If I Could Breathe

Chapter 1 - The Map

He'd never driven a speedboat before.

The only boats he knew were the small kinds. Little paddle boats. Little measly sanded down wooden boxes that floated out on lakes with no waves. His experiences on them were to throw out a line, catch a pathetic little fish that was so small you were sort of a dick if you didn't throw it back. Maybe chug a beer. Paddle back a little buzzed. Rinse, repeat. It's what every redneck in Georgia did on a sunny Sunday morning.

But this? Fuck, this was nothing like that. The waves. The wind. The smell of the salt water surrounding them in every direction. Map in his hand, long, greasy strands of his hair flapping in the wind, Daryl Dixon felt like a motherfucking pirate. Hell, maybe even a captain. He chuckled at the thought. All he was missing was the hat.

The map. The map had started all of this for them; a tiny beacon of hope in the dismal fucked up world they had finally come to terms with living in.

It had been four months since the prison had fallen, Beth was pretty sure of it. She said she'd been keeping track in that little journal of hers - tally marks for all the days, a cross through each week. Daryl was sure they were in the winter months by now, but wherever they were in the world, winter didn't matter anymore. They'd made it to a place that was just warm all the time.

Sure, Georgia was warm for the most part, even in the winter. Daryl could count on his fingers how many times he'd actually ever seen snow, but it was never warm like this. Georgia was hot like the depths of hell. This place was pleasantly warm. Paradise warm. The kind of warm people traveled thousands of miles to get to. And they were here. And it made things slightly better.

Slightly.

They'd spent two months in Georgia, just looking. Walking in circles, Daryl was sure of it. But she had wanted to look, and Daryl had let her. He wasn't going to tell the poor girl no for god's sake, truth be told he had wanted to look too. But after they'd seen Glenn's message to get Maggie to go to Terminus and then found the whole place blown apart, she'd sort of given up hope. And he sure as hell didn't blame her.

So then, she wanted to go south, and they spent a good month in transit, hoping that was the direction everyone else went in. They followed the roads, until they couldn't anymore. They'd reached the Gulf somewhere in the southern tip of Florida, and settled themselves into a small house near the water.

It'd had the potential to be a home, just like the prison. They had food and blankets and even a gas stove, but a hurricane had moved right on through after just a week or two - thanks a fuckton Mother Nature - and the roof blew right off the place and that had shattered Beth's little heart into even smaller pieces.

After that, Daryl stopped knowing what to do or what to say to her. He was sure she'd rip open those wounds on her ghostly pale wrists again. They just couldn't seem to hold anything together. The rug was always being ripped out from underneath their feet.

But then, as if on cue, as if the universe knew they might not make it any further without anything good, they'd met him. The nameless man at the marina. It had been Beth's idea to look through the boats. See what they could scavenge. Find a yacht maybe. Pretend life wasn't as shitty as it really was. Maybe find some more booze, Daryl thought, cheer the girl up.

Instead, they found him.

He was sunburnt, badly. His large, crooked nose was beet red and peeling - same with his shoulders and back. Barefoot and dressed in a loose, torn tank-top and shorts, he sat on the edge of the dock, his legs swinging over the water, bumping into the boat next to him. It seemed to be the only one still in relatively in tact.

He was alone and unthreatening, drinking straight from the rum bottle Daryl had, in his mind, intended for his companion. They came upon him together, Daryl in front of Beth, always protecting, carefully approaching.

"Ya'll should work on your stalking skills," the man slurred, not turning to look at them.

"We're not lookin' for any trouble," Daryl said immediately, knowing there was a fifty fifty shot things would go to shit. Well, maybe sixty, forty, with their luck. "Just for some food."

The man looked over his shoulder at them. What a pair they must have looked like - malnourished and tired, dirty and greasy and so fucking angry. They probably looked like walkers themselves. "This is my boat," he announced, motioning towards the vessel he was kicking. "You want it?"

He could feel Beth look at him, but he didn't return the gaze. "Why?" Daryl asked. His words sounded as curious as he felt.

"Don't have a use for it no more," the man replied with a sigh. He took another swig from his bottle. "Ya'll look pretty roughed up. Maybe you can use a pick-me-up."

"Do you have food?" Beth asked pathetically, sounding smaller than she actually was. She was pleading. He hated that she was. It meant, inadvertently, that he couldn't provide.

"On the boat. A few cans of old things I never got around to eatin'," the man answered, looking away from them again. Beth stayed stark still next to him, though he could practically hear her stomach growl from where he stood. Apprehension seethed through the air. Good girl, he thought. "Don't worry," the man continued, his words slurring together. "I'm in no position to be tryin' anythin' funny with you two. It's just me, you know. And this is my boat."

"Where are you from?" Beth asked kindly, this time, taking a step forward. Daryl took the same step with her, instinctually. They might have been one person at this point, they were so in sync. To an outsider, perhaps it would seem odd, but their intuitions about each other had been pertinent to their very survival.

"An island," the man replied. "A safe one. None of those monsters you see on the mainland. Nope. Not one. Not one of those fuckers. That place is safe. And it's not very far from here."

Beth gazed at him again and this time Daryl returned it. Her eyes were wide, but that brightness he'd seen them hold before was gone. It had been for quite some time now. He tried to remember what she had looked like with it. The little sparkle.

"And you can get there on your boat?" Beth asked, not breaking her gaze with Daryl. They'd been together so long, they could practically communicate without words.

"If you want to. I've left. And I can't go back. But you can. You can. You can go," he said urgently, the words sounding fluid in his stupor. The bottle suddenly slipped out of his hands and some of the rum splashed across the wood of the dock giving off a powerful smell that made Daryl's stomach churn. "Oh no," the man moaned, picking it up delicately. He looked at the liquor longingly. There was just enough for one last sip inside of the bottle.

