Beth's mind went blank as Daryl's lips came down on hers. Words flew away like so many birds, and all that was left was the feeling of being right where she was supposed to be, in the arms of this strong and quiet man who had somehow become home to her.
Their first kiss was soft, tentative-a careful exploration of uncharted territory. Daryl's fingers stroked her neck, sending dizzying waves of sensation across her skin. In the back of her mind, Beth worried about her inexperience. She didn't want to be a disappointment in comparison to other women Daryl had known.
She needn't have concerned herself. Daryl's solitary life and diffident nature had not exactly brought the ladies to the yard. He'd had precisely one girlfriend, in the 8th grade, an affair of awkward hand holding and two stolen kisses behind the gym after school. It had lasted less than a week, until word got around to Denise Fletcher's mama that her little girl was slumming with that no-good Dixon trash from the other side of the highway. Mrs. Fletcher had stomped out that barely sprouted relationship with the zeal of an exterminator. It had shaken what feeble confidence he had at fourteen, and truth be told, he'd never really recovered it. The rest of his romantic resume was comprised of useless fantasies and occasional bouts of drunken fumbling in the parking lot of whatever seedy bars he washed up at on Friday nights after cashing his paycheck. Even while they lasted, he knew these encounters for what they were: empty copies of love, the nothing and nowhere flickering of a candle that provided almost no light and even less heat.
Now, though, as he held Beth in his arms, feeling her lips part slightly in response to the pressure of his, it was as if the sun had come out. She folded herself more tightly against his broad chest, and light and warmth like he'd never dreamed of washed over him, overloading his senses. He never wanted to stop. But even as he reveled in it, he knew it had to be some kind of mistake. Grace like this did not fall on men like Daryl Dixon, broken men of mud and mediocrity. The world knew what he was, and so did he. Surely this improbable angel would see into the darkness of him at any moment and fly away.
And she should.
What am I doing? The question hit him like a deluge of cold water.
With an effort, Daryl broke off their kiss. His breathing ragged, he slid his hands up to grasp Beth's shoulders and gently pushed her a step or two away from him.
As the cool evening air rushed into the sudden space between them, Beth felt a strange sense of loss. Her eyes sought his. He could already see the questions rising in them. Taking another step back, he said quietly, "Beth." She froze.
"Daryl," she whispered, but he spoke over her.
"This," he gestured at the space between them, "it ain't gonna work, girl."
The hurt was the first thing he saw in her face, and he almost took it all back right then just so he could hold her. Was he ever gonna stop hurting her? Quickly, though, her look of pain was replaced by disbelief, and then defiance. Angry tears sprang to her eyes, threatening to spill over. He watched with admiration as she drew her dignity around herself, balled up her fists, and planted them on her hips. Here again was that spark, that fire that lived inside her, unseen by nearly everyone who knew her. Everyone except him.
"Seems to me it was workin' just fine," she countered, arching an eyebrow.
A wave of longing swept through him. He wanted her. Wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. Not just her body, but her heart. In the unremitting shadow of his lousy life, she was an unexpected flare of light. She drew him like a flame draws a moth. But when he thought of her, all joy and laughter and sweet innocence, he knew she deserved better.
"I'm sorry, Beth. I didn't mean for…" He ran his fingers through his hair nervously. He cast around for an end to his sentence, but no words came to him. "I… gotta go check the fence," he muttered, then turned tail and fled out the back door.
"Don't you DARE apologize to me, Daryl Dixon!" shouted Beth after his retreating back, momentarily forgetting the need to stay quiet. When he didn't answer, she dropped back into her chair and burst into tears.
He didn't return for most of the night.
Beth was frustrated, but refused to wallow in it. Instead, she played back the memory of their embrace in her head, determined to savor all the details. Daryl Dixon had kissed her! She blushed as she remembered how it had felt standing in the circle of his muscled brown arms, rendered senseless by the soft touch of his lips, the rough warmth of his body against hers. Most of all, she remembered the vulnerability in his expression as he pulled away from her.
