A/N: "The Queen and I" by Gym Class Heroes (pt 1).

the queen and i I

He saw the irony in her vices, in the substances she chose to use as she attempted to drown her demons. He wasn't blind or stupid, and he wasn't being willfully ignorant either. He was just trying really hard not to think about it or focus on it, because he knew it was no good trying to say something. She was just as aware as he was, probably more so.

But it had never mattered to her. She knew full well what kind of path her daddy had gone down for the entirety of his life. She knew all about the destructive pattern constantly looming at the back of Hershel Greene's head, threatening to tear down everything he'd worked to build over the years despite its presence. Maggie had certainly never let her forget either. But neither sister seemed terribly eager to break the cycle, or to find another way to numb their unspoken pain.

Well, Maggie did. She found an important career, a husband, and a new family, apparently. But that left Beth even more lost than before, treading in dark waters without her sister's guidance. It was only logical that she'd fall a little farther into the bottle. She was simply utilizing the only crutch she had left.

Like father like daughter, right?

Daryl tried - continuously - to ignore it. Especially now. Now that he had no place, no right to criticize her or offer "advice." Sure, it was unhealthy, but she was still functioning, still going about the routines and rituals, still managing her responsibilities and doing her best to make it through. So who was he to try and tell her how to live her life? After everything he'd put her through, all the scars he'd contributed? He was partly to blame for the ticking time bomb that she'd become, after all.

But when he watched her climb out of his bed, slip on her camisole, and head straight into the kitchen to throw back a shot of whiskey, his heart skipped and plummeted down to his feet.

Was this what it had come to?

She didn't even wince. As if the shame were already long past numbed. As if she were daring him to try and say something, to push their newly built boundaries. She quickly poured another shot and swallowed it down as well, then headed to the bathroom without so much as a glance back at him. Who had she become in their months apart?

Did he really want to find out?

Their hours together on Friday ended much too quickly for his liking. Time slipped away and before he knew it, three o'clock had come and gone and she was still lying in bed with him, listening to the rain outside and mumbling about how she didn't want to go to work. But she got up anyway and hopped in his shower (after grabbing a beer to take with her, which slightly dumbfounded him). And shortly after four, he was driving her back to Brittany's place so she could change into her work clothes (and spray some perfume to mask the scent of booze).

She reached out and casually held his hand during the ride to the apartment and the ride to her workplace, and he didn't object either time. But it hurt a little more when her fingers slipped out of his for the last time and he finally had to drop her off and watch her walk away. He sat and stared until she'd disappeared inside the little restaurant, his arm tingling from her absence.

He made her promise to eat something before she went out drinking after work. And she voluntarily promised to text him soon. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but something about the way she said it made his heart swell with anticipation.

He didn't notice the dark purple hickey she'd left on his neck until he got home and looked in the mirror. He spent the rest of the day overthinking every single detail of their night together, replaying moment after moment inside his head. And when his stomach began to ache with a pain that couldn't be cured with food or Pepto Bismol, he poured himself a full glass of whiskey and sat down on the couch to wait for Beth's name to pop up on his phone.

She texted him after work on Friday night to ask how his day was and tell him that she was going to a concert with her friends, but she'd stopped responding by midnight. He spent the rest of the night struggling to sleep, struggling even harder to resist the temptation to lurk through her social media accounts.

But it was no use. Something had sparked back to life within him and it felt impossible to stay away from her now, to not care. It was almost a morbid curiosity, like he was expecting to find heartbreak and disappointment awaiting him somewhere amongst the dozens of Instagram photos and Facebook posts. Like he was looking for a reason to definitively not care. Something to cement the anger and resentment, to reignite the assurance that they didn't belong in one another's lives.

All he found was a lot of poetry, indie songs, pictures with friends at parties, and stupid jokes. All traces of Jimmy, of her last several months in a "happy relationship," were gone, as was any evidence of any other suitors. Or it was just omitted. Either way, the only thing he stumbled upon that made him feel something were the old photos of them together.

