Again, thank you so much for the lovely comments! x
This coming episode is what will make me decide whether I want the kidnapping to happen in this story or not - just a heads up!
He was angry as he stomped out of the house. The icy chill of night air whipped against him as he trudged his way to the forest. After relieving himself, he sank into the grass and stared up at the stars, muttering to himself. "Stupid, horny bitch," he whispered angrily, although as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt bad. Or wrong. As if those words could be about anybody but her.
Maybe that was it. Sexuality. He'd associated sex with those god awful white trash broads that used to hang around his crowd wearing daisy dukes and low-cut tops. Those girls with dirty hair and sleepy eyes that draped themselves all over you for some fun. And then afterwards clung to you until they found someone new.
Daryl had a lot of experience. Before all this, with Merle, he wasn't exactly the most timid. In fact, he was nothing like himself now. Not stoic. Not quiet and calculating. Not observant. No, he acted with his mouth and his anger, and of course the desire to have sex, one of the most basic human needs, was something he was granted when he wanted it. Rape was never an option; redneck or not, he still had some shred of morality. No, these girls were always available for an overnight stay at a motel.
Sex to Daryl was considered something loveless. Just basic human need. He couldn't even begin to explain the disappointment that bubbled within him at the thought that Beth might just be interested in fulfilling this urge. Of course, she was a teenager who had never done it, it was only natural.
Then again, why should he care so much? If sex was loveless, why was he refusing to touch Beth? There was no love between them… there couldn't be. It was impossible. She'd never fall for someone like him, with her big eyes, so interested and curious. With her hair that shook down her back in waves. With her smile, or her laugh, or her stupid jokes that sometimes coaxed a chuckle out of him.
There couldn't be love there.
Daryl sat against a tree and stared at the house. He'd done a pretty good job boarding it up; the candlelight was completely obscured, and the only thing that contrasted the night was the house's white paint. Even that, though, was fading and peeling.
He remembered a few hours ago when he'd woken after piano music had seeped into his dream. The bed beside him had been empty. He'd grabbed his bow and walked as silently as he could down the stairs, already hearing her lovely voice fill the hall. At the doorway, he just stood. He couldn't bring himself to alert her of his presence because she'd stop singing, he knew it, so he'd leaned on the doorframe and watched her with interest. It was these moments he treasured, with the sweet lull of her voice matching a piano chord.
Wife.
That had been the first word in his head and it startled him. Confused him. So he made noise, cleared his throat, and made her stop singing. She'd looked at him, surprised, but there was something positive there. In the deepest shadows of her face she'd portrayed happiness, relief, joy to see him. She liked his presence, even if she wasn't consciously thinking it just at that moment.
He shook his head against the bark of the tree and covered his face with his hands. No. There were no feelings there. There were no feelings there. There were no feelings there. All she wants is sex and all he wants is to get through another day. They're a team, but that's it.
As the moon rose higher, he finally picked himself off the floor and headed on back to the funeral home, sighing once he realized that they were probably on bad terms with each other now. She wasn't in the front room with the piano so odds were she'd probably taken his orders and gone to the kitchen to eat. He'd promised he'd eat with her, so he hastened down the hallway towards the open door.
She was leaning forward in one of the chairs clutching a jar of pigs feet and staring at its contents, not really eating. When he walked in, her head rose quickly, meeting his eyes. She scooted the chair back and rose from her seat, advancing. He took a step back, afraid she'd try something again, but she reached him and wrapped her arms around his torso, digging the side of her head into his ribs.
He'd hugged back automatically. A force of habit that had developed only recently; reciprocating her affection without second thought.
She sniffed. "I'm sorry."
"What for."
"I don't want you to see me as some dumb horny teenager, Daryl," she said, tilting her head up to look him in the eyes. "I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry."
He grunted. "Don't worry 'bout it."
"Can we start over?"
"Don't see no point."
She sniffed again and nuzzled into his chest, tightening her arms. He could smell her hair and feel her shaking subtly.
"You ain't cryin', are ya," he said, pulling her away. He placed his hands on her shoulders and struggled to look at her face through the dim lighting. Sure enough, her eyes were red and clouded with tears, but she was smiling. He searched her face, confused. "Why you smilin'?"
Beth blinked, seemingly surprised. She wiped her eyes and appeared bewildered that there were tears there. "I… don't know," she replied honestly, dragging her wrist over her cheeks. "I don't know."
He studied her for a moment before nodding at the table. "Let's dig in."
She nodded. They sat across from each other, the pile of food before them, and Daryl noticed that she had made an effort at setting everything so that it looked like a meal. On each side sat a diet cola, a jar of pig's feet, a can of peaches, and either a peanut butter or jelly jar. Concealing a smile, he gestured to the setting. "You do all this?"
She nodded.
"We got ourselves a real feast right here," he commented appreciatively, reaching for his jelly.
After a few moments of silence as they ate, Beth smacked her lips, gazing into her jar. "This peanut butter's a little oily."
"That'll happen when it's sittin' too long. Mix it a bit."
Beth stood and located the drawer of utensils, choosing a spoon to mix the peanut butter with. "We should stay here," she said quietly, rifling through the drawer.
Daryl watched her as the light flickered over her features. She didn't notice. Her hair fell in one collective wave over her right shoulder, the left side of her face towards him, exposing her profile. The candle's flame illuminated her cheekbones and jawline, raking across her pale skin in the most flattering way.
He looked away. "We'll see."
She lingered back to the table, mixing her peanut butter. Instead of sitting back down, she ambled towards him, standing in his proximity. He faced the ground but peered up at her with only his eyes through his strands of hair. "We oughta cut that," she said decidedly.
