Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I'm gonna leave a thank-you note," Beth decides. She's got her notebook open over the kitchen table, and Daryl reminds himself to check the house for any others he may find before they leave. He knows the girl's bound to fill her journal sometime, and it's best for him to carry more weight than for her to go without writing.

Daryl is still not done with the jam, though he's eating it with a spoon instead of cramming his fingers into the jar now, since Beth's taking to complaining about how gross he is. Daryl doesn't get how the girl can still care about his table manners in the middle of the apocalypse, but fine — she asked him to use the spoon, he'll use the damn spoon.

"Why?"

That's another thing he doesn't get. Beth still worries about the dead after seeing all this destruction, still wants to make sure they're taken care of, no matter if they're walker, human or animal. Still worries about being polite and kind to those around, even if she doesn't know or particularly like them; still gets concerned over Daryl's sleep and over how ripe the fruit she's picked for him is, and Daryl just can't wrap his head around the reason why.

That's not entirely accurate — he knows Beth's sitting here, writing by candlelight, wasting paper and pen over something no one might ever see just to be nice. What really keeps Daryl is the how.

Beth is just— sweet, sweet and pure and good; saccharine, even, and Daryl has got no idea what to do with it. Can't figure out what to do with every stupid butterfly — though he's sure he'd more likely have some flies or mosquitoes or some shit like that flying around his guts; butterflies are reserved for girls like Beth, for the angel-like, seraphins of them — that's raised flight inside his stomach at it.

"For when they come back," she explains. Beth's never angry at his questions, just like he doesn't get angry at hers anymore. Then, she corrects herself, nodding, "If they come back," because Beth Greene may be just a girl and the best thing that's ever happened to him, but she's far from delusional.

She sets on to writing then — something he's seen in their time alone, watched her brows scrunch together as she frowns right before scratching over a line, watched her hand move with the pen as it dances over the page, graceful as it is certain, the way her lips thin into a straight line just after a hard day as her grip on the pen tightens, focused on getting everything out.

Daryl could watch her for hours and has before, under the guise of having nothing better to do to pass the time, his heart beating faster at Beth's blush whenever she caught him. He pretended to sleep, then, arm under his head in the cold, hard floor of the woods, one eye cracked open so he could sneak peeks at Beth in her best, free and genuine.

She doesn't get far before she pauses again to keep talking:

"Even if they're not coming back, still wanna say thanks."

Beth hardly ever shuts up. It bugged him, at first — they didn't even know each other, despite spending some time together on the road, on the farm and at the prison, and now this girl was just shoved into his arms and didn't even have the decency to stay quiet?

Daryl knows Beth probably talked so much because he hardly ever did and so she tried to fill the silence, but now, it's… good. Heavenly, even. They don't talk all the time — no matter how much Daryl likes her, he still likes the quiet, still has those days when the only thing she can get out of him are a few grunts, but just as he's gotten better at talking, Beth has gotten better at understanding him, has learned that's just how Daryl is, doesn't let herself be bothered by his silence anymore.

Truth be told, Daryl likes hearing her talk — likes the peach-sweetness of Beth's voice, her accent, the drawl that's not as thick as his is, likes that gentle, coaxing thing she can do. Most of all, Daryl likes that Beth talks to him.

That it's not just her blabbering, scared and angry in the wake of her father's death; it's not that Daryl just happens to be there, in hearing range, and it's not that there's no one else to listen to her — it's not, because Daryl is quite sure that if Beth started talking to the animals and the trees, they'd flock around and answer, like she's fucking Snow White or something — it's about Beth wanting to talk to him, wanting to share things with him, thinking about something and deciding she wants Daryl to take a look at that tiny little piece of her mind, deciding she wants him to see her up close. It's such a high to be wanted like this — to be needed, be cared for by her, of all people, that Daryl gets dizzy if he thinks about it too much.

Beth goes back to writing and Daryl doesn't want to disconcert her — the girl has a note to write, after all, and the candlelight is too bright for him to be able to fake-sleep this time —, so he drags his eyes away, occupies himself with getting his spoon clean of any traces of jam. It's blueberry and it's damn good and he's not wasting a single drop.

