A/N: WOW. I was overwhelmed by the response to chapter 4 and I just want to thank everyone who reviewed/favourited/followed/read this little story. This is the last chapter and most frustrating to write as I'm so fickle about endings. But I'm happy with it, and I hope you will be too.
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25.
It's only northern Georgia, but for all she knew, it could have been the arctic. Her jackets are always too thin and the wind chills her to the bone. Daryl's like human furnace, radiating heat and she finds herself wanting to be near him. Wanting to be surrounded by him.
But wanting is not reality. And she has to face the fact that all he sees now is a broken girl. All he sees is what he can imagine; a house of horrors and her as its prisoner.
Maybe that's why he's so agreeable to expanding on her hunting and tracking lessons; she decides early one morning, traipsing through the woods at sunrise. She's not inept; this she knows. Too many nights in the wilderness, just her and Annie has made her hyper-aware. She feels as though she's on full alert every waking moment of the day and even then, the slightest unfamiliar sound can wake her from her sleep. Or even the familiar - Judith's cries and Annie's whimpers and Maggie's uncertain, cautious footsteps hovering outside her door.
(He never makes a sound, never leaves a trace, save his shadow under her door, casting the room, her mind, into darkness.)
"Did you come by this way?" she asks, breaking the silence. The tracks aren't animal, too uneven and heavy. She guesses walker and grips her bow a little tighter.
"Nah," he mutters, on full alert.
"Left you signs where I could," she says casually, "carvings on trees, scraps of fabric tied around branches. Annie called it a 'trail of breadcrumbs'."
Beth laughs quietly to herself, Daryl watching her curiously. She wants to rub her fingers over her wrist, wants to press into the scar and watch the thin line go white and feel the blood pumping beneath. Wants to feel that she's alive and that this is not a dream.
Because every moment spent with him feels like one.
"Survival tips from children's stories," she murmurs thoughtfully, "maybe that's why they were ingrained into us from birth."
When the trail leads them to the small group of walkers, when she puts them down as easy as he does, when she searches them without hesitation, she feels his eyes watching, wary, afraid.
"What are you, Greene?"
She knows what he sees – sharp eyes, certain steps, a mess of tangled, dirty brown hair. She knows, because when she looks in the mirror, she sees the same thing.
A ghost.
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xxv.
The ring burns in her palm. She alternates between squeezing it in her hand, the ridges digging into her flesh, to staring at it, almost believing it not to be real.
He isn't back yet. Rick approaches her, cautiously, inquiring about his whereabouts and she can only give him a shaky smile and a you know, about. But Rick doesn't press the issue, knows well and good that Daryl can take care of himself, that Daryl will come back. To her, to his family.
Still, it hurts in a way that's unfamiliar. Hurts the same way it did when Shawn got bit, way back at the beginning when she believed, along with her father, that this would pass. That there would be a cure and the world would resume turning.
She takes refuge in the small room that Maggie and Glenn share, not her own. Sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed, staring at a ring that holds a million questions and answers that don't match at all.
"Beth?"
It's Glenn, voice measured and cautious and in the dark, she smiles at him reassuringly.
"Is Maggie about?"
He sighs, visibly relieved that it's a sister thing, not a problem he has to tackle. She doesn't blame him, not when she knows that every time he looks at her, every time they refer to her as his 'little sister' he sees the ghosts of his own flesh and blood and memories that threaten to overwhelm. She knows because he makes her think of Shawn, time and time again.
"Hey," Maggie joins him in the doorway, entering whereas he quietly leaves, closing the door behind him, "you okay?"
Beth holds out her hand.
"You knew about this?"
Maggie takes the ring in her fingers, tracing the smooth band, the elegant inlay of diamonds that sparkle even in the dim. It's not ostentatious. It won't catch, it won't hinder her ability to kill walkers. She knows he chose it for its practicality and she can picture him sifting through hundreds of rings until he found the one that said everything that he needed to say. The one that would keep her safe.
"I knew about its existence," Maggie says quietly, "he asked me today."
"Asked you for what?" Beth presses, hands nervously playing with the edge of her shirt.
"Permission to marry you."
She feels the breath she didn't know she'd been holding leave her lungs, in an audible rush. She doesn't have time to revel in the confirmation of what she'd only dreamed, because he's still out there, still hiding from her, still hiding from himself.