It took him a while before he realized what she was talking about. "You ain't touchin' my hair, girl."
"Daryl," she lifted the spoon from her jar and pointed it at him. "You'll look nicer with that shag outta
your face."
"What're you sayin'? I look ugly now?"
She giggled. "No, I'm sayin' you'll look cleaner. Plus, ain't it annoyin', having hair constantly in your eyes?"
"I don't know, you tell me."
"I keep my hair outta my face, Daryl," she insisted, moving the spoon toward him.
In one decisive move, he licked the peanut butter off the spoon. She gasped. "You jerk!" Smiling, she
shoved the utensil back into the safety of her jar and, with her free hand, socked him on the shoulder.
He was grinning, having failed at repressing it like usual, and nodded at her. "You gonna cut it?"
"You have my word, Mr. Dixon."
Daryl leaned back, folding his arms, and shook his head. "Don't call me that."
"Why?"
"Makes me feel old. Like I'm your schoolteacher or somethin'."
"You, Daryl, are anythin' but old," she said. With that, she moved back to her seat and plopped down, scooping up a spoonful of peanut butter. "I found some scissors in the bedroom upstairs. Maybe we'll cut it later tonight."
"You're already lookin' tired," he observed. And she was. There was a worn smile on her face and her arms and shoulders were drooped. "Maybe tomorrow."
Beth met his eyes, looking like she wanted to counter him, but ultimately her fatigue won out. "Alright, tomorrow."
"Yeah?"
"It's a date."
He stiffened and went back to his jelly.
"Why do you always do that?" She asked curiously.
"Do what?"
"You stop talkin' sometimes. When I say stuff like that. Why?"
He shrugged.
"Do I make you uncomfortable?" There was girlish teasing in her voice, an innocence that sparked something in him.
After a few beats of contemplation, he gestured to her jar. "Just keep eatin', Greene."
When they both decided they'd had their fill, Beth threw their utensils in the sink and started replacing the lids on everything. Daryl watched for a bit before hoisting himself up and helping her out, unaware of the pleased glances Beth shot him. She asked him if he wanted to continue their piano lesson, to which Daryl replied that it was time they get to bed.
They transported a few candles upstairs and blew out the unused ones. Beth couldn't help but admire how the bedroom looked, bathed in moonlight and scattered with small flecks of flame from the candles. It was almost romantic.
Daryl shut tight the bedroom door and pushed the chest of drawers in front of it, despite Beth thinking it unnecessary. There were no walkers out here and even if one did find it's way to the house, it would have a hell of a difficult time trying to get in through the boarded windows and doors. Plus there was a high chance it wouldn't be able to wrap its primitive mind over the thought of stairs.
Daryl located some clean clothes his size in the drawers. "This house got everything, don't it," he commented. "Don't look." He changed into the white t-shirt and plaid bottoms, shedding his heavy and soaked garments and half-assedly folding his leather vest.
Beth had never seen him in such casual attire before. It amused her. Daryl Dixon, wearer of leather vests, wielder of crossbows, cigarette smoker, zombie slayer. With a white t-shirt and pajama bottoms.
Actually, it was a nice change. She'd never noticed how nice his body was for someone like him. His arms and shoulders were toned, his stomach was flat, his chest broad… things she hadn't noticed while he wore that thick vest. Well, excluding his arms and shoulders.
"Why are you still lookin' through the drawers?" she asked.
"Lookin' for clothes for you."
"Oh."
He tossed her a large white t-shirt and some boxers. "Ain't no women's clothes."
"This'll do," she assured, inspecting them. "Thanks."
His eyes flicked to her before he turned and faced the wall, allowing her to change. As she did so, she laughed a little. "You don't have to be so modest, Daryl. I don't care if you look."
"Well, I do."
She rolled her eyes and indicated that she was done. She folded up her old clothes and made a mental note to wash them later; they weren't soaked in blood as her previous outfit had been, but there was still a lot of dirt.
The mens shirt was incredibly baggy, drooping down to just above her knee, while the boxers peeked maybe an inch or two longer. It was almost suggestive, hinting at her slender figure lost beneath that waterfall of fabric.
Daryl tried not to stare, instead glancing at the floor. He noticed her ankle then, still wrapped in cotton. He nodded to it. "Your ankle still hurt?"
She looked down at it as if she'd forgotten about it. Rotating her ankle, she shrugged. "Not a lot, no. I can walk fine now."
"It'll be hell in the morning," he predicted, running his hand along his jaw.
She pulled herself into the bed and started prodding the bandage with her fingers. He clicked his tongue. "Don't go on doing that now," he said, and sat on the bed, carefully beginning to unwrap the cotton. He inspected her ankle closely, running his fingers along the bruised flesh, and looked up to her as he moved her foot in circles with his hand. "This hurt?"
She was wincing. "Yeah."
"Alright. It'll take a few days." He replaced the bandage before reclining against the pillows, his hands under his head. "Get some sleep. We'll deal with the pain in the morning."
Beth recounted those words in her head. We'll.
She laid on her side, facing the window with her eyes open.
We'll.
There was a glare on the glass from the candles so that it was hard to see any details from the outside. Everything beside the moon seemed to blend together in one darkened muddle.
We.
She felt Daryl shift on the bed and a moment later the blanket was laid over her, up to her shoulder. He didn't say a word.
They lay in comfortable silence for a long time, several minutes, both unsure if the other was sleeping. Before long, Beth could feel the strands of her hair tug against her scalp. He was touching her hair. Very slightly, very carefully.
Beth closed her eyes.
She moved her foot under the covers and felt the fabric of his pajama pants. He didn't move away.
We'll deal with the pain in the morning.
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