It was that vulnerability that made her ache for him now. She knew, with a strange certainty, that despite being larger, stronger, and more capable than she was at many things, Daryl Dixon needed her as much as she needed him. And she didn't plan to let him forget that.
When it became clear that he wasn't going to come back right away, Beth took the dinner dishes out to the barn and rinsed them clean in the trough, silently thanking the Bowman family for the rare gift of cold clean water on demand. It was nice to have a break from the tedious necessity of boiling enough to drink. As they had wandered from place to place, they never had enough water for frivolous things like washing dishes and bathing. On the run, they had used sand to scour clean the battered copper pot and the mismatched plates they had scavenged for eating. It left them dusty but serviceable, and Beth had grown used to having a little dirt with her dinner.
As for bathing, she couldn't remember the last time she'd done more than a quick pits-and-privates splash in the streams they occasionally came across. Any body of water large enough to completely submerge in was a potential hiding place for walkers. The red Georgia clay suspended in the water made it nearly impossible to see beneath the surface; it wasn't worth the risk. She could hardly remember what it felt like to be really, truly clean.
On a whim, and partly to distract herself from thoughts of Daryl pacing the woods around the house, she filled the bucket next to the pump with clean water and carried it up to the house. There was a rubber stopper by the kitchen sink. She stuffed it into the drain and emptied the bucket into the sink before returning to the barn to refill it.
She knew shampoo was too much to hope for, and she was right; the bathrooms were both bare of products. Presumably the family had run out after trips to the store ceased to be a possibility. However, she did find a stoneware crock under the sink that was half full of a slippery paste that she instantly recognized from the strong smell. Her mama had made up batches of soft lye soap every spring. They used it for soaping down the dogs and horses at the farm. When she was old enough, they'd made it together, and Beth had never forgotten the sharp scent of the lye, the way it could burn your nose and make your eyes run before it was mixed with the other ingredients. She could smell the lye in this batch, but it was diluted, and whoever made it had added lavender to give it a nicer scent. It might not be salon quality, but it would do nicely for removing several months' buildup of grime. Beth could hardly wait.
She found towels in a hall closet and brought a stack of them down to the kitchen. It continued to amaze her how organized and well-stocked the house was, its wealth of supplies undisturbed even after weeks of neglect.
Finally, she was ready. Taking a deep breath, she plunged her whole head into the sink and gasped as the cold water touched her neck. Working as quickly as she could, she scooped soft soap out of the crock and lathered up her hair, paying close attention to the dirt and oil on her scalp. Despite the frigid temperature of the well water, it felt amazing to work the dirt out with her nails. When she was done, she used a pot to scoop clean water out of the bucket and rinsed the soap out thoroughly, leaving nothing behind but a faint tingling where the lye had done its work.
Wrapping her hair in a towel, she shivered as a trickle of water made its way down her back. Time to turn her attention to the rest of her body. Oh, well, she thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. Stripping out of the filthy jeans and layers of ragged tops that she was wearing was a relief. They were stiff with wear and stained with layers of unspeakable funk picked up through living rough and fighting hard. Maybe I should wash them, too, she mused. Or burn them. But the loss of her usual armor made her feel suddenly defenseless. Unbidden, the crude words of the men back at the funeral home echoed in her head and she shuddered, uncomfortably aware of her nakedness. Hurriedly, she clicked the LED light off, taking shelter in the dark. Pausing, she waited uneasily for her eyes to adjust. Outside the kitchen window, the nearly full moon shone in, frosting everything with its cool blue light.
Frozen in place in the middle of the backyard, Daryl blinked and tried to clear his mind. He definitely shouldn't have seen that.
When her night vision returned, Beth laid a large towel down on the floor and then stood on it while she lathered up and roughly scrubbed away the crust of dirt that was threatening to become a permanent part of her. She couldn't see very well in the dark, but she imagined the water in the bucket turning brown and gray with grunge. It felt symbolic somehow, as if she was sloughing off some of the despair and horror of life on the road, making way for something new and hopeful.
