-Exeunt: April-
From the house where they consummated their relationship, Daryl and Beth travelled closer to Terminus. Their next pit stop brought them closer to home than either of them realized.
"Oh, Daryl," Beth whispered, her voice saddening over the words. "Look."
Out front of the house they had stumbled upon stood two roughly made crosses. Grave markers. They were fresh enough that grass hadn't entirely overtaken the dirt mounds. The young blades were sparse, doing little to disguise the petite size of the graves they covered.
"Kids," Beth breathed when they drew closer. Neither grave was marked with a name. Whoever had dug them left flowers behind, the petals brittle and faded. Daryl watched her run her fingers along the length of each cross.
"Yeah." He couldn't disagree with her. There was no way the graves belonged to anyone but a pair of children. "Poor things."
She reached for him, lacing her fingers through his. "Let's check out the house."
Creaky porch steps, an unlocked door that opened into a living room. Whoever had been there last had left it tidy. As Beth moved to the next room—the kitchen—she noticed a baking sheet sitting in the drying rack next to the sink. Curiosity got the best of her; one turn of the faucet handle confirmed her suspicion.
"Daryl! This house still has running water."
"No shit?" He asked from the doorway, flicking the light switch next to him. Daryl was rewarded with the kitchen light beaming. "Must be generator-ran."
Beth placed her hips squarely on her hips, tilting her head as she looked at him. "What this house is, is a blessing."
It would make a great place to rest for the night. They had a rabbit Daryl had caught earlier in the day, and wood sorrel, which Beth had learned was much tastier than dandelions. Between a house with power, the rabbit, and the leaves and roots of the wood sorrel, Beth felt like they had hit the apocalyptic jackpot.
If only it weren't for the graves in yard, which were visible from the living room window. She peered at them as Daryl built a fire in the hearth. Never mind that the oven worked; Beth had tested it. He insisted on roasting the rabbit over open flames, as they were used to.
Something about those graves made her feel…off. Without realizing, she began running her finger along the scar on her wrist again as she studied the graves from afar.
They're almost familiar, she thought. It really could be someone we know.
True, a lot of the children at the prison had perished from the sickness that had spread like wildfire. Glenn had barely survived it; the kids had no hope. Both of the graves were definitely too big to have been dug for sweet baby Judith, which bolstered Beth's heart some.
She hadn't told Daryl, but she was holding out hope she would see Judith again. Beth had helped raise that baby, while Rick and Carl recovered from the loss of Lori and worked to get the prison set up to be what it was.
Carl…the graves were too small to be for Carl. That made her feel better, too. But she still felt that nagging at the back of her mind, like she should know who the graves belonged to. If only she could remember who had made it out of the prison during the Governor's attack…
Daryl's hand curling around her shoulder broke her out of her thoughts with a start.
"Hey," he murmured, capturing both her hands in his, effectively interrupting her worrying over her scar. Rubbing his thumbs across the backs of her hands, Daryl tipped his head forward until his forehead rested against hers. "Those two are resting. They're in a better place, out of our hellhole world. You know that, right?"
"Yeah," she whispered back to him. "I'm gonna make some bread."
Earlier, it had been a fleeting thought when she saw the unopened jar of yeast and unsoiled flour. Now, it was a driving need, a desperately calling distraction. Anything to get her away from the window and its clear view of the graves.
The dryness of the flour against her palms helped ground Beth. Kneading the dough was a catharsis in itself; her wrists and fingers pushing against the resistance of the yeast as her thoughts spiraled out. This work reminded her of her mother, of Sundays after church while Daddy napped, and they baked in the kitchen together.
Or Christmas, when she and Maggie made cinnamon loaves and the whole house smelled festive.
Or the Saturday night before Easter Sunday, when she helped bake fresh, plain loaves for the taking of Communion in the morning. Those loaves always stole the moisture from her mouth before she was able to take her sip of grape juice—how jealous she was, then, that she was never considered grown-up enough to have a taste of the wine like Maggie was allowed.
Memories rolling one after another to distract her from other nagging thoughts, those twin graves that called to her despite herself. The memories did more distracting than she intended; when she slid the bread pan into the oven, she caught the back of her hand on the hot lip of the rack.
"Son of a bitch," she grumbled to herself, not even pausing to notice how Daryl's swearing was wearing off on her. Beth closed the oven door with her unscathed had before sticking the other under the faucet and letting cool water wash over the angry, red welt forming on her skin.
