Chapter 7 - This Weight I Carry, This Weight I've Found
Strapped down and heavy,
tied up and bound.
This weight I carry,
this weight I've found.
So, let me be the one to say,
I've really had enough ...
"Headstrong" -Earshot
Daryl popped the backs off of the remote controls and slapped them into his palm to dislodge the batteries. Usually they had little to no juice, but every little bit helped, and sometimes they got lucky. His gaze flitted to Beth, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, a distasteful look on her face, as she dropped a can into his duffel bag, where he'd left it on the kitchen island.
She seemed okay now, but damn, she'd given him a hell of a scare coming out of that cornfield! He'd recognized it immediately for what it was -a panic attack, being no stranger to them himself. The fact that he'd been the cause of it left a bitter taste in his mouth, and an uneasiness settling deep in his stomach.
But his stomach was already uneasy. Had been so for days, if he could just stop fucking kidding himself. His stomach, his brain, his ... Daryl shook his head and cringed at his own thoughts. He was still pissed at himself for the truck incident. Too damn busy watching Beth twirl her little finger around the rim of that bottle, and not paying attention to the road. The fuck was wrong with him? He couldn't afford to make stupid slip-ups like that when one wrong move could cost your life -or worse, her life.
"I'm heading upstairs," Beth called, interrupting him from his self flagellation, as she started up the stairs.
"Stay out of the first bedroom on the left," he called the warning after her. "There's a Walker in there."
"Okay," she yelled back down to him.
Good. Now maybe he could get something done without being so damned distracted. Shuffling around the recliner, Daryl bent to grab a few Highlights children magazines from the coffee table, as well as some decorative candles -never knew when they'd need them, lavender fields scent or not, and he always tried to grab any reading material he stumbled on, helping to aid Hershel in expanding the prison library. Especially shit to keep the kids busy.
His arms full, he headed back to the kitchen and packed his findings into the duffel bag, not lingering there long, since Beth had already explored here. He tugged open the pantry door, finding nothing worth taking -just a bunch of cobwebs and cleaning supplies. Despite thinking these houses in the back would be worth a look, it appeared this one in particular had already been scavenged. But really, what hadn't anymore? Everything left in this world was just somebody else's unwanted leftovers.
Shutting the door, he grabbed the duffel bag and moved on to the dinning room, immediately emptying the candles from the decorative candelabra that sat as a centerpiece on the big oak table, into his bag. Thinking the candelabra itself would probably be useful, he dropped that in, too. A small writing desk sat in the far corner, just begging him to come rummage it's contents, and so he obliged. Beth had said she needed paper -it was the premise for this whole outing actually, and yet ... she had breezed right by it.
Maybe she was distracted too?
And maybe he was delusional if he thought he could keep her from his thoughts for very long, because that was working so well lately, wasn't it? In fact, he'd thought of very little but her since they'd broken his chair last night. Specifically, his reaction to her body splayed out across him, and the cold way he had treated her afterward for something that was entirely his fault and lack of self control.
But how do you control something you don't fully understand?
Yanking open the top drawer, Daryl shook his head and tried to focus on his task, helping himself to a handful of pens and pencils, as well as a box of paper clips -great for picking locks, should the occasion arise, they made a useful addition to any redneck toolbox. He moved down the line of drawers, rummaging through stacks of bills and junk, finally finding what he was looking for in the last drawer -paper. Tons of it. Colored, white, lined, and even pretty stationary with flowers and butterflies -girly shit that Beth would probably like. Trying to arrange it carefully in his bag so it wouldn't get folded or ruined, he headed back to the kitchen, intent on investigating the basement next when he heard a thumping upstairs.
"Everythin' okay?" He called up to Beth, figuring it was probably just that damn corpse, but wanted to be sure.
"Yeah, I'm okay," she called back almost immediately, though he picked up on the slight strain in her voice and wondered what had her so shaken.
Daryl shook his head. The girl just had a panic attack, of course she was a bit on edge. Get it the fuck together, Dixon, he chastised himself, dropping his duffel bag back on the kitchen island and un-shouldering his crossbow. Since when had he become so damn over-protective, anyway?
