Hi guys. Apologies for the delay, but you know how it gets around Xmas! A sweet and fluffy chapter to end 2015. For those of you awaiting for smut, it's just around the corner I assure you :P Have a safe and happy new year and thank you for supporting me!
Beth clasped her coffee cup between her chilly fingers as she perched on the stiff wooden stairs that bordered their front porch. The morning air was crisp and stung the back of her throat with each inhalation, so she buried her nose into the warm steam of her coffee. She heard the creak of the front door and the gentle tapping of Maggie's footsteps as her sister perched next to her.
"Ain't you getting cold out here?" her warm voice murmured to her left. She shook her head stubbornly, despite the slight shiver that traveled down her spine as she did so.
"Nuh-uh. Plus, I wouldn't miss this for the world," Beth raised an eyebrow at Grace, who was standing a good fifty feet ahead of her in the grassy area out the front of the funeral home.
Beth frowned slightly. She really needed to stop referring to this place as a funeral home. It was no longer a place of death and loss. This house had seen Beth and Daryl fall together, had found Maggie and Glenn on its front stoop, had been the birthplace of Sophia, and had been the haven that Grace had stumbled across during the darkest day of her life. This house was full of life, not sorrow.
"Okay, you gotta keep a steady hand or else the recoil is gonna knock you on your ass. Here, use both hands for starters. It's not ideal, but it'll help with your aim until you've practiced." Daryl's authoritative tone jolted Beth from her daydreams, and she quickly focused on Grace. She had never seen the woman look so unsure of anything in the short time they had known each other. Poor Grace. She was a lover, not a fighter.
"Uh, like this?" Her hands were wrapped around the gun clumsily, her fingers overlapping.
"Close, just make sure you use your non-dominant hand as your support. Here… try like this," Daryl pulled back on her left wrist so that only her right hand was holding the gun, and re-positioned her fingers around the grip for added control.
"Okay. Now take your time. Take a deep breath. Try and shoot down those bottles," Daryl nodded in the direction of the 6 empty glass bottles he had set up on the fence line of their property. Beth was immediately reminded of her own shooting lessons which had taken place a lifetime ago, when her stomach was rounding out and she was determined to learn how to defend herself after her close escape at the convenience store.
She smiled wistfully as she imagined how ridiculous she must have looked, standing in the front yard with a pregnant belly and a loaded handgun, shooting at bottles and tin cans whilst Daryl shouted encouragement from the sidelines.
Grace's hands were not as confident as her own had been, and their shaking took its toll on her first shot which sailed to the right of the last bottle by a good ten feet.
"Oh, damn it!" she huffed impatiently.
"Don't sweat it. It's your posture. You're too tense. Just breathe," he stepped up behind her and dug his thumbs into her shoulder blades until she straightened up.
"Alright, second shot. Let's go."
Her next round of bullets missed the bottles by two feet. Much closer than last time, and incredibly noisy as the sounds ricocheted off the shed and the house, filling the small clearing with the sound of gunfire.
"Hope there isn't a horde nearby," Maggie breathed, her eyes scanning the tree line nervously. Daryl had obviously wondered the same thing as he loaded a fresh bolt into his crossbow while he waited for Grace to reload.
The last round of shots were considerably better. Her shots managed to smash six of the nine bottles lined up, which was a marked improvement from a few mere moments before.
"See! Posture is everything," he commended as he held out his hand for the gun. She returned it to his outstretched palm gingerly as if she were deathly afraid of an explosion.
"Uh, that was great. I really appreciate you showing me how to protect myself and everything, but would you mind terribly if I get back to planning your wedding now? That is considerably less stressful, and it doesn't require me to waste any of your precious bullets," Grace pleaded. Daryl laughed and nodded good-naturedly.
"Go on, then. When's the special day, anyway?" he enquired casually as he reloaded the handgun and stuck it into the back of his jeans for safe keeping.
"Tomorrow. Well, hopefully, if the weather holds out," she smiled softly before heading up the porch steps and pulling Beth to her feet, leaving Daryl standing in shock in the middle of the clearing.
"W-what? Tomorrow? Am I supposed to write something?" he finally found his voice as they disappeared through the front door.
"Just your vows, Romeo!" Beth called back over her shoulder, shooting him a seductive wink as she disappeared into the shadows of their home.
Goddamn, shit and fuck.
