speak ➵ bethyl au

5

She's scared to wake up.
Terrified.
She feels numb, and she doesn't know if she's feeling sane or not, but she keeps her eyes shut and prays she's going to drift off to sleep, but sleep never comes.
She slowly raises her lids, not daring to move, because maybe she'll get exhausted by doing the simple act of blinking, and that she'll fall back asleep.
But no, she's wide awake.
She stays still, blinking every so often, but not moving other than that.
Until she feels a hand against her back. Warm and rough and calloused, and she doesn't move. She feels cold, usually, she enjoys the sudden warmth.
"Beth,"
This time, this time she changes her gaze, eyes flickering over to behind her, where dark eyes lay.
He immediately slinks his hand back, and plops down onto the desk chair.
"They said the uh, battery ran out and you...had quite the fit."
She stays quiet, but she realizes he's waiting for an explanation. A brief one, at that.
"I was scared," she whispers, finding her voice and throat sore and hoarse. "I was happy. I haven't been in a while. I was happy. I wanted to stay happy. I was scared I wasn't going to be happy."
"The drugs, or..." He trails off, as if he's too afraid to say it himself.
She shrugs, as stiffly as she can, her position in the bed not allowing much room for movement.
"You promised me you'd eat."
She glances up at him.
"Did I?"
"Mhm."
"Oh."
She feels stupid, she feels normal and she feels stupid, and she feels happy because she feels stupid and normal, and she smiles.
"I forgot how," she speaks slowly, words dripping from her lips, her smile widening by the second. "I forgot how. Daryl," she calls, pulling her hand out from under her pillow and waving him over. "I forgot how to eat, Daryl, I feel stupid. I feel stupid. I feel stupid." And she can't stop smiling, because feeling stupid is the first real emotion she's genuinely felt, as a sane being.

☔︎

"What are you doing?"
He stays silent.
She doesn't repeat her question because he'll probably disregard it again, or maybe he'll stop, but she's okay with what he's doing, unraveling a waste of bandages around her hands.
"They felt weird."
"Usually do."
"Have you worn them before?"
He glances up at her, her gaze entirely focused on his eyes, and he's nervous and he immediately looks back down.
"Um. Yeah."
He's scared she'll ask on, but she doesn't. Instead of making conversation, he'll leave that to her if she wants too, he keeps working on her hands, discarding long stretches of bandage wraps.

☔︎

Her hands are free and he's taken aback when she takes his hand in her. He doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away, but they're walking together, down to the front entrance.
She's slightly embarrassed about the attack she threw, and she's hoping the receptionist isn't the same one, but whoever was sitting there surely isn't. She would start smacking his shoulder out of pure joy to let him know what she's feeling, yet another normal, sane emotion, but she doesn't. Instead she watches him as he disregards the fact that no one is sitting there and reaches across the desk to find a pen, and scribbles something on a sheet of paper.
"Where are we goin'?"
"Out."
"Out where?" She smiles, stomping on the tall grass.
"There's some woods out there, think it's healthy if you get out once in a while."
"We should do this everyday."
She looks up at him, to find eyebrows raised and a poor excuse for a smile tugging at his lips.
"If you eat, sure. Except on Fridays."
"Why?"
"Not here on Fridays."
"Oh."
"Can call you on Friday."
"Tell them to get me a better phone."
"Only if you eat, Greene."
She eyes him playfully, and he breaks out in a smirk.
"What do you want me to eat, Mr.Dixon?"
He doesn't answer, he's all too shocked she's listening.
"Maybe we'll catch a squirrel or somethin', eat that."
She knows he's kidding, but she sticks her tongue out in disgust. He pauses in his tracks, looking up.
"What is it?"
"Nothin'. Think my bow's somewhere 'round here."
"Your bow?"
"Crossbow, yeah."
He places his hand against the markings on a tree. It looks like a poorly carved D, much like a triangle on its side, but it was enough for him to drop to his knees, loosely releasing her hand, and start digging.
"Want me to help?"
"Not if you don't want to."
"I want to."
So she starts digging with him, dirt getting underneath her fingernails. They used to be neatly manicured, every Sunday Maggie would paint her nails and Beth would paint Maggie's. They only had two bottles of nail polish, a light shade of pink and a dark shade of green, and they would alternate between the two. Now, her nails were short, uneven and stubby. She felt awful towards the once happy memory turned into a negative now.
They hit metal, or steel, she wasn't sure, and not long after, he was pulling a crossbow out from the earth.
"What're you gonna do?"
"'dunno. Hunt, I guess. Or we can walk. Don't matter."
"Hunt?"
"Yeah, c'mon, Greene."
His hand it still free--the crossbow is swung over his shoulder. She would take it, but she doesn't.
"I've never shot a crossbow before."
"Not surprised."
She smirks.
"Maybe you could teach me."
He pauses, and at first she isn't sure why, but it clicks.
"Oh."
"I would-"
"No, I get it."
"Beth."
She keeps walking forward, feeling sweat bead across her forward.
"Beth," he repeats.
She spins on her heel to see that he hasn't moved.
"What?"
"After you get out, but you know I'd teach you if it was up to me."
"I know."
He paces forward, bringing his hand to her upper arm.
"I would."
She purses her lips and nods.
She'd be out soon. She'd apologize to Maggie and her father, she'd start volunteering at the library again, and help her father with the crops. She'd be better.
"Let's go eat somethin'." She mumbles, offering a smile.

☔︎

"I don't know what to eat. There's not even much to choose from, anyway."
"Yeah, the cafe in the building is shit." He murmurs, and she stifles a laugh.
"Start small," he explains. "Can't go from not eatin' anythin' to eatin' a buffet."
"What do you think, then?"
"Soup or somethin'."
They shift over in the line, and she's slightly embarrassed she belongs in the group of people with hand mitts and hand cuffs.
"You ain't them," he whispers low in her ear, as if he's reading her mind. "You ain't them."
She nods, bringing the end of her cardigan up to her eyes, wiping away what threatened to spill.
"Thanks."
"Not lyin."
She glances up, smiling faintly.

☔︎

They're sitting in her room; she's sitting on the bed, changed into a fresh pair of pajamas, while he's sitting on the desk chair, still wearing ripped jeans and a basic black shirt.
She's opening the container, and he's watching her silently. Watching her dip the plastic spoon and she's shaking, and he asks jokingly if she wants him to spoon feed her, and she actually nods.
So he takes his place next to her on the bed, and dips the spoon in the broth. She stares at the spoon as he brings it to her lips.
He stares at her, stares at her face changing as she swallows.
"Good?"
And he's not asking about the soup. He's asking if she's okay and if she feels fine, reassuring.
She nods, beckoning for more. He chuckles in response, repeating the process.

☔︎

When Rick asks how Beth is doing, Daryl isn't exasperated or annoyed. He smiles genuinely at the thought of her, the thought of her laughing and eating and smiling and holding his hand.
"She's eating!"
"How?"
"'dunno, but she is."
"That's all you, brother."
"No," he shakes his head. "She's tough. She doesn't know it, hell, world doesn't know it, but she is."
Rick taunts him about his sudden behavior change, and asks about his change of heart. He honestly doesn't know himself, and he's scared, but he's aware. He shouldn't even be a 'friend', he should just talk and take notes about her life. Really, all he needs to do is give her some medication and talk to her untangle and unravel her past until it makes sense with her current future until she feels whole again, and he's given a paycheck and they never crossways ever again.
But for her, he wants to do more.
So much more.