Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Walking Dead franchise. Any recognizable characters/locations/dialogue do not belong to me, and are being used for entertainment purposes. Author's Note: Again, I'm sorry for another late update. I had meant to add this chapter last week, but I've been in the hospital after have two epileptic seizures and I've only just got home. At least I have a good excuse this time!
Merle finally does call, days later.
It's a brief conversation between the brothers. Apparently, some important meth deal's going down and Merle will meet up with him just as soon as it's finalized. His brother says it should only take about a week or so, but experience suggests that his absence will most likely stretch out into another month. In the meantime, Merle tells Daryl to take care of his bike and to find something pretty to "uncork his bottle".
Daryl made the conscious decision not to mention Beth.
While he knows he ought to have turned her away and cut all ties by now, he's become oddly protective of his time with her. He doesn't want to share anything about it with Merle, not because he'd be teased mercilessly—Daryl's used to that—but rather because he would then be forced to acknowledge just how powerful his fixation with her has become.
She's shown up at his motel room after school almost every day this week, and when he hears the familiar knock on his door at half past three, something akin to excitement rises inside his chest. Smothering it down as best he can, Daryl wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans, and goes to answer the door.
There she stands, pretty as a picture, with her hair in its usual ponytail and a keen grin on her face.
"Hey," she says, proudly holding up the small box of donuts she's brought. "I hope you like jelly."
He finds the lilting melody of her voice far too soothing and every nuance of her smile enthralling. The overwhelming instinct to open up to her like he's on some crappy daytime talk show; to touch her, to hold her, to stoke the passion that burns between them—is simply bewildering. To be this close and not have her is agonizing, but he forebears, if only because no one's ever looked at him the way she does—like he's worth something. Still, he knows it can't go on this way. He's toeing a very dangerous line, one that if he crosses, there's no coming back from.
Instead of returning her salutation, he merely opens the door wider and lets her enter. He takes a deep breath as she moves past him, inhaling her scent of ivory soap and freshly cut grass. Forcing himself to ignore how nice she smells, he summons all of his conviction to do what needs to be done. However, when he shuts the door and turns around, he makes the mistake of looking at her. She's offering him a glazed donut, one of the aforementioned jellies, and smiling. And it's the very thought of never seeing that smile again, that keeps throwing him off course every time he attempts to end things with her.
After a moment of silently cursing himself, he takes the donut from her. "Thanks," he mutters stupidly.
She bobs her head and sucks a sticky, sweetened digit into her mouth, drawing all of his focus.
"Do you wanna watch some TV?" she asks.
He absentmindedly hums his assent and follows her to the foot of the bed, where he then sits down on the edge of the mattress. He reaches for the remote, but she quickly scoops it up. "Great, cuz it's my turn to choose what we watch."
"It's my remote," he points out.
She dangles it teasingly. "You'll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands, Dixon."
Instead of making a grab for it, he leans forward and rests his forearms against his knees, a smile of his own tugging at his lips. She sits cross-legged on the floor by his feet, resting her head against his knee as she channel surfs. It's not remotely sexual, merely casual physical contact as if between longtime friends. This sudden familiarity between them is vexing, but moreover, it's comforting. He resists the impulse to stroke her head, to toy with the end of her ponytail. He can't bring himself to ask her to leave yet, even though he knows he should.
One more day—surely he could put it off for one more day, couldn't he? So, for what seems like the umpteenth time, that's exactly what he does.
As far back as Beth can remember, the Greene family farm has allowed its tractor to be used to give weekly hayrides to the neighbourhood kids. It's the first of the summer, and Beth and Maggie sit as chaperones in the wagon with the children. The tractor trundles down the dusty back road, and above them the sun is setting, painting the sky in a beautiful orange hue. She notices Maggie is oddly quiet tonight, sitting with her legs dangling off the back of the wagon, her eyes focused on the road reappearing out from underneath them.
