Four days later she offers to change his bandage. They've left it up to Bob and Sasha until now because they'd be more likely to spot a problem if there was one. But there's no infection, no glass, the pain is manageable when she can get him to take his painkillers and Bob said it should be fine for her not to herd Daryl to the infirmary twice a day to get a new dressing and handed over a small bag of gauze and tape so he could do it himself.
Except you know, he can't do it himself, and after almost taping his wrist to his thigh earlier in the day Beth decided to take over.
"Look," he says as he pulls the old bandage off. His skin is still raw, a long puckered scar running from just below his wrist almost to his elbow. He seems oddly proud of it but it makes her want to cry. He doesn't need any more scars. He doesn't need any more marks. He has enough. She once fancied she would heal them, now it just seems like every time she turns around there's more.
"I'm sorry," she says.
"What for?" he asks and she doesn't know how to explain that she's sorry for the scars on his back, the ones she knows his daddy left there, even if he's not ready to tell her yet. That she's sorry that the world never saw him as she does, that no one ever loved him like she does. That she's just sorry that things are still shitty and she doesn't know how to make them better.
"For this," she says indicating his arm. "I'm sorry you keep getting marks."
He takes her arm, the one with the scar and pushes her bracelets up so that the entire ugly line is there for the world to see. She looks away. Too many memories, too many regrets.
"Don't," she says. "It's ugly."
"It ain't," he says as he puts their two scarred arms together, the heat of his skin against hers as he runs his thumb over her mark. "It's part of you so it's pretty."
For a second she doesn't know what to say. She has no words, so she leans against him and he turns and kisses her temple. They're still testing each other out. Figuring this thing out between them. He's attentive, sweet. Sappy even without realising it. But he's still wary. Treating her like she's made out of some fine bone china that he thinks he'll break just by looking at her too long or too hard. But he does it anyway and even though neither of them have said anything to anyone yet, his long gazes say everything.
"And since there ain't no one here who can give you a tattoo, we need something to show we match."
"We match now?" she asks, a little incredulous.
"Yeah," he says and smiles like he's proud, like he's just said something clever.
He hasn't.
It's a dumb thing to say, so dumb she wants to call him on it. But she won't because this is his way again. His no-games, no-nonsense, straightforward way of telling her what he feels. You know.
But it's still dumb. Dumb even if it's romantic, dumb even if it's the confession she's been waiting for.
Dumb because even though they both have scars they don't need them to match. They've always matched.
Always been perfect.
