Chapter 17: I'm over my head, out of her head she sang

Everything is just a little bit easier after that.

For a few days.

He's okay with being friends. He really is. He thought he wouldn't be, thought it would basically destroy him as a person, but that afternoon, sitting on the grass and listening to her sing, he knew it wouldn't. What happened... She was right, it was a mistake, and no matter what he feels about it, it's definitely better if it doesn't happen again. Because... Reasons. Lots of them. If he cared to do so he could make a whole list of them but it's enough to know they're there.

She's a nice thing, the first nice thing in... In his memory, really in all of his memory, and he can have that just by being around her, and he won't die. And in fact, if he lets himself want this too much, want it the wrong way, it'll just ruin everything. Because he won't get it, because he'll get frustrated, he'll get upset, it'll hurt more and more, and in the end he'll just leave anyway - because he knows that too. She's bought him some time. They bought some time together. But only a very finite amount.

And there's less and less of it every hour.

On Thursday afternoon, when she finished singing, they sat on the porch and she brought out lemonade and some almond cookies she baked, and of course they were amazing, and they sat and he smoked, and neither of them really said anything. There didn't seem to be anything to say. He still had his questions, he had all those things he wanted to know about her - he still does have them - but it didn't seem like the time to ask them. She sang and then the silence swept in to fill where her voice had been - peaceful afternoon silence which really isn't silent at all. Breeze shaking the leaves of the old trees, birds, chickens in the distance muttering to themselves as if they were kind of pissed off in a general way about something. Farm noises.

They sat in that silence and it was enough. He doesn't need to talk to her to feel what she has, what she is. Just being with her is enough.

Just occupying roughly the same space.

He knew that day when he first drove her into town that one of the things he likes especially much about her is how she doesn't make him feel like he's doing something wrong by being quiet. How silence isn't something that needs filling.

Silence is worth something in itself.

So they sat in that silence. And then - too soon - he had to get up, had to go, because regardless of what actually is or isn't going on here, if her father or her mother and brother came back and found them together, on a day when he's not working, it was going to look kind of strange. Maybe it would be all right - they do seem to like him for sure now - but he wasn't in a mood to risk it. He wants them to keep liking him.

For however long he has left.

He drove home. He still had a cookie. It was a gorgeous afternoon, bright and again with that hint of autumn freshness in the air, in the wind sweeping across the fields and rippling everything there was to pull and push, stroking it all, and he turned up the radio and almost sang along. Almost. He doesn't sing, ever, so he didn't, but it was a near thing.

and I wonder
when I sing along with you

if everything could ever feel this real forever
if anything could ever be this good again
the only thing I'll ever ask of you
you've got to promise not to stop when I say when

He got back into town. Merle was in a good mood. He had won at pool the night before - won in the sense of cheated and no one caught him so they had some extra cash to throw around. Threw it at some pizza and slightly less shitty beer. Watched Keeping Up With the Kardashians, to which Merle has an odd attachment and which Daryl has elected never to ask him about. He knows he would get Kim's ass as an explanation, but he's not sure he entirely buys that.

Daryl has no feelings about Kim Kardashian's ass one way or the other.

Daryl drank beer and ate pizza covered in about twenty kinds of meat and didn't think about any part of Kim Kardashian at all. He didn't even really see the TV. He saw the flickering light and the blurry movement of shapes and he thought about the dappled sunlight scattered across Beth Greene's hair.

He knows he's fucked. Completely. He just also thinks it might be okay to be fucked is all.

"Not such a bad idea, baby brother," Merle murmured not long before he slipped into unconsciousness. "Stickin' around a while. Not too bad at all, actually."

Merle never says anything nice about him at all unless he's in an unusually good mood. Those are to be treasured.

There are a lot of things here he feels like treasuring.