"Remember when Shawn would drive the tractor and Otis would sit back here with us and play guitar?" Maggie says, twirling a piece of hay back and forth between her fingers.
Beth nods, bouncing little Judith Grimes on her knee.
"Maybe next time you could bring your guitar."
A pang of sadness hits her hard, and she instinctively snuggles Judith closer. She hasn't so much as touched her guitar since Shawn's passing. "It wouldn't be the same without Shawn singing along."
A small smile, tinged with melancholy, appears on her sister's face. "He couldn't have carried a tune to save his life."
"Not even in a bucket with a lid on it," she jokes, even though it hardly seems funny anymore.
She shifts the baby on her lap, stopping her from eating a handful of hay. In truth, Judith is probably too young to really appreciate any of this, so Beth suspects the real reason she's along for the ride is due to the Sherriff and his wife Lori needing some time to themselves. They'd never confirmed it, but everyone in town already knew their marriage was on the rocks, and had been for some time.
Beth closes her eyes, enjoying the gentle breeze rustling through the trees and the persistent hum of cicadas. As a little girl, she'd always loved warm summer evenings like this; evenings spent out on the porch sitting between her mama's legs, letting her brush and braid her hair before bedtime. She remembers chasing after Shawn and Maggie, idolizing them for catching so many fireflies when her own jar was almost always empty. She remembers her daddy calling them all back into the house when it got too dark. Beth blinks against the pricking of tears behind her eyes, and inhales sharply. Her chest tightens painfully whenever memories like that arise, making it harder to breathe.
"You okay, Beth?" Carl, Judith's brother, asks from the front of the wagon. He's always had something of a crush on her, and even now at the smallest sign of trouble, he's willing to jump to her aid. She forces a smile so as not to worry him—something she does a lot of lately.
"Just allergies acting up," she lies.
He shrugs and turns back to his friend Patrick, seeming to accept her answer, but she can feel Maggie's eyes on her now.
"What?"
Maggie tucks her short brown hair behind her ears and shakes her head. "Nothing."
If experience has taught Beth anything, it's that it's never "nothing" with Maggie. Forthrightness being a trait they've always shared, she waits patiently; it's only a matter of time before her sister reveals what's actually on her mind.
"…Actually, I'm just wondering about last week when you finished closing the bar for me."
When Beth groans in frustration, Judith twists so she can look up at her curiously. With an exaggerated frown, Beth shakes her head at the little girl, earning a small giggle.
"It's just you've been acting funny since then," Maggie continues, ignoring her antics. "And now I think I know why."
Beth's back straightens and her seat atop the hay bale is suddenly very uncomfortable. She keeps her eyes on the babbling baby, watches her make drool bubbles. "Maggie, will you just let it go! Nothing happened, I told y—"
"You had sex on top of the pool table."
She feels winded by Maggie's deduction. "What are you talking about?" she wheezes, trying to school her features so as not to give herself away, and failing miserably.
"I found a used rubber in one of the pockets."
Beth's blood runs cold. Between Daryl's rush to get out of there and her own embarrassment, they'd both forgotten all about it. Biting her lip, she anxiously glances over to make sure none of the kids have overheard. Ensuring that this conversation is still private, she then looks back to Maggie and gives her a small, confirming nod.
"I knew it—Jesus Christ, Beth!" Maggie exclaims. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"Don't start with me," she warns. She'd known all along to expect Maggie's concern, but she didn't need the extra side of judgement, especially not from somebody with her own fair share of indiscretions. Beth would hate to drudge any of that up, but she's got the list ready should Maggie keep scolding her.
Maggie flicks away the piece of straw she's been fiddling with, turning so that one of her knees comes up to rest on the hay covered floor of the wagon. She looks up at Beth as if she doesn't even recognize her. "I didn't even know you were seeing somebody, but maybe I should've guessed."
"It's a relatively new development," she says honestly, though in the vaguest sense.
