Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or its characters.
'Welcome to Tallahassee, Flor-' the large blue sign read, the second half of 'Florida' having been peeled right off, leaving in its place a large patch of dry, splintering wood.
Thump! A beige sack and quiver was tossed ungracefully onto the parched yellow ground next to the sign, soon joined by a lone petite body.
She leaned back against the colorful piece of plywood and stretched her tired legs out in front of her, taking a brief moment to acknowledge the splatter of copper-red stains that had settled permanently into her worn cowboy boots.
Bright blue eyes wandered up to the cloudless sky, squinting sensitively from the harsh rays. A thin layer of perspiration made her sun-kissed skin glisten in the light, and anything covering her body stuck to her clammy flesh like saran wrap. But, after living days on end in such conditions, she was used to the unpleasant feeling by now.
The sun's glare became too much for her delicate pupils to handle so she let her eyelids fall shut and allowed the ambiance of crickets and softly creaking wood to lull her into a peaceful state of mind.
She was all alone, both a curse and a privilege in two very different aspects those days. Alone for how long, she couldn't remember even if her life depended on it. It was just something that she had learnt to accept and adapt to. Did she hate it? Of course. Every second that she breathed she wondered what the point was in continuing on, but then she would catch a glance at the string of bracelets hugging her wrist and it was enough of a reminder. A solid reminder that she made her decision a long, long time ago.
As for what direction she was heading in, that was a promise she had made a long time ago.
The soles of discolored boots brushed the dusty road as the girl found herself in a small town a short while later. The same beige sack and quiver dangled loosely over her left shoulder, while a long elegant bow could be found gracing her right hand. A knife and gun hung at either side of her hip but she trusted her way with a bow more than anything in that world.
The town was dainty and very quiet. Dust covered just about every still surface in view, and nearly every window was broken and smashable thing destroyed, causing her to believe that the town must have been ransacked and abandoned quite some time ago. She warily eyed the excessive amount of bullet holes scattered along the strip of buildings lining the deserted street, wondering if the people who put them there had been aiming at more than just walkers. The thought brought back memories of the Woodbury incident, which seemed like ages ago now, and she swallowed as she fought back the ever painful memory of losing someone very dear to her.
Keeping her eyes narrowed and peeled, the girl carefully scanned every angle with each step. What may have seemed like a ghost town, she knew better than to lower her guard. Her count on unwelcome surprises had been something long lost in the past, amongst too many other things, so she had to remain alert.
There was a remote movement that caught the corner of her eye, and the girl immediately directed her attention to the source, the side of a prefabricated structure that hugged the corner of the street. She observed as a fractured door swayed loosely off its hinges, creaking ever so fitful in the breeze. Amongst the numerous other broken doors in the area, it may have seemed like nothing out of the ordinary, but a sixth sense of sorts that came with years of experience carried her interest.
Right hand clutched even tighter around the handle of her bow, her left reached swiftly over her shoulder to retrieve an arrow from the extended pouch. Narrow eyes never straying from the door for even a second, her footsteps crept closer and closer towards the swaying panel of steel.
From under a meter away, her bow was up and aimed, and she cautiously proceeded forward. Very lightly, the girl tapped the door with her foot, and it swung all the way open with a protesting screech. It was no surprise to her when she was almost instantly greeted by a moaning member of the undead on the other side. Nary a moment to waste, a slick arrow was sent flying cleanly through the ravenous creature's forehead. An ugly grunt escaped its lip-less mouth and it plopped backwards with a lazy thud, hard onto the floor. Years of dust coiled elegantly around its limp body and the girl advanced into the building, stepping broadly over the body, and reclaiming her bloodied arrow from its skull in the process. Everything had happened in one quick, effortless motion, like it was second nature to her.
Before entering too far, the girl quickly scanned the room first to make sure there were no other immediate threats lurking about. Once presumed clear, she relaxed her bow ever so slightly and reserved a moment to take in her surroundings.