Daryl was stressed and confused and suddenly felt completely incapable of writing anything in such a short time frame. Was it even possible to construct English words that accurately explained the feelings he had for Beth Greene? To define all of the ways that she had changed him, and loved him, and sacrificed for him? Daryl Dixon never had a way with words, and the fact that he hadn't finished middle school made him doubt his ability to string a long and emotive speech together in such a short period of time.
He trudged back into the house, hearing the excited squealed of Maggie, Grace and Beth from one of the upstairs bedrooms. He decided to distance himself from the estrogen overhaul, and headed for the kitchen where Glenn was filleting and salting a rabbit.
"How was shooting practice?" Glenn asked over his shoulder as he heard Daryl slump into the kitchen and pull out a chair. His lack of response made him turn to evaluate whatever emotional state that Daryl was currently in.
"What's wrong? Too many women in this house?" he laughed wryly at Daryl's posture.
"Glenn, I'm getting married tomorrow. I have to write vows, and I have no idea how to even begin," he grunted.
"Damn, that's a tough one. Wish I could be of more help, but neither Maggie nor I wrote vows for our own wedding. It was more of a fast-paced let's-get-married-before-we-die scenario. But keep it simple, Daryl. She knows you love her, and vows are pretty much just telling someone you love them in a hundred different ways, right?"
Daryl shrugged, completely defeated.
"I'm no writer. Can barely string a damn sentence together. Don't even know why she's choosing to spend the rest of her life with me in the first place. What if I fuck it up and she realizes last minute that it's not what she wants?"
"Daryl, don't be so stupid. She's had a million chances to run away and she hasn't taken a single one," Glenn grinned, but his attempt at humor was lost on Daryl.
"I'm stuck, Glenn. I'm gonna fuck it up."
Daryl heard Glenn's footsteps and the squeal of the chair as he took a seat across the table from Daryl. The kitchen tabletop was still littered with countless bridal magazines, and he wondered briefly whether there was any helpful tips on vow-writing hidden within those hideous pink pages, but quickly decided against it.
"You can't fuck it up. She loves you. You love her. You have a daughter. You've been through hell together, and you always come out the other side smiling. Stop stressing out, and just write down everything you can about her. What do you love about her? What are you going to promise her? It doesn't have to be a piece of poetry. I'm sure that her expectations are realistic by now," Glenn chuckled as Daryl shot him a frustrated glance.
"It ain't that easy, Glenn. I'm not like that. I can't even put into words how I feel about her, you know? I know that life is shitty, and we're living on rations, and we've lost so many of our friends, but – but none of that even really matters at the end of the day, because I've got her. She's always there, waiting for me to come home with that stupid beautiful smile on her face that just makes me feel like I can't be angry at the world, not while she's still in it." Daryl failed to notice the pen that Glenn had procured and the frantic way that he was scribbling on a scrap piece of paper while nodding in an attempt to encourage Daryl to continue.
"And-and, I still don't understand why she loves me, or why she's chosen me. I know she hates it when I question her, but how can you blame me? She's so fucking beautiful, and she loves everybody unconditionally. She's given me something that I never expected to have in my life, and certainly never thought I would deserve. She's the fucking sun, you know? And I can't imagine a world where she isn't there every single day. I need her, and I don't know whether that's selfish, but I don't care. I just know that I want to make her happy, and provide for her, and raise a family with her, for the rest of my life." He paused, glancing up at Glenn in defeat.
"I wouldn't worry too much about writing those vows, Daryl," he smirked, finishing his scribbles before sliding the sheet of paper across the table to Daryl.
"Why's that?" Daryl picked up the notepaper and squinted as he attempted to decipher the scrawled writing.
"Because you've just written them. What you said is perfect. Now do me a favor and gather the giggling girls for dinner. I found a shitload of mushrooms this morning in the woods, so I made mushroom soup to go with the rabbit. I won't lie, it's lumpy as fuck, but I'm sick and tired of deer!" Glenn returned to the stovetop without a second glance, save for the snide grin he concealed well. So Daryl did have the ability to profess his love, he just wasn't incredibly self-aware of it.
"Thanks." Daryl could feel his heartbeat thudding rapidly in his chest as he read over the words that Glenn had written down, noticing the absence of the "fucking"'s he had used for emphasis. He was right. This was what he needed to tell her. This was what she needed to know. He hastily folded the notepaper and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans before heading up the stairs to hurry his future wife downstairs for Glenn's famous grey and lumpy mushroom soup.
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