Back to work next day - Friday. It's yet another gorgeous day, still blown clear by the rain, and Daryl is still feeling good when he pulls up in the truck and climbs out, catches sight of Beth in the garden at the side of the house de-insecting the tomatoes and becomes a bit heedless of the fact that Hershel is standing right there about twenty yards away and waves. She waves back. Nothing really to worry about anyway. He knows her. She knows him. That's all. No reason he shouldn't wave.

He's completely fucked and probably always will be and his heart is this mangled thing half hanging out of his cracked-open chest, but that's okay. He's okay.

No, actually he is. Daryl Dixon is extremely good at being in the middle of less than ideal situations and forcing himself to be okay. And of the less than ideal situations he might be in, this is one of the more ideal ones.

They aren't getting right to work. Hershel hands him a cup of coffee. That John Muir mug again. At least it's a big mug. Daryl sits down on the steps and Hershel sits down beside and just above him. Daryl doesn't smoke. He's still into being polite.

He's better at it than he thought he would be.

"Figure we got about another half week," Hershel says after a moment or two. "Maybe more like a full one. You're still okay with sticking around that long?"

Daryl shrugs, gives Hershel a small nod, because it's better than turning around and yelling YES I WILL STICK AROUND AS LONG AS EVER.

So now this thing has an expiration date again. It always did, but now it's a solid one. It's a bit ahead of time. He has a chance to get used to the idea. Deal with it. Going back out there, being back in that world. Away from this nice family and their nice house and this nice thing he's found - this girl who isn't at all a Good Girl but who is definitely a nice girl. He never thought this was going to be a forever thing, this friend he's made.

This strange, uncomfortable, wonderful friend.

He has time to get used to the idea, ease himself out of it, disconnect. He'll be able to say goodbye to all of this. He'll be able to say goodbye to her and leave and get on with whatever passes for his life these days.

It's hilarious how he's so bad at lying to everyone else but he basically has a PhD in lying to himself.

"Where are you going after this?"

He doesn't expect the question, is lost in ruminations regarding lying and being okay and being completely not at all okay, and he jumps slightly and glances over at Hershel, hoping Hershel didn't notice. If Hershel is half as perceptive as his goddamn daughter, he did. Hopefully he'll chalk it up to your average uninteresting daydreaming.

Daryl shrugs again. "Dunno. We'll see."

"You actually have anywhere else you have to be?"

...Something is going on here. Something is approaching. Daryl looks at him again and tries to ignore the sudden tightness high in his stomach, just under his diaphragm. Threatening to get in the way of his breathing.

"I mean... Nah, not really." Sip of coffee. Because this is probably nothing. Probably nothing to get excited about. And there's the lying thing again. "How come?"

Hershel makes a thoughtful noise and stares down the drive toward the road, or possibly just into space. Daryl waits in silence and wishes - for about the millionth time - that he could decide just what exactly it is that he wants.

With how intensely he seems to want it, you'd think it would be easier to get a little clarity.

"Well, I've been watching you the last week or so. You're a good worker. You don't screw around." Hershel shoots him a small smile. "With Shawn, you might be surprised what a problem that can be sometimes."

Daryl isn't sure if he should return the smile. So he settles for almost doing it. It would be a fake smile if he actually tried, anyway, and he still isn't any good at those either.

"He's a good boy, he's just a boy. You see?" He continues without waiting for a response, hands wrapped around his steaming mug. "Almost September. Normally around this time of year I'd be looking into taking on a hand or two. Was going to do that anyway, but with you here... Might be enough. And I already know I can depend on you."

He looks at Daryl again, gaze steady and keen and clear. "Would you be interested? Might even be able to pay you a little more. If nothing else it would be steady work for... Well, a while."

Daryl is expecting internal panic. Sure it's coming. But it doesn't come. Instead there's just a kind of stillness, a stillness that almost feels like resignation and isn't really that at all. Part of him knew this was coming, the same way he knew he would kiss Beth in the rain. Part of him knew, since he first set foot on this goddamn farm, that he might never get away. That forces would conspire to keep him here - Beth, or something else. And in fact he doesn't think this is Beth. Maybe before it was Beth, sure - no maybe about it, it absolutely fucking was - but this is just Hershel. Hershel and the seasons. Both probably just as immovable. Just as inevitable.