It was an old-fashioned diner, she realized, if the stainless steel exterior hadn't been enough to convince her. Complete with vibrant vinyl seats, Formica surfaces and cheap peeling wallpaper, there was a burnt-out neon 'open' sign that hung high above the giant red 'Coca-Cola' letters plastered to the front window. Broken glass and dishes littered the checkered linoleum floor, crunching audibly even under the lightest of her steps as she approached the extended line of bar stools. All in all, the girl spotted only three additional bodies laying lifeless on the surface of all the debris, the gashes in their heads indicating that somebody else had gotten to them first.
Looking up to the far wall of the stretched room, she noticed an old jukebox standing finely out of place amongst all the wreckage. She crossed the room as quickly yet gracefully as she could, debris still crackling beneath her. Upon reaching the music box, she placed her hand delicately on the glass pane, attending to it like a porcelain artifact. Her face became the brightest thing in the room as she glanced it over.
Doubtful yet curious as to whether the machine still worked, she carefully selected one of the yellow-stained buttons with her finger and was pleasantly surprised when she saw the needle move and drop onto the poly-carbonate record of choice. In short time, the room was buzzing with the serene, classic melody of 'The Promise' by Tracy Chapman, and the girl eventually found herself closing her eyes and smiling blissfully as she relished in the beautiful sound of music gone unheard for too long. Softly, she hummed along to the acquainted tune, distinct memories flowing back to her with a gigantic wave of mixed emotions.
Unfortunately, like any enjoyable moment experienced those days, they were always far too good to last. A faint click from behind instantly jerked the girl out of her daze, and it didn't even take a full second for her blissful expression to darken into a look of pure animosity. Clutching her bow with a tight fist, she spun on her heel and confronted the threat behind her, bow aimed with shrewd precision at the head of the intruder. Arrow met arrow as the girl's eyes frantically surveyed the crossbow pointed at her own head across the distance, where he stood lingering in the other doorway.
Seconds felt like minutes as they elapsed, the soft music anticlimactically maintaining its spell in the background. Neither of the two occupants moved another inch as they stared one another down. The girl found her eyes shift to the vibrant colored patterns on the intruder's poncho draped over his shoulders. Feeling a strange sense of familiarity, her eyes flickered up to his face, and she squinted through the blinding rays of light filtering in through the massive shattered window panes.
It was then that she realized exactly who it was that she was pointing her weapon at, and who in turn had his pointed directly at her. Every muscle in her body fell limp in result of this realization, and her bow dropped heedlessly to her side. Her heart felt like it was on fire as it thumped rapidly against the inner curve of her ribs, and her mouth hung open, dry and breathless.
"Daryl?"
"What did it look like?"
"What?"
"The dog, Daryl! What did it look like?" Beth asked excitedly as she led the way back into the kitchen, wobbling along with Daryl following closely behind.
"Oh. Well, uh, it was white- Had one eye."
Beth spun around and grinned skeptically up at him. "Really? One eye? I think you can do better than that," she teased.
Daryl held his hands up defensively. "No lie."
When they got back to the table, Daryl hurried past and reached for the farthest chair, pulling it out and motioning for her to take a seat.
"What a gentleman," Beth beamed playfully as she accepted the gesture, using the table for support as she hopped her way along into the chair.
Daryl didn't voice a response, but Beth caught the subtle smile on his face when he walked away.
As Daryl collapsed heavily onto the seat across from Beth, she picked up the jar of peanut butter closest to her on the table, and twisted open the top. Without thinking, she dug her index finger deep into the jar. When it emerged, it was completely covered with the thick brown mixture, and she mindlessly popped the whole thing into her mouth.
Eventually, she looked up after a moment of savoring the delicious taste, and was surprised to find Daryl staring back at her with a very intense but bewildered expression. When he didn't look away, Beth began to feel a little self-conscious so she quickly slid her finger back out with a distinct smack of her lips.
