Chapter Text
What had happened to her, she only learned after.
After, when she woke up gasping in pain, lightning streaks up her legs, all over her body. She had expected to see blood when she raised her hands to her face, but they were clean save for the needles stuck in her veins. Why had she expected to see blood?
Then there was Momma, a reassuring voice, It’s going to be okay.
Had it all been a dream? All she could remember was the heavy rain, headlights blurring, the world turning.
An unfamiliar man in a white coat and a reassuring voice stepped into her eyeline. “It’s good to see you awake, Ms. Greene. You’re a little banged up, but you’ll be alright.”
Banged up? Banged up from what? Beth turned to her mother, trying to fight back the nausea. “What happened?”
It must have been bad, real bad, judging by the pain that was making itself felt through this haze clouding her mind, her mother’s barely-restrained distraught. She felt her mother’s hand reaching for her own, clutching tightly.
“A car accident,” the doctor finally said, when it was apparent that the older Greene wasn’t up to the task of verbalizing what had happened to her. “But you’re in the clear now. We’ll just be monitoring your condition and keep you here for maybe a week or so. We’re still not sure what happened, but you’ll be updated of the exact circumstances of your accident.”
Beth nodded weakly, just barely making out what the doctor was telling her. “Thank you,” she said. He merely nodded, patted her mother’s shoulder reassuringly and went out the door to give them some room.
She wanted to ask what happened, despite the reassurances. She wanted to ask where her daddy was, where Shawn and Maggie were, but suddenly she was so tired, her body heavy, as if being weighed down underwater. Her mother just soothed and stroked her forehead, and before Beth knew it, she was drifting back to sleep.
The next time she woke up, it was Maggie who was holding her hand.
Consciousness was accompanied by the dull ache that pervaded all over her body. But she was more awake and present. It was raining outside, and it occurred again to her that it had been raining too, before she woke up in the hospital. The room was now decorated with balloons and flowers from well-wishers, cards lining up the wall in cheerful colors.
Maggie was smiling, but there was something heavy behind her eyes. She had been crying.
“Hey, you.”
Beth cracked a thin smile. “Hey.”
“How are you feeling?”
Truthfully, she was feeling a bit disoriented. She wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or awake, and she had been troubled by dark dreams that she only half-remembered. But the warmth in her sister’s hand was real enough, as were the sounds by the trickling rain outside. She was glad to be awake. “Better, I guess.”
“You just missed Daddy and Shawn,” Maggie said. “They went out to attend to some things, and Momma’s resting up at home. She’s been here since yesterday.”
Beth nodded slowly. Maggie must have noticed her dry lips, standing up to fetch a cup of water, letting her drink through a straw. The cold water wakened her a little bit more, and she could feel her consciousness coming through more strongly now, rooting her into the now. Cup now empty, Maggie settled next to her again, green eyes never leaving her face.
“Doctor said it was bad.” Beth paused, taking a deep breath. All she could remember was the rain, and being behind the wheel. Now that she was awake, the implications of her situation was suddenly flooding the possibilities. She dared not look at her feet, obscured by the hospital bed covers. One leg felt numb. She was frightened to hear it, but Maggie could tell her. Her sister was strong enough to tell the truth. “What happened, Maggie?”
Maggie rubbed one hand over her forehead, remembering. “You were in a car accident, Beth. It was--it was pretty bad.” Her sister must have seen the look of alarm rising on her face so she quickly added. “You broke your leg, and fractured two ribs, but the doctor said you’ll recover from it.” Maggie drew in a shuddering breath, looking like she couldn’t believe that was the extent of Beth’s injuries, considering what she had seen. “Oh, Bethy, when we saw your car I really didn’t know if he was telling the truth.”
Beth instinctively raised one hand to feel her ribs, as if she could determine where the fissures had broken through. Her skin was tender, and she pulled back as soon as the hurt resurfaced. Her broken leg, she already knew, was weighed down with plaster and other implements to keep the bone secure until it completely healed.
Then, she began to remember. She had dropped off Otis and Patricia at the airport, for their first vacation together in years. It had begun to rain on the way back, light at first, but then torrential only minutes later. She even remembered thinking, Climate change, the weather’s all strange these days. The squeal of tire, wheels turning wildly over the slick roads. Her hands turned cold at the memory. “I fell into the ravine,” she whispered.
Maggie nodded.
“How did you find me?” She had been driving in the long stretch of forest between the county and the farms. She could remember closing her eyes, convinced of the finality of her fate. No one’s going to find me here.
Maggie cocked her head at the question. “You really don’t remember?”
