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Throughout her time at the cabin, Beth had started referring to the people that came through as her 'guests'. Depending on the situation, they may sleep on the floor by the fire, as Daryl had because he was too sick and weak, and also unconscious, to make it up the stairs. If she didn't feel exactly safe with a particular guest, she slept upstairs in the loft and pulled the ladder up leaving the guest no access to her while she slept.
The ladder also offered her safety; if her guests slept up in the loft. She could simply remove the ladder, leaving them with no way to get down. Rarely did she do this, it seemed a little inhumane. A little mean. As she told Daryl, she didn't treat people like criminals.
She hadn't done that with Daryl, even after he regained consciousness and strength. She couldn't say exactly why. She just felt a level of comfort with him she hadn't felt in some time, if ever.
But she wasn't naive. She didn't think everyone that came through had good intentions. If they slept downstairs where they could potentially riffle through her cabinets, maybe rob her of her food and leave during the night, she padlocked the two cabinets she kept food in. The door to the root cellar, which was outside and to the right of the backdoor, was locked. She kept the keys on her at all times.
It wasn't one-hundred percent foolproof, she did what she could. Her weapons, as well as anyone else's weapons, were locked up, except for the nine-inch knife she carried in a sheath on her belt. The knife her father had given her once they realized just how bad things were. He told her to keep it in her at all times. And she did.
See, she took precautions. She had rules. She wasn't an idiot.
Did Daryl think she was an idiot? Did it matter? No, it didn't matter. But…
By the time she got the couple and their baby settled, cleaned up, fed, showed them to the loft where they will be sleeping, deciding to leave the ladder attached, it was almost dark and Daryl hadn't come back inside. Her guests were probably already asleep as they were dead on their feet when Beth poked her head outside. At first, she didn't notice Daryl, and a tremble of fear ran through her.
She'd been sad to see people go in the past, some people needed genuine help, and the fact she was able to offer it bonded her to them. Nevertheless, everyone had to leave eventually. Daryl shouldn't be any different. It alarmed just how unsettled she was at the idea of him being gone.
"Over here," a voice gruffed through the dimming light. She tried to ignore the relief she felt when she noticed him sitting on an upturned log near the lean-to.
Shutting the door behind her quietly, she went to him and asked, "Coming inside, or are you gonna sleep out here?" She was only being slightly sarcastic.
"Maybe," he said, getting to his feet. He stood looking down at her, seconds ticking by. As those seconds turned into a full minute, the silence she'd gotten so accustomed to began to irritate her.
"You expected me to turn them away?" She asked. She was never very good at ignoring the elephant in the room.
This inexplicable need to explain herself to him irritated her. He has been here a short amount of time and thinks he has any say in how she does things? She didn't owe anyone an explanation, yet here she was explaining herself. "They have a baby. I wasn't turning my back on them."
"You can do whatever you want," he answered smoothly. His blase attitude was driving her crazy. She wanted so badly for him to see her side, having no clue why, again, it mattered.
"My house. My rules," she went on. "You don't like it then you can just leave." Don't leave, don't leave, don't leave, sang in her mind.
Her disparaging attitude shocked even her. She'd never spoken so harshly to anyone. Except maybe Maggie. She and Maggie fought like, well, they fought like sisters. Apologizing to each other an hour later. While she was sure Maggie deserved it - she wasn't entirely sure Daryl did. He was only looking out for her. Or was he looking out for himself? His life was at risk too by the people she brought into the house.
"You been tucked away up here for a while. You don't know how it really is out there. I'm just sayin' you can't be so trusting."
"There are still good people in the world, Daryl," she said quietly, feeling defeated and suddenly tired. It hurt… how he thought of her as a clueless girl hiding out from the world. She turned and started back toward the house.
"Beth, wait," he said when she'd gotten a few feet away. She stopped but didn't turn around.
Daryl had stacked the wood by the back door, returned the cart to its rightful place, snuck a cigarette, and was sitting on an upturned log watching the sun lower beneath the tree line. He couldn't help himself, he'd been stewing. He was sure that guy was bad news, but that baby changed everything.
He had no right to say anything to Beth about how she chose to do things. And what did it matter to him? Beth was of no consequence to him, and she could do whatever she wanted. He'd be leaving soon anyway. Right? She said it herself, You can just leave.
He couldn't leave right now, especially with that guy staying here. And for some reason, her being upset with him was bothering him which was strange altogether.
"You're right to not turn them away," he admitted, looking down at his boots in the muddy snow. She turned to face him. "The baby needs a warm place to stay at least for a night or two."
He hadn't meant to hurt her, to undermine her judgment. That caught her off guard, her silence told him that much.
