Chapter Text
Let the Good Times Roll companion: chapter 2, part 1
This’s gotta be a joke, right?
Daryl doesn’t usually find most jokes funny, on account of the fact he spends most of his time with his brother, and Merle’s just fuckin’ annoying most’a the time, so, yeah, the girl from the gas station showin’ up at the roadhouse must be a fucking joke.
Merle sure thinks it’s funny, anyway.
But he ain’t the first to spot her. His back’s to the door, so it’s Daryl who gets an eyeful well before his brother knows what’s what.
And — shit. Just. Shit.
She looks real pretty. Daryl’s grip tightens around his lukewarm beer, and he can’t tell if it’s the glass or his palms that’re sweatin’ more.
He thought she was real pretty earlier, too, which was part of the whole damn problem to start. How that honey-colored hair frizzed out from the heat around her head like a halo, the freckles on her sunburnt knees spanned out like constellations all the way up her thighs before a couple of ‘em disappeared into her cutoffs.
Daryl’d been the first to notice her that time, too. Merle would’ve honed in on her sooner or later — pretty girl an’ all — but he’d gone eagle-eyed soon as Daryl’s ears went hot and he ducked his head to fiddle with the gas pump. He’d cast a couple furtive looks her way and, well, Merle’d taken it from there.
Doesn’t even know why he noticed her the first time ‘round. Merle might try to chat up anything with legs half as nice as this girl’s, but Daryl’d never been the type.
But this girl — whatever her name is, she’d never answered Merle when he asked — she’d been all sun-kissed and kinda sad-lookin’, even when her big doe eyes went wary at the sight of his truck pullin’ up to the pump next to her.
She’d had her guard up, but she still looked like sunshine, and — fuck him. Christ. He don’t goddamn know.
Daryl takes a long draw of beer, just to keep his hands busy, maybe choke down the nerves that’d jumped in his throat when she’d walked in, with that floaty blue skirt flutterin’ around her knees.
That’s a nice color on her.
Ah, fuck. What the hell’s the matter with him? One look at this girl and he doesn’t even know what’s goin’ on in his own head anymore.
Ain’t gonna say nothin’ about it, about her, ‘cause he don’t want Merle startin’ in on her again. Doesn’t want Merle startin’ in on him again, either, matter of fact. Old bastard had a real good fuckin’ time at Daryl’s expense earlier that afternoon, crowin’ on and on about how his baby brother’s got a crush.
What the hell ever. Daryl ain’t even said two words to the girl; never expected to so much as see her around again, so Merle can fuck right off with that shit.
So what if he felt like he’d got sucker-punched straight to the gut the first time he clapped eyes on her? Or now, when it’s like he’d been hit upside the head with a bottle? Daryl knows how that shit feels for real, and it’s the best comparison he can make, but that don’t mean he’s got a crush. Ain’t never had no goddamn crush before, and he don’t even know this girl’s name, anyhow.
Don’t mean nothin’. Maybe them cold cuts he’d had on his sandwich for lunch went bad or somethin’. Fuck outta here about his feelings, alright, he’d rather this tug in his gut be indigestion. Make more damn sense, that’s for sure.
Something must show on his face, or Merle’s just lookin’ around the roadhouse for a decent lay, ‘cause all a sudden his brother’s grinnin’ like he just hit his high.
“Lookee there!” He hoots some, gestures with his glass. “Ya li’l girlfriend must know how to have a good time, after all.” He fixes Daryl with a stern look. “You gonna man up this time ‘round, or ‘m I gonna hafta do all the work for you? ‘Cause you could getcha’self some gourmet pussy by the looks a’her, yessir.”
Daryl scowls even as his stomach flips. That’s new. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Don’t be shy, now, Darylina. The li’l miss can’t hear ya,” Merle points out, like Daryl just wants him to shut the hell up for show or somethin’. “You can tell ol’ Merle all ‘bout how bad you wanna wreck that pussy. Shoot,” he guffaws, “I can tell jus’ lookin’ at you you’re sweet on her skinny ass.”
Here they fuckin’ go. Daryl thought he’d heard the end of this by now, but go figure Merle gets more ammo handed to him soon’s he was windin’ down. Not like either of ‘em’s ever been much for luck, but Daryl’s pretty sure he still gets the shit end of the stick there.