"You said yes?" Beth looks her sister in the eye.
"I said good luck," Maggie smirks, "and that you hog the covers."
"I do not!" Beth exclaims, grinning, snatching the ring out of her hand.
"You gonna put that on?" Maggie gestures to her hand.
"If he wants to marry me, he can ask me," Beth says quietly, slipping the ring into her pocket, "he can put it on my hand himself."
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26.
She wakes with a scream that he quickly muffles. Eyes wide, she flails around desperately, before she becomes aware of him, aware of her surroundings.
Annie stirs beside her, but doesn't wake, and for that, Beth is thankful.
"Come on," he murmurs, "got something we need to do."
If she could guess a time, she'd say 3am. It's dark, but so still, the house silent, save for familiar snores and the faint murmuring of those on watch. She rises, pulling on a jumper and a pair of fleece boots she found on a run and follows him downstairs, into the laundry.
"You need me to do your laundry or something?" she sasses, trying to lighten the heavy mood.
"Or something."
Though they have electricity, at night they use it sparingly. Tonight is no different; Daryl's chosen candles as their light source.
"Lean over," he murmurs, gesturing towards the laundry tub.
She gives him a questioning glance.
"I'm washing this shit out of your hair," he says gruffly, "so lean over."
Beth takes in the stack of towels, the anti-dandruff shampoo and box of baking soda. She's trying to do everything in her power not to cry because she hasn't since Judith and certainly doesn't want to in front of him. But she must be failing, when his fingertips reach out and brush the tears away before placing a towel across her shoulders.
The sob catches in her throat the moment the warm water hits her head. His hands are heavy in her hair, rubbing and scraping and massaging the shampoo mixture throughout her matted and greasy strands. He rinses it off and she opens her eyes long enough to see the dirt and brown dye mix together and run down the drain. It's a process he repeats several times until her neck aches and the water runs clear. He uses one of the towels to dry her hair, before leading her out of the laundry and into the shared living room. He sits on the couch and pulls her down with him, so she sitting on an angle and he's running his fingers through her clean, yet tangled hair. He works the knots like he would a snare, with gentle precision, until there's nothing to stop his journey from her scalp to her ends.
She falls asleep like that, pressed against him, his hands warm and heavy in her hair and when she wakes, she wakes sprawled against his chest, arms encircling her firmly, shiny golden blonde hair tickling her cheek.
And she feels whole.
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xxvi.
Kicking her legs back and forward, Beth hums quietly to herself, the wind rushing by her as she flies higher on the swing. The ring bumps against her chest, attached to the thin piece of cord that also holds her mother's necklace. They clink together lightly, the only sound to penetrate the dusk.
That and his less that quiet footsteps.
"Been waiting for you," Beth says quietly, bringing the swing to a halt. He looks sheepish, at least, with his crossbow hanging loose in his hand.
"Yeah," he murmurs, not meeting her eyes. She sighs, reaching around her neck to pull off the necklace. Untying the knot, she gently slips the ring off, holding it out to him.
"What is this?" she asks carefully, watching for his reaction.
"A ring," he says blankly. Beth's lips quirk up slightly, and she rolls her eyes.
"Yeah, I can see that. What is this?"
"You know," he mutters gruffly.
And it's the funeral home all over again. It's sitting together in the candlelight, it's what changed your mind. It's his eyes telling her everything words can't. It's her silent understanding, it's oh.
"Please, Daryl," she pleads, "just tell me."
He takes the ring from her, takes her left hand in his. For a moment, it's almost as if he seems confused at how these items go together, but any hesitation on his part is nonexistent as he slips the ring onto her finger.
"I'm not good at this," he says quietly, "never will be good at this. Don't know how to be good at this. But I love you. And I want you to be mine."
"Oh Daryl," she breathes, taking his face in her hands, "don't you know I'm already yours?"
The ring is a perfect fit. She taps his cheek with the cold metal band and he nuzzles into it.
(Her heart practically sings.)
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27.
In the days that follow, she starts to feel like herself.
It's not instantaneous; Beth knows that she'll never be who she was before. Then again, there are so many versions of past Beth that she struggles to even think of which ones she misses the most. But she feels the most like herself when he's beside her, teaching her how to track, how to shoot, how to field dress game. When he gently pushes her hair from her face when her hands are full or dirty. When he gives her that look, the one that creates a warmth in her stomach and sends shivers down her spine.