His lip twitched. "Gross," he mocked, but his delivery was dry, and he looked more uncomfortable than he did playful. That look was quickly masked by him clearing his throat and reaching for his own jar of jelly, popping the cap, digging all four fingers into the mushy preserves, and shoving a large dollop into his own mouth just as he had done the previous day.
"It's not a competition, Daryl," Beth laughed as she watched him try to swallow the whole amount without choking. A little bit had dribbled down the side of his mouth, so without even thinking about it, Beth leaned forward over the table and reached out a hand to wipe it away.
Daryl flinched when her fingers made contact with his skin, and for a moment Beth was worried that he was about to smack her hand away. But he didn't. He just sat there and stared directly at her face, not blinking even once as she continued to brush her thumb over the same spot.
Feeling the invisible pressure of his eyes upon her, Beth averted her gaze to meet his, and was taken aback when she saw the piercing look he bore into her, not much different to the look he had expressed just a moment ago. She suddenly became so distracted by it that she didn't even realize how much longer than necessary she had been wiping for.
It wasn't until Daryl cleared his throat again that she became aware of how awkward the situation was quickly becoming. The moment she realized, she instantly retracted her hand, as though his face had just burnt it, and retreated to her seat with a sheepish expression on her face.
"Sorry- Habits, I guess. From when I was with Judith," she uttered, as the best excuse she could think of. A hint of pink had surfaced to the apples of her cheeks.
"S'alright," Daryl shrugged, trying to sound indifferent as he was quick to shove another, slightly smaller, glob of jelly into his mouth. In his haste, a few deep coughs escaped his throat, which he did his best to suppress.
Beth smiled hopelessly at him. "Here," she said, shaking her head as she picked up the only spoon lying on the table and offered it to him. "Try it out, you might actually like it."
Daryl eyed the spoon as though somebody were offering him a set of chopsticks. Regardless, he kept his mouth shut and eventually accepted the piece of silverware. Beth's face lit up as he did so.
Nobody could have looked as graceless as Daryl when he thrust the spoon into the jar of jelly and pulled it back out with a trembling awkwardness. It was almost like watching a child trying to use utensils for the first time. But, nevertheless, he managed to succeed in getting the jelly into his mouth without spilling any, and Beth's smile widened.
"See? Ain't so bad, huh." She observed proudly as he downed the spoonful of the purple gelatin.
"I guess so," he grunted, going back in for another round with a very slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Okay, Hungry Hippo, my turn," Beth insisted impatiently when Daryl wouldn't stop inhaling spoonful after spoonful of jelly. You'd think he hadn't eaten for weeks at the rate he was going.
Daryl seemed surprised when she mentioned it, and stopped halfway through taking what had to be his sixth or seventh helping. In his moment of realization, he immediately slipped the spoon out of his mouth, slurping every last particle of jelly from it in the process.
"Hold on, I'll just clean it-" he announced with a grunt, rising briskly from his seat.
"I'm not afraid of your cooties, Daryl," Beth interjected, shaking her head as she grinned humorously up at him. He had barely made his way from the table when Beth reached out and plucked the spoon straight from his dangling hand. Daryl turned and crinkled his forehead, seemingly taken aback by her action.
"I've got an infinite number of walkers at my doorstep. I think I can handle a few harmless germs... no matter how gross they are," Beth teased, playing upon their alleged new inside joke.
Daryl's mouth twitched awkwardly and he lingered for an additional moment while Beth dipped the secondhand spoon head first into the spread. Upon extracting it, she drove the chunky dollop into her mouth, then proceeded to lick the entire spoon spotless with a satisfied smile.
Defeated, Daryl finally moved to settle back into his own seat with another lumbering thump, and he immediately snatched up one of the large two-litre bottles of coke.
"Well, yours are pretty gross too."
"Together again,
It would feel so good to be
In your arms,
Where all my journeys end.
If you can make a promise,
If it's one that you can keep,
I vow to come for you
If you wait for me.
