Chapter 2
"I don't mind eating the squirrels," Beth says, biting into the cooked meat Daryl had set out for her. She set her plate down next to the now-drying Cherokee Roses placed on the coffee table, and looked to where Daryl was, perched on the arm of the parallel couch, watching her.
Daryl nodded, and lowered his head to his own plate, picking at the burnt meat. He had been acting different since Beth woke up, and they both knew it.
"Are you alright?" Beth asks, sitting up on the couch and brushing her hands off on the quilted blanket Daryl put on her last night. She was worried about him. He barely moved since she slid her eyelids open, finding him staring at her, calling out her name.
"You asking me?" He chuckled under his breath, but it was strained. "I'm not the one that tripped, fell on my knife, stabbed myself in the leg, and almost bled to death."
Beth stared at him. "You think I'm stupid? Trying to kill that walker even though you yelled at me to look out for the snare."
"Naw, I think you're persistent. Not stupid."
"I couldn't even stab the walker right, how the hell am I persistent?"
Daryl looked up at Beth, meeting her gaze. "You didn't give up. All that time, at your dad's farm. You wanted to die. I remember." He stopped when she tilted her head down. "Then you got your shit together and became an important resource for the group. Beth, you could have called it quits. But you didn't. So killing a walkers even when you shouldn't…" His voice trails off.
Beth smiled at him. "I-I, thanks Daryl."
He cleared his throat and rose to his feet. "I should make sure the fire is out. I'll be right back."
Daryl walked to the back of the yard and stomped on the already extinguished embers. What the hell was he doing? Why couldn't he stay in the same room as Beth Greene? Little Beth the babysitter. Why couldn't he look into her eyes without wanting to bang his head against the wall?
Daryl kicked the dirt until it puffed up around him. He needed to find the group, figure out what the hell this scavenging trip was. Why Beth was the one he saw leaning against his bike, backpack in hand, and knife in the other. He had just looked at her. Little Beth the babysitter wants to kill a buck, he had thought.
They rode for miles until Daryl stopped in front of a little shack. They cleared it, found a few cans of peanut butter and formula, stuffed it into Beth's backpack and drove to the next house. It was like that all day, until Beth started to fall asleep while clinging onto Daryl. She almost fell off the bike, scaring Daryl more then he thought it would. They stopped in front of a little cottage and, after stringing up old cans, they fell fast asleep on makeshift beds on the hardwood. It was like that for a week, until Beth's backpack was overfilled and Daryl was now carrying around two bags.
This was the last house. It was supposed to be. Until the walkers heard Beth's shouts when she found the cellar in the basement. There were guns and ammo, stacked in piles against the walls. Daryl ran to her, panicked, but when he reached her he saw the grin spread across her delicate lips. They stuffed the last backpack to the brim, and strapped the heavy artillery to Daryl's bike when they heard the moans. Beth had yelled at the distracted Daryl, and stabbed the closet walker in the forehead. Daryl killed three and moved to stab the one inches from Beth's back, when he saw her go down. She screamed and Daryl instantly stabbed the two walkers. He picked Beth up and ran.
Now, Daryl was having trouble remembering the rest of the trip before she was injured. He only could think about the way she looked at him, eyes filled with worry. No one ever looked at him like that. Like he was the only one who could help her.
Carol, Rick, Michonne, even Merle never looked that helpless but that strong at the same time.
Daryl ran his fingers through his hair and walked back inside. Passing the kitchen, he picked up the almost-empty bottle of water and brought it to Beth. She had her nose pressed to the pages of her diary, writing away. Daryl snuck a small smile at the sight of her being well enough to share her thoughts to the blank pages of the leather-bound book.
"Drink," he commanded softly.
She looked up from the page, and smiled at him. "Thanks."
He nodded and sat down at his usual place on the opposite couch. He could feel her gaze on him, bringing color to his face.
"Daryl?"
"Hmm?" He replied.
Beth exhaled. "Thank you for taking care of me. It means a lot."
"What else would I do?" She looked surprise, and Daryl quickly added. "Wasn't 'bout to leave you to the dead."
"Well," Beth cooed. "I appreciate it. You didn't have to. It was on me for wanting to come, so it wouldn't have been your fault if my stupidity got me killed."
"Stop. You ain't stupid. Far from it." Daryl responded, stretching out on the plaid couch. "I just don't get why you'd want to come with me on a long and boring supply run."
"Maybe I wanted to help the group."
Daryl nodded, kind of disappointed at her response. "I'm gonna sleep for a little. Holler if you need anything." He got up, closed the curtains, and laid back down on the couch.
A few minutes pasted, and Daryl was almost asleep when he heard her voice in the darkness, soft as a whisper.
"I actually wanted to come because…"
But Daryl was too far gone to hear the rest. For all he knew, it was just a dream.