Beth shook her head. All she could remember was the falling, the terror seizing her heart, and then the sick affirmation that she was really, truly, about to die. “The last thing I remember was when the car pitched into the ravine.”
The reminder of how she had fallen in caused sudden tears to spring in Maggie’s eyes. “Oh, baby girl.” Beth felt her sister reach out and squeeze her hand tightly. “We--we got a call. Someone found you and got you out.”
Someone had saved her. Beth tried to summon any kind of memory from that gap between the accident and the hospital. She came up empty. “Who was it?”
“You don’t remember?” Maggie asked, watching her closely. Beth shook her head.
If there was one thing that Hershel Greene imposed on running the farm was to not treat it like a business. People had said that it wasn’t practical, not these days, when there were opportunities for expansion, to make things more state of the art. Her father had rejected this, opting to run his land the way his father did.
He had always made a point to treat the people who worked the farm like family, and they were treated like family in turn. Beth couldn’t remember a time when Patricia and Otis weren’t a part of her life. They were like her second set of parents, indulgent and playful and adoring, like she was really their own. They were also very much like Hershel and Annette, and stressed that she should be respectful of the people who worked with them on the farm. Most of the people her father had employed stayed with them until they retired, and they usually found good people to replace them. Beth had made it a point to get to know the new ones and make them feel comfortable, cooking for them and talking with them on their first weeks at the farm.
Most of the newer farmhands were like Otis--salt of the earth, plain-speaking and hard-working. The pay was fair, their working conditions good, and they were gratified not to be treated like the help by her family.
This was the way the newcomers came in for years. Until a week ago, before her accident. Otis had brought in someone...unexpected.
Beth had spotted him on his first day, when her father had gathered them at the house to introduce the newcomers. He stood away from the larger group, unsmiling, smoking a cigarette, surveying the rest of them with an unreadable look. He looked like he hadn't taken a bath for days, a stark contrast to the freshly-scrubbed faces around him. His dark hair was stringy, and hung limply around his face. His clothes were also markedly dirty, dark with mud patches all over it. Whoever he was, making a good impression on everyone was not on his agenda.
Her father began by welcoming them, introducing himself and Anette, a brief history of the farm, how he ran it, how he expected the people there to conduct themselves. That said, Beth knew she was up next. “I have three children; two are away in college right now. But my youngest is here, my Beth.” She stepped forward with a big smile, looking around at the new faces and the familiar ones. “You’ll see her poking around here and there, but she’s not that much of a nuisance as she was when she was seven,” Hershel quipped. The men laughed, and Beth only smiled, a bit embarrassed. She chanced a look at the loner standing away, and noted that he stayed stony-faced, smoking away.
He stood out like a rough-hewn rock in a carefully-cultivated rose garden.
The morning introductions done, the small group dissipated to tend to the morning chores. Otis came up, and gestured for the newcomer to follow suit. Her mother and Patricia went back in the house while Beth opted to linger, curious about the newcomer.
Upon closer inspection, she saw that he was much older than she thought, his relatively good build making him seem otherwise. His scraggly stubble had a fair amount of white in it, and she estimated that he was somewhere in his late thirties. He had this sullen air about him, as if he had been dragged here against his will. His eyes were a nice shade of blue though, stark against his tanned skin. She didn’t have to wonder why her father didn’t insist on introducing him to the rest of the guys. He seemed more like a feral cat than a person, ill at ease in unfamiliar company.
“Hershel,” Otis began. “This is Daryl Dixon, the guy I spoke to you about.”
“Mr. Dixon,” Hershel stepped forward, offering a handshake. “Welcome.”
Cigarette still in his mouth, Mr. Dixon stepped forward and shook his hand. “Mr. Greene,” he replied. He didn’t offer to be called by his name, Beth noted.
“He’s going to take a look at our machines,” Otis continued, glancing at Mr. Dixon. “Afterwards, we’ll see how it goes. He doesn’t have much experience with farming, but I reckon the guys will be more than happy to help him out.”
If Mr. Dixon could bring it to himself to even ask for help, that was. He didn’t look the type. Beth wasn’t aware that she had been staring until Mr. Dixon looked at her with that perpetual frown of his. Beth blinked, and pretended to tinker with the cellphone in her hand.
Her father didn’t seem to be fazed by how odd and out-of-place this Mr. Dixon was, and clapped the newcomer warmly on the shoulder. “You feel free to talk to me or Otis if you have any questions. Any friend of his is a friend of mine.”