He just scowls some more, which is absolutely a mistake, ‘cause then Merle shrugs, takes a gulp of beer, and wolf-whistles clear across the bar.
“Well, if it ain’t Sugar Tits Junior! Big sis finally cut them apron strings loose or what?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Daryl casts her one more look, right as she’s turning around, and sticks his thumbnail in his mouth and pretends he hasn’t been lookin’ at her for the better part of five minutes. Which ain’t all that long, actually, but it probably would’ve seemed so if she’d caught him staring.
She looks about ready to storm right outta there, but Merle’s not havin’ that. “Aw, don’t be like that, sweetheart. I jus’ wanted to apologize for earlier. You caught me in a shit mood, sugar. Swear I’m usually a real nice guy.”
Daryl huffs. Ain’t nobody’d call Merle nice, although, yeah, he usually ain’t as much of an asshole as he was earlier. Not like he’d ever actually apologize for somethin’ like that, but somehow Merle manages to win most women over. He must figure an apology’s the way to go with this girl, though she don’t seem too keen on buyin’ it.
Her friend’s a different story, though. Steps right on up to their table, bold as brass, and introduces herself.
“Hiya. Are you friends of Beth’s? I’m Georgia.”
Beth. So that’s her name, then, Daryl notes; he glances at her, then quickly away before she catches him at it. Pretty, kinda old-fashioned. Suits her.
Somehow, knowing this calms him down for a goddamn second, before Merle starts in on him again. Asshole’s already chattin’ up a storm with Beth’s friend — she seems more inclined to accept his flirtation than Beth is, anyway — and tryna get Daryl involved in his shit.
“— this here’s my baby brother Daryl. He’s a real ornery sumbitch, but he’s sweet as sugar underneath it all. Ain’t that right, boy?”
“Fuck off,” Daryl mutters, so lowly it ain’t likely anyone can hear him over the jukebox. But, swear to god, he thinks Beth almost smiles.
Ain’t doin’ much of that, though, when her friend accepts Merle’s invitation to sit awhile. Beth looks like she’d rather down a tank of gasoline, but she takes the seat next to Daryl, anyhow. Promptly scoots, too, so she’s not so close.
Daryl snorts, ‘cause it’s kinda funny even as it kinda pisses him off. What’s she think, he’s gonna try to cop a feel or some shit like that?
Nah. She’s real pretty, but he can’t so much as look her square in the eye; forget about touchin’ her. He wouldn’t do that shit, neither, ‘less she wanted him to. Probably’d have to put his hands on her her damn self, otherwise he couldn’t be sure that she did want it.
He sneaks another glance when Merle asks ‘em to have a drink and Beth says she doesn’t. ‘Course she doesn’t, he thinks. Just look at her. Girl ain’t ever done a thing wrong in her life, and Daryl’s willing to bet that buck he took down earlier that she ain’t twenty-one.
He feels it when she looks at him, like she’s trying to meet his eye ‘cause she felt ‘em on her, but he pretends he’s too immersed in his near-empty glass to notice. Just gotta hope she doesn’t notice the glaring red tips of his ears.
Merle fucks off to the bar, and Daryl’s stuck with Beth on one side and her friend on the other, and, Christ, her friend’s annoyin’. Daryl doesn’t recall her name. He thinks she said it, but he’d been a little too caught up learnin’ Beth’s, ‘cause he’d been wondering after it for the better part of the day.
Not like Daryl can judge Beth too harsh for the company she keeps or nothin’, ‘cause, again, he’s got Merle in tow. Daryl doesn’t have much say in the matter — that’s his brother, after all, he’s stuck with ‘im, but then again that just makes Daryl feel more responsible for the nasty shit Merle’s always sayin’.
Neither Beth nor her friend seem like the type to talk that way. They’re tryna make conversation, on about how nice the town is or some shit like that. He ain’t got nothin’ to say about it — place seems nice as any other, boring, maybe, but you could make a nice life here. Beth seems to think so, too, but her friend’s got some thoughts on that.
“Beth’s gotta think that way, on account of she’s pretty much stuck here for life. Someone’s gotta take over her daddy’s farm, an’ I don’t think her brother or sister are real inclined to do it. Gonna marry some local boy an’ pop out a couple’a babies, aren’t you, Bethy?”