And say you'll hold
A place for me,
In your heart."
A temporary silence elapsed the moment Beth removed her hands from the keys of the antique piano and stopped singing. She turned around to look behind her, where she found Daryl sitting in one of the several chairs orderly assembled into rows. He immediately went back to work on sharpening his arrows with a knife, blatantly attempting to make it seem as though he hadn't in fact been staring at her the entire time.
"What did you think?" she asked him honestly.
"I think our next goal should be to find some CD's and a stereo," he said insensitively, not even bothering to look back up at her.
"Daryl!" Beth shrieked, clearly offended that he would dare say such a thing.
But it was only then that she saw the devious smirk playing at the corner of his lips when he finally tipped his head up to glance at her, and she knew then that he didn't actually mean it. After all, it had only been one night ago that he lay in the empty coffin nearby, practically begging for her to sing to him.
"Much better than I could ever do, anyway," he revised, which, Beth had learnt, was essentially his way of admitting that he liked it.
He had returned his focus to the arrow in his hand, inspecting it shrewdly, but Beth never took her attention off of him for even a second. Suddenly, without any inclination of his own, he had given her an idea.
"Have you ever tried playin' any instruments?" she asked, and he looked right back up at her with an apprehensive glare.
"I don't think I even knew what an instrument was 'til my teen years. Merle woulda called me a pussy for even touchin' one of those things," he admitted sadly.
Beth smiled at him. "Well, now's your chance! C'mon, I'll teach ya," she insisted, lightly patting the small empty spot on the wooden bench beside her.
But Daryl just blinked at her hesitantly. "I dunno..." he said, looking extremely uncomfortable with the idea.
"Can't hurt," she added "C'mon, I won't bite," she urged, flashing him the sweetest smile she possibly could, as if it would help.
But it did.
She watched as he eventually caved under her invisible power and, much to his chagrin, set the unfinished arrow down onto the chair next to him. He rose with a slow huff, and crossed the short distance to where Beth sat at the piano. She shuffled over as much as she could without falling off the edge, happily welcoming him onto the seat. The height of it was a bit too short for him, so his knees came up a little too high, only barely clearing the edge of the key bed. It was a small seat, so their shoulders and hips both pressed up against one another, but even still, Beth was quite comfortable with the arrangement. She couldn't dare speak for Daryl, though.
"We'll start here," Beth said, indicating at one of the white keys set somewhere in the middle. "This is a 'C' note. It's the note that beginners become familiar with the most. Here- Rest your thumb on it," she commanded, not even giving Daryl the chance to move on his own accord as she grabbed his hand for him and dragged it up to the keyboard. He flinched at the unexpected touch, but didn't protest. She positioned it so that his thumb lay on the 'C' note, while the rest of his fingers just hung lazily along the nearby keys.
"Following 'C', we've got 'D', 'E', 'F', then, finally, 'G'," she informed, adjusting each of his fingers respectively as she mentioned each note, so that by the end of it all his fingers were settled firmly on their own key.
"But you're only going to need notes 'C' to 'F' for the song I'm going to teach you," she added. "Now let's ready your left hand. Just put it right there next your right," she instructed, and this time he lifted it and placed it himself just as she said.
"Good. You're going to end up having to play some of the keys under your right hand with your left, but, for now, the left hand keys going backwards from 'C' are 'B'-," she proceeded in repositioning his fingers again as she went along, "-'A', 'G', 'F', and lastly 'E'. Got it?" She looked up at Daryl, but was surprised when she caught him already staring at her.
"Daryl, were you paying attention? You're not gonna learn anythin' by looking at me," Beth chided lightheartedly, returning her attention to the keyboard after he guiltily did the same.
"Now, it may all seem very confusin', because, if you were listening, you'll know I just mentioned that there are also 'E' and 'F' notes beneath your right hand, but basically the entire keyboard just repeats itself in sets of 'A, B, C, D, E, F, G'. It's hard for me to explain it as simply as possible, so I'm sure it's a lot for you to take in right now, but I promise it gets much easier once you get the hang of it."