That was interesting. Otis liked guitar and the blues, sweet tea and vanilla ice cream. Otis looked it, too, sensitive, sweet and open and honest. How he could be friends with a man who looked like Mr. Dixon wasn’t something she could imagine. Besides, she’s never seen Mr. Dixon in her life before. And she knew ‘most everyone in her neighborhood.
Maybe she’d ask Patricia later.
Mr. Dixon grunted something in reply, and Beth excused herself, sensing that she had stayed as long as was polite. She had to check on the horses and help her mother with the gardening.
She didn’t really give another thought about Mr. Dixon until lunchtime came and he wasn’t around.
Her father liked the farmhands coming together to take their lunch under the large picnic table under their ancient elm tree. It was part tradition, part her father’s wish to know the people who worked for him better, and part practicality, to keep the farm tidier. The farmhands didn’t mind it--Patricia and her mother always made sure that there was something cool and refreshing to drink, and fruits of the season to ensure they had a sweet ending to their meals.
Patricia had been the first to notice that the newcomer wasn’t among their numbers. “Beth, honey,” the older woman said, a bit distracted as she tinkered with the oven. “Could you be a dear and check on Mr. Dixon? I think he’s fixing the tractor up in the barn and might have not noticed the time.”
Beth had half a mind to say no, wanting to take her lunch on time along with everyone else, but she didn’t want to brook Patricia’s disapproval. She merely shrugged, and went out the back porch. She could see the tractor from where she was standing, but Mr. Dixon himself was nowhere in sight.
She started off, wondering at Otis and Patricia’s implicit trust in the man, what this Mr. Dixon could have done to win her own father’s trust so easily, too. She went back in the past few months in her mind, wondering what she must have missed. She had been busy in those last months: wrapping up high school, saying goodbye to all her friends, the inevitable breakup with Jimmy. She had been too engrossed in the closing of one chapter of her life, and had not noticed anything unusual going on in her home.
It still hadn’t sunk into her yet, that things were going to be different now. That she would be away from home in a new city, college, the inevitable steps towards adulthood. Shawn and Maggie had embraced it, no, had run towards it, with open arms, no backward glances. She had to be left behind, with Momma and Daddy, experiencing with them the sudden emptiness of their home. It came with other things too: she had become more aware of the passage of time, the silence of abandoned childhood rooms, the gradual slowing of her father’s steps, the liver spots appearing on her mother’s worn hands. They were getting older. She was getting older.
Beth didn’t want to leave all that behind, not yet. But she had to. Eventually.
The Georgia sun beat down on her back, and she wasn’t even walking for a minute and Beth was already sweating. She trudged on, wondering if it was too rude to yell at Mr. Dixon to come on up to eat lunch with everyone else.
She finally reached the barn, its doors thrown open, signs of work that had been temporarily abandoned. She headed towards where the tractor was parked, and she approached just in time to see Mr. Dixon emerge from underneath it. She paused, watching him stand up and reach for a rag to wipe the grease from his hands. It didn’t seem to be very helpful.
She suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands, and opted to shove them down her jeans pockets. He still wasn’t looking up. Whether he did this on purpose or not, she had no idea. After a few more awkward moments of her just standing there and him not giving a shit, she finally cleared her throat. Once. Twice.
“Mr. Dixon?” she finally called out.
He finally looked up. So he wasn’t hard of hearing, after all. He didn’t say anything, just glared at her. You’d think she called him a dirty word, the way he was frowning at her like that.
He took another swipe at getting the grease off his hands. “Ain’t no Mr. Dixon here,” he finally said.
She was glad she hung around long enough earlier to know his Christian name. “Alright. Daryl, then,” she said, even though he didn’t offer it. He merely raised his eyebrows and half-turned away from her. “It’s time to eat,” she ventured.
“So?”
“We’d be be happy if you joined us up at the house. With everyone else.”
He didn’t look mighty convinced of him being around actually made anyone happy, and how she deduced that from his disparaging hmph was a mystery. “Not hungry,” he muttered.
“You’ve been working since this morning,” Beth pointed out.
He just gave her a look. It occurred to her again, how strange he was, standing here in the farm that she had grown up in. Her little kingdom where once upon a time she was convinced fairies and gnomes lived, where she and Shawn and Maggie spent countless hours in, running around, playing hide and seek. Strange as it sounded, he just looked a little too real, a little too much of the world she’d seen on the news or heard on the radio.
His silence was deafening. Beth shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
She turned on her heel and headed back up at the house. She could feel his eyes on her back. Let him look. She knew that there was no talking someone who was so bull-headed. He didn’t like around being people he didn’t know. She could understand that. He hadn’t really said anything that was technically rude, but she felt slightly frustrated at his resistance.
