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The album played out while Simon, who's been up since before dawn, faded slowly into sleep. "He's out," Daryl utters from the back. Startled, Beth's eyes flash to the rearview mirror, she hadn't realized he was up, hadn't realized he'd been watching the road as she drove it. She looks then to her right. There, pressed against the door and a balled sweater he'd wedged in between his head and the car, soundly dozes Simon. "Pull over." Beth looks to Daryl again through the mirror. Whether his intention is to relieve Simon or to relieve her – or simply to relieve himself – is unclear, but wordlessly she pulls over regardless, willing to relinquish the driving to Daryl if he means to take it. Pulling over onto the gravel shoulder (one more action of countless now done only from habit than any lingering necessity) the boxy four-doored vehicle bumps and lurches then slows (as she hadn't been driving very quickly to begin with) easily to a smooth stop. "Go'on," he mutters when the car's at a full stop and he's unclicking his seat belt, "switch with th' kid." Beth stretches, rubs her eyes, then undoes her own belt. Certainly, she could push herself further, but in truth, the monotony of the unlit road and the late hour were wearing on her, and both her mind and eyes had been growing cloudy in the passing miles. She isn't used to driving any longer, and the road was beginning to blur before her; giving the wheel over to Daryl is not a loss. With three to drive, no destination and no timeline to labor under, there's no need for any of them to push themselves, and at least in regards to driving, Beth feels she's nothing to prove. Daryl would fault her if she stayed on just for pride, keeping him on the sideline while she dug in just for stubbornness. She'd fault herself. Exhaustion helps no one, neither does false pride. This is not the moment to prove herself, this moment doesn't matter.
With a whistling zip, her unfastened seatbelt pulls in quickly, slapping hard and fast against the door frame. The warmth of the car had been lulling her to drowsiness but the brisk Southern air jolts her straight awake when she cracks open the door. A gust of cold fast air hits her immediately. Climbing out, Beth pulls down her sweater sleeves over her fists and stands inside the shelter of the open door, stomping her feet to stretch and keep warm. Standing there in the cold and the wind, she wonders where exactly they are. They'd spent most of the day in the car, and though these many hours might have easily taken them straight out of Georgia by this point, indeed they have not. They'd begun the morning on the highway, and though they'd been on and off interstates all day, their being not on the run so much as on the hunt by no means kept them stuck to them exclusively. They'd spent large portions of their time at slower speeds, pulling into towns and into even smaller towns, going down roads and byways, surveying for prospects. They'd stopped to fill up on water, they stopped too to hunt. They'd surveyed for wells, for water, for what they couldn't find from the highway. Aside from scouting, so too had they on occasion been pushed off their course on main roads by roadblocks and by walkers. They'd traveled in starts and stops, in double backs and detours and tangled matrices of streets and developments, prospects and busts. Their day, much like everything since the turn, had been anything but a straight path.
Behind her the car shakes as Daryl pushes open the rear door and climbs out, grunting some as he does. He spits to the ground, pulls the crossbow out from behind Simon's seat, glances at the stars, then moves a little nearer to her. Blowing hot breath on his hands Daryl looks over them to her as he rubs them together. "How you doin'?" Beth nods distractedly, breathing in the crisp chilled air. Her breath is visible before her lips. Daryl glances at her, "Y'cold?"
"Th' car is warm."
"Hm," he grunts with a quick nod. "Wull, go 'head; g't round, g't inside." Beth pulls close her sweater against the strong breeze that's picking up and does move to head round the front of the car to the passenger door, but Daryl reaches and pulls her to him as she makes room, moving out from the driver's seat for him. He pulls her to him, taking hold of her by her belt loop. Hooking her in, he tugs her close, never minding that their two open doors are letting out much of the warm air. He stands tall and sturdy before her. Bringing both hands to her, he brushes the fair hair back from her brow and holds her face fondly and softly in his not unwarm hands, rubbing lightly at her cheek. Though he'd urged her back into the car he only lingers there with her in his hands. Daryl's head, unkempt and wild, drops down over her so that he is so close, so very near, and present. He leans into her, attentive. Actively his eyes study her. He does not seem to blink. The heat from his body and the nearness of his lips seem to lure her face up towards him, her eyes locking with his. Beth's parted lips bide their time, readying for the impending moment of contact. There in the darkness by the side of an unknown road she waits, and studies for the countless time the shapes and lines and shadows of his face, rugged, worn, and beautiful. In the silence of the night, disturbed not even by the chirping or whirring of insects and the wild – too cold, maybe – his low voice rasps and rumbles like the only sound in the world, sweeter somehow than the music, more grounded than the earth. His eyes never break from her. "How's that song go?" His two battle-tested hands cradle her face as he leans ever closer to her, towering above her. "'Could drink a case o'you'?" His eyes fall gentle on her, his thumb brushes softly at her cheek. "'An' still be on my feet.'" His voice softening there as it does may once have been a betrayal of his truest feelings for her, but if still secrets exist between them, none are that he loves her. So far gone is the instinct to keep that from her. Indeed he could drink a case of her, there is no getting his fill of Beth Greene. Never.
