Hello dear readers! This is a chapter that A) took way too long to write. Apologies. B) Is my favorite so far, and C) is where ALL the feels are.
I hope you love it.
Daryl tried with all his strength to calm to paralyzing fear that gripped his chest like a vice. The part of the woods that Beth had followed him to was pretty dense, and he was hoping like hell that their movements and raised voices hadn't drawn the attention of what had to be the largest herd he'd scene since the run to the veterinary college all those months ago for medicine. He could feel Beth beside him, shaking like a leaf, and moved as subtly as he could to protectively cover her body with his. He might have been yelling at her a few minutes before, but it didn't change the fact that he was hopelessly in love with her.
He hadn't known what to call it before and that was part of the reason that he was trying so hard to push her away. Now, laying on the cold ground, trying to put every barrier he had between her and the danger bearing down on them, he finally knew. Trust the apocalypse to be the thing that finally brought something good into his life. And now that he'd figured it out, he was in just as much danger of losing her as he'd ever been.
He swore under his breath as the herd kept moving in their direction. A tiny and hopeful part of his brain had hoped that if they could stay down and quiet, the walkers would change direction. No dice. Now they were going to have to run and running would attract attention. He sent up a silent thanks that Beth had at least put her boots on before following him out into the dark. A wave of guilt hit him when he realized that she wouldn't even be in this mess if he wasn't such a dick. He vowed to himself then and there to get her out of here and then show her how much she meant to him. God knows he didn't have those words, but he'd figure something out. Dixons were nothing if not resourceful.
"Alright," he whispered roughly in her ear, "This is what we're gonna do. My bow's still on the porch, but I've got a knife on my hip and one in my boot."
He could feel Beth nodding beneath him and he was glad to know that she wasn't shell-shocked.
"When we get up," he continued, "There ain't no use in runnin' back towards the house, so we're gonna make for that opening in the tree line. If we can get to the road, we can move faster, and find someplace to hole-up til they pass."
"Got it," she whispered back, the fierceness in her voice making his heart clench with pride.
He retrieved the knife from his boot and pressed it into her hand.
"You stay in front of me no matter what, y'hear?"
She nodded again, and he could feel her whole body tense in preparation to jump up. He glanced up at the herd and knew it was time. Their path to the cottage was totally cut off and the walkers, having picked up on their scent, were hurrying faster in their direction.
"Now!" he hissed, leaping to his feet.
Beth scrambled to her feet and took off like a shot in the direction that he'd indicated before. He glanced over his shoulder and swore viciously when he saw how close the herd was. He stood his ground as several shambling corpses closed in around him. Several quick swipes of his knife left the first two that stumbled after him on the ground, but he wasn't even close to making a dent. Knowing that he was outnumbered, Daryl turned and ran for all he was worth in the direction of the little blonde blur that he knew to be Beth.
He had almost reached her when she stopped running and turned to find him.
"KEEP MOVIN'" he bellowed, jerking at her arm as he passed her. Using every bit of his strength, he shoved her in front of him and was flooded with relief when she kept going.
The ominous groans and growls from behind them indicated that the pack of walkers was closing in on them again. How in the hell did those things manage to be faster when they were in packs? The damn things were dead and were still managing to catch up to them at an alarming rate.
"Beth!" he panted, still mid-run, "Imma stop and pick some of 'em off. Keep goin'"
"What?! No!" she said, panic rising in her voice, "I'm not leaving you!"
"Please, just li-"
"Dammit, Daryl," she interrupted, "I said no!"
Without any further warning, Daryl watched in horror as she pivoted on her heel and raised her knife to take on the first walker that came her way. The damn woman was apparently intent on fighting this out with him. Hershel's words rang in his head as he sunk his knife hilt-deep through a walker's eye. There was no reasoning with a Greene woman. He may as well go along.
Mind made up, he moved to position himself just in front of her. If the stubborn girl wouldn't let him handle this than he was at least going to take the brunt of it. He swung, slashed, and was splattered by gore for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. Beth's soft grunts behind him were a constant indication that she was still fighting too. She was doing well.
As good of a team as they seemed to make, Daryl knew that they wouldn't last forever this way. They needed an escape.
"Come on," he rasped, grabbing at Beth's sleeve and pulling her along next to him. When he got a short second to glance at her, he could tell she was getting tired. Regardless, there was a bright determination glinting in her eyes and he knew she wasn't done yet. God help him, he loved her so much it hurt.
