A/N: Thank you for all the reviews/follows/favourites and to anyone who may have read it and enjoyed it. Special thank you to carpediem-365 who rec'd this little fic on tumblr. It was a pleasant surprise to see it pop up during my daily lurk of the bethyl tag. This is my longest and favourite chapter so far, so I do hope you all enjoy it.
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19.
Annie pushes the food around on her plate, eying it warily. Eying them warily. She refuses to hold the baby.
"You can trust them," Beth tells her quietly, in the room they share because they're not quite ready to let go of that closeness, let go of the sense of security that comes with knowing that someone has your back.
Even in this fortress like house. Even surrounded by family.
"I just need time."
Beth forgets that she's seen more than she'll ever be able to fathom.
It's easy to fall back into old habits, waking up with Judith's cries, singing her to sleep, but it's Carol's lingering when she feeds the baby and Tyreese's sudden appearance seconds after her when Judith starts crying that reminds her that it's not like that anymore.
Hasn't been for a while.
Beth needs to learn to let go of her old roles. Needs to embrace her new ones.
Hunter. Protector.
Beth Greene, ladies and gentlemen.
It's refreshing how Tyreese and Carol don't try to stop her from going outside the walls. She tells them a bit about after the prison; tells them she got out with Daryl, tells them they got separated. Tells them that's how she met up with Annie.
Met up. She doesn't lie, but she doesn't elaborate on the truth. She doesn't think she could stand their pity, their realisations about the horrifying fate they narrowly avoided. Beth doesn't think about it, doesn't dwell. The nightmares are commonplace now and she's learned to wake up without screaming.
Small victories and the like.
"We aren't safe there," Annie says firmly, her nimble fingers setting snares, tying together branches, "One man, two women, a girl, and a baby."
"We're well hidden," Beth tells her gently, "remember how hard it was for us to find the house?"
"What if they leave us?" Annie whispers, crouched down. There's a faint sniffle and Beth kneels beside her, embracing the girl who is trying her best not to cry.
"They won't."
Beth tries to sound sure, tries to sound determined. But she hears the hope in her voice and they both know that hope alone won't save them. As nice as it sounds.
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xix.
Her name is Annie and she is a wolf.
That's the best way to describe her, Beth determines, as the young girl watches her family with a sharp eye, her weapon never far from her reach. She stays close to Carol, to Tyreese. Closer to Judith, and she overhears Carol quietly telling her Rick is her father before she backs off with a cautious okay.
Tyreese doesn't elaborate on how they came to be a group of four. There's a vague she found us that breaks her heart a little and when she tries to speak to the girl, she gives her a piercing glare and leaves the room.
Beth tries not to take it personally, but still, it stings.
She forgot how much she missed this, staying awake with Judith, which sounds ridiculous to even herself. The baby is restless and teething and as Beth moves from the small room she shares with Carol, she already can hear the petering out of small cries, a faint, but steady voice singing a lullaby not meant for little children.
The blood was dry it was sober
The feeling of audible cracks
And I could tell it was over
From the curtains that hung from your neck…
"Her mother died when she was born."
Carol's voice is loud in the silence and Beth jumps in her spot by the door, startling much easier even when surrounded by so many familiar faces.
"Like Lori?"
Her silence is confirmation.
"Men killed her father, not walkers. Men took her to be sold, but she escaped."
"She's strong," Beth observes, listening to the girl's haunting song.
"Stronger than most. Poor thing had to be, even before the turn. She's been fighting her guilt her whole life and she doesn't want Judith to have to do the same."
"No one does."
"And she won't," Carol says firmly, "Not while you're still breathing. Not while we're all here, alive and fighting."
"I always wanted to be a mother," Beth whispers, the words tasting familiar, comforting, and warm.
"You are," Carol murmurs, "oh, sweet girl, you are."
This world makes orphans of them all. But even amongst so much death and destruction, there is still love.
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20.
