Chapter Text
Beth Greene is having the laundry day to end all laundry days.
Fresh out of college, with her sister recently moved out to live with her fiance, and now her daddy away on a week long fishing trip, the Greene farm is eerily quiet, and Beth might be just a little bit bored.
Having been raised that idle hands are the devil's playthings, she decides to enthusiastically take on the piles of laundry in her bedroom that are becoming difficult to navigate her way around in the dark. She's so enthusiastic in her efforts while still in her pyjamas that all she's left herself to wear in the summer heat is a little pair of denim shorts and a crop top. But that's fine. Nobody's due on the farm today anyway since it's a Saturday.
After the piles of clothes have been successfully evicted from her floor and hung out on the line, she decides to strip the bed and wash that too.
She’s just on her way back upstairs with two comforters precariously clutched in her arms and obscuring her ability to see - but who needs to see to find their way around their own home anyway and Hell if she's going to make two trips - when there's a knock at the door.
With a sigh, Beth drops her bedding at the foot of the stairs and crosses the hallway to the front door.
Pulling it open, she finds Daryl Dixon slouched on her doorstep with his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans, head turned towards the barn with his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. When the door opens, his gaze swings front and his eyes widen as they fall on her, pinballing down the miles of exposed skin before guiltily dropping to the floor.
“Oh, hey Daryl,” Beth says brightly, swallowing down the mortification rising up as she only then remembers she’s in daisy dukes and a thin cami.
Well, isn’t that just typical. Of all the people that could turn up at her door when she looks like she just fell out of a barn dance themed strip club, it has to be him.
“Where’s your dad?” Daryl asks gruffly, glancing up at her through his hair.
“Out of town,” She supplies, crossing her arms over her bare stomach, “Anythin’ I can help you with?”
She watches as Daryl frowns then drags his gaze back towards the barn. Her eyes catch on the way his shoulders strain against his t-shirt as he inhales. Kinda funny how he’s the one fully clothed yet she’s the one staring.
“Said I’d come look at his truck,” He says, thumb coming up to catch between his teeth, “See if I can get it workin’ again.”
Beth smiles. She’ll bet it’s his day off and he won’t charge her daddy a dime for coming out here, no matter how long it takes to get his tired old truck going, when really he should just scrap it for parts but he won’t because it’s the truck he took her momma out on their first date in and other memories he isn’t ready to part with.
The same truck he drove Beth and her momma home from the hospital in, some twenty two years ago. The truck he later taught her, and her sister, and her brother who isn’t with them anymore, to drive in. A lot of memories she’s holding onto when she holds that steering wheel as well. Maybe she isn’t all that ready to part with them just yet either.
Daryl knows this, and he manages to keep the old thing running, perhaps through sheer force of will on his part or through prayer on her daddy’s side. She’s pretty sure he’s replaced everything under the hood by now.
Daryl’s frowning back at her like her smile confounds him. It probably does, because he doesn’t realise what a nice thing it is that he’s doing. That most people would tell her daddy it’s a lost cause. She also suspects that Daryl thinks he has to earn his friendship with a man like Hershel Greene. He’s ashamed of where he’s from, of being raised behind the trash cans, and in his mind he’s still there, he’s still trash.
But he’s not, and Beth knows that for a fact. When her brother died, Daryl came to the farm every day, and kept things going while her family grieved. Fall isn't a good time for a farmer to lose his son, but she supposes nobody told the drunk driver that. Beth is almost certain Daryl used up all his vacation days to be there, though he'd never admit it. Wouldn't let Hershel give him a cent either. That's the kind of man he is; bull headed, and loyal to his bones. She wishes she could tell him, but she knows he'd be crawling out of his skin to hear it.
“The keys are in the kitchen,” Beth says, pulling the door all the way open and motioning with a nod of her head, “Y’alright to go get ‘em? I was just in the middle of somethin’.”
Daryl nods his head and steps inside, giving his boots a cursory wipe on the mat before making his way through to the kitchen.
As Beth hears the jingle of car keys from the other room, she scoops up her comforters and starts to ascend the stairs, gingerly feeling for each step with her foot.
“Er, what’re you doing?” Daryl’s gravelly voice brings her to a halt.
“Ridin’ a horse, what does it look like?” She snaps, and it would probably be more cutting if not for being said into the comforter she’s keeping in place with her chin.
