Daryl rises from her and from the bed, his hand still messily cupped, and wipes it on the drapes, leaving behind a wet sticky stain. "Daryl," Beth chastizes dryly, "gross."
He turns back to her, amused she's still so prim after all they've been through. "Girl, you spend your days caked in walker guts an' all kinds of gore, and that's gross?" He grabs her bare toes as he passes by, giving them a little decided tug as he does, "Com'on; get'up."
Beth looks at him blankly, "Why?" She's exceedingly content where she is.
"'Cuz," he grunts. Beth watches his body move — every shift and shadow of his muscles — as he draws up his drawers and pants. He's extraordinary, and she finds him beautiful. "We're not staying here."
"Daryl. You promised me a bed. Two nights in a bed. That was the deal."
Daryl tosses her jeans at her, "You'll get your bed, Greene. But we c'n find a safer one." Rebuckling his belt, Daryl admires the sight of her laid out and spent, flushed and beautiful there against the white of the mussed and tangled sheets. He savors the image of it, then turns away, locating his clothes and hers. Daryl grabs her well-shaped calf for a little shake. "Hey; Lazy, g't up." So easily Daryl's back to business, loading gear, on the move, mission in mind.
Reluctantly Beth rises and dresses, tugging back on her filthy jeans, but not before rifling through the dresser drawers and locating several pairs of women's underwear. Though several sizes too large, the more important feature is they're clean, and not paper-thin worn-through from wear and over-washing. She's sold. Beth pulls one pair on and stuffs the couple of others in her bag. She finds them both new pairs of socks, with several spares to add to their stash, and abandons her tattered sweat-stained tops in favor of whatever she can find. As hers is such a pathetic rag and the ones she finds are much too large, Beth opts to forego a bra entirely, leaving hers crumpled on the carpet floor. She isn't bathed, and if anything she's sweatier and stickier than when they'd entered the room, and her jeans are still unrepentantly filthy, but with new tops and fresh underwear and socks, she does feel revived. Beth saves the precious wool socks for when they get back on the road in two days, and tugs on the cotton-poly ones followed by her boots.
Daryl's been dressed and waiting a while, but unbothered by his own sense of urgency, Beth first checks both the bedside table drawers, the medicine cabinet and under the bathroom sinks. No condoms. She does discretely grab the quarter-full box of tampons, as well as a half-used bar of soap, some men's sport deodorant, a toothbrush, and a mostly-squeezed-out tube of toothpaste. No medicine. Not even a Band-Aid or gauze. She looks for hair ties, but can't find any, and out in the bedroom she can hear Daryl getting restless. "Beth? Y'done with y'r shoppin' spree, or whut?"
"I'm comin'," she answers back. Shouldering her pack she follows him into the hall — refraining from mentioning that as long as they're there they may as well check the other rooms — and follows him downstairs. "You're such a crank," she tells him, pushing at the back of his head with her fingertips.
"Uh,huh," he nods lightly in his indulgence of her. Daryl opens the front door and surveys the street before stepping out and signaling for her to follow, "Tha's me, 'Daryl the Crank.'" He throws her a quick smile and she returns it with one of her own. It had turned out to be a nice day.
Walking into the road in the glow of dusk, her loaded gun in hand by her hip, his armed bow aimed low toward the ground and at the ready, she reflects, still smiling, "I don't get why we couldn't jus' stay here."
"Curtains were dirty," he answers in dry succinctness.
Beth laughs at his quick wit. "An' whose fault is that?"
Daryl shakes his head, "Ain't my fault you're damned irresistible." Beth looks at him and smiles. "'Sides," he adds, giving her another off-point excuse as to why a house off the beaten trail away from the main intersection of town would be a better site for them to set up their temporary stake, "you said y' wanted flowers; we c'n find a place with flow—"
Beth, smiling that disarming giggle of a smile of hers, cuts him off, "That's not the real reason—"
Kwawwwhhrhh! A bullet hits right where Beth was about to step. Beth freezes and looks up, instantly Daryl throws out his arm in front of her to push her back, raising his bow with his other.
"Hey! Sam n' Diane!" a sardonic male voice catches them off-guard. "You're gonna want to throw down those weapons." Beth and Daryl spot their aggressors. "Trust me."