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Beth is crying again. Daryl can tell she's trying to be quite about it, trying to ignore the fact that tears are falling from her eyes, making their way down her cheek only to be be angrily wiped away.
Daryl doesn't know what to do. She's grieving for her dead father, and for her lost sister. He misses the old man too, but he can't imagine what Beth is going through right now.
Every day is the same. They fight. They survive. They try and find food and water. They also look out for shelter, but after weeks (months?) of looking they're both slowing giving up hope of ever finding a home again. In a way they've found a new home, in the trees, under the stars. But it's not the same. Daryl doubts it will ever be the same.
Every night is the same too. Beth starts a fire while he sets up alarms and defences. They cook the meat they hunted that day, and if they found nothing then they stare into the camp fire in an all too familiar silence. Daryl takes first watch. He always does. And Beth will lay down, facing away from him, and she will cry. And she will hate that does.
The archer has never done anything in these times. He never comforters her. Or holds her. Doesn't wipe away her tears or tell her it's okay to cry. He does none of that. Daryl just listens too it, and gives her some privacy.
Tonight should be no different. She cries. He listens. Daryl was planning on leaving her alone, just like every night, when he thought of something.
What if she wants be comforted? What if she needs to not be alone? When he was a young boy, after being beaten horribly, how many times did Daryl wish that someone would find him, hold him say that's it's okay? A hell of a lot. Every night he wished that there was gonna be some savour to rescue him? How he wished that someone would listen to his cries and help him?
No one came. No one noticed. But it could be different for Beth. He could help her.
So fuck it, he decides. It's worth a shot.
"I don't know how to comfort you." He says quietly.
Beth sits up, using her mud ridden hand to wipe away her unwanted tears. Turning to face him, she asks. "What?"
"With your father. I know I'm feeling pretty shitty about his death, but I can't image what you're feeling." He explains, willing her to understand.
She does, luckily, even if it takes her awhile to respond.
"Oh. Do you not miss your pa?" She asks the question so innocently, as if she has no idea about the horrors the lurk in his past.
"My pa weren't very good. Hershel and I were alike in several ways." He admits, hiding his face away from her questioning gaze.
"Your pa beat you." It's not a question, just a statement, an Daryl really appreciates how blunt she is, how she refuses to beat around the bush.
He grunts in response.
"What about your momma? You miss her?" There's that innocence again.
"I lost her when I was young. A fire. She liked her wine and her cigarettes. Bad mix when you put 'em together though." His voice is getting scratchy, and with a start he realises that they haven't spoken all that much.
He clears his throat before continuing.
"But my ma was smart. She knew. I think there's two ways her death went down. Maybe my pa..." He trails off.
"You think your pa killed your momma?"
He grunts again.
"What's the second way?" She asks timidly, knowing that one wrong move and Daryl would close off and his walls will come speeding back up.
"Maybe she ended it. Couldn't handle it any more." He needs to clear his throat again. This time it's not because of lack of use.
"Opted out?" She supplies.
"Yeah. Don't like thinking about it none."
"Okay. How'd you get through it? How'd you survive?" There's the big question. Probably the most commonly asked question in this new world.
"Day to day. Didn't think about it. Didn't react. Just survived. Got through one day, got through the next." He answers her, silently hoping that it helps.
"Then that's what I'll do. No more tears. No more crying. I'll be strong now. We don't get to cry in this world. We don't get to grieve. We have to survive, for the people that didn't." She speaks firmly.
"Yeah. You're right. We'll survive each day." He agrees with her, but not out of politeness, not even out of respect (because damn does he respect her). He agrees because Daryl fully believes in what's she saying.
"And we'll do it together right?" She holds out her hand for him to take. He accepts it with no hesitation.
"That's right. Together."
She doesn't cry the next night.