In spite of the rough beginning, Alexandria grows on him.
Really, the trick to it is: things go terribly wrong, more than once. That's how it works these days. They end up in the shit, they fight on the same side, they get around to trusting each other. It's not like the prison-- he's pretty sure nothing's ever gonna be like that, nothing's gonna be that good again-- but it sort of becomes home. More or less.
Distance with the rest of the group waxes and wanes, and it still makes him more nervous than he wants to admit, but he's getting used to it. They're still family, though.
Family grows, and grows apart, sometimes.
But it grows closer, too. That's some comfort. As they settle in, as everyone finds some way to live, he's glad for the people he doesn't have to bullshit to. Back in the prison, he never would've imagined Beth would be an ally like that. Someone who's seen him at his worst and knows how to deal with it. Never would've guessed her strong enough to lean on, but after their time on the road-- well, he's glad she made it.
It means whenever she needs a favor, he doesn't think twice. When she wants to go out on a run? He clears his shifts and finds them a car. Easy choice. That's how family works, right?
It's hard, living in Alexandria, and the hardest part about it is that it ought to be easy. They have everything: it's safe, there are neighbors to chat with and care about, lives to imagine building...hell, they have air conditioning. Running water. Beth could start straightening her hair again if somebody picked up a straightener on a run.
And all that normalcy, it feels like a chain around her neck. Some part of her is waiting for the other shoe to drop, even as she starts teaching kids their ABCs and holding Noah's hand when they walk through their makeshift town. She learns to sleep alone in a bedroom again, instead of sleeping on rotation, waiting for her turn to keep watch, but she's still tensed for everything to fall apart.
When it happens, it's swift and ugly--rough, maybe, to stand there tearless and hear that Noah's dead, and to wonder dully how many more times this is going to happen to her. To see Reg's throat slit and start screaming, flinching back in anticipation of the inevitable moment when Pete saws his head off, a moment that never comes. There are days when she doesn't want to leave her room--but does--and days when she holes up in the unfinished attic of their house and spends hours alone.
But she's alive, right? As long as you're alive, you have something. In the best moments, she knows that the only way for things to get better is if she makes them that way herself, and she pushes through everything else as best she can. Which means, eventually, spending more and more time with Daryl, letting herself relax and be honest with him in a way she isn't with anyone else.
Eventually--eventually, as the days stretch out and Alexandria starts to feel like it really could be a home--it's not just spending time with him. And it's not just appreciating him the way she did back in that shack. Sometimes it's like he's the only person who understands her without any effort, and she wants to keep that feeling as close as she can.
Long story short, they end up on a run. And what she's about to do isn't really her best plan, but she's pretty sure confronting Daryl with any kind of feeling is doomed to be awkward from the start. The important thing is making sure it goes someplace after that point, and she's determined to make that happen.
"Pull over," she says quietly, once they're too far out from home to turn back. It's nearly a question, her stomach buzzing with nervousness as she says it. Now or never--you can't turn back from this. "Just for a sec. I wanna talk."
It hasn't been easy for her, here. He knows. That's part of what kept them close-- not just the shared history, the fire and the grief and the ink on their skin. But she fits in easier in Alexandria; she's young and she's still got a bright smile. The difference is he knows it's hard-won. Another way it's been good for him, being closer with her; she tempers his instinct to glower and brood a bit. Certainly it's softened him a little in the eyes of their neighbors, seeing them talk. He hates giving a shit what people think about him, but he does.
She's strong in a way he hadn't really understood, until it was just them. She kept him going-- not just having something to protect, but watching his back in turn. That's what he thinks, when they head out. Nothing unusual. It's not like they've never done this before.
And then she asks him to pull over, so he does-- flashing a quick, puzzled look her way. The hell does she have to talk about that can't wait? He puts the car in park, but doesn't kill the engine, glancing around quickly to make sure there's nothing obviously threatening here before turning his attention back to Beth with an inquisitive grunt.