She goes on a run with Carol, leaving Tyreese with Annie and Judith, much to the younger girl's chagrin. It's part of her plan; the girl needs to learn to trust. She spent too long creating a warrior, teaching her how to survive, that she's stopped living. Stopped laughing. And Beth blames herself.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
In the small corner store, Beth packs her back with toiletries and baby supplies, trying to ignore the stench of the twice dead body by the door. There's not many non-perishables left, but there's enough to call this run a success.
"Talk about what?" Beth hums, checking the expiration dates on baby food.
"What happened to you and Annie."
She drops the small jar and it shatters.
"Beth?"
"I don't want to talk about it," she says firmly, trying to still her shaking hands.
Carol glances at her, eyes wary.
"Were you raped, Beth?"
"No!" she snaps, "Lord no."
"Did they hurt you? Annie?"
"I was taken," Beth offers reluctantly, "Annie, well, she was taken too, but it was worse. They, they killed her father. There was a whorehouse-"
"Was?" Carol interrupts.
"We burnt it down."
"Oh," Carol nods, lips pursed, "they do that to your hair?"
Beth barks a laugh. She's forgotten about that. Between running for their lives and trying to keep it all together, she'd forgotten her blonde locks had been replaced by chocolate brown.
"Yeah," Beth tugs on her ponytail, "they were grooming us. To be sold."
Carol's look is one of pure pity, her stance poised to embrace her, to comfort her when she inevitable breaks down.
But it's not going happen. Not here, not now.
Not ever if she can help it.
"I'm not a victim," Beth sighs, "please don't treat me like one."
The nod Carol offers her is heavy with understanding and Beth remembers that she lived a life of pain and then some before the turn, lost her daughter after, and everything to this point has been a chain of reactions, for better or worse.
For her family, for their survival.
And Beth can't fault her for that.
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xx.
She spends several fruitless days trying to address the awkwardness between them that the only thing she achieve is more awkwardness.
Maggie observes with a sharp eye and Glenn with an amused one. Even Rick watches them with a wary hesitancy, like he's debating whether or not to ask the question that everyone is wondering.
What's going on between you two?
Nothing. Everything. Something.
Who knows?
And she wants so desperately to find out.
So she volunteers to go hunting with him. And by volunteers, she means she tags along, without his permission. But she's rusty and her footsteps are too heavy and by his stance, she can tell she's quickly becoming a hindrance. A burden she never wanted to become.
He throws an arm out to stop her, signalling her to be quiet while he points towards the distance.
It's a deer and her breath catches in her throat. He thrusts the crossbow into her arms.
"Take the shot."
She accepts the weapon, albeit hesitantly. It's a familiar weight, but still, he adjusts her arms so she has a firmer grip. She lines up her target, taking a few careful steps closer.
When she fires the bolt and the animal goes down, she calls 'beginner's luck'.
Daryl nods approvingly and she frowns.
"What?"
"Nothing," she sighs, moving towards the animal.
"Don't play that game, Greene, Daryl snaps, "I don't need that bullshit."
The words sting in the way they had at the moonshine shack. She whirls around, getting up into her face.
Like before.
"Fine." Beth bites, "Fine, Daryl, no games. Cards on the table – I want you."
His silence is expected and she continues on her tirade.
"And I'm sick and tired of tip-toeing around us, like, one moment you can't tear your eyes away, and the next your avoiding me for days. I want you. You want me. Can't that be enough?"
Daryl sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
"It's not that simple, Beth."
"Look around," Beth throws her arms out, gesturing wildly, "nothing is. We fight so hard for every scrap of happiness that it almost kills us. I want to enjoy that happiness."
She's panting, in that rushed sort of way that comes with desperate thoughts said aloud. And he's looking at her in that way that makes her want him, want him in a way she's never wanted Jimmy or Zach, a way that burns her up at night, in the small room she shares with Carol, with him just down the hall.
"What do you want, Daryl?"
A lifetime could pass between them in the few minutes he takes to deliberate her question, before he steps close, hands framing her cheeks. One hand moves to tangle in her ponytail, touching the small braid with the utmost of care.
"You. I want you too."
