Powdered Gold: June
They stayed in Terminus for a few days.
Well, in the general location of Terminus, but it was all the same to Daryl.
Though the train station was largely burnt out, they ventured into the ruined fence. All the walkers in the area were equally burned and sluggish. Beth's sprained wrist was no detriment, to his surprise. She was quick to learn to use her left hand when wielding her knife.
On the day they arrived, they found a makeshift courtyard not far inside the fence line. Flapping in the wind, suspended from a still-standing clothesline, was a piece of clothing that had Beth grabbing his arm tight in her grip.
"Daryl," her voice was all breath; a reverent whisper, "that's yours. They were here."
His poncho, which he would use at the prison when the weather was cool enough for it. That poncho had done him well, leaving his arms free of the restriction that a jacket would have brought with it. He could wield any weapon—his crossbow, knife, gun, what have you—with total ease. It was not something he had taken with him when they fled the prison, obviously. No; the only thing he had grabbed when he left was Beth.
Now there the poncho was, right before his eyes again.
He didn't want to admit it to Beth but seeing the familiar piece of clothing made his heart race. This was the first—the only—sign they had they were on the right path. Before, they had only been following Beth's pipe dream…but now the dream was proving true. Beth strode forward, pulling the poncho down from the clothesline.
"It could be just a poncho," he murmured, reluctant to give Beth or himself this glimmer of hope. Unfortunately for him, she was already running with the idea. He watched as she carefully folded up his poncho, tucking it into her backpack.
Because of his poncho, they made the decision to stake out the area and explore for a handful of days. Rather than stay anywhere inside the less-damaged portions of Terminus, they camped on a hill in the woods where they had an easy view of the place at all times.
They had a game plan: explore the area for further clues of their friends and family. Whether that game plan would bring further clues to fruition was yet to be seen.
Flakes of ash fell around them as if it were snowing inside the ruined building. People had lived in this place, probably a lot of people. That much was obvious from the personal items strewn about and the sleeping spaces they kept happening upon. As of their third day in the area, they had consistently come up empty handed, save for the poncho.
Beth had taken to sleeping with the poncho as a covering. The nights still carried a chill with them even as summer began to take hold. Watching her doze away in the moonlight, he became more convinced that poncho was one and the same with his old prison standby. He had worn it often, and seeing it wrapped around Beth reminded him of crisp fall days clearing walkers from the fence line with Glenn and Carl.
There, at the neckline, was a small tear. An errant walker hand had grabbed hold of him, weak but trying desperately to pull Daryl closer to the fence. His breath had puffed in front of his face in the morning chill when he laughed. Carl had taken the decaying arm right off with one solid hit of his sharpened stake before sending the point through the walker's head.
Beth had mended that tear herself, and the green thread still showed through the tan fabric. Watching the moonlight play over her face, Daryl wondered idly if she remembered sewing it for him. Her days were dominated by small tasks such as clothes mending—when she wasn't caring for Judith, that is—when they all lived so happily at the prison. Daryl ran his fingertips across her forehead while she slept, sweeping away wayward blonde strands and tucking them behind her ear, before turning his gaze back to Terminus.
At night, they watched the burned-out remains, looking for any signs of human life. During the day, they raided what supplies they could while looking for more clues of their friends. Daryl liked the nights better, because during the day, he had to watch Beth's face fall over and over as it became clear they weren't likely to find anything else. At night, they could sit on the little grassy hill that had become their temporary home. Beth was usually quiet, mulling over the day's work, while Daryl smoked the cigarettes he pilfered from the remains of Terminus.
On the fourth night, Beth watched the ghostly curls of smoke form around Daryl's face as he exhaled. "Why do you do that?"
"What? Smoke?" He waited for her nod before continuing. "I dunno. It makes me calmer, takes an edge off. Why, you want some?"
She held her hand out, waiting for him to slip the cigarette between her fingers. Scrunching her brow, she stared at the faint red glow at the end before confessing, "I don't really know what to do."
