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[a_littlefaith]

The apartment looks amazing, so at least there's that.

Beth has put a lot of work into the decorations, the lights and the tree. There are wrapped gifts under the tree, most of them for Judith and Carl, and there are cookies and candies and chocolates on the table. The rest of the apartment is more or less the same, she doesn't have a lot of extra money to be buying Christmas place settings or anything like that, but she thinks she's done a good job regardless.

And it's a good thing, too, because she's not sure dinner is going to turn out the way it's supposed to.

It's not bad, not from what she can tell, but it's just not very good either. Nothing is burned or overflowing, nothing is undercooked and nothing looks like it might possibly poison someone accidentally. But she's tasted everything and it's all just kind of bland.

The only thing this dinner has going for it is dessert, which is apple crumble and the one thing Beth did learn how to bake from her mother. It's still in the oven and it smells delicious and she's sort of hoping no one will notice that cinnamon and apple is the only smell in the apartment when they arrive for dinner.

She doesn't say anything about it, not to Daryl, but she sits down at the piano and plays a soft, melancholy song, something that's got no place at a bright, cheery Christmas dinner.

Comments

[a_littlefaith]

By the time everyone's there, she's not quite so upset about dinner. If it's terrible, no one has to eat it, she's sure they'll figure something out. Besides, what's most important is that they get to spend the evening together. They're all here and they're safe and alive, and that's the important thing. That's what matters.

Which isn't to say she's forgotten the people who aren't here.

In the store, she'd found tiny sparkling snowflake ornaments and she'd bought one for every person who isn't here but should be. One for her father, one for Maggie, one for Glenn. One for Carol and Tyreese and Sasha. One for Shawn and one for her mother. Lori, Shane, Dale, Andrea. So many people who should be here and aren't, and Beth stands by the tree for a moment, touching one of the snowflakes, her gaze distant.

[thesamurai]

Dinner's not terrible.

There are times back home boiled beef jerky has to pass for fine soup, so Christmas dinner isn't bad. It's a feast, it's family and warmth. It's difficult, to have fun, to celebrate, but they all do somehow and after dinner, Michonne makes her way to the tree and stands beside Beth.

"You did good, you know."

[a_littlefaith]

"I think I forgot to season the potatoes," she answers, but she smiles over at Michonne and gives the snowflake one last little pat before turning toward her. "And maybe the rest of dinner, too."

But she doesn't think Michonne means just the food and Beth looks at the tree again, then around at the apartment, at the people who are here with them and she nods. This is exactly what she wanted. A first Christmas to remember after all the awful things they've been through, something for Rick to look back on when Judith is older and remember as his daughter's first Christmas, something better and happier for all of them.

"I just wanted it to be somethin' special," she says.

[thesamurai]

"I never cooked," she offered. "I mean I could, some things. But Mike did most of the cooking before, or we had take out. Take out was a big thing for us."

Reaching out to cup an ornament in her hand for a moment, Michonne looks back at Beth after a minute and smiles. "It is. You made this probably one of the best days we've all had in a while." One arm loops around Beth's shoulders then, pulling her into a side hug.

[a_littlefaith]

Beth grins when Michonne hugs her closer and she shrugs, but it feels nice all the same. "We all kinda did it," she says, because everyone helped. They're all here, after all, and they'd all participated and brought gifts for Judith and Carl. They're all doing their best to really make this an actual Christmas and that's all she can hope for, it's all she can ask of everyone. After all the things they've been through, she would understand if they hadn't wanted to do something like this.

"I tried to keep track," she says. "Back there. I tried to keep track of the days, but I think I was off by about a week. I always sort of knew when Christmas was. When birthdays were. No one ever wanted to know." And she understands that, she really does. There was no real point of having celebrations when they were working so hard just to keep everything together, but she'd liked knowing.

[iseethings]

Being here in Darrow a few months now doesn't mean he's forgotten what their average meal was usually like back home. The bar isn't set very high for him, though he does appreciate the good food he can get here. And as meals go, this one suits him just fine. All that matters today is being here together, having food at all, and being able to actually think about what's come and gone, and what's ahead for all of them here.

He won't pretend he's not melancholy today; there are people they love who should be here, people long gone, or just...not here, and that makes this ache sit beside his heart, makes it hard to just be happy. He's grateful, but it doesn't make all that pain suddenly disappear. He'll make the best of it for his kids, though.