"Daryl look!" she exclaimed, pointing to a spot about fifty yards to their left. He caught her direction immediately and noticed the old magnolia tree that she was indicating. It was easily thirty feet tall and had sturdy, low-slung branches that dipped almost all the way to the forest floor. He sent up a small prayer of thanks; walkers, as far as he knew, hadn't managed to climb yet.
He changed direction abruptly and made for the tree, confident that he had picked up on her train of thought. As they reached the base, Daryl grabbed Beth around the hips and all but threw her up to the first branch. She scrambled for stability and he turned to kill the three walkers that had pulled ahead of the pack to catch up to them. Bless Beth's quick instincts; by the time he turned back to her, she was halfway up the tree and there was plenty of room for him to hoist himself after her.
He'd made it to the branch below hers when the majority of the walker herd reached the tree. It shuddered under their combined weight, but Daryl felt sure that it would hold. If it was still here after some of the infamous North Georgia storms, it could take a little bodyweight to the trunk.
"You think it'll fall over?" she asked, the tiniest bit of waiver in her voice.
"Nah, should be ok." he replied, pulling himself up to straddle the same thick branch that she had perched on.
He glanced down to the pile of walkers clamboring around the base of the tree and breathed a huge sigh of relief as he realized that they weren't going to have the dexterity to come after them. He'd never seen a walker climb before, but in this world you couldn't be too sure of anything.
"You hurt?" he asked, eyes raking over her to assess for damage. She was pale and panting from all the exertion, but seemed fine.
"Just a little," she confirmed, holding up her left hand for his examination. Blood was oozing from a deep and nasty scratch the ran the length of her palm.
"No bites," she confirmed, "But I tore the hell out my hand climbing."
He took her hand in his and tried his best to examine it in the moonlight. From what he could tell, it would need cleaning and wrapping, but probably not stitches.
"Looks ok," he said softly, pulling a bandana from his back pocket. He wrapped it around her palm and tied it off neatly, "It ain't the cleanest thing in the world, but it'll keep pressure on it til we can get back."
"Thanks," she replied, lingering a moment before she pulled her hand from his. "You think we'll make it back tonight?"
She glanced with trepidation at the sea of walkers crowding the ground below them.
"Maybe not," he offered, "But they've gotta get bored sometime. We'll just have to wait it ou-"
His last words were cut of by the distinct sound of a motor coming from the dark ahead of them. When the headlights swung into view he could tell exactly how close they were to the main highway. The car was barreling down the road, tires squealing and engine straining. At the rate it was going, there was no chance of flagging it down for possible help; it was going so fast that it probably wouldn't even notice them.
Daryl's spirits lifted, though, when the walkers surrounding them ceased growling long enough to turn their heads towards the car. Slowly but surely, the group began to turn from the tree and shamble in the wake of the car's taillights, drawn by the light and sound.
"Oh thank the Lord," Beth whispered beside him. He couldn't help the small smile that played at the corner of his mouth. She really was her daddy's daughter.
After what was probably an hour of sitting in the tree, he decided that it was probably safe enough to get down and get back to the cottage. Several walkers were still milling around the woods, but they were far enough away that Daryl felt confident that they could get down and away without attracting their attention.
"You ready?" he asked.
"Beyond ready," she returned, "my ass has been asleep for the past ten minutes."
He smirked at her and climbed down to the ground, shaking his head as he went. He turned to help her down from the last branch and was relieved to see that she has some color back in her cheeks.
He turned and started to lead the way back to the cottage, mulling over everything that had happened. Now that they were safe, he wasn't fool enough to think that their conversation from earlier was over. He still had to deal with that, and, as he recalled, he had made himself a promise earlier.
He stopped walking and turned to face her full on. She met his eyes, and planted her hands on her hips, almost challenging him to start up again with all the reasons they couldn't be together. Even after killing walkers half the night, Beth was still ready to stand her ground about all this. There was no winning with her.
He raised his hands in an exaggerated surrender gesture and sighed deeply. He saw the emotion war on her face as she struggled to interpret his body language. Lacking the energy to drum up the words to tell her how he felt, Daryl took the two steps to close the distance between, met her eyes, and nodded decisively.
He saw her exhale, happiness coming back into her eyes as she started walking again. He watched her, unsure of how to move forward, when she turned to smile wearily at him.
"Well, are you comin' home with me or not?" she asked warmly, extending her hand to him.
He returned her smile, and cautiously took her outstretched hand. Home sounded like the best idea in the world to him.
