Chapter 5

Friday, April 19th

He walked through the door and just about turned the fuck around and went right back out.

A night out at Michonne's bar had seemed like an alright plan. Like what a single guy of whatever age should do on a Friday night. Especially if that guy's only daily motivation, his little girl, was off having a sleepover at the Grimes residence with Rick, Michonne, Carl, Andre, and Judith. Kids were thick as thieves, all of them doting on Kit, even though Judy was only about a year older. It was nice, that Rick and his ex-wife Lori and that prick, Shane, had worked things out and agreed on a shared custody deal.

Daryl was happy for them, really.

Not their goddamn fault that he had no fuckin' clue what to do with himself when he wasn't being Auri's daddy. Already went to the pizzeria, got caught up on shit there, had only taken a couple of hours when he wasn't stopping the new hires from burning down the place or giving food poisoning to the customers. Almost went to the superstore, but that felt way too embarrassing like he was that guy. Old dude that didn't have anyone to hang out with, didn't party because the noise got to be too much, loitered around and chatted about shit that didn't matter.

Rick had offered the sleepover to give him a free night.

And what the hell was he going to do with it?

Sleep?

Didn't sound too bad honestly, but something base and restless had growled at him.

So here he was, except there were a lot of shitty people here too. Didn't know if that was accurate necessarily, they were younger though, for the most part. Loud and jostling against one another, using the bottlenecks of the floor's layout to strike up bashful or brazen conversations that he wanted no part of. He tended to steer clear of the bars these days unless he had Jessie with him, but she wasn't coming for a little while yet. She'd be staying until after Kit's birthday, which she'd sounded excited about. Was going to bring some photo albums she'd found so that she could show Auri what Jacklyn had looked like when she was growing up.

He'd deal with how that shit made him feel later on.

Right now, he eased through the crowd towards the bar, doing his best to tune out the real reason he'd almost done an abrupt about-face as soon as he walked through the door. The chords of the song had just started, so he was going to have to grit his teeth and get through the whole damn thing. Hadn't really had much of an opinion on music before her, it was on or it wasn't, was bearable or wasn't. Didn't have a preference, a genre that he liked or disliked more than any other for any kind of reason. But she was something he'd learned, studied, not just in particular situations, but all the time. One of the lessons of her, a slow piece of the curriculum to come to light, was how she'd listen to country music when she was sad.

Girl always had been full of interesting little idiosyncrasies.

When she'd been feeling down, and at the end, that'd been a lot of the time. There'd be twanging strings sounding moodily throughout their place. He'd get home, hear a melancholy guitar, and bow his head in the closest thing to a prayer that he knew. Ask for the ability or luck to make her want to shut the station off, or change it to another one. To do for his woman like she'd done so many times for him, and be the one that kept things going, kept things worth the struggle. And if it had been any old song, any of the ones that moaned about bad jobs or alcohol-soaked nights, he'd be able to sack up and shrug it off.

But this song.

The opening verse was coming to an end, but no matter with how loud the people around him were, no matter how they squeezed in against him, or how lost he tried to get with the beer he did his best to chug down, none of it could stop the chorus from drilling into his mind. Hiccuping the rate of his heartbeat as he tipped the booze back down and pulled away. Damn thing twisted all around him as he got his breath back.

"Could you paint me a Birmingham
Make it look just the way I planned
A little house on the edge of town
Porch goin' all the way around
Put her there in the front yard swing
Cotton dress, make it, early spring
For a while, she'll be mine again
If you can paint me a Birmingham"

It was a short song, he knew it, only had another verse a couple more rounds of the chorus. Knew it because she'd played it again and again, said it was...A woman brushed along his side, eyeing him through her lashes, and he resolutely sideled to one side, far away as he could get. She tossed auburn waves at him in disgust and turned her back. Worked for him. He took a seat on a stool and hunched his shoulders, glad that his placement made it less likely for people to notice or crowd in, what with the lacquered wooden wall to the side of him. Made it harder to ignore the damn song, but picking the right battles was half the fight these days.

"He looked at me, with knowing eyes
Then took a canvas from a bag there by his side
Picked up a brush, and said to me
Son, just where in this picture would you like to be?
And I said if there's any way you can
Could you paint me back into her arms again?"

Yeah, if only that was fuckin' possible.

