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Daryl's eyes. Daryl's brows - furrowed, concerned. Daryl's jaw; the muscle clenching and releasing. Daryl's mouth - lips thin - skin chapped. Beth woke up to bits and pieces of his details floating above her face. She had heard him in the darkness of her dream, calling her name like the moon calls the tide, drawing her out to consciousness - back to him.
She did not startle. Her wide blue eyes took in the old wooden walls - their transitory sanctuary from the walkers and the monsters they had made of men. As soon as she had woken up, Daryl removed his rough hands from her shoulders and stared at her uneasily.
"Did I scream?" Beth asked softly.
"Yeah," Daryl said. "Shaved a good five years off me."
"You ought to be used to it by now," Beth responded.
"Some things you ain't never get used to, girl," Daryl said as he dropped down to sit next to her. "Y'want...?"
"To talk about?" Beth asked and hurried to answer her own question, "No. I don't."
"Everybody has 'em," Daryl said. "The bad dreams, I mean. I reckon we all got our fair share of nightmare material."
"It wasn't though," Beth said, wiping her sweating forehead on the bend of her elbow.
"What do you mean?"
"Wasn't a nightmare," Beth said. "It was a memory."
She heard Daryl's knuckles crack as his hands knotted into fists. Beth didn't know why she had said that - knew she should have left him to his assumptions - hell, the reality of rotting corpses making the living into their personal Happy Meals was enough to warrant a few scream-filled night terrors. Why had she went and opened her big mouth?
Maybe part of her still wanted to seem tougher than all of that - I may not be Michonne or Carol or Maggie, but I don't wake up screaming over somethin' as mundane as walkers anymore... Beth used to though; and it was hard to admit that part of her missed those days - back when she believed the worst of mankind was a virus, outside of their control or fault. How naive she had been. How stupid, Beth corrected in herself silently.
"I don't usually scream anymore," Beth said to fill the heavy silence. "I'm sorry. Did it go on for very long? Should we be worried?"
"Naw - I was just coming in to wake you. Guess it was a good thing. We might get a straggler or two, but I don't think we need to set up guard, or nothin'."
"Good," Beth said absently.
"I was gon' suggest eatin' outside, but we might wanna make this an indoor event, just to be safe."
"You're probably right," Beth said sadly. "Too bad. It was such a nice night."
"Still is, girl," he said. "After all, we're both still alive, ain't we?"
Beth offered him a small smile before he left out the door to grab their dinner. She knew Daryl was trying to cheer her up, but it hadn't worked. How long would she keep ruining things? And not just the little things - but the big things. Would she ever fall in love again? Let a man touch her? Enjoy being kissed? Would she ever get to have a baby of her own - or at least think about having one? Or would she live and die inside her own pale skin like a personal ivory tower? Lonely. Hurt. Sad. Broken.
"Cooked up pretty good, I think," Daryl said as he walked back in, mouth already half full of possum meat.
"Ugh," Beth said. "I can't believe I'm going to eat a possum."
"Tastes like chicken," Daryl said wryly.
"That's what you said about the snake," Beth shot back with a grimace.
"And it did."
"No, it tasted like what one would imagine a snake to taste like," Beth muttered to herself. She tentatively took a bite of the meat offered to her and grimace. "Why is it when anyone is about to feed you something weird they tell you it tastes like chicken?"
"Cause chicken's borin'," Daryl said easily.
"Guess so," Beth said. "As truly gross as I find this, thank you."
"Coulda just said thank you," Daryl groused.
"Yeah," Beth agreed with a quirk of her eyebrow, "I could've."
Later, after they had finished their meal and disposed of what was left, Daryl cautiously laid down next to Beth. They were both on their backs, staring at the old ceiling - Beth could almost hear him hoping it didn't leak. Her hands were clammy with anxiety - she could feel the heat rolling off him in waves; their arms were almost touching.
"One time," Daryl started quietly, "Merle dared me to ride my bike up this ramp and over an old, toppled fridge we had in our backyard."
"Oh no," Beth said back.
She pictured a young Daryl - softer, smaller. Beth imagined his eyes filled with gumption, and though she knew it was impossible, conjured an image of his bicycle that looked more Harley Davidson than Walmart plastic. For kicks, she added a red cape on him.
"It's worse than all that," Daryl said. "Damn thing still had training wheels on it. I didn't break nothin'. Couldn't even get the damn bike all the way up the ramp. Just kind of toppled off the side, real smooth like."
Beth laughed softly. The sound of it was unfamiliar to her own ears, but she couldn't keep it in. She heard Daryl chuckle dryly beside her and she tried to compose herself. Still, her shoulders shook with unreleased mirth.
"God, that's the cutest story, Daryl Dixon."
"I'll deny it if you tell anyone," he responded.
"Wouldn't dream of sharing that one," Beth said with a small smile, suddenly feeling tired again. She meant to say goodnight to Daryl but somewhere between thanking him and asking him if he ever owned a red cape, she had dozed off to much sweeter dreams.