People start to notice. Annie starts to notice, and her teasing is not subtle.
You'll find Beth wherever Daryl is. And vice versa.
She makes a mental note to apologise to Maggie.
Their reactions are not negative. Far from it. Sasha tells her that it's good to see her smiling. Carol tells her that she seems lighter. Everyone tells her that her hair looks nice and slowly her signature ponytail and braid starts to replace her messy, haphazard bun. Annie notes the change with curiosity and Beth smiles, taking to braiding the younger girl's hair during quiet nights around the fire.
Like tonight. When Washington is on everyone's mind and the urgency is creeping in and sooner rather than later winter will be over and they'll have no more excuses to hide behind these walls. It's a tension that sets everyone on edge because this is the safest they've been since the prison, but even this house, with its solar panels and generators, can't sustain them in the long term.
They can't live there for the rest of their lives.
She's not privy to the conversations between Abraham and Rick, knows Daryl is, knows Glenn is. Knows Maggie is, by proxy. Maggie will never tell, but she recognises too well the concern in her eyes and the firm set of her shoulders, carrying her worries like a weight.
So she does what comes naturally. There's no jukebox and all.
I'll be the church, you be the steeple
You be the King, I'll be the people
While I was feeling such a mess, I thought you'd leave me behind
While I was being such a wreck, I thought you'd treat me unkind
But you helped me change my mind
And she feels her own spirits rising, feels the lyrics flowing through her and it soothes her nerves. Her fingers busy with Annie's hair, she doesn't need to look into anyone's eyes. Doesn't need to see the tears shining in Maggie's or the smile present in Glenn's. All she needs to see, all she needs to know, is Daryl, standing in the doorway, focusing intently on her.
Yeah, her.
She struggles to believe it sometimes too.
But it's Annie, with all her wisdom of youth, convincing her in their shared room of his devotion, of his affection. Love, she sighs, and Beth is quick to roll her eyes, to shut that down, because Daryl Dixon does not love her.
When he looks at her though…
Maybe. Just maybe. Maybe there's something. Maybe it is love and they just haven't noticed it yet.
You be the bird, I'll be the feather.
We'll be the best of friends forever.
While I was feeling such a mess I thought you'd leave me behind.
When I was feeling such a wreck, I thought you'd treat me unkind.
Then I found-
Forever! And Always!
You've got my love to lean on darling
All the days
Forever
Come with me
You've got my love to lean on darling
All the days
Beth thinks, looking at her family, looking at their smiling faces, that maybe this feeling of hope can get them through the many miles to Washington.
Scratch that, she knows.
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xxvii.
Beth resists the urge to scrawl Mrs Daryl Dixon all over her journal. Even though it's true.
It's still hard to wrap her head around, being a wife. It's not something she thought she'd be, in this new world, but curled around him, her head on his bare chest, he makes anything seem possible.
Truth is though, enjoys being Mrs Dixon, enjoys having someone to call her own. Someone to fall into bed with at the end of the day and someone to wake up with in the morning. When she writes about him, it feels surreal, like it's someone else's life. But this is hers, all hers. Forever, as long as that might be.
But she constantly glances at her ring, making sure that it's real, that they're real. And sure, her family sometimes catches her out, and Maggie never lets her live it down. She's in love, she reasons. She's in love and she doesn't care.
"It's not gonna disappear, you know."
Lying in their bed, hand stretched in the air, she rolls over to her stomach, her legs dangling in the air.
"Just checking," she smiles brightly, her hair loose around her shoulders. She's traded the nightgown for sleeping shorts and his shirt, much to his grumbling at the theft of his clothes. What's yours is mine, she sang once, and he merely smirked and declared that it looked better on her anyway. And that made her heart swell exponentially.
"Long day?" she frowns, watching as he rolls his shoulders. Silly question - every day is a long day. But he looks more tense than usual. "Sit down."
She pushes herself on her knees, kneeling behind him. Slowly, but firmly, she begins to work the muscles of his shoulders, breaking down the knots and the tension. He groans some, when she works loose a particular tight knot and moans when her lips press against his neck.
"Never had no massage that involved kissing," he teases as she nibbles gently at the skin there. She giggles against his neck.
"Well, this is a Beth Dixon special," she grins, her hands and lips working simultaneously.
