Beth was so tired her eyes felt gritty. Her breathing was harsh in her own ears, when she could hear it over the constant growl of the motorbike anyway. There were walkers everywhere and the sight of them brought fresh tears to her eyes every time. She refused to weep though. She pushed the sobs down until she could feel them thick and heavy in her throat like a physical object lodged there. She had already cried enough into Daryl's vest and she refused to show him more weakness even though he seemed oblivious to it anyway.
Beth kept as much space as she could between them but the shifting movement of the bike meant that more often than not, her torso was pressed to his back. At first she could only feel the hard lines and tension in his body but, as time passed, she became aware of a subtle tremble that was the only indication that Daryl was as exhausted as she was.
They needed sleep and for that to happen, they had to find safe shelter. They were heading towards her home town and so it was Beth's responsibility to think of somewhere to go. She was trying to think of suitable places. The more practical she was, the less she thought about Patricia.
The high school was overrun, she knew that much at least. They'd never really talked about the state of the town in front of Beth and now she wished she'd gone out of her way to quiz Maggie about one of her many runs to the pharmacy.
The pharmacy had big glass windows and had been picked clean so Beth assumed that it was easy access and not great for sleeping.
There was one place that she thought of. It was on the outskirts of town and discrete. People only talked of it in hushed tones because it was an undesirable business to have in a small, god-fearing community. Beth wasn't even supposed to know it existed but it had been a topic of endless fascination at her high school. The other kids had talked about it in judgemental voices but the red that usually crept into their cheeks hinted at an underlying curiosity. Scandal always did that.
Beth was referring to the local brothel. She had never seen it and it was somewhat of an urban legend. It could even be a myth; she'd never seen it with her own two eyes. But rumour had it underground, with a grey door that required a password or it wouldn't open.
If they could get inside, presuming all the facts were correct, then they'd be safe for a night.
Beth shouted directions to Daryl, who followed them precisely until they were in what could only be described as the industrial section of a small town.
The grey door looked like it led to nothing more than a shed. Daryl didn't look overly impressed and she could almost see his thoughts trying to catalogue the places they had passed, thinking about something better.
Daryl tried the door and it didn't open. He rummaged in the motorbikes saddlebag for a minute before producing two pieces of metal. He inserted them into the lock while Beth kept watch. The air was cool and Beth shivered. Winter was on its way, she could feel it.
"Where did you learn to pick locks?" Beth asked.
"Same place I learnt my interpersonal skills. Concentrate on the road!" Daryl scolded. Beth bit her lip and wished she'd manage to escape with someone else. She needed a little kindness right now and Daryl Dixon was the last person equipped to give it.
The door gave and Daryl was smug. He looked around as if someone had bet he couldn't do it and he'd just proven them wrong. When he only saw Beth, his face fell a little. She didn't need his expression to tell her he was disappointed that he was stuck with her.
Daryl fished out a flashlight next and hung his crossbow over his shoulder for easy access. The rest of the bag he shoved unceremoniously into Beth's arms.
"Keep behind me," he instructed gruffly. The shed was just a diversion; it sloped down immediately into stairs.
"Should I lock the door?" Beth whispered.
Daryl gave her an exasperated look. "We might need ta'get out quick." He shook his head and started down the stairs. Beth stayed silent now. It wasn't her fault she hadn't spent half her life fighting for survival. She didn't think of things like having a clear escape route. That was going to have to change but Daryl could be less of a dick about it.
There was another door at the bottom of the stairs and Daryl wordlessly passed her the flashlight. She was glad she didn't need to ask a question to know that he wanted her to keep the light pointed at the lock. While Daryl worked on the lock, Beth took the opportunity to look around. There was nothing outstanding about this stairwell. The steps were metal and functional, and the walls were bland cement.
This time Beth could hear the click of the lock surrendering to Daryl's tools. The sound carried in the cool, dry air. Daryl opened the door and pointed his crossbow into the empty space. Beth shifted so the light could illuminate the room. When nothing moved, Daryl took the flashlight back, his fingers brushed Beth's in the process. Beth tried not to flinch but failed and Daryl noticed.
He tugged the flashlight away roughly and stepped into the room.
"Stay here," he commanded Beth and she obeyed, despite wanting to kick him in the shins for his tone. The room was small. There was one bed and a little bathroom. There was no one here, living or dead. Daryl nodded his approval. Two doors, two locks, no windows.