“Looks like y’re tryin’ t’ break y’ neck,” He says gruffly.
Beth wishes she could turn around to shoot him a scathing look, but she’s pretty sure that would cause a pillowy avalanche. Before she can think of a retort she hears the bottom step creak as Daryl comes to stand behind her. His arms frame hers as he reaches over her head, and takes the comforter that’s obscuring her line of sight.
Beth turns her head to huff at him in frustration, “I don’t need your help.”
Their eyes catch and her stomach twists when she realises how close he is, just a breath away with the stolen comforter under his arm.
There’s a smirk tugging at his mouth as he holds her gaze for a moment, eyes glinting with amusement. She doesn’t know what she wants to do more - slap him or kiss him.
And not for the first time either.
Beth has been wanting to kiss Daryl (and slap him, on occasion) ever since he rolled up to the farmhouse on his motorcycle when she was just seventeen as a seasonal farm hand with a personal guarantee from Deputy Sheriff Rick Grimes.
That summer the sight of him made her giddy- she couldn't so much as look at him without turning beet red, nevermind talk to him. The giddiness, and the blushing, eased over the years as she got to know him, turned into a deeper kind of longing when she found out he was much more than his thick corded arms and leather vest.
“I know,” He says, and to his credit he doesn’t laugh, “But I’m here, so might as well make use of me.”
Kiss him, definitely kiss him.
Her mouth tugs to the side in defeat and she watches his eyes soften around the edges.
“Fine,” She mumbles, turning and continuing up the stairs, which, admittedly, is much easier now that she can see.
Seems he's grown up too, which might be a strange thought to have about someone twice her age, but with Daryl it fits.
If she'd mouthed off at him four years ago he'd have chewed her out and taught her a few choice profanities in the process. He had a short temper back then, but his bark was always worse than his bite.
Her bedroom is at the top of the stairs and the door is already open, so Beth steps inside with Daryl following behind. Dropping the comforter beside the bed, she picks up a freshly washed sheet from the floor beside it.
She turns to thank Daryl and send him on his way, but before she can open her mouth he’s tossing his stolen comforter on top of hers and taking the other side of the sheet.
Beth frowns in confusion as he steps backwards, shaking the sheet open as he goes and side stepping around the foot of the bed.
Wordlessly, she mirrors him, completely bewildered as she watches him tuck the corners around her mattress and she does the same, fumbling like she’s never made a bed before.
“What’re you doin’?” She asks when he grabs a pillow and starts stuffing it into a case.
“Ridin’ a horse, what does it look like?” He refrains, lips quirking.
Beth’s forehead burrows into a frown, “I don’t need your help, Daryl, I’m a grown ass woman, not a child.”
Daryl’s eyes flick to her, before returning to the pillow and tossing it onto the bed.
“I can see that,” He murmurs, grabbing another pillow.
Beth’s cheeks flare as she grabs a comforter off the floor.
There’s a beat as Daryl stuffs another pillow and Beth shakes out the comforter onto the bed.
“Sorry,” She sighs, smoothing the comforter flat, “I'm jus' sick of people always lookin’ at me an’ assumin’ I need help, that I can’t do anythin’ by myself."
Beth grabs the second comforter and starts shaking it out.
"Guess I'm tryin' so hard to prove I can take care of myself I'm becomin' a real pain in the ass."
Daryl nods, tossing the pillow onto the bed, and grabbing the other side of the comforter.
“Anyone who thinks you need help don't know you,” He says, mouth twitching as he pulls the comforter flat, “An’ you’ve always been a pain in the ass."
Beth rolls her eyes, but can’t fight the smile pulling at her lips, “Thanks, I think.”
This less turbulent Daryl surprises her. He seems more settled in himself somehow, and it’s riling her up in an entirely different way.
When Beth turns to Daryl , she finds him looking around her room, thumb back between his teeth and shoulders hunched as he scans the shelves packed with books and picture frames, walls adorned with music posters and maps of places she wants to visit someday, a pinboard scattered with polaroids and ticket stubs. The room of a teenager, because that’s what Beth was when she last lived here.