She could make out the little crowd gathered around the picnic table. She figured that she could just tell Patricia that she had offered him to come, and he had said no. That was the truth, anyway. She wasn’t going to force someone to do something they didn’t want to do. That was that. That was fair.
But even as she thought this, she felt herself steer her course and go straight to the kitchen. Patricia had already left, probably tending to the rowdy men outside. For a moment, Beth stood there, unsure of what she meant to do. Then, with a slightly defiant note to her stride, she went up to the counter, to the refrigerator, picking the things that she needed.
She then proceeded to make a sandwich. A slightly sad-looking sandwich (how Momma or Patricia made them look like ready for a tv commercial, she’d never know), but a meal, nonetheless. She made one more trip to the refrigerator to get a can of soda and headed out once again.
The trip back to the barn seemed much quicker than the last time, but she just felt so...wound up. She really didn’t understand what was going on until she was standing in front of the tractor, holding out a sandwich and a soda, feeling slightly stupid and mad at herself.
He was on the ground, picking out tools when she came back. His eyes darted from her face, tight-lipped and defiant, to the food she had in her hands.
“Wha’sat?” he drawled. As if he didn’t know.
Beth shrugged. What was she doing here? Did she feel sorry for him, with his bedraggled appearance, his scuffed boots, his bad haircut? Daddy always said she was too tender-hearted for her own good, that summer when she brought in too many stray cats in the house. People kept leaving them out there, and she couldn’t bear the thought of them just being there, alone, while she pretended she didn’t care. Because she did.
And she wasn’t going to let Daryl Dixon have a bad impression of how her Daddy ran the farm, leaving his guys to starve.
He was still waiting for an answer. “Please bring the plate back in after you’re done,” she said, putting the sandwich and the soda on top of the tractor. His face is inscrutable, and for a second she wondered if she did the wrong thing. No matter.
She retreated without another word, without looking back. She didn't even think about Daryl Dixon for the rest of the afternoon until later, when she found an empty pale-blue plate sitting on the porch. Beth stood there for while, turned the plate in her hands. Clean.
Later that evening, Beth tried to ask about him.
She was helping her mother with the dishes, talking about nothing in particular. After the fifth blue plate she dried, she finally mustered the courage to ask, very casually, what she knew about Daryl Dixon.
Her mother’s reaction was anything but casual. “Why do you ask, honey? Did he say anything to you?”
Beth shook her head. “No, Momma. I just--he just doesn’t seem to be one of the guys, you know? Not like Otis or Guillermo or Daddy.”
"And that bothers you?" Her mother's voice was mild.
Beth flushed scarlet at that. It wasn't that she minded he was different. She suddenly remembered Maggie’s first visit back home after a semester in college, breathlessly telling her all about the new people she’s met. Interesting people. People who were different, who grew up and saw the world differently than her. Did her mother really think that she would be so sheltered that people who were unlike her would bother her?
She didn’t say this aloud, merely shook her head. “Doesn’t bother me. Just curious.”
Beth knew that she had sounded just a touch too defensive, and now her mother was eyeing her more keenly now. “I believe he helped out Otis in a rough patch. You’d have to ask him if you want to know more,” her mother finally said, finishing up with the dishes.
Beth did her best not to huff in frustration. What was with all this secrecy? Did Daryl Dixon murder a man for Otis or something? She tried to play it casual, shrugging. “Alright, then.”
“Getting such strange notions in your mind,” her mother shifted to light teasing. “Are you getting cabin fever on me? Maybe you should’ve gone to Europe for your gap year instead of hanging around here.”
“Momma,” Beth rolled her eyes. As much as Maggie’s backpacking in Europe had met a lot of resistance when it was brought up years ago, it still surprised her that the suggestion had come from her own parents when highschool graduation came up for her. As much as Maggie’s adventures had fascinated her, Beth always knew that she wanted to stay close to home for one year, learning more about running the farm, becoming a veterinarian like her father. Shawn and Maggie had always been happy to help out, but she knew that they always had their eye on the road, the big world out there. Her parents still thought that her decision to stay on the farm for a year was borne out of some sort of childish fear, fear of the world, fear of growing up. But it wasn’t like that. Not even a tiny bit. She tried to explain, but parents, they always felt like they knew better.
Annette seemed to sense that she had hit a sore spot and let the issue go. “Well, you’ve still got time. Think about it.” She hooked one arm around Beth, pressed a kiss on her head. “You’ve been on your feet all day, baby girl. Better wash up and get to sleep.”