Leaving Beth standing there, he jogged up the stairs to shut and lock the first door. Beth was left standing by herself in blackness. It was only for a minute but it was long enough that all her fears came rushing back and her heart started to pound.
She was ushered into the room and Daryl repeated the process behind them. There were candles on the bedside table and Daryl produced a lighter. The candles gave a soft glow to the room and Daryl switched off the torch. He didn't want to waste the batteries.
Now Daryl took the time to actually look around the room. His forehead furrowed. Whatever he was expecting down here, this bedroom, lavishly designed with red, purple and an abundance of velvet, was not it.
"What is this place?"
"A brothel," Beth said, sitting down on the bed. She was too exhausted to care what had happened on it before today.
Daryl's eyebrows shot up and he took a dramatic step back from the bed. And he called her the child.
She could see a number of curses and complaints hovered on the tip of his tongue but he didn't say them because any idiot with eyes could figure out this was a smart place to hide.
"What's the matter, Daryl?" she asked blandly. "They only had sex in here, no one died."
Daryl's eyes hardened and it looked like he blushed but it could have just been the excessive redness of the room that was giving his cheeks that ruddy tinge. Beth would normally have gone a different shade too, talking about sex, but she was too numb and exhausted to do much more than blink. At least she would have had an excuse. She was a well bred, wholesome girl, Daryl looked like the kind of person who lived in dive bars and associated with these people. Her mother would have chastised her for thinking such a thing. Prejudice was neither kind nor Christian.
Beth kicked off her boots and pulled her feet up on the bed. The covers and sheets were tucked in. They smelt a little musty but underneath was the tang of lemon laundry detergent. She watched Daryl through sleepy, lidded eyes. He was against the wall, looking lost.
"Do you think they're alive?" she mumbled.
Anyone else would have reassured her. "Probably not," Daryl said. And she hated him. But sleep claimed her and she knew nothing else.
...
Did he think anyone had survived? The honest answer was he didn't know. But Daryl had been thrown by their surroundings and embarrassed she seemed less bothered by them than he did. He had wanted to hurt her. So he'd said the meanest thing he could think of, extinguishing hope that her sister and her father and her boyfriend were still breathing.
Those big, innocent blue eyes had regarded him mournfully for a beat but then they'd slid shut. Daryl felt guilt roil in his stomach. A brothel of all places! How did Beth even know where this was?
He should have explained it wasn't the sex that made him hate these places; it was the amount of times he'd had to drag Merle out of there after he'd snorted, drank and fucked all their money away. Daryl's money more specifically, since Merle could never hold down a job. But it was none of Beth's business. It was amusing that the oldest profession managed to find its way into every corner of society. He actually had a healthy dose of respect for prostitutes. Most of them he met he could relate to. They'd had a hard life and were willing to get their hands dirty to survive. It wasn't ideal but neither was starving or living on the streets. Just like him, they were cunning and tough. Nothing like the sleeping teenager in front of him now.
It was cold in the room; there was a ventilation shaft to ensure a fresh turnover of air and to prevent smoke from clogging the room. Beth shivered in her sleep and Daryl knew he should go over there and pull some blankets around her. But he didn't.
He eyed Beth the same way he would a dangerous animal. He didn't want to get too close and he didn't want to touch her. He couldn't explain this sudden instinct. Maybe he was just delirious from sleep deprivation. Instead he lowered himself into a chair that was more decorative than comfortable, propping his chin in his hand. How many men had come down here, twisting the sheets with their writhing and moans? He noted the juxtaposition of pure Beth's pale skin against the deep purple of the covers.
Daryl slumped down in the chair and closed his eyes. The top of it seemed to dig into the back of his head but it felt good to shut everything out. One by one the muscles in his body began to loosen. If he could just get a few hours of sleep then he would be able to think up a plan. Beth knew the area and Daryl knew how to keep them alive. Surely between the two of them they could track down some survivors. He didn't want to think about what the next step would be if they found no one. That would leave him and Beth alone.
The image of Beth on the bed flashed on the screen of his closed eyelids. Something about this girl made him want to get as far away from her as possible.
...
One minute Beth was asleep then just as suddenly she was awake. Her cheek was cushioned by the palm of her hand that had somehow eased itself up and under her head. The candle had burned a few centimetres down, the only thing in the room that showed the passage of time.
Her body ached; she could already feel it like a steady thrum. She was also more alert. The numbness of before had all but vanished; edged out by a pounding grief and mounting fear.
