(of COURSE I had to go angsty. Could be Howl-verse.)
It’s cold outside, real cold, the kind of cold only the North can deliver.He can’t be inside though, not yet. For sure, he’s not that much of a dick, he’ll man up and face what’s happening, good or bad, just…
He needs the cigarette, desperately, and he sure as hell won’t smoke in the house no more.
There was that soft bed he’d wordlessly put together for her, hauled all the way to the farmhouse from some fancy, dusty furniture place and spread with all the good quilts. Daryl didn’t have much to say, wasn’t good with words, wasn’t good at using them to get across just how he felt about a given situation.
Thankfully, Beth had known him long enough. She knew that responding to the news that she was knocked up and equal parts giddy and terrified, with a whole new bed, was probably the equivalent of a sonnet, given the source.
She’d woken up in a pool of blood that morning.
The front door opening and closing rouses him, and with a shaking hand he puts out his cigarette, looking up at Maggie as she approaches him, reaches for him even, and he lets her tug him in.
”We knew she was too small, too thin,” She whispers, and there’s his answer. He crumbles a little, and she clutches him tighter. “I’m so sorry Daryl…there’ll be others, though, this place is safe and she’s getting stronger and…” She says some other things, but it blurs. He just nods, kissing the top of her head before finally moving to go inside.
She’s small and pale on the couch under a pile of blankets, the makeshift IV in her arm. He slips in behind her, wrapping her up in his arms, and she turns to press her face to his chest, silent tears seeping into his cold clothes.
”I ruined the bed…” She whispers.
”I’ll make ya a new one.” He promises, his voice breaking.