Idling cars for long is a bad idea, and Beth knows it, but sometimes she still wants to. It's like wanting to go places alone or daydreaming about what pineapples used to taste like--one more relic of the world before the turn that's gone forever now. They'll just be a couple minutes, she promises herself, and then it'll be over.
"What do you think of me?" God, this felt less awkward last night, when she was settling on what she'd say and how. There hadn't been that uncertainty that creeps into her voice now, or the little note of hope as she watches him.
The question takes him by surprise-- which might not be saying much, because the whole business takes him by surprise. Usually they speak more practically-- kind of a necessity, when it comes to conversations with Daryl.
Even if he was following along, it'd be the kind of question he wouldn't know how to answer. Too vague, too much... Just too much. He's far better at showing feelings than putting them into words. Being asked... well, makes him just the slightest bit uneasy.
That's the thing with Daryl, what's different from everyone else she's ever flirted with. He never notices. There's never a moment when she smiles sidelong at him and can tell he gets it. The only option is being straightforward, and this is what she thought of for that. If he says something that's too you're a kid and that's it, then she leaves it at that. And if he doesn't...
She's thought through the if he doesn't possibility plenty already.
But trust Daryl to find a way to make this harder than she thought it'd be when she dove in.
"Just...what do you think of me?" How does she break it down further than that? Her brows draw together just a little.
It's true-- he doesn't notice. Partly because he's not the best at catching subtlety, partly because it never occurs to him there might be something to catch. What he thinks about her is-- well, he's still not doing any better at answering that, but it's not that. That's the danger of the easy camaraderie they've built since the still and the tattoo shop; it's been comfortable enough that he never noticed it changing at all. No reason to think she would flirt.
The insecurity implied by the question, that strikes him as peculiar, too. But, he reasons, everyone doubts now and then. For all his desire not to care what people think about him-- he just wouldn't ask. (Doesn't need to, he thinks, with most people, who wear reactions on their sleeves.) So he takes a moment, tries to settle the confusion, and come up with an answer that'll help. She's trying to make sense of who she is, somehow-- he gets that-- so he's gonna try to be honest, and figure out why the hell she's doing it after.
So he shrugs.
"You come pretty far since we met," he reasons, starting slow. It took him a long time to catch up to that; even at the prison he'd been thinking of her as the sad, sheltered girl she'd been at home, at least in the back of his mind. Not to say he didn't care-- Lord knows he cared-- but still, he hadn't known. "People here don't get it. You're smarter 'n braver than they know," he adds, because that's true. Because he admires that about her-- both that she's strong and that she doesn't have to show it. It takes a hell of a lot to stay gentle, in this world. (That would be a nice thing to say to her, probably, but he's got limits on how gentle he can get.)
It's about all he can think to put into words. Whether it'll satisfy her, that's another question entirely.
Her cheeks heat up as he speaks. Imagining a mumbled answer--the sound of it sticking fuzzily like a burr in her mind, the words never quite certain--wasn't anything like hearing his actual answer. It's simple, and it's not much, but it's the kind of serious, honest praise that Daryl rarely metes out to anyone. Come pretty far, smarter, braver...by his standards, it's generous.
"Sometimes I think you're the only person who understands it," Beth murmurs, except that by it, she means me. Most of the rest of their group knows she's brave, and the real Alexandrians don't really care about bravery. But Daryl's the only one who seems to see all of her at once. He's seen her at some of the worst moments in her life, and he can still sit here in a beat-up car and tell her that she's made herself strong.
(Okay, Maggie probably does, too. But Maggie doesn't count at moments like this one.)
"You and me," she starts again, gaze fixed on his face, because nothing he said made it sound like this was a bad idea, "we aren't who we used to be. We don't have to be, anymore. Right?"
Like most things Daryl manages to spit out, it's honest. Difficult, but only because he's not inclined to be effusive like that. He feels things deeply-- in that, he thinks, they're alike-- but admitting to it is a different challenge. A last vestige, maybe, of a life that made it clear that being too open wasn't safe; caring, a vulnerability that someone was bound to seize as soon as they saw it.
