He's thankful when Rick declares- for everyone, in that leader voice that brooked no argument from Abraham- that they'd get the house set up and sleep, then get down to talking about what they'd be doing, all of them together. With all of them, sixteen, preparing the house takes little time, but Daryl makes sure they have enough alarms, enough warning. Really, what he wants to do is say fuck all this shit and find Beth, but it was his own fuck up at the funeral home in the first place. It was his own disregard for her safety. Besides, he knows she's in there picking bugs out of an opened bag of brown rice to make food for Judith.
They all stay in the house that night, Rick's orders. They'd keep watch out the boarded up windows. He's ignored everyone else who's tried to talk to him, waving them off. He keeps thinkin' about how he bolted through the woods, leaving the others to find their way back safely and he feels badly enough about that abandonment that he hasn't even held Judy yet. He's been thinking too much and trying so hard to not think.
It feels like it takes too long, it's dark by the time he's checking the lock on the door, sliding a bureau in front of it that someone had brought down from a bedroom. He should eat. He should sleep. He should make arrows, check his bow. He should find some new pants, cause the knees were starting to blow out. There were a hundred things he should be doing, but all he can do is go to her.
The house is filled with bodies. It's hushed in the house, like they were all waiting for something awful to happen. He couldn't blame them: their luck had been terribly good as of late.
Up the creaking stairs, down the hall, he finds her alone in what was probably some parents' room once. Through the cracked door, he sees her, in candlelight. She's on the edge of a queen-sized bed, holding a sleeping Judith, just starin' at her. Barely moving but for her breath.
When he says her name, she jumps.
When she relaxes at the sight of him, it makes him feel light. She stands slow, turns away from him to put Judith down on the bed without waking her, tucks the comforter around her. Her movements are measured, he notices, and he wonders if she feels... it, whatever this feeling is right now, too.
He feels like he can barely suck in air, but she's moving like molasses, towards him.
He says her name again, no other words will come out, not in any kind of order, not with any sort of sense.
She hugs him. A real hug- her arms around his neck, her slight body pressed from cheek to thigh against his. She's too tiny in his arms, he's feeling too clumsy and rough and desperate for something as fragile as Beth, but it doesn't stop his arms from automatically coming up around her. His palms flat on her shoulder blades, until his fingers dig into her sweater.
Her voice is pitched low, a hum right next to his ear, saying, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."