Jesus, is she for real? Daryl frowns. He knows what it’s like to be raised in a place the complete opposite of this, and it ain’t exactly fuckin’ easy street, alright? If somebody wants to pop out a couple’a babies, they oughta do it in a town like this one.
Ain’t his place to say so, though. Daryl don’t think Beth’d appreciate it if he snapped at her friend, anyhow, even if it was to defend her. ‘Cause maybe she don’t want the shit her friend thinks she does — Daryl knows that feeling, ‘cause Merle don’t ever know shit about what he wants, no matter what he says otherwise — but it’s not somethin’ you hash out at the bar.
He chances another look at Beth. Can’t really help himself. Her friend said somethin’ about her daddy’s farm and, yeah, that sounds about right. The line of muscle that flexes in Beth’s bicep, and that tan line, too, speaks to long days spent in cornfields, haulin’ hay bales and patchin’ up barn roofs.
He follows that flex all the way down to her fist, clenched tight in her lap, thumb tapping restlessly in the folds of that pretty skirt. Doesn’t even seem like she notices it, like it’s a nervous tic she’s too wound-up to acknowledge.
Before she can pop a blood vessel or anythin’, Merle’s back and pissin’ off half the table all over again.
“Know you said you don’t drink, li’l miss,” he says, as he pushes a full glass towards her. “But I got you one anyways, jus’ in case you changed your mind.”
Beth goes thin-lipped. She wraps her hands around the glass, but only so she can push it back towards him. “Thanks, but I’m good. You can have it.”
Daryl almost laughs. This girl’s got some nerve, don’t she? He kinda likes that.
“Now, honey, I spent my hard-earned cash on that there beer —”
Daryl does laugh at that, huffs it out through his nose. Merle ain’t “hard-earned” nothin’ but his frequent black eye and the couple times he’s got his nose busted.
“— an’ it’d be a real damn shame if it went to waste.”
“Yeah,” Beth agrees, but shoves the beer a little farther away like she really doesn’t, “but it won’t be a waste if you drink it.”
“Girl —”
“Fuck’s sake.” What are they gonna do, play hot potato with the fuckin’ thing? Daryl’s not about to listen to his brother go off on this girl again, neither, or else he really is gonna have to kick his ass. So he plucks the glass from Beth’s grip, careful not to touch her ‘cause he doesn’t want to have a damn heart attack, and sets it next to his. “Jus’ gimme the damn thing. Goddamn pain in the ass.”
That last part’s meant for Merle but, yeah, Beth’s a kinda pain in the ass, too, tell the truth. It’s just that Daryl doesn’t mind so much, when it’s comin’ from her.
‘Specially now, ‘cause she’s looking at him straight-on. Sure, it makes him feel like he’s gonna toss up his fuckin’ heart, still-beating and all, but it’s good to know she’s willing to make eye contact without telling him to go to hell or something.
Her cheeks are pink, and flare brighter when she realizes they’re staring at each other. She looks away quick after that, and Daryl goes back to his beer, too. Feels his own skin prickle with heat and… somethin’ else. Not sure what, and even if he was, like hell’d he be about to put a name to it.
“Shiiit, there he goes again,” Merle drawls through his smirk. Nudges Beth’s friend in the side. “This here’s the second time in a row Daryl’s jumped to the li’l miss’s rescue. Ain’t he a regular Prince fuckin’ Charming?”
“Huh. Really? That’s sweet.”
Daryl snorts. He takes another draw of beer just so he doesn’t gotta say anything about that — he ain’t sweet, but he could be, to Beth, if she wanted, and — fuck. Fuck, he don’t need to be sayin’ that shit. Doesn’t have the words to, even if he wanted.
So he gulps down his beer and tries not to feel Beth’s gaze on him again. He can feel it, though, just like she’s runnin’ those soft-lookin’ hands all over him, and it’s making him think all stupid and dangerous. Like what if he was sweet to her, what if he could get her alone, so she really could get her hands on him and he could find out where her farmwork-worn calluses are, and —
Her friend’s phone rings. Christ. Probably a good thing, Daryl thinks, and tries to chase that dry feeling in his throat with another long draw of beer.