He took it back from her, slowly placing it between his lips and inhaling. When he was little more than a kid, Merle had taught him how to blow smoke circles. He did that now, just to show off, which made Beth roll her eyes. She took it back from him, balancing the cigarette between her own lips.
"Careful. Just breathe in a little, or you'll get sick." Before the smoke hit her lungs, Beth would have considered Daryl's warning dramatic. Then the fiery rush down her throat and across her chest threw her, however, making her blow the smoke out of her mouth almost as soon as she had inhaled it. Immediately, she started coughing, almost dropping the cigarette.
Daryl's hand rubbed across her back, helping soothe her breathing. His other hand curled around hers, slipping the cigarette from between his fingers. When her coughing subsided, Beth wiped at her eyes. "That's not calming."
"Not the first time," he conceded. "But you get used to it."
She didn't ask for it again, though she did scoot closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. The aftermath wasn't so bad. Her head was a little dizzy, and her mouth was heavy with the taste of nicotine, but she didn't mind. It reminded her of kissing him, when she could taste it on his mouth.
"So," Daryl murmured, looking down at the map they had used to get to this place. He glanced up briefly, taking in the way the rising morning sun burnished Terminus with golden. Pretty lies, he thought. "What's next?"
He plucked a blackberry from Beth's outstretched hand while he waited for her to answer. She had foraged those berries for their breakfast from a wild patch not far from camp, fingertips were stained purple with the berry juice. The berry exploded between his teeth, coating his mouth with tart juice as he watched Beth purse her lips, considering. "D.C. was Rick's original goal, right?"
"Yeah, before the prison."
"Right, but we lost that. Do you think he would go back to that plan? Strike out for D.C. again?"
"Maybe," he said at first, popping another berry into his mouth. As he chewed, he considered. "Probably."
"Well, which? Maybe or probably?" She was frustrated with his answer, that was obvious from the way her fair eyebrows drew together. Daryl had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep form laughing at her petulance.
"Probably," he amended. "We gotta find some new maps, though. Ones that'll get us through the Carolinas. I'm glad you had this idea during the summer and not last winter."
"Like you would have let us strike out on a journey back then." The sun had risen high enough to be just behind her, painting her in morning gold.
"Hey, now, you'd barely be thawin' out from the freeze if I didn't keep you put in that funeral home."
"Oh, whatever." He made a move to grab a final blackberry, but Beth raised her hand too quickly, plopping the rest into her own mouth. She had to speak around the berries crowding her cheeks. "Let's go. This place is a bust."
Back on the road, Daryl taught Beth the summer constellations at night.
"You see the Big Dipper up there?" He whispered to her in the dark. Ironically, a graveyard was making the perfect camping space for them. A tall fence—surprisingly easy to climb over—had kept walkers entirely out. This final resting place was theirs, if only for the night. The summer nights were turning warmer, but Beth still had the poncho draped across their bodies.
She hummed her agreement, her head resting on his chest. "Look to the left and down some. Those stars that look like a guy with his arms raised is Hercules."
With one hand, Daryl twirled the tail of her braid around his fingers. He raised his other hand skyward, framing the constellations for her. "Go more left for Cygnus. It's shaped like a cross."
"How do you know all this?" He knew so much about the world around them, how to be a part of it. Her amazement over how well he fit into nature never ceased, especially when he kept revealing new skills like this every other day.
"Merle learned about it in school, and he would tell me about it." He fell quiet for a moment, just playing with her hair. "Sometimes we had to sleep outside, so we had a lot of time to learn the stars."
If he were honest, Daryl's motives here weren't to have a heart to heart. Beth had been having nightmares since leaving Terminus, making her sleep little and far between. He was hoping that if he talked her to sleep, it might ease her dreams some. She made no attempts to stifle the yawn that escaped her lips as she pondered his words.
"I used to look at the stars with my mom, but she didn't know the constellations." Beth reached up, slipping the hair tie from her braid. As her hair fell loose, Daryl ran his fingers through the strands, gently untangling it. "She would make up stories for me instead."