Her eyes shifted slightly to the right instead of turning her whole head to readdress him, and from the corner of her eye she could tell that he was staring at her again. She opened her mouth, about to say something, but instead decided on shutting it with a hopeless sigh.
A shy smile spread wide across her face, and she could physically feel her cheeks turning a very light shade of pink. She quickly returned her attention to his marred hands, readjusting them after they had fallen slightly limp over the keys, probably from his lack of attentiveness.
"Okay, let's begin," she proceeded abruptly, clearing her throat and straightening up as she raised her hands above his, hovering over them like a puppeteer.
"Start with 'C'," she instructed, giving his right hand thumb a little tap with her own when he didn't make a move, so that it pushed down on the white key, immediately filling the whole room a sharp 'ding!'
A few hours later, the sun was beginning to set, so both Daryl and Beth had split up within the large funeral home, searching every nook and cranny for as many candles as they could find.
Daryl found himself in what appeared to be the master bedroom, his trusty crossbow dangling once again at the end of his arm, just in case there happened to be any unexpected surprises.
Something he couldn't quite place his finger on, was how immaculate everything was kept, and not just in that current room. The entire house had seemed way too perfect to be true. But he knew there had to be at least someone living there, or at least maintaining it, because it was the only explanation for the spotless stash of provisions. He just didn't understand why the owner of the home kept everything in such impeccable condition. Even the bed sheets didn't have a single wrinkle on them, Daryl noticed, as he swept his free hand over the quilted material.
Deciding it wasn't really worth his time to continue pondering over it, Daryl shoved his suspicions to the back of his mind, and crossed the room to an old standing cabinet. A few tealight candles sat on its top, so he hurriedly stuffed them all into his large cargo pant pockets. When he looked back up, the only items left remaining on top of the wooden surface were two picture frames. He almost overlooked it the first time, but when he leaned in for a closer look, he noticed the logo of some generic photo company watermarked over the picture of a pretty lady in one of the frames, as well a black-and-white photo of a baby in the other. Finding it very strange that whoever owned the house kept impersonal photographs on display, Daryl considered that maybe the person simply never got around to replacing the retail pictures with his own.
Abandoning his concern for that matter as well, Daryl continued on his way over to the large double-door closet gracing the far side of the wall. He slid one of the doors open, and was instantly greeted with an entire collection of neatly pressed clothes hanging along a metal beam. Finding it no more unusually tidy than everything else in the house, he glanced down, where he spotted an equally organized row of shoes. They were all men's shoes, he realized, looking over them.
He was just about to walk away, having seen nothing of value, until a small gleam in the far bottom corner of the closet caught the corner of his eye. He turned back around and bent down, reaching his hand out towards a pair of worker boots. Hiding away within the collar of the farthest one was a two-thirds full mickey of Johnnie Walker Black. Daryl turned the bottle over in his hand, admiring the fine whisky.
He eventually rose to his feet, the small bottle of whisky still clutched by his hand.
"Beth?" he called out, brushing past the room's door as he exited it, stopping on the upstairs loft just on the other side of it.
"I'm in here," she called back just after he had leaned over the wooden railing for a peek down below. He quickly turned his head to the source of her voice, which was a long hallway to his left.
He made his way down the hall to the only doorway that had a warm light spilling out from it (all the others were kept shut). When he looked into the room, he found her staring at some pictures atop a dresser, just as he had been doing not a moment ago.
"It's weird... All the pictures, they're..."
"Fake?" Daryl finished for her, stepping into the room and walking up behind to get a better look at the pictures. All the photos in front of them were only of babies, but when he looked around the room there wasn't a single sign that a baby ever even lived there. In fact, it just looked like an ordinary guest room.
"Yeah, the other rooms had them too," Daryl added, looking back to her.