But she asked, and because he does care, he tries. At any rate it seems-- okay? Maybe? There's still a strange intensity he can't sort out to the moment, but she doesn't seem disappointed, so that's something.
He's halfway to asking what she means when she speaks again. She's thinking of the still, maybe-- that's where they talked about it, at least, but he hears the echo of Alexandria there. Trying to be a town the world missed, fitting them into the roles it wants them to play. Months in and they're making some progress redefining that, but it still chafes. So maybe that's what this is-- needing to know she's more than the child-minder, Maggie's sister, the blonde girl who sings.
So he just nods, the slightest movement, paired with a grunt of agreement.
"So maybe we can be something new." This is the pivot, the part where everything comes together. It's not exactly what she rehearsed, but predicting what Daryl's going to say isn't an easy task at the best of times. Imagining this conversation, she really wasn't sure what to expect. Her stomach flutters, nervousness and anticipation melding into one buzz of energy. Beth swallows. "Together."
That's enough talking, it has to be. She hates getting this close to coming out and saying it; it feels stupid in the way that silent flirtation with other guys never did. Daryl's not somebody who puts stock in words, anyway. The less she uses, the better, right?
Right. She leans across the armrest separating them, so she can lay a kiss on his mouth.
A great many people wouldn't get close enough to manage that. Beth's luck holds, in that his old impulse to flinch away from everyone is dulled; he trusts her, even if he's not following.
That's about as far as her luck does take her though.
She's probably counting on the half-moment of total stilled shock. She's probably not counting on the rest of the reaction-- the sharp jerk backwards, his shoulder slamming into the window.
"Fuck," he gasps, immediately feeling like an idiot and an asshole at the same time. He wasn't expecting-- did she think he was expecting that? That he wants--
All he can do is gape at her, because no matter what-- this is going to be fucking awful, and probably worse for her than for him.
There's a fraction of a second where it's perfect. She's kissing him, and he's--
--scrambling back, or as back as you get in a four-door sedan. As soon as she feels it, she's doing the same, all instinct. Like burning her hand on a hot stove, pulling away before she even realizes it, biting her lip hard in the process. He's looking at her like she just tried to punch him.
Beth never planned for this reaction. She doesn't know what to do; her mind's awash in oh God, oh Gods, her face burning with shame. In most of her fantasies, he kissed her back, or at least let her down without acting like a skittish horse.
"Daryl--" she starts, her mouth dry, but for once, she doesn't know what to say to him.
It's vaguely possible that his reaction isn't the worst possible reaction someone could come up with, but honestly you'd have to try pretty hard to beat it. He doesn't know what to do, how to answer that--
Dimly, he thinks, she might bolt. It's an instant thought, because he's prone to bolting when he doesn't know what else to do, and so he reacts-- stupidly-- by slamming the door locks, putting the car back in gear and peeling the fuck out of their spot on the side of the road. He's not-- well, okay, he's probably speeding more than he should be, but it's not unreasonably dangerous. He just wants to be fast enough that she won't do some goddamn fool thing like run.
It's a long moment-- at least it feels long-- before he tries to say something.
When he kicks them back onto the road, it's its own kind of jolt--she's jerked against her seat belt, but there's something else, too, that knocks the breath out of her.
"What the hell are you doing?" She's looking out the window, peering into the woods for signs of walkers. They're going to hear this, they're going to come to the road...
Part of her expects him to do a U-turn back to Alexandria, tell her to sit down and shut up, but he doesn't. He just crashes down the highway and gets out half a sentence. It's twisting the knife, or feels like it, and she already feels like a complete idiot, and there's a hard lump balling up in her throat. Without a thought to what she's saying, she snaps, "Yeah. I figured that out."
Okay, she's got a point. He slows down, maybe not as much as he oughta, but enough. There'll be other cars stuck in the road soon enough, you never know when a herd will wander through-- it's dangerous. He doesn't mean to put them in danger, he's just--
"Shit."
Look, she took him off guard.
"Sorry."