He gagged down the rest of his beer, pushed the empty bottle in front of him and jerked his chin when the bartender, who of course knew him by sight, made the rounds for refills. He did his best to sip the new one, all the while dragging his gaze along the container's rounded edges, didn't really give a shit about it, just didn't feel smart to look anywhere else.

Wasn't right, someone picking this of all tunes out of the nearly infinite amount of tracks that Michonne's fancy jukebox could play. Might be some type of higher power telling him to get the fuck on, go home, and accept that maybe he just wasn't into this scene anymore. Didn't make him that guy. Made him some dude that had a busy life that wasn't motivated to socially drink for the same reasons most of the people in here were.

M'not lookin' for someone to fuck.

He'd made it through another chorus, one more and he was goddamn golden.

"Could you paint me a Birmingham
Make it look just the way I planned
A little house on the edge of town
Porch going' all the way around
Put her there in the front yard swing
Cotton dress, make it, early spring
For a while, she'll be mine again
If you can paint me a Birmingham"

The sigh ran through him deeply as a different song began to play. He pulled his phone out, checking to see if Rick or Michonne had checked in or needed anything. Nothing there. If Merle hadn't had a shift tonight, Daryl might have asked him to come along, if only so he didn't feel like such a freak, sitting in the corner, not wanting to talk to anyone. Sure, his brother was still on parole, but the PO was a lax sonofabitch which meant his brother had been drinking again for the last year or so.

He risked a quick glance around the area, more of the same, people hitting on one another, making eyes at one another, couple groups playing pool behind him, drunk people on the dance floor. Few different people huddled up on the couches at the far end of the building, maybe more in the booths that he couldn't see around the corner.

Typical night.

Noise wasn't so bad, once he got used to it again.

Might be better than sitting at home, by himself —

"He was sittin' there,"

"You gotta be shittin' me right now," he groaned, voice lost in all the other commotion.

"his brush in hand
Painting' waves as they danced, upon the sand
With every stroke, he brought to life
The deep blue of the ocean, against the morning sky
I asked him if he only painted ocean scenes
He said for twenty dollars, I'll paint you anything"

And then there was that damn chorus again.

Jesus fuckin' Christ, was he not already doing his best to not think about her? To not spend hours of his time on the phone, scrolling through that damn app and wrecking his brain, just to feel closer to her. Had he not thrown himself hard enough into other people to fill that nasty fucker in his chest where he used to keep her? Now some asshole was goin' off and all but taunting him with this shit.

Making him remember...back when that hole wasn't there.

"I ever tell you, how good ya look?"

The drill in his hand almost wound up fumbled into his face, damn thing jumping off the screw and coming close to gouging a furrow in the ceiling of the porch. Well enough that his stance on the ladder was a surer one because falling off it would be hilarious unless he broke his goddamn neck. The scoff had already kicked out from the back of his throat by the time he was able to set eyes on her. Got a little brought up short after that, no denying, she'd been unpacking while he worked outside, cute little shorts showing off a stretch of leg, her tank top scooped low. Glittering of sweat on her pale sternum. Wasn't looking him in the face though, gaze tracked where his arm bunched to keep the tool in his hand steady.

Mild prickling in his cheeks.

Stupid.

Good Lord, he knew every inch of this woman and she knew every scarred inch of him.

A compliment shouldn't send him red and running.

"If ya said it while holdin' a' beer in your hand, I'd believe it more." His teasing had her tipping her chin up at him cheekily, lips curving a little. "Or maybe if you had less on."

That made her eyes roll, but he got a flash of teeth out of it too.

He finished screwing the swing hook into place, gave it a testing tug to see how it felt. Warmth on his calf, and he looked down to find her hand on his leg and her eyeing his work curiously. Bit of excitement in her clear blues when they met his. He'd been through dozens of swing models, didn't even think they made that many different kinds. But his woman had been after the perfect one, put some weird picture-pinner-fuckin'-thing on his phone to show him different setups and designs.

The heat of her lanced clear through him, pooled into his heart more than anywhere else, the way she tightened her grip, a smile growing, adding a little jig in case he didn't already know how happy she was to be getting everything put together.

"Wanna hand me one a' them chains?" His own lips twitched at her bobbing nod and the way it was followed with her all but skipping to haul up the chains he'd left by the stairs. Putting the drill on the top of the ladder, he combed through his sweaty hair. "I get this all done, you good takin' a' break with me? Test it out?"