"Beth, I swear," Daryl's sentence was punctuated with a low chuckle. "You're gonna give me a heart attack one day."
"I'm fine," she snapped at him over her shoulder. Beth knew she wasn't mad at Daryl. She was mad at herself for being clumsy.
"Never said you weren't." His voice, bless him, carried no venom. Instead, he sounded teasing, leaning against the kitchen doorframe as Beth soothed her burn. Eventually, the throbbing sting subsided, and she turned the faucet off, shaking her hand dry.
Beth blew her breath through her nose, trying to toss away her annoyance. "Sorry."
"You don't gotta be."
Truth be told, Daryl was doing his own calculations in his head. Given how close to the prison they still were—if his map charting was correct—it really wasn't a big leap to assume the graves belonged to people they had known. Children they had known.
That fact struck an icy sliver of fear in Daryl's chest. It certainly didn't bode well. He was just trying hard not to let it show. They ate dinner at the kitchen table like they used to at the old house, before the winter cold kept them close to the fire at all times. As darkness fell, they checked every door and window to make sure it was locked.
"There's real beds here," Beth whispered into the dark, her tone much softer now. All traces of combativeness were gone now, her voice suffused with sleepiness instead. Daryl would be lying if he said he weren't exhausted himself. Too exhausted, he would venture, to go through the trouble of stripping the beds to sleep on the floor in the living room.
No objections arose when Beth took him by the hand and led him into the master bedroom. Beth had lost all inhibitions after the night they shared together in the last house. Without hesitation, she peeled off her jeans and pulled her sweater over her head before walking into the bathroom. She didn't turn the lights off, but at the sound of water running, Daryl guessed she was washing her face.
Daryl slipped his boots off, but that was the most he was going to make of before-bed preparations. That is, until Beth walked back in the bedroom. There was just enough moonlight in the room for her to see that Daryl was still wearing his jeans and shirt. Her sigh carried across the room to him, just before she crossed it herself. "It wouldn't kill you to be comfortable."
"All that bare skin just makes it easier for walkers to bite," he countered, but he didn't stop her from undoing the buttons on his shirt.
"We've made it this far. I doubt that's gonna be what takes us out of this world." When Daryl was sufficiently undressed for Beth's comfort standards—left only in the t-shirt he had layered under his flannel and his boxers—she led the way to the bed, slipping under the covers.
"We should really only spend one night here, so we don't lose our progress." Already, sleep was pulling at her. Beth struggled to stifle her yawn, curling herself around Daryl and laying her head on his chest.
"Sounds good to me."
One night had been their intention. But when Daryl opened his eyes again, it was still dark. Or…almost dark, he realized, as he woke more. Dusk. Beside him, the bed was empty.
"Beth?" he called out, throwing back the covers and reaching over the side of the bed for his jeans. He pulled them on in record time, his boots following soon after. "Beth!"
A sweep of the house showed she wasn't inside. Heart rate quickening, Daryl rushed to the front door, throwing that flimsy wooden barrier open.
And he stopped short.
There, sitting on the porch railing, was Beth. She had found new clothes somewhere in the house. Her hair was braided along the crown, leading into the tumble of her wavy ponytail. Leaning over, pocketknife in her hand, she sat in that dusk, pruning dead rose buds from the bush just below her.
"Beth," Daryl said again, his heart slowing now that he knew she was alive and well, "what're you doing?"
"They won't grow back if all the dead parts aren't cut off. You were still asleep, and I was bored. I made more bread, too. I figure we can take it with us tomorrow."
"You shouldn't be out here by yourself." She shrugged, picking her head up to look at him. Tapping her fingers against her boot, he saw the handle of her larger knife sticking out of the top.
"I've got my gun, too. And the crossbow." Only then did he realized he hadn't even reached for it himself, in his haste to look for her. Sure enough, his crossbow was leaning against the railing, just within Beth's reach.
Daryl couldn't help the stretch of the smirk across his lips. "Fair enough. C'mon, little gardener."
He beckoned her back inside. Now, the scent of the fresh bread registered to his senses, making his stomach rumble. Daryl found the loaf on the kitchen table, still warm from the oven. Over candlelight, they ate Beth's bread and dried deer jerky and berries, left over from their winter preserves.
"We were tired," Beth observed, popping a dried strawberry in her mouth. "Slept a whole day. Didn't even mean to."
"Livin' in the woods'll do that to you."
For the most part, they were quiet in the little house that had managed to protect them—though the graves in the yard were proof others had not been so lucky. Despite all the sleep they had just had, weariness still tugged at both their bones.