And when he closes the distance, his lips pressing against hers in a kiss that is the complete opposite of that in the foyer. It's hard and filled with longing and desperation, their teeth clashing and tongues battling and all she can do is hang on.
It is rough and primal and filled with every word, every syllable that he'll never say aloud.
It's a love poem set on fire.
It's everything she wanted.
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21.
It's anti-climatic, really. Their reunion.
Beth supposes, at the end of the day, that she only has herself to blame. Too many nights spent in the whorehouse praying for his arrival, upon his motorbike, brandishing the crossbow, ready to kill everyone is his path. Then there were the woods, keeping watch, dreaming that one day the signs would be all there and they would lead her to him.
But it's Annie and Beth strolling into the house after a hunt, giggling about something stupid, reunion already in progress. And she stands silently on the outskirts, just watching, because this is all she dreamed of; Tyreese reunited with his sister, Judith, sweet Judith, in the arms of her father and brother. Annie squeezes her hand, pushing her forward into the fray.
And there's shocked silence.
Maggie bursts into tears, unable to move and it's Daryl, Daryl Dixon, who steps forward from his own corner, throwing down his crossbow and sweeping her into his arms. As quick as he has embraced her, he pushes her away, murmuring nonsense to the curious crowd. But Maggie in quick to fill his place; teary eyed and joyful and she hugs her for a good five minutes straight.
It's an hour before she's able to step out and breath and lord knows she's never felt so loved.
"That your boyfriend?" Annie calls out, perched on the swing. In the distance, by the fence line, Daryl paces. He hears her, she can tell, but ignores them.
"Not my boyfriend, Annie," Beth sighs, joining her on the other swing. She kicks her legs up, pushing herself into the air and the younger girl follows suit.
They're flying.
Annie jumps mid-swing, landing hard on her knees, but she simply stands, brushing herself off.
"Hey, Beth's non-boyfriend!"
Daryl turns at the sound and Annie scampers away, laughing.
"Brat!" Beth calls out, slowing her swings. By the time he reaches her, she's stopped, feet digging into the dirt.
"Where'd you find her?" Daryl asks gruffly, glancing in the direction that Annie disappeared in.
"She just appeared," Beth jokes weakly, not quite ready to tell him the truth. He can tell, to her relief, and he lets it slide.
"Good," Daryl says, finally, "I'm glad you weren't, uh, alone."
"I wasn't," Beth says quickly, eager to ease his guilt, "even when I was, it felt like you were there. You and Maggie and everyone." She glances down shyly, "You all kept me going."
He's quiet, gnawing his lip and as she kicks her heels into the dirt.
"I missed you like hell, Greene."
And there it is.
"Yeah," Beth smiles gently, "I knew you would."
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xxi
In the days that follow, they move from 'Beth and Daryl' towards 'BethandDaryl', much to the amusement/wariness/surprise/nonchalance of the others.
Maggie is hesitant, naturally, but it's not a new concept, not for her at least, and she gently gives them her blessing, her words heavy with worry.
It's all new, all daunting and they decide to ere on the side of caution. They go about their daily chores, they share their meals with their family. She still sleeps in the small room with Carol, he still sleeps down the hall. It's the small moments that they steal, by the swing set, in the library. In corners, in shadows, in the rare moments of privacy and silence.
Beth slowly returns to looking after Judith, after Rick hesitantly asks her one day. And of course she's eager; there's no doubt in her heart the extent to which she loves that little girl. There's no limit to what she would do to keep her safe.
So she resumes her nightly duties, waking to her cries, then soothing them; singing her to sleep.
"She like Fleetwood Mac."
Mid song, Beth pauses, glancing at the girl in the doorway. Annie leans against he door jam, hair hanging in her face.
It hits Beth that maybe this was her job; maybe this was her own small comfort in a world gone to hell. Singing songs to a little girl, making the night a little less desolate.
"Any in particular?" Beth asks carefully.
Lovely Judy, can you see
Where it is you're meant to be
Where you lay your head tonight
May the stars find your light
Her voice is husky, with an edge that lingers throughout the soft, manipulated lullaby. Beth rocks Judith, who indeed settles, appearing on the cusp of sleep.
