Disclaimer: I do not own "Dirty Dancing". I'm merely referencing some dialogue because the scene was inspired by a particular scene. I also don't own Smokey Robinson's "You've really got a hold on me", I just thought it was a fitting song.
Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait! Enjoy!
Her dad sits there as if waiting for her arrival, though he still won't as much as glance in her direction. She knows she'd disappointed him, and to disappoint Hershel Greene—possibly the most forgiving man in the entire county—was to let someone down in possibly the most shameful of ways. So it's with slouched shoulders and a tentative gaze that she watches his expression as she brings herself to have an overdue, if not one-sided, conversation.
"I'm sorry," she eventually brings herself to say. "I'm sorry I lied to you."
He nods in acknowledgement, the first indication he'd given of his awareness of her in what seemed like ages, but he still doesn't look at her.
"I'm not exactly proud of myself," she continues, looking at her feet now. "But I'm in this family too, and you can't keep giving me the silent treatment."
He nods again, this time in agreement.
She turns to go inside but upon seeing the crucifix hanging on the wall through the screen door, she hesitates.
"I'm sorry I lied to you, but you lied too. You told me everyone was alike and it was the Christian thing to do by giving them a fair break...and Daryl's a good person no matter what everyone else seems to think."
He sighs.
"And maybe there are a lot of things about me that aren't what you expected—what either of us expected—but if you love me, than you have to accept all those things about me. And I love you…" It was then that she felt her lower lip start to wobble and her voice crack. She isn't certain if she's only talking about her relationship with Daryl anymore, or if she's referring to something else, something like the incident. "And I'm sorry that I let you down, Daddy! But you let me down too!"
And if she hadn't turned on her heel and rushed back into the house just then, letting the screen door slam behind her, she would've seen a rare sight: that of Hershel Greene's resolve giving way. Eventually, he stood up from his chair and followed into the house.
Merle had taken off for a few hours and in that time, Beth had come over to teach Daryl to play guitar much like he'd taught her about hunting. He was still living out of the same motel room but, much to her delight, he had started looking for a more permanent place to stay. Currently sitting on the edge of the unmade bed, Daryl was holding her guitar in his lap and trying to follow her instructions, while she lay on her side next to him.
She had come through that door with her guitar case, but not soon after the door had closed over she let it fall to the floor. Daryl had picked her up bridal style and carried her to the bed, dropping her onto the mattress before he undid his belt and fly. He'd then dropped to the edge of the mattress, reaching over to the nightstand for a condom. And while he had readied himself, she clumsily went about removing all but her pink bra. With eager eyes he'd watched as she'd then climbed atop him so that she was straddling his lap, her skin aglow from the sunlight that still managed to stream in through the closed blinds on the windows. Kissing and touching her intimately, he'd lost his breath when she'd slowly dropped down on his cock.
For a long moment neither one of them had moved, reveling again in the general feeling of him inside her. Beth's hands had found the bottom of his shirt and she'd coaxed him into removing it and then he'd stretched around her to do the same with her bra. She'd then reached around so that she was hugging him and when the slow roll of her hips had begun, having rested her head on his shoulder, he felt her quickening breath against his neck. Even in his eagerness, Daryl had let her control the pace and eventually, when the need had become overwhelming, it had accelerated and he'd found himself practically gnawing on her neck. He'd listened to the gentle and soothing sounds of her moaning in amongst the puffs of their rapid breathing. Their skin and hair had dampened from perspiration to the point that they were practically stuck together by the time her climax came about, which had then triggered his own. The feeling of it was something like the ripping off of a Band-Aid or being given a needle, but rather than pain it was abrupt pleasure that he'd felt—made all the more intense by the anticipation of its arrival.
"Fuck," he'd grunted. He'd shut his eyes for a long moment, once more taking in the pleasure and relief he'd managed to find in another, before she'd climbed off of him letting him remove the condom.