"Beth Dixon," he murmurs, "sounds real when you say it."
"Always been real," she whispers, "never needed no name to make it so."
He leans into her touch as she soothes away his worries and god knows that in this messed up world, this just feels so right.
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28.
A soft popping noise wakes her from her sleep.
It's rare for her to oversleep, but Judith was fussing the night before, refusing to go down. She's quiet, but stubborn, well into her second year and starting to live up to all that embodies the 'terrible twos'. But it's rewarding in itself, her part in raising this little girl, such as when she wakes with the toddler leaning over her, small chubby hands pressed gently against her cheeks.
"Bef."
She breaks into a sleepy smile, hands coming up to embrace the little girl, making her erupt into a squeal of laughter.
The popping sound continues.
Watching the toddler from the corner of her eye, Beth shucks on a sweater and a pair of jeans, tugging on her boots before settling Judith on her hip. Making her way outside, she's surprised to see Annie and Carl lined up facing two make-shift targets, Daryl and Rick standing behind them, respectively, and the others watching from the sidelines.
Carol takes Judith from her, smiling at the two girls.
"It's an old fashioned shoot off."
Beth chuckles, rolling her eyes. Of course. Strolling past the small crowd, she makes her way beside Daryl, who has taken up the mantle of Annie's coach. Whereas Rick is vocal, shouting his encouragement, Daryl stands back silently, gnawing on his thumb, throwing out soft spoken advice.
"What's the score?"
"Tied," Daryl murmurs, "best out of five, two shots left."
"Three for three?" she asks, pulling her hair into a ponytail, holding it above her head while she fumbles around her wrist for her hair tie. His eyes linger on the curve of her neck, glazing over.
"Two a piece. Oakley here's a pretty damn good shot."
"Oakley, huh?" Beth grins, amused by the little nickname. Turning her head, Annie grins and Daryl gruffly tells her to pay attention.
"It's cute."
"Shut it, Greene."
His tone is teasing though, and she nudges him lightly. Carl lines up his shot and pulls the trigger, hitting the mark, Rick clapping him on the back.
"What's the wager?" Beth asks, curiously. Daryl shoots her a look. "Gotta be something in it for you if you care this much."
"Not for him, for me." Annie moves towards them, looking sheepish. "If I win, I get Carl's hat. If he wins, I have to kiss him."
Beth laughs, really laughs, shoulders shaking and everything.
"Seriously? That's the bet? Not, like, food or something?"
"Nah," Annie shrugs sheepishly, "I just really like his hat and Carl just really likes me."
"And your involvement, Dixon?"
"Just trying to help her defend her honour," he grumbles and Beth giggles.
"So chivalrous."
"Yeah, you know me."
"Quit stalling," Rick yells out, "take the shot."
Stepping back in front of the target, Annie takes aim, exhaling and pulling the trigger.
Hitting the mark.
Beth cheers loudly and Annie gives a little curtsey. Behind them, their family isn't choosing sides, per se, rather cheering for each of them in turn.
"Not over yet," Rick calls out to them, grinning, no malice behind his words. Shucking her arm over Annie's shoulder, the trio watch as Carl, with his father's encouragement, shoots his final shot and hits the target. The group erupt in applause and cheers and Annie glances up at her nervously.
"Hey," Beth says softly, "win or lose, everyone knows you're capable, okay?"
"Yeah, I know," Annie sighs, "I just didn't want to kiss Carl."
Beth chuckles at the younger girl's petulance.
"Shouldn't have made that bet, then," Daryl interrupts, scowling, "come on, Oakley, show these people what you're made of."
Forcing a smile, Annie nods briskly, marching towards the target. Standing back with the others, Beth grabs Daryl's hand, fingers entwining as she squeezes it nervously. His eyes glance down momentarily, but he remains focused on the scene unfolding before them. The girl, her stance strong, her breathing even, her straight arms. It's so silent, they can hear the leaves rustling in the trees.
Annie pulls the trigger.
And misses. But only just.
A miss is a miss though, as Carl whoops and Rick embraces his son. Everyone is full of congratulations and commiserations, but Beth is right, it's hardly a loss for Annie, with everyone looking at her with a newfound respect for her marksmanship and calm under pressure.
"I think my boy is waiting for something from the lady," Rick smirks. Beside him, Carl at least looks a bit bashful, maybe even a bit like he might want to rescind on the wager.