There’s some bickering back and forth whether she should answer it — it’s Gordon, and Daryl don’t know who the fuck that is, nor does he care, he only files the name away ‘cause Beth said it — but she does answer, and then —
“I’ll be right back, okay?” Her friend’s already hopping outta her seat. “Just gimme one second.”
“But —”
Too late. Beth must know it, ‘cause she props her elbows on the table and rubs at her temples like she’s got a headache comin’ on. Daryl’s fingers twitch, but he ain’t stupid enough to try an’ touch her.
“The fuck’s Gordon?” Merle wants to know.
“Georgia’s good-for-nothin’ cheatin’ ex-boyfriend.”
Georgia. Alright, so that’s her annoying friend’s name. Daryl files that away, too. Doesn’t goddamn know when he’s ever gonna need to know it, but… Whatever. Beth’s got a way about her that makes him want to pay attention, he guesses, and chances are it’s not just ‘cause she looks all pretty sittin’ next to him.
“Damn.” Merle whistles between his teeth. “She lookin’ for a rebound?”
“Go ask her,” Beth snaps.
Merle grins, drains his beer. “Think I just might.” He abandons his seat, tosses them a wink. “Y’all keep it PG-13 while I’m gone, now.”
Beth makes a little whimpering sound behind her hands. Daryl flips his brother off and goes back to his beer. Tries not to think about the noise she just made and how he could make her do that again. Probably wouldn’t be all that PG-13, but since when does Daryl take his brother’s dumbass advice, anyway?
Not like he’s got a shot with this girl, so he doesn’t know why he’s bothering thinkin’ about it like he is.
And now he’s alone with her — alone as you can be in a crowded bar, anyhow — and, much as the thought appealed to him a couple minutes ago, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to do with it now.
Beth’s not faring much better, far as he can tell. Her leg starts bouncing. They’re not touching, but Daryl can feel it, anyway.
Girl looks about as pissed as he feels. He wonders if she goes through shit like this with her friends all the time, or even half as much as he goes through it with Merle. Kinda nice not to have to deal with it on his own for a change, even if Beth won’t look at him longer than a second. Least that gives him a little more time to look at her.
Lookin’ at her so much, ‘course he catches it when she starts lookin’ back. He really can feel it like she’s touching him, like it’s her fingertips instead of her eyes tracing the line of his throat, his arm, the ridges of his knuckles. His nerves spark up like firecrackers when she does that. Wonders what it’d feel like if she touched him for real.
She doesn’t, though. Doesn’t even say a word about it, and it’s not like Daryl expected her to, but there’s still a twinge of disappointment in his gut when the first thing she says to him is —
“D’you think they left together?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Doesn’t have an answer, and after a minute that's what he tells her. “Dunno. What’s it matter to you, anyways?”
Her mouth twists. And, yeah, he don’t gotta worry after Merle — asshole can take care of himself just fine — but she must have a few concerns herself.
“Just wonderin’ if I should call the police or not.”
Yeah. So he was right, but her tone of voice puts his teeth on edge all the same. “Merle ain’t no rapist. He’ll only fuck that mouthy li’l friend’a yours if she wants him to.”
And that’s the truth, Merle ain’t ever forced a woman — ain’t ever hurt anybody who didn’t deserve it — but Daryl doesn’t even know if he’s talking about Merle right now. Not just. ‘Cause he ain’t like that, neither, and Beth’s mouthy as all fuckin’ get-out, too, and he’ll fuck her if she wants him to.
Jesus. Jesus Christ, when did he start thinkin’ like this?
“She doesn’t know what she wants,” Beth bites back, snapping him outta it but good. “She ain’t in her right mind. She’s outta her head over her stupid boyfriend, and she’ll do just about anythin’ to spite him.”
Daryl wonders if Beth’s got a boyfriend, too, or an ex she’s just as pissed at. Doesn’t know why it matters.
“You’re so worried,” he says, jerking his chin at the phone in her hand, “why don’t you just fuckin’ text her?’
Beth blinks, like she’s surprised. Like she forgot. For Daryl’s part, he’d been too busy lookin’ at her to think of much else; he wonders if she had the same problem.
