A/N: Well, I am going to begin by saying sorry for the longer-than-usual turnaround time for this chapter. However, now that the holiday vacation is well and truly over, I've got a variety of projects I need to start working on for the convention, which puts my production time for this story in a smaller timeframe. Since it takes me an average of 6 hours to write, re-read, and completely edit an entire chapter, I'm going to shoot for twice a week updates. If I happen to finish another project a bit early one week, then I can devote more time to this, but we'll just see how it goes.
Anyway, as always, I loved reading all of your reviews. I'm so glad everyone was happy with the outcome of the last chapter. I felt like actually having her leave would have been a blotch on a bond that was hard enough for them to forge in the first place; I didn't want to make it seem too impossible to come back from or anything. The hospital gave Daryl the distance I wanted him to have to start sorting through his shit. I had a lot of new followers and favoriters, too, so thank you and welcome! =)
As in any other chapter, even the ones I forgot to say it in, I do not own the Walking Dead or any of its characters. I will be infusing some lines into this one, not because I'm stealing content, but because I love to twist it around and use it for my own situations as an ode to the show.
So, enjoy!
Chapter 18
Beth abruptly awoke to a terrible, gut-wrenching sound: the obnoxious blaring of an alarm clock.
She unintelligibly grumbled as she shot straight up in bed, clasping her hands over her ears to block out the grating noise. She looked around the empty room with bleary eyes, squinting at the hallway light barely streaming in from the cracked bedroom door.
"Shit," Daryl muttered, lunging from where he'd been crouched in his closet digging out clothes for the work day. He slammed his hand down onto the snooze button on the alarm clock that was sitting on the floor in the corner, plugged into the wall.
"That's a terrible way to wake up," Beth grumped as she rolled herself back into her comforter like a burrito. Her alarm clock came with the feature to play music of her choice, so she always made sure to program it with a peppy, energizing song.
She heard him snort at her.
No wonder Daryl was always so grumpy if that's how he woke up every morning, she mused.
"Too bad, cuz you gotta get up anyway," Daryl told her as he made his way to the door with his folded clothing in hand.
"Why?" Beth whined, not bothering to move from her warm spot. It must've been an ungodly hour, and without the steady schedule that her job had provided, she'd lapsed into enjoying her bed late into the morning. At least, before the couple of weeks where she'd been unconscious all day, every day.
"'Cuz I hafta go to work," he said, pausing to look back at her.
Sitting up, she huffed stray hair out of her face and glared at him. "And?"
"…And we gotta get goin'," he said like it was an obvious fact.
She realized he wasn't planning on leaving her there while he was gone all day. "Why don't you want to leave me alone in your apartment? Are you afraid I'm going to steal all of your cool stuff?" She smirked at him, feeling mean.
He glared at her from under his bangs and said, "Well, aren' you a damned ray o' sunshine in tha mornin'?"
"This isn't morning," she argued. "This is before morning was ever conceived. What time is it right now anyway?"
"4:30," he answered, smirking at her.
Her mouth dropped open, aghast at his cruelty. Roosters don't even get their feathered butts up at 4:30 in the morning!
"Why are you doing this to me?" She moaned, dropping her head onto her bent knees.
She heard him chuckle at her distress before he came over and stood at the foot of the mattress, staring down at her.
"Fine then, you wanna stay here with nothin' t' do all damned day, be my guest," he said gruffly, but his words didn't hold their usual bite.
She lifted her head and looked up at him, a small grin adorning her lips. "So, it's take your crazy comatose neighbor to work day, is it?"
"You f'rgot squatter," he muttered, shifting his weight like he was antsy, "an' anyway, that's not what I was thinkin'. I figured I'd just drive us t' the shop an' then you c'n have my truck for the day. I won' have time righ' now t' drop you off at your Jeep; but we c'n go after I get off."
"Don't you have your brother's motorcycle, too?" She asked, sidetracked from their initial conversation by the memory of seeing him ride one around town once or twice.
"Yeah, I jus' have it 'til he gets out o' the pen. It's sittin' in the garage near the trailer, anyway. I hadn' found a place t' keep it at just yet." He narrowed his eyes at her." Why? Thinkin' you were gonna ride that aroun'?"
"Probably not if you want it kept in one piece," she said honestly. She'd never been on a motorcycle, but she doubted she'd have the knack for it.