As Beth staggered up the steps to the cottage, she found herself supremely grateful for the fact that the herd hadn't seemed to hurt the house itself. She could see the evidence of their shuffling feet all around the outside, but the lack of life inside had kept them from trying to get in. A herd that size could probably have torn the tiny structure to the ground.
She opened the door, dragging Daryl by the hand after her and saw that the candle on the table had burned all the way out, leaving a puddle of wax on the wood. The hell with it. She would clean it up tomorrow.
Beth turned to watch as Daryl latched the door behind them, lit a lantern, and shrugged out of his blood-splattered leather vest and plaid jacket.
"If you hang those on a chair, I'll wash 'em tomorrow," she offered.
"Thanks," he said quietly, not quite meeting her eyes.
All his movements were cautious. She had caught the meaning of his shrug and nod in the woods just moments before. He hadn't even had to say the words to tell her that he was done fighting, and it seemed that now that he'd made up his mind, he didn't know how to proceed. She watched him as he fiddled with his crossbow, finally set in on the table, thought better of it, and almost broke his leg on chair as he went to move it off the table - all while keeping up a constant stream of swear words. She found that it was impossible to stop the swell of love and pride in her heart at the thought that this bold, confident man was tripping over himself because he didn't know what to do with her. A tiny bit of this thought made her shy, because she wasn't altogether sure how to move forward either; the much more dominant part of her, however, knew that she was tired of not touching him.
"Come here?" she asked softly, holding her hand out to him, "Let's go back to the bathroom and clean up a little.
He didn't respond, but took her hand and allowed her to lead the way through the bedroom and into the suddenly impossibly small bathroom. Beth busied herself with running hot water into the sink and retrieving soap and washrag, leaving him standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
"Why don't you sit?" she motioned to the edge of the tub, "I can't reach you otherwise."
"You don't have to," he said, staring at his shoes.
"Please?" she asked, knowing that he needed to hear her say it.
He sat, crossing his arms and his legs at the ankle, tension strung through every cord of muscle in his body. Beth breathed out a sigh of relief. He was still here, and he seemed willing enough to go along with what she was asking him. She submerged the rag in the soapy water and wrung it out.
Moving carefully, she grabbed the lantern and positioned it so she could see before gently taking the wet rag to his face. Most of it, along with his neck, was covered in blood and bits of other things that she didn't want to think about. He watched her, his eyes dark and hot, as she brought her other hand up to steady his chin as she went. The rough stubble of his beard against her palm stung the cut that she'd gotten, but it was a pain that she found she didn't mind.
As she re-wet the cloth and started on cleaning the sides of his face, he began to relax a little. He uncrossed his arms and even closed his eyes for a minute, but they snapped open suddenly when she reached to undo the buttons on his ragged shirt. His hand covered hers in an instant, halting her motions and she was surprised at how unsure he looked.
"Don't," he voiced. He didn't sound angry - apprehensive if anything.
"Daryl, your shirt is gross," she said matter-of-factly, "You gotta take it off so I can wash it. Plus, I'm sure some of that blood and stuff soaked through."
His mouth straightened into a grim line, and it took her a beat longer than it should have for her to realize that he was concerned about her seeing his back. He looked so torn; the pain and embarrassment written all over his face, and it broke her heart.
"I've already seen," she whispered, taking a step closer to him, "Back at the farm. When Nellie threw you, they brought you up to the house for Daddy to look at and I was helpin' him."
He met her eyes hesitantly, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"It's a part of who you are," she said fiercely, "It shouldn't have happened, but it did, and now it's a part of you. And that's ok."
She took a steadying breath, gearing up for what she wanted to come next.
"I love all the parts of you, Daryl," she proclaimed, "Even those."
He looked up at her, surprised. It was like no one had ever said those words to him, and, as she thought about, Beth realized that maybe no one ever had. It made her want to say them again. She held back though, knowing that he needed time to process. She watched as his expression changed from shock to something much softer - something she couldn't identify, but was willing to spend the rest of her life trying to figure out.
He started to say something, but had to cough to clear his throat.
"They're ugly," he finally managed to protest, voice shaky.
"No they aren't," Beth said, smiling softly at him. She gently brought her right hand up to rest on his now-clean cheek and was encouraged when he leaned his face into her palm.
"Besides," she said as she raised her wrist, displaying the raised pink scars that ran the length of them, "They match mine."