Her words were growing slow and slurred. It wouldn't be long before sleep overtook her, he was sure. What he didn't intend, though, was for sleep to claim him as well. Unbidden, he fell into slumber just moments after Beth. Daryl was utterly unprepared when, hours later, he was startled awake.
Beth, in the throes of her nightmare, had clutched his shirt so tightly that Daryl's instincts kicked in. Assuming he had been grabbed, he sprang up, pushing back against her. Beth only gripped tighter, digging her fingers into his arms. It was not his own name that she murmured, still mostly asleep, but her sister's.
"Maggie!" Hearing the girl's name brought Daryl fully out of his sleep. He worked her fingers loose as she stirred herself awake. The night seemed to register around her, clarity returning to her eyes as she realized where she was. A shaky sigh escaped her lips and she quickly blinked back tears.
She hung her head before confessing, "I can't stop thinking about them in that place."
That place. Terminus had been her holy grail, and now she couldn't bring herself to even say the name. He couldn't deny that the others might have been in Terminus, for however briefly. His poncho was proof enough of their presence there.
"You're crazy if you don't think all them would burn in hell before they let anyone take 'em out. We didn't survive the Governor for nothin'." Beth shuddered under his hands despite the muggy warmth of the night. Clouds had moved in some time during their dreaming, bringing humidity with them. For just a moment, Daryl's breath hitched in his throat.
Not all of them had survived the Governor. An image of Hershel flashed through his mind's eye, kindly farmer on his knees as the Governor sunk Michonne's sword into his throat. Beth, thankfully, was too consumed in her musings to clock in on his misstep.
"We were so close." She tugged on the poncho for emphasis. "And we still missed them. Can you believe that?"
"Dead people walk around, Beth."
"Okay, smart ass." She pushed against him now, prompting him to lay back down. "We better go back to sleep."
"Yeah, before we wake the neighbors."
She could just make out his shit-eating grin in the dark, huffing her breath at his amusement over his own joke. "Smart ass and a comedian. Go back to sleep."
Despite her barbs, she fitted herself back into the circle of his arms.
"If we want maps, we gotta hit up some gas stations," Daryl had decided. "How many bullets you got, Bethy?"
She blushed as she unloaded her gun to count. The nickname had been rolling off his tongue with ease for a week now, but it still took her by surprise every time. "Three were loaded. I have six in my backpack, though."
"Hmm. Nine's not great, but we'll make it work. How's your wrist?"
The idea that someone like Daryl Dixon would so easily dole out a nickname the way he had for her still caught her off guard. Beth remembered Merle's habit of handing out derogatory nicknames—he had called Carol sunshine in that condescending tone so many times that it was burned in her mind. Daryl calling her 'Bethy', though, felt entirely different.
"Doesn't hurt at all anymore." She flexed her right wrist forward and backwards, twisting it in a circle to show that the range of motion had been restored in her healing. He nodded back at her, pleased with the demonstration.
"We should be okay if we play it careful. We won't approach a station to clear until we stake it out a little first."
Finding gas stations to loot for maps meant altering their travelling path. Whereas before the pair had been travelling through the forest, keeping far from the road, Daryl changed course considerably. They stayed well within the tree line, but in sight of the road at all times.
The growling, snarling sounds of walkers was more prominent on their new path. Though Daryl often joked about their rotting brains, the undead were not entirely stupid. There were enough littered cars—not to mention bodies—easily visible through gaps in the trees to stand testament to the dead's success. The road was, in theory, easier travel, but it was also easier feeding ground for the walkers.
Increased numbers of walkers meant a decrease in the number of animals. Birds still flitted through the foliage overhead, but Beth soon found herself missing other forest wildlife. When they had traveled deep in the trees, it was not uncommon at all to happen upon rabbits and deer. Once she had even watched a large red fox forage through the underbrush, sunshine glinting off his coat and turning it to flames.
Now, though, the forest was mostly quiet. Things did not grow so wild here, next to the road, the grasses trampled by human and walker feet alike. She had just made up her mind to complain, lips falling open, but Daryl tapped her on the shoulder before any words could come forward. Following his gaze, Beth's eyes lit upon a gas station…of sorts. It was really more a ramshackle shed with gas pumps out front, but if there was any kind of convenience store inside, she would take it.