Beth placed the picture back where she found it, and then turned to face him. "Did you find any?" she asked, changing the subject, and Daryl knew at once that she was referring to the tealights.
"Some," he said. "I found this, too." He held up the mickey of whisky that had remained in his hand, the bright amber liquid sloshing against the clear glass.
A wide smile broke out across her brightened face. "What is it? Rum?" she asked, obviously still a newbie in the realm of liquor, despite already having tried moonshine, which had to be considered far more than a beginner step.
"Nah, better," he said. "Scotch. Even I never had somethin' fancy as this." He eyed the bottle all over, as though he hadn't already done so.
There was a momentary pause, for Beth seemed oddly distracted by what he had said, staring at the bottle as though she suddenly recognized it. "Scotch was one of my dad's favorites," she murmured, pensively lifting a finger and running it over the label.
Daryl felt awkward as he certainly hadn't planned for any reaction like that. His whole intention had only been to excite her, as alcohol was something he had come to learn she enjoyed. He never expected to send her spiraling down memory lane.
"He had good taste," Daryl asserted abruptly, allowing the bottle to fall again to his side so as to break Beth from her depressing reverie. She blinked and looked up to him, almost as if she was surprised to see him standing there.
"C'mon, there's a good-lookin' porch outside here. We could still catch the sunset," he suggested, in his awkward haste to try and cheer her up.
He indicated to the large french doors on the other side of the room, the orange glare from the setting sun reflecting off the glass so much that it was almost impossible to see through it. He tugged at her arm lightly, motioning for her to follow as he approached the two white-framed doors.
With a light 'click', he twisted the golden handles, and flung the doors wide open. The porch was rather high up, so the view was quite phenomenal. The entire graveyard could be seen from that point, and all that surrounded were fields and trees for what seemed like miles. Of course, the horizon had become a bit hazy from the blinding glare of the sunset.
"It's beautiful," Beth whispered, coming up from behind and standing beside him in the door-frame.
Daryl looked to her right away, caught off guard. There was that word again, he thought, observing the peaceful expression on her pretty little face as she stared out into the distance. The setting light made her already bright eyes shine even brighter and her hair shimmer with specks of gold. Soon enough, Daryl found himself utterly mesmerized by her, and not for the first time.
"Hey, look," Beth said excitedly, detaching Daryl from his inner thoughts. He looked to where she indicated and spotted a bench swing hanging from the overhead ceiling. The minute he turned back, she had already set off in its direction.
Daryl followed her, and watched as she happily admired the single piece of furniture occupying the porch.
"We used to have one of these- back at the farm, I mean. Daddy built it himself." Her voice went soft as her hand glided gently over the wooden armrest. "I remember him always tryin' to tell us- my sister and I- how important it was that we be gentle with it, but I was real young at the time. Of course, I only saw it as another toy, so often times I could be found jumpin' on it or trying to swing myself as high as I could." She laughed. "He got so mad whenever he caught me. One day, I was swingin' on it so hard that it just... collapsed. I fell to the ground and hurt my arm real bad, and my dad kept yellin' at me that he told me so. Even still, I could tell he was worried. But, I learnt my lesson and refused to even touch another swingin' thing after that. 'Til now..." Hesitantly, she lowered herself down onto one edge of the seat, holding onto the armrest as she did so. When she dropped onto it with a light thump, she automatically took a moment to inspect it all over, afraid it might give at any second.
Daryl laid his crossbow down against the wall beside it and then brought himself down onto the empty spot next to her, much less concerned about the reliability of the equipment. He gave a light kick to the ground, projecting the bench into a gentle motion, and Beth immediately eyed him.
"Don't worry, it's secure," he assured her, tugging lightly at the chains. Beth smiled then, as his confidence in the matter seemed to help her relax.
"How about that whisky then?" she said, changing the subject again.