Daryl doesn’t look entirely comfortable, but he doesn’t look like he’s itching to leave either. In truth, she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him look entirely comfortable. Angry, irritated, bored, even mildly amused on rare occasions, but never comfortable. He used to wear a scowl as his default expression when he first came around the farm, stuck to him like his leather vest. The first time Beth saw him smile, flashing teeth at a joke Glenn had made, she couldn’t stop staring. Apparently she wasn’t subtle about it either because Maggie nudged her so hard she nearly fell off the porch.
Smiling suits him so much more than scowling, it’s such a waste he doesn’t do it more, and a shame he doesn’t have more reasons to. She used to think about that a lot, lying in her bedroom, wishing she could be the one to chase that scowl off his face.
Beth giggles when it dawns on her that she’s lured her teenage crush, bad boy with a heart of gold, Daryl Dixon, into her bedroom.
Daryls head snaps up and he narrows his eyes at her
"Whats so funny?"
"Oh. Just like, you're in my bedroom, an' four years ago I would have been thinkin’ of ways to get you in here an' I guess I finally did," She laughs nervously.
There’s an audible lag in the conversation as Daryl stares back at her blankly.
"... what?"
"Oh, come on, I had the biggest crush on you," Beth rolls her eyes and shakes her head, trying to shake away the warmth on her cheeks.
"You did?"
"I mean, not quite doodling Mrs Beth Dixon in my diary, but there were some pretty elaborate fantasies involving your motorcycle."
Oh god, her brain is screaming as she passes innocent babbling and ventures into the realms of something that should only be voiced to a priest in confession.
"What kinda fantasies?"
His low murmur interrupts her internal screaming and her eyes snap up to meet his.
"'Bout you throwin' me on the back of your bike an' takin me for a ride," She says, because the floodgates have opened and apparently she can’t stop.
Daryl stares at her, immobile except for the flare of his nostrils.
She baulks, blinking up at him. What is wrong with her??
"Sorry, I don't know why I'm tellin' you all this."
"Don't be," He rumbles.
Beth has a dangerous habit of babbling when she's nervous, but even then she usually has at little more of a filter than this. Why is she so nervous? Not nervous, exactly, but definitely twitchy. Heart fluttering in her chest and toes tapping out a frenzied rhythm on her bedroom rug.
Might have something to do with Daryl Dixon being in her bedroom, and the fact that she just told him she had a crush on him for absolutely no reason at all. She put it in the past tense where it belongs, and maybe if she keeps saying so, it will become true.
As it stands though, if her current shortness of breath while standing completely still is anything to go by, Beth isn't at all over this little crush she has on Daryl because she still very much wants to get under him.
"Four years ago, huh?" Daryl asks.
That's when it started, Beth thinks, but by the grace of God, this time she just nods and rolls her lips together.
"You've grown up a lot since then."
"Oh, you have no idea," Beth shakes her head and feels a frenzied laugh bubble up in her chest as she remembers throwing Maggie’s birth control in the pond when her sister came back from college. Now her own set of pills sits in her bedside drawer, next to her lube and vibrator. Yeah, she’s grown up a lot.
Daryl’s eyes narrow as he watches her, studies her like she’s confounded him again. She can’t believe he didn’t know, because everyone else on the Greene farm sure as hell did.
"Outgrown fantasisin' over dirty old rednecks, I hope," He says, the corner of his mouth twitching, eyes shining with amusement.
Not this one, not even a little. Not ever.
"It wasn't 'cause you were older,” Beth rolls her eyes, “It's ‘cause you're... you."
She freezes. Shit. That was definitely not in the past tense. Fuck.
Daryl's forehead creases.
"S'never worked in my favor before," He murmurs.
Beth's lips curl that he might consider that working in his favor.
Silence stretches and fills the room. The corner of Daryl’s mouth isn’t quirked anymore, his lips are pulled into a tight line, jaw clenched, expression sober and lacking the lightness of a moment ago. Not that Beth can look directly at him, she’s smoothing her hands across her comforter, working out non existent creases.
Her heart is beating fast like she’s had too much coffee, but she hasn’t had any, opting for tea on the porch this morning. The lull in the conversation stretches towards discomfort and when Beth hears Daryl’s boots scuff on her floor she assumes he’s going to leave.
"So," He clears his throat, a rough and guttural sound that pulls Beth’s eyes up, "How'd these fantasies end?"
"Oh, wow,” Beth blinks back at him in surprise, “Well, I didn't have a whole lot of experience at seventeen, so probably like, a hard-core make out session."