Daryl inclined his head toward it, an unspoken question. You wanna try it?
Beth shrugged in response, already angling herself to walk across the wide, mostly empty road. Might as well.
Quick, quiet footsteps and a few ducks behind some abandoned cars got the pair safely across. Beth took some quick peaks in the windows while Daryl toyed with the door handle. There was nothing interesting inside, as far as she could tell. Instead, she turned to watch Daryl use short lengths of stiff wire to tumble the lock mechanics.
"Don't let me get bit while you're standin' around gawkin'," he muttered. Beth blushed at the admonishment, taking a quick look around. They had been covert enough to cross the road without drawing attention from the walkers, and thankfully none lingered too close to the station.
"You're fine, drama king." The words had barely left her lips when a soft click announced Daryl's success. One more twist of his wrist and the gas station door sprang loose beneath his touch.
Shafts of dusty sunlight streamed in from thick, dingy windows. The interior was quiet, undisturbed. Whoever had locked up on that final day had left everything orderly, though time had given the tiny shop a good layering of dust. Idly, Beth etched a B in the coating on the cashier's counter while Daryl began rummaging. He had been mindful to shut the door behind them, though he had trapped in all the mid-June heat with them as well.
Between the heat and the dust, it was almost chokingly stuffy on the inside. Beth lifted her braid from where it rested against her sweating neck and laid it over her shoulder instead. She walked the aisles slowly, looking for anything they might use. This tiny, shabby gas station had been continuously overlooked by travelers before them, but she refused to make that same mistake.
A sewing kit from one aisle. Refills on the medication they carried from another. More fruit leather, making Beth smirk ruefully in memory of their journey to the bust that was Terminus. Batteries for their flashlight; fishing hooks and line for Daryl. From behind the counter, she pilfered a few packs of cigarettes for him, too.
"Get that whiskey while you're back there." His voice behind her made Beth jump, but her fingers curled around the neck of the bottle he asked for. She glared at him over her shoulder for scaring her, taking in the way his perpetually messy hair clung to his face with sweat.
"Find any maps?" She asked, tucking the whiskey bottle into their backpack, pushing it between their spare clothes for safe keeping.
"Nah. Here." He flicked his wrist so fast that Beth had no idea what he tossed at her until it plopped in her hands. Brightly colored fabric crinkled against her fingers. A candy bar.
"Out of this whole store, the only thing you pick up is a Kit-Kat?" She shook her head at him, but he only shrugged, his wide shoulders rising and falling beneath the threadbare blue plaid of his shirt.
"Seemed to me like you had it all worked out with all your rootin' around. Thanks for the fishin' line." He held his hand out to help her back over top of the counter. In his other hand was a Snickers for himself.
Only once back in the cover of the trees alongside the road did they chance opening their candy. It looked fine to Beth, but she still couldn't help wondering aloud, "Think we'll die if we eat this?"
"Shouldn't." Daryl already had a mouthful of his candy. He had to swallow before he could continue. "Stuff tends to stay good longer than the expiration date says."
He had a point. They had all eaten a lot of 'expired' food at the prison with no ill consequences. She broke off a piece of her Kit-Kat and placed it on her tongue, feeling her eyelids flutter shut at the rush of sugar in her mouth. How easy it was to forget the sweetness of candy when you spend your days eating wild-caught game and foraged berries.
Or the sweetness of a simple gesture such as this when so much of your time is devoted to keeping each other alive. For once, even though they were out in the open, Daryl didn't pose any argument when Beth reached for his hand.
The downright exhaustion of constant travel was helping Beth's nightmares some, but it wasn't absolute by any means. Most days, the muggy heat and exertion of travel—not to mention the occasional brush with walkers, no matter how hard they tried to avoid it—left her to fall into sleep immediately after she laid down.
Some nights, though, Daryl could hear her keening in her sleep. Those nights weren't the worst; usually her face would relax, and her sleep continue almost undisturbed. The bad nights involved her thrashing around, fighting off unknown threats in her sleep. On those night, Daryl had to restrain her before she hurt herself.
