There's a glint in Daryl's eye, a new angle to his lip, something that converges on pride. He looks at Beth with deep appreciation. She's tough, now, and maybe she always was. Important thing is, now she knows it.
"Won't let it get like Pete," he says. "Don't have to make it a big fight, for once."
(Look, he trusts Rick to the end of the earth. That was still a crazy move.)
"Away from people." It's a plan that sounds good, even if she's not sure it'll work. But maybe hard labor will fix his crappy attitude. Maybe he'll realize he has to be who he is when he's not angry, not that horrible spring-loaded asshole who's ready to throw down. "He can be nice. He's just -"
Even now, it's hard not to defend him. Sometimes people have it hard, especially now. It's possible to look at people, even when they're complete assholes, and think, I know you're like this for a reason.
"'Course he can," Daryl says with a shrug, squashing his first instinct, a seething who gives a shit. "Chooses not to, is the thing. I'll talk to 'im."
"You don't gotta," Beth says immediately, even if he kind of has to. She certainly doesn't want to talk to Kyle ever again, and getting someone else to deal with the situation means explaining it to them. But the idea of Daryl having to intervene is the thing she can't quite resign herself to. "But - if you wanna."
Daryl grumbles what passes for polite disagreement. "Can't be Maggie. Can't be Rick." Both of them would lean too hard on anger, he thinks, while also being an intelligible, known feature of the new Alexandria. For good or ill-- and for the majority of Daryl's keen annoyance-- nobody really understands who Daryl is, within those walls. They're scared of him.
This makes her laugh a little, and the sound's warm - a joke shared between friends. Daryl is right, without even saying it: everyone here is afraid of him, at least a little. Sometimes Beth's jealous.
"He's a coward," she agrees, her voice soft. "He won't wanna piss you off."
And his annoyance-- at himself, mostly-- evaporates. An awkward grin forms on a face unaccustomed to levity. "I'll keep on his ass." Scaring the guy who almost hit Beth, without putting any effort in? Sounds like a great day. "Make him scare up some mean tomatoes."
A cloud forms on the horizon, joined by another. "You ready to head on back?"
"Not really. But we can go." There's not space enough under that sheet metal lean-to for both of them - and the rain would still soak into their pants, she bets. She'll just...go and hide, maybe, hole up in her room and wait to feel better.
As she stands, she adds, hesitant - "Sometimes I miss being out here. Not...why we were, or eating all that mudsnake. But sometimes it was nice."
An idea forms in the back rooms of his mind, and he kind of hates it, mostly for the fact that he can't stop himself before he says it aloud- "Could do that again," he says. "Never finished training you."
"Could we?" Hope lights up her face. It feels like the first time she's smiled in days now. And then, a little teasing, she adds, "Only thing is, then we gotta find me a crossbow, too. Or I'm gonna steal yours."
"You can use mine," he sounds tired and miserable by the idea, which means- yes, he is smiling, in his own way. "'Til we figure out if you're good at it."
Making Daryl smile always feels like winning a contest you didn't know you'd entered. And it's so easy sometimes - for Beth, at least. She has bleary memories of lying in the back of a truck, or van, or something, blood pouring down her head, and just having her eyes open had been enough.
Before she thinks twice - she never thinks twice about this kind of thing - she goes a step closer to him and hugs him tight. Just for a second or two. "Thanks."
It's wrong-- not bad, but backwards-- because he's supposed to be comforting her, right? He hadn't even tried, known that was beyond his feeble powers. But here she is, trying to hug him and he's not sure why. He doesn't know why he puts his huge, ungainly arm around her narrow shoulders, gives a light squeeze. He just does, and hopes she doesn't mind it.
"C'mon," he says, moving out of it just as soon as its settled. "Before Maggie notices you're gone."
He smells like old cigarettes and sweat and leather, and the shape of him is hard and weary. It's nice - familiar.