Beth— Such a small thing she is, even still. There can be no superlative of her, never too much or too long with her. He'd never before jealously guarded his life; in the old times with Merle, even with Rick and the Atlanta survivors, he'd hadn't been exactly ready to die, but he had been reckless and never had a thing concrete to hold on for. Now he wants more, so much more with her, with their child. He would die for them without question, but every day he feels he has more to live for. He'd found that with Rick, with Carol, with Hershel, but so much more with her. He hadn't known he'd had it in him to be the man he is for her. It isn't that he hadn't had hope without her, he had. Hadn't it been him all those days, all those miles searching for Sophia? Hadn't he fought as hard as anyone to get out for the CDC before that countdown claimed them all? Hadn't he backed Rick all those times he'd insisted they'd find a place? It'd been him who'd time and time again trusted Rick, giving him space after Lori, not intervening, twice, when it had been just him and the Governor. He'd brought in the people from Woodbury, all the families and the travelers in from the road. He'd known Judith would survive. He'd been strong without her, he'd been brave without her, at times, he'd even been vulnerable without her. He hadn't needed Beth to keep him going, to keep his eyes fixed forward, he could do that on his own. Even after the prison, after Hershel and all their losses, Daryl hadn't given in, but all of that – from Sophia to Judith to all the others – it had been something separate from him. All that time he'd been on the outskirts – a contender in the conflicts, a leader even, but in another way a bystander. He loved the group, as much as he'd loved his own brother, but all that time he'd guarded his heart, guarded what was scarred and beneath the surface. The distance he maintained kept him part of it all but not. He was part of the group, and later a part of the family, but so too had he always been apart from the others, in a way that couldn't even be seen by the end. He had been his whole life. This remove was the only thing that'd let him follow Merle into the woods that day when his loyalties were split. Beth had shattered that – the walls, the distance. Slight and unpresuming as she is, she breached every defense he had. Beth Greene, little and stubborn and strong and bright and so damned clear-eyed, she'd stood toe to toe with him, hadn't flinched, hadn't seen him as the grown product of a broken kid. She'd looked him in the eye, seeing nothing but the man he was before her, and she'd held on. She hasn't let him sink away, hadn't let him buck and bolt. She'd held on with him through the grief, through the bitterness, through the fear and the wretchedness, and with her he is in it, with her, no longer able to view himself as something other, someone to lead the vanguard with significantly less to lose. His neck is in with hers, together holding out for the good moments as they come. Somehow he's been pushed to the forefront of his own life, in it deep, with so much more to lose, and so much more to fight for than he'd ever envisioned for himself.
He holds her small upturned face, cold at the nose and still childish cheeks, but warm beneath, warm in the tucks of her hair and in the slopes of her neck. He doesn't break away from her, held by the open, steady way she's looking up at him. Beth… No, there would never be enough of being with her. More looks, more touches, more talks, more heartbeats, more breaths. More. There can be no letting go. They are stopped here on the road meant to be switching places, but he's in no hurry to pull himself away from her. The electricity field spanning the small space between them quivers and quickens with a current of awakened anticipation, and wanting. His lips press to hers and the hands he's got on her pull her close, enwrap her; loathe to have to release her he breathes her in. Taking hold of this stolen moment with him, loving all that he is to her, Beth draws him in. Her mouth on his is warm in the cold night's air, the wind blowing at his back. Her lips against his, his tongue brushing lightly with hers, ignited by the tug of her cool fingers in his hair, he leans into her, hips to hips, driving at some complication of desire and frustration, losing his breath in her completely.
Standing there, surrounded by nothing but a black sky pierced through by an infinite sprawl of stars, Daryl does not recognize himself. In unsecured territory, likely hostile, not brandishing weapons nor poised to fight, not minding the larger fight but minding a girl, minding his heart, minding his desires over his instincts, Daryl is other than himself. No way he would have tolerated behavior such as this when the group was all together, still on the road. Putting self before safety, it's stupid, it's careless, leastways selfish, and he never used to cloud what was right and needed being done with what he wanted. He never used to think past survival, past keeping his head down, eyes forward, and head straight, but then Beth happened. Beth happened before he knew anything was happening, before he realized something shifted. Beth happened, changing everything. Instead of fighting, instead of mutely keeping his head down and self shut off, maintaining a secure distance from all around him, he's there with her, holding out hope for the future, building a family, opening himself to love, to being open. Different from what he once was he kisses her, his back to the night, bow slung back over his tattered wings. Beth's hands tangle in his hair and in the leather laces of his cut and she draws him in, like she does, like only she ever has, like it isn't in him to buck away, bristle, or shut down. With her he does not do that, not any longer. With her, there can be moments such as this, brief spells when fear and combat are not foremost on his mind. Beth, small, and his, and tough, and far from something to flinch from has turned this wicked world on its ear for him. It's no less terrible, no less lethal, but she buoys him above the muck, above the fray, above the evil dark shit that pulls a person down. Once he could do it for himself – when he was lighter, not so many connections, not so many ties and obligations, people he's beholden to, would live for, die for – but time passed, relationships were forged and sometimes lost, he's come to need her. "Girl," he breathes into her head as she holds herself to him, tucking her face into the warm nook in his bearded neck.