"One more night," Beth whispered into his skin when they were back in bed.
"We'll leave in the morning," Daryl promised.
The pair left the house so early in the morning that fog still hung in the air. Beth was rubbing at her eyes as she followed behind Daryl, trying half-heartedly to match her footfalls in cadence behind his. Around them, the morning was quiet, with even the growl and hiss of walkers absent. It was too early even for birdsong.
It's too early for any of this, Beth decided. Suddenly, a memory surfaced through her foggy mind. The last time she had been lazy with her footsteps while following Daryl, she had stepped right into a bear trap.
This memory, instinctively pulled to the forefront of her sleepy mind, should have been a warning. As it was, neither of them realized they weren't alone until a rough hand wrapped itself around Beth's upper arm.
"Dar—" she began in surprise, not yet realizing that it wasn't her companion who had grabbed her so harshly. Before she could get his whole name out of her mouth, Beth was pulled so sharply away from Daryl that she hit the ground before she realized what was happening. That certainly woke her up.
"Too bad claiming doesn't work on women, huh?"
Though she had no idea what, exactly, the two men standing over her meant by 'claiming', Beth was terrified. The ground was hard and cold beneath her, making her hammering heartbeat reverberate in her chest. One of the men bent over to grab hold of her jacket collar…only to hit the ground with a heavy thud beside her, one of Daryl's arrows lodged deep in his temple.
"Get the hell away from her," Daryl growled behind her. Either fear of the dead body beside her or a moment of bravery, Beth wasn't sure which, spurred her into action. Whichever sent her adrenaline into overdrive, she managed to scramble away from the man's blood pooled closer to her face.
Tripping over her feet in her rush, Beth was grateful Daryl's hand caught her elbow, helping to steady her and move her behind him.
"You'll be sorry about that," the other man said, nudging at his companion's body with his boot.
"Nah, I don't think I will."
Beth had never known Daryl to miss with his crossbow. A first time for everything, her mind faintly recited while the man just barely dodged the arrow's path. It didn't so much as graze the stranger before them.
The man ducked low to avoid the arrow. Still ducked down, he rushed forward before either could react, knocking Daryl to the ground. It had been a long time since Daryl and Beth had encountered other humans—months. Not since they left the prison. Fighting walkers was one thing; but fighting humans who could do things like pull knives on you was quite another.
"No!" the syllable ripped itself from Beth's throat when she caught the glint of the blade. As hard as she could, she kicked at the stranger, aiming her foot for his ribs. Her boot made contact, the air deflating from the man's chest under her blow.
It was enough to give Daryl room in the scrapple. He pushed himself up to his elbow, reaching across himself toward Beth's hip. Until that moment, when she felt his fingers graze her skin for just a moment, she had forgotten about the gun she kept hidden beneath her shirt and waistband. She intercepted his hand, pulling the gun from her jeans and taking aim at the man still crumpled in on himself.
Her bullet hit the mark Daryl's arrow had missed.
Which was great, of course. But what was not great was the way the shot echoed through the otherwise silent forest. Not far off, there was a rustling from the east.
"We gotta go," Daryl told her, on his feet in the next second. He grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. They ran in the opposite direction, Beth working hard to follow Daryl's serpentine lead.
"How far?" Beth managed to whisper between pants.
"Enough," was Daryl's only clipped reply.
They ran and ran, knocking themselves terribly off course as they blew through the forest. Across a stretch of road, through more woodland, and then they happened along a small, blink-and-you miss it town.
By then, Beth's legs felt like quivering jelly beneath her. She was certain only Daryl's tight grip on her hand had kept her propelling forward.
The spring sun was starting to sink low as Daryl led the way around a long boarded-up shack of a building. It was rickety looking, like one strong wind could topple it over, but also utterly and hopelessly abandoned among the other buildings. With one solid hit using the butt of her gun, Daryl was able to pop the lock in the rusted doorknob and gain them access inside.
"Guess we don't have to do a sweep," Beth whispered into the dust-filled air. The interior was entirely bare. With windows so thoroughly boarded, the only light came from thin slivers of sun that managed to squeeze past the cracks in the roof.
"You alright?" Daryl asked her. Only now that they had stopped did Beth realize she still couldn't hear right. She had thought it was the usual ringing of firing her gun that invaded her ears, and then the wind as they ran. But that roaring, and that distant ringing, still muffled his words. "Beth. You're shakin'."
