the booth at which her sister and brother-in-law were sitting. She was ready to leave. She'd experienced enough excitement and heard too many confessions – and not just those from others, not just ones that were necessarily spoken – and participated in enough morally-questionable activities today to last her a lifetime.
Xxx
Another thirty minutes passed before she saw Zach finally enter the bar. He was still wearing his dressy clothes – the only kind he really owned – but she could see spots of mud and a small rip in the fabric just below the breast pocket.
But he was smiling when his eyes found hers among the small crowd of people.
She walked over to him - trying not to draw any undue attention, because she wasn't sure how she'd handle it, after everything - and he held his arms out wide for her. She pressed her body up against his, wrapping her arms around his middle as his circled her upper body, and inhaled the various scents that didn't belong to him – forest and pine and sweat.
He pressed his face down to hers and she could feel his smile against her skin.
"Missed you, babe," he whispered, placing a kiss on her cheek. And she wasn't quite ready to let go of him. Because an overwhelming pain had begun to form behind her eyes, and it sent shocks down and through her and suddenly made her want to cry and scream and run away from everything.
"Missed you, too," she murmured against his shoulder. And as she took in a few breaths to calm herself, she couldn't stop her mind from forming comparisons between the lean shape of his body – and how it felt against her and how she felt against it – to the solidity of Daryl's.
The thoughts startled her so severely that she released him and jumped back and away from him in the same moment. And he didn't appear to notice. He was still smiling and his eyes were now scanning over the bar.
"Maggie and Glenn are sittin' back there," she mumbled, half-turning so she could point him toward the booth. Glenn was at least sitting up and appeared to be coherent now. And he was drinking water (or something clear, at least), so that was promising.
"Great," he said. "I'll go and sit with them. I didn't get to talk to Glenn much this morning. Mind bringing me a drink?"
She nodded. "What ya want?"
He turned and looked over the bar for a moment. "Uh, well – do they have scotch?"
Beth smiled a little as she shook her head. He was just so clueless and out of his element, and she wondered how her father had responded to that.
"Okay well, then, I – I mean, you know what I like, babe. Just get me whatever." He pressed a light kiss to her lips and then walked passed her.
When she saw that he'd settled in the booth next to Glenn, she made her way back up to the bar.
Some of the other people had cleared out, most making use of the pool table or dart board or faux dance floor, so she took a seat at one of the barstools.
"That him?" Merle was suddenly beside her. And his face lacked its usual haughtiness. His eyes were boring into hers, almost imploring her.
She tried to brush off her initial surprise at him - at his face, at his question - as inconspicuously as possible.
She nodded. "Yep. That's him."
Merle turned his face away from hers and toward the back of the room. And Beth took the moment to look around the room, and found that Daryl was nowhere in sight. Probably outside, she figured.
"Beth Ann," he said, lowering his voice. And it wasn't like Daryl's. Not at all, save for the swearing and thick southern drawl. Its pitch was higher and it was altogether hoarser and it carried with it an air of confidence – or arrogance, depending on the context – that Daryl's had never had. "I gotta tell ya somethin'. Ain't seen ya in years. Ain't got no cell phone or no internet, else I'd o' told ya 'fore."
Beth swallowed thickly, not sure whether she was willing or even able to hear anything else. Not today. Not now. But something in his face and his eyes and his voice was just too enigmatic for her to ignore, so she nodded her head at him, granting him her permission – though he likely would've gone on with or without it – to continue.
"Just keep it 'tween you an' me, li'l sis," he said, lowering his voice more, pressing his face closer to her ear. She nodded again, almost imperceptibly.
"Baby bro's a fuckin' mess." And she almost snorted, because that was definitely not any kind of breaking news to her. "Has been. Since ya left."
"Yeah?" She breathed, feeling hot bubbles of anger in her gut. "And whose fuckin' fault is that, Merle?"
He nodded, casting his eyes down briefly before bringing them back to her face.
"I know, darlin'. He didn't just push ya away. He shoved your ass out the door. An' none o' that was right. But none o' us could get through t' him. Not then, anyhow."
"What do you mean 'none of us'?" She asked, cutting her eyes to her sister, who was laughing at something Zach was saying with his mouth and, by the looks of it, his hands.
"Don't matter. I just gotta tell ya, 'cause I know he never will. An' ain't right. For ya not t' know."
"Just fuckin' spit it out," she snapped, keeping her voice quiet despite the anger and confusion that were quickly shifting into something more like impatience and exhaustion.
"He came up there. To New York. Twice that I know 'bout. I's with him once, 'bout a year after ya left. Got to your place an' he couldn't do it. An' I gave him hell. Wouldn't let me go an' find ya, neither."
Beth felt her heart drop – though she knew that was anatomically impossible – into the pit of her stomach. Daryl had come to New York? For her? And she hadn't known about it?
