Holy Water

Daryl pounded a few more nails into the door, making sure it would stay shut. He'd already boarded up all of the windows. The front door they left alone just pushed a couch in front of it. They were going to need a quick escape route and they couldn't be dealing with pulling boards out of the damn wall. Wiping the back of his arm across his sweaty forehead he looked over his shoulder. Beth was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring at the floor. Ever since he'd brought her back to the morgue she hadn't said a word, hadn't left his side. She was eating, but not nearly enough, just enough to keep her going. He'd yet to see that smile on her face again and he was afraid she wasn't sleeping enough. The few times he'd caught her sleeping in the past week since he'd saved her she hadn't been out more than ten minutes before she started screaming and thrashing in her sleep, screaming his name. He'd shaker her awake and hold her while she cried and shook, waiting until she calmed down.

He was at his wit's end. He didn't know what to do to help her. He wasn't a damn therapist, hell; he didn't know much about women, he'd never spent a lot of time with them. Sure there had been plenty of women at the prison, but he'd kept his distance. He wanted to do something to help her, but he didn't know what he could do.

"Hungry?" he asked, setting the hammer down and crouching in front of her. She shook her head, refusing to look at him. Daryl sighed and scoped her up in his arms. She gasped, but he ignored her as her carried her to the kitchen. "You're too damn skinny Beth, you need to eat." He carried her through the door and was instantly assaulted with the memory of him doing the exact same thing not two weeks earlier, except…that time she'd been happy. Daryl put her down in the same chair and started to put food out. "We can't stay here forever; you need to be ready to leave."

He sat beside her and started to make her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He eyed her as he put it together. She was curled up in the chair, still hugging her knees and staring into the empty space. He pushed the sandwich towards her and made one for himself. He never really did like the things much, but he'd eaten all of the pigs feet, and he was hoping that if he ate one, Beth would follow his example. He watched her pick at the sandwich, eating a small piece at a time. Her appetite had changed dramatically. He used to be amazed that she could eat two squirrels—by herself—in one sitting and still not put much weight on. Now…she barely ate and when he caught a glimpse of her changing earlier that morning he'd been able to count every single one of her vertebrate along her spine. She wasn't going to survive the winter if she didn't put some weight on.

Thankfully she ate the whole thing and managed to drink two glasses of the diet soda. Unfortunately, she suddenly got up from the table and ran to the sink, throwing it all back up. He walked over and rubbed her back as she gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles going white, tears leaking from her eyes. Daryl sighed as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Her shoulders shook as she just broke down. She turned into his chest, gripping his shirt as she cried. He did the only thing he could. He wrapped his arms around her and held her. He wished he knew what to do, but he had no clue what she needed right now.

He bent his head and rested his chin on hers and regretted it immediately. The pilot light was still working in this place and she'd had a bath recently. She smelt like vanilla and honeydew. He was instantly aware of all of her soft, giving curves pressing tightly against his body and he realized just how long it had been since he'd held a woman. For fuck's sake Dixon, he tried to get his body under control before she could feel how he was reacting to her. He wanted her, god did he want her, but now was not the time. He didn't know if the time would ever be right again, not after what she'd been through. He remembered how long it took Maggie to get through what the Governor had done to her and she'd only been naked, no one had touched her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his shirt.

"Ain't your fault sweetheart," he told her. She looked up at him and he shook his head. "It's not." She nodded then yawned. "Let's go to bed." Daryl followed her to the bedroom she'd used the last time while he'd slept in the coffin. There was none of that anymore. She wouldn't let him more than three feet from her at any one point. He knew it wasn't right, and it probably wasn't helping her situation at all, but she wanted him in bed with her, and right now, he couldn't deny her anything she asked.

Beth kicked her shoes off and climbed under the blankets, making room for him. Daryl rested his crossbow against the nightstand and kicked off his own boots before he followed her in. As soon as he was comfortable on his back, his arms above his head, Beth curled her body against his and pulled the covers up over them. He wrapped one of his arms around her, lightly playing with her hair as she rested her head on his chest. He tried to block out the feel of her body against his, tried to ignore the smell coming off of her, tried to ignore his body's reactions. Dixon, you're one fucked son of a bitch.

Sorry this is so short, but I wanted to get something up. The next chapter will be in Beth's pov, and it's probably going to be dark, just a warning.