"Beth," he would whisper to her. Always a whisper, even when she was screaming or calling out Maggie and Hershel's names. Daryl would press her shoulders down, pinning her to the ground. Sometimes he had to use his full weight to keep her from thrashing, laying his body on top of hers. "Beth. Hey, you're okay. You're okay. I'm here."
Between his weight on her and the whispering, not to mention running his hands through her hair, Daryl was able to get Beth to calm down before her nightmare outbursts could draw unwanted attention.
Yet, despite all her whimpering and crying out and physical reactions to these nightmares, Daryl envied Beth.
For Daryl dreamed of Merle with almost as much regularity, though his dreams were not so reactionary as Beth's. Instead, when Merle appeared in Daryl's dreams, he knew them for what they were. He would buck against his dreams, trying desperately to get his body to move, to wake up. Every time, though, his body turned leaden, trapping him in his dream until it played through.
The dream was the same almost every time. Daryl and Merle were in that field again, where Daryl had found his brother undead. Just like in real life, Merle looked up from the corpse he was eating, blood dripping down his gray face, yellow eyes fixating on his little brother.
Playing off real life again, Merle would approach Daryl. Every time Daryl pushed against Merle, his brother came back. Over and over and over again. But his dreams would differ from real life in that he was unarmed in his dreams. Rather than eventually stabbing Merle in the head to end his second, undead life, Daryl was helpless to defend himself. All he could do was push against Merle until his arms grew heavy and weary. At the end of each dream, Daryl was too weak to fight anymore.
Merle would advance, indefatigable, but Daryl could not say the same of himself. Arms heavy and useless at his sides, Merle would reach for him and Daryl himself was powerless to stop it. Cold, vicelike arms would grip Daryl until he was as immobile in the dream as his body was outside of it.
The only blessing in these nightmares was the fact that Daryl always woke before Merle's bloodstained teeth bit into his skin. Only then would he be able to force his eyes open, his breath shaking through his chest in the aftermath.
Beth was the first thing he saw every time. It was anyone's guess how she knew when the nightmares started, considering the paralysis Daryl experienced. Regardless, Daryl would wake to his head pillowed on Beth's thighs, her fingers running soothingly through his hair. More often than not, she would be humming as well, though she never chanced singing outright in the open.
As soon as his eyes were open, Beth would smile at him, dipping herself over his head to press a kiss to his forehead.
"Welcome back," she would whisper. At the sound of her voice, the terrors of his dream would begin to fade away.
"Hey, Bethy. Know how to drive?"
His question surprised her. Beth looked over her shoulder, pulling the lollipop from her mouth to answer, eyebrows knitting together. "No?"
There were considerably more walkers in this area. They had passed a 'Welcome to South Carolina' sign just that morning; at the very least, they knew they were no longer in Georgia. That victory of entering a new state had been hard-won with weary legs and blister ridden feet, not to mention the layers of grime left from living exclusively outside for weeks on end.
"Well, I mean, kind of. Daddy would let me drive the truck out in the fields, but not on the actual street with other drivers."
Daryl smirked at her, raising his arms to gesture at their surroundings. "Ain't no other drivers here, neither. I reckon you'll be just fine. C'mon."
Following Daryl around the side of the gas station, he led her out back, where a garage was situated. The door hung crooked on its hinges—or what was left of them, anyway. So that was the banging noise she had heard earlier, the one that Daryl told her 'not to fuss over'. "Uh, did you kick that door in?"
"Yeah. Couldn't get the damn lock to click for me."
He ushered her inside, his hand lingering on her hip. When her eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the garage, Beth was able to discern the figure of a cobalt blue truck. It was glossy beneath a layer of dust, the lines of it vintage though Beth couldn't place a date on it if she tried.
"Think it'll drive?" She asked, catching on to Daryl's intent. Even if the truck didn't last them for long, at the very least, it would be a small vacation from their foot travel. Inside her warn boots, Beth's feet relaxed in relief at the thought.
"Only one way to find out."