"Absolutely," she agreed, returning and passing up a length of the linked metal. "What were you wantin' to do on it to test it?"

She could tease too.

His huff was followed with a brief tingling of his extremities, like his body was doing a quick check of its condition, to make sure he was ready for her. Damn thing didn't know when the woman was joking. Daryl slid one of the links into place and gave another jerk, just to be safe. The thing didn't budge. Glancing down at her, he paused, look on her face wasn't so joking anymore. He ran a quick tongue over dry lips. Shit, maybe his body knew more than he'd given it credit for.

But they had shit to do, always did and always had, and she gave him a slightly regretful grin.

Knew exactly what they were both thinking.

They went about the business at hand, hanging the other chains, going through that process before moving on to hanging the actual swing itself into place. He folded up the ladder and bent to lower it easily onto the ground. Turning back, he saw her scrutinizing the finished product, pulling on the different chains, knocking her thigh against the white wooden seat to watch it sway evenly back and forth.

"Don't you be lookin' so goddamn skeptical now," he rasped, giving her a half-assed scowl as she jumped mildly and locked onto his approach. "That kitchen deal I put in ever give out on you when I had ya up there?" Pulling her against his chest, Daryl looked down his nose at her playfully. One hand on her hip and the other at the small of her back, he raised his brows at her amused smirk of a response. "Hell no. That fucker was solid."

Her face was pinking the barest amount, and it was like he couldn't help himself.

Nuzzling along her cheekbone, kissing her temple, he kept going. "Ya 'member the time after that party a' Sasha's?" Her breath caught and he smiled, big as fuck, lips and teeth nudging her soft skin as she wound one arm around his neck. "Came outta the bathroom t'see ya leanin' over it, in that fuckin' skirt, flashin' yer panties at me."

"I wasn't-"

"The fuck you weren't."

He bent and nipped at her pulse point, her earlobe, tried to remember the long list of shit they had yet to do. It sure was fuckin' difficult. Prioritizing anything over getting some more tiny gasps out of her. His hold tightened for a beat so he could feel all the places they touched, and then he was stepping back, slowly dropping his arms, feeling her hands drag their way down his chest in obvious confusion. There was heat in her gaze, and he knew his own mirrored it.

That'd been a great night, real great, have to help your woman deep clean the kitchen next day kind of great.

But the ten-minute break he'd figured them getting would stretch considerably longer if they went down the path they were on. Hadn't really meant to get her all riled up, but it was alright, she knew he'd make good on it, first chance he got. And anyway, he'd heard almost nothing but her gushing about this sonofabitching porch swing since she'd seen the broken one when they'd walked up to the house the first time. He'd bought and redone the whole damn setup just to make sure it was safe for her and Auri to be on.

So they were gonna sit on it, and he was going to spend ten minutes watching the sun sink into the trees with the only person (save his kid) who could get him to do something as idiotic as hanging a porch swing to begin with.

Barely keeping another grin from his mouth at her look of exasperation that his decision had earned, Daryl moved until he could settle his weight onto the padded seat. To showcase how sturdy it was and how unafraid he was of it falling, he really sprawled on the bench. His frame ranged to cover half the space, arms resting along the back. He cocked a brow at her challengingly.

This would probably be the time he found out there were rotten or weak boards that'd send him crashing down.

Beth's eyes slit in mock agitation, but then she stilled, one hand gesturing for him to hold on, she scampered back inside the house. Left him frowning where he sat.

"Now what're ya doin'?" he called, getting a muffled reply from her to hold his horses. "Did hold m'damn horses." The grumbling was easy and without ire as he rolled his shoulders. "Yer still dressed aint'cha?"

She came back out, cradling her phone and that little speaker that attached to it in one hand, and a beer that probably had not had enough time to get cold in the other. Didn't mar the picture she made none. Girl definitely looked rather proud of herself as she handed him the bottle, felt cool enough to the touch, and right now he'd stomach it regardless. He cracked it open while he watched her search her phone for something.

A quick pull from the drink and then he stowed it out of the way, saw her do the same with both of her devices as a tune started to play from the speaker.