And it's his own damn fault for being dependable.

Out there felt like a trap. It is a trap. He'll go out there, leave all this behind, and everything will go right back to the way it was. Him and Merle and a stretch of road with no signposts, no mile markers, no turnoffs or crossroads, no end in sight.

And that road will slope very slightly downward, and it won't ever go back up.

But in here is a trap too. A more painful one in a lot of ways. He's okay right now, really is trying to believe he might continue to be so, but a deep and far more honest part of himself suspects very strongly that whatever okayness he's managed to grab hold of might be entirely unsustainable.

If nothing else, sooner or later he's going to have to answer to Merle. Sooner or later, Merle might not be the only one he's answering to.

In the end it's not that hard to make the decision.

Beth is riding the chestnut mare when he makes his way to the paddock at the end of the day to say goodbye to her.

He leans on the fence, lights a cigarette. She walks the horse over when she sees him, dismounts in a single graceful movement and comes to him. "Hey."

He exhales smoke carefully away from her. "Hi."

She cocks her head. Her hair is tugged back into a simple ponytail, strands as usual flying free around her face. Heart necklace. He wonders if she ever takes it off.

Cross on a leather cuff around her wrist.

He still wants to ask her about that.

"What's up?"

"Your dad talked to me."

"'bout what?"

"'bout stickin' around through the fall." Inhale. Exhale. The breeze carres the smoke away, spiraling it up into the air. Toying with it. He's still calm. He's been calm all day. This, he thinks, he might be able to sustain. For a little while. "Helpin' with stuff."

"Yeah, he usually takes on a couple of hands." A small smile breaks across her face like a sunbeam. Like an actual fucking sunbeam, Jesus Christ. "He asked you?"

She really didn't know. It wasn't anything to do with her.

Except for how it was.

"Yeah."

"What'd you say?"

He regards her with particular care. Calm, all the jitteriness beaten down by whatever this is, he can see her a little more clearly. The outlines of everything are sharper. She's genuinely surprised - surprised and pleased, but surprised. She didn't ask Hershel to do him a favor. She definitely didn't. He was pretty certain before but he totally is now. As far as she knew, when his work with the silo was done he would be gone.

And she was ready to let him go. She wanted to keep him company, drag him out of the gray pit she could see he had been deep in for a long time, give him a little color. A little light. And she wanted to do that for him because that's what she does - he strongly suspects. She sees color and light everywhere, and when she sees someone standing outside of that blessed rainbow glow she wants to pull them into it, or extend its reach to them.

That night in the truck with him, that first night in the rain, she had - for some reason - determined to save him. For a few days. Maybe just to show him that something else was possible. There hadn't been anything more in it than that. Not for her. She was ready to let him go.

The kiss in the truck was teenage daring. The kiss in the rain was just a mistake. His mistake. His single ill-advised lunge across a line he never should have crossed. That's all. There might be a hundred thousand things and people here to blame. But she isn't one of them.

She's just a very sweet girl.

And he's so completely fucked.

He also has to answer her at some point.

"Yeah. Said I would."

Her smile widens just a touch. The mare nudges her shoulder as if annoyed that she's being ignored, and Beth strokes a hand down her nose. "That's great. He pays real well." The smile almost slips into a grin, and while the calm remains, something twists at his middle. Not entirely unpleasant. Bittersweet. "And Mama'll keep cookin' for you if you keep comin' to dinner."

He nods. He will. He'll do these things because he doesn't really have a choice anymore.

"See you tomorrow," he says quietly, and she gives him her own nod, still smiling and stroking the mare, and he turns and goes.

But he doesn't get into the truck immediately. He leans on the open door, smoking the cigarette down to the filter, and watches as she rides around the paddock in the late afternoon sun.

He wanted to see her ride.

It's pretty much just as unbelievable as he pictured.

Note: song is "Everlong" by the Foo Fighters