Daryl grunted and flipped the bedroom light on. She squealed and covered her face as he left the room. She heard him chuckling as he shut the bathroom door.
Jerk, she thought, trying to contain her smile.
She got out of bed stiffly, stretching her muscles and yawning. Finally, she pulled on the spare set of clothes she'd packed when she'd set out for the trailer last night, and then made her way into his kitchen to see if there was anything in there to eat.
All he'd had in the way of breakfast foods were eggs and bread. She'd laughed when she found only one skillet in his cupboards, and only one pot.
Daryl Dixon certainly wasn't what most people would consider dating material, judging by his enough-for-one approach to life. But she found it strangely endearing about him; such a grumpy loner.
Based on his flip-out that night outside the bar, Beth was almost willing to bet that he'd never planned on really being with anyone, though; he didn't seem to think anything better would be coming along for him, or that he deserved someone good. The thought brought down her mood.
She was nearly done with the scrambled eggs when Daryl finally emerged from the shower. He was dressed in his grey mechanics shirt that had the shop's logo embroidered over the front pocket, and some black cargo pants that had seen better days. His dark hair had been towel-dried, so it was still slightly damp and looked nearly black. It stuck together in clumps, hanging in his face and sticking up around his head and ears. She hadn't realized she'd been looking him over for an inordinate amount of time until he crossed his arms uncomfortably and narrowed his blue eyes at her.
"What're you starin' at?" he grumped.
To mask the butterflies that had erupted in her stomach, she grinned and replied, "I've just never seen you so clean before, that's all."
He scowled at her then, but his surly expression only made her laugh.
After they ate breakfast together in companionable silence, they piled into Daryl's truck and headed off for the shop. Beth muttered a few pointed remarks about the temperature and the early hour, but Daryl seemed to ignore her complaining, except for reaching over to turn the heat on.
Pulling into the parking lot of the shop, Daryl swore under his breath and said, "They're here early." He turned the truck into a parking spot close to the entrance and put it in park, leaving it running.
"A'right," he said, fiddling to get his work key ring separated from his other keys. "My apartment key is on here in case y'need it for somethin'. I guess, come back an' pick me up aroun' 5…"
He'd trailed off awkwardly as he held his keys out to her, not bothering to meet her eyes. Beth could tell that they were in some weird, unheard of territory for Daryl. Giving some girl the keys to his apartment and his truck; he was just trying to be helpful, and she didn't want to read too far into it. But still, it was progress. Amazing, beautiful progress.
Suddenly, a loud thud against the driver's side window made them both flinch, and Daryl swore under his breath as Oscar's round face came into view. Oscar pressed both hands against the window, looking in at them with a dawning grin spread across his face. As he pressed his nose up against the glass, Daryl hit it from the other side with the butt of his fist. Beth could tell he was irritated.
"Ow," Oscar's muffled voice said, backing away from the window.
As Beth opened her door, Daryl asked, "Where are you goin'?"
"Just to say hi to the guys," she said, smiling broadly at how uncomfortable he looked with the idea.
As she climbed out and walked around the other side of the truck, Daryl's other co-workers were making their way across the lot, hooting and hollering at her appearance like it wasn't 5:30 in the morning. Daryl got out of his door, too, scowling, and she could see that his ears were a bright shade of crimson. Was he embarrassed?
"I thought you was on a plane, Jeep girl," Oscar said, enveloping her in a huge, friendly hug.
"I was getting ready to leave, but…" she trailed off, not sure as to how much they already knew, or how much Daryl even wanted them to know. He was a pretty private person with his business.
"BUT… you stayed for my D-dawg over here," Oscar finished, wrapping an arm around Daryl's neck and pulling him to the side. He glanced over at the murderous look on Daryl's face, thought better of his outburst, and smoothly removed his arm.
In unison, Ian and Steve gave out an exaggerated, "Awwww…"
"Uh…" Beth stalled, a treacherous blush assailing her cheeks. She and Daryl hadn't discussed anything yet; not about the night Zach had found her or anything beyond that, so she didn't want to say anything out of line and make Daryl skittish. They were in new territory, on unstable ground. She wasn't sure where they stood yet. Regardless, he had to know, didn't he? He had to know that she'd stayed because of him; because the thought of leaving him had been like a knife in her chest.