She was, and not from the exertion of their running or the chill that had entered the air as the sun set. No, this tremble was starting in her belly and moving outward, setting her whole body to quivering.
"I killed that man." The words came unbidden between her lips. Reaching behind her, Beth found purchase against the wall, using it to support her. "I shot him."
"Yeah." Daryl had never been one to mince his words. She knew that. Beth made herself concentrated on the way the slats of sunlight played over his face as he stepped closer to her. Light and shadows playing over his features, brightening and dimming the blue of his eyes until he was standing right in front of her.
When he was close enough, Daryl reached a hand out to cup her cheek. "He woulda killed us if you didn't."
Numbly, Beth raised her own hand, laying it over his own. His skin was much warmer than hers, burning against the chill that had radiated through her body. "He would have?"
She meant to say it as a statement. This was a fact she knew in her logical mind, but it had come out as a question, seeking validation for the doubt and guilt she could hardly give a name to inside herself.
"Without a doubt."
The only reply Beth could manage was a feeble nod of her head.
She had never known herself to be a killer. Even when the Governor terrorized them, she had never thought about killing him herself. How she had hoped that Rick or Daryl or Michonne or Glenn would be able to put an end to that terrible, evil man.
Never had she seen herself being the one to pull a trigger.
Never had she seen herself as capable of ending another human's life.
And yet, here she was.
Daryl insisted they wait until nightfall to move further. The dark would give them cover, and it would be cold, but they needed to put more distance between themselves and the rest of that group.
Or the walkers. Whatever had been rustling in the woods in response to Beth's gun shot.
Moving at night was fine with Beth, though. She hardly knew how she would be able to if Daryl had expected her to sleep instead. Not with those moments still replaying in her mind.
That man hadn't even had a chance to stand before her bullet had blown through his head. It was all Beth could think of as she rummaged through her backpack, pulling out another layer of clothing for Daryl and herself.
She tossed the fleece sweater to him before shrugging into her jacket. A combination of the dark and her still-shaking fingers made it nearly impossible for her to maneuver the buttons on the coat.
"Fuck!" She whisper-shouted to herself. Daryl was before her in the next moment, gently moving her hands out of the way.
"Here, lemme." He had no problems slipping the buttons through their holes while she stood like a helpless child. "You alright?"
"I'm fine."
She didn't mean to snap at him. A small, subdued part of herself felt guilty for the slight against him. Overwhelmingly, though, all she felt was guilt and stinging pride. Guilt, for the life she had taken, and stinging pride for how badly she was handling it.
Daryl had grown skilled at reading Beth's moods in these months they had spent together. In the weak moonlight, he could just make out the jutting set of her jaw and the downward set of her eyebrows. Now was not a time to argue or press her.
He didn't say another word, instead beckoning her forward with the motion of his hand. As he expected, Beth followed behind him. Lifting his finger to his lips, he gave her a silent reminder to stay quiet.
With the light of the full moon above them, he didn't expect they would much, if any, trouble navigating their way. Their run through the forest had knocked them off course, but Daryl couldn't think of Terminus right now. What was more important was making sure they had distance between themselves and…whoever was in the forest.
A light rain had swept through that afternoon, the soggy ground helping to cushion their footfalls. Daryl continued their winding path, hugging close to trees for extra cover. The moonlight was dappled with the trees so close and thick, but he would take this over the openness of the little town they had left any night.
Neither of them spoke, but at one point, Beth's hand grabbed hold of his sweater. Daryl turned back to look at her, finding Beth tipping her head to the left. Look.
A few yards away was the hazy light of a campfire. Out in the open, practically a beacon for walkers and other humans. Idiots.
Daryl inclined his head in the opposite direction. The last thing they needed was attention drawn to them by people who didn't know how to be out in the open. Veritable ghosts in the night, the duo moved from tree to tree. It didn't take long for the campfire to fade from view.
Here, under such a clear sky, it was easy to see the way the colors changed throughout the night. When the moon was directly overhead, the sky was the darkest, inkiest black Beth had ever seen. These were the hours she hated to be on watch, when the whole world only existed in shades of the unbelievable black. From there, the sky lightened in degrees, losing its velvet softness to change into gray. The trees were too close together to see the sunrise, but that dove gray gradually took on the bright, eggshell blue of a spring day.
Only then did a quiet sigh of relief escape Daryl's lips.
"Do you think we've gone far enough?"
"Who knows. But we gotta find somewhere to sleep tonight before we get sloppy."
