Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

“But I like it
“Because it is bitter,
“And because it is my heart.”

Stephen Crane, "The Heart"

Daryl’s memory holds onto the stupidest shit.

He wishes he could cut things out, like gutting a fish. A few cuts and the right amount of force, and the job’s done. Just a meal with no messy guts or bones to choke on.

His memory’s nothing like that. It’s nothing but bones.

He remembers his fourth-grade teacher, Miss Knox, and how she used to bring an extra sandwich to school each day just for him. She drove him to the public library once to sign him up for his own library card. He never used the card, but he remembers the car ride, how she smiled at him and let him play with the radio, and how he imagined for a moment that it was possible to have a very different kind of life.

But he doesn't remember third grade, or fifth, or much of high school at all, before he dropped out for good.

He remembers his first drink and his first joint and the first time he drove a car. He remembers the first time he had sex. He was 13 years old, and she was a high school girl Merle knew. She was pretty, and nice enough, but the entire act was absolutely terrifying to Daryl in spite of Merle’s detailed, cringe-inducing instructions, and he could tell she was high on something. Driving home after, Merle kept looking expectantly over at Daryl, but Daryl couldn’t find anything to say. Merle looked annoyed, disappointed, like Daryl had fucked up so badly that Merle didn’t know where to begin. Then Daryl puked between his knees onto the floor mat, and Merle punched him hard in the arm and called him a fuckin’ pussy. Merle drove them home in a sullen silence that was intended to be a punishment, but was really a relief.

Daryl remembers the first time he rode a motorcycle. Merle had said he borrowed it from a friend, though he always was shaky on the line between borrowing and theft. Daryl stalled it six times in a row and got so angry he wanted to kick the thing over, but he didn’t. When he finally got it going, he hugged the tank with his knees and felt the way the engine purred and growled between his legs. It made him breathless to hold all that power in his hands, to balance all that force with only the strength of his body. For the briefest moment, he felt like the bike could leave the ground, and him with it, and he could soar far and fast into the sky.

He remembers hunting at a lake with his dad and Merle when he was so small that Merle still carried his gun for him. They were standing on the long, wooden dock at the boat launch. Daryl talked back to his dad, being mouthy again, and his dad tripped him. He fell into the dark, weedy lake, and he must not have known how to swim yet, because he remembers sinking beneath the surface and flailing his arms, panicking for what felt like ages before Merle hauled him out by his hair. As soon as Daryl knocked the water out of his ears, he could hear his dad laughing.

He remembers the nine days he spent lost in the woods on his own, eating under-ripe pawpaws and berries, his ass raw from diarrhea and poison oak. It wasn’t until years later that it occurred to him that, probably, someone should have come looking for him. That it would have been normal to expect rescue, and to be scared when it didn’t come. But he didn’t, and he wasn’t.

He remembers the woman who lived three houses down, who always had lemonade in an orange plastic pitcher in her fridge. On hot days, she'd give Daryl a glass and let him sit inside in front of her window air conditioner while he drank it. Once she gave him a Popsicle from her freezer. It was purple, and it stained his tongue. His dad backhanded him when he saw, splitting Daryl’s bottom lip. The bloody welt tasted sweet, like grapes.

Daryl doesn't remember his grandparents or his mom's sister, though he remembers they existed. They lived nearby, he thinks, but he doesn't remember them being around.

He remembers the way his mom smelled, like Virginia Slims and that boozy-sweat smell that only real drunks have, the smell that’s still there after a hot shower, seeping from their pores. He remembers reaching into the back of the freezer, scraping his bare arm on the thick, sharp buildup of ice, to get bags of frozen peas for her bruised face, and the way she’d always smile at him and say, “Thanks, butterbean.”

He remembers the day the house burnt down with her inside it. It’s still so clear: the bright sunshine and the stitch in his side as he chased after the other kids on their bikes, running as fast as he could. The stench of smoke and burnt plastic. The looks on the neighbours’ faces. He doesn't remember the days that followed, where they lived or whether he went to school. He thinks they lived in a motel for a while, and then in his dad's truck.

He doesn't remember what happened the night Merle left, what finally drove him away. They never talked about it, even years later. There must have been a fight or something, but Daryl can’t recall. He only remembers getting up one morning to find Merle’s stuff gone, and his car, too. Their dad went on like nothing had changed, like it had always been just him and Daryl living in a trailer at the edge of the woods that didn’t have running water. It wasn't much later that the old man kicked Daryl so hard in the side that it hurt to breathe for weeks.

Daryl caught beatings all the time after that. His dad had never hesitated to let his fists or his belt do the talking, but it got worse after Merle left. Daryl can’t remember single instances; it’s all blurred together in his memory. He nearly always had a black eye or a sprained wrist or a fat lip, back then. His teachers never said anything to him, not that he was at school very regularly. That was when Daryl began to understand that when adults looked at him, they never looked too close. He began to understand that people could choose not to see what was right in front of them.