He tries to focus, and he tries not to say it, but he's been thinking about it the whole day, ever since he got everything locked and saw Beth's happy little grin at the sodas, and it turns out not talking is harder for him than shutting the fuck up this time.

"Maybe you don't have to leave that," and it's too late to back down now — Beth is looking up at him, trying to understand what Daryl is telling her, trying to get if he's gonna make fun of her for it, and Daryl forces himself to keep talking. "Maybe we'll stick around here for a while. When they come back, we'll just make it work."

It's something Beth might say; something hopeful, something that's counting on other people's kindness, and maybe the girl's rubbing off on him a little bit after all. "They may— may be nuts, but we'll be alright."

It's far too risky; there are way too many what-ifs involved, and Daryl knows that a plan that runs on more positive thinking than rationality, than facts and proof, is not a plan at all, it's a wish, but he can't bring himself to give a flying fuck.

Now, Daryl may have a thick head, he may be a little slow on picking up a few things and he may not know how to do long division, but he's far from stupid. He'd have to be an utter and complete moron not to notice his own feelings for Beth — the lingering stares, the careful, tender touches, the fact he can probably cite every single mole that litters her body, the easiness he feels around her in a world littered with death, living from squirrel meat, berries and river water.

And Daryl would have to be an even bigger moron if he actually thought, for one second whatsoever, he had any chance with Beth.

Beth is— Beth is the scorching summer sun, the afternoon breeze wafting by as the sun sets; is fingers sticky with juice from ripe, tender peaches, and a smile that comes too easy for someone who's lost everything she's ever known. Daryl is just… he's weird and too old, he's never quite gotten that good a grasp on personal hygiene and he's fit to this new dumpster fire of a world of theirs like a glove. He's never even entertained the idea of Beth and him together, and to be honest, Daryl isn't even sure he'd want to try that — it's more than enough to be by Beth's side, to bask in her presence, to be able to live the last few days of this miserable life of theirs listening to her laugh.

But today, Daryl has thought of this: a house, that mutt that came crawling to their doorstep, windows in the daytime and the piano downstairs, a pantry full of food and Beth; Beth's smiling face, Beth's grin painted by the golden tinge of the sun, that near-religious experience that is being by surrounded by her happiness, her blinding presence as Daryl fries the eggs for their breakfast and stares, stares and stares and this wave of want that hit him was strong enough to make him shiver, to make every hair of his body stand on end, and that's how Daryl realized he'd give Beth Greene anything.

She's smiling now, all pleased, all happy, and it's everything Daryl could ever want.

"So you do think there's still good people around," Beth says, languid, slow in her giddiness like dripping warm honey.

Daryl kind of shrugs, looking away. He's talked too much already and this isn't how he wanted this to go — he's a little embarrassed now, ears tinging pink, and it's just like that time Beth changed in front of him and he ended up looking at her by accident, and then couldn't bring himself to look at the girl's face for a week. God, but that was a boring fucking week.

"Well, what changed your mind?"

Daryl lifts his eyes, wants to see her, and Beth is looking at him so— so lovingly, with so much care, so unbelievably happy Daryl is sharing something of his with her, so miraculously excited to hear what he has to say, to understand him that teensy bit more.

It took him a while to figure it out, to really get just why Beth was so crazy about this, to make peace with the fact she wasn't trying to use her knowledge against him — aside from the tickling, of course —, but instead was more than glad to simply get to know him, was satisfied just learning more about him.

And this? By Beth's standards, this is a mine of gold, if her smile is any evidence of how excited she's gotten, and a question Daryl plans on never, ever answering. It hits too close to home and there's no way he's getting away with platonic if he tells Beth about how she restored his love for humanity, so, no. Not happening.

Daryl looks away and he looks back to her and that same insistent smile is plastered on her face, along with the heat on her cheeks, and he knows by now Beth is as stubborn as a bull when she wants to be, knows she won't let this go until Daryl gives her an answer, so he shrugs.