Her sister's dissatisfied frown does not dissipate for even an instant. "I take it it's not Jimmy, then?"
She pries the end of her ponytail out from Judith's clutches. Maggie had always liked Jimmy, and had hoped that he would come around eventually. Beth now understands why she's still holding onto that hope: Jimmy was safe. If she was still dating him, then Maggie could rest easy knowing that her little sister was being looked after. "Nope."
Maggie's expression becomes impatient. "Well, who is he?"
Beth flinches at the thought of the worry that would undoubtedly come hurtling towards her should she reveal that she'd been intimate with a Dixon brother. Maggie wouldn't understand, wouldn't even give her the opportunity to explain before vilifying Daryl. She wouldn't care how he made her feel, or that he wasn't nearly so bad as he and the rest of this town would have her believe. All Maggie would see is that her little sister had been taken advantage of by the resident redneck asshole, because as far as she's concerned, Beth can't possibly discern for herself who she should be spending time with.
But Beth likes Daryl—more than likes. He's withdrawn and sometimes churlish, but at his core he's a considerate and honourable man. It's not just attraction that keeps her going back for more, though she could go mad for wanting him the way she does. He makes for good company, and she finds herself missing him randomly throughout the day. In class, she counts down the minutes until she can see him again. She'll think of something funny and immediately want to tell him. And lying in bed at night, she anxiously wonders if he's thinking of her too. She still hasn't returned his vest yet, keeping it at the bottom of her drawer like some sort of security blanket. She knows she'll have to give it back eventually—he's got to be wondering where it is by now—but she's relieved in the knowledge that it's there in case she ever needs to feel that sense of calm that only he can bring her. It might seem ridiculous, to be so invested in this—relationship?—so quickly, but whatever is happening between her and Daryl feels right. As natural as breathing.
"You don't know him," she murmurs.
"And Daddy doesn't know about this?"
"No, and you're not gonna tell him." Beth can see by the look on Maggie's face that she's gearing up to argue, so she stops her before she can start. "I mean it! After all the covering I've done for you and Glenn, you owe me."
Maggie grows petulantly silent again, and it's only when the tractor turns onto the main road, heading back towards the farm, that she speaks again. "You are being careful, right?"
"You really have to ask that? You found the…condom," Beth reminds in a whisper, covering Judith's ears. She's going to start talking any day now, and Beth would be completely mortified if that was the first word she were to pick up on.
"That's not what I meant."
Beth honestly doesn't know how to answer that question, so she's thankful when she doesn't have to. Moments later, the tractor reaches the farm and she and Maggie both have to climb down to help the kids off of the wagon. She purposefully avoids looking at her sister, not wanting to give Maggie any invitation to pick up their conversation where it left off.
Beth knows she's acting foolish—she's only known him for a few weeks, and they've only slept together that one time—but somehow she feels a deeper connection to him than she ever did with Jimmy in the three years they dated. Reckless though it might seem, she's well on track to being happy, and she's not willing to let such a meddlesome convention like time, derail her.
Today they're watching a Gregory Peck film of Daryl's choosing. He doesn't say much, but she doesn't let that bother her. Some people communicated better by letting their actions speak, and Daryl was such a person. He'd voluntarily sat next to her on the bed, which she considers to be decent enough progress. Then she was happily surprised when he handed her a bowl of jellybeans, muttering about her "damn sweet-tooth". She hides her glee the best she can, realizing that this is probably the closest they've ever come to being on a date.
"I've never met anyone, who likes the black ones," Beth observes halfway through the film, watching him pop the jellybean into his mouth. She finds it funny how often he gripes about her sweet-tooth, when he alone has managed to eat more than half the bowl of jellybeans!
He shrugs and reaches for another one, his eyes still fixed on the movie.
"What was the last movie you went to see in theatres?" she asks, suddenly curious. He talks so little about himself, how can she not be?