It didn't occur to Beth until she was standing there dripping, wrapped in a towel, that she could probably find clean clothes in one of the bedrooms. I guess I should have thought of that before I peeled down to my birthday suit, she thought, a hysterical giggle rising up in her throat. She traipsed upstairs. Not knowing the ages or sizes of any of the children, she headed for the master bedroom where she'd slept last night. Rifling through the closet and dresser with the dimming LED tucked under her chin, she procured clean underwear (hallelulah!), socks, khaki colored cargo pants, and a black sleeveless button-up made of a thin cotton fabric that made Beth want to weep at its softness. The clothes were a little too big on her. The pants rode slightly low on her hips, but her leather belt kept them from falling down. For a few minutes she just stood there by the bed, soaking in the luxurious feeling of being clean at last. Then she wrapped herself up in the worn grey sweater she found hanging on the back of the door and went downstairs to wait for Daryl.
A little distance. That was what he needed to find his equilibrium. Taking the first watch again, he had headed out through the back gate and now found himself looking across twenty acres of rolling fields gone to seed. In the moonlight, the softly rippling weeds looked like a glowing blue blanket being shaken out over the hills. A few far off moans carried to him on the breeze, but nothing visible shambled through the tall grass where he could see. He made concentric circles around the homestead. On each pass, he ranged a little farther out, watching and listening with the sharp senses of a practiced tracker, but all was quiet this night. Too quiet, if you asked Daryl.
What he needed now was a little action to push back the unwanted thoughts that were rolling around in his sleep-deprived brain. He was trying not to dwell on what had passed in the kitchen after dinner, and failing miserably. Daryl had learned long ago not to want anything, a lesson drilled into his head first by his mother and then, more painfully, by his father. It had been reinforced by others over the years until it was second nature to him to shut down his dreams when they started, before they grew into things with teeth that could hurt him.
But now there was Beth. He had put up every wall he had, only to see them crash down at her touch. Damn that girl. She made him want things.
When he finally dragged himself back to the house, it was hours later and the first faint fingers of dawn were glowing faintly in the east. He was shaking with exhaustion. Laying his crossbow against the wall by the door, he took a long drink of water from what was left in the bucket on the kitchen counter. The cool sweetness of it slaked his thirst quickly. He used what was left of it to pour over his sweaty head and into the sink. Running his fingers through his wet hair, he dropped his vest across the back of a chair and went in search of Beth.
He was about to head up the stairs when he saw her out of the corner of his eye, illuminated by watery moonlight. She was curled up in fetal position on the large couch in the living room, her blonde head pillowed on the stuffed arm. Her chest rose and fell with the long, slow breaths of sleep.
Crouching down on his heels next to her, he took the opportunity to look his fill, the way he never would when she was awake. The delicate features of her tranquilly dreaming face suffused Daryl with longing. Not just for her—although that was there, too—but also for the strange peace that she seemed to carry around with her like some impenetrable armor. He couldn't even imagine what that peace would feel like, couldn't remember a time when he wasn't wrestling with life for every meager scrap he could get.
Gently, he reached out and smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her face, tucking it behind her ear. A sweet smell wafted up from her, and the image of her bathing in the kitchen flashed through his mind. She'd changed clothes, too, he noted. It occurred to him that he could do with a bath himself. He probably reeked to high heaven. You didn't think about things like that when you were on the run. With everybody covered in the same stink, you stopped noticing it. Now, though… The thought of Beth wrinkling her nose in distaste at the odor of his sweaty body and unwashed clothes made Daryl squirm uncomfortably. He would clean himself up tomorrow for sure.
Tonight, though, he was spent. As much as he'd like to give Beth another full night's sleep, he was running on fumes. He had to lay down before he fell down.
Putting a hand on Beth's sweater-encased shoulder, he shook her lightly. "Hey, Blondie, wake up. It's your watch."
She groaned, stretched an arm, then curled in on herself once again as if to go back to sleep. He reached out to try again, but before he could, her eyes popped open, and she sat up so swiftly that she almost knocked him over.