Judith has been chatty today, cooing and almost making sense with that babble now, like she's trying to mimic what everyone else is saying, trying to figure out tones and patterns to words. The moment she spots Beth by the tree, she's grinning, and Rick can't deny her anything, so they make their way over, standing next to her. If it weren't for Judith in his arms, he'd give Beth another moment, just standing beside her in silence, getting lost in thoughts he imagines she's having, too.

But Judith is insistent, reaching for her. "Can't keep her away," he smiles warmly.

[a_littlefaith]

"Don't ever have to," Beth answers with a grin, reaching out to take Judith from Rick. Even after not seeing her for a few months, the weight of her in Beth's arms is so comfortable, so familiar, and it's easy for her to look back to the prison when things had been good, the time when she'd spent days with this little girl, looking after her and the other kids, helping Carol with them, helping in other areas where she could, but mostly looking after the kids. It had taken her a whole semester at Barton to realize she's meant to do something like that, but now that she has a plan, it seems so obvious.

She can track like Daryl, she's getting better with his crossbow, she's better still with a gun, but this is what she's meant to be doing. In a world without walkers, she can let herself really think about what she wants to do.

"You ever need me to take her for awhile, you know you just gotta ask, right?" she asks, looking over at Rick. "I got school and work, but I can make time for her. Always." She loves kids so much, she's always wanted to be a mom, and it's not that she's completely written that off now, but she just doesn't know. She doesn't know if that's the sort of thing Daryl will want to ever do and she hasn't found the courage to ask him.

[iseethings]

"You look good with her," he murmurs, and the moment that Judith's in Beth's arms, he rests a hand on the back of Beth's shoulder. His touch is firm, but gentle, saying without words that he's proud of her. It's not just her taking care of Judith, or this Christmas dinner, it's everything she's doing here. She's got a courage all her own, of a kind he can't yet possess, but wants to. Maybe he'll figure it out from her.

This day isn't as happy as it could be for a lot of reasons, and he knows Beth's missing people the same as he is, but despite all of that, she put this together for them, and that means everything to him.

"You're keepin' busy, and that's a good thing, but you take time to have fun, too. And rest." He worries, he doesn't mind admitting that. He's always been protective of Beth, and she's got Daryl, too, but in a different way.

[a_littlefaith]

It's nice, having someone to worry about her like this. It's different from Daryl, who's mostly just intent on making sure she doesn't need help from anyone, who needs to know she can take care of herself if she's ever left alone and she'll give him that now. She understands it a little better now that they've talked more, now that she's seen the things she's seen, felt his scars under her hands. He doesn't want her to rely on anyone because people just aren't reliable in his world and she wants to do everything she can to make him realize that doesn't have to be true, but at the same time, she'll do what he needs, too.

With Rick it's something else. It's almost a little bit like having her daddy around again, and she smiles at him and nods obediently.

"I am," she promises, stroking one hand over Judith's soft hair. "I think I'm gonna do one of those open mic nights soon. That's fun, right?" Maybe it's only fun for her, but she sort of hopes they'll all come out to support her. She knows Daryl will be there, but she'd like to look out at the crowd and see the others.

[nobodys_bitch]

Beth hasn't said anything about it, not about dinner, but she really doesn't need to, because after weeks back home and then half a year here Daryl knows how to read her pretty well. And it's not even just dinner - which he thinks is fine, given that he's never even had a Christmas dinner before. It's everything else, and he's feeling it too. It's been wonderful, all of it, every second, even the stupid fucking dancing snowman, but there's something about it now that's making him feel the empty spaces just as much as the people who are here.

They've all lost so much. They've made it, they're here, they're together and this is the closest thing to real family he's ever had, but they're not all here, and it doesn't matter how many people you have to learn to live without. It never gets easier. You never stop missing them.

But he has a mug of eggnog that's probably equal parts rum, and Anthony seems to have decided that she's going to ride everywhere on his shoulder, and he's not about to kick her off. The little black kitten is eyeing everyone else a bit skeptically, but then she butts her head against the back of his jaw, and it's hard to feel sad.

They're here. Right now, that's what matters.

[a_littlefaith]

It's been just a little bit strange, though she's tried not to think about it much, because she isn't sure how to be with Daryl around the others. Not yet. When they're alone she has no problem touching him, even just in passing, her hand against his back as she goes to another room or a brush of her lips over his cheek when she gets up to fill her mug of tea. But the others are here now and they know and everyone seems okay with it, but knowing and seeing are different things, so she hasn't been sure how to be around him.