"That's real pretty," Beth offers, sincerely.
"My daddy was a big fan," Annie shares quietly, "Used to call me his songbird."
Beth smiles, before passing the baby into her arms.
"You want to put her down for me? I don't think I can stay awake any longer." The lie is effortless and obvious, but the younger girl beams.
"Sure."
Beth falls asleep listening to songs about landslides and seven wonders and dreams. Beth falls asleep listening to a young girl who is just starting to heal.
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22.
She wakes up for the first time in forever feeling safe.
Someone is cooking breakfast, no lie. There are eggs and tomatoes and canned ham and she feels like she could be dreaming. Annie wakes suddenly, jolting up like a jack-knife, sniffing the air tentatively.
"Holy shit."
Beth would have chastised her, were she not so inclined to echo her sentiment.
Slipping on her boots, she leaves the younger girl to sleep in a little more, making her way down the stairs towards to kitchen to offer her assistance. It's music to her ears, Maggie and Sasha laughing as they cook up their morning feast and Tyreese perches on a barstool, holding a cheerful, squirming Judith. Glenn is playing cards with one of the newcomers, Carl, and Bob. The laughter makes her heart swell.
This is her family and they found her.
"Morning, hon," Carol greets her kindly, "help me set the table?"
The long trellis table seats about twenty, but Beth hazards a guess that maybe that many lived here at some stage, photos around the house depicting that of a rather large family. Carol places the plates down, while Beth trails behind her with cutlery. Annie arrives just as they finish, yawning and stretching.
"Just in time," Carol smiles, "you can help Sasha and Maggie bring the food over. "I'm going to round everyone up."
Annie scampers off obediently and Beth laughs. Maggie deposits a tray of roasted tomatoes, seasons with dried herbs they found in the overflowing pantry. Tugging her hair, Maggie sits down, sighing dramatically.
"Didn't realise cooking for this many people was so hard," she complains good-naturedly, looking up and down the empty table.
"You just got out of it at the prison," Beth teases, and Maggie jabs her in the side, chuckling. The others start to trickle in, drawn over by the delicious fragrances. Daryl slips in beside her, Glenn beside Maggie and Beth wonders momentarily, that if in another life, another universe, this might have been reminiscent of Sunday dinners at the farm. The Greene girls and their significant others.
Because Daryl Dixon is significant to her.
She feels that familiar tugging at her heart, the one that threatens to consume her, in a good way. Annie is all smiles as she places a bowl on the table, Tyreese flicking her ponytail affectionately. Rick cradles Judith and even the newcomers look at ease, digging in enthusiastically.
"Maybe you could sing us something later, Bethy," Maggie says affectionately.
"Maybe," Beth smiles noncommittally, and leaves her answer to be forgotten.
She's nowhere near resembles the girl she once was, at least, not in her eyes. These scars aren't visible, but she feels them as if they were.
But it's getting easier to cover them. It's getting easier to forget that they're there.
And maybe, one day, they'll just be a thin, pale line on her soul, so far from her reality that they only manifest themselves in nightmares.
Maybe. One day.
Here's hoping.
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xxii.
From the moment they go quasi-public with their relationship (the word feels like sand in her mouth), it's almost like he's staked a claim.
On her. On her safety and wellbeing.
It's touching, it's confusing, it's sweet, it's weird.
Definitely weird.
He's her third boyfriend (another word that doesn't quite feel right), but he's so different, so unlike the others, that she feels like she's starting from scratch.
And maybe in some ways she is.
He's hesitant to touch her, but he's always in her peripheral, always lingering close by. Making sure she's fed and warm and god, some days she thinks that if she asked for the sun, he'd give it to her. Or even looked at it, for that matter. He's trying to anticipate her every want and need and desire and this isn't what she wants, to be some post-apocalyptic deity to be worshipped from a far. She is a woman, made of flesh and bone, bent but not broken.