His hand was already turning the basement doorknob when he heard them -voices. Daryl froze. Men's voices. Three? No, two.
Immediately pressing himself tight against the wall, he leaned over and peered out the glass sliding patio doors, as the two men came stumbling out of the cornfield and into view, talking loudly amongst themselves and making no effort to be quiet, thankfully. Fucking idiots.
"Beth," Daryl's low voice barely passed as a raspy whisper, as he called out to her. They still had time to slip out the front unnoticed, but they had to move now! "Beth," he tried again, but knew it was pointless -she was too far away to hear his quiet plea, and he couldn't raise his voice any louder without alerting the men in the yard who were now almost to the deck.
Shit! Quickly grabbing the duffel bag off of the island, Daryl opened the cabinets under the kitchen sink and shoved the bag inside, tucking it safely out of sight, then dove for the staircase as the booted feet clomped up the porch stairs outside, talking about something in the basement.
He took the steps two at a time, his feet moving silently even in his haste, and headed for the only open door, praying Beth was in that room. Thankfully, she was -a lacy blue bra clutched in her grasp, she was completely oblivious to him.
His trained ears picked up the sound of the patio door sliding open on the floor below, as he silently begged Beth's forgiveness for what he was about to do. Moving behind her with stealth speed, he clamped his hand down over her mouth so she couldn't give them away, his other hand slipping around her waist, as his eyes frantically searched the room for a good place to hide. Beth struggled against him, trying to break free from the vice of his arms, he didn't notice that she'd managed to work her knife free until he felt the cut of her blade against his outer thigh, slicing through his skin.
Daryl mashed his teeth down on his tongue, biting until he tasted blood, but he did not cry out. If he could thank his father for one thing, it was that he'd learned long ago to suffer in silence. Mind over matter -and any way you flipped the coin, the only thing that mattered to him right now, was getting Beth to safety.
"Beth, its me," he breathed against her ear, the adrenaline throbbing through his veins, already dulling the pain in his leg as his eyes settled on the half open closet behind them.
With his choices limited, he tugged them backward towards what he hoped was safety. It swallowed them, shrouding them in darkness, as Daryl pressed himself as tightly against the back wall as his crossbow would allow -cursing himself for not removing it first, but dammit, there was no time! Instead of pulling the door shut, he left it ajar to throw off suspicion and make it a less obvious hiding place -especially to two idiots who didn't even have the sense to be quiet, as he eased his hand from Beth's mouth, but tightened his grasp around her waist, yanking her flush against him.
Beth drew in a shaky breath, and worried that she might have another panic attack, Daryl slid his other hand up under her tank top, pressing the balls of his fingertips into the soft skin of her bare stomach, attempting to help ground her like he had earlier beside the cornfield, ignoring the strange sensation that burned suddenly in his own gut. He felt her shudder in response, a sharp intake of breath, as his grip on her tightened and the voices drew closer.
They were arguing, their loud calls carrying through the empty house like a chamber of echoes, insulting each other and guffawing as their booted feet stomped up the stairs. Their shenanigans only serving to rile the Walker in the next room up more, its growls and incessant thumping grew louder by the minute, helping to mask Daryl and Beth's erratic breathing.
"I'm tellin' you, ya dumb shit, I heard somethin'," one of them insisted from the doorway of the bedroom.
"Ya ain't heard nothin' but this dumb dead asshole," the other one shot back. The sound of banging bouncing off the walls, indicating he was either hitting or kicking the door, driving the hungry Walker inside into a frenzy.
A door groaned open, then slammed shut a moment later. Both men had stopped talking and now the only sounds aside from the Walker's growls were the clunk of their boots on the floors as they searched the upstairs rooms, and the pounding of Daryl's heart in his own ears. Or maybe Beth's -he couldn't be sure.