And he means that-- he sounds it. What part, he doesn't say. He's sorry about all of it.
Beth can't bring herself to look over at him. If she does, she's afraid she's going to do something really regrettable, like yell or cry or...crying's probably the worst option right now. Her arms fold in around herself, her forehead resting against the passenger window.
That was stupid. That was so, so stupid. What she did, how he reacted, the fact that she never thought about the fact that she's still stuck on the road with them until they finish this stupid, stupid run. All of it's just going to sit like a stone inside of her until God knows when.
Somehow, she's still got things she wants to say, but getting them out is going to take time. The best she can do right now is, "Why not?"
Crying's the option that would make it worst on him. Which, maybe, he thinks he deserves-- for whatever reason. For making her think this was a good idea, somehow, or for not returning whatever feelings she's feeling, or for being dumb enough to have missed whatever was building to this.
He slows a little more, eyes on the road. Figures she's still asking questions-- hard fucking questions.
"You think there's a good answer for that?"
It sounds mean, once he says it aloud. But really-- whatever he says, it's not what she wants to hear, it's gonna hurt.
"No." Everything's coming out sharper, more brittle--it's either that or break down, or maybe just ask to be taken back to Alexandria so she can hide up in the attic and wait for everything to stop.
She takes a breath through her nose and ends up silently mad at herself when it sounds like a sniffle. (Maybe it is a sniffle, but she doesn't want to let it be.) Her fingernails dig into her side. "But that doesn't mean I don't wanna know."
Unless she demands it, he's not turning around. He'd still-- even at this point-- do near anything asked of him, because awkwardness aside that's who he is. But having a task in mind, it's good-- it's giving him something to focus on and keep his balance while trying not to make this worse. Making this worse, that's his specialty, when it comes to emotional shit.
"Christ," he sighs, not looking at her. (No sniffling. He is going to just aggressively not notice, if she did.) There's no good answer. There's any number of things he could say, and they'd be true things-- that she's too young, that for all the ugliness she's seen there's more he doesn't want to show her, that she's not his type, if he even has a type anymore, it's been so goddamn long. But it all just sounds like bullshit.
"It ain't you. Ain't me either, it's just..." He shrugs a shoulder, awkward, risks a quick glance her way. There's something soft in it-- not apologetic, but gentle.
"'S just not how we are." At least not how he thought, but she thinks different. He feels like shit.
"We could be." Beth says it to the window, pretty much--there's no way she can put that out there while looking at him. Which means she misses the moment his gaze darts her way and sees none of the weariness it holds.
She wants to close her eyes, maybe curl up with her knees at her chest and fall asleep until all of this is over. That's not how it works, though. They're out here, and they both need to be alert. Until they get back to Alexandria, she has to be present, painfully aware of the truth. He doesn't like you, not that way, and now you put it all out there for nothing.
"No." She doesn't flinch, but answering like that feels like she did. But what's worse than getting turned down? Getting talked down to like a twelve-year-old who's been mentally testing out her math teacher's last name and doodling hearts in the margins of a notebook.
That what you wanna hear? Of course not. What she wanted to hear lives in a different universe from the conversation they're having right now, somewhere on tree-lined, walker-free Never occurred to me, but I feel the same way Avenue. Her hands ball up, because the alternative is crying for real--out of embarrassment and disappointment and just a little resentment that he's going to be like this--and there's no way she's crying about this in front of him.
Her lungs feel like they're grating against her ribcage, or maybe her throat's sandpapering against itself. Getting anything out at the moment is hard, and it doesn't sound quite right. "It doesn't matter. Never mind."
"What?" She's thrown forward a little, just enough to startle her into turning back toward Daryl. "No."
Get pissed off, he says, like she isn't already. Pissed off doesn't always look like hollering drunk in the middle of the woods. This afternoon, it's something gut-churning and internal, about the only thing left she can keep to herself.
Sure, she's already mad. Just, she's turned it all... quiet.
Stubbornly, he sits right where he is and stares at her. It's the Daryl Dixon special. Christ, she could at least call him an asshole who doesn't know what he's missing, or punch him. That'd work much better.