He'd place her in a glass box, if he could. Put her on a high shelf; hide her away from the world.
But that's no way to live.
When she cuts her hand on a frayed edge of a wire scourer, she lets out a surprise shriek of pain. He's by her side in seconds, pushing Maggie to the side, cradling her hand in her palm and crowding her against the sink. Shielding her, she corrects herself because this is what it is; Daryl Dixon throwing himself between her and danger. Even when danger is her overenthusiastic scrubbing and a worn cleaning implement.
He ignores Carol who appears with a first aid kit, ignores Rick and Glenn who hover in the doorway, drawn in by the commotion and now watching the scene unfold. He grabs a dish towel and dampens it, wiping away the blood that has already slowed to a trickle. His hand shakes almost imperceptibly, and she feels her throat constricting.
"I'm fine, Daryl, it's just a scratch. Nothing to save me from here."
His head snaps up, eyes flashing with an emotion she doesn't quite recognise. Grabbing her wrist, he drags her from the kitchen, through the small, curious crowd and up to his room.
"Beth," he murmurs, eyes cast downwards, as if he's preparing for what he's going to say. But he quickly changes his mind, instead retrieving a bandage and a small tube of antiseptic cream from his pack, treating her hand with the utmost of care.
"You don't have to protect me 24/7, Daryl Dixon," Beth says softly, his fingers lingering over her bandaged wound.
"Yeah, I do," Daryl says gruffly, "Ain't never had anything like this before. Anything that was mine and mine alone. Ain't never had anything that I'd gladly die to protect."
"Daryl, you don't have to-"
"Nah, Beth, you don't get it," he interrupts, looking her straight in the eye, "I need to. Let me do this, Beth. Let me be selfish and keep you safe."
She nods slowly, reaching up with her good hand to trace the contours of his jaw.
"Okay, Daryl Dixon. Okay."
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23.
She keeps her old routines and that, perhaps, is her error. It's been Annie and Beth VS. the World for so long that it's become their mantra, and as she slips out of the house at first light, she knows Annie's not far behind. When Beth ties up her heavy boots, Annie does the same. Identical brown knots at the top of their heads, knives sheaved on their hip, empty duffle bags slung over their shoulders. They found a house last run full of baby things; toys and clothes and formula, and it felt like they hit the jackpot. Between reunions and the awkward adjustment period of everyone being back together under one roof, they hadn't had the chance to go back.
This morning is their chance.
They are cautious, but fill the silence with soft chatter. Watching the young girl open up and interact with her family warms her heart; she explains in detail the new techniques Michonne has been teaching her, and the comics her and Carl found in a box in the attic. It brings her a sense of peace knowing that maybe, finally, she can have the chance to just be a girl, not something to be bought or sold, but something to be loved. To be cherished. To be free.
The day brings good weather and good luck. They make it to the house with ease, encountering neither human nor walker. As well as baby things, there's a well stocked first aide kit and a better stocked wet bar.
Annie eyes Beth as she shoves a few bottles in the duffle.
"You gonna burn something down?"
Beth throws her a sly smile.
"Gonna drink it this time."
She puts down two walkers on the way home, easily and cleanly and Annie crows about having luck on her side and how it must be a Monday, because Mondays were always her lucky days. And Beth just laughs, humming Manic Monday because her Mama loved The Bangles and Annie admits her Daddy did too and there's something about 80's girl bands that stir feelings of sisterhood and solidarity.
And apparently rage, in the form of Daryl Dixon, who storms towards them as soon as they reach the house, his strides long and anger radiating off him.
"Are you out of your mind, girl!"
Beside her, Annie flinches and Beth nudges her to run along; this is not her fight, she is not the subject of his fury. But Annie stands strong, fourteen and fearless and Beth has to give her credit for that. Regardless, Beth nudges the girl again, giving her a slow nod and Annie scampers off with the bags.
"You shoudn't scare her like that, Daryl," Beth admonishes, glaring at him. He grabs her arm, pulling her away from the house.
"Good," he snaps, "she should be scared of me. She should be scared of what's out there."