"You know," he says, and that's really as good as it'll get.

Beth is not stupid. She's young and she's learning and she believes in the best of everyone around her, but she's not stupid. There's no way she hasn't caught on yet — Daryl keeps it bottled up, right in here, inside, but it's the first time he's felt this type of all-consuming love and there's no fucking way Beth didn't see it, didn't see him.

But Beth is still looking at him like that, in the soft light of the kitchen, still eagerly waiting for an answer, excited like she's got some right over his mind, like it's a gift she'll cherish, and Daryl's blush is spreading to his cheeks and he's starting to sweat a little bit upon her close inspection, squirming in his chair a little.

Daryl busies himself with the jam again as Beth asks "what?", persistent, stubborn, with the same caramel-sugar sweetness as before.

Daryl grunts noncommittally, trying not to ogle the girl too much, trying to say without the words he knows he won't ever manage to get past his throat that it's Beth, she did it, it's her, it's all her.

"Don't," Beth continues with a mock imitation of his grunt. She's getting a little annoyed at him, Daryl can tell, annoyed he's making her work for her answer seemingly out of spite, and Daryl can't ever hope on explaining to her just why. "What changed your mind?"

He hasn't stopped looking at her. Daryl stares right into her eyes, big and twinkling, dancing in the flames of their candles, and something in his face must soften helplessly at the sight of her cheeks or something must harden, tortured, at the curve of her brow, but everything clicks into place and understanding slacks Beth's face.

"Oh," she says, voice small, a little awed, and Daryl knows he's been found already so it doesn't even matter anymore.

His heart is pounding in his chest and his palms are sweaty and Daryl's first instinct is always to run, but today, he stays put, shivers inside their warm house and lets his gaze lower itself down to Beth's lips.

Daryl doesn't usually let himself look — he's too afraid. He's spent most of his life afraid and he's afraid of this too, of fucking up, of not being able to hold back one of these days and doing something hateful, something stupid, but now he's allowed to stare, to take in the plushness, the delicate rose-pink of her lips, and it's— Daryl's grip on that damned jar is tightening and he doesn't really know what to do, too frightened of what Beth might do now; he can't bring himself to move but he can look, he can memorize the dip of her cupid's bow and the shape of her chin for those endless days on the road once Beth decides she's leaving.

"Daryl," her voice is whisper-soft, tender, and he flinches at it. Daryl knows he should be a man, can hear Merle's voice inside his head, taunting him, but he also can't help but drag his eyes away, turning his face away from Beth's, his breaths coming in huffs.

He can hear the soft clatter Beth's pen makes as it's dropped onto the table, can hear it when she calls his name again, a little pleading, makes Daryl hide into himself further. There's a sigh, a pause, and a hand tugging at his chin, all in quick succession. The hand that moves him is gone and then replaced by two, two dainty little palms he knows well, pressed at his cheeks, Daryl's beard prickling her skin, and he doesn't have time to turn away before he's being pulled, tugged in the opposite direction.

Beth's lips are cracked, as are his, but her kiss is sweet, soft, a press of a sealed mouth against his, tender and loving and inexperient before she pulls away. Daryl drags himself back onto her mouth, slots his lips onto hers, a little too rough, a little awkward, but it's so much and it's been so long and he'll enjoy just that.

Beth giggles, pulling away, and Daryl digs in for yet another one, thirsty for it, for Beth's breath onto his cheek, for the smack of their lips together, determined to make the most of this while he can.

The girl pets him, thumbs at his cheeks, lets him nuzzle onto her and kisses back just as needy, just as incredulous this is real, this is happening, until her hands leave his face in favor of his chest, looking for leverage to pull him away. They only go far enough so their noses are still touching. Beth rubs his nose over hers, all sweet, still laughing softly, and Daryl's breath catches, heart pounding; oh, God, he can't do this, he really can't—

"Yeah," Beth breathes, sighs something Daryl can only think of as a lovesick little sigh. "We should stay."