Now, she clicks through her phone, but before she can type anything, it buzzes in her hand. The pale white glow of the screen lights up her face, which goes and crumples in half a second.
“I’m gonna kill her.”
“What?” Fuck. Fuck, why’s he keep tryna talk to this girl? He’s gonna mess this shit up, he just knows he is.
Beth turns the screen towards him. He squints to read the message — Gordon came to get me. Srry!
Ah. He frowns. Shit.
“She took him back. She took that goddamn good-for-nothin’ two-timer back,” Beth says, like she can’t rightly believe it, “an’ now I don’t have a ride home.”
Daryl shifts. Dammit. Does this mean he’s responsible for now? Not like he’d mind, actually, it’s just…
“Ain’t there somebody you can call?” he asks. “How ‘bout that loudmouth sister’a yours?”
Beth seems to think about that, rolls the thought over in her head. Doesn’t seem too keen on the idea, and Daryl’s not all that surprised. Her sister was the overprotective type, that much was made clear earlier, and she’d probably come in here spittin’ fire if she knew the kinda company Beth was keepin’ tonight, whether it was her choice or not.
She makes a choice now, though. Looks him right in the eye and says, “Can you give me a ride?”
“What?” No, Daryl can’t fuckin’ be alone with this girl, is she fuckin’ nuts? “Hell nah.”
“C’mon, why not? I got cash. I’ll pay you.”
“I ain’t runnin’ a fuckin’ taxi service.” Ain’t lookin’ to run them off the road over a heart attack ‘cause he gets a good, unobstructed taste of the sweet smell of her hair, either.
She hasn’t stopped looking at him. She clutches her fingers together like she’s prayin’. “C’mon. It’s what Jesus would do.”
“Ain’t religious, neither.”
Her lip trembles. Fuck fuck fucking fuck, he cannot make this girl cry, but her eyes are big and bright like she’s about to start.
Motherfucker.
Daryl screws his own eyes shut, breathes hard and even through his nose for a second. Familiarizes himself with the sweet smell of her before they’re cooped up together. Vanilla, he’s pretty sure that’s what it is. Vanilla and the good kind of sunscreen. He remembers the sunburn on her thighs, the freckles scattered up her legs. The good kind of sunscreen, yeah, but she only bothers with somethin’ like SPF 30, seems like.
He opens his eyes. Hers are so fuckin’ bright.
He swallows, asks her, “You even trust me enough to get in a car alone with me?”
She can, but he needs to know that she does.
Beth nods. “Guess I do. C’mon,” she wheedles, sweet as sugar, “please?”
Shit. Like he’s gonna be able to say no to that. Pretty sure he was done for soon’s she asked him the first time, but that please don’t leave a word to spare for further argument.
He shoves out of his seat, digs for his keys, ‘cause —
Fine. Fuckin’ fine. He’ll give her a ride home. Maybe even work up the nerve to talk to her, or…
Christ, or what? If Daryl really thinks he’s gonna manage to, what, ask for her fucking number or somethin’, then he’s helluva lot more of an optimist than he ever even wanted to be — ‘cause he’s a goddamn idiot if he really, honestly thinks he’s got a shot in hell with this girl.
He doesn’t, and his stupid ass’d do well to remember that.
Even now, even when she’s smiling at him and hopping outta her stool. Doesn’t mean she likes him or nothin’; girl’s just polite. Gotta sharp tongue and a smart mouth, but she’d minded her sweet southern manners with Merle better than anybody else’d ever bothered to so much as try. He didn’t deserve it and she probably didn’t even notice she was doin’ it, but Daryl could tell this girl ain’t got a mean bone in her body.
He ain’t used to that. Likes it, though.
Likes her smile, too, but he ducks his head before he can look at it too long. Probably ain’t no better for him than lookin’ straight at the sun, but god damn it if it don’t make him feel warm.
Daryl tries to stamp down that feeling. It’s nice and it’s warm and he thinks he might’ve been lookin’ for it, but just ‘cause it’s good for him don’t mean it’d be any good for her. She could do better.
Hell — he loops his fingers through his car keys, glances up at her again, makes sure she’s ready to head out — the fuckin’ sky could fall and he could be the last goddamn man on earth, and even still he thinks Beth shouldn’t waste her time with the likes of him.