Chapter Two

-o-

"So, Daryl, are you a dog or a cat person?" Beth asked, pulling off two sheets of paper from a nearby pad and starting to quickly jot things down.

"Why does that matter?" Confusion was clear on Daryl's face as his eyes followed her around the room, making no attempt to sit up off of the table.

"We have to account for all medical equipment and drugs, I'm about to use some local anaesthetic, so do you want to be Daryl the dog or Daryl the cat?" Beth shrugged showing him the form, even though she knew it probably made no sense to him.

"Dog, I guess. But hey, you're not going to knock me out or anything right? I can take it, don't need'ta be out for this. I've had worse, jus' couldn't get to the hospital and couldn't get the angle right to stitch myself up."

That was the first time Beth had seen any hint of true emotion from him, discounting sarcasm, and it shocked her that he appeared afraid. Afraid of what? That she would knock him out and call the cops? That she, or someone else, could hurt him whilst he was out?

Beth shook her head at him, pushing her fringe away from her eyes, the loose strands falling from the messy braid after a day of her worrying at it, and scrawled a quick signature on the forms."No, don't worry, it'll just numb the area so that I can stitch you up. Have you had a tetanus shot?"

Daryl propped himself up on one elbow, allowing him to follow her with his eyes as she paced around the room, gathering bits of equipment with the familiar ease of someone who had navigated this room often and placing them beside him.

"I'm going to take your silence as a no, you need to go and get that. It'll cost you around eighty-five bucks without insurance, but if you get sick, it'll cost you a whole load more, especially off an unclean substance like a–" she paused and fixed him with a challenging glance, "–razor. Are you allergic to anything that you know of?"

"Seafood."

Beth snorted and returned to stand beside him, "I don't think that's going to be an issue."

Daryl shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah well, ya never know."

"Lie back," Beth mumbled, reaching out a hand and gently touching Daryl's shoulder, meaning to guide him back down onto the table so that she could begin her examination, but startling when he recoiled, hissing in pain at the movement.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean–"

"It don't matter." He snapped shortly, rubbing at his beard-stubble and lying back in an attempt to look relaxed, betrayed by the clenching of his jaw and the unconscious tightening of the knuckles holding his shirt away from the laceration.

"Okay, um, I'm going to– I'm gonna get started okay? Tell me if you need me to stop. Like, at all. I can stop straight away to give you a minute if you need one. If you feel dizzy or lightheaded at any point, you have to tell me, okay? The last thing I need is you going into shock. I'm already breaking the law by practicing on a human subject, I don't need the paramedics here to witness it." Beth took a deep breath, thinking back to the last time she'd stitched something up.

The dog had been unconscious following keyhole surgery.

What if she scarred him badly? What if there was internal bleeding?

She was sure it wasn't deep enough to be a stab wound, more like the unlucky graze of a knife. Why it had happened, she neither needed nor wanted to know, but she found herself curious as to his background. He had flinched away from her as though expecting a blow, or some other form of force. Maybe it was just the incessant paranoia of being a gang member, constantly on your guard for anything that could go bad.

There was only one other person Beth knew for whom unexpected touch could elicit that kind of response, and that was her father. The result of a childhood dodging bad moods that were followed by blows. The preceding wariness a survival technique.

Daryl.

Beth knew that she was staring, searching his face for some sort of explanation that she was almost certain he would never offer up. And what right did she have to expect him to? She wasn't egotistical enough to believed that he owed her anything; this was a favour, not a debt.

The man on the table regarded her with a steady stoicism, eyes flicking from her face to where her hands gripped the edge of the table, before sighing.

"Look, you don't have to do this. If you give me the needle and thread I can do it myself, I ain't gonna make you do this if you don't want to."

Daryl made to heave himself from the table, the pained tightening of his expression spurring Beth into action.

"No, I can do it– I can. Just, keep still, I need to try and clear up the blood before I can do anything else."

Plunking herself onto a nearby stool, Beth grabbed an antiseptic wipe to try and clean up around the wound, seeing too much blood to try and decipher how badly the laceration was still bleeding.