"Listen to this song," she said, climbing next to him on the swing. Feet up, one leg against the seat, the other crooked up as she laid back against him, wasting no time in grabbing his arm off the backrest to drape it across her shoulders. Woman loved this layout for when they were kicked back relaxing, watching movies or whatever, holding his hand, free arm propped against his thigh. A nice calm rolled through him, feeling her tucked along his ribs like she was. "It's perfect, right?"

He hummed, focusing on what the song said. Sight narrowing some when he screwed his face up.

"It's shit."

"Daryl!" She sounded so scandalized that he huffed a laugh, jerking when she drove an elbow into his stomach. "It is not!"

It gave him a pain is what it did.

Man singing was resigned. Had lost his girl and wasn't getting her back.

Nightmare tune.

"It's," he tried again, not wanting to seem like an asshole when he wasn't even trying to be one, he was already pretty good at it no matter the situation. "Fuckin' depressing."

"I think it's sweet," she murmured, cozying back into him again. "He loves her so much. You can tell he really misses what they had."

"Loved her so much," he grumbled under his breath but leaned down enough to speak against the side of her head, her hair tickling his chin. "He should'a held on harder."

Her laugh was startled when he exhibited exactly what he'd meant, forearm digging lightly into her sternum, fusing her to his side. Loosening his hold, Daryl pushed off the porch with his heels, sending them swaying as the song started over again. God damn the jackass that'd came up with the replay button. But his uneasiness mellowed when she started singing along, brief glimpses of her face showing her smiling achingly as she did. He let his eyes blink closed, cheek resting on the gentle curve of her head. The orange light of the lowering sun painted splashes of color against his lids, made him sigh as she played with his fingers, absentmindedly gliding her own over them and up to his wrist.

Every now and again he'd kick them off to keep the gentle movements the same.

"Since when do ya listen to country? Hmmm?" She'd been making her way through each of the CD's he'd gotten her for Christmas, getting hooked on an artist now and again, for a month here, a couple of months there. Had the genre been in amongst the other Greatest Hits compilations he'd gotten her? Could be. Beth had never listened to it with him around, but he would kind of assume that that was something she'd be into. "You get hooked on a new singer an' not tell me?"

Seemed unlikely, she always enjoyed giving him a little rundown of what interesting information she'd found out about the person in question. He tried to remember all of it, but she'd get to talking so fast that sometimes he just lost track of the name and the story, watching her light up and beam about what lyrics meant what and who they'd been about.

She shifted, like she wanted to burrow into him, shook her head. "I only listen to it once in a' while."

"Yeah?"

He was about to ask her about it, about when, and who, and why. Was gearing up his tired brain to retain the facts, but then her phone started ringing, and he lost his train of thought. Grunting when she heaved herself from the swing to answer it. Frowned at the chilly spot she'd left, snapping his fingers to get her attention, he pointed at her vacated seat and smiled crookedly when she clicked her tongue at him like she did whenever she was dismayed in some capacity — seriously or otherwise.

"Yeah, Mama, it's comin' along, slow but sure." She nodded as she meandered her way back to him, snuggling into where she belonged while she listened. "No. No, we're takin' a quick break right now. Yes, we are— Mama, I promise." Containing what sounded very much like a growl in her throat, Beth thrust her phone at him, almost clipping his nose. "Would you please tell her ta' stop bein' such a worry wart? An' tell her," she continued as he took the device, "that we're resting and hydratin' and all that?"

"Hey, Annette." He could hear babbling in the background that sounded like Auri telling her nonsensical stories, learning more words every day, but the kit was still more meaningless jabber than anything else. "We just got the porch swing up, got 'er sittin' on it now."

"Don't you let her overdo, Daryl Dixon," Annette replied, in full mother mode. "She's got school and this youngin' to take care of. Y'all will have a chance to get all a' that settled without her or you working yourselves into a' fit."

"I hear ya," he promised, moments away from calling her ma'am and getting himself in trouble.

"You'd better," she groused lightly, making an answering noise at Auri, who laughed hysterically in response. The next words were considerably less authoritative. "You get her to take a' minute and get off her feet?"

"Wasn't easy," he told her, a moment before that damn elbow was back in his gut. "But nah, we're alrigh', be here another hour or two, then be headed over to pick up Kit."

"You take your time, hon." Another cooing noise, another peel of laughter. "We're all good over here."

They said their goodbyes and the line beeped. Soon as it had, the damn song started up again.