"I'll tell her we were hunting," she tells him, as she walks over to the ladder down. It's not a bad lie, really; Daryl's just promised to take her, and for all Maggie knows, they might've started right away. "Are my eyes red?"
"Not much," Daryl answers. Beth is always slight and light in complexion-- any small change is easily noticeable, but so much so that it usually means nothing. Beth burns and scars easily, her eyes go red, she blushes. It means nothing. "Don't sweat it. Maybe I told you a sad story."
"The saddest story," she agrees, her boots plinking lightly on the metal ladder steps as she clambers down. "And I was allergic to a tree in top of it."
She's never been allergic to anything in her life, but that could change at any moment. Who knows?
He pauses, squinting up into the last of the sunlight, before shaking his head. "Nah. First lesson, don't tell lies," he says, making his way to the ladder, "you'll just get caught for."
She drops from the ladder to the ground, staring back up at him. He can loom over the edge of a building all he wants, it doesn't make him scary. "Texting you didn't count."
He stands over her, hands still folded. "Ain't arguin'. You know I'm right."
He pulls his gear off his shoulder, crossbow included, and holds it over the edge, giving Beth ample time to prepare herself before dropping it. "Catch. You're huntin'."
"Got it!" It isn't loud, just carrying enough for him to hear, as Daryl's stuff lands heavily in her arms. Beth slings the crossbow over one shoulder and watches the area around them as he climbs down.
They've been lucky so far - if she's willing to admit it to herself, she knows she's been lucky so far - but there are walkers out there. Maybe there's better hunting, their kind of hunting, someplace else. When he gets down to the ground, she asks, "What're we hunting for?"
He wouldn't have thrown it if he hadn't had absolute faith in her catching it, but it's still nice to see. Something like a smile hangs on his face, before flickering into disappearance under cloud cover.
"I dunno," Daryl says, skipping rungs on the latter at a time, landing flat-footed on crumbled macadam. "What'll make your sister believe that's what we were doin' the whole damn time?"
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"Won't let it get like Pete," he says. "Don't have to make it a big fight, for once."
(Look, he trusts Rick to the end of the earth. That was still a crazy move.)
"Make Kyle do farming or some shit. Quiet like."
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Even now, it's hard not to defend him. Sometimes people have it hard, especially now. It's possible to look at people, even when they're complete assholes, and think, I know you're like this for a reason.
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That'd be nice, is what she doesn't say.
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He can use that.
"Won't try'n fight me."
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"He's a coward," she agrees, her voice soft. "He won't wanna piss you off."
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A cloud forms on the horizon, joined by another. "You ready to head on back?"
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As she stands, she adds, hesitant - "Sometimes I miss being out here. Not...why we were, or eating all that mudsnake. But sometimes it was nice."
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Just sometimes.
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Before she thinks twice - she never thinks twice about this kind of thing - she goes a step closer to him and hugs him tight. Just for a second or two. "Thanks."
Not just for the use of his bow.
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"C'mon," he says, moving out of it just as soon as its settled. "Before Maggie notices you're gone."
He didn't tell her. You're welcome, Beth.
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"I'll tell her we were hunting," she tells him, as she walks over to the ladder down. It's not a bad lie, really; Daryl's just promised to take her, and for all Maggie knows, they might've started right away. "Are my eyes red?"
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She's never been allergic to anything in her life, but that could change at any moment. Who knows?
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He pulls his gear off his shoulder, crossbow included, and holds it over the edge, giving Beth ample time to prepare herself before dropping it. "Catch. You're huntin'."
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They've been lucky so far - if she's willing to admit it to herself, she knows she's been lucky so far - but there are walkers out there. Maybe there's better hunting, their kind of hunting, someplace else. When he gets down to the ground, she asks, "What're we hunting for?"
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"I dunno," Daryl says, skipping rungs on the latter at a time, landing flat-footed on crumbled macadam. "What'll make your sister believe that's what we were doin' the whole damn time?"
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