The keys were in the ignition, doors unlocked. Daryl opened the driver's side door for her, watching her scramble into the seat. A quick twist of her wrist and the engine began to sputter. There was no way of knowing how long it had sat untouched before they came upon it, but soon enough, those sputters turned into a proper engine thrum.
Beth turned to him with wide eyes, a smile splitting her face. Daryl was just as excited, hauling the backpack Beth had dropped onto his shoulder and moving quickly to the passenger side.
"It's got a full tank," she told him once he was settled in the seat beside her. He busied himself poking around the glove box and pressing buttons on the dash.
"Well, don't waste it now. Let's go." Beth blanched at the realization that he intended for her to drive.
"Daryl… I just told you…" He waved her concerns away with one hand, the other busy rifling through a collection of tapes he had found in the console.
"Who's gonna pull you over, huh? Drivin' on an empty road ain't any different from drivin' in a field. Just try not to hit too many walkers so we don't gum up the engine. You like Fleetwood Mac?"
Daryl was not at all prepared for her answer. She laughed, the sound abrupt, and moved toward him. Little hands tugged at his collar, drawing his face towards her just moments before her lips pressed to his. Her mouth was hot and seeking over his, fingers twisting into his hair. Beth had stretched herself across the console between them and his hand had no problem finding the swath of her exposed skin just above her hip where her shirt had ridden up. They were tangled in a hectic mess for only a few moments, Daryl's survival instincts kicking in and overriding his desire for her.
He pulled back, but only marginally, their foreheads still tipped together. Beth's hurried breath washed over his face as he smirked. "You coulda just said yeah, you like Fleetwood Mac."
Despite his admonishing, his hand hadn't moved from her skin, fingers teasing along the waistband of her jeans. With her face so close, it was hard not to laugh as she rolled her eyes. Beth pulled back from him, making a show of fastening her seatbelt.
"Fleetwood's fine, but I prefer Stevie's solo stuff." It was Daryl's turn to laugh now.
"You're shit outta luck there, Bethy." He fed the tape into its player imbedded in the console, turning the volume knob as 'Second Hand News' began filtering through the speakers.
Daryl played navigator to Beth's driving, instructing her when and which way to turn. Eventually, he got her set on a stretch of highway they could follow until nightfall. That was their plan; to drive only through the night and sleep in the safety of the truck.
Well, that had been the plan, but ten minutes after Beth pulled onto the highway, Daryl had drifted asleep beside her. His head rested on the window, face relaxed in his slumber. Beth turned the volume down some, singing along in a low voice.
'The Chain', after all, had been one of her father's favorite songs.
Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise. Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies.
Driving now really wasn't so different from driving in the fields, just like Daryl said. The highway was mostly empty ahead of them; only occasionally did Beth have to swerve around an abandoned car. Even more rarely did she have to avoid running over bodies in various states of decomposition.
And if you don't love me now, you will never love me again.
The setting sun was diffusing the cab in golden hues. Rays played across Daryl's tanned skin, alighted on his hair in auburn streaks.
I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain.
One hand still on the wheel, she reached over to run her thumb along his cheek. This man used to scare her, she remembered. When Rick and the others first came to the farm, Daryl had been hurt and angry and made no efforts to cover either of those facts. He had been abrasive even with members of his own group.
The prison had changed him, had changed them all. Mourning the presumed loss of Merle, stepping up to help lead when Rick wasn't able to…it had all brought Daryl into the man he was now. The man, Beth ventured, that she loved.
Her sunset realization was not as shocking as she might have predicted had the thought crossed her mind months ago. They had grown incredibly close, she had to admit, travelling and surviving together.
Hours ago, they had talked about how Beth only need drive until the sun was setting. Then, the plan was, to switch seats so Daryl could pull the truck of the road and hopefully conceal it in some way. At the moment, though, Beth was loathe to wake him just for that. Ahead, there was a cluster of broken-down cars she figured could offer adequate cover by Daryl's standards.
