When she wakes in the morning, still in his bed, the prison is already up. Daryl too. No doubt she's been missed, if not spotted — the perch isn't exactly concealed. Beth rubs her eyes; she should be up and feeding Judith by now, at the least she should be accounted for. Pulling off the blanket Beth stretches, and rises. She'd slept in her boots she realizes, and upon standing she wishes she hadn't.
Beth winces as the heals of her boots clatter and clang against each steel step she descends on the C Block stairs. "Shoot." She's not embarrassed, but she does not wish to draw such attention to herself. Not this morning.
"Mornin'," Sasha smiles at her, watching her descent from the upper level.
Beth looks up — "Mornin'" — having not expected to run into anyone so immediately.
"Your sister's got the baby."
"Okay."
"Others went on a run. Carol," Sasha glances at her, "Daryl."
"All right," Beth simply nods. She gathers her things and heads to the showers, starting her day with the knowledge this was the first time anyone ever thought to make a point of telling her Daryl's whereabouts. She likes the feeling it brings her.
Daryl and Carol have taken the truck out to the backside of the prison for a routine scouting check on the breach. Carol drives, while Daryl leans back in the passenger seat, his knee up, his elbow hanging out the window. His eyes shut and he lets the warm breeze rush over him as they drive, bumping and bouncing over the uneven terrain. He speaks, but doesn't bother to open his eyes. "We got any tapes? It's too quiet."
"Truck's old; the tape deck ate the last one."
Daryl picks at the window framing and grouses, "I miss music." He pivots his resting head toward her, "Don't you? Some Skynyrd, some Haggard, a little Hank Williams Jr." Carol snorts. "Whut?" He looks at her, smiling, "Whut?"
Carol shakes her head and smiles. "Nothing."
"'Ol' Daryl Dixon,' that's whut'ch you're thinkin'," he points at her good naturedly. "'Redneck through 'n through, huh?'"
"It's nothing." She veers quickly to avoid two walkers, then re-grips the wheel. "Ed liked Hank Williams."
"Junior?" Daryl cocks a brow at her.
"Mm,hm. Played 'im all the time."
"Asshole," he mutters. Carol only smiles.
She stops the truck and they climb out, weapons at the ready, stepping over rubble and bodies, killing what's easy to without a full formation, counting the rest. When Daryl whistles the signal they head back to the truck and start the drive back.
"You happy?" Carol asks, looking at him from the corner of her eye as she drives.
"Excuse me?"
"Are you happy?" she repeats.
"You're askin' me that?" He's looking at her with some incredulity. "Why?"
Carol's patient expression is that of an amused sister who's caught her brother in an utterly unnecessary lie. "Because of Beth," she answers evenly.
Daryl's eyes flinch, but he says nothing. He hangs his arm out the window letting the warm gusts of air drag and push around the open palm of his hand.
"Slept in your bunk last night," Carol evenly sets forth as evidence. "Has to be something."
Daryl looks at her, one corner of his mouth raised warily, "What is this? A quilting circle?" Carol's shoulders move up into amused shrug. She swerves twice to avoid two careening walkers. Daryl wipes at his nose and returns his gaze to outside the vehicle. "Less than nothin' happened."
"I know that," Carol nods. She glances at Daryl who in his discomfort is growing surly, "You've got a code."
"Hell," his eyes roll and he looks back out the window.
"She's sweet," Carol reflects. "She'll be good for you." Daryl doesn't say anything. And Carol looks over to him, and gently touches her palm to his face; she keeps driving. "It's time for you to be happy."
Returned from prospecting, Carol and Daryl find Rick and Hershel, Sasha and Michonne, and Glenn and Maggie, and gather with them beneath the recently erected pergola in the yard. "It's gettin' busy back there ag'in," Daryl says, unloading his bow on the outdoor kitchen table around which Rick and the others have gathered. "Think we better get a group out there t'day; stay ahead of it."
Karen, who's still cleaning the adobe kitchen from breakfast passes Daryl a bowl of berries and oats, passing Carol the same. Daryl takes it with a smile, but ducking his head to take a bite he gets a reading off the group — the energy is off slightly. He straightens, let's go the spoon, and eyes them. Something's off. And because it vaguely feels as though the strangeness is directed at him, rather than pulling up a chair at their table, Daryl keeps his distance, circling round the other tables and hangs back in the rear.
"How many?" Rick questions.
"Cup'le dozen," Daryl figures. "Give 'r take. We get out there now — m'ybe five — we can take 'em easy."
"Wasn't eighteen?"
Daryl's head snaps in the direction of the table. It was Glenn who had said it. Not exactly accusatory, something less than confrontational, but it was a sort of provocation, and though indirect the implication, this morning, is clear. 'Eighteen', he meant Beth. Daryl's eyes narrow, "What's that Glenn?" Glenn's eyes are on his folded hands set temperately before him on the table, he isn't looking in Daryl's direction; he isn't exactly convinced he should be broaching this. But he already has, and Daryl doesn't just let it slide "You say somethin,' little man?"
"Hey!" Maggie interjects. She's ambivalent about this as well, and maybe Glenn chose the wrong place and time to address it, but at least they can be civil; Maggie isn't dead set against Daryl and Beth — if that's a thing they both want — but him lashing out at Glenn isn't helping his cause any.
Daryl looks quickly from Glenn to Maggie and then back to Glenn. "You got somethin' tuh say? Any of y'all?" The group falls silent. Daryl sees eyes dropping, he sees Hershel look away, Rick gritting his jaw. "You got a prob'lem with me?" he challenges.
It seems like it will end there, that no one really is going to say anything more — it's over. But then Glenn stands, seemingly obligatorily compelled to do so. "What are you doing with Beth?" His voice and temper are level and in check, but there's an allegation somewhere lurking behind it all. Or if not, a self-imposed familial mandate forcing his hand.
The look on Daryl's face is reactionary and feral, and a little like a broken animal at bay, "You sayin' somethin'? Whut you got tuh say to me, Glenn?"
Maggie watches Glenn keep his cool in the face of being snarled at. Glenn swallows and sees this through on behalf of his family, though he takes no pleasure in it. "I'm saying she's eighteen. And, and you're not."
Daryl's face screws up with disgust, What is it they think happened? Who is it they think he is? "So?" he spits. Glenn looks from Daryl to Maggie, who's steady eyes have remained on Daryl this whole time, and Daryl follows suit. "You put him up to this?" he throws at her.
"Leave her alone," Glenn says flatly in defense of his wife. Measuredly he looks Daryl in the eye. "I'm just looking out for my family."
Again Daryl shakes his head in disgust, "Man, see, I'h thought we was family."
"We are," Glenn nods. "We are. But, —"
"But whut?"
Glenn doesn't want to say it — he loves Daryl — but Beth's his kid sister. And, this, can't be right. He looks at Daryl, "You're in the wrong."
"Hey!" Daryl shouts, knocking back a chair with a fractious swoop of his arm. By instinct Daryl's arms want to swing; obeying his fueled aggressive streak would mean Daryl coming at Glenn, despite Rick's or anyone's interference, snarling and cursing, but he doesn't do it. Regardless of how they see him, these people at this table are his family. "You don't know nothin'."
The group remains frozen, no one had been prepared for this. Hershel in his muted silence looks sad, Glenn conflicted, Maggie at a loss. Feeling their eyes on him, Daryl's affronted rage drains from him some, and Daryl surveys all their faces. Not finding what he sought, he shakes his head, spits, and heads off.
I revised the last section some; hopefully it's a little less OOC.