"Last time, I knew somethin' happened. It wasn't that long ago, I don't think. Thought ya'll'd talked or somethin', way he was actin'. Wasn't convinced that it were anythin' good, but he seemed different when he came back."
"When?" She breathed the word out, fighting back the bile rising up and into her throat. Trying to remember to breathe. Trying to remember how.
Merle shook his head and twisted his lips into some kind of grimace. "I'unno for sure. Was thinkin' it had to be this past winter. Maybe six, seven months ago. Went by himself. An' maybe he tried goin' other times, but he told me 'bout this here last time. Told me he couldn't go on, livin' this way, not knowin' if you's a'right. Not knowin' if ya knew that all this was just a big fuckin' mistake."
Beth's eyes were still on Merle's face, but she could see the heavy rise and fall of her chest in her periphery of her vision, and just the effort to breathe seemed to cause her entire body to contract and relax and tighten and fatigue.
"Know this ain't the best time to tell ya, darlin', an' I'm sorry 'bout that. But I love him. An' it's been hell, watchin' this. Ain't himself no more. Just existin'. Hangin' out with your daddy an' takin' care o' your horse an' bringin' home bitches that he don't want nothin' to do with. Thought he might'a been – I'unno – on the upswing o' things. But I's talkin' to him earlier an' he was dead behind them eyes o' his. Like it's gonna start all over again."
Beth didn't know how much longer this conversation could go on. She needed to get Zach a drink and, honestly, she needed one for herself. She wasn't even fully comprehending any of this. She couldn't. It was too late and too much and not enough and everything and nothing - nothing at all because she was engaged and in love with someone else.
"Darlin'." And now Merle's voice had changed again, and the edges of it were soft, almost gentle. "Ain't askin' ya t' do nothin'. Ain't tellin' ya this so you'll leave everythin' an' fix my brother. Just – just needed ya t' know. Needed it for you much as I needed it for him. 'Cause, damn, I love ya both." He scrubbed a rough hand down Beth's head, tracing a strand of hair from its root to its end, and then turned on his heel and walked out of the bar.
Beth stood for a few moments, motionless, still facing the now-empty space beside her where Merle had been standing, where he'd just crushed her soul in ways she didn't know were even possible. She heaved in a deep breath and wiped her clammy hands on the front of her jeans, feeling the heavy weight of her engagement ring as it slid along the denim. She blinked several times, trying to reconcile this new information with everything else she'd learned and discovered today.
"What ya need, babe?" Wade's voice somehow reached her through all of her scattered thoughts. And she kind of wanted to hug the man for that.
"Oh, uh, d'ya have any scotch?" She muttered, taking a step closer to the bar.
He laughed a little, high and chirpy, as he shook his head and shot her look like she'd just asked if he'd gift her with a time machine.
"Just gimme whatever ya got that's – I'unno – fancy, I guess. Make it look fancy, at least. And I'll have a beer, please."
He produced the drinks a few moments later and Beth was satisfied that she hadn't let her mind wander too far away from the present. From the now. From herself, just standing there, ordering a drink for herself and her future husband.
She grabbed the bottle of beer and small glass of iced-down amber-colored liquid – she didn't even ask what it was – and headed toward the back of the bar.
Xxx
"One drink an' we head home?" Maggie asked, stifling a yawn.
Beth was milking every drop of her beer. She tried to engage her mind in the conversation – which was mostly just Zach, talking about his day with Hershel. She could tell he was faking his enthusiasm when he spoke about the day's activities, which included a trip to the shooting range, a brief (and unsuccessful) fishing trip, and a hike through the wooded areas surrounding the farm. He didn't delve into anything specific that he may've discussed with her father, only commented at regular and almost-predictable intervals that he was "such an amazing man."
She tried to keep her eyes off of Daryl, who'd just returned from what she guessed was either a long smoke break or a simple moment to himself (and she envied that). He'd taken a seat at the bar and Merle had joined him shortly after.
"Oh, hey, isn't that Mr. Dixon?" Zach's voice pierced through her thoughts. And it shouldn't have been any surprise, because of course she'd heard that. He'd mentioned him.
"Mr. Dixon!" Zach yelled through his hands, which he'd cupped around his mouth. And his words were a bit slurred, which made Beth feel a little guilty because she probably should've asked Wade what kind of drink he'd made for him.
Daryl's and Merle's heads turned around, almost at the same time, toward the back of the room. Zach was waving his hand now, gesturing for Daryl to join them.
With some kind of reluctance – which was probably invisible to anyone except Beth – Daryl climbed down off of the stool, Merle on his heels, and walked over to the table with a slow but controlled gait.
Maggie jumped up from where she sat next to Beth almost instantly, taking a seat on the side of the booth next to Glenn and Zach.