She hadn't deleted them. Not a single one. She hadn't even changed the heart emoji-filled captions. They were all still there: Beth and Daryl in a bar with drunken smiles on their faces. Beth and Daryl next to a Christmas tree in holiday sweaters. Daryl kissing Beth in front of a "Happy New Year" banner. Beth kissing Daryl while holding the bouquet of roses he'd bought her for Valentine's Day. Both of them standing with a small group of friends at one of the many parties they'd attended throughout the years. Both of them standing on the Las Vegas Strip with obscenely large cups of alcohol in their hands. Both of them in coordinated Halloween costumes and surrounded by drunken, costumed friends. Both of them happy.

Their time together, all the memories they'd made… It was all still there.

He didn't know why that mattered so much to him. He knew it was stupid, that it didn't actually mean anything.

Nonetheless, he couldn't stop himself from growing a little more hopeful.

On Saturday, she texted him around four to say that she was horribly hungover at work, then she asked what he was doing that night. He told her he didn't have any plans, but she didn't respond after that. He assumed she'd gotten busy and had better things to do - she seemed to have a lot more friends nowadays than he remembered.

So when Dwight texted shortly after eight and asked if he was "over his stomach bug yet," Daryl accepted the invitation to their favorite bar and changed out of his sweatpants for the first time all day.

He and Dwight's favorite bar was quiet and a little run-down, but the bartender knew them well and always overpoured, and after a long week of dealing with customers and coworkers, the two friends were more than happy to sit in a darkened establishment amongst no more than fifteen or twenty other patrons. For the last two days, whenever the sun went down and the night got colder, the steady rain outside turned to snow flurries that melted as soon as they hit the ground. The two friends sat at the bar with their coats on the backs of their chairs and cold beers in their hands, relaxing in the warmth of central heating. The jukebox played old country songs at a low volume and for the first hour, Daryl sat and listened to Dwight rant about how shitty work had been the day before.

But he kept glancing at his phone, lying face-up on the surface before him, dark and silent. He couldn't stop wondering what Beth was doing for longer than two minutes at a time.

Dwight noticed that Daryl was only half-present and eventually pointed it out. At first, Daryl shrugged and mumbled an apology, quickly suggesting they step outside for a cigarette. But when he stood up from the barstool and moved to grab his coat, the dim light shone on his neck just right and Dwight scoffed loudly. Daryl recognized the sound, and the look on his friend's face, almost immediately. He tried to cover his obvious shame by turning away and slipping his coat on, lifting the collar over his marked neck.

But Dwight was already commenting, his tone thick with sarcasm, "Huh - that looks pretty fresh. You burn yerself with the flatiron this mornin', or…?"

Daryl met his friend's knowing gaze with narrowed eyes, shrugging his tensed shoulders and trying not to get defensive. "What'd ya want me ta tell ya - that I was takin' a personal day?"

Dwight smirked and responded in a much lighter tone, "Ain't gotta lie ta me, man. You was gettin' some action, havin' a bed day with somebody - I get it."

"A bed day?" Daryl mocked.

Dwight chuckled and stood up, grabbing his coat and slipping it on as he continued, "I'ono - that's what Sherry calls it. You know what I mean. All I was try'na say's that I'm happy for ya, dude. I think it's good that yer finally movin' on."

This was the part of the conversation Daryl had been dreading and actively trying to avoid. He had no reason to lie to Dwight - except when it came to Beth. Because that shame was a little too intense for him to handle at the moment, and way too difficult to hide.

They were grabbing their beers and heading outside, pulling packs of cigarettes from coat pockets and sparking lighters, so Dwight didn't notice the tell-tale look on Daryl's face, or the obvious hunch in his shoulders. Not until they were standing outside the door of the bar, puffing on cigarettes and creating large clouds of smoke and hot air amidst the flurries of snow that were slowly falling from the sky. Then Dwight looked over at Daryl, swallowing a swig of beer and narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

He knew. They'd been friends for too long, they'd gotten blind drunk and talked too many times, they'd seen too many ugly sides of one another. Beth left traces of her presence every single time, without fail, and Dwight was always the first to spot them, to pick up on the lasting effect she had on Daryl. Any attempts to hide it were futile because the evidence was written all over Daryl's face, in the tone of his voice, in the shadow of his stance. And this time, she'd left physical evidence. Like an unmistakable calling card of her own design.