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Really, the trick to it is: things go terribly wrong, more than once. That's how it works these days. They end up in the shit, they fight on the same side, they get around to trusting each other. It's not like the prison-- he's pretty sure nothing's ever gonna be like that, nothing's gonna be that good again-- but it sort of becomes home. More or less.
Distance with the rest of the group waxes and wanes, and it still makes him more nervous than he wants to admit, but he's getting used to it. They're still family, though.
Family grows, and grows apart, sometimes.
But it grows closer, too. That's some comfort. As they settle in, as everyone finds some way to live, he's glad for the people he doesn't have to bullshit to. Back in the prison, he never would've imagined Beth would be an ally like that. Someone who's seen him at his worst and knows how to deal with it. Never would've guessed her strong enough to lean on, but after their time on the road-- well, he's glad she made it.
It means whenever she needs a favor, he doesn't think twice. When she wants to go out on a run? He clears his shifts and finds them a car. Easy choice. That's how family works, right?
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And all that normalcy, it feels like a chain around her neck. Some part of her is waiting for the other shoe to drop, even as she starts teaching kids their ABCs and holding Noah's hand when they walk through their makeshift town. She learns to sleep alone in a bedroom again, instead of sleeping on rotation, waiting for her turn to keep watch, but she's still tensed for everything to fall apart.
When it happens, it's swift and ugly--rough, maybe, to stand there tearless and hear that Noah's dead, and to wonder dully how many more times this is going to happen to her. To see Reg's throat slit and start screaming, flinching back in anticipation of the inevitable moment when Pete saws his head off, a moment that never comes. There are days when she doesn't want to leave her room--but does--and days when she holes up in the unfinished attic of their house and spends hours alone.
But she's alive, right? As long as you're alive, you have something. In the best moments, she knows that the only way for things to get better is if she makes them that way herself, and she pushes through everything else as best she can. Which means, eventually, spending more and more time with Daryl, letting herself relax and be honest with him in a way she isn't with anyone else.
Eventually--eventually, as the days stretch out and Alexandria starts to feel like it really could be a home--it's not just spending time with him. And it's not just appreciating him the way she did back in that shack. Sometimes it's like he's the only person who understands her without any effort, and she wants to keep that feeling as close as she can.
Long story short, they end up on a run. And what she's about to do isn't really her best plan, but she's pretty sure confronting Daryl with any kind of feeling is doomed to be awkward from the start. The important thing is making sure it goes someplace after that point, and she's determined to make that happen.
"Pull over," she says quietly, once they're too far out from home to turn back. It's nearly a question, her stomach buzzing with nervousness as she says it. Now or never--you can't turn back from this. "Just for a sec. I wanna talk."
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She's strong in a way he hadn't really understood, until it was just them. She kept him going-- not just having something to protect, but watching his back in turn. That's what he thinks, when they head out. Nothing unusual. It's not like they've never done this before.
And then she asks him to pull over, so he does-- flashing a quick, puzzled look her way. The hell does she have to talk about that can't wait? He puts the car in park, but doesn't kill the engine, glancing around quickly to make sure there's nothing obviously threatening here before turning his attention back to Beth with an inquisitive grunt.
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"What do you think of me?" God, this felt less awkward last night, when she was settling on what she'd say and how. There hadn't been that uncertainty that creeps into her voice now, or the little note of hope as she watches him.
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Even if he was following along, it'd be the kind of question he wouldn't know how to answer. Too vague, too much... Just too much. He's far better at showing feelings than putting them into words. Being asked... well, makes him just the slightest bit uneasy.
"What do you mean?"
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She's thought through the if he doesn't possibility plenty already.
But trust Daryl to find a way to make this harder than she thought it'd be when she dove in.
"Just...what do you think of me?" How does she break it down further than that? Her brows draw together just a little.