"Christ," he complained, handing the phone back to her. The ten minutes had come and gone, but five more wouldn't hurt anything. "One more round a' that and then we better get goin' again."

She twisted enough to give him a knowing smile, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw.

"I knew ya'd like it."

"I don't."

"Yeah, you do."

He scoffed and tugged her into place, and when she couldn't see him anymore, went back to closing his eyes and listening to her sing with the smile all woven and threaded through her voice.

Guess it was pretty close to perfect.

Looking back later, he'd call himself every filthy name for stupid he had in his vocabulary. That he didn't know any better, couldn't put two and two together to get four. But he sat on that stool, listened to the end of the song roll by, and when the fucker started again...Well, he just couldn't handle it. Couple people muttered darkly about it. Who the hell was playing this same damn tune again and again? Daryl took that as an open invitation to do what he did.

Shoving himself up from his position, he slid through the crowd like a buck knife through hide and got to the jukebox. All lit up, looking like a little party all by itself, he knew busting it to shit wasn't an option. That was if he wanted to keep his ass intact anyhow. Might be an overreaction in any event, but there was a queasy mix of adrenaline, nostalgia, and something akin to homesickness sloshing around his intestines. Made the hand, the one that gripped the power cord of the machine, shake and tremble in the flesh.

Giving it a good jerk, the song cut out, and some people sent up a clamor. Sounded like half of them were grateful and the other was irritated. Shaking his head, ignoring both parties, he plugged it back in.

And then whiplashed to his feet when one voice raised itself above the others.

"Hey!" Indignant, and managing to sound more twanging than it normally did with only the one word, she came around the corner from where those out of sight booths were. "Why'd y—"

It was some movie plot bullshit, probably wasn't really happening, that all around them the noise quieted and there was a clear path between them that no one would step into. Jeans and an obligatory school t-shirt on, the innocuous outfit still managed to throw him. Mind jarred against it, sure she should be in shorts, a tank top of pale yellow that had made him think of newborn chicks hanging on her toned frame. It might be under different circumstances, more unfortunate ones than before, but he had the vaguest thought about her once more being magical — capable of popping up if he'd just think of her enough.

Couldn't be right though, or else she'd be with him all the time.

He was rooted, body still turned towards the jukebox, all commands sent to his feet were completely ignored. Neck cranked to see her, she appeared to be just as frozen, arm thrown wide to one side in a still-shot of her forgotten irritation. Or, if not forgotten, paused for the time being. She was mid-step and locked, face betraying every ounce of surprise she was feeling. It was possible that his was doing the same, but he'd stopped being able to feel the damn thing about the second her voice had hijacked his spine.

Made him wonder just how hard that beer had hit him. Made him curse the bombardment of those damn pins he'd seen over the past months.

Intoxicate - (v.) 1. To make (someone) unable to think and behave normally.

2. To excite or please.

Her name slipped from his mouth around the same time his did from hers, and it was a quick spray of WD-40 on his rusted hinges, allowed him to turn and take a step. Chain reaction, her arm dropped limply and she sidled a little closer too. It struck him, just how mortified she looked, eyes everywhere but on his, arms going up to barricade her ribs.

Her face had been flushed the moment he saw her, but now it swept down her neck, and he had intimate knowledge of the exact patch of skin between her breasts where that salmon color would fade into cream. It was doubtful that he was in better shape, more than likely he was far worse, but again, not receiving any sensory feedback from his face, it was hard to know.

"What're you doin' here?" Did he sound accusatory? Her expression hardened minutely and he wanted to shake his head, tell her it was just the gruffness in his cords, the kind that had always been there when he was some type of emotional.

Got tied in with that whole, not being able to voice whatever else was going on in his chest, thing.

Alexithymia - (n.) Difficulty in experiencing, expressing, and describing emotional responses. -or- The inability to express your feelings.

Fuckin' story of his life.

"I'm 21 now, Daryl," she defended, crossing her arms that much tighter. "I'm allowed ta' go to bars now an' then if I want."

Now he did shake his head, that hadn't been what he meant at all. "Know you're legal, girl." She blinked away from him and shuffled her feet. "Gotcha them boots ta' celebrate," he continued, motioning at the evidence she'd been good enough to wear for him. "Kit take all the credit for 'em or somethin'?"

