Daryl Dixon had always been the observant type. It was a skill first born from watching for the signs of his father's shifting moods and learning to spot when he'd been drinking and how much and if that night would be one of the times he snapped. It was skill then honed hunting in the woods with his Dad and Merle, later just him and Merle; always moving, never staying in one place for long, keeping themselves full on deer or whatever else they could hunt up. Then the world had changed, and in the process it had turned those skills razor sharp over the last couple years.
Course, he didn't have to be the most observant guy in the word to know the group was talking about him. He heard their voices outside muttering, confused, occasionally breathing out his name or Beth's, or both of them together. He knew they were watching him even more, 'cause he could feel it. Their gazes lingered on him as they walked by, as they stood outside, as they peeked through the doorway or came in to check on Beth. Watching him. Daryl Dixon, all scruffy and dirty in his torn pants and beat-up leather vest, with his dirt-stained fingers laced between or around the clean, pure, pale fingers that belonged to Beth. Wondering why.
They could fuckin' stare and wonder all they wanted, cause Daryl wasn't gonna explain and he wasn't letting go. He couldn't. Not at first, when she was unconscious and he was terrified she would die if he let go, and definitely not after, once she'd asked him not to. Without a doubt, not after the little glances she'd shot him throughout the day, every time it got to be too much for her. And hell, especially not once he got the feeling that his firm grip was keeping her anchored, and he knew that was just what she needed.
Maybe he'd needed it, too. He'd definitely needed it when she'd been unconscious, fighting to wake up. There was no doubt he had needed it when she'd tried to apologize for getting shot, when she'd breathed out explanations, some of which stuck like needles in his mind. The things she let happen. The things she let them do. That one was like a burr in his thoughts; teasing, poking, hurting. The things she'd let them do. Them? The cops. And to who? To the people stuck here. Like Noah. Like Beth.
Daryl had seen enough of this world not to know what people in it might want to do to a girl like Beth. He knew, without having to being told, without asking her to drag out what he knew she wasn't ready to talk about, what she might not never be. And when those cops walked by, especially the men, it was her fingers through his anchoring him, stopping him from rushing out and slamming them against the wall and demanding to know what they'd done, if they'd touched her, if he had to hurt them for it.
His observation, honed throughout the years from a variety of experiences, focused now on little Beth Greene, and soon her brief words about what Dawn had "let happen" weren't the only things needling at him. He saw things like the cold distance he kept noticing in Beth's eyes sometimes, when she'd turn her gaze away from him and stare out into the room, lost in... well, he wasn't sure. Memory, he figured. Memory and thoughts, maybe. Whatever it was, he didn't like it. He didn't like how she'd go all still and her blue eyes would go distant on him. He didn't like how sometimes her free hand would push down at her side, moving as if to tug down at her shirt protectively, only to stop again. No, Daryl didn't like those observations at all.
He also didn't like the way she looked when the Doctor came into the room. The man might have saved her, but that didn't earn him too much automatic trust from Daryl, for whom trust was never automatic. Plus, any little hint of trust was swept away when he saw the way she watched the Doctor, her eyes on him carefully as often as she could manage, especially when he was working on her. Once when he left the room, Beth had been half asleep from the pain medicine, and she'd turned to him with a squeeze of his hand.
"Watch him," she'd said in a voice that was soft, but tight in a way that made his stomach churn a little.
"Th' doctor?" Daryl's gaze flicked to the door the man had just walked through, and then moved right back to her.
"Yeah." She swallowed hard, her voice thick. "He's more dangerous than he looks. And he'll do... anything. Anything, to save himself." She paused again and he watched her throat working over words she could barely get out. When she finally did speak, it was nearly a whisper. "He'll usepeople, to do it."
That was all she'd said, but it was enough. Hell, he would have watched the man because of the way she looked at him alone, but her words just sealed the deal even more. Gave him something more specific to watch for. And he did watch. He watched everyone. Most importantly, he watched Beth. The cops and the others in the hospital all filtered by the room and Daryl was like a hawk watching Beth as she watched them. He noticed every little reaction. He noticed who earned a smile from her, he noticed who got a concerned or unsure expression, and without a doubt he noticed which ones had her eyes growing angry or cold. They all went down on the list in his head, with an emphatic mental underline under the few that made her tremble and cling to his hand.
Daryl didn't keep it all to himself. Much as he wanted to keep her confidence, they were depending on the fragile balance at the hospital to help her heal, so they could move on. When she was asleep he spoke to Rick, told him who to watch out for, made suggestions about which cops they could trust and which they couldn't. Which ones to keep away from her room, if they could. They didn't want to be too forceful, because they were doing their best to hold a truce, albeit an uneasy one. Daryl didn't care if it were uneasy, so long as it lasted until Beth was better. So long as she stayed safe.
