Soulmates

Chapter Two

Beth swallowed the lump in her throat as she turned back to the man laying on the bed in front of her. Less than a minute ago, the man in the bed was just Mr. Dixon from the Atlanta group. Now? Now she's the man she's loved and hated, the man she's been dreaming about at night, a faceless silhouette that has had to stand by her side.

She took a deep breath in and out before she poured the disinfectant onto linen strip and—she was using all her willpower for her hands not to shake, because in a moment, she was going to be stitching his scalp back on—and gently made the first dab at his grazed gunshot wound.

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Daryl yanked his body up, suddenly full of adrenaline as he felt the warm familiar touch of receiving a soul mark, but it was much more than getting a soul mark, this shock engulfed his entire body. He felt like someone had electrocuted him, rewired his brain. He heaved deeply in and out, taking in as much air as he could to fill his lungs.

"Daryl-!" he heard Rick, but Hershel's outcry was louder.

"Beth! Someone take care of her head wound right now. Get Patricia out of bed if you have to. Do any of you know how to stitch besides Elizabeth?"

Daryl managed to squint at the blonde standing next to him, half her face lit from the lamp in the room, other half shadowed. One of her hands was extended towards him, near the side of his face where he had been shot. Her lips were pursed and she was staring at him intently, knowingly.

Her gaze was too intense after only a moment before he looked away.

"Daddy, I don't feel a thing. Let me- may I finish cleaning your wound, Mr. Dixon?" Beth Greene's voice was a thick hum over the tense room.

Then, all eyes were on Beth. She was backed against the wall, barely a foot and a half away from where Daryl was laying—(he hadn't even glanced at this Greene and now he was suddenly able to feel her in the room, feel how close she was to him)—holding some kind of rag in her hand. Her pink blouse was only two-thirds pink, the other third being a dark damp red that was obviously blood. Her face had lost all it's color, her blue eyes wide, starin' at him as if she seein' light for the first time. She had a cut on her forehead and on her left temple, an open wound with blood slowly trickling down her cheek.

Daryl's breathing was still heavy, and he let out a grunt to respond after he realized he may have been silent too long. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her hand inch close to his face and gently dab his forehead. Daryl, overwhelmed by the burning of the disinfectant and the awareness of how goddamn close she was to him.

"Good to go," She murmured finally. Hershel had moved close to the two while she cleaned his forehead, examining his daughter and cleaning her up at the same time.

"Bethy, go to Patricia, have her fix you up." Hershel said in a quiet, solemn voice. Daryl's face flushed as he felt her walk out of the room, the warmth of her closeness that had been controlling his mind dwindled, but he still wasn't able to make eye contact with anyone yet. He needed a moment to process what had just happened.

"We're going to have to clean your abdomen, too, son." Was all Hershel said while he stitched Daryl's forehead.

"Daryl," Rick said, clearing his throat. "We saw you found Sophia's doll."

"Yeah," Daryl nodded. "I found it washed up on the creek bed right there. Must of dropped it crossing there somewhere."

"Cuts the grid almost in half," Rick commented, looking back at Shane, who sat in a chair in the corner. Shane's head was resting on his hand, leaning against the chair, giving Daryl a puzzled glance before looking at his old partner.