There, a joke, or what had attempted to be one. Instead, he must be coming off as abrasive, if the way her brows furrowed was any indication. It was just, she'd caught him off guard, wasn't supposed to run into her here.

Wasn't supposed to deal with her one on one after he'd had something to drink (though only enough to make him feel like there was carbonation in his blood) and had been diving into the life that used to be. He wasn't good with these kinds of surprises, social shit he wasn't prepared for, hadn't seen coming.

"Well, you didn't have to get them for me." She dropped her gaze to the objects in question. "I don't think most people keep gettin' their exes stuff once they break up with 'em."

Hammer to his chest, literally pushed the breath out.

He hated that.

Always sounded too damn simple when she said it like she had.

"Guess we both don't make any kind'a goddamn sense then, huh?"

That got her to look at him, head on, neon lights turning her blues into a prism of color.

For a few beats he couldn't breathe, but then her lips twitched and she nodded. "Guess not."

He hadn't been the only one getting their ex presents over the last year. None of the regular rules applied. Not that he'd have a great handle on what the regular rules were considering she was the only relationship he'd ever cared to have, but having Auri in the mix made it so that complete separation was impossible. She'd get sent to the other parent holding a present, and while she said it was from her and whoever else, it was clear who'd put in the legwork and everything.

They just didn't talk about it.

It occurred to him like a quick slap, that no one had come trailing after her, and he suddenly wondered who in hell she was here with. Not that it was much of his business. Would definitely be a new level of awful if she was on a date, or if Maggie was around the corner waiting for her.

"Who's with ya?" Casual, please for the love of everything, he hoped it came out casually.

Beth shook her head hurriedly, almost too hurriedly, made little alarms go off in his head.

"Nobody."

She'd come to the bar alone? Drove down from Atlanta for the weekend and decided to come to Michonne's for a drink by herself? Wasn't that he didn't believe her, not about to call her a liar if she said there was no one in a booth, twiddling their thumbs until she got back. But he sure as fuck wanted to know why.

Why was she alone? Had she had a date and the asshole had stood her up? Had she had plans with a friend or family member and they'd stood her up? If none of that had happened, then why the fuck would she want to drink on her own with a bar full of guys eyeing her, promising to be trouble he knew she didn't want? Any one of them might be the sort of nasty bastard to follow all quiet like behind her as she went to her car.

And most of all…

"You listenin' to country again?" He'd taken a step forward somewhere during all those thoughts, could feel people brush against him as they walked by, but none of them distracted his focus. Studied her hard, on the lookout for reddened eyes or nose, of tear tracks that'd stand out in the fluorescent lighting. Closer now, just a tad in her space, he lowered his voice to where it would barely carry to her. "Y'alright, Beth?"

She blanched, physically wincing away from him, which made him jerk back too. That edge came back into the way she looked at him like she thought he was trying to say shit that'd hurt her.

Fuck, he didn't think they'd gotten to that point.

Hadn't they been doing better? Calling, texting once in a while, seeing each other. And yeah, so the last time, Auri had started bawling fit to choke when he'd mentioned they were close to Beth's school and then had to tell her that they couldn't go. But he'd had a moment before the words came out of his mouth, part of him suspecting how things would play out if he said them, and he'd sure as fuck said them anyway. He'd then preceded to feel like shit for how upset his little girl had actually gotten, had only tried talking her out of it for about five minutes, giving in the second her sobs had led to hiccuping coughs.

Couldn't stand that.

Here Beth was, staring at him like he'd called her a filthy name, and all he wanted was to make sure she was ok. Similarly to Kit, he didn't want Beth sad. Not ever. Might not seem that way, given some of their history, but she had to know.

Didn't she?

"I'm fine," she told him, wobbling slightly while doing nothing other than standing still.

The movement brought a whole new scope of things to the forefront that he should be worried about.

"Yeah? How ya gettin' home?" It was early, either she was a lightweight (probable) or she had a couple of hours on him for the drink count. "Ain't driving."

Her chin jutted out marginally.

Fuck.

"Don't you tell me what I'll be doing, Daryl Dixon." He fought the urge to close his eyes and sigh at his own idiocy. "I've been finding my way home for a whole year now without ya. I'll get myself there."

A large part of him wanted to back down, throw his hands up and cry uncle, but the buzzing of alcohol or that spark of temper in her didn't fail to catch his own. So instead of that, the smart thing, he leaned closer and returned her glare, inch for inch.