Finally, she nodded. She watched him a moment more, seemingly memorizing every line in his face, every shade of color in his eyes. It made him uncomfortable but he wasn't going to be the one to fold first. Stepping back to him, she reached behind her back and pulled a knife from the waistband of her jeans. "Here."
His eyes shot to hers, dark blue in the retreating light. It was his knife. He took it and held it in his hands feeling its reassuring weight, the smoothness of the leather sheath against his palms. This was more than a knife. It was an olive branch. Not an admittance of needing his help, but her way of telling him she trusted him.
He nodded. "Thank you."
She rolled a shoulder. "Trust and your knife are all you really have in this world."
"True enough." He wanted to say more. Words, as usual, evaded him. "They all set?" He asked instead, gesturing to the house.
"I think so. I checked their bag. They don't have any other weapons I could find," she was sure to tell him. "They're set up in the loft. Probably asleep already."
He tucked his knife back into his waist. "Better head in," he said.
It wasn't safe outside after dark. Wild animals that roamed the mountain were almost more dangerous than the walkers. At least you could hear the walkers coming up on you. You wouldn't know a cougar was stalking until it was on top of you. And of course, there were the living people. Also more dangerous than the non-living.
She agreed and turned back to the house.
"Beth," he said her name and she turned to face him once again. "It's really good what you're doing here. I wouldn't have turned them away once I knew they had a baby. I just wanted..."
I just wanted you to be safe. But he couldn't admit that. Why? Because there was too much vulnerability in the words. Too much truth.
"Coming in?" She asked.
"Yeah." He'd be stupid not to follow her. He tried to ignore the unease caring about her safety created. It made his chest heavy, twisted his gut.
Once inside, he took off his shirt, dropping it to the floor next to the mattress, and laid down, setting his knife close by. Beth settled on her chair, covering herself up and picking up one of her books, opening it to an earmarked page.
His eyes went to the dark loft, strangers asleep just a few feet away in Beth's bed with her blankets and books. His eyes then went to her curled up on her chair. He was almost healed of his illness, it didn't make sense that she still slept upright in that chair.
He sat back up and said "You take the mattress. I'll take the couch."
Beth chuckled lightly, tiredly. "That couch is half the length that you are. This chair is more comfortable that's why I've slept here."
The couch was more of a loveseat but that chair was definitely out of the question, he couldn't curl up the way Beth did. "I don't mind. A tiny couch ain't the worst I slept on." The ground or on a musty-smelling carpet of multiple smelly abandoned houses. Sometimes he forwent sleeping entirely for nights at a time.
Not giving her a chance to decline, he stood, grabbed his blanket and pillow and knife, and tossed it onto the couch. Then snatched Beth's blanket from her, placing it on the mattress.
Beth sat a few more seconds in the chair before standing next to Daryl. Barefoot she was quite a bit shorter than him and the way she was peering up at him made him feel big and lumbering.
She opened her mouth to say something but appeared as though she changed her mind and instead bent to adjust the sheet. It was soft and well-worn from many washes. A sheet. Something that struck him as strange. Does a sheet at the end of the world really matter? To Beth, he supposed, it did.
To the girl at the end of the world sheets and books still mattered. The girl at the end of the world who was still kind but took no shit. The girl at the end of the world he did not expect to find. Did not expect to feel anything for.
This girl was an anomaly of the best kind.
When she fanned her blanket over the mattress and slipped in he went to the couch and got as settled as he could. She was right, the couch was uncomfortable.
Beth curled in on herself facing the fire. The orange glow reflected on the ceiling, the wind softly blowing against the windows. He watched her silhouetted form rise and fall with breath before falling into the rhythms of deep sleep.
Once he was sure she was out, he kicked his blanket off and sat up. There was no way he'd be able to sleep, leaving Beth vulnerable while there were strangers in the house.
Beth hardly moved the whole night through and once the sun rose and she started to stir, Daryl pretended to be sleeping. He must have dozed off because when he woke the sun was shining brightly from the slit between the curtains directed squarely on his face.
The sound of the ladder leading to the loft creaking caught his attention. The giant man was climbing down. One hand on the rungs, the other cupped around the baby.
By the time he got down, Daryl was sitting up. Fully awake. The man's face and hair were much cleaner than the day before and he didn't look quite as menacing with a baby cradled in his arms. He looked around, probably for Beth but she was already up and in the kitchen. It was like a defunct bed and breakfast Daryl thought to himself.
"I appreciate you letting us stay here." The man faintly spoke in a deep voice, switching the baby from one arm to the other.
Daryl rolled a shoulder. "Ain't up to me." He wanted to appear nonchalant, not caring. In reality, he did very much care to know who this guy was, as well as the girl. What their story was. Mostly he cared if they posed a threat to Beth.