"Mr. Dixon! I'm so glad to see you again," Zach said, extending his hand. "God, if there's one thing I learned today, it's that Hershel loves you, man. I almost felt inadequate, the way he spoke about you. He thinks and talks of you as a son. So it's almost like I'm going to be gaining three brothers-in-law instead of two!"
Beth choked a little on her drink at the implications. And as she tried to minimize the aspiration of the fluid into her lungs, she glanced at Maggie.
Maggie leaned forward with narrowed eyes and a half-smirk across her face. "Be careful, Beth. Wouldn't want the wonderful Mr. Dixon to have to give ya the Heimlich." Beth gave her a smug look and a middle finger and finally stopped coughing.
Daryl's expression was unreadable, but he briefly shook hands with Zach.
"Sit down, please," Zach said, waving his hand at the empty spot next to Beth.
Daryl glanced at the space – after briefly locking eyes with Beth, who scooted herself over and closer to the wall to give him room, because, honestly it'd be a little suspicious for her to deny Zach's request – and then sat down with a quiet sigh.
"Howdy, there, folks," Merle said, voice sounding much more like it always had. "I'm the other Mr. Dixon. The better-lookin' one." He smiled widely and took it upon himself to grab Zach's hand. And the handshake was far less friendly than the one he'd shared with Daryl – Beth could tell by the way Zach's lips twitched, just a little, after Merle released his hand.
"That's Merle," Maggie groaned. "The bane of all of our existences." Glenn laughed a little, coming back to life.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Merle. I'm Zach, Beth's – "
"Yeah, yeah, kid. I know," Merle cut him off, grabbing a chair from an empty table adjacent to the booth. He flipped it around backwards and sat down, folding his elbows across the high back of it, and leaned forward.
Zach's brows furrowed and his were lips turned down at the corners and Beth was certain now that, if he hadn't already been offended today, it'd finally happened. And she felt a bit of relief that it'd been at the hands of Merle because, really, it wasn't uncommon to be offended by the crass man.
Merle began drilling Zach with questions. About his upbringing. His work. How he and Beth had met. And Beth had mostly zoned out, at least from the conversation.
She was acutely aware of Daryl's body – and the heat radiating from it – next to her. How tense his shoulders were. How he was pretending to listen. How he was pretending that he wasn't just as aware of her beside him.
She doubted that Merle had told him that he'd told Beth about his trips to New York. Wasn't like Merle to do that, unless he were being spiteful. And she felt like their relationship had changed drastically over the last few years. That Merle wouldn't do things with the sole intention of hurting his brother, not anymore.
But she knew now. And the information had flipped her world upside down on its axis. Because why hadn't he told her about it? Especially when he'd been so forthcoming just a few hours ago. Especially when, for all he or either of them knew, this could be his last chance to tell her.
She needed to talk to him. Maybe it wasn't right, either – but she could mull over that later, and she surely would - along with the several other questionable things that'd happened. But she couldn't go back to New York tomorrow knowing this and not knowing why he'd omitted that information. Why he'd come, why he'd left without seeing her. What it meant – then or now or tomorrow or next week.
"We should probably go, guys," she said quietly.
Glenn nodded. "Please. We've been here for an embarrassingly long time. An' I've embarrassed myself enough for one day. An' Mama Greene's makin' supper."
They stood up and prepared to leave. Zach had been surprisingly fine with riding back to the farm with Glenn and Maggie. And why wouldn't he be? They were his future in-laws. Beth should've felt ecstatic and overcome with love and all of the other emotions surrounding the beginnings of a loving relationship between her family and her future husband, but her mind was skewed by guilt, which still wasn't gnawing at her as sharply as it probably should've been.
"See ya'll in a li'l bit," Beth waved as Glenn – who was thankfully now sober enough to drive – and Maggie and Zach pulled out of the parking lot.
"C'mere, Beth Ann," Merle said. He wasn't leaving but had followed them outside to see them off. Daryl was standing off to the side of their triangular formation, kicking the gravel around with his boot with his eyes trained on the ground.
Beth went to him and she was seriously losing her shit, because she felt tears stinging her eyes as she wrapped her arms around Merle's shoulders and pressed her face into the side of his neck. And tiny, uncontrollable sobs were raking through her body, shaking her shoulders.
He squeezed her tightly and ran a hand through the hair that cascaded down her back.
"I love ya, baby sis," he said quietly, and his own voice was a little rough. "Always have an' always will. An' life's what ya make of it. Y'ain't gotta do nothin' that don't feel right. Always gonna have us an' your family. Gonna love the shit outta your spunky ass 'til the world ends."