Daryl could feel Beth tensing up in his arms, feel her breath hitch as she wedged herself closer, the supple softness of her bottom pressing intimately against his crotch. His own breath hitched for an entirely different reason, as the pulsing heat in his stomach unfurled and dropped like a rock, straight to his groin.
This was not happening. Not while they were trapped like rats, in a precarious situation -potentially dangerous. No, no, no! No, he was not getting turned on.
But he was ...and he was helpless to stop it. A slave to his own body, as the pain in his leg throbbed with a dull ache, and his cock throbbed with an entirely different ache -and not at all dull. It strained against the confines of his pants, and he knew she could feel it -knew what a disgusting piece of shit he had to be to pop a boner in her ass while they were hiding in a closet.
They were inside the bedroom now, Daryl could see the denim clad legs of one of the men, as he spun in a slow circle, assessing the room. Beth could too, as evidenced by her body language, pressing Daryl back further, he fought to stay his hips, as they instinctively wanted to push back against her. Instead, he leaned backwards, until his crossbow dug into his back and he welcomed the pain, as it sharpened his focus, although it did absolutely nothing to squelch his erection.
"Satisfied dumbass?" The one in the doorway muttered.
"Yer a smug sonofabitch, ya know that?" The other one shot back, already on his way towards his friend.
"Let's just get the jars and get outta here. This fucking place creeps me out." The smug ones voice carried from the hallway, accompanying the clunking of boots on the stairs.
The seconds stretched for what seemed like hours as he and Beth remained pressed together in the tight space, their sweat mingling where their bodies touched. They hadn't been discovered, but they weren't out of the woods yet. Tweedle Dee and Dum were still in the house -although Daryl could no longer hear them, but he distinctively remembered them discussing the basement as they came upon the property. He guessed that's where they were now.
His leg felt like it was on fire, and Daryl started to wonder if it was blood loss and delirium that had stripped him of control over his own body, since even the fear of being caught, and the shame and embarrassment that came along with it, still didn't put a damper on the blood surging through his dick. And what a fucking lie! Delirium! What was his excuse last night? He wasn't bleeding out when Beth was pressed against him then -in fact, the only similarity of both these instances was her.
Beth sighed, dropping her head back to rest on his shoulder, and only then did Daryl realize that his fingers resting on her abdomen were no longer pressing into her flesh to help ground her, but instead softly caressing the smooth, sweat slicked skin of her stomach. This was wrong. This was so fucking wrong, and Daryl was disgusted with himself, as his hot breath fanned the side of her face, but that didn't stop him. Instead, he took the liberties she allowed him, his hand dipping just a fraction of an inch lower to trace the curve of her belly button that he'd admired the night it had peeped out to tease him as he was helping to affix the sheath he'd gifted her.
Delirium. He was going with that, logic be damned. Temporary insanity from the heat of their confined space and his loss of blood. He couldn't even feel his leg anymore -his painful erection canceling everything else out. The resuming arguing of the two assholes downstairs snapped him back to attention. Beth too, as she straightened abruptly, the friction of her moving against him almost doubling Daryl over, and he had no choice but to remove his hand from her belly and brace the wall to keep himself upright.
The arguing persisted, followed by the sound of the sliding glass doors opening and then closing, muffling the voices of the men carrying on their current disagreement in the backyard. Daryl and Beth blew out a simultaneous sigh, their breath mingling together in the tight space, as Daryl gently shoved Beth away from him and stumbled out of the closet. He approached the bedroom window cautiously, a limp in his step -careful to stay out of sight, but remained planted in that spot until the two men disappeared into the corn maze, then waved Beth out of the closet.
"Daryl, your leg ... I-I'm sorry!" She stammered, distraught at the sight of his blood dripping from her knife. She looked on the verge of tears as she shoved it in her sheath, not bothering to clean it.
He wasn't angry at her, she'd done the right thing. Exactly what he'd expect her to do when being attacked from behind by an unknown assailant. He was angry, though. At himself, and the stiff reminder of his shame still standing at attention in his pants.