"I fell asleep," she said with disappointment, shaking her head a little to clear it.
"I see that."
She rubbed her eyes and yawned groggily. "I wanted to wait up for you. To talk to you." Blinking owlishly, she tried to pull her words together. "I have… um, things to say."
He rose, pulling her up with him. "Well, you can say 'em later. I'm beat." And with that, he flopped down on the couch where her warmth still lingered and turned to face the wall. He hid a smile when she huffed in annoyance, and by the time she'd stomped out to the kitchen, he was already asleep.
She spent most of her watch hidden quietly in the shadow of the large spreading oak that dominated the large space between the barn and the tool shed. From under its branches, she could see almost the entire clearing at once. Every couple of hours, she walked the whole fence, stopping now and then to examine the sounds of early morning for anything beyond the chirping crickets and birdsong that filled the air.
The day was heating up and it was getting on towards noon when Beth decided she would go for a hunt. It wasn't so much that they needed the meat. With all that food stored, they could eat like kings for a long while without any additional sustenance. But with Daryl's coaching, she had found that she enjoyed the calming rhythms of the woods. She liked the mental exercise of tracking wildlife through the small clues they left behind. A new confidence was growing in her as she learned to observe and interpret the sights and sounds of the wilderness.
Of course, she also loved the look of approval and pride on his face when she brought back a prize.
She shouldered Daryl's crossbow. Being careful to note the direction she took from the homestead, she moved deeper into the surrounding forest, stepping lightly as Daryl had taught her and watching the ground closely for sign. Finally, about a mile in, she saw what she was looking for. Rabbit tracks. There was more than one rabbit, maybe as many as four.
She was so intent on the pursuit that she almost didn't notice the walker until it was nearly on top of her. A large male hurtled at her from behind a stand of trees, and she startled. There was no time to bring the bow up and line up a shot. Just as it launched itself at her, she dropped to her knees and threw her body weight at its ankles, using its own weight to send it crashing to the ground. Quick as lightning, she scrambled on top of it and brought her knife down through its eye socket. Gore erupted from the cavity, and it went still. Panting, she wiped both sides of her blade clean on the walker's tattered rags and slid it into its sheath in a practiced motion.
Sadly, the tussle had torn up the brush and dirt in the immediate vicinity, and Beth knew it would take time to search a wide circle around the spot in order to pick up the trail again. She should probably start moving back in the direction of the house.
She had only taken two steps when a loud rustling noise off to the left of her trail made Beth raise the bow quickly to her shoulder. Another walker? she wondered. She picked up a large stone from the forest floor and threw it in the direction of the sound she'd heard, hoping to flush it out where she could see it. She didn't want to waste bolts shooting at nothing.
But instead of the usual walker moaning, she heard a high pitched whimper as the rock found its mark. The brush rustled again, and out of it limped a dirty brown dog, hair matted with mud, favoring his left rear paw. He slowly moved toward her, his tail wagging weakly.
Beth melted. A dog! How long had it been since she'd seen one? Holding out her hand, palm down, she let the animal sniff her. Cautiously, he came closer, until he was nuzzling his wet nose against her open hand. Delighted, Beth pet him, stroking the dirty fur and scratching behind his ears. His tail thumped on the ground in approval.
"I think he likes you," said a familiar voice.
Beth whirled around to see Daryl leaning casually against a tree, watching the goings-on with a spark of amusement. So much for my observational skills, she thought sardonically as she stood. "I didn't hear you coming. How did you track me, anyway?"
"So much left to learn," he teased, and her heart skipped a beat at the promise in his words. He pushed off the tree and walked over to the dog, who was eyeing him with some trepidation. His wariness quickly vanished, however, when Daryl leaned down and rubbed his neck, murmuring, "Good boy. Yes, that's a good boy. You've had a hard time, haven't you?"
Beth cocked her head in puzzlement. "Why do you say that?"
Daryl looked up at her.
"Because this is the same dog I met back at the funeral home."