"I knew it!" Oscar said, grinning at Beth. "Man, this asshole jus' about disemboweled me tryin' to get more information on where you was at when I stopped over at his crib last night to tell 'im about your phone call."
"I'm gonna disembowel you for real this time, if you don' shutthefuckup," Daryl snarled at him.
A huge grin broke out over Beth's face as she watched Daryl glaring daggers at Oscar. He was so uncomfortable that he was becoming aggressive. It was Daryl's go-to when he was feeling too vulnerable, just like the night at the bar. It meant something.
Saving everyone from Daryl's temper, Beth stepped over and put a hand on his arm. "I'd better get going," she said, smiling at him.
His bicep tensed deliciously under her hand, but he glanced down at her and the retribution left his face to be replaced by a much gentler look. He chewed on the inside of his lip, and nodded at her briefly. "A'right. See you t'night."
"See you at 5," she confirmed, smiling up at Daryl's pensive blue eyes as she pulled herself up into the driver's seat.
"See you at 5," "We'll be here!" "Later gorgeous," came the chorus of over-the-top good-byes from the crew.
Smiling in admiration at all of them, she blew them a pretty kiss and then shut her door.
She watched them all walk away from the truck, and she could tell by their body language that Daryl was going to have a very long day.
As five o'clock drew nearer, Beth's anticipation swelled. Her whole day had seemed to go by in a flash, but she'd managed to pack a lot into it. After leaving Daryl's shop, she had driven to Joe's Diner where Sasha had thrown her hand over her mouth in shock and then run at Beth to give her a life-threatening hug. In her haste, Sasha had managed to shatter two plates, which had been sitting on the dish towel that she'd forgotten to let go of as she raced over. Beth helped her clean the mess, and then sat and ate breakfast. A few hours later, Sasha had called in replacement help and threw her apron behind the register; it was a day to shop and celebrate. They called Carol and Lori, and the four of them met up to have some quality time.
She and the girls spent all afternoon shopping in Atlanta, just as they had the day Daryl had gone and put gravel in Beth's driveway. At 4:30, as she finally drove away from their heartfelt goodbyes and thought back to the tearful reunion and fun-filled day, Beth knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this is where she belonged. She knew she'd made the right choice in staying; her grumpy little stuffed pooch hadn't led her astray.
She pulled into the shop's parking lot at fifteen-'til, and left the truck idling. Even once the sun had risen in the sky, the temperature hadn't budged much. Beth cupped her hands to her mouth, blowing into them for warmth; she should have thought to pick up a pair of gloves while they were on their shopping spree.
Beth jumped a little when her door suddenly opened from the outside; she hadn't been expecting Daryl for awhile yet. He stood patiently while she unbuckled her seatbelt and scooted into the middle of the seat to give him room to get in; it was his truck, after all.
Despite the freezing temperatures, Daryl had carried his jacket out with him. His work shirt today was sleeveless, something she hadn't noticed this morning with his jacket on. His toned arms were streaked in grease and sweat, and he smelled like motor oil, steel, and car engines; if indeed someone could smell like all of those things. She found that she actually liked the way he smelled.
"How was your day?" she asked conversationally.
He shrugged as he threw the truck in gear and drove out of the parking lot. "Long."
"I got together with the girls," she said without waiting for a prompt, "did a little bit of shopping."
As he steered onto the highway and headed back towards her town, he eyed the mountain of bags on the passenger floorboard. "Your d'finition of 'little' needs some tweakin'," Daryl responded.
"Well, they aren't all for me," Beth said, grinning.
He glanced at her and narrowed his eyes before averting them back to the road. "I don' even wanta know…"
Beth laughed a bit, and figured that while he was trapped in the tiny space with her, it was the best time to bombard him with what she did. Short of stopping the truck to kick her out, or throwing himself out while he was speeding down the highway, he couldn't get away from her.
She began rooting through bags, and pulled a few up onto the seat that she knew contained his items.
"Look, it wasn't anything big," she began, and he groaned, cutting her off.
"I knew I didn' wanna know," he said.
"What you did last night was really sweet, Daryl. You didn't have to give me a warm place to sleep, or give up your bed, but you did anyway. And even though I don't remember any of it, I suspect that you did a lot for me when it came to the night Zach broke into my cabin, too. And the little dog and the gravel…" she trailed off. There were just so many unsung good deeds that he'd selflessly graced her with; she feared she'd never be able to repay him.