Daryl saw the recognition cross his friend's face, and then the inevitable disappointment that drew all of Dwight's features downward and erased whatever else he might've been about to say. He frowned and shook his head, glancing pointedly at Daryl's neck once more. Then he clenched his jaw and made direct eye contact through snow flurries and dissipating clouds of smoke.

"Shit. So, what - yer back together again? After all that?"

His tone was presumptuous, and a little too smug for Daryl's liking. It grated on his nerves immediately and he had to fight not to become defensive as he returned the intent eye contact.

"'Course not. She's done with 'im - we're jus' friends."

Dwight laughed humorlessly. "Friends… with benefits? Or is she keepin' you on the backburner till ol' Jimbo comes to 'is senses?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes and took a tight-lipped sip of beer. Then he muttered, "Already came to 'is senses - that shit didn't last. Just like I said it wouldn't."

Dwight inhaled a long drag of nicotine and tar, holding it for a second before releasing it from his smirking mouth. "Right. So you want to be the fallback. Ol' reliable Daryl, at her disposal whenever she needs dicked down real good - "

"Shut the fuck up," Daryl snapped, his voice coming out more growl-like than he'd intended. But his blood was boiling hotter than ever at the sound of his inner conflicts being vocalized by his closest friend.

Dwight was unfazed. He simply shrugged and took another long drag off his cigarette. Then he leisurely sipped his beer, scrutinizing blue eyes still set on Daryl, and after a long moment, he said, "When'd this start up again? 'S that why you been so mopey the last couple a weeks?"

Daryl gritted his teeth and averted his gaze down to his boots, holding a cloud of smoke inside his lungs for as long as he could bear. When it finally poured out of his mouth, he lifted his eyes and met Dwight's expectant stare. "Ain't been mopey. She was at some college bar a couple weeks ago, got ditched by all 'er friends an' texted me. I thought it'd be good fer both of us if we talked. But…"

His voice trailed off and his eyes drifted downward again. Vivid memories of his and Beth's night together a couple of weeks prior flashed through his head and revived the palpable sparks of emotion that always came along with them. And, though he didn't want them to, so did the doubts. The questions.

What exactly had he been expecting to get out of meeting her at that bar? Out of responding to that text message? Could he really justify his actions anymore? Could he really make the excuse that he wanted 'closure' or whatever the fuck else he'd found to explain his moment of weakness?

"So she texted you, jus' outta the blue, an' after all that shit that was said, all these months - you showed up like a dog on a leash…"

Dwight's tone was becoming condescending. And it only made Daryl angrier, because this asshole had no idea what went on behind closed doors, had no fucking clue the kinds of things Beth had moaned and whispered and begged for. Dwight didn't know what the fuck he was talking about - he didn't have to hear the soul-clenching hopelessness that drenched Beth's voice, didn't have to look into those big cornflower blues and try to say 'no,' didn't have to feel the inescapable pain and suffering that emanated from her every movement. He would never know how agonizing it was to watch her suffer all alone.

No matter how good of friends they were, Dwight just didn't understand the connection that Daryl and Beth shared. He never would. He'd never know every little detail, every painful lesion that had scabbed over and scarred and made them into who they were today. He could never comprehend the depth of Daryl's bond with Beth, nor would he ever understand why it was so utterly impossible to break.

Because Dwight wasn't a selfish fucking idiot like Daryl. He'd found Sherry and immediately realized what kind of gift he'd been given, and he didn't fuck it up for so much as a second. He met Sherry at a time when they both were growing, but luckily, they were prepared to grow together. And they did. And they flourished. They worked through every miniscule obstacle that presented itself, and they grew into a comfortable routine that left them both equally fulfilled in the relationship. They didn't have tons and tons of emotional baggage, family drama, and deep-seated insecurities to climb over. They didn't have nearly every odd imaginable stacked against them. They got together, they fell in love, they moved in with each other, and they got married. And now they were happy, planning for kids, setting their future in stone.