Daryl didn't flinch when she touched his stomach, but sitting so close, Beth couldn't help noticing the subtle intake of breath and clenching of already constricted hands. She worked as gently as she could, clearing away wet blood on top of dried blood, stroking over the areas with wipes until tanned skin was finally visible beneath the red hue.

He was much fitter than Beth had originally thought. Not ripped like most guys thought attractive. There was no six pack, no bulging muscles on his stomach, but nevertheless he was toned and solid beneath her fingers. His arms were muscled and the dirty black stains on them appeared to be some form of oil. It looked too well sunken in to be blood.

So he works with his hands, that would explain the natural definition in his arms.

Shane had always been proud of his steroid induced body, proud to show off his guns, taking his shirt off at every opportunity. Him the social butterfly whilst she was happy to lag behind, comfortable in his shadow. Now the darkness was gone and she felt exposed, vulnerable.

Raw.

Her gaze was drawn to the soft, sparse hair under his navel; the same dark brown colour as his hair, she noted idly, tracing its path with her eyes to where it disappeared beneath the waistline of his jeans and she quickly averted her eyes, refusing to be caught staring at the crotch of a man she had just met. The man who could still decide to mug her, or worse.

His eyes were half closed, thankfully, when she quickly looked across at his face, concentrating on a spot on the ceiling rather than what she was doing, his body still all tense lines and uncertainty, like an animal ready to fight or flee if necessary.

He was good looking, Beth thought, in that rugged grab you against a wall and fuck you kind of way, not that that had ever happened to her.

Sharp cheekbones and intense eyes, a mop of unruly hair with a not quite beard that was slightly lighter in colour than the rest. She couldn't say handsome– no, that wasn't the right word. He was unconventionally attractive, the bad boy image only adding to his appeal.

Feeling her cheeks redden, she turned back to the laceration, dipping a gauze pad into the saline solution and clearing her throat. "This will definitely sting."

"I'll be fine," Daryl replied, giving her a reassuring look despite his increasingly pale complexion.

Beth shook her head, putting the gauze pad down and reaching for the hypodermic needle sat on the tray of tools. "On second thought, I'll numb the area first. I don't think your day needs to get any rougher."

She waited until he nodded before prepping the needle and pushing it numerous times into the skin around the gash and deploying the drug, feeling his eyes on her now and knowing that the scales of control were tipping away from him. Beth could have injected him with a number of drugs and he couldn't have done anything about it. Sedation would have been the smartest thing to do. Knock him out and call the cops, as he had feared she might.

He had trusted her and Beth felt her guard beginning to come down. She was no longer terrified. Scared still, yes. But he didn't seem like the crazy dangerous type.

"You could do with some food, get your blood sugar back up whilst we wait for that to kick in," Beth said, binning her gloves and producing a bottle of Gatorade and a Hershey's bar from one of the cupboards. When it looked like Daryl might argue, she continued. "From your clothes and stomach, it looks like you lost a fair bit of blood, so as soon as you don't feel the pain any more, your adrenaline levels are gonna go through the floor and you're gonna feel like shit if you don't replace some of the electrolytes. At least try to eat and drink some."

With a sigh, Daryl nodded, taking an obedient swig of Gatorade and breaking a piece of chocolate off before offering her some.

"Thanks," Beth smiled slightly, grateful to have something to do with her hands, suddenly fidgeting without the repetitive actions of before.

Daryl seemed to realise, the lines of his face smoothing into something softer as he seemed to really look at her for the first time, not commenting on her ragged appearance, the stains on her scrubs or the fact that Beth felt herself close off at the scrutiny, even when she saw no hint of judgement in his expression.

"So– um, why are you here at this time'a night? Don't clinics like this ever close?" Daryl asked, the small talk seeming a big effort.

"We're open 24 hours through the week, but we close early on Saturdays and we're completely closed Sundays. We have an emergency on-call vet for Sundays. I'm here tonight because my Daddy is no good at paperwork and someone has to help our receptionist out," Beth shrugged, "that and, my apartment isn't somewhere I want to be right now."

Daryl raised an eyebrow, the movement prompting her to continue.