It had been one of the rare occasions in which he'd been actually completely shirtless in her presence and unconsciously he ended up staying that way. Having had picked up the guitar once more, she was teaching him actual music again, which he'd agreed to learn as repayment for having taught her about hunting. But he's still distracted by the condom wrapper on the nightstand and the feel of her bare skin now behind him. He shudders every time her arm's come around him and he feels her breasts brush against his scarred shoulders as she helps him readjust his fingers on the chord she's teaching him. While a part of him knows they should get dressed now, as her family will be expecting her home soon, a bigger part of him wants to live in the moments like these that they share for as long possible. So he pretends to mess up the placement of his fingers just so she'll stay that little bit longer, reaching around to show him the chord again. As much as he'd like to go another round with her, he knows they definitely don't have the time for that. Still, he does enjoy the gentle caress of her skin against his own even from what was intended as a platonic touch.
Beth, for her part, likes listening to Daryl play her guitar. She's lying behind him now after partially getting redressed, and is watching him strum the few chords she'd managed to teach him in the last half hour. He's taken to it considerably well and she watches the focused look on his face with nothing but admiration. The fact that he can still be so kind and determined, after having been treated so cruelly, makes her love him all the more. She's yet to say the actual words aloud but she knows with certainty in moments like these that she does love him. And it's also in these types of moments that she's relieved she hadn't finished what she'd started when she'd slit her wrist, because then she wouldn't know this happiness, wouldn't have had the experience of falling in love. A guy might not be worth living for, but the overwhelming contentment she felt in moments like these certainly was.
"Do they hurt?" she eventually asks as she reaches up, her fingertips soothingly tracing the scars on his back from his father's belt.
He hesitates between the chords and glances towards the door as if expecting his very childhood or more likely, Merle, to come waltzing in right then and there to purposefully ruin the tender moment.
"Now and then…does yours?" Her hand drops from where she'd been touching him, where the wings on his leather vest tend to cover up when he wears it. She doesn't answer him, suddenly self-conscious. He shrugs at her lack of response and eventually turns his focus back to the guitar, but not before muttering, "Everybody's got scars of some kind."
"Ours are just a bit easier to see," she agrees quietly, sitting up and reaching over once again to correct the placement of his fingers on the next chord.
He eventually notices the time on the clock and starts to panic. He hands her back her guitar so she can put it back inside her case and finishes getting dressed.
"I don't have to be at Sherriff Grimes' for another two hours. Judith can wait."
She gives him a peculiar look as she too finishes getting dressed albeit at a much slower pace, and watches him actually go to the bother of making the bed—something she's never seen him do. The fact that he's actually making the attempt as if to hide all evidence of her visit annoys her. He knows all about the trouble her being with him had caused amongst her family, and the notion that he's not even willing to give the slightest indication that she'd been here, hurts. But it's when Daryl literally starts trying to rush her out the door, opening it pointedly, that she stops. Putting her guitar case down on the floor, Beth gives him a petulant look and holds out her hand.
"If you're gonna treat me like a whore, I think I deserve overtime," she snaps. "Or at least a tip."
It's close to sundown and he was expecting Merle back soon, and not wanting to expose her to any more of his brother's mocking—or worse, the possible retelling of childhood stories—Daryl looks out into the parking lot. Thankfully, it's still just his bike he sees parked there on its own.
"You've got to go before Merle get's back," he explains, as if the reason for the hurry should be obvious.
Her brow furrows in confusion. "Doesn't he already know about you and me?" she asks. "And why does what Merle thinks matter, anyway?"
He won't meet her eye and a moment goes by before he answers the question, albeit evasively.
"I just don't want to get into it again with him."
She leans the tiniest bit closer and lowers her voice so no one outside will hear. "Get into what? What are you two fighting about? Is it me?"
He bows his head almost like a scolded child and answers her questions with one of his own.
"I've let Merle get away with a hell of a lot, but what does it say if I let him start in on you?"