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The insecurity implied by the question, that strikes him as peculiar, too. But, he reasons, everyone doubts now and then. For all his desire not to care what people think about him-- he just wouldn't ask. (Doesn't need to, he thinks, with most people, who wear reactions on their sleeves.) So he takes a moment, tries to settle the confusion, and come up with an answer that'll help. She's trying to make sense of who she is, somehow-- he gets that-- so he's gonna try to be honest, and figure out why the hell she's doing it after.
So he shrugs.
"You come pretty far since we met," he reasons, starting slow. It took him a long time to catch up to that; even at the prison he'd been thinking of her as the sad, sheltered girl she'd been at home, at least in the back of his mind. Not to say he didn't care-- Lord knows he cared-- but still, he hadn't known. "People here don't get it. You're smarter 'n braver than they know," he adds, because that's true. Because he admires that about her-- both that she's strong and that she doesn't have to show it. It takes a hell of a lot to stay gentle, in this world. (That would be a nice thing to say to her, probably, but he's got limits on how gentle he can get.)
It's about all he can think to put into words. Whether it'll satisfy her, that's another question entirely.
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"Sometimes I think you're the only person who understands it," Beth murmurs, except that by it, she means me. Most of the rest of their group knows she's brave, and the real Alexandrians don't really care about bravery. But Daryl's the only one who seems to see all of her at once. He's seen her at some of the worst moments in her life, and he can still sit here in a beat-up car and tell her that she's made herself strong.
(Okay, Maggie probably does, too. But Maggie doesn't count at moments like this one.)
"You and me," she starts again, gaze fixed on his face, because nothing he said made it sound like this was a bad idea, "we aren't who we used to be. We don't have to be, anymore. Right?"
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But she asked, and because he does care, he tries. At any rate it seems-- okay? Maybe? There's still a strange intensity he can't sort out to the moment, but she doesn't seem disappointed, so that's something.
He's halfway to asking what she means when she speaks again. She's thinking of the still, maybe-- that's where they talked about it, at least, but he hears the echo of Alexandria there. Trying to be a town the world missed, fitting them into the roles it wants them to play. Months in and they're making some progress redefining that, but it still chafes. So maybe that's what this is-- needing to know she's more than the child-minder, Maggie's sister, the blonde girl who sings.
So he just nods, the slightest movement, paired with a grunt of agreement.
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That's enough talking, it has to be. She hates getting this close to coming out and saying it; it feels stupid in the way that silent flirtation with other guys never did. Daryl's not somebody who puts stock in words, anyway. The less she uses, the better, right?
Right. She leans across the armrest separating them, so she can lay a kiss on his mouth.
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That's about as far as her luck does take her though.
She's probably counting on the half-moment of total stilled shock. She's probably not counting on the rest of the reaction-- the sharp jerk backwards, his shoulder slamming into the window.
"Fuck," he gasps, immediately feeling like an idiot and an asshole at the same time. He wasn't expecting-- did she think he was expecting that? That he wants--
All he can do is gape at her, because no matter what-- this is going to be fucking awful, and probably worse for her than for him.
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--scrambling back, or as back as you get in a four-door sedan. As soon as she feels it, she's doing the same, all instinct. Like burning her hand on a hot stove, pulling away before she even realizes it, biting her lip hard in the process. He's looking at her like she just tried to punch him.
Beth never planned for this reaction. She doesn't know what to do; her mind's awash in oh God, oh Gods, her face burning with shame. In most of her fantasies, he kissed her back, or at least let her down without acting like a skittish horse.
"Daryl--" she starts, her mouth dry, but for once, she doesn't know what to say to him.
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Dimly, he thinks, she might bolt. It's an instant thought, because he's prone to bolting when he doesn't know what else to do, and so he reacts-- stupidly-- by slamming the door locks, putting the car back in gear and peeling the fuck out of their spot on the side of the road. He's not-- well, okay, he's probably speeding more than he should be, but it's not unreasonably dangerous. He just wants to be fast enough that she won't do some goddamn fool thing like run.
It's a long moment-- at least it feels long-- before he tries to say something.
"Didn't know you meant--"
He hasn't got a clue how to talk about this.