Remembering that he still had it in his hand, Daryl held it up in front of them, the rays from the sun turning the amber liquid into a neon orange. Without a moment to waste, he twisted the cap off with ease, and then pitched it as far as he could over the railing.
"Hey- What if we don't finish it?" Beth protested, gaping at him. But he just looked right back at her with one eyebrow raised.
"Says the girl who was guzzlin' moonshine like water just the other night," he scoffed, then held out the open bottle to her. "Ladies first."
Beth gave a frivolous roll of her eyes, but gladly accepted the small bottle from him with an intrigued smile.
She brought the rim to her lips, and took a very shy sip at first, pausing for a moment just afterwards in order to assess the taste. Then she went in for another, slightly larger, swig of the golden drink.
"What do you think?" Daryl asked, never taking his eyes off her for a second as she experienced her first taste of scotch.
"It's good," she said, smacking her lips. "Much easier on the throat than moonshine, that's for sure. I like the flavor better."
Daryl nodded, accepting her opinion, along with the bottle, as she handed it back over to him.
He took his own swig of the booze, probably downing more in that one round than her two combined. After gulping it down, he, too, took a moment to appreciate the flavor lingering on his tongue.
"Yeah, not bad," he mentioned, shrugging lightly as he helped himself to another quick hit before passing it again over to her.
Beth took it, but didn't drink from it right away. Instead, she clutched it with both hands and stared dismally down at its label.
Daryl nibbled at his bottom lip, watching carefully as her mood shifted before him, unsure of what was going on through her head in that moment. Or what he could possibly say to help.
"Thinkin' 'bout your pop, again?" he asked, trying his best to at least figure out the source of what was bothering her, without overstepping any boundaries.
"No," she muttered, much to his surprise.
Daryl averted his gaze to the horizon, and wondered what else it could possibly be that had her so upset. Girls were so complex to him.
He was just about to speak again, when he heard the sound of her voice cut off his thoughts.
"Daryl, if there was any place you could head to, where would it be?"
He sincerely thought about it for a moment, which was probably the first time he ever thought about it. He wasn't so sure any answer he gave her would really count in that case, but despite that he found it a rather interesting question. Random, but interesting nonetheless.
"I dunno, haven't really thought about it I guess," he admitted honestly, furrowing his brow as he continued to ponder over the unexpected question.
"I'd wanna go to Florida," Beth piped up, and he brought his thoughts to a halt as he turned his head again to look at her. "I have family down there- Well, had- So I've been there a few times growing up. I'd probably head towards Tallahassee, because it's closest, and then make my way towards the ocean. Often times I dream about just hopping on a boat and sailing to some distant island. I always wonder whether the infection has even spread that far..." Her words trailed off as she stared thoughtfully out into the pink sky.
"Seems like you got it all figured out," Daryl murmured, plucking the whisky bottle straight from her grasp, since she seemed to have forgotten it, and taking a generous helping for himself.
He followed the direction of her eyes, observing the golden clutter of clouds painted over the cotton candy sky.
When she didn't respond, he felt the strange need to say something else.
"Yeah, I guess Florida sounds alright," he offered, automatically taking another swig of the drink without even thinking it.
Another pause elapsed between them after that, and Daryl looked to her once again, slightly worried about why she wasn't her usual chatty self for a change. But then she reached over and reclaimed the bottle of whisky from him, and he was more than happy to allow her.
"Can we make a promise to each other?" she suddenly asked, making Daryl shoot her a very apprehensive look.
"What kinda promise?" he asked, scrutinizing her as she took a sip of the liquor, and silently craving another sip himself. Or maybe it was something else, he wasn't quite sure.
She paused again, clearly calculating her responses. "If anything... happens-" she leered, "to us, I mean... Can you- can you promise me that you'd meet me there?"
"Nothing's gonna happen," he assured her quickly when her eyes met with his. He wanted to say that he wouldn't let anything happen, but was afraid that might have come across a tad too possessive. After all, she had made it very clear time and time again that she didn't need him to protect her.