His eyes are glued to the side of her face as she exhales a laugh and clasps her hands together because she doesn’t know what to do with them.
"I could probably update them now," She adds, more to herself than him.
Daryl doesn't say anything and Beth internally cringes so hard it might be a stroke.
"Not that I'm really experienced now or anything,” She corrects quickly, “I've had two boyfriends, but one didn't really count," She wrings her hands together as she babbles and starts wishing she could wring her own neck with each passing minute.
The corner of Daryl's mouth pulls up into a smirk and Beth's heart feels like it's about to burst out of her chest like in the movie Alien her brother Shawn made her watch that gave her nightmares for a week.
"I ain't got a lot of experience in that area either, so the reality would probably be a big disappointment," He says wryly.
"I doubt that, Daryl," Beth smiles, unclenching her hands.
He scoffs, unconvinced.
"One of my fantasies was touching your arm," She feels compelled to tell him.
For a moment Daryl just squints at her as though he thinks he’s misheard.
"No it wasn't," He deadpans.
"Sad but true," Beth nods, mouth pulling to the side. Sharing that rather tragic teenage fantasy should probably make her want to crawl out of her own skin, but for some reason it doesn’t.
"You want to touch my arm?" He asks in disbelief.
Beth’s head spins around so fast her ponytail hits her in the face.
"What, like right now?" She asks excitedly.
Daryl frowns at her, mouth hanging open, as though completely lost and Beth starts to feel a sinking feeling pull her shoulders towards the floor until Daryl exhales loudly and shakes his head.
"Knock yourself out," He shrugs, looking no less confused, but there’s a smile pulling at his mouth.
Beth excitedly closes the space between them, looking up at him with wide eyes before gingerly curling her fingers around his bicep. She can feel his eyes drilling holes into the side of her face and when her fingers give a little squeeze he flexes his muscle so that it bulges in her grip and her eyes flick up to his with a giggle.
"Is that good for you?" He asks dryly.
Beth giggles again, "My seventeen year old self is screaming."
Daryl shakes his head and huffs a laugh, the corners of his mouth settling into a small smile.
As the giggles subside, Beth looks up at him, tipping her head back because they’re suddenly so close. Their eyes catch and Beth's smile widens.
Suddenly, there's a tension that wasn't there before, and Daryl’s eyes pulse before he pulls them away.
He doesn’t step away though and Beth watches his Adam's apple spasm in the centre of his thick neck where she’s stood barely six inches away. Her attention is drawn to his mouth as he catches his lip between his teeth and starts to worry it, something she’s seen him do a thousand times, but never up close.
She feels a little drunk on his proximity, her head spinning as she stares at his mouth.
“An’ kissin’ you," She whispers into the space between them, “That was somethin’ I used to think about a lot.”
Daryl's head snaps up and he looks at her, frowns at her, eyes flaring with alarm.
She used to wonder if he’d taste like cigarettes, because he was always smoking. She still can’t smell Marlboro reds without picturing him lighting up on her porch. She even stole a dried out old cigarette from the packet Maggie keeps stashed in the mudroom. Beth nearly coughed up a lung when she tried to smoke it in a foolish attempt to get a little closer to knowing what he might taste like.
Slowly, he blinks, and his eyes drop to her mouth.
Beth licks her lips, whether to entice him or because they're suddenly tingling under his gaze, she doesn't honestly know.
He can see her, of course he can, it's not like there’s any room to hide with how close they’re standing.
His eyes linger for a moment before flicking up to hers.
He shifts in place, gnawing the inside of his bottom lip, and all of a sudden, Daryl is the one who looks nervous. Almost like he's itching to get out of there, except his eyes aren't on the door, they're locked on her face, narrowed in focus.
"Beth," He says, breathes , her name coming out as a warning, a plea, and she sucks in a deep breath as she hears herself spill from his mouth.
His eyes flicker back at her as he works his jaw, swallowing hard as bewilderment scores a line in his forehead.
It feels like all the air's been sucked out of the room. Beth is getting lightheaded from the breath she's holding, but she doesn't dare breathe, or move a single muscle, in case she spooks him because maybe, just maybe…
The line in his forehead softens as his sharp blue eyes scan her face. His gaze catches on her lips and lingers.
And then everything stops; her heart, her thoughts, maybe even the world stops turning for a moment as Daryl ducks his head and presses his mouth against hers.