As if he were awestruck, Daryl brought his hand up to cradle her wrist and brought the scars to his mouth. Tenderly, as if she might break, he pressed a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the scars and skin on her arm and she had to stifle a gasp. He wasn't ready to say the words back to her; Beth knew that, but that one tiny action convinced her of his feelings beyond the shadow of a doubt.
"Come here" she whispered for the second time that night, pulling him to his feet. He came willingly and watched, his eyes getting more desperate by the second, as she carefully undid all the buttons on his shirt. His breathing hitched as she slid her hands inside the shirt at his shoulders and pulled it off as they ran the length of his back and arms. She stood back to admire him a minute and was hit with the same rush of feelings that she had experienced the last time she's seen him like this.
It was so much bigger than anything she'd ever felt before that she felt her breath start to come a little shallower in her chest. Sure of herself and sure that she wanted to touch him, she began to run the damp washrag over his torso, removing any last traces of blood. After she was satisfied that he was clean, she met his eyes and was staggered to find him returning every bit of the want that she was experiencing.
Decisively, she rinsed the washrag and handed it to him, taking a fortifying breath. She met his eyes and watched his mouth dropped a little in surprise as she deftly unbuttoned and removed the large, flannel shirt she was wearing. She stood in front of him, in nothing more than running tights and a stained bra, using her eyes to make her intentions perfectly clear.
He said nothing for a moment, and then stepped forward, swallowing hard, and began to wipe the grime from her neck and shoulders. When he was done, he tossed the rag back in the sink and came to a full stop in front of her, almost as if waiting for instructions. The problem was, she didn't really have a plan for this. She laughed a little, trying not to let her nerves get the best of her.
"This is the part where I don't really know what to do," she intoned, trying to sound lighthearted.
"I do," he replied, his voice dark and deep - promising all sorts of things that sent a tangle of need curling in her belly, "But only if you want to?"
"Oh, I want to," she breathed, now just inches from him.
With hands that were trembling slightly, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. She let out a breathy sound of appreciation at the feeling of coming in contact with all of his skin. She wound her arms around his neck and held on for dear life as he kissed her so thoroughly she thought she might collapse. Before she knew it, he had scooped her up like a husband carries his bride and moved both of them to the bed in the next room.
He laid her down gently and gazed down at her with dark, hooded eyes.
"A-are you real sure about this?" he asked, his voice shaking in a heart-achingly endearing way.
She nodded, reaching up for him, and was relieved when he laid down, covering her body with his.
"It just seems to me like...like maybe all this is n-new for you," he ground out, clearly struggling to make the words pass his lips.
"It is," she confirmed, growing the tiniest bit shy, "Do you mind?"
"Shit, Beth," he said, disbelief clouding his features, but suddenly finding his words, "It'll be the best damn thing anybody's ever given me. I just wanna know that you won't regret this later. That would be...I don't think I could hand-"
"Hey, listen," she whispered fervently, cutting him off, "I've thought about this - dreamed about it, if you really want to know - and I'm ready. I want you."
"I know," he replied, "It's just that ...you're the kind of girl who - you know - deserves a ring or somethin' first." He looked away, almost like he was ashamed of himself. "I don't have one to give you."
At that, Beth had to breathe deeply to stop the wave of emotions from spilling out in tears. Every single action this man had taken for weeks now had been about keeping her safe and happy, and now he was upset that he didn't have more to give her. She was floored.
"I don't need anything else, Daryl," she whispered, reaching up to touch his face, "As far as I'm concerned, after this, I'm yours. For as much time as I have left, I'm yours. That's enough."
At her words, he dropped his head and buried it in the side of her neck. She wrapped her arms tighter around him and relished the way his beard scraped lightly against her skin as he kissed her there.
"I'm yours too," he whispered directly in her ear, so low that it was almost just a breath.
She clung tighter to him and gave herself over completely as he leaned over just long enough to blow out the lantern that was burning low on the night stand.
FINALLY! Ok, so please don't come after me with pitchforks for not getting into the nitty gritty details here. The reason for that is twofold. First of all, my inner Southern Baptist girl just can't. Sex is beautiful and mysterious, meant to be shared between two people without the rest of the world butting in. Even in fiction, I just can't do it. Also, I felt like leaving it here (with just one final chapter coming to tie things up in a nice, neat, little package) was much more true to the characters and the show. Beth and Daryl are special. I don't ever want them to be on display like Abraham and Rosita were two Sundays ago. If you were expecting serious smut, then I'm sorry, and I hope that you can be satisfied with all the happy, feely feels to make up for it! I love you all dearly, and I hope you enjoyed. Please review!