Meanwhile, Daryl was still navigating the intricacies of caring so deeply for someone that losing them felt like losing an actual limb from his body. Beth was damaged and weighed down with all kinds of unpacked baggage.

But goddammit, if she wasn't the most worthwhile person he'd ever fucking met. Sometimes, he was almost certain that he'd be willing to spend twenty years waiting for her if it meant he'd get to marry her and die by her side.

Dwight didn't know what that was like. He didn't know what Daryl was like for the first forty years of his life, how emotionally stunted he was, how closed-off and distrusting he'd grown to be thanks to an asshole of a brother and an even bigger asshole of a father. Dwight didn't realize how far Daryl had come since then - and that he'd only come that far because of Beth. Dwight didn't understand that when Daryl fell in love, it was for life. That there was no going back, no moving on.

He wasn't a dog on a leash; he was a comet stuck in orbit. Beth hadn't yanked him back in by the long rope around his neck; she'd gravitated him back toward her by the invisible pull within her soul. And he'd followed willingly. Eagerly.

Dwight would never have to feel that. He was happily married and past the difficulties. He'd found his "soul mate" and made it work. He didn't understand what it felt like to cherish every moment with someone because it might be the last. He didn't have to fight for that place of honor in someone's life anymore. He didn't have a million and one mistakes to make up for, a billion hurtful words to take back and prove wrong. He didn't have a force field of scars and fresh wounds to fight through.

"Ain't like that," he said, his words emphasized by the clouds of cigarette smoke that surrounded them. "I care about her - you know I care about her. I ain't gettin' my hopes up or nothin', but she needs me right now. I can't… ignore her. I can't move on when it's - there ain't nothin' ta move on to."

He caught Dwight's brief, tight-lipped expression. Like he knew more than Daryl did. Like he was some kind of veteran watching a novice make the usual rookie mistakes.

But then Dwight shrugged and ashed his cigarette, gazing down at the snow flurries as they hit the ground and melted. And his tone was surprisingly free of arrogance when he spoke. Far more empathetic than Daryl had expected, almost more than he'd been prepared for.

"She's always needed you, man. Just like you need her. But you both keep lettin' the other shit get in between ya… She taught you somethin'. Whether you wanna admit it or not. She taught you a lotta shit. I saw it, I watched it happen. That's why it's so hard ta watch this thing play out all over again. Yer both good people - really good people. An' I think yer good fer each other, in a really weird way. But… maybe - it might just not be the right time, ya know? You did a lotta growin' over the last couple a years, and she… I'ono, man. Seems ta me like she's still got a lotta growin' ta do. A lotta shit that you can't fix for 'er. There's some battles she's gotta fight on her own. She can't depend on you fer everything."

Daryl tossed his cigarette butt to the ground with more force than necessary and grunted in clear disapproval. There'd been a time, not too long ago, when he had hurled the terms "codependent" and "needy" around while talking about Beth. It had been nothing more than another excuse to avoid confronting his own terrifying feelings of inadequacy. And he wasn't going to be allowed to forget it anytime soon, it seemed.

He glared at Dwight until the other man met his gaze and returned the steely stare with a knowing look that said, 'I hate to say I told you so, but…'

"I've said a lotta shit I didn't mean. We ain't perfect, we ain't like you an' Sherry. There isn't some easy path fer us ta go down. I'm all she's got - I can't just turn my back on her. I couldn't live with myself," Daryl said. "Already can't. She's all I think about. I miss 'er too goddamn much…"

He paused and his eyes flicked downward, watching tiny white puffs of snow hit the ground and immediately melt. His voice was tinged with shame as he quietly added, "Fuck, man... I love 'er."

Dwight pressed his lips tightly together and tossed his burnt cigarette to the ground. He watched the glowing cherry quickly fade out and sighed, a sound that Daryl was all too familiar with. He could practically feel the disappointment filling the air around them, the loss for words or explanations or logic.