"My boyfriend is moving out– or has moved out– as we speak. Probably heading to his, other, girlfriend's place." Beth didn't know why she was telling him that, she didn't know him, he didn't care. But still, it felt good to tell someone.

Her Daddy didn't know yet, neither did her brother and sister. But this man, this stranger before her did. He wouldn't judge her, didn't know her enough to judge.

"I'm sorry." Daryl said simply, clearing his throat when she didn't reply and the silence became awkward. "A girl like you won't be on your own for long though, I guess."

Beth heard herself snort and she averted her eyes, shuffling her feet and biting back the bitter reply that threatened to spill from her. Daryl bent his legs, placing his feet flat on the examining table as opposed to dangling comically over the edge.

"Hey, I think this is pretty numb. I don't hurt so much any more."

Beth smiled apologetically at him, immensely grateful for his perceptiveness. "Great. I'll get on with it and then we can both get out of here. Not exactly party central on a Friday night, right?"

Daryl gifted her a small laugh, the noise seeming to surprise even himself a little and Beth found that she loved the sound of it, sensing the rarity and wanting to lock it away as a souvenir, like a precious gem.

"Not exactly how I planned on spendin' it no," he admitted with a grimace, taking another swig of Gatorade as Beth resumed cleaning the wound.

They fell into a companionable silence, much different to their previous one, this time Beth concentrating on getting any dirt or debris out of the cut and Daryl falling back into what seemed to be his normal state. He wasn't much for small talk it seemed and Beth honestly didn't mind, not sure she could concentrate on maintaining a conversation as well as making sure the sutures were correct.

As far as patients went, Daryl was a good one. He barely moved as she began to stitch him up, watching her hands with vague fascination until she finished, covering the wound with a piece of gauze and taping it into place. Beth was pleased to note that it didn't appear to be bleeding any longer and it was completely clean.

"Okay, done. You can jump down now," she smiled, pulling off the fresh pair of medical gloves and stepping away. "The stitches should dissolve within between 7-10 days and as long as you keep it clean and go get that tetanus booster, you should be okay. Try not to get the bandages wet, I'll send you home with some more and you should change it once a day before bed. Use a saline solution to clean it, which is essentially just salt water rather than iodine or any other heavy duty creams, as they can slow the healing down even more. Be careful if you're planning on lifting anything heavy in case you tear the stitches, and I think that's everything."

"Okay." Daryl accepted the bag of bandage handed to him gratefully, once again meeting Beth's eyes, looking like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how to.

Beth waited, her breath catching in her throat at the softness in his face. Had no one ever done this guy a favour? Apparently not, if the way he was looking at her was anything to go off.

"Thank you," he mumbled, voice low but eyes full of gratitude.

"You're welcome."

The air between them had grown thick and for a long moment they both stood, just staring at each other and Beth wondered whether he would try to kiss her. He didn't, and Beth wasn't sure whether to be thankful or disappointed. Definitely confused about how she could want it, considering both their circumstances, and why. Only an hour ago she had thought he would rob her, but somehow, in the minutes that had passed, and without realising it, Beth had grown comfortable around him. The silent strength that radiated from him which had at first scared her now provided a sense of ease. She almost didn't want him to leave, but when he stepped around her, she let him go, following him silently to the door.

"Stay safe," she told him gently as he exited the clinic.

"You too," he returned the sentiment, pausing before turning back towards her slightly. "And, just so you know, he's an idiot for doing that'ta you."

Beth inclined her head in thanks, eyes finally becoming watery as he began to walk away. She watched him until he turned onto another street before gathering her things and locking the clinic, heading for her beat up old Ford Mustang.

It wasn't until she was finally in her car that Beth actually reflected on what had happened, laughing out loud at the absurdity of the situation.

A gang member bleeding all over her daddy's clinic.

No, not 'a gang member'– Daryl.

It seemed so wrong to tar someone as evidently complex as Daryl with one brush.

As she drove away, Beth wondered if helping Daryl would cause trouble for them? Would more of them come, expecting the same help and assistance that Daryl had found? But one thing stuck in her mind above everything else.

She hadn't even told him her name.

-o-