Because it's Christmas and she wants to be able to lean against him when they sit on the couch. She wants to slide her hand into his and she hasn't.

This, though, she can't help. He's got eggnog and a kitten on his shoulder and she can't help but smile and slip up beside him. "She really likes you," she says, reaching up to scratch Anthony behind her ears, leaning against him as she does and it's nice to be able to do that. Even if it's just a tiny amount of contact, it's still nice.

[nobodys_bitch]

"Yeah, be kind of a fuckin' problem, she didn't." But he smiles slightly, leans back against her, Anthony's purring turning to a buzz in his ear. It's good to hear the same smile in her voice, because although he still hasn't said anything, he's been just a little worried. Or worried might be too strong a term. But he's never been able to sit easy with her at all unhappy and that's even more true now than it used to be.

"You doin' alright?"

[a_littlefaith]

"Yeah," she says, glancing toward the tree again. The snowflakes she bought for all their missing and fallen friends glitter in the light. There's even one for Merle and although she hasn't specifically told Daryl what they're for, that she bought one for everyone who should be here and isn't, she thinks he knows anyway. She doesn't know if he realizes she'd bought one for his brother, but it's there. Maybe one day she'll tell him.

"Just missin' people is all." That's something she's sure he knows and she presses herself closer to him, ducks under his arm and wraps hers around his waist. For just a second she rests her face against his chest, against the soft material of his shirt and just breathes. She hopes it doesn't make anyone else feel uncomfortable, but right now she needs it. She needs Daryl.

She needs all of them.

[nobodys_bitch]

"Uh huh." She doesn't need to explain beyond that, and he guessed. It's hard not to, and by now they're all in tune with each other, at least in some ways. But he guesses Christmases might be like this even for people who haven't lived through the end of the world. When people come together, you notice who's missing.

She's half embracing him, and though he's still a little unsure about this - as he senses she is - he also can't just let that be. He slides his own arm around her and for a moment just holds on and forgets everything else. Even if they weren't together he thinks it might be like this, and that makes him oddly happy. By the time they found the funeral home they'd learned how to be together. How to give each other what they needed. And he could have loved her without ever having more than this.

"Might see 'em again."

[i_win]

Carl isn't even sure how many Christmases he'd missed. It had to have been two, at least. They'd all kept track of time, as best they could, but he'd shied away from thinking about holidays, especially after his mom died.

Now, the first Christmas he would celebrate without his mother, Carl didn't really know what to do. His dad was doing his best to make it nice for Carl and his sister, but nothing was like he remembered it to be. It was all a little more dim, a little less magical.

When the world had ended, he'd still gotten presents from Santa Claus, his mother trying to keep up the ruse, even though the other kids at school had told him Santa wasn't real, three years earlier.

The dinner was bland, but after years of prison previsions, wild game and scavenged canned goods, he couldn't really complain. Still, he found himself pushing the food around on his plate, trying to ignore the lead weight in his gut.

[a_littlefaith]

She's done some cleaning up and the others are talking by the tree when she sinks into the chair beside Carl, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them, her chin resting on her knees. "Sorry the turkey sucks," she says, because it does. It's bland and boring, nothing at all like the turkey her mom used to make for Christmas, and she knows the rest of the dinner isn't much better. She'd tried, she really had, but Beth's getting to the point where she might have to admit that she doesn't know a thing about cooking.

Or maybe she's just no good at it.

"I know it does, so you don't have to be polite," she tells him. "My mom was always so good at this stuff and I knew she'd teach me eventually, but..." She trails off and shrugs. But eventually had disappeared the day her mother had died. Carl knows that. He knows it better than anyone.

[i_win]

He'd thought he wanted to be left alone, but when she sank into the chair beside him, he felt a coil of tension in his chest unravel, and he let out a shaky breath.

"It's better than canned beans and squirrel," Carl said, cutting her a look, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"I don't think my mom was a great cook. She tried, but..." He shrugged. "She should be here. It doesn't feel right, doing this without her." And he knew she could say the same thing about her mother. About Maggie. About all of them.

[a_littlefaith]

"My mom, too," she agrees quietly. "And my dad." And all the others. Maggie and Shawn. Andrea and Dale and Carol and Tyreese and everyone who's missing, but shouldn't be. Even the ones who aren't dead, who might still be back there, pushing on toward some kind of survival. They should be here, too. She doesn't understand why they get to be the ones who live in this place without walkers and the rest have to stay back there.