"Doesn't look like they want to," Beth tries to be diplomatic, glancing at the nervousness evident in both their young faces. It's clear that when they made the bet, Annie didn't think she'd lose and Carl didn't think there'd be this many spectators.
"These good people came to see a kiss," Rick shrugs, gesturing towards their family, who all start clapping and cheering. Beth might have found herself frustrated, were it not for the smiles on everyone's faces, how happy they looked, how at ease. For a moment, they weren't thinking of Washington. For a moment, they were just watching a couple kids takes part in a game as old as the wilderness around them.
"Just a kiss?" Beth questions uncertainly, "So, hypothetically, any kiss would do?"
"Beth?" Annie queries shyly, "what..."
Maybe it's her martyr complex when it comes to the young girl, her willingness to throw herself in front of any kind of fire to protect her (be it her safety or dignity). Maybe it's the way he gave her a nickname, how it amused her and sent her heart a-fluttering.
Hell, maybe it's because she just wanted to.
But she grabs Daryl by the vest, in front of everyone, and presses her lips to his, holding him tight while her family hollers and cheers around them. And even when her hand went slack, he didn't pull away.
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xxviii.
Going over lists, checking off items, she juggles Judith on one arm and a notepad in the other as she searches the property for Carol. It's a long journey to DC, when you travel the highways via major cities. For them, forever off the beaten track, it'll likely be three times that.
Maybe more, if they run into trouble.
Trouble these days spans beyond just a herd of walkers. Trouble takes a very human, very living form and they know that what they have (guns, food, women) is something that people will kill for. The thought makes her cradle Judith closer, curl herself tighter around Daryl.
But the way he holds her, sometimes she thinks she's not the only one with that fear.
She passes Annie and Tyreese practicing hand to hand combat, gives Rick, who is pouring over maps with Abraham, a quick wave. Spots her husband over the way, tinkering with the motorbike they found just for him, and it takes all her resolve not to change her course, to seek him out instead.
Resolve, her lips curl into a smirk, she doesn't really have.
"No you don't!"
Maggie grips her by the elbow, dragging her back towards her intended target. Beth pouts.
"Maggie."
"Don't use that tone on me," her sister chastises, scowling playfully, "or those doe eyes."
Beth's eyes immediately narrow.
"What, so I can't have any fun?"
"Not when there's work to do," Maggie says firmly, "that's the rule, kiddo. Work, then play."
Beth rolls her eyes, sighing heavily. Rather than scold, her sister grins, wrapping her arm around her shoulder.
"Never thought I'd get to experience this, Bethy," she chirps, pulling her close, "Both of us, married. Daddy would be proud."
"Yeah?" Beth's eyes light up, a smile gracing her features, "you think Daddy would approve?"
"He would be over the moon," Maggie chuckles, "just knowing that you are safe and loved. It's all he ever wanted. It's all I wanted."
"Maggie…"
"I'm sorry I didn't look for you," she says sombrely, "I know you saw the signs and I'm sorry, I thought…I thought it would be easier not to hope. I'm not strong like you, Beth. Not in the ways that truly count."
"It doesn't matter," Beth whispers, "this life, it's too short to be wasted on holding grudges. We have to treasure every moment we have."
"You're right," Maggie smiles, letting go of her sister and pushing her, not in the direction of Carol, but of Daryl and his bike. Beth gives her a confused look.
"Go," she smirks, "enjoy the sun and safety of the walls with your husband. You may be a Dixon, but you'll always be a Greene girl. And us Greene girls get what we want, you know."
"Yeah," Beth giggles, "yeah I know."
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29.
Annie groans.
"No more banjo, please…"
Giggling, then hiccupping, Maggie deposits the girl onto her bed, Beth rubbing her shoulder.
"I can't believe you, Maggie!" she hisses, "She's fourteen!"
"So?" Maggie rolls her eyes, "She can kill walkers but she can't have a single drink?"
"She had more a 'single' drink!" Beth scowls, "I leave you alone for an hour. An hour!"
"So you could go into the woods and make out with Daryl, " Maggie wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, "you're welcome by the way and I expect all the details later. When I'm sober."
"Nope," Beth sing-songs, "as punishment for getting a fourteen year old drunk, I'm not going to tell you anything. Especially not what Daryl Dixon does with his tongue."