"I just wanted to say thank you. It's not enough yet, and I'll think of other ways, too, but I thought this might be a start."
"Wasn' nothin'," he said quietly, paying too much attention to the road and his mirrors, avoiding her eyes.
"But it was," she argued gently.
When it was apparent that he wasn't going to meet her gaze or say anything else, Beth pulled something out of the first bag.
His curiosity got the better of him and he glanced down at the green fabric encased in shiny plastic. "What is that?"
"Sheets," she said, grinning from ear to ear as he barked out an honest laugh.
By the time they pulled up to her cabin, she'd shown him the whole line-up of merchandise she'd purchased that afternoon. She'd tried to think of everything from forest green sheets, curtains and a rod, to a new brown and tan comforter, some pillows, lots of grey and black towels in a variety of sizes, and even some more cooking utensils. She'd gotten rugs for his bathroom, a brushed nickel toothbrush holder, a shower curtain with an abstract grey, white, and black design on it, and two mats for the inside and outside of his front door so that he wouldn't track anything in on his clean carpet.
He'd just grunted at most of it, and she doubted that he really cared a whole lot about coordinating color schemes or design elements for his rooms; but when he had a warm bed to slip into at night, pillows to lay his head on, and a rug that soaked the water up from under his feet when he got out of the shower, well… he'd be happy for it, whether he wanted to be or not.
To her relief, Daryl shut off the truck once they were in her driveway and he came around to the other side to help her with her bags. She left everything behind that was for him, except for the sheets; those, she was going to wash first.
Once she got her cabin door unlocked, she pushed it open with shaky hands and stood at the threshold, staring into the darkness.
Zach was in Boston, she reminded herself. He was in custody; he couldn't hurt her again. But then she thought back to when she'd been told that he'd be going to trial for killing some poor girl… She shuddered.
She flinched a little when she felt something touch her. Until she realized the warmth of Daryl's whole hand was resting on her lower back, under her jacket and seeping into her skin through her shirt. She looked up at him with wide eyes to find that he was already staring down at her intensely.
"You a'right?" he asked.
Having him so near gave her a dose of bravery, and she wasn't even lying when she smiled at him and said, "I will be."
It only took him a second to become uncomfortable with their proximity, despite the fact that he'd been the one to initiate it, and he stepped back, removing his hand.
Clearing his throat, he asked, "Where d'you want these?"
"In the living room is fine," she said, watching him walk passed her with his other arm full of shopping bags. His jeans were usually a little more baggy on him in the back, but the black cargo pants he'd pulled on that morning accentuated his ass nicely; he had a red handkerchief hanging out of one of his back pockets and it rhythmically slapped the back of his thigh as he strode to her couch. She grinned a little as she followed him.
He turned after he laid her items on the couch, frowning at the grin still plastered on her face. If he knew she'd been checking out his ass, they'd both die of embarrassment, so she wiped the grin off of her face and raised her eyebrows innocently.
He narrowed his eyes at her; he never trusted her. She doubted he trusted anybody.
"So, would you be in the mood for some dinner? I can whip something up," she offered, dropping her stuff on the floor next to the couch.
"Nah," he said, not even bothering to think it over.
"Oh come on," she pressured, "you just got off of work. You must be hungry."
"Starvin', actually," he admitted. Then he added, "but that's exactly why I won' be eatin' any o' the crap you'd whip up. Shit's for rabbits."
She scoffed, dropping her jaw. "My cooking is delicious!"
"Says rabbits," Daryl shot back, a smirk at the edge of his lips. It seemed the tables had turned on them at some point, and now he enjoyed getting a rise out of her.
Glaring at his challenge, she pointed to her table filled with flower arrangements. "You'd better sit your ass down and get comfortable, Dixon. You're in for the meal of your life."
Awhile later, after digging through her pantry and cupboards, trying to come up with a viable meal plan, she threw in the towel and turned around to concede to Daryl, who sat smirking with his arms crossed in her only tiny kitchen chair left.
"Well, Maggie and my daddy used up most of my food, thinking I wasn't going to be staying, and it looks like whatever had been left in the fridge had gotten thrown out. Raincheck, though… Another day, I'm gonna cook you a damn good meal whether you like it or not," she said, pointing her finger at him threateningly.
"I'll be sure t' sleep with one eye open," he said, smirking at her more.