Daryl, from the start, was living proof that actions speak louder than words. He'd shown his feelings in other ways, much like she shows her own through music or by that thin scar on her wrist. So with a tiny forgiving nod and a quick peck to his cheek, she finishes getting ready, straps her guitar case to her back and follows him out of the motel room.
Carol was reluctant at the idea of letting the brothers into Hatlin's for a drink. It took some coaxing from Daryl but eventually she did agree to let him and Merle in so long as they promised to behave themselves. The place had relatively emptied out since their arrival, but it would be closing time soon anyway so Daryl silently tells himself it wasn't their fault that Carol's being robbed of tips. Maggie is clearing tables nearby and putting up chairs so the floor can be mopped, in the meantime. He's felt her eyes on them since Carol sat them at the bar, and it certainly isn't helping him feel any calmer. The brothers each order a drink and for a short while, things are silent between them. It's not until Daryl's about halfway through his drink that Merle finally does speak.
"You picked the wrong sister," he says before taking a swig from his beer bottle. He's staring at Maggie over Daryl's shoulder as she bends over to wipe down another table. Daryl doesn't so much as bother glancing in her direction which makes Merle raise a speculative eyebrow at his lack of interest. "Seriously? Are you telling me you've never once thought about bending her over one of those tables and—"
"I'm not blind," Daryl cuts him off, hating to admit that he had taken notice of her in the past. "I'm just…not interested."
Merle shrugs and continues watching her, much to Maggie's displeasure. Daryl remembers those few occasions when he used to look at her with that same amount of lust in his eyes. She was undeniably a beautiful woman and he was a man with normal urges after all, but now he felt guilty for ever having given it thought. She is perhaps taller and more curvaceous than Beth is, but there wasn't much else about her that could hold his attention. She's not damaged the same way they are. He doesn't think he could talk to her the way he does Beth, or that she'd be as patient with him. In his eyes, the sexiest thing in this bar from now on will always be Beth—and perhaps the memory of their excursion atop that pool table.
"So, where's your girlfriend? That's if she still is your girlfriend." Merle tries and fails to smother a smile, still finding the concept of Daryl being in a relationship to be funny, especially when it was with someone as young and as slight as Beth. "She's not grounded is she?"
"She's not here tonight," Daryl says, forcing himself not to rise to the bait again. But turning the other cheek gets harder and harder each time, so in his head as a reminder, he recited the mantra of 'What would Hershel Greene do?'
He'd felt badly about rushing Beth out the door the other day, but it had seemed necessary at the time. Now, he wasn't sure if she might be having second thoughts or if she'd run into trouble with her own family. From the frequency of her sister's furtive and somewhat disgusted glances, he assumes it's the latter…which might have also brought about the former. He orders another drink and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. By the time last call comes about, Daryl finds himself looking at the unused pool table yet again. He hasn't heard from Beth, a fact of which he has mixed feelings about. On the one hand, he's glad that's she's keeping her distance from Merle like he'd asked her to, but on the other—Daryl misses her. As juvenile as it might sound from a grown ass man after only a few days, it's true.
He's been mocked ever since his brother had met Beth. Merle had started trying to rally him, convince him to forget about her and join him on another cross country road trip. One that would undoubtedly be filled with an unlimited number of bar fights and visits to strip joints, each more dilapidated than the last.
Merle leans in slightly, his voice a touch more serious in its tone. "You know you're being an idiot, don't cha?"
"Doesn't feel that way," Daryl answers with a shrug, knowing right away what Merle's getting at.
"See that's how they get you—she seems like a shy and sweet little thing, but look how easily she was able to turn us against each other. She'll make you into her bitch if you let her."
In regards to Merle, Daryl can't help but think that if things are as fine and dandy between them as Merle is always insisting they are, then it shouldn't have been so easy a feat for someone to come between them. But he keeps his mouth shut on the matter—it seems safest considering the fact that Merle is willing to leave without too much fuss. And in regards to Beth, Daryl knows he's already at her mercy but it's not out of guilt or a sense of duty or anything like that. He wants to be hers; to be worthy of her touch, to be present for the sound of her laughter and to be inspired by the glow of that renewed smile of hers.