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"What the hell are you doing?" She's looking out the window, peering into the woods for signs of walkers. They're going to hear this, they're going to come to the road...
Part of her expects him to do a U-turn back to Alexandria, tell her to sit down and shut up, but he doesn't. He just crashes down the highway and gets out half a sentence. It's twisting the knife, or feels like it, and she already feels like a complete idiot, and there's a hard lump balling up in her throat. Without a thought to what she's saying, she snaps, "Yeah. I figured that out."
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"Shit."
Look, she took him off guard.
"Sorry."
And he means that-- he sounds it. What part, he doesn't say. He's sorry about all of it.
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Beth can't bring herself to look over at him. If she does, she's afraid she's going to do something really regrettable, like yell or cry or...crying's probably the worst option right now. Her arms fold in around herself, her forehead resting against the passenger window.
That was stupid. That was so, so stupid. What she did, how he reacted, the fact that she never thought about the fact that she's still stuck on the road with them until they finish this stupid, stupid run. All of it's just going to sit like a stone inside of her until God knows when.
Somehow, she's still got things she wants to say, but getting them out is going to take time. The best she can do right now is, "Why not?"
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He slows a little more, eyes on the road. Figures she's still asking questions-- hard fucking questions.
"You think there's a good answer for that?"
It sounds mean, once he says it aloud. But really-- whatever he says, it's not what she wants to hear, it's gonna hurt.
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She takes a breath through her nose and ends up silently mad at herself when it sounds like a sniffle. (Maybe it is a sniffle, but she doesn't want to let it be.) Her fingernails dig into her side. "But that doesn't mean I don't wanna know."
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"Christ," he sighs, not looking at her. (No sniffling. He is going to just aggressively not notice, if she did.) There's no good answer. There's any number of things he could say, and they'd be true things-- that she's too young, that for all the ugliness she's seen there's more he doesn't want to show her, that she's not his type, if he even has a type anymore, it's been so goddamn long. But it all just sounds like bullshit.
"It ain't you. Ain't me either, it's just..." He shrugs a shoulder, awkward, risks a quick glance her way. There's something soft in it-- not apologetic, but gentle.
"'S just not how we are." At least not how he thought, but she thinks different. He feels like shit.
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She wants to close her eyes, maybe curl up with her knees at her chest and fall asleep until all of this is over. That's not how it works, though. They're out here, and they both need to be alert. Until they get back to Alexandria, she has to be present, painfully aware of the truth. He doesn't like you, not that way, and now you put it all out there for nothing.
Her voice drops low. "Things change. People do."
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"That what you wanna hear? Gonna make you feel better?"
It'd be a lie, and he doesn't lie, if he can help it. It's sharper than he means, but this-- it's not something he can fix.
"What'm I supposed to say?"
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That what you wanna hear? Of course not. What she wanted to hear lives in a different universe from the conversation they're having right now, somewhere on tree-lined, walker-free Never occurred to me, but I feel the same way Avenue. Her hands ball up, because the alternative is crying for real--out of embarrassment and disappointment and just a little resentment that he's going to be like this--and there's no way she's crying about this in front of him.
Her lungs feel like they're grating against her ribcage, or maybe her throat's sandpapering against itself. Getting anything out at the moment is hard, and it doesn't sound quite right. "It doesn't matter. Never mind."
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"I mean--"
Huffing, he brakes again-- not so sharp as to jar them but too sharp all the same.
"Look." They've gotta get-- somehow or other, they need to get through this. He can't leave things with her sulking.
"Just... get pissed off, or somethin."
That's usually how he copes with his feelings. Turning them into anger and burning it out quick.
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Get pissed off, he says, like she isn't already. Pissed off doesn't always look like hollering drunk in the middle of the woods. This afternoon, it's something gut-churning and internal, about the only thing left she can keep to herself.
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Stubbornly, he sits right where he is and stares at her. It's the Daryl Dixon special. Christ, she could at least call him an asshole who doesn't know what he's missing, or punch him. That'd work much better.
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