She glanced over at the clock on her stove, remotely thankful that she'd had the foresight to get all of her bills set up on automatic payments before the chaos of last month happened. It looked like her electricity hadn't been disconnected the whole time she'd been in the hospital. The glowing blue letters read "6:03 p.m."
"The grocery store will be open for a little while longer," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Or we could eat at the diner."
"Nah," he said again, standing and stretching his spine. Apparently, he found her chair uncomfortable.
She was all out of ideas; it looked like her evening with Daryl had come to an end. She hated the idea of being alone in her cabin, but couldn't muster up the courage to ask him to spend the night again. It happened on a whim last night; it was inappropriate of her to take advantage of his kindness twice in a row. She should've gone ahead and asked one of the girls to let her spend the night at one of their houses for a few nights, just until she was back on her feet, but she'd never found the right opening all afternoon.
Realizing the only option she had left was the trailer; she hoped that Daryl would go home and not discover her this time. With the thought of that morning fresh in her mind, she remembered that she'd walked out and left her comforter in Daryl's apartment; she'd completely spaced on grabbing it before they departed for the shop. She had a few extra blankets at the cabin, but nothing significantly warm.
She'd either be spending a frightening night alone in her cabin, or a damn cold one in Daryl's dad's trailer.
She was looking forward to neither option.
"Hey Daryl," she said nervously, hoping he didn't see through her. "Um, I left something over at the trailer last night. Do you… do you care if I stop by and grab it before I go to bed tonight?"
His eyes lit up a little at the mention of it and he replied, "I still 'ave some food left in there, actually. I'll drive us over."
She figured it was fine; he could drive her, bring her back home, and then when he left for his apartment that night, she could sneak back over there. No big deal. So, she agreed.
Once they were in the trailer, Daryl opened up all of the blinds to let the light from the full moon stream into the tiny space. He knew where to find a flashlight, and even pulled some large ugly candles out of a drawer in the kitchen; no doubt all things that Daryl had taken care of when he'd first moved in. He lit them and scattered them around on the kitchen counter, and even though Beth knew he had done it to ward off the dark, not to be romantic, her stomach still did flip flops at the way his eyes glowed golden in the candlelight.
She was abruptly jerked out of her girlish staring when he unceremoniously tossed her a loaf of bagged bread, which hit her chest, jostled against her useless hands, and then finally fell to the floor. She'd never been good at hand-eye coordination, even when she wasn't being distracted by dirty thoughts.
"Jus' dig through the cabinets," he instructed. "Pull out wha' you find. I needta bring it all t' my place now, anyway."
She set the bread on the clutter-free table and went to do as he bid. The first cabinet she opened was top to bottom with large, empty jars. She pulled one out to inspect it and realized it was filled with clear liquid.
"My uh… my da' used t'make illegal moonshine outta the shed back in the trees," Daryl told her, eying what she found.
"My daddy always said bad moonshine can make you go blind," she answered. She wasn't sure what else to say.
He just grunted in response, and went back to pulling jars and cans of food out of his set of cupboards.
Before she thought about it too much, Beth unscrewed the lid and took a sip. Her face crumpled as the stuff burned its way down her throat. The first breath she let out even felt like it scorched the insides of her nostrils. "That's disgusting…" she said, laughing a little.
She took a couple more mouthfuls, and realized that unlike good liquor, this stuff didn't go down easier with repetition. She pulled another one out of the cupboard as Daryl watched her with a guarded look on his face.
"Might wanna take it slow," he said.
"This one's for you," she replied, holding it out to him.
"Nah, I'm good," he said, looking away from her. She could see his jaw clench; he was stressed about something, but she didn't know what.
"Why?" she asked.
"Someone's gotta keep a clear head," he answered, "or we'll never get outta here t'night."
She took another swallow of her jar, feeling like it was just the release she'd need to calm her nerves after the past month. Maybe she wouldn't care about being in her cabin so much if she was drunk.
"So, what? You're like my chaperone now?" she asked, smirking at him.
He grunted at her again, not rising to the bait, and said, "Just… drink lots of water."
"Yes Mr. Dixon," she said, taking another swallow.
He stepped back from his cupboard, eying her. His glowing eyes bore into her while the rest of his face remained mostly in shadow from the candles at his back. She shivered as she stared back at him, and she could feel the warmth of the alcohol crawling across the inside of her body.