Embarrassed, he turned from her, needing a minute to pull himself the fuck together now that the danger had passed. His eyes fell immediately to the lacy blue underthings she'd been holding when he snatched her. Gloating up at him from the floor, they only served to heighten his ardor, his mind flashing images, like old filmstrips -of Beth's perfectly round ass clad in those strips of cloth. What the fuck was wrong with him? He'd been asking that of himself a lot lately.
"Daryl," Beth's voice called to him, a tremor in her voice. "Please let me look at you ...you're bleedin' badly."
Daryl looked down at his leg, his pants were soaked with blood, and now that it was brought to his attention, he could feel it running down his leg and into his boot, hot and sticky. He turned to look at her then, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, her blue eyes wide with fright as she took a tentative step forward, her hand reaching for him.
"M'fine," he grumbled, shrugging out of her grasp.
"You're not," she argued with a quick shake of her head.
"Don't matter," he shrugged.
A fierceness he never saw from her before flashed in Beth's eyes, as a sternness seeped into her voice. "It does matter," she snapped. "Now let me help you."
She didn't wait for his permission or acceptance, stomping forward with a confidence and determination he knew would be pointless to argue against. The toe of her boot kicking the lacy blue things out of the way, she hooked her arm under his shoulder, mindful not to get whacked with his crossbow, and assisted him clumsily out of the room and down the stairs.
Gently disengaging herself from him, she swiped the contents of the kitchen island onto the floor, then turned back to him, her expression deadly serious despite her request. "You're gonna have to drop your drawers," she said, eyeing his blood soaked pants.
"What?" Daryl balked. Absolutely the fuck not.
"I'm serious," Beth insisted, stepping away from the island and looking for something to wedge in the sliding glass doors to secure them. She opened the pantry door, scanning its contents, and reaching for a mop, broke the head off of it, and jammed it in the tracks. It would snap with enough pressure, and he was sure she knew that, but it was clever nonetheless.
Brushing past him, she disappeared into the living room, the sound of locks clicking into place accompanying her voice. "Are you done yet?"
She was giving him privacy. That, he supposed he should be thankful for -not that it mattered, because she was going to see him in his underwear anyway. With a heavy sigh, and not much left that he could do to embarrass himself any further, Daryl un-shouldered his crossbow, reached for his belt buckle, and slid his pants down to his ankles, hissing as the fabric brushed against the torn edges of his flesh. Luckily for him, the blood flow surging to his cock had ceased and it had softened to something a bit more manageable to conceal.
"Yeh," he growled, hoisting himself up on the island and praying it stayed that way.
Beth emerged from the living room, that same grim line of determination set to her jaw. She shrugged her backpack off her shoulders and began digging through it, growing agitated when she couldn't seem to find what she was looking for. With an impatient huff of air, she turned her pack over and dumped its contents onto the counter top, blushing fiercely at the gold foil condom packs that stuck out like a sore thumb amidst her scavenged belongings.
Daryl studied her pink stained cheeks while she plucked what she needed from her stockpile of possessions and lined them up on the counter top. Water, a half empty bottle of mouthwash and the miniature first aid kit she had told him she carried with her on their very first outing. She was uncomfortable too -he could read it in her stance. Good, that made him feel slightly better. Misery loves company, and all that other bullshit. She flicked her little mini first aid kit open and tore open an alcohol pad wrapper with her teeth, then used the pad to clean her hands, scrubbing under her fingernails, too.
"Can you turn on your side?" She asked, doing her best to sound professional. Whether it was for his benefit or hers, Daryl wasn't sure, but he did as she bid him, hoping there were no holes in the ass of his boxer shorts, as he rolled onto his left side, while she made her way back around the counter to stand behind him.
Despite the uneasiness he knew she felt, her hands were steady as she twisted the cap of the water bottle off, and poured it over his wound to clean it. Daryl let out a hiss, as she used one of the t-shirts she snagged from upstairs to blot the wound dry, her hands both gentle and sure. Daryl craned his neck, watching as she dipped her head to examine the gash in his leg.