"What's your problem?" Beth yells, shaking her arm loose.
"My problem?" Daryl stares at her like she's out of her mind, "What's my problem? What's your problem, Greene? Why the fuck do you think it's a good idea to sneak out at the crack of dawn without telling anyone? And taking a goddamn kid with you?"
She flinches, but doesn't back down.
"This is what I do now," she bites back, "this is who I am. I don't need your permission, I don't need anyone's permission."
"Christ, Greene," he snaps, "that's not even the point! The point is that I…that we woke up and you were gone. Do you know what it's like…"
To lose you. He doesn't say it, doesn't need to, not when it's painted across his features, the fear and the despair and the anguish. And she feels guilty, feels like, yeah, she's in the wrong, that a whole multitude of things could have happened and sometimes she feels a bit invincible. A bit like a cat with nine lives and she's got more than enough left.
More than that, though, she feels like she's let him down.
"I'm sorry," she says softly, sincerely, trying to get him to look her in the eye, "I truly am."
"You survived," Daryl says quietly, scuffling his boots on the dirt, "you made it. Guess you don't need anybody for anything anymore."
Her heart breaks a little and her voice wavers.
"I wanted you to save me," she murmurs, "had all these dreams where you'd swoop in and rescue me, and we'd ride off on your motorcycle, everything burning behind us. They were so real and so vivid that I started to wish for nightmares instead. But you don't have nightmares when you're living one."
"Beth-"
"I saved myself," she interrupts, grabbing his hand, pulling him closer, "there aren't any damsels in distress anymore. None that truly make it."
"I ran," he swallows thickly, "all night and day until I hit the crossroads…"
"I know," Beth squeezes his hand, "I know you would never have stopped looking."
The air around them is heavy, time seeming to stop. So much silence, so much weight in that one, single moment. Unspoken emotions and sentiments, returned tenfold. His eyes screaming forgive me, hers staring back intently, there's nothing to forgive.
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xxiii.
When he comes back from a hunt with human blood, not walker blood, on his hands, he brings with him a new intensity that flips their entire relationship on its axis.
It isn't hesitant. It isn't careful. It is needy and determined and it makes her burn from the inside out.
Maggie notices this too, and with as much grace, as much stoicism as she can muster, thrusts a handful of condoms in her hand and tells her to be careful and to be smart.
Smart. Of course.
Still, Maggie's guarded acceptance warms her heart.
"What happened?" she whispers, in his room, when he returns from his watch. Her nightgown feels too thin, looks too white, and his eyes linger on the straps that refuse to sit upon her shoulder.
"Nothing," he mutters and she frowns.
"Why were you covered with fresh blood?"
"Leave it alone, Beth."
"Daryl…"
"I did what I had to do," he snaps, piercing the silence, "and I'd do it again."
"Where there many?" Beth whispers, her hair falling in her face.
"There were enough."
"Where they…bad?"
The question feels awkward and childish. She knows there's no black and white anymore, and even though she believes in good people, she knows that even they might not be plain as day.
"They knew we were here," he says quietly, "had been watching us. Watching you. Knew your name. So I killed them."
It's probably not the right thing, to kiss him after he's confessed to killing a whole group of people for her. It's not something that should feel romantic, not something that should fill her with warmth and longing. But she shudders against him, her hands gripping his shoulders clumsily, pressing herself into him.
He's a tightly wound elastic band. And in that moment, he snaps.
When he throws her on the bed, she lands with a bounce, breathless and anxious with anticipation. He hovers over her, watching her and she can only imagine how she looks to him; blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, clad in white like some kind of virgin bride. It's not a lie, though, she is, and his eyes darken as she bites her lip, feeling the heat pool between her legs.
"I want this," she breathes, "I want you."
And maybe that sets something off within him, some kind of wild creature that she's released from its cage. Any semblance of restraint, any hesitance he once had is thrown to the wind when his hands slip to the hem of her nightgown, slipping it up over her head and throwing it to the ground.
"Fuck."