"The one with all the robots from space," he says, chewing.
"Transformers?" she clarifies, not having expected that. "Which one?"
"Hell if I know," he says, shrugging again. "It was in 3D."
The thought of stoic Daryl wearing 3D glasses sends her into a fit of giggles. She tries to calm herself when she realizes he's now looking at her, but just seeing his face makes her picture it, and that catapults her into hysterics again. He doesn't seem annoyed with her, but he's looking at her in a way he hasn't before. She's not sure how to describe the expression on his face, but it's not without his usual intensity. Her laughter dies down. When they had first met, it was this precise intensity that she'd found so intimidating. But at this very moment, she only hopes he won't look away.
She takes in a breath to say something, though she's not sure what, when Daryl leans over and brushes his lips against hers in a cautious caress. A soft sound, something between a sigh and a moan, leaves her. She sways toward his heat, the touch of his breath. He gently kisses her again, and it's as if he's trying to resist himself. With the soft brush of her fingertips against his jaw, coaxing him silently to continue, he eventually surrenders to it. He deepens the kiss, and his hands, just as large and rough as she remembers, cup her jaw and tilt her head just so. He tastes almost the same as before, with the added flavour of black liquorice.
Summoning all of her courage, she moves from where she's seated and repositions herself to straddle his lap, never once breaking the kiss. Tingling awareness races through her in this new position astride him. She's been thinking about this for the last few weeks, and now that the moment is here, her heart flutters and the familiar throb of desire between her legs intensifies. He breaks the kiss, gasping when she grinds down lightly, teasingly against his growing hardness. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, and her hands grip strands of hair at the nape of his neck, urging him to please continue.
This seems to unlock his passion, because Daryl's mouth slants across hers again. His hands find her hips, which are rocking insistently against him, and he helps her find a slower, steadier rhythm. Feeling almost dizzy, she lets herself be carried away by the wet heat of his mouth. She grinds down harder at the precise moment his pelvis surges upwards, and the edges of reality begin to blur again like they did atop that pool table. The seam of her jeans is pressing against her clit just so, sending delightful shivers through her.
She arches her back and his arms wrap around her middle, keeping her close. This burning need, this ache can only be remedied by him. She'd spent the first year of her relationship with Jimmy dry humping on the couch in his basement, and it was never anything like this. She recognizes the cresting tension low in her belly. Her hands grasp at his back, fingers bunching his flannel shirt. Soon release is within reach, and the grasping, almost greedy hunger for it, is gnawing at her now. His arms tighten around her, crushing her to him as she continues her desperate gyrating. Engulfed in his warm, sinewy strength, she's not only set ablaze by physical pleasure—she's safe.
And so deeply connected.
Tearing away from the heady contact of his mouth, she cries out, a loud wail. The world contracted to one shining point, this one man. All else fell away. Pleasure so acute explodes through her, it borders on being painful. Beth writhes, mindless in the throes of it. Daryl groans watching her come apart, and though she's not entirely sure when her hands found their way under his shirt, her nails dig sharply into the skin of his back.
In ragged sobs, she is able to catch her breath again. Her heartbeat slows as the wild pleasure retreats, and she slows her rocking, prolonging the aftershocks of her climax. Daryl, still hard in the confines of his jeans, hisses appreciatively. She nuzzles into his neck, pressing lingering kisses there as his hips ruts upwards, seeking his own satisfaction.
Stretching her fingers wide to feel more of his bared skin, she freezes when she feels the thin gnarled lines of poorly healed scars. They crisscross his back like painful, unfinished games of tic tac toe. She halts in the movements of her pelvis, earning a frustrated grunt from him.
Rather than pity or sympathy, she feels reassured. That initial connection she felt that night in the bar, and her growing fondness for him ever since, feels more grounded somehow. He does know what it is to be permanently scarred. He's stopped kissing her and is now panting into her neck, his hot, moist breath accelerating. Coming out of his lust induced haze, he now seems to realize that the tips of her fingers are tracing the welts marring his skin. He leans back, his stormy eyes looking at her with a mixture of betrayal and shame.