"They call me Beta," he says to fill in the empty air around them.
"Who's 'they'?" Daryl asked, leaning forward, ready to pounce if need be. If he was going to charge Daryl, he'd be ready. He was always ready for things to go to shit because they almost always did.
"And this is Daryl," Beth said, interrupting them from the kitchen doorway before things could escalate any further, giving him a pointed look as she walked across the room. She placed a folded towel over her shoulder and took the baby from Beta. "And this is baby Thomas."
"We just call him Chubs," Beta filled in. Indeed the baby was quite chubby considering they didn't have a grocery store on the nearby corner. What do babies eat anyway? Was this one still young enough to be breastfed? The thought made him uncomfortable.
The baby naturally went to Beth, nuzzling her face into her shoulder. Daryl hadn't expected any less. Unquestionably she'd be good with kids and kids would love her equally. She whispered softly to the baby and rubbed his back affectionately. You'd think she'd known him all along.
Having a baby in the house was refreshing. It had been a long time since Beth had held a baby. The last time she went to the community there were a few babies and quite a few children there. They were a reminder that there was still good in the world. It was amazing to think there was still such innocence.
Beth held Chubs up, smiled at him. He gave a gummy grin in return. He had no idea the danger that lurks around every corner. All he knew was that he was loved and fed. Warm. Which he was right now in her tiny cabin standing near the fire.
There was a time when she thought Maggie would get married. Their dad would become a grandpa. They'd have picnics and celebrate the holidays. They'd be happy and surrounded by family and kids. And then someday, maybe, she'd get married and have her own children. A balloon of despair filled her chest for the life she might have once had.
Bringing her out of her rumination, the baby started to fuss. He shoved his little fist into his mouth as Beth bounced and cooed to him softly. "It's okay." That's all he needed to know, that he was okay. He was safe. She felt her eyes fill with tears. Too soon this little guy would know what kind of world they now lived in.
"Lydia. Get a move on," the man, directing his words up the stairs, said. "Chubs is hungry."
"I'm comin', I'm comin," the girl, Lydia, said as she climbed down the stairs.
She smiled shyly, quickly at Daryl, and then focused on the baby. "Hey Chubs, ya' hungry?"
"What about Mom? Is she hungry?" Beth asked Lydia.
"Starving. Always starving."
Starving. Something that used to be said facetiously. I'm starving! When actually you probably ate a few hours ago or the day before at most. Now it carried more weight. Now it most likely meant you were actually starving. Lydia, barely eighteen, was rail thin and feeding a child on what little calories she might be able to scavenge and consume. She was probably a few days away from really starving.
Beth wanted to be sure while Lydia was here, she'd have all the food she wanted. Usually, they only ate one main meal a day. While Lydia was here they'd have three full meals a day, hopefully giving her the energy needed to continue on their trek to the community.
Lydia, carrying Chubs, followed Beth into the kitchen. She sat at the table and lifted the corner of her shirt as she settled the baby in for his breakfast.
"I can't say how much we appreciate this," Lydia said as she looked down at Chubs, stroking his cheek as he suckled. "We were getting pretty desperate."
"It's not a problem," Beth said, picking a potato from the pile she brought up from the cellar and began peeling the rough skin.
"Not many people will open their home to strangers anymore… not that I blame 'em."
"It's a precarious time we live in, doesn't mean you can't be kind," Beth told her. She believed what she told Lydia wholeheartedly.
Daryl came through just then, slipped on his boots, leaning down to quickly tie them. He put on his coat and leaned over to Beth, touching her shoulder. "I'll be outside if you need me."
Beth smiled, unable to hold back. "Okay. I'll let ya' know if Chubs gets outta hand."
He pinched lightly at the skin of her arm but then he grinned and winked. She was starting to make it a goal of hers to tease a smile out of him at least once a day. This morning she got a grin and a wink. She'd consider it a success.
"How long you been together?" Lydia asked once Daryl was outside. She propped Chubs onto her shoulder and began patting his back, waiting on a burp.
Beth was still smiling at her minor success, her hand lightly rubbing the area of her skin that Daryl had touched. It hadn't registered that Lydia had spoken.
"What?" She asked, now switching to chopping the potatoes. "Together?"
"Yeah. He obviously cares a lot for you. Definitely gives out that protective vibe."
A flush climbed her neck. There was a lightness in her belly similar to the sensation you get while driving and you hit a dip in the road and your stomach flips but not unpleasantly. It was a lightness she hadn't felt in a long time.
"Oh, it's not like that. He's not been here that long," Beth explained.
"Uh huh," Lydia said, moving Chubs to her knee, bouncing him up and down, her voice lifted teasingly. Beth looked over her shoulder at Lydia with her sly, knowing smile.