She raises up to meet his lips, harsh and biting and god, he has her moaning like some kind of wanton woman. His hands trail her body, setting every nerve ending alight. His fingers skim the edge of her panties, dipping under the thin fabric and thrusting up into her core.
"How are you this tight?" he breathes, his thumb moving to circle her clit, her breathing laboured, "How are you even real?"
"Maybe this is a dream," she whimpers, writhing around as his fingers continue their steady rhythm.
He captures her lips in another bruising, breath stealing kiss, swallowing her cries that threaten to wake their household.
"If it is, I never want to wake up."
And god, if his words don't make her even more needy, begging for him, begging for him to love her in that way she's never experienced. She pushes his hands away, moving for his belt quickly so he'd know she wasn't rejecting him, but encouraging him. He toes his boots off, his jeans quickly following and she fumbles around on his bedside table for a condom Maggie had provided.
He takes her breath away, literally and figuratively and as she stares at him (all of him) she can only murmur a soft oh.
So much weight placed in such a small word, such a seemingly small reaction that speaks volumes. They've built a foundation on that word. They've built a relationship. They've fallen in love.
Love.
She certainly feels love when he pushes inside her. Certainly feels love as he wipes away the tears that involuntarily slip down her cheeks and she fights through the stinging pain. Certainly feels love as she moans his name and she writhes beneath him and he breathes out her name like a prayer.
She feels it, but doesn't say it, doesn't need to, not when it's so clear in everything they do.
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24.
Winter doesn't sneak, it attacks with full force. The house proves time and time again to be their personal miracle; from the running water to the basement filled with food.
And the fireplace; large and inviting and warm.
She doesn't sing, not yet. Doesn't feel quite like herself and the only songs that come to her are dark and melancholic and not of the uplifting variety that the group so often needs.
Instead, they play the old, familiar game of I Miss. It ranges from hamburgers to waxing to slip and slides and as they list items, it starts to get a little ridiculous and a lot silly and it's a moment that Beth files away for later, when the nights are dark and their spirits darker.
"I miss my X-Box," Glenn chuckles, rolling his eyes, "just wasting the day away, talking trash to pre-teens online."
"Robbie had an old game boy," Annie pipes up, "I taught him how to play Pokemon. Rowhan always kept a stash of batteries on hand."
Beth feels her blood go cold and the breath leave her body. Feels the panic rise and the room close in and for a moment, she is back in the whorehouse, back in her prison.
"Annie…"
"I'm sorry," she younger girl looks horrified, "I mean, he was nice to me, I sometimes forget-"
"We don't forget," Beth interrupts, "we can't forget."
Beth's voice is hard and Annie lowers her head. The group watch them curiously and Beth prepares herself for the inevitable.
"Who is Rowhan?"
Carol's voice is soft, cautious, and Beth lets out a shallow breath.
"He owned a whorehouse."
"Oh my god," Maggie breathes, her hand coming to her mouth, "when Daryl said you were taken…"
"We were going to be sold," Beth says quietly, tugging at the frayed edge of her sweater, "but we escaped."
Daryl stands, his footsteps loud, and the door slams behind him.
"Beth, why didn't you tell us?" Maggie asks softly, "Why didn't you tell me?"
But she doesn't hear her, not when she's already on her feet, chasing Daryl out of the door.
"I'll kill him," Daryl snaps, crossbow in hand, "just tell me where this place is and I swear to god I'll kill."
"He's dead," Beth states calmly, "I burnt it down and put it behind me."
Like the moonshine shack.
Daryl paces, his footsteps heavy, before he throws a punch at the nearest object, that being the metal pole of the swing set.
"Fuck!" He yells, slamming his palm repeatedly against the metal, "fuck, fuck, fuck!"
"Daryl," Beth places her hand on his arm, but he shakes her off, anger radiating off him. "Daryl, please look at me!"
He does and the look he gives her, full of hopelessness and desperation and guilt, absolutely breaks her heart.
"None of this was your fault," she whispers, her hand coming up to curve around his cheek, "nothing happened."