"You best call someone quick, seems like you've had plenty."

Her arms shot down as she clenched her fingers into frustrated fists, that he knew would never strike him, not hard anyway, not in an attempt to do any real damage. She'd pushed him before when their fights got bad, but he never feared any kind of pain in that regard from her. All the emotional collateral damage was enough.

"Just leave me alone. It's not like anyone will know we were here at the same time. No one's gonna be judging you for not henpecking me ta' death." The close quality of her voice hinted that she was approaching tears territory, something to be avoided, he knew she hated it so much that she did that when pissed. But her words confused him. Henpecking her? When had that ever been their problem? "I won't bother you." She swallowed harshly like something had tried to make its way up her throat. "Whatever you had goin' on here, an' you just do the same for me. Deal?"

"Nah," he snapped, not understanding what she was getting at in the least. "No fuckin' deal. Ain't leavin' ya here on your own when ya've been drinkin', Beth." He shook his head. "Christ."

She let out a loud breath, disbelief coloring her already patchy complexion. "So what? I'm not allowed to date or see other people?"

He would have liked it more if she actually did hit him — preferably with a fucking beer bottle — across the back of his head.

"That what you want?" It went against everything he'd known about her. Flooded him with recollections he wished to see blazing to ash in a burn barrel. "I gettin' in the way a' you hookin' up with one a' these fucks?"

"I—" She looked around, and his senses clued into how quiet it'd become in their immediate vicinity. Daryl didn't know why he'd asked that last bit, felt like he was bleeding maybe, wanted to either stitch it up or hack it off and be done. "No."

He didn't hesitate, there was something coursing hot and rampant through his bloodstream, and it wasn't just the booze. Hell, he'd only had one and a quarter. No, this feeling was familiar, but he didn't want to analyze it too closely. Got the impression that it wouldn't lead to anywhere he wanted to dissect at the moment.

She answered him, and he closed just a hair's worth of space and growled. "Then you tell me who's takin' ya home 'fore I toss you over m'damn shoulder an' do it myself."

She wanted to dare him to.

He could see it sure as shit in her eyes, the way they narrowed just so, how goddamn feisty she was and always had been. Must be killing her to just stand there silent. Set of his features must really be telling her something right now. Saying it for him so he didn't have to, how willing he was to carry through. It was too hot, too many bodies and not enough ventilation or something. Daryl could feel the beads of sweat trail down his face, one slinking into his eye and making it burn. Tried not to pay attention to his heart rate, or the itching of his hands.

Flicked his gaze from hers only after she'd huffed out an exhale that always signaled when she was beaten and didn't like it. There were a lot of people paying attention to their conversation. Some more openly than others. Most of those were the guys. Probably wondering what the old guy wanted, dude that looked closer in age to someone that'd be the blonde girl's father than anything else. He was in the right kind of mood to hope they said something or did something, met each of their eyes and waited.

Knew his face had shifted into something harder, sharper too. A different being entirely. Looked like a person that had never known softness of any kind. Never held a little girl until she fell asleep, never played peek-a-boo, never helped her search for fairies in the woods. Now he was all harsh angles that invited the first dumb motherfucker over to try and interrupt them, to try and get him away from her.

To try and take her.

Sciamachy - (n.) a battle against imaginary enemies; fighting your shadow.

"Maggie's supposed to be meeting me," she said, fishing out her phone and clicking the lock button, frown deepening. "Was going to meet me, but I guess something came up with Glenn so…" Clicking the lock button once more, she slid the device back into her pocket, meeting his gaze again stubbornly. "So I guess I'll be callin' a' cab, it's no big deal."

Nope.

"C'mon," he replied, motioning toward the door. "L'get ya home, got no business bein' here anyway." At her curling lip and bared teeth, he continued in a rush. "Meant me, girl." Then a bit of honesty to try and smooth things over. "Didn't know what ta' do with myself without Kit home. Figured this'd be as good an idea as anythin' else, but…"

He ticked his head back and forth, waited for her to assess his answer.

After an unknown and strained amount of time went by, she dipped her head, acknowledging exactly what his words had meant. Much more than he'd simply said. Beth walked by him, headed for the bar's entrance, and he was quick to follow her out.

Better the bastard she knew, than the one she didn't.