He took three steps until he was standing right in front of her, in her space, just like he had when she'd run into him at the grocery store after the incident with Ed. He looked down at her just as intensely as he had back then, studying her face, his hunter's eyes taking in all of her features individually. She felt her chest swell, and her heart was pounding in her throat. Then he took the unopened jar out of her hand, unscrewed the lid, and downed half of it.
Half an hour later, they'd each had plenty to drink, and whatever tense moment they'd shared in the kitchen had passed. On the table sat a variety of open jars and cans, everything from jelly to pickled pigs' feet, as well as a couple of liters of Coke that had remained unopened.
Despite the fact that they could now see the white puffs of their breath floating in the air, Beth no longer felt the bite of winter.
Daryl had watched her closely as she made a circuit around the trailer, looking around at anything that bespoke of Daryl's long lost childhood; anything that stood out as his, just to glean an idea of what he looked like or enjoyed doing as a kid. Sadly, there were no pictures on any walls, and she didn't see a family photo album or any other type of heirlooms anywhere.
"You grew up here?" she asked, ungracefully stumbling over a broken clothes hamper.
"Yeah," Daryl said, never taking his eyes off of her. She had a feeling that she wasn't the only one whose barriers had come down when the alcohol flooded in.
"It's only one room, though, isn't it?" she said, seeing only two doors in the back hallway, knowing one must be a room and the other a bathroom. The trailer wasn't wider for much else, though.
"I slept on th'couch," Daryl told her. "Or the floor, if Merle was home."
Beth stumbled into something else covered by a ripped couch cushion. She knelt down to pick it up, and laughed. It was a giant ceramic pink bra, straps and all, that had been modeled after a very busty lady. On the inside, in heaps, were old cigarette butts that had never been cleaned out; there must have been hundreds in there.
"Who'd go into a store and walk out with this?" she scoffed, holding it up for better inspection against the candle she'd left on the coffee table.
Daryl snorted and walked over, taking another drink out of his jar of moonshine. "My da', that's who."
Beth realized she might've been offensive, and she grimaced a little. Daryl noticed her apologetic look and waved it off.
"Ah, he was a dumbass. He'd set stuff like tha' up on the T.V. set; use 'em as target practice."
Beth raised an eyebrow. "He shot things inside your house?"
Daryl shrugged, unfazed. "It was just a bunch o' junk, anyway."
"This place is jus' like any other trash heap," Daryl said, looking around with a smirk on his face. "You got your dumpster chair; that's for sittin' in, in your drawers all summer, drinkin'," he said, pointing at the green recliner that was tipped over sideways with stuffing coming out of it. The first time she'd been in his trailer, she didn't think everything had been so… beat up, now that she reflected on it.
Daryl continued, bumping his foot on something plastic that the candlelight didn't reach. "Got your fancy buckets. That's for spittin' chaw in," he told her. Then he lifted the corner of his mouth in a teasing grin, making light of what he was telling her, "after your old lady tells you t'stop smokin'."
"You got your…" He looked around for something else, grabbing a handful of newspaper off of the floor, and said, "your internet."
She smiled genuinely at his attempts at light humor, but as she watched, his face took on a note of sadness as he looked around at everything.
"Home, sweet home," he whispered, taking another drink of his moonshine. She followed suit, unsure as to what she could say to make any of it better.
His face tightened in anger suddenly, and he flung his now-empty jar into the hallway where it hit the closed bedroom door and shattered.
"Come on, Daryl," she said, fighting her way through the trash to get to him. "Don't do this. Don't let this place get to you."
"I hated comin' back," he said, shaking his head. "I fuckin' hate this place!" He grabbed something heavy off of the floor and threw that across the room, too, where it collided into the T.V. and brought the whole stand crashing down. Beth flinched at the noise; realizing she was still made anxious by the sound of breaking glass from when Zach had attacked her.
"I wish this place had jus' burned t'the fuckin' ground," he spat, his chest heaving in his rage.
Beth, who felt like she needed a hug as badly as he looked like he needed one, threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.
"Tha' small bar that separates the livin' area an' the kitchen," Daryl said slowly, his voice low and raspy. "Sometimes, my da' used t'make me put my hands on the edge o' it when he beat me. He'd just start hittin' me across the back w'somethin', an' if I moved or made a noise…" She heard him swallow the lump in his throat in the silence.
