Beth awoke with a start, the screams long since dead in her throat. She gasped long and sharp, gulping in the night air around her. When she first escaped, she could only trust herself to sleep in the trees - more than once she had greeted the morning with rope tied around her waist and walkers crowded under the branches.
"You okay?" Daryl asked.
Beth gasped again, whipping her head around to stare at him. In the night his camp had merged into hers. He had a small fire going, lighting up their faces and casting shadows all around them. Despite his frustration, and flat out anger, Beth would not waver on going it alone. Free country, Daryl had said, and then later, when she couldn't shake him, Free country again.
"What are you doing over here? And I swear, Daryl Dixon, if you say free country one more time..."
"Fire went out," he said, nodding towards the flames.
"Yeah," Beth said. "It was supposed to."
"Could still put it out, if ya want," Daryl drawled.
Beth had her hoodie pulled around her, the gray sleeves clenched over her fists to keep the heat in. Damn -him. Her pride wanted to ask him to, but her body had other ideas - like comfort and warmth. She rolled her shoulders, wishing for their knots and tension to vanish. No such luck.
"What's it gonna be, girl?" he asked impatiently, making to get up.
Why did he have to make it so difficult for her to disappear? Beth wondered why he felt so hell bent to try to take care of her - if it was a softness instilled by the group, or guilt, or some fondness for the person she no longer was. Didn't he know how much it would break her heart when he realized she would never be the bird-flippin', house burnin', moonshine drinkin' girl she used to be?
"Whatever," Beth said. She shrugged her shoulders feigning apathy. "Why waste a perfectly good fire, right?"
"Mhm," Daryl hummed. "You hungry, girl?"
"I have my own food, thank you."
"Thought you might want some rabbit," Daryl offered. "Looks like you could use somethin' more than berries."
"That's okay," Beth said. "Never much enjoyed eating anything that reminded me of Thumper anyway."
"Suit yourself," Daryl said, eating a piece of the cooked meat he had been saving for her.
The quiet seemed to stretch between them forever - filled with all the questions he wanted to ask but wouldn't, and all the things she should say to him but couldn't.
"Daryl, we're not doing this."
"Doin' what?"
"Teaming up. Pairing off - whatever you want to call it," she said.
"I call it survivin'," Daryl said while chewing. The toe of his boot was burrowing into the soft ground - she watched the movement of his ankle, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. What are you doin'? she wanted to ask, but kept her mouth shut. "It'd be safer, you know it."
Beth assessed Daryl from across the fire. He looked every bit as strong as she remembered him; maybe even stronger. His arms were heavy with muscle, bunching and rippling with every move he made. Daryl didn't need anyone - of that, Beth was sure. They got swarmed with walkers and he got out, found their group while she... well, Beth tried not to think about it.
She didn't want to think it. Didn't want to imagine Daryl could do the things that had been done to her. But his hands were hard and large, and he had seen so much. It had been so long. How did she know where his head was at anymore? How did she know he wouldn't snap one night? Heck, she seemed to snap every night, but women had a tendency to implode while men... she shook her head, trying to clear the dark thoughts.
"You really need the help that bad?" Beth said challengingly. She was hoping to call his bluff - if he just admitted he didn't need her to survive, and she didn't need him, then they could part with no hard feelings.
"Yup," Daryl said flatly.
"Liar," Beth muttered.
She laid back down, turning away from him. Beth willed her bones to go soft with sleep. Whatever bad dreams may come, at least she knew their end. But this... wanting so bad to go back, wanting so bad to let someone help her, protect her - it made her feel weak with shame and dread. You're a stupid girl, Beth Greene, she told herself. Everyone is gonna be better off without you. What do you have to give them now? All you were before was their little dose of optimism, and that's been shot to h-e-double-hockey-sticks.
Giving into temptation she turned around to look at Daryl. As the crickets sang around them, she caught his blue eyes, somehow still bright in the darkness. She remembered suddenly being young and swiping a Harlequin novel that described a man's gaze as tumultuous; she could only assume the author had been talkin' about Daryl Dixon.
They looked at each other for a long while. The seconds turned into minutes, and the minutes seemed to bleed into hours. That was the thing about time now, it was all relative. Beth could hear the wind rustling leaves, the fire eating up the wood, and Daryl's eyes so loudly it almost made her head hurt.
"I do need ya, Beth," he whispered gruffly.
"Liar," Beth breathed out softly to herself.
"Is it always like that?"
"Like what?" Beth said.
"The dreams," Daryl said softer than she had ever heard him speak before.
"No," Beth said. When she heard his relieved breath she added, "they used to be a lot worse."
"Beth, what happened to ya?" Daryl said, his voice thick.
"I call it surviving."