Over the months since the Governor, the prison had become more than a place that keeps them safe, it's home. They've made makeshift furniture and also brought some pieces in, also linens, and clothes, and little creature comforts. Bit by bit, run by run, the prison has transformed from the place in which they were surviving to the place where they are thriving. Food is not in abundance but the crops are starting to produce and it has been a long time since anyone went to sleep hungry. Beth is keeping track; not, just of the days without an accident, not just of the new faces and new names that occasionally come in to join them, but of triumphs and milestones, as small as they might be: When Judith started eating food, when Glenn found her father a prosthetic leg, when Sasha, Tyreese, and Maggie brought back what seemed to the group almost an entire library. There was the time when they got art supplies for the kids, and just the having of second-tier necessities like soap, and sunscreen, and sunglasses and winter coats and hats. And extra pillows, and toothpaste. Though, although there are curtains and towels — little things from the old world, when put together, no matter how completely — they never trick anyone into feeling they are still living that old life. There might have been a time when that would have happened, but not now. Not after the Governor.
The walls, the beds, the gardens, the showers, the rationed (but there) electricity, never take anyone into a lapse of sense memory. But it is a life. One worth protecting, and one worth living.
Clean teeth and UV protected skin do not make up for the loss and the horror, but they can make the difference on the days when it is hard to find a reason to keep going. Everyone has those days — though nobody speaks of them — even behind the prison walls, but most days you just go about your tasks; there are things that need doing, and that's it. Life, as they say, goes on. Even Daryl had eventually claimed a cell, though some nights he still slept out on the perch, until Beth.
And there she stands, smiling faintly in the doorway of his second level cell, "Hey."
Daryl looks up from where he lies on the bed, "Where you been, Girl?"
She watches him lying there, "They said you're leg's broken."
"Shows how much people know," Daryl grunts. "Ain't broken it's sprained." He's laid out with his leg elevated by pillows and clothing. It happened outside the fence. Something on a run went bad, she'd just heard and came straight to him.
"It's his knee," Tyreese fills in. "Bone may be bruised. No way to tell. Your pop says there's not much to do; he's getting his kit."
"It's fine," Daryl barks. "Quit fussin'."
Tyreese turns on Daryl who's trying Tyreese's patience with his unabating surliness. "You could have a concussion. Probably won't walk for days."
"I'll walk," Daryl counters. "Hell, I'll walk right now. Hershel's got one leg; gimme a crutch, I'll show you how mobile I am."
"Dixon," Tyreese commands, "relax."
Moving into the room Beth looks from one to the other, "So, what happened?"
"Some piping got the jump on me." Daryl doesn't particularly feel like giving a play by play, the damage speaks for itself.
"Water damage," Tyreese adds. "Ceiling damn near collapsed. Pipes came right down on him." He glances back at Daryl, "Lucky he's alive."
"Ain't goin' out from no damn pipe," he grumbles, and looks away when he catches Beth watching him. He doesn't want that, her looking at him that way, so he gripes to distract her, "M'bye someone should tape this thing up. Or," he gestures roughly, "bring me the tape, I'll do it myself."
"I'm getting it," Tyreese nods. Moving past Beth who's still near the doorway, he says to her, "Stay with him, he's got a concussion, I don't know how bad. Don't think he should sleep."
"'Sleep?'" Daryl balks. "It's the middle of the day. I don't need no babysitter."
"Just stay awake," Tyrese calls behind him, heading down the stairs to find Hershel and the bandages and tape.
Left alone Beth looks at him, and he, in turn, squints up at her beneath arched brows and looks. "You need anythin'?"
"Got some ice?" he asks facetiously. "This water bag's not doin' me any favors." Daryl adjusts the ziplock bag of creek water that's been set on his knee, the best thing they have to bring the swelling down.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't here." Daryl scrunches his nose at her, he doesn't care about that shit. He doesn't need her there waiting at the gates for him. She's there now. Standing there, cautious, examining him from across the room several yards away. "Your head hurt?"
He looks at her. He thought he'd hate having her worry over him, but she isn't crying or wringing her hands. She isn't overreacting or fixating on the what-ifs. He appreciates that in her — a pragmatism all her own, such that none would expect to find, hid behind that cherub face and soft little voice. "Had worse," he answers, in his gritty closed-off way. Beth nods.
Truth is, if Ty hadn't been there to lift those pipes, things could have turned out differently; Michonne, or Maggie, even Glenn might not have gotten him out. But he was there, and Daryl made it back, not too much worse for the wear. And now today's just one more day of hundreds of close calls. Not even that close, the walkers didn't outnumber them by a whole lot, it was the ceiling mostly. And he's glad; glad to be back, alive and breathing, at least for one night more with her, soft in his arms, small against his side, sweet and fresh and his, for as much as he will take — "Come in if you're gonna," he grunts — which still to this point amounts mostly to kisses. (He hasn't sought or accepted more.) Daryl watches her take one step closer. "Don't bite."
"I'm not afraid."
"Whutever," he shrugs, as best he can. "You're pretty far away over there."
"You hungry?"
Daryl shakes his head. "Sit'dwn." Her eyes flutter down to his leg, and he watches her cross the small space and take the spot on the floor beside his bed, seeing no easy way to get beside him on the bed. "Ain't gonna break."
In silence, Beth raises her hand to his shoulder and holds it there. Daryl breathes, his chest slowly rising and falling as he allows his body to relax under her touch.