She closed her eyes against the images that his admission conjured up, squeezing him as tight as she could, as though she was physically able to hold him together. He ran his hands over his face, and then gently grasped her wrist to pry her arms from him. He grabbed another jar of moonshine off of the counter and then went outside.
Beth wasn't sure if he wanted space or privacy, but she felt like even she couldn't stand to be alone in there with the ghosts of his past. So, after a second of hesitation, she followed him out.
He sat on his makeshift porch against a railing, already taking gulps of his moonshine. She sat down cattycorner to him with her back against the trailer, looking out over the yard to where the shadows of the trees swallowed the moon's light, shrouding everything in darkness.
He sniffed, seemingly unperturbed that she'd been around to watch him lose his cool, if even for a moment. The silence stretched out between them, until Daryl said softly, "Merle had this dealer… this janky little white guy; tweaker. One day, we were over at his house, watchin' T.V. It wasn' even noon yet; we were all wasted… Merle was high. We were watchin' this show, an' Merle was talkin' all this dumb stuff 'bout it. He wouldn't let up," Daryl snorted a little, swishing his moonshine around in the jar, staring as the moonlight gleamed off of the surface. "Merle never could."
He bit the inside of his cheek, shifting a little uncomfortably, but Beth stayed silent, watching him; showing him that he had her full attention.
"Turns out, it was the tweaker's kid's favorite show. An' he never sees his kid, so, Iunno, he felt guilty 'bout it or somethin'; so he punches Merle in the face. So I started hittin' the tweaker like… hard. Hard as I could. An' he… he pulls a gun; sticks it right here," Beth shook at the chill that went up her spine as Daryl aimed a finger at the side of his temple. She could see the scene playing out behind her eyes, heart heavy for the younger version of her sweet Daryl, with a gun barrel pressed up to the side of his head…
Daryl continued, "an' he says 'Imma kill you, bitch.' So Merle pulls his gun on him, everyone's yellin'; I'm yellin'," He shook his head then, smiling a little at the memory coursing through him. "Thought I was dead. Over a dumb cartoon 'bout a talkin' dog."
Beth could scarcely breathe, and she realized he didn't intend to continue, trapped as he was in the past. "How did you get out of it?" she whispered.
"Tweaker punched me in the gut; I puked. They both started laughin'," Daryl replied, snorting. "… Forgot all 'bout it."
Swallowing, Beth could only manage to stare at him as he brought himself back into the present. He looked at her square on, then, his eyes glittering white and hard, like ice, in the moon's glow.
"You wanna know where I was before all o' this? Before you?" he asked, not bothering to wait for an answer. "I was just driftin' aroun' with Merle, doin' whatever he said we were gonna be doin' that day. Some redneck asshole with an even bigger asshole for a brother… "
He looked down at his moonshine again, breaking eye contact.
"I was nobody," he whispered. "Nothin'."
The air was heavy, but the clear alcohol burning its way through Beth's veins gave her the courage to speak in the face of his degradation. "You're not nobody anymore, Daryl. You're somebody and something, especially to me, and that'll never change."
He looked up at her from under his bangs, and although he didn't accept her words, he didn't reject them, either.
"Places like this," she continued, looking over her shoulder at the trailer in question, "you have to put them away. For good."
"What if I can't?" he whispered, eyes boring into hers; the tension from the kitchen was back full force.
"You have to," she whispered back, "Or else it kills you. Right here," she added, leaning over to lay her hand flat against his chest, over his heart.
"We should go inside," he said abruptly, breaking eye contact and severing their connection.
She was worried she'd lost him; he'd been right there at the cusp, and she'd let him fall right back into the awaiting arms of his demons. She wasn't sure how to help him, exactly. The place seemed to carry nothing but horrible memories for him. She could help him clean it out and try to sell it, but she doubted it would sell without some work and money put into it. And even if it did sell, it would still be sitting there, forever a reminder of the bloody past of his broken childhood.
As he stood up, a wild, insane thought occurred to her, and she blurted out, "We should burn it down."
"What?" he said, pausing to look down at her, as though he hadn't heard her correctly.
"We should burn it down," she repeated. "Just light it up, get rid of it. Cleanse your life of it."
He stood there frowning at her, and she was afraid she'd made an error in judgment. Maybe there had been some good memories there for him after all; maybe he was still attached to the place and wouldn't be able to ever let go of it for good.