Inside the car, most likely chilled by the winter wind passing through the open doors, Simon breathes in quickly, shifts, and tucks into himself as he works to stay asleep. They both look backwards, shifting from their fleeting embrace. Beth sniffs in the cold air, rubbing at her frozen nose. "We should g't goin'."
Daryl sniffs as well, brushing hair back again from her face before he plants a kiss on her brow. "Yeh."
He shuts the door he'd stepped out from, climbs into the driver's seat and watches Beth cross to the passenger side. "Simon," she whispers as she pulls open the door.
"Sy," Daryl rumbles, reaching over and nudging the boy where he sleeps. "Kid."
Simon jerks awake groggy and mussed. Bleary eyed he looks to Daryl beside him. "Wha-at's up?"
Daryl jerks his head toward the back. "Take a break. Th' girl's takin' over." Simon yawns, rubs his eyes, and still half asleep he nods, unbuckles, and crawls into the backseat. Beth climbs in, shuts the door behind her, and passes back the balled up sweater to Simon.
"Keep it," he breathes, already mostly back asleep. Beth does, and settles in.
Glancing first at Simon and then at Beth, Daryl locks the doors then starts the engine, pulling back onto the road. He drives, turns up the heater, and takes a swig from his canteen. Gripping the wheel he looks over at Beth, still awake, watching both him and the desolate road. "We're here ag'in," he tells her. "Back." Daryl's eyes focus on the road ahead, the 'back' to which he refers. Reaching out to her he takes hold her ankle, rubbing it as he steers one-handed.
"No," she counters him, speaks softly, "we're not 'back'; we've never been here b'fore."
They're both right. After so long they are back on the road, back in a car, driving again without destination, but circumstances are not what you they were. She was little more than a kid then, and they weren't together. They weren't soon-to-be parents, and the world had been so different. In so many ways it could break their hearts to count. His hand releases her ankle and moves to her abdomen, remaining there softly.
"We good?"
"Good," Beth breathes, holding his hand in hers.
He looks at her, blinks. He looks back to the road, clears his throat. "We'll find someplace," he rasps.
Beth's eyes are on him, having no need to make reference to the world beyond their vehicle, beyond their family. "I'h know."
The next chapter is hardly started and it's already all tangled and complicated, meaning the next post may be some time from now. Thank you for hanging in in the meantime! Hearing from you means everything! :) Hope you all are well, and happy graduation to anyone who's got one this time of year!
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UPDATE: HELLO! I want to apologize for being away so, so long! This has been a MUCH longer absence than I had predicted. I want to sincerely thank you for your patience and continued readership! In my absence I have finished my graduate work, but as there is still my full-time job and other real life commitments, not to mention that when I took my break from this story I was already stuck on this next chapter, unfortunately, the next update is still some time away. But, I am getting back into it. I have not abandoned this story, and as I have already written my closing chapter, it's safe to say I never will. I'm anxious to get back to this story and to move past this particular plot roadblock. I've long had portions of FAITH (far ahead of our current place in the story) written and waiting to be posted, and I am excited to get to them! Some scenes/moments have been written for years. I remember watching Season 5 ep 10 when it first aired, fearing the focus on thirst was coming too close to something I'd had written for some time, fearing I could no longer post it. (I still (as we're halfway through season 7) haven't reached the point in the narrative where it fits to post.) All of this is to say two things: 1.) As the show moves on, introducing more characters and more worlds, it feels now like some of these older pieces I've written, once they're posted, may read like echos of the show or comics (though I have not read past the first 3 issues of the comics), or even other ffs (though I try my absolute best to avoid reading any stories close to mine in premise or even within the same fandom). I promise, I'll do my best to keep my ideas my own, within the realities of the TWD world. 2.) I should take this as a sign to just hurry up and write and post faster! (I'm working on it, I promise!) Till the next post, I hope you all are well, and that 2017 brings you health, safety, fortitude, good humor, and the quick success of the Alexandria-Hilltop-Kingdom alliance! Take care, and thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for reading!