"It looks like a clean cut," she reported to him, her fingers gently prodding the skin around the wound. "Not too deep, but deep enough. You need stitches."
"Ya think?" Daryl shot back sarcastically, one eyebrow winging up into his hairline. "Just get it over with already."
Beth blew out and impatient breath, and pressed her lips together in a scowl, biting back any icy retort that might have been resting on the tip of her tongue for him. He deserved whatever she'd been tempted to toss at him. He knew it -knew he was purposely trying to provoke her into an argument because he was pissed off at himself. He promised Hershel he'd protect his daughter, and here he was, pants around his ankles, splayed out on someone's kitchen counter, getting his leg sewn shut and concentrating on not getting a fucking hard on. Another hard on, his conscience corrected him. Well thank you very fucking much.
"This is probably gonna sting," Beth said softly, as she twisted the cap off of the Listerine mouth wash.
Daryl could see her tensing up before she even tilted the bottle, already anticipating his reaction ...and "Fuck that smarts," he ground out between clenched teeth, his body vibrating as the liquid seeped into the wound, making him feel like a horde of angry bees were stinging the shit out of his thigh from the inside out. On the bright side, he probably wouldn't need to worry about his dick getting hard for awhile, he thought dryly, as he breathed through the pain.
The irony that he could take a knife in the leg without uttering a sound, yet bitched over a little stinging antiseptic was not lost on him. He was pretty sure it wasn't lost on her either, but Beth remained silent, as she dabbed at the wound again, then thread her needle after running it through the flame of a match. Her tongue peeped out from between her lips as she pinched the torn flesh together and pierced his skin, tugging the needle through as gently as possible.
Daryl fiddled with the corner of his vest, worrying the leather between his fingertips for something to do. Beth had managed to neatly stitch up the outer edge of the wound quickly, but as she worked her way to the center -where the gash was wider and the cut itself deeper, Daryl found himself fidgeting and Beth's patience with him beginning to wear thin.
"Hold still," she scolded him softly, as one might scold an unruly child.
"It hurts," Daryl complained -aware that he sounded very much like a sullen child.
"If you'd just hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much," Beth tossed back at him, her touch a tad less gentle in her irritation.
Daryl's ire was up now, his voice harsh, his volume rising. "Well, if you wouldn't have knifed me, it wouldn't hurt at all."
"Well if you hadn't frightened me, I wouldn't have knifed you," Beth shot back without missing a beat.
Daryl's mouth snapped shut, the muscle in his jaw ticking. She was right, and he had been efficiently rendered speechless.
Her tone got more soft as she continued, "My knife was dirty ... I stabbed that Walker earlier ..." She was worried, he could hear the uncertainty dripping from her voice.
Daryl had forgotten about that. It seemed like hours ago, with everything that had happened between now and then. "I ain't gonna turn or nothin'," he said, in a lame attempt to ease her fears, though she was keeping a pretty good reign on them.
"No," she shook her head. "But an infection ... without antibiotics."
"Take a lot more'n some scratch to do me in, Greene."
The corner of her mouth turned up in a brief half smile, but she said nothing, finishing her task in silence. Daryl remained silent too, and seven stitches later- eleven total, Beth was finished. Unwrapping a sterile gauze bandage, she laid it on top of the wound, opting for the ace bandage over the medical tape -which Daryl appreciated, not even wanting to imagine how it would feel to have his hair ripped off in such a sensitive area.
As Beth began to wrap the bandaging around his leg, Daryl became extremely aware of their proximity again. The gentleness of her touch, upon him, the soft rush of her breath on his skin, her hands skimming his inner thighs -it was too much. And despite his best efforts to thwart it -to think of anything other than her touching him, he could feel himself becoming aroused again. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow as she finished, and tucked the loose end of the bandage snugly into the wrapped layers to fasten it.
"That ought to hold until we get home, and Daddy can have a look at it," she mumbled, straightening up to her full height. "I'll go see if I can find you some pants-"
"Don't need 'em," Daryl cut her off, already pulling himself into a sitting position and reaching towards his ankles so he could hide his shame from her eyes. It was like a switch had been flipped in his brain, and he couldn't turn it off. He didn't understand it, and he didn't like it much, neither.