"Promise me you'll be careful?" he asks, while Merle throws back a shot. "Give me a call now and then?"
Merle snorts, amused by his concern. "You don't gotta worry about me. You've got Raggedy Anne to keep you busy now."
Daryl gives him a hard look, earning an almost apologetic one in return. "I always worry," he says.
And that, right there, was more than half of Daryl's relationship with his brother summed up in three small words.
The following evening outside of Hatlin's, the two of them share one last smoke together. Merle's taking off again, both brothers having had agreed that it was time for him to go. Last night Daryl had given the invitation to join him back on the road some more serious thought, reminiscing about his childhood and their dad's way of punishing him. Merle had given him his old vest as if to make up for their father's cruelty and his own absence, but the damage was done. The scars remained even if the rest of the world only saw the dreaded angel wings of a Dixon.
"Sure, you won't come along?" Merle asks one last time, hoping the answer will change.
Daryl perches on the seat of his bike and glances over Merle's shoulder to where Beth has finally appeared, carrying her guitar case into the bar where she'll be playing again tonight. He can see her face lit up naturally with a smile and part of him can't help but think that if he can keep her wearing that expression for as long as possible, then he's done something worthwhile—something that he had been raised to believe he was incapable of being. Daryl might be in for some time spent worrying about his brother's absent ass, but hopefully he wouldn't be alone during it.
Merle's features soften when he sees the unsure expression he's wearing, and he follows Daryl's gaze.
"Alright then," he says, releasing an exasperated sigh and lightly shoving against Daryl's shoulder in place of a hug. "Go chase after Blondie."
Beth sits on the stool in the corner with her guitar in her lap. She looks out into the crowd and sees Maggie and Carol serving tables, and her Dad sitting drinking ice tea with Glenn. As she begins tuning her guitar, getting herself ready for her first song, she sees Daryl come in through the entrance. Their eyes meet and with a grin she gives him a little wave. He doesn't return it but nods his head in acknowledgement, unhurriedly moving across the busy room. He eventually reaches her Dad and Glenn's table. Her father frowns when he sees him but says and does nothing to stop him from taking the available seat next to him, a seat which in Beth's opinion he is just as entitled to as the other two men at that table.
Daryl shifts in his chair self-consciously before sharing what seems to be an awkward moment with Glenn who also seems to give him a discomfited look. However, all three men after sharing a long uncomfortable moment of silence refocus their attention back towards her where it belongs.
"I'd like to play you all a favorite of mine," she says, gaining the attention of some of the other nearby patrons, and starts strumming.
"I don't like you
But I love you
Seems that I'm always
Thinking of you
Oh, oh, oh,
You treat me badly
I love you madly
You've really got a hold on me
You've really got a hold on me
You've really got a hold on me
You've really got a hold on me, baby
I don't want you,
But I need you
Don't want to kiss you
But I need to
Oh, oh, oh
You do me wrong now
My love is strong now
You've really got a hold on me
You've really got a hold on me
You've really got a hold on me
You've really got a hold on me, baby
I love you and all I want you to do
Is just hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me
I want to leave you
Don't want to stay here
Don't want to spend
Another day here
Oh, oh, oh, I want to split now
Just can't quit now
You've really…
I want to leave you
Don't want to stay here
Don't want to spend
Another day here
Oh, oh, oh, I want to split now
Just can't quit now
You've really got a hold on me"
The applause she receives when she finishes is not nearly as satisfying as Daryl's embarrassed little smile when she winks at him during the last rendition of the chorus. He shifts in his seat as if needing the reminder that he was actually sitting in it before he too begins clapping along with the rest of the bar.
Thank you for sticking it out and reading! Please let me know what you thought!