Daryl was asleep in the chair across from her. His head had fallen forward and she could hear his soft breath. Sleeping he looked younger and more tame. The suspicion lines around his eyes had smoothed out. She wondered if Daryl ever smiled. He might have even been handsome if he smiled.
Beth blinked, surprised to find herself studying him in this fashion but his slumber was giving her an opportunity she hadn't had before. Normally Daryl seemed to have an almost supernatural knack for feeling exactly when he was being looked at. His facial hair was scruffy and made him look old to Beth. She didn't know his exact age or even if he was that old but to Beth the distinction seemed very clear. Daryl was a man, she was a teenager. His cheekbones were cut at a nice angle though and his lips were full. And Beth remembered just how striking his blue eyes could be.
Beth suddenly felt uncomfortable and heated, like she had blushed but it had spread throughout the rest of her body. It made her squirm and shift on the bed. The instant she moved, Daryl's eyes snapped open.
They locked on hers and Beth froze. She felt a flutter of fear that uncurled in her stomach but dissipated when the intensity of his stare mellowed into irritation as the facts of the situation caught up with him. If he had been hoping she would disappear while he slept then he was out of luck.
"You could have slept on the bed," Beth offered, even though she was glad he hadn't.
Daryl glared at her like she said something to offend her. He pushed himself to his feet and strode into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
His exit caused the tension to deflate and Beth already felt more at ease. She found the bottle of water and took a few sips while she waited for Daryl to reappear.
When he did he was a lot more composed, though he never seemed to lose that restless energy he embodied.
"Water doesn't work," Daryl said. That saddened her. Beth wanted nothing more than a shower to wash the remains of last night away.
"Too bad," Beth commented and passed him the water bottle which he accepted. There was no thanks but he didn't snap at her either which was basically what passed for gracious for Daryl. She didn't mention that thing he had said to her last before she fell asleep, wanting to forget it because, if she put too much stock in it, that would make it true. Knowing Patricia was dead was enough for now.
As difficult as it was to admit, Beth needed Daryl. She didn't know what their course of action should be and she was looking at him to guide them.
"What do we do next?" she eventually asked.
...
Daryl retook the seat that had served as his bed. If it was uncomfortable the first time he sat down then it was worse now. Beth was looking at him with the worst of emotions. Hope. He knew what she wanted him to say but he couldn't. As much as he wanted to find the others, and not just so he'd have some competent people at his back, he had to be cautious. Once the walkers had lost his trail they would also lose their direction and purpose. They'd probably keep putting one foot in front of the other but it might be days before the majority of the herd cleared out of the area. Not to mention Randall's old group might still be lurking around here somewhere.
"We should find another farm close by," Daryl said, scratching the back of his neck. He stretched his legs out in front of him, looking at the garish painting on the wall. Anywhere other than at Beth.
"We aren't going to the highway?" Beth asked, fighting to keep her voice even but not quite succeeding. She had better not cry or Daryl was going to lock her in the bathroom.
"Maybe tomorrow," he said, knowing that he might miss their opportunity to see the others but not willing to take the risk. Besides, if he knew Rick at all, the man would see the missing supplies and draw some pretty educated conclusions. He would wait in the neighbourhood and Daryl would be able to track them. Presuming Rick survived. Best not to mention that detail to Beth.
"We have'ta be patient," Daryl explained, naming a quality he tended to lack except when he was hunting.
Beth nodded and didn't argue, what choice did she have? They both knew that she would have been dead if he hadn't swooped in to rescue her at the last minute. Daryl was just glad the action hadn't made her gawk at him like he was some well disguised hero. At least she was realistic about who he was.
Thinking about how defenceless she was made him scrutinise her. He must have been out and out staring because Beth crossed her arms and turned pink. "What?" she demanded.
Daryl wrinkled his nose. "First things first. We need t'get you a weapon."
AN: Two quick (possibly unrelated) things. One: I'm not watching season four until the first two episodes have aired so I'm getting in early and requesting no spoilers if you happen to be reviewing etc. The second (that'll make me sound a little like a self absorbed wanker): if by chance you're following me on twitter (you should, cause I'm awesome), you should give me a shout out because twitter doesn't send me notifications and I'd like to be able to follow back. There was also a typo last chapter that fills me with face palming shame, so I'd just like to apologise for that little slip up. You're all wonderful, wonderful people.