"Daryl, you can't wear those," Beth shook her head. "They're soaked in blood. You wear them outside and you might as well just ring the dinner bell."
She was right. "Fine," he grumbled, waving her off with the flick of his wrist. It was rude, and the hurt he saw reflecting in her eyes was a punch in the gut, as she turned and headed quietly up the stairs.
Dammit, he just needed some time to himself to think things through. This wasn't her fault -none of it. Considering everything that had gone wrong today, she handled it all like a champ. It was him that was being an asshole. Him and these weird feelings that were floating around in his chest. And ...other places.
Reaching for his boots, he unlaced them, letting them fall to the floor as he hopped down from the counter top, wincing in pain as the jolt from the drop vibrated up his leg. This was not good. He couldn't afford to be out of commission when the others depended on him.
"Ya get lost or somthin'?" He called up the stairs, as he stepped out of his pants and kicked them out of the way. They were garbage now, and a damn shame too, because they were one of the few comfortable pairs he owned.
"Not havin' much luck up here," her voice called back. "Be patient, unless you wanna wear a skirt."
Daryl snorted as he limped over to the kitchen sink and retrieved his duffel bag from where he stashed it. He bet she'd like that- the ultimate payback for his smart mouth and bad attitude.
The look on her face was somewhat comical, as Beth returned a few minutes later, holding up a pair of worn purple sweatpants that looked about three sizes smaller than Daryl's frame. "It's all I could find," she shrugged, when he eyed her warily. "Seriously," she insisted. "If you think you can do better, go right ahead," she waved towards the stairs, inviting him to go and see for himself.
"Fine," Daryl sighed, snatching them from her hand. This day just kept gettin' better and better.
He limped into the dinning room and tugged out one of the chairs, Beth following with his boots in hand, as he plopped down unceremoniously and stepped into the stupid pants, grimacing as he dragged the too-tight material up his legs. The hem of the pants stopped about a half an inch from the tops of his socks, making him look as stupid as he felt. Stupider, even.
"It's just temporary," Beth reassured him, attempting to salve his wounded pride as she dropped down to help him put his boots on.
"I can do it," Daryl shooed her away, quickly tugging on his boots and lacing them. "Thanks though," he added, to soften the rejection. She really only was just trying to help -Daryl just wasn't used to relying on anyone for help ... relying on anyone for anything, really.
Beth nodded as she pulled herself back up into a standing position and went back into the kitchen. She had already re-packed her backpack when he joined her a moment later.
"I wanna check the basement quick before we head out," Daryl told her, reaching for his crossbow. "Whatever those two idiots were here for is down there. Maybe this is their stash or somethin'."
"Well if it is, should we really take it?" Beth asked.
"They don't know we're here," Daryl answered, finding it hard to move with the combination of his limp and too-tight pants, he dug in his bag for the flashlight. "Those two idiots ain't gonna last much longer carryin' on like that," he shrugged. "Might as well have a look. You stay here."
"I won't," Beth shook her head no in refusal.
"Dammit Beth, if they come back-"
"What?" Beth demanded. "I'm supposed to take off and leave you behind? No. We go together, or not at all." She had that fierce look in her eyes again, lips slightly pursed and her jaw set stubbornly.
"Fine," Daryl shot back, annoyed that yet again, he couldn't think of a more catchy comeback to throw at her other than that. Damn woman was wreaking havoc on his brain today ...among other things.
Swinging open the basement door, Daryl flicked the flashlight on and handed it to Beth, as he raised his crossbow out in front of him and proceeded slowly down the stairs, doing his best to ignore the ache in his leg. Beth stayed close, holding the flashlight high above them to light their way, moving patiently in-step behind him.
It was a typical basement, with a washer and dryer at the foot of the staircase, and a water heater in the far corner with some boxes stacked around it. Daryl didn't see anything worth taking, as Beth shone the light around the room.