Then Dwight muttered, "I know ya do, man. Shit... I know."

But all Daryl could think was, I'm not sure that you really do this time.

He was just starting to catch a buzz, sipping on his fifth beer while he sat at the bar, laughing with Dwight about one of the idiots they worked with. He was just starting to untangle his mind from the vines of Beth, Beth, Beth that they'd been wrapped up in all day. And then he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.

When he pulled it out and glanced down at the screen, his heart leapt. Beth Calling…

His mouth immediately went dry as he hopped up from the barstool and mumbled, "Be right back." Dwight's quizzical gaze followed Daryl through the bar and out the front door, but Daryl ignored it, walking as casually and quickly as he could until he'd reached the cold, quiet night air.

He finally pressed that blessed green button and put the phone up to his ear. "Y'ello?"

The first thing he heard was all the background noise - a lot of loud voices, drunken yelling and laughter, some whooping and hollering, and some stupid rap song playing way too loudly. Then he heard her voice, high-pitched and slurring half-drunkenly, nearly yelling over the music while also trying to stifle her sporadic bursts of laughter.

"Daryl!"

"Yeah - what's up?"

She kept breaking away and making comments to her friends, making it more difficult to figure out what she was trying to say to him. He was just relieved to know she wasn't calling him for help. At least he was pretty sure she wasn't calling for help. She wasn't crying or anything, so that was a good sign.

But then she managed to get it together and focus long enough to ask him - very loudly - an obviously important question.

"Daryl - okay, Daryl. Would you - and take as much time as you need, I want yer completely honest opinion…"

His brow furrowed but he couldn't help smirking at the cute slur in her words. "Okay, what about?"

"Would you… would you rather fight one hundred duck-sized horses? Or ONE horse-sized duck?! Okay, take yer time - but be honest!"

All the anxiety that had built up inside his stomach immediately dissipated and he relaxed, letting out a soft chuckle. He could hear her laughing through the phone and it sent warmth all through his body, even though he was standing out in the cold with no coat.

"That's the question, huh?"

"Yeah! I need yer opinion!"

He chuckled again and shook his head, pausing for a second and listening to her drunk friends arguing over something that sounded like "ducks" and "horses." Fuck, he wished he was there right now. He wanted to see how red her cheeks had gotten from the alcohol, what outfit she was wearing, and how she'd done her hair today.

"Alrigh', well - do I get a weapon? Or do I gotta fight 'em the way God intended?"

She giggled and it filled his ear, then his bones.

"God would never intend for a duck to be the size of a horse, or a horse ta be too small ta ride - but yeah, no weapons. Unless you count yer hands as weapons."

This time, he laughed, smiling into the darkness while he stood outside by himself and pressed the phone closer to his ear.

"And I do," he quipped.

Another breath-stealing giggle.

He cleared his throat and said, "M'kay, I gotta say… the duck-sized horses. Jus' 'cause horses are pretty much harmless without their size. But also 'cause ducks are fuckin' assholes, an' I'm almost positive it'd fuck me up 'fore I could even get one good hit in."

She laughed loudly and happily agreed, "Oh my god, okay - yes! That's what I said! Ducks are one-percent feathers and ninety-nine percent pure evil and hatred! Oh my - d'you remember that mallard that chased us fer like, two miles that one day?!"

A memory flashed through his head and he nodded, even though she couldn't see him. His smile softened and he responded, "Yeah - honestly, that was probably one a the top ten most terrifyin' moments in my life. It's a good thing you could keep up, 'cause I was fully prepared ta sacrifice you ta that bloodthirsty duck demon."

She laughed again and he could've swore the sound was single-handedly keeping his buzz going.

"Yeah, right! I was two seconds away from trippin' you an' leaving you as a distraction so I could escape! He took that whole loaf of bread right outta my hands, an' I swear ta God he was eyeing my jugular next!"

He laughed and scuffed the tip of his boot against the ground, shoving his free hand into his pocket absent-mindedly. She got distracted and he could hear her yelling at her friends again, excitedly telling them that he had chosen the correct answer to her hypothetical question. Then there was some more whooping and hollering, a lot of laughter, and the music got turned up a little louder. And she was talking into the phone again, directing her question to him.