He released her and backed up a step or two, though his hands remained latched onto her arms. "Things don't work out with country boy, ya know ol' Merle's always here. I'm a good lay." He winked. And it was playful and exactly like she remembered – when he'd tease her and Daryl, when he'd say, "glad you're gettin' her warmed up for me, baby bro" and, "the older the Dixon the better the dicks are". And she didn't have it in her to shoot any kind of witty retort at him, not now. But she smiled and told him she missed him and loved him, too.
And after the brothers waved each other off with mumbled "later"s, she followed Daryl to his motorcycle.
Xxx
Beth was feeling like she really should've put some more consideration into this entire riding-home-with-Daryl situation. Because just the sight of him on that bike made her insides tense up.
They hadn't spoken. Not since the bathroom, really. Or, she guessed, not since during Merle's inquisition, though she didn't really count that as them talking. And the silence wasn't exactly uncomfortable. But it was thick and full of something – questions, answers, feelings; she didn't know.
Her legs were shaking a little as she swung one over the side of the bike, crawling onto the back of it. And she remembered what he'd said – about not being able to think about her body up against his and her thighs around his torso – and she knew her face was flushed.
She scooted herself forward, straddling the bike, and pushed herself up against his back. Because that's what motorcycle passengers were supposed to do. She couldn't just not hold onto him – though she'd entertained various scenarios in which she could maybe lean backward and hold onto the hot panels of the bike. And she knew that, even if she tried not to, he'd insist.
The roar of the engine and the sound of the wind whooshing around her was loud enough to dull her thoughts for a while. And she hadn't been on a motorcycle since she and Daryl had been together. And she fucking loved it. Always had. She was scared, maybe, the first time. But he was experienced and smooth and in control, always. So she let herself enjoy the distantly familiar rush of adrenaline that was singing in her blood.
But she wasn't letting this - them - end with a meaningless bike ride home and a silent goodbye. She couldn't.
So when they were about halfway home, she squeezed her arms – which were wrapped around his middle – as tight as she could to get his attention. And his abdomen tightened and she almost made a noise when she felt the defined ridges of the contracted muscles there.
She leaned forward and pressed her head onto his shoulder and her mouth was inches from his ear. And she'd been about to yell at him, to ask him to stop, when he turned his head back toward her – and the action caused her mouth to make contact with the shell of his ear.
And that had effectively accomplished what she'd been trying to do, because he skidded the bike to a stop. They were out in the middle of nowhere. Some country road that was surrounded on either side by the high stalks of corn. It was almost like a tunnel, except for the black but clear and starry sky above them.
"Sorry," she said quietly when he cut the engine. "I was gonna ask you to stop anyway."
"The hell for?" He asked, climbing off of the bike after he'd slanted down the kickstand with a boot.
He stood a few feet away, watching her face. Waiting. He didn't seem or look impatient, though his words sounded that way.
She swung one leg over the bike, remaining seated on it. Turned her body fully toward his. And she was momentarily distracted by the calming sounds of the insects chirping and the crunch of the gravel beneath his feet and the smell of the ripening crops.
"Need to talk," she said simply.
"So talk," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. And this was his defensive stance, she knew. She knew. Probably thought he'd done something wrong, because that was the way his mind worked. And she let herself admire the effect the position of his arms had on his muscles, which were silhouetted beautifully by the dim light of the moon and the shadows created by the tall stalks behind and in front of him.
"Actually," she said, redirecting her attention to her purpose. "I think you oughtta be the one talkin'."
"The fuck ya want me to say, Beth? Ain't I said enough?" She cringed a little at the exhaustion in his voice.
"I want you," she said, briefly pausing, trying to decide how to form the words she was about to say. "I want you to tell me why you came to New York. And why you didn't tell me 'bout it."
He was silent, just staring at her. And the rate of his breathing had increased, just slightly. And his eyes weren't static. He looked uncomfortable but there was a softness somewhere in his features – and understanding – and that gave her the confidence to push him. Because maybe that's what she should have done before. Maybe that's what she should've been doing all along.
"This is it, Daryl. This is all we got. Don't you understand that? Don't you fuckin' get it? I felt it. I feel it, too. And I'm so fucked up right now, but if you don't – if you don't wanna talk about it. Right here. Right now. Then you're never gonna get to." And she'd let a little of the frustration she'd been feeling for the last half of the night creep into her voice. Because it was frustrating. To be so fucking confused. To want to know something just as badly as she didn't and couldn't want to know it.
He sighed, then. And the look on his face matched what she was feeling with an unbelievable likeness.
But he stepped toward her and pressed a shaking hand to the side of her face. And she let him. And maybe she leaned into it, just a little. And she knew, then, that he was going to talk.
He looked at her with those eyes – those icy, fiery blue eyes that could kill her and give her life and take everything she had and give her everything she'd ever wanted – and opened his mouth to speak.