"What!" Maggie screeches, no doubt waking those that were already sleeping, "You can't do that to me!"
"I can and I will," Beth retorts, "between you pestering me for all the sordid details and Annie's constant teasing, it's a miracle anything's happened."
Maggie chuckles.
"Funny how the world went to shit and you ended up with not one, but two annoying sisters," she teases, "at least you know now a little how I felt."
"Yeah," Beth rolls her eyes, "sorry-not sorry."
Collapsing on Beth's bed, Maggie shifts to the side, allowing Beth space to lie down. Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, the sisters listen to the creaking of the old house and the shuffling of those finishing their night time routines.
"That man would do anything for you, you know," Maggie states quietly, grabbing her sister's hand, "has done anything. He flat out refused to leave the state without you. Would have burnt down the whole woods to find you, if it came to that."
Beth blushes into the dark, and it's like Maggie can sense her embarrassment, squeezing her hand reassuringly, edging just that little bit closer.
"He's helping that girl, because of you."
"He'd help her regardless," Beth interjects.
"Probably," Maggie shrugs, "but we both know she's the exception, not the rule."
Beth sighs, turning her head to stare at the young girl sleeping peacefully. Some days she feels more like a mother than an older sister, offering counsel and a shoulder to cry on. Some days she feels twice her age, raising both a baby and a teenage girl and her heart aches with all the ways she could possibly fail them, has already failed them, even in small, insignificant ways that still keep her up at night. Some days she thinks that her greatest weapon in this world filled with evil is not her knife or her bow, but her heart. Some days she feels as if that will never be enough.
Some days she feels as if it is.
"He loves you, you know," Maggie whispers, "I've never seen a man love a woman as much as he loves you."
"Yeah," Beth swallows thickly, "I think I love him too."
And god, does her heart feel full.
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xxix.
It's their last night in their safe haven and all she wants to do is see the stars.
Beth knows this is ridiculous, knows that the weeks ahead will be filled with nothing but. It won't be the same, she reasons, with both herself and her confused husband. It will be Maggie and Glenn a few feet away, it'll be Judith, sweet Judith, in her care. It will be the ever-present fear and threat and him on edge even more because of her, always her.
So all she wants to do is lie on the grass with her husband and gaze at the stars.
"You know any constellations?" she asks yawning, knowing she should sleep but wanting to enjoy the time they have left.
"That's the big dipper," he points out gruffly, "and there's Orion."
"Amazing," she breathes, snuggling further into his shoulder, "I'm going to miss this, Daryl."
"The stars?" he asks, confused.
"No," Beth replies, "us. The quiet. Being alone."
"We'll find time," he murmurs shyly, and she smiles.
"Won't be the same. We'll have to tell everyone where we're going and they're gonna give us that look."
"Look?"
"You know," Beth giggles, "that look, like when we go off into the woods to…do things."
He rolls over, caging her with his arms, body hovering just above her, nuzzling into her neck.
"Tell me," he breathes, "what is it we do? What do I do to you?"
Oh god. She feels him then, hard against her thigh and her breath comes out shaky. His lips trail down the column of her throat, nibbling and sucking and she feels herself begin to unravel.
"You, ah…you love me," she blushes, feeling herself squirm, "with your lips and your tongue and your fingers and your-oh…"
She loses her train of thought when said fingers flick open the top button of her jeans, pushing them down, slipping under the hem of her underwear to dip beneath her curls.
"If I want to fuck my wife in the woods," Daryl growls, his fingers inching higher, rubbing against the small nerve bundle, making her twitch and jolt, "I'm gonna fuck my wife in the woods. No amount of looks we get is going to stop me."
"Oh god," she whines, and he adds another digit, but not before kissing her deeply, stealing the cry from her lips.
"Not god," he whispers, his fingers alternating between torturously slow to frenzied. She can't breath. "God could never make you feel this way. Only your husband. Only me. Say my name."
Beth moans.
"You're mine," he hisses, biting her earlobe, "say it!"
"I'm yours," she whimpers, feeling the build, feeling her body on the precipice, yearning for a release that only he can give, "oh Daryl, I'm yours!"
With that, she explodes, her head spinning from pure euphoria, from the power he has over her body and her heart. She looks to the stars to bring her back down to earth, but all she can see is a supernova.
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30.
"You wanna ride with me?"
Glancing up from her pack, she looks to him, eyes widening slightly.