That was always one of Daryl's main concerns. If they were too tired or sick, that's when mistakes could happen. Mere seconds could make the difference between living and dying, especially with both walkers and other humans to contend with.
Beth tipped her head, listening to the birdsong. Here in the forest, that was the best way to know there was a walker about before seeing one. Even the animals had quickly learned the difference between the living and the dead.
"Which way, navigator?"
He looked over his shoulder, taking in her pale face. Between her first kill and the long night, it was showing in the bruise-like purple smudges underneath her eyes. Even with the chill still in the air, there was no color in her cheeks.
"West, for a bit. Then east again. We'll zigzag until we find something to hole up in for the night."
Slipping her hand into his, Beth tried not to think of how far this was taking them from Terminus. That was their original goal, and now these stupid strangers had knocked them off their course. The fact that she was no closer to Maggie—possibly even farther now—was not helping the heavy feeling in her middle.
The 'something to hole up in for the night' ended up being a small convenience store with only a handful of walkers inside. Between the crossbow and Beth's knife, the walkers were soon disposed of and their bodies tossed outside. Unfortunately, the store was almost entirely wiped clean of any supplies they could have used.
"Shelves in front of the doors and windows?" Beth asked, using a curtain to wipe her hands clean. Following his nod, they worked together to push the shelves until every exit was blocked. It made the inside considerably darker, but it also obscured any view from the outside, which was the entire point.
One of the shelves held packs of fruit leather. Beth took every pack on the shelf, to investigate for any signs of mold. Should it be safe to eat, this would be a great supplement to their supplies.
There was a small clerk's office in the back, blessedly devoid of any walkers. Though there was no bedding to be found, Beth was just happy to have a place to rest. She unloaded their backpack of everything but extra clothes, making a rudimentary pillow for them to share.
Daryl pushed the office desk in front of the door. The window in the office was too high and small to be breached, he decided. Beneath that window, Beth sat sorting the food they had left.
"Even with the world ending, no one likes fruit leather. We better get used to it." She tossed him a cherry pack, ripping open a blackberry pack for herself. He joined her on the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of her.
Talking about feelings had never been his strong suit. It didn't have a place in his childhood, and it sure as hell didn't have a place between him and Merle. But he had sat through enough uncomfortable conversations with Hershel to know it was the Greene family way. While he had squirmed and dodged as many of Hershel's questions as he could at the time, he was thankful for them now.
Chewing his fruit leather slowly, Daryl took her in again. Her shoulders weren't so tense here, now that they were safely indoors. If she were able to see the way her hair was falling from her braid, he was sure that she would have redone it immediately. Those dark circles still stained the space beneath her eyes, but her face was not so pale anymore.
When he swallowed, he quickly realized that the words he had been planning to say were going to become lodged in his throat. Eventually, he forced out, "Anyone woulda done the same thing you did."
Beth was quiet for a beat, looking down at her lap.
"I know," she said softly. "But that doesn't really make it any better, does it?"
"Maybe not," Daryl conceded, "but it don't make it any worse, either."
Before him, Beth picked at her fruit, tearing off a tiny piece before slipping it between her lips. Her shrug was so slight, Daryl nearly missed it.
"We should try to sleep soon. Tomorrow, we need to study the map and get back on route."
He couldn't find it within himself to argue with her. Instead, he dutifully finished his food before wordlessly agreeing to turn in for the night—or late afternoon, as the sunlight still streaming through the small window showed.
Beth curled herself into the safe haven of his arms, finally feeling warm again. She could feel his heartbeat against her back, the rhythm helping to calm her.
It doesn't make it any worse, she repeated Daryl's words to herself. Hopefully, her father and the powers that be would think the same.
She still wasn't sure that she did.
A/N: I'm finally back with another chapter!
Deciding what to do with this story has been a lot of fun. I really wanted to show Beth and Daryl following the path the others have, just without their knowledge. I think it's obvious that the Grady Memorial storyline is being ignored here...I don't want to even visit it, if I'm honest. Instead, we see Beth and Daryl stay at the same house Tyrese and Carol used, with Mika and Lizzie's graves.
We get a taste of the Claimers, but again, I didn't want to spend too much time with them. As we know, Rick and Daryl take care of the Claimers in the show, but Rick, Carl, and Michonne are long gone from the area in this fic. Daryl and Beth are considerably behind their friends, since they made the decision to stay stationary during the winter.
I just wanted to clear up any confusion anyone might have concerning the timeline! This chapter ended up being heavy on development and travel, not so much romance. I'll make it up to y'all in the next chapter!