"It's not the same without them," she says. "I know."

But she had tried anyway. And she thinks there are some areas in which she succeeded. Daryl is happy in a way she's not sure she's ever seen before. He's quiet about it, but she can see it. And Judith might not really understand everything, but she'd hugged the giant squishy elephant Beth had bought for her to her cheek and that's good.

[i_win]

"It kind of feels-- I mean, don't get me wrong, I think this is great. You did... You did a really great job. It's just," he pressed his lips together, not only struggling to find the words, but not wanting to hurt her feelings, when he'd do so much to make the meal nice for them.

But if anyone would understand, he knew it would be Beth.

"It just feels a little like we're trying to pretend like everything's back to how it was. Not just today. This whole place, you know? It's like everyone wants to pretend."

[nobodys_bitch]

He knows it when he sees it, or he's pretty sure he does. Because he's been feeling it, and he's pretty sure Beth has too - it was difficult to miss what she was playing before, the mood of it, and there's a way she's been looking at the tree.

She wanted so much for this to be a special Christmas, it meant so much to her, but there are some things she just can't do. Some gaps she just can't fill. And it breaks his heart a little, but maybe it's also a little better than she's not the only one feeling it. If it's something they're all sharing, another weight they carry together.

Because they're family.

"Hey." He sits down next to Carl, looks from the plate to him. He doesn't need to ask if he's all right. That's not a very smart question. "Guessin' it's not the food. Ain't amazin' but it ain't that bad."

[i_win]

"We missed two Christmases. I mean, it was two, right? I... I can't even remember," he said, scraping the tines of his fork across his plate.

"Or I guess this one's just late? I don't know, it just... It seems weird, you know?"

He understood why Beth wanted to do it, but he couldn't shake the feeling like they were pretending. It felt like they were playing house. It felt like none of this was real.

[nobodys_bitch]

He shrugs. "I never could keep track'a that shit. Never tried." It had seemed important to some of the others, but to him... What was the point? It was all just days, one after the other, and whether or not you made it through the next one. Maybe Beth had kept ideas of birthdays and holidays, but it was like watching it from across a divide.

"Yeah, it's weird. I mean, it's good, it's just..." He shrugs again, smaller, and looks at the tree. "Christmas wasn't so much a thing when I was a kid, anyway."

[iseethings]

The fact that it's Christmas doesn't actually mean much to Rick beyond his gratitude that they can all be here together, sharing a meal. The holiday used to mean something a long time ago, back in the days when he knew what normal and happy felt like. He's content with some things right now, but happiness is something he's not sure he'll ever really feel again the way he once did, at least not in a way that isn't muted and discolored. His real happiness these days is having his kids here with him, and he's trying his best to make this day good for them, at least.

It's easy enough to pull off with Judith, who's playing with his fingers and babbling away as she sits in his lap.

But a glance at his son makes his heart sink a bit. Not that he doesn't expect it, he knows what Carl must be thinking about, who he must be thinking about, he just wishes he could just make this better for him. It's not a realistic thought, but it's the thought of a father who loves his son, and wants him to be happy, at the very least.

Rather than asking him what's wrong - because he knows, he understands - or trying to come up with something he could say to make him feel better, Rick keeps an arm around Judith's waist and reaches out to rest a hand on his son's shoulder, squeezing firmly.

[i_win]

When the weight of a hand dropped onto Carl's shoulder, giving it a comfortingly firm squeeze, there was really only one person it could've been. Still, Carl glanced over his shoulder, his expression shadowed, even though he knew his father would understand exactly what was going through his head, right then.

Putting down his fork, he turned in his chair, reaching wordlessly to take his sister into his arms. He just needed to hold her for a minute, he couldn't explain why.

[iseethings]

There's someone not here who should be here, and Rick sees that plain in his boy's eyes when Carl turns to take Judith. Sometimes pain and loss just has to be felt, and trying to talk about it and make sense of it makes it messier; because it doesn't go away, you just keep carrying it as you move forward.

Judith, at least, is happy and unaware of the discontent shared by her father and brother, easily going into Carl's arms and cuddling close to him. Her left hand comes out to grip at his shirt tightly, as though claiming this spot as precisely where she wants to be with the gesture.

"I look at you and Judith, and I'm grateful. Everyday," Rick finally says.