"On your bike?"
"No, on Nelly," he snarks, "what do you think, girl?"
Rolling her eyes, she straightens, crossing her arms.
"You were almost chivalrous there for a minute, Mister Dixon, then you had to ruin it with your sass."
"Yeah, I'm a regular Prince Charming," he smirks, "and you're the one with sass mouth."
"Learnt from the best," she grins, gesturing towards Maggie.
"Yep, and now you're corrupting the youth of America," he complains, "Annie Oakley called me 'sir' just this morning. Didn't even bat an eye. Who knows what bad habits Lil' Ass Kicker is gonna pick up."
"If I had to guess," Beth tries to keep a straight face, but she can feel the cracks forming, "probably arson."
"You're hysterical," Daryl grumbles.
"You love me," Beth throws back and as soon as the words leave her mouth, she wishes she could take them back. It's all fun and games, this flirtatious banter, but the second some very real, and very serious words come into play, it starts to get dangerous.
It starts to edge into the territory of truth.
"I mean, I, uh…" she stutters, blushing, face growing hot.
"I do," Daryl interrupts, "I love ya, Beth. Ain't gonna lie about it or pretend otherwise."
This is everything she dreamed. This is everything she wished for in the whorehouse. This is the funeral home, in the candlelight, serious piggybacks, hands entwined.
This is perfect.
"I love you too," she whispers, "but I can't ride with you. I need to keep Annie and Judith safe. I can't leave them behind."
He understands, she knows he does. Knows because he's trying to do the same thing – keep her close, keep her safe. But she needs his protection less than those girls need hers and her place is not behind him, face pressed against his wings. Her place is in the backseat of a car with an toddler in her lap and a young teen falling asleep on her shoulder.
How she has changed. How she looks in the mirror and marvels at what she has become, what she is capable of. What she has done and will do.
"We all got jobs to do, huh?" he echoes her sentiments, reaching out, fingers brushing the sleeve of her jacket. Smiling, she pushes forward into his embrace, hooking her fingers into the loops of his jeans. Standing on her toes, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips, knowing that their family is probably watching them carefully.
"I want to," she breathes, "but I can't."
"I'll always want to protect you," he says quietly, "I'll always want to keep you close."
Pressing her forehead to his, she sighs.
"I'm not gonna leave you again," she murmurs, feeling his eyelashes flutter against her skin, "I swear."
His lips meet her, soft yet chapped and it's different from the woods, different from every stolen moment and every public one. It's a promise, it's a prayer, it's their past, present, and future. It's the moonshine shack and the funeral home and him killing himself to find her and her bleeding anger and rage to return to him. It's a puzzle complete.
It's a perfect fit.
.
.
.
xxx.
She giggles. Honest to goodness giggles.
"Shush," he grumbles, "gotta be quiet, girl."
"I'm ticklish," she grins, "you of all people should know this."
His fingers, tracing their way down her back to her hip, under her sweater. Her boots scratch against the rough nylon flooring and he stills her with his leg pinning down hers.
"Hmm," he hums, "I should, shouldn't I?"
Still, his fingers reach her waist, digging in just so, causing her to twitch and squirm.
"I like this," she breathes, "I like these moments with you."
It's not easy on the road, not for their family. There are too many walkers and other groups to avoid. There are close calls and Daryl's panicked cries when she throws herself into the fray.
(It's not my blood, she had to reassure him, over and over while her checks her for cuts and scratches. Baby, I'm okay, and god, he breaks her heart when he's like that, eyes wild, hands anxious, lip chewed to the point where it's bleeding.)
"I like them too," he grunts, and she imagines his face growing red in the dim from his confession.
"I love you," she breathes, "I love you in the best way possible."
He answers by entwining his hands with hers, the metal of her ring pressing into his skin He answers by wrapping her even tighter in his embrace, so she can hear his heartbeat and he can feel hers and she knows that they're beating as one.
Never doubts, never questions. Accepts blindly that love is flawed and love is frightening, but it's also exciting and wonderful. And she'll never love anyone as much as she loves this beautiful, damaged, selfless man. Who lifts her up and makes her whole and makes her brave. Who is every bit a part of her as she is of him.
It's two halves of a whole, personified.
It's a perfect fit.
.
.
Chapter songs:
'That's What's Up' - Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros
'No Rest' - Dry the River