"But it could have, Beth," he mutters, voice raw with emotion, "when I think about what could have happened-"
She doesn't want him to think. She doesn't want to think. So she does the next best thing.
She kisses him.
And it's quick and it's hard and her hands grip his face and she feels his teeth beneath her lips.
But it's perfect because he's kissing her back.
.
.
.
xxiv.
For all intents and purposes, the run is successful. She stays behind at Daryl's insistence – she's learning to pick her battles. They'd gotten better at the intimate parts of their relationship, but it still leaves her with a hint of soreness that lingers the next day. Perhaps it was his intention, and if so, she can't bring herself to be mad.
Can't bring herself to do much of anything, particularly when his face is between her legs and she's moaning his name.
But the run goes smoothly, with enough food to last another few weeks and a good stock of formula for Judith. They're better at this, more cautious and cunning, and while their group is eighteen strong, everyone has a job, everyone has a role. No one is expendable.
It's as harmonious as it can be, with no assigned leader and an underlying mission to escort a man to Washington DC.
So she's surprised when Daryl returns, looking nervous and worried, looking for someone who isn't her.
"Hey," she says quietly, moving to stand beside him, "you okay?"
"Where's your sister?" he mutters gruffly, glancing around.
"Checking the snares with Glenn," Beth replies, worry etched upon her face, "did something happen?"
"Nah," he answers shortly, "gotta talk to Maggie."
And he's off, crossbow slung across his shoulder, heading back towards the gate and leaving her baffled.
It's a few hours before Maggie and Glenn return, a sack of rabbits, but no Daryl in sight.
"Was Daryl with you?" Beth demands. Maggie smirks.
"Well, the snares went fine, thanks for asking. Not too many walkers either."
"Ugh, Maggie," she launches herself at her sister, squeezing her tightly. Glenn chuckles beside her, squeezing her arm affectionately.
"We saw him," he answers, an odd smile on his face, "said he had some errands."
"Errands?" Beth asks incredulously, "What sort of errands?"
"I don't know, Bethy," Maggie smirks, "maybe he had to pick up his dry cleaning or something."
"Ha ha," Beth glares, "fine, don't tell me. I'll find out anyway."
"Yeah?" Maggie laughs.
"Yeah," Beth crosses her arms, "I have my ways, you know."
Glenn frowns and Maggie sputters.
"Definitely don't need to know, okay."
She ignores them though, because Daryl stalks through the gates, gaze down, with every intention of walking right past her.
"Hey!" She calls out, "Where are you going?"
Grunting, he continues on his way, but Beth quickly steps in his path, forcing him to change direction. She keeps blocking him, attempting to slow him down, get him to talk to her.
"What's going on, Daryl? Why are you avoiding me?"
Maggie and Glenn are still in her periphery, this she notes. She feels uncomfortable with them as spectators, witnessing, well, not a fight per se. Not even a disagreement. Just this all too familiar game of cat and mouse that she finds herself in, chasing until one of them folds.
"You ask too many questions, Greene," he snaps and she visibly recoils.
"Yeah, well, maybe I'm entitled to, especially when my boyfriend comes back from a run looking like he's seen a ghost, and then immediately leaves to track down my sister!" Beth is frustrated, out of breath, and, most of all, worried.
"Girl, I ain't your boyfriend!" he explodes, grabbing her shoulders, "This ain't high school! I ain't going to take you to prom!"
"Then what are we?" Beth yells, stepping closer into his grasp, eye to eye now, "Help me understand!"
With a growl, he pulls himself away, running his hands through his hair. He grabs her wrist – the scarred one – too tightly, pulling an object from his pocket and pressing it into her palm. It's small and sharp and he walks away, towards the gates, towards the woods, and she doesn't know how long he'll be gone.
She doesn't know much at all, she's realising.
But Beth remembers the object in her hand and slowly opens her palm, only to nearly drop it in shock.
He's given her a ring.
.
.
Chapter songs:
"I Can Feel a Hot One" - Manchester Orchestra
"Jewel Eyed Judy" - Fleetwood Mac