The one thing he made sure of was that she was never alone. He was always with her of course, by her side, usually holding her hand. Actually he was always holding her hand, unless she absolutely needed it free. At first he stayed awake as long as he could, unwilling to take his eyes off her for even a moment, in case she might just... Vanish. In the days that followed her waking up, Daryl eventually acknowledged that he needed to get his sleep, too. Once or twice, Beth even insisted herself, and when she looked at him with those damn big eyes it was impossible to say no, even if he'd wanted to. But he didn't want her left alone, even if he were right there asleep beside her. Someone had to take the watch, someone they both trusted. Usually it was Carol who came in, sitting in the other chair to watch while he slept. Beth seemed the most alright with Carol; Daryl figured it was because the woman had come for her eventually, had followed Daryl to rescue her even if she hadn't believed in the chance the way Daryl had. He had been there when Beth had told Carol what she'd done to help her heal, when they wanted to take her off the machines, and so he knew the two of them were okay. (And he had been so fucking proud when he'd heard her tellin' that story, heard how determined she'd been to save Carol's life.)
He noticed she was okay around Michonne, too, so sometimes it was Michonne in the other chair, watching them quietly, just holding her katana nearby. He figured maybe it was because everyone knew Michonne would always stick by Rick and Carl, and so it didn't bother Beth to know Michonne hadn't come looking for her. Daryl knew it bothered her with most of the others. He saw the look on her face every time they came by. It seemed to hurt more the closer she had been to each of them. Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Father Gabriel were strangers to her, though he noticed an unexpected tension in her that had never been there before, when she'd always been warm and welcoming to every new person they'd met. She seemed polite enough on the few occasions any of them came by before or after visiting Eugene, who was in the room next to Beth's and far worse off than she was, but he knew it wasn't exactly the same as she would have been a few months ago.
Tyrese and Sasha only got faint flickers of tightness across her face and a hint of coolness in her voice when they'd came in to see her. Especially when Tyrese had told her some story about Judith and taking care of her. Daryl had seen her feelings towards Tyrese shift, the same way they had with Sasha when they'd both been told about Bob, and so once he'd asked the siblings to sit in while he got some rest and Beth had seemed okay. With Rick, and even Carl though, he saw the pain flash across her face each time they were close. Not so much for Carl, who was young and tied to his father in obvious ways, but for Rick, their leader, it was always there. And he understood that. Rick was like a brother to him, and as the leader of their group (their family) he would want to believe the man would never give up on him, would always fight to save him. Beth knew now that she couldn't believe that anymore, 'cause she'd experienced firsthand that he wouldn't. He wouldn't have faith in her, he wouldn't resist giving up on her, he wouldn't fight to save her unless a more 'useful' member of the group was also at risk.
Daryl never asked Rick to sit in with her while he got a couple hours rest, despite the man offering. He wasn't about to do that to Beth, make her more uncomfortable than she had to be.
It was the worst with Maggie and Glenn. It got to the point where Daryl started trying to stop them from even coming into the room because he couldn't stand the sight of her, how her body got all tense and her eyes got all cold and distant, her words short and clipped. The way every inch of her went tight when Maggie tried to hold her in her arms, or the unexpected fire he saw in her gaze whenever Maggie started to cry about how she thought she'd never see her again. It wasn't helping her heal, and it was best if they stayed away. So he made them, and he didn't even care if Maggie hated him for it. She could go fuck herself.
The only person she seemed almost comfortable with,besides Daryl himself (and he knew how comfortable she was with him because never let go of him unless she had to) was Noah. Beth didn't tense up at all when Noah came into the room, and so neither did Daryl, though he watched while the two of them talked softly, and he studied the expressions on both their faces, trying to figure out what they thought about each other. What he saw was camaraderie. The shared bond of two people who had fought the same battle and both lived. He saw Noah's awe of her, his understanding of her strength, and that notched up Daryl's respect for him quite a bit. But he also saw the way Beth looked sometimes when she saw Noah, as if seeing him reminded her of what she'd done to protect him. Sometimes it made her eyes go distant again but he was always right there, holding her hand when she needed him. He never thought to do otherwise. He was just there, for her. Helping, holding, watching.
He saw it all. And eventually, mixed in with everything else he noticed, Daryl saw Beth heal. Day after day she got a little less pale as color returned to her cheeks, and every time the Doctor or the nurse unwrapped her head, the wound seemed to have healed a little more. Sometimes she looked at him and that smile lasted for more than just a few seconds, and her eyes seemed brighter for just a little bit longer. And still, he never left her side. He never took his hand from his.