"So what're you doin'?"

She had to raise her voice even more to be heard and he was afraid she might not be able to hear him at all. So he spoke louder than usual but kept his eyes on the door of the bar, hoping Dwight wouldn't wander out with one of his signature looks of presumption and disapproval.

"At the bar with Dwight."

"Oh, cool - how's he doin'?"

"Good. Nothin' new. Him an' Sherry are tryin' ta get pregnant, I guess."

"Aw, that's so good! I'm so happy fer them! They're so good together, they'll make really good parents."

"Yeah, they will."

She sighed audibly and his brow knitted together in confusion.

But then she said, "I wish you were here right now." The carefree joy in her voice seemed to slip away momentarily. "I was tryin' not ta text you an' bug you, but - sorry I interrupted you an' Dwight hanging out."

Her words, and the tone that permeated them, sunk into his skin like a million tiny needles. He felt that familiar stinging in his chest, the way his stomach flip-flopped. He wished he'd brought his beer outside with him.

"'S alright, didn't really interrupt nothin'. We're just shootin' the shit. Y'know how D likes ta bitch about work."

She giggled and his jaw unclenched, though he hadn't even realized he'd been clenching it.

"Yeah, he can talk, huh?" She joked.

He grunted, then asked before the courage could leave him, "Why you wish I was there?"

He could picture her cute little shrug in his head, the way her bottom lip would barely stick out in a half-pout and she would look toward the ceiling nonchalantly, slowly fluttering those long eyelashes.

The alcohol wasn't allowing her to sound the least bit bashful, though. "'Cause I miss you… You could come over here. If you want. If you ain't too tired when yer done hangin' out with Dwight."

He blinked and swallowed hard, a knot beginning to rapidly form in his throat.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Say no - you're supposed to say no. It was just starting to get a little easier. You could go home and probably fall asleep without barely even thinking about her.

But the voice of reason within him wasn't nearly loud enough tonight. The memory of how it felt to lie in bed with her, to feel her lips on his skin, to hear her soft voice in his ears and smell her familiar and comforting scent was too fresh, too tempting.

Those three intoxicating words hadn't stopped swimming through his veins, and he wanted to hear them again. So badly.

As coincidental as it may seem, she was like her own brand of liquor: she stung at first, pulling him in with the promise of what he knew she could make him feel, and then it was heaven - pure bliss. And then came the inevitable hangover. The dehydration and body aches, the physical pain and lack of a will to get up and do anything. The pang of a hole somewhere deep inside him that couldn't be filled, couldn't be remedied.

Then another day or two would pass and the craving would come back. The recollection of elation, the reminiscence of feeling indestructible. The deep, unavoidable desire to do it again. To recreate it. To relive it. To find that feeling of pure bliss and invincibility and grasp onto it once more. To let it overtake him and wash out everything else.

He'd never gone the route of his older brother so he - thankfully - couldn't compare her to any sort of drug. But then again, alcohol was its own drug, he figured. And being with her felt like a level of inebriation that he simply couldn't reach with any other vice.

And who the fuck was he to try and lie to himself and pretend like he was actually capable of turning her down? At this point, he'd walk barefoot to the ends of the earth if she asked him to.

He swallowed past the thick knot in his throat and tilted his head skyward, gazing up at the faintly twinkling stars beyond the brightly lit Atlanta skyline. His eyes set on the full moon and stared at it intently, all the while he was picturing Beth bathed in moonlight and grinning drunkenly.

"Where're you at? Brittany's?"

"Yeah. I can order you an Uber, if you need - "

"Nah, I've only had a couple beers. Dwight's gonna be headin' home soon anyway. Save me a drink, would ya?"

She giggled. "Well, there's plenty ta drink, so it ain't goin' nowhere before you get here - but what d'you want?"

He smirked and his body suddenly felt weightless, like he was moving with purpose now.

"Save me a shot a tequila. If it ain't that real cheap shit."

to be continued...