Beth picks at the frayed ends of his horse blanket. They sit. "I saw a hawk today," she shares, breaking the quiet. His brow cocks in interest. "Swooping up, glidin' on the air." There's a smile on her lips as she recalls it. "Beautiful."
"Gettin' to the point," he rubs sweat and dirt out of his eye, "nearly ev'ry big bird 'ya see's a buzzard." He adjusts his leg, "Peckin' at the dead, followin' the livin'. Hawk's a raptor — dangerous — but..." he drifts off in thought, "'s elegant."
"Majestic," she contributes.
"Mm,hm… Vulture's just a big dumb bird. Can't take care of itself 'cept for scroungin'."
"We're scroungin'," she says, her dimples deepening like they do when she makes a point.
"Uh, uh," he shakes his head. "We're the hawk. We're livin'."
Beth reaches and finds his hand, she squeezes it in hers. He's fine. In a little time Daryl will be fine. And while he recuperates he'll have the prison to do it in. Despite how she may have expressed it that day in the woods with him, Beth does not resent the presence of the prison fences. She loves them. Loves them like she never knew she could love a fence. They have kept them safe. They are what's allowing Judith to grow up, and gave her father the space and time to recover. They've given them farmland and room to breathe in. The fences are what makes them safe and keep them going. They're everything.
…
The night is passing. Tyresse, who'd played college football at Tulane, had wrapped Daryl's knee and Hershel'd stopped in to monitor his eyes several times for signs of a concussion. People had been in and out of the room all day, bringing him food, water, an extra pillow. Carol had sat with him for a long time, and Rick. Carl'd brought Ass Kicker. But the day had grown late, and now, judging from the position of the stars, and the moon, shining down through C Block's tall windows, he's guessing it's nearing midnight. The prison has been long asleep, the sound of snoring echoes from several cells, and the only two awake are Beth and Daryl. He's not allowed to sleep, or can't sleep, and either way, she's up watching the night with him, now beside him in the bunk.
In the dim light, Daryl takes her hand. She watches his fingers close in around hers. "I'm glad you're safe," she says. "I'm glad you're all right."
"I'm fine," he declares.
"Good." She smiles. And she lifts his hand in hers, raising it, calloused and rough, to her lips and softly she kisses his knuckles. Daryl blinks as he watches, then looks away as her eyes flutter up to his. She's his, she knows, and he hers, as much as he'll ever be anyone's, but still in quiet moments between them Daryl takes respites, not taking her on all at once. But she'll take Daryl Dixon as he comes to her, and Beth snugs up against him, resting with him, the surly, scruffy, volatile bowman who's proved himself the steadiest of the group, against two pillows, a converted horse blanket, and the cinderblock prison wall. Keeping company comes easy to these two, though conversation can be exhausted. It's late, his knee is badly swollen, and there are no more words to say. Softly Beth sings, her eyes drifting up to his from time to time as she does, checking that he's with her, and she isn't on her own.
Well, this is just a simple song,
Her dimples appear as she starts in on her nocturne.
To say what you done.
She looks at him with a sweet smile; on the surface, he's stoic and unmoved, but there's more to him than his surface.
I told you 'bout all those fears,
And away they did run.
You sure must be strong,
And you feel like an ocean
Being warmed by the sun.
When I was just nine years old,
I swear that I dreamt
Your face on a football field
And a kiss that I kept
Under my vest,
Beth smiles while drawing in her breath,
Apart from everything,
But the heart in my chest.
I know that things can really get rough,
When you go it alone.
Don't go thinking you gotta be tough
And bleed like a stone;
Could be there's nothing else in our lives
So critical, as this little home.
My life in an upturned boat,
Marooned on a cliff
You brought me a great big flood,
And you gave me a lift,
Yeah, what a gift.
Again she smiles, but continues quickly on as the song beats on:
Well, you tell me with your tongue,
And your breath was in my lungs,
And we float over the rift.
Daryl blinks; he can only keep his eyes on her for brief moments of time. It is too much to take in otherwise, too much to hold within himself. He never was good at looking at people. Daryl sees everything, he's observant as hell, but looking, it's hard, it leaves him feeling open. Because, if his eyes open to see, if his mouth is unclenched and allowed to smile, somebody else might be looking into him. Beth sings on, she's singing for him, but not to him — he doesn't have to look at her.
I know that things can really get rough,
When you go it alone.
Don't go thinking you gotta be tough,
And bleed like a stone;
Could be there's nothing else in our lives,
So critical, as this little home.
Absently he touches his hand to his chest, touches his rough fingers to the cool stone, strung there for him by her...
Well, this will be a simple song,
To say what you've done:
I told you 'bout all those fears,
And away they did run;
You sure must be strong,
And you feel like an ocean,
Being warmed by the sun.
Remember walking a mile to your house,
Aglow in the dark,
I made a fumblin' play for your heart,
And the act struck a spark.
You wore a charm on the chain that I stole,
Especially for you.
Love's such a delicate thing that we do,
With nothing to prove,
Which I never knew
In the silence that follows Daryl looks at her, and blinks. Then, ever so slightly, nods his chin at her, calling her to him. Beth moves in, her parted ready lips just whispers from him, and he kisses her, holding her to him by her golden halo of hair.
AN: Song is The Shin's "Simple Song" from Port of Morrow, 2012. Now most likely James Mercer and co were not recording after the zombie apocalypse, but the show itself used Waxahatchee's 2012 song "Be Good." Sorry for posting the entire song (that's usually a pet peeve of mine in reading FF), but there was nothing in this scene to interrupt her, and I wanted to convey the span of time they spend together, close, but without actual conversation.