"How can you be so sure?" Beth retorted, searching him for the answer. He looked down, his confidence wearing thin, because he knew that she was thinking about the rest of the group in that moment.
"I dunno- I mean, we made it this far alright. And this place ain't seemin' so bad. Maybe we could-"
"Daryl, please," Beth begged, cutting him off. "I'm done taking chances. I want to have a back up plan... just in case. We didn't have one for the prison, and look where it's gotten us."
He looked to her, considering the idea for a moment, and then again turned his head back down to his hands where they picked at each other.
"It's a pretty far target... why not somewhere closer?" he asked.
"Because I wouldn't want one of us to waste any time. The time spent waiting around somewhere else could easily be spent heading towards the final destination."
It was making some sense to him, but he still had a hard time getting over the possibility of them getting separated in the first place. Before she interrupted him, he had been just about to suggest that they stay at their current place for as long the circumstances would allow. That's what made the most sense to him, for the less time they spent moving around, the better chances they had at staying safe. Or so he thought.
Nevertheless, he was willing to agree to her terms, if it's what gave her peace of mind.
"Fine," he said simply, snatching up the bottle and knocking back a long-awaited swash of booze. He'd gotten the stuff for her and she'd barely even touched the thing, he realized as he eyed the quarter of crimson liquid remaining in the bottle.
"Say you promise," she urged, looking expectantly at him, and his mouth only twisted in his obvious reluctance.
But, at last, he quickly grumbled the words "I promise," shrugging his shoulders as if to say 'are you happy now?'
And she was, he saw, as her face brightened immediately with one of her intoxicating trademark smiles.
Promptly, he shoved what remained of the liquor bottle in her direction. "Bottoms up," he insisted. "You been holdin' back on me. Ain't fair."
Not abandoning her smile, Beth graciously accepted the bottle and downed the entire rest of the contents in one big gulp. She finished with a satisfied exhale, and then chucked the empty bottle as far as she could over the railing, just as Daryl had done previously with the cap.
He followed the projected bottle with his eyes, wholly impressed, until he could no longer see it anymore. It was then that he noticed how much the sun had set. It was no longer hovering above the horizon, which in turn had caused the sky to turn a reddish purple.
As if having read his thoughts, Beth suddenly spoke up. "I'm gettin' hungry," she said.
"Better head on in then," he responded, rising from the seat at once with a huff, and then extending his hand to her. Accepting it, she placed her hand in his, and he used his strength to help pull her to her feet. She wobbled into him a little bit, but quickly straightened up.
As they approached the double doors, a slight smirk crept up on Daryl's lips and he felt the sudden need to jokingly add, "Please don't suggest we burn down the house this time," and that earned a small smile from her in return.
But he had no idea just how much he was about to wish that they had.
A/N: I'd first like to say, if you've made it this far, THANK YOU! I apologize for how long this first chapter was, as I had too many ideas that I needed to fit into this chapter in order to set the tone for the rest of the fic. The following chapters will not be as long, you can take my word for it (for now).
Now, let me tell you the story behind this fic, for those who care to listen. I had started writing it before 'Still' aired, and had the first chapter all written out. Of course, it was a very different fic at that time, headed in a completely different direction. After I watched 'Still' and 'Alone', I wasn't inspired by my ideas for it so much anymore, since my whole perspective had been changed. So I decided to scrap the whole thing. It wasn't until recently that I started thinking of ways I could possibly revise it. The ideas came easier than I expected, while I was still able to incorporate some of the old ideas I had planned on using. Initially, the fic was to be based off the song 'Songbird' by Fleetwood Mac, but I later had a change of heart and came across the song 'The Promise' by Tracy Chapman (go check it out! It's awesome!). I actually found it to be a much better fit, so I was happy to have made the change. You can expect it to be a recurring theme throughout the fic.
And, that's about the gist of it. I hope you enjoyed reading. :) Reviews are lovely!