Beth eased up on the gas, leaning forward in her seat over the steering wheel to make sure she would be able to make it around the cars. The crunch of ground was familiar to her as she pulled off the road, parking as closely to the other vehicles as she dared. She surveyed their surroundings from the safety of the cab, peering all around.
The world was quiet, save for Fleetwood Mac still streaming from the speakers and Daryl's soft breaths. She settled in, watching the last of the dying sun while her companion slept beside her. Their plan had been to take turns sleeping in the backseat, which was currently only occupied by Daryl's crossbow. The person on watch would sit in the front seat for their shift.
But Daryl was already asleep in the front seat, and once the tape ended, Beth cut the engine. The quiet was near deafening as night gathered all around. To her surprise, South Carolina didn't look much different from Georgia at all.
Sighing, she let herself slump to the side, resting her head on her hand while she watched Daryl sleep. How far had he travelled, she wondered? He certainly had no qualms reading the maps, easily finding a course and setting her on it to drive. Before then, he had charted a path to Terminus like it was nothing.
Beth didn't have long to watch his slumber, though, because soon Daryl was raising a hand to rub at his face. She should have known that her prolonged scrutiny would eventually trigger his instincts.
"You're supposed to keep your eyes on the road." His words slurred, still thick with his sleep, leaving her giggling beside him.
"We're not even moving."
"Mmm." After a shake of his head, Daryl managed to pull himself entirely from his sleep. He immediately leaned forward, reaching for the backpack that rested between his feet. When he pulled their water canteen from the side pouch, he offered it to her before taking a swig himself. "How long we been sittin' here?"
"Five minutes, maybe? You didn't miss anything besides my excellent parking skills."
"I'm sad I missed that." From the depths of the backpack, Daryl pulled out fruit leather…and whiskey. "What flavor do you want?"
"Surprise me. What's with the booze?"
Plastic slapped against her thigh before he answered. She picked up the package he had tossed at her, tearing it open without bothering to try to read the flavor in the dark. Peach flooded her mouth upon the first bite, anyway.
"It's called a night cap, Bethy. Did you think I taught you all there was to drinkin' back at the shack?" Even in the dark, she could make out the glint of his teeth at the flash of his devilish grin. There was a muffled pop when he broke the seal on the bottle. "To South Carolina."
Lifting the bottle in toast, he was met with Beth's half-eaten peach fruit leather. "To this truck. My feet have never been so happy."
His chuckle wafted through the dark before Daryl tipped the bottle. He swallowed a hearty shot of whiskey before offering the bottle to her. Beth welcomed the burn spreading through her chest at her own swig. When she held the bottle out for him to take from her, Daryl's hand wrapped around hers, giving a solid tug.
Lips tasting like whiskey and apples, an oddly pleasant combination, Daryl managed to kiss her without spilling any of the opened whiskey. He pulled away just long enough to close the bottle before reaching for her again. But this time, he pulled her, giggling, over the console between them.
He settled her on his lap and she happily leaned back against him.
"Thanks for letting me sleep," he murmured into her ear. His breath sent a delicious sort of shiver down her spine.
"You better return the favor tomorrow," she threatened, without any gravity at all in her voice. "Driving with a sleeping passenger is boring."
Daryl moved her heavy braid aside, trailing kisses along the back of her neck before nibbling at her ear. She did so love these moments when they were alone, when Daryl felt they were safe enough for his hands to trace senseless patterns along her thighs.
"I reckon I better entertain you a little before I take first watch, then, huh?"
A/N: My. Goodness. I barely got this finished before the end of June!
I went back and forth a lot on if I wanted Daryl and Beth to figure out that cannibals lived in Terminus. I ultimately decided against it (for the time being), based on the fact that Rick & Co. only knew in the show because the cannibals were still alive at the time.
You might have noticed that there is a new title for this month! 'Powdered Gold' comes from this quote: "It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside." by Maud Hart Lovelace. Though 'June' is in the full quote, 'powdered gold' will set the tone of the summer months of this story. Summer is my favorite season, and I couldn't bear to write something summer themed and have it be a downer.
So... get ready for lots of fluffy moments as Beth and Daryl travel through the Carolinas over the summer months.