The man stood up then, bottle in his hand and faced them both, his eyes narrowed in a squint. Daryl studied him. He couldn't have been much older than he was, late thirties or early forties, but the world. God, the world had done a number on him. The world had done a number on them all. He had olive skin that had been burnt to shit by the sun. His full beard was dark, gray peaking through at the ends, just like Daryl's. Besides his sad green eyes, Daryl could have been looking in a mirror.

"Y'know, it's funny. I drew a map. Left it inside the boat for someone else to find. Someone stronger than me. I didn't know you were coming, but here you are." He let a small chuckle go. Daryl and Beth stayed rooted to their spots.

"This place, the island," the man said, pausing in thought for a minute, "It's happiness. But happiness is just a moment before you want more happiness, you know?"

He looked at them, his face melting into a sad frown. So sad, Daryl almost felt like he could cry himself, but panic overtook him in an instant when he saw the gun being pulled from the man's pocket.

"Fuck man!" Daryl jumped in front of Beth who squealed in surprise, probably not even seeing the gun in his hands. "I told you, we don't mean no—"

A shot rang out, before Daryl could even finish his sentence, before his eyes could really focus on this man and what he had done. Beth's hand was gripped tightly around on his arm and her head was peeking out from beside him and she gave a sharp gasp. He was short on breath too, despite himself, staring at the mess in front of him.

When someone blows their brains out, it's never clean. Getting shot in general is just messy business, but brains? Fucking forget it. The head had been blown apart, skin burnt through by the force of the bullet, back of the cranium completely exposed. The blow had pushed him backwards on the dock, laid on his back, eyes still open towards the sky.

Behind him, a sea of red spilled across the wood, through the cracks and into the water beneath with loud, sticky drips. The brains had exited the back of the skull and were strewn in a gruesome masterpiece behind his body. And that was that. The man was gone.

She was crying. She always did. It reminded him that at least one of them had some sort of a conscious, some sort of humanity left inside of them. She might have lost that brightness, but she still hung on to piece of the world they'd left behind. And Daryl needed her to remind him that they still had it.

"The boat," Daryl managed to mumble. "Get on the boat, Beth."

She obeyed, steadying herself on a post of the dock to climb aboard the Majestic Queen III, a stupid name for a boat, really. Daryl did his due diligence to push the body sans brain, into the water, so it could float away or get picked apart by fish. And then, he climbed the boat himself, settling comfortably in the drivers seat behind the oversized steering wheel.

Beth had disappeared below the deck, but peeked her head up at him as she heard him climb aboard, a small hint of a smile on her face. It looked strange on her face. She hadn't even taken the time to wipe the tears she'd cried away yet. Was it relief? He hadn't seen her smile in days, maybe even weeks now so when he looked at her, the muscles in his cheeks unwillingly tugged his own lips upwards too. A grin. He was grinning. What the fuck. He'd just kicked a dead body off a dock, and he was grinning. He should have been puking or yelling or crying but he was grinning and he very quickly came to terms with it. It was just who he was now.

In between her fingers, she held a small piece of paper. Her outstretched arm held it towards Daryl and he stared at it, before realizing the man had been telling the truth.

"It's a map," she said simply. "It's a shitty map. But still a map."

He took it from her, his eyes scanning every inch of the page. It was a map alright, drawn by hand. But it showed where they were, what the coast looked like, somewhat decent coordinates to where this so called safe island could be found.

"There's also this," Beth said, so he looked up over the paper he was holding, at her. The grin was still there, her cheeks rising up a little bit. She'd been sad for so long that even the slightest hint of a smile completely changed her face. She was holding a few tin cans of tuna fish.

Folding the map, he grabbed one of the cans, tugging at the pop top and peeling it open. The tuna had a sour smell to it, but he couldn't have cared any less as he took the entire hunk of meat and shoved it into his mouth. Beth did the same, coming onto the main deck and sitting on the floor, legs crossed.

Beth had been his companion for what seemed like years. Four months in this world was practically a lifetime. They'd survived together. She'd saved him as much as he'd saved her. Kept him grounded. They'd needed each other. In fact, it was hard to think about what he'd do without her. It was the highest level of companionship he'd ever felt for anyone, ever. And despite how well they'd survived in this world, they just hadn't had any time to breathe.

When they finished their meals, Daryl and Beth sat on the boat staring at each other. The waves were mellow, crashing against the sides, moving them slowly from side to side. Rocking, he supposed.

"So?" she asked him, looking at the map he'd put underneath one of his legs so it wouldn't blow away.

"So what?" he asked her curiously.

"Are we going?"

"Going where?" He knew the answer before he even asked the question.

"To the island."

He thought about it for a minute. Exploring on the boat didn't seem like a terrible idea, that was, if they had gas in it of course. He looked at the dashboard, the key still in the ignition. Of course it was. He glanced at the gas meter. Full.

"What's the worst that could happen?" she asked, echoing his thoughts.

He shrugged.

"Daryl?"

He looked up at her. "Okay," he said very quietly.

"Okay, as in, let's go?" She'd raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "What's the harm, right?"

"We've literally lost everything," she said. Then after a brief pause, "Everything."

And she was right. They had lost everything. Everything a person could lose, they had lost it, and more.

He looked at her, then back down at the map. "Okay. Let's go."

A/N: Ooh, I'm so excited about this one guys! Hope you all like it. Inspired by my island adventure in Aruba and loosely based off the movie (and book, though I haven't read it), "The Beach". Please leave a review and let me know what you think so far!

"Happiness is just a moment before you want more happiness" - Don Draper, Mad Men