She nodded and gave her mother an answering hug. “Goodnight, Momma.”
She was already padding up stairs when her mother trailed after her. “Bethy?”
“Yes?”
Her mother wiped her hands, which absurdly reminded her of Daryl Dixon, with his wounded glare and dirty hands. “It was good of you to be kind to Mr. Dixon like that today.” She was surprised that her mother had noticed, and Beth felt her hands grip the bannister a little tighter. Her mother paused, as if she was struggling with the next words, then decided against it. “Goodnight, Bethy.”
The next days were more of the same. Beth rose early, stood in for the morning briefings with the rest of the guys, and then trailed after her father checking up on the animals. She didn’t say much, just observed, making notes in her little notebook about how her father did things. He still wasn’t taking her seriously about her plans to become a veterinarian, but if he couldn’t be swayed by her words, maybe he could be swayed by how she conducted herself.
The morning came and went, and it was lunchtime again. She heard Guillermo hollering some of the guys over, and her eyes automatically went towards the barn. As she expected, there he stood, Daryl Dixon, surveying the deconstructed tractor in front of him.
And like before, she went and fixed a meal for him, went over, and left them in his vicinity. At the end of the day, she came back home to a meticulously clean plate sitting on the porch.
The next time she did that, he snorted at her. “Didn’t know you were running a catering service,” he said as she set the plate down. She merely blinked, and went on her way.
On the third day, Beth was cleaning out a wound one of their sheep got from catching on one of the fences when she noticed him crossing from the barn towards the house. She had to smile at that.
When she finally came up the house, she spotted him, sitting at the very edge of the picnic table’s bench, a man apart. Their eyes met as he took a swig of water, blue eyes challenging. She wondered what changed his mind.
The answer came from Guillermo, who she sat next to a little later. “I see your friend’s joined us,” he said, smiling easily. Guillermo was one of her father's farmhands that had been around for a while, give or take a few years. They spoke to each other easily enough.
Beth blandly smiled back. “He’s not my friend,” she said.
Guillermo didn’t seem to hear her. “Me and the guys were getting jealous, you looking after him like that.” He said it warmly, though, without malice, a way of showing concern. “I was starting to worry he was going to expect that kind of treatment the whole time he’s here.”
“Well, we’ll need to make him more at home here, especially since you’re going to be starting at the hospital soon,” Beth replied, as she felt a more sincere smile coming on. “We’re gonna miss you around here.”
Guillermo ducked his head, embarrassed. “It’s been great working here. You should hit me up whenever you’re in town, alright?”
She nodded. She liked Guillermo. He was one of the few people nearer her age on the farm, but he’d always wanted to take up a job nearer town where his abuela lived. “You should come over when apple picking season comes, we’ll need more hands here.”
“As long as those hands ain’t gonna be used to wait on Mr. Friendly there, I’d be obliged, Ms. Greene.”
“Good.” They continued their meal as their conversation veered to other topics, like nice places to eat in town, Beth’s plans for the gap year. At the back of her mind, Beth wondered if what Guillermo alluded to was true, if Daryl had actually felt like he was being waited on hand and foot. He didn’t seem to be the kind of person who got bothered with what people thought of him.
Was he concerned how it looked like for her? That didn’t seem likely, not with the way Daryl spoke to her.
“Who is he anyway? Why is he Otis’ best friend all of a sudden?” Guillermo veered the conversation back to the newcomer, who had already left the table and was stalking back to the barn.
“I dunno.” Beth shrugged, trying not to show that she wasn’t interested in that. Not much.
“Better steer clear of him, nonetheless.” Guillermo said as he stood up. “Greasy-haired men like that, can’t be trusted.” Beth had to laugh at that. “See you around, Greene.”
She didn’t have a reason to approach Daryl after that. That’s fine, I guess. One less thing off her mind.
She suddenly spied the postman's truck rumbling down the lane, and her heart suddenly flew up her throat. She broke into a light jog, just managing to reach the postman just as he was about to reached the mailbox.
"Thanks," she said exhaled a she quickly shuffled through the envelopes. Bills, announcements, correspondences, mostly addressed to her father. She reached the last of the envelopes and felt her stomach drop like a stone. No letter for her.
Beth looked around, surveyed the long weeks and months stretched in front of her, and suddenly felt very much alone.
Back in the hospital room, the silence was stifling.
"Who was it, Maggie?" Beth asked, her own voice sounding thin and weak, even to herself.
Maggie sighed. "It was Daryl Dixon. Daryl Dixon, who found you."