So when she got out of bed for the first time since the accident, it wasn't a surprise that he was the one holding her hands to help her up. His rough hands, so used to pulling triggers and thrusting knives deep into skulls and carefully skinning rabbits and squirrels, were firm but surprisingly gentle as he gripped her carefully. He didn't pull her up, he was just there for support and balance as she swung her legs out of the hospital bed and then climbed slowly to her feet. She wobbled there for just a second before she steadied and looked up at him, and he felt like the smile she gave him was just as much a reward as it had been to see her wake up that first time after she'd been shot.
"I did it!" She exclaimed brightly, still clinging to his hand.
"Yeah ya did," he replied back, gruff but with a hint of pride he knew she'd hear, even if no one else would've. "Wanna see if y' can take a couple steps, Greene?"
He saw that light in her eyes again at the challenge and felt his lips quirk in a faint smile as he just raised his eyebrow and dared her a little more. Inside he was all filled with pride though as he took a step back and she followed, a bit wobbly and weak from the injury and from days spent in bed, but still managing it.
"Good girl," he said gruffly.
"Oh, do I get a treat? You gonna pat my head, Daryl?" Her blue eyes sparkled at him and he felt that tug inside of him again, the one he always got when she looked at him. Any time, but especially when she looked like that. Like her eyes were hooking on something inside him and pulling it up and out.
He just shook his head and gave her a rough, "Shush, girl," but there was a hint of amusement in his voice that he knew she noticed. Beth always noticed things with him that most people didn't. Sometimes he hated it, especially when she saw the things he wanted to keep hidden deep down inside. He still remembered the sting of her putting voice to the thoughts he never even thought about letting out, that night when they'd gotten drunk on moonshine. How she'd just shouted it out, like she was flinging his truths into the air for anyone to hear; about how he was afraid, afraid that everyone they'd considered family was dead. She'd just ripped those feelings out of him and brought the words out his lips along with them, heated and angry at first until the tears had followed. He'd hated that, though he'd never really hated her, 'cause though he'd never admitted it out loud a part of him had been grateful after.
He didn't hate it right now, though. He wanted her to look at him and be able to see the pride in his face, the happiness at having her back. Daryl needed her to see it because he hadn't found the way to tell her in words yet. Not since that first night when the sight of her looking up had put that hook into him and tugged it all out. Or some of it anyway. He'd told her how he'd kept running and running to find her and how he'd never given up. He hadn't really told her why.
He hadn't told her how in the days following them burning down that house, she felt like the sun, shining on his face for the first time in years.
He hadn't told her how losing her was like a damned eclipse, or like a long winter night, only fucking endless.
He hadn't told her how he would have done anything, gone anywhere, to bring her back. Even if it meant burning himself alive he would have done it just to grab his sun and put it back in the sky.
(Merle would've knocked him over the head, if he coulda heard the poetic bullshit in Daryl mind whenever he thought of her.)
He hadn't told her that she'd been in his mind every day. That sometimes he'd heard her voice in his head. That someone would say something and he'd remember her babbling out some story about her family, or their farm, and he'd actually had to stop himself from opening his dumb mouth to say something like "Beth told me once…"
He hadn't told her that it had been her voice there telling him not to give up. That he'd heard her words whispered over and over again every day.You don't know that!, whenever he thought maybe she was lost. I survived. I made it. Echoing over and over again.
He hadn't told her that the Beth Greene voice in his head had encouraged him, had kept him going, had told him to be strong and that it was okay to be afraid. He hadn't told her that her voice had helped him. It had been there telling him to be careful around Joe's group. It had whispered to him to have faith when he'd been hanging over that damn trough about to get turned into some hipster-fuck's dinner. It had driven him to rush headlong towards Carol and hug her like Beth had hugged him, and to not give up on the woman who was like a sister to him now, to not let her give in to the darkness like he almost had.
(He hadn't told her about that day in Atlanta, how when Carol had asked him if he was starting over, he'd told her he was trying, and the image in his mind had been of Beth all lit up in the sun, waiting for him in the distance. Or how she'd told him he was grown up, that it was like he'd been a kid and now he was a man, and Daryl had thought of Beth and that shack and the things he'd screamed at her, and the way she'd helped him burn it all away.)
He hadn't told her thank you, for everything. For what she'd done for him, or for how she'd fought for herself.
"Daryl?" Her voice cut into his mind again the way it had every day for the weeks without her, but this time when Daryl blinked away his thoughts she was right there looking up at him. Real. "You okay?"
"M'fine." It was short and rough, maybe too much so, and he regretted that a little.
"Tryin' to decide just how strong you are, Greene." He shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Can't be strong enough to make it to the doorway, yet."
"You just watch me, Daryl Dixon."
Like he was gonna do anything else.