She gives him an intense look of her own, one of absolute sincerity. "You're so beautiful," she whispers, one of her hands leaving his back to brush sweaty strands of hair from his face.
Stiffening, he all but shoves her off of him. He leaps up from the bed, yanking his shirt down as he does. No longer bare-chested, he starts pacing back and forth in front of her. He's quite obviously panicked, and Beth wishes she could calm him, but he doesn't seem to want her reassurance. In fact, the anger lacing his anxiety appears to be directed towards her, if his glare is any indication.
"Why are you here?" He's finally stopped pacing, but he stands in front of her agitated.
"You already know why," she answers, too chicken to say it aloud.
"Well, you're shit outta luck cuz it aint gonna happen," Daryl all but snarls at her, and she tries not to show how heartbreaking those words are.
A dozen arguments rush through Beth's mind, each one ardent and indisputable, but she can't manage to verbalize any of them. Instead, all she can do is stare at the now blue TV screen and try to swallow the hard lump forming in her throat. "Please, don't say that," she finally manages in a weak voice.
"'S not like it aint true," he says, ruthlessly.
"Daryl, I'm sorry, ok? I wasn't trying to—"
"Don't patronize me," he grumbles. "I aint some stupid kid."
"Then stop acting so damn childish," she snaps, reflexively. She knows that she's upset him by unintentionally unearthing his painful past, but it's not as if it's all that big a surprise to her—Will Dixon was known around these parts for being a mean drunk.
"You're one to talk. What d'you call comin' round here all the time, throwin' yourself at me and wantin' what you can't have?"
This is playing out worse than that night in the bar. Then he'd just left, leaving her feeling utterly rejected. This is more than that. This brand of rejection comes along with a healthy dose of humiliation. Torn between being hurt and being angry, her next sentence settles somewhere between.
"That's not fair! It's not like you even tried to stop me," she points out, fixing her rumpled appearance the best she could. "Look, you're even still hard! You wanted it just as bad as I did."
"You don't know what you want," he continues as if she'd never spoken, but the grinding of his teeth and the embarrassed flush flaring across his skin, indicate his own embarrassment.
"No, that's you, that's not me," she rebuts. "I know what I want: you."
"You're eighteen, Beth, and you barely know me." He says it as if those are good enough reasons not to fall in love with somebody. Logically, she knows he's right, but that doesn't stop her from feeling the way she does. She still wants him; as her confidant, as her friend, as her lover. If it were as simple as getting over it, she would've never have approached him that day on the side of the road.
"I don't care," she counters, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over. If she starts crying now, she'll never be able to forgive herself. "You don't get to tell me how to feel."
"Maybe not, but I don't gotta keep coddling you neither." He throws open the motel room door, and gestures for her to walk through it. "Now get the fuck out."
She reels back as if he's slapped her. She wants to yell at him for acting like this. How is it that he can run from this, and she just can't? Why does she care as much as she does? The connection between them, has until this point been liberating, but at present it feels like a chain around her neck.
"Fine."
Looking at Daryl is not an option. The anger in his eyes makes her skin feel hot and itchy, as if bugs are crawling all over her body. She swallows back the sob that arises and walks out the door, feeling accomplished when she's able to do so with a straight face. It's when he slams the door behind her, that she flinches.
She moves in a daze, barely remembering the ride home by the time she's made the trip. She feels like such an idiot, letting herself believe that he could see her as anything but some swooning school girl with a crush. When she gets home, she goes directly upstairs and into her bedroom. Still fully dressed, she climbs into bed and brings the covers up over her head.
After weeks of being within reach of happiness, she's right back where she started.
This is unbetaed, so feel free to point out any mistakes you may find. Hope you liked it! Please review.