Finally, he responded, "We're gonna need more booze for that." She smiled drunkenly at him as he held down his hand to help her up.
They'd cleared all of the moonshine out of the cupboard, unscrewing the lids, and laughing as they splashed it around the trailer. Daryl threw a few at the wall that shattered on impact, the moonshine going everywhere. In their drunken states, they'd barely had the forethought to blow out all of the candles before lobbing alcohol around with them inside, but they had managed it, so that was something.
Beth twirled, sending her moonshine out in an arc, getting some on Daryl. He glared at her and splashed her back, making her squeal at the coldness of it and laugh as she ran away. She promptly tripped over something on the floor, or her own feet, she wasn't sure which, and went down. She could hear Daryl chucking from the other end of the room.
Finally, most of the place had been covered in liquor, and they both made their way to the door. Right before exiting, Beth grabbed the empty glass bowl that Daryl usually kept his keys and wallet stashed in by the door.
"What's that for?" he asked, eying her loot.
"I wanted something that reminds me of you," Beth said, hugging it to her chest.
Daryl took it from her gently before turning and flinging it like a Frisbee at the trailer, where it hit the side and shattered on impact. "Wasn' mine," he told her. "We'll find somethin' else."
He pulled the red oil rag out of his back pocket, dipped it halfway into an empty moonshine jar, and screwed the lid onto it; to give the rag some throwing weight. He held the lighter out to her and asked, "Wanna do the honors?"
"Hell yeah," she said, flicking the lighter a few times before a flame caught. She held it to the rag and lit it up.
Daryl swung his arm back and lobbed the jar at the open doorway, where it crashed on impact in the side of the trailer, and everything inside began to catch fire. Before even a minute had passed, the whole thing had erupted in flames.
"I'm glad it's been raining a lot," Beth said softly, grinning up at Daryl. "We might've lit the forest on fire."
"I'd've though' o' that, first," he said. But as he swayed on his feet a bit, Beth wasn't so sure he was right.
As they both stared at the fire engulfing the trailer, Beth boldly held out her middle finger to it. Fuck this place, she thought triumphantly.
Daryl hadn't noticed her, so she smacked him lightly in the stomach. He flinched a bit, looking over at her. Then a smirk graced his lips, and he turned back to flip the trailer off, too. They stood like that another minute before they realized it was probably wise to get out of there.
They both climbed into his truck, and Beth briefly remembered that the shirt she'd forgotten was still laying in the trailer somewhere. As he backed out of his driveway, he threw out an explicative and slammed on the brakes.
"I forgot Merle's fuckin' bike," he said, jumping out of the truck.
He ran to the makeshift garage on the side of the trailer, nearly falling over his own feet twice. Beth laughed at him; she couldn't believe how drunk they both were.
Daryl was in there a few more seconds than Beth had been comfortable with, but when he finally came out of the garage, he had a heavy-looking bag slung over one shoulder. He was mounted on the bike and walked it out of the doors before starting it up. Once he was coming down the driveway, Beth slowly backed the truck onto the road. She was thankful that they were the only two who lived on that road, or within miles, as she could hardly see straight. She drove the truck all of 20 miles an hour back to her cabin, and Daryl followed at the snail's pace.
She glanced in the rearview mirror once, smiling at the sight of the flames licking the edge of the sky, attempting to consume the very moon itself.
Finally, they pulled in and made it up to her cabin. Upon entry, Daryl dropped his bag on the floor behind the door and it made a loud crash as metal bounced and clanged together within. At Beth's questioning gaze, he muttered, "Couldn't ditch my good tools…"
She laughed at his sullen face, and for the first time, his lips curled up in a genuine smile for her.
"You're lucky you're a happy drunk," he said softly.
"Yeah," she agreed. "Some people can be real jerks when they drink."
She grinned at him to take the sting out of her words, but he merely smiled, looking down at his boots. "Yeah… Sometimes I'm a dick when I'm drunk."
"Sometimes you're a dick when you're not," she retorted, stepping closer to him.
This time, it was her invading his space, but he didn't step back or break their eye contact. Beth wrapped her frozen hands in the front of his shirt and pulled herself up onto the tips of her toes. She felt his whole body shudder as she brazenly pressed her lips to his.
She felt his warm hands cup the backs of her elbows, trapping her close. She melted into him, and together they floated off into a drunken, hazy oblivion.