"Guess whatever it was, they already took it," she voiced Daryl's own thoughts with a sigh.
"Guess so," Daryl agreed, turning to follow her back upstairs when the beam of the flashlight reflected off of something between the boards of the stairs and caught his eye. "Hold up," he called to her, walking around the side of the basement stairs.
Beth followed him, her light illuminating a metal shelf beneath the stairs stacked with mason jars mostly filled with a clear liquid. "What is it?" She asked him.
"Moonshine," Daryl answered, then began pointing to the jars and rattling off what they were. "Pickles, red beets, fruit preserves -ohh, grab those," he pointed to a large jar of pickled pigs feet.
"Eww," Beth said, but reached for the jar anyway. She grabbed a few of each of them, bending to stuff them into her bag, and announcing she was out of room.
Daryl swung his crossbow around to his back and filled his arms with a few more jars. "I've got plenty room in mine. Grab what you can carry."
"Shouldn't we leave some?" Beth asked. Even two stupid foul mouthed idiots couldn't escape the lengths of her compassion.
"Alright," Daryl nodded in agreement. "They likely were here for the moonshine, though."
"What's it doin' here anyway?" Beth asked.
"Dunno," Daryl shrugged, his arms full of mason jars, he began limping his way back to the stairs, noting that he was starting to feel warm in the confines of the stuffy basement. "C'mon."
By the time he crested the top of the basement stairs, Daryl was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Her eyes like a hawk, Beth noticed immediately. Unloading her armful of jars onto the counter top, she was instantly at his side, her hand sweeping against his brow.
"Your burnin' up!" She cried, tripping over herself to get to inside her bag, she dug through it, jars clanging, and foul words spilling from her pretty mouth as she searched for whatever the hell she was looking for.
"I'm fine," he insisted. "Just a little warm in here."
Beth ignored his protests, mumbling something inaudible, as she finally yanked free what she was looking for. A bottle of Tylenol that she'd looted from the upstairs bathroom. Twisting off the child proof cap, she dumped three capsules into her trembling hand and held them out to him.
"I'm tellin' you, I'm fi-" The look she gave him had him closing his mouth as quickly as he'd opened it, as Daryl grabbed the pills and threw them back, swallowing them dry.
"I'm gonna go get the truck," she announced, stuffing the mason jars into his duffel bag, and heaving it onto her shoulder.
Now that, was an argument worth havin'. "No fucking way," Daryl shook his head.
"Daryl, I can do it," Beth insisted, that stubborn set to her jaw once again, like she was out to show the world that anything anyone said she couldn't do, she was gonna -just to prove them wrong.
"I know you can," Daryl replied with just as much insistence. He wasn't lying, neither. He hadn't doubted her before, but after today, he was gonna make damn sure no one else did, either. Ever.
"But you said so yourself," he breathed, leaning forward -and before he could stop himself, he was reaching for a golden curl that had slipped from her ponytail. Pinching it between his fingertips, he mused at how soft the silken strands felt before tucking them back behind her ear. "We go together, or not at all."
He could see the fear in her eyes, her pulse that beat rapidly against the skin of her throat, and Daryl didn't protest -didn't pull away, as she captured his hand in hers and pressed it against her cheek. Instead, he stroked the softness of her skin lightly with his thumb, as she leaned into his palm and nodded her head.
"Together, or not at all," she whispered in agreement.
A/N: Welcome weekenders! A busy week and lots to dish on this chapter, now that we're back in Daryl's head (which is admittedly, one of my favorite places to be). This chapter is a special one for me because the premise for it actually inspired this entire story -Beth and Daryl hiding trapped in a closet, and his Beth-inflicted wound ...but mainly their arguing while she stitched him up, which was inspired very much by one of my favorite scenes in Disney's animated classic, Beauty and the Beast (whom Daryl and Beth remind me of in many ways).
So, on that note - please let me know your thoughts in the comments!
Happy Mother's Day to all you gorgeous mommies (fur babies count too)! See you next week!