Daryl remembers his dad's friends. Low-lifes and bikers who pimped out girls in their old neighbourhood and sold cocaine to college kids. A loud-mouthed creep who made his living selling Nazi belt buckles and shit at the flea market. A wide-eyed, twitchy dude who hung around their place a lot and was always hot-knifing hash at the kitchen table. Every time a car backfired or some kids lit firecrackers outside, the guy would panic and yell shit in some language Daryl didn't know.

He remembers that just the sight of the muddled, greenish-blue anchor tattoo on his dad’s forearm was enough to make Daryl's heart race and his guts turn to water, even into adulthood. Once, years after his old man died, Daryl was at a gas station and the clerk had a faded navy tattoo that was almost identical, and Daryl left in the middle of buying a pack of smokes and a bottle of Wild Turkey to go puke behind a dumpster in the parking lot.

He remembers when Merle finally came back and took him away in the middle of the night, all of Daryl’s shit in a duffel bag thrown in the back of Merle’s ‘72 LeMans that he’d rebuilt with stolen parts. Merle drove so fast that Daryl’s breath caught in his throat, and both of them laughed like they’d really gotten away with something. Hours later, Daryl found himself in the driver's seat of the car down an empty alley in Marietta, waiting for Merle to finish burglarizing a Radio Shack, and he understood perfectly that nobody gets away with anything. Or from anything. Nobody like him, anyway.

Daryl remembers all of that. So many useless things from the old world, from his old life, the time before. He wishes he could trade them all for better things he knows happened but he’s somehow forgotten.

He can't remember the words Beth sang when she played the piano at the funeral home. But he remembers how the sound of her voice made him feel, like he couldn’t pull a full breath into his chest. He remembers the exact rosy-gold sunset colour of her hair in the candlelight.

He can't remember what they talked about all day as they sat in the kitchen of that place, eating peanut butter and jelly straight from the jars, drinking flat diet soda and waiting for that one-eyed dog to come back. But he remembers that he said something that made her laugh and wrinkle her nose, and that he laughed, too.

He remembers the uncertainty in Beth's voice when she murmured oh, and the sick, nervous feeling in his stomach as he rushed away like a fucking idiot to open the door for a herd of walkers.

He remembers running and running and running, his breath sawing in his chest like a knife, until he arrived at a junction and didn't know which way the car went. Didn't know which way to go to find her, and, without her to follow, he stopped right there in the road and couldn't go on.

He remembers the hope that ached in his chest when he and Carol met Noah, and they learned that Beth was alive. Not dead, just gone, like he’d told Rick and Maggie. Like he'd hoped, against all sense.

He remembers every moment in Atlanta. The narrow hospital hallway that felt all wrong the moment they walked in. Stupid, he remembers thinking to himself as he scanned the space, the lack of cover or escape routes. The anxiety that twisted in his stomach when he saw Carol in that wheelchair and the cuts on Beth’s face, the cast on her wrist.

He remembers reaching for Beth, her thin shoulder under his hand, and then her ponytail swishing across his knuckles as she turned back.

Then something happened that he still doesn’t understand. The cop wanted Noah, but Beth wouldn't have it.

"I get it now," she’d said.

Get what?

The rest he remembers only in pieces, like a nightmare. Beth moved, quick as a snake, a glint of metal in her hand, and the cop’s gun went off. The hallway stank of gun smoke and blood, the shadows long and warped. Beth crumpled to the floor.

He pulled the trigger under his finger. He stood over Beth, the blood spreading across the faded floor tiles until it touched the toe of his boot.

He carried her out.

She felt so heavy in his arms. He remembers that. Terribly heavy as he carried her down all those stairs, the sound of loud, ugly sobs ringing off the concrete walls the whole goddamn way. He cradled her warm body close, her head tucked into the crook of his arm, hot blood sliding onto his bare skin.

She always was heavier than she looked.

The parking lot is the last thing he remembers. Maggie screaming, Rick and Tyreese trying to take Beth’s body from him while Carol wiped his face with a damp handkerchief. Everyone was crying. So much screaming, and crying, and finally the growls of walkers. The slamming of a car door. Warm glass under his palm, tacky with drying blood.

Then a strange blur, hours he can’t account for. He knows they left Atlanta and headed northeast, toward Noah’s people up around Richmond, but he doesn't recall any of it.

Glenn tells him later that it’s called “grief fog", that short-term memory will fail when a person is stressed or in pain. When a person experiences trauma.

Maybe that’s why his memory’s like this. Maybe that’s why there are so many gaps. Like his brain’s a paper target at a shooting gallery, the wind whistling through all the bullet holes.

Daryl wishes he could choose what to remember and what to forget. If he could, he’d delete everything, rip each memory to pieces, burn it all down like they did that place in the woods. He’d obliterate it all, except that night on the porch, and the day in the funeral home, where they ate until they were full and talked about nothing at all that mattered, and he felt like he was somebody. Like he was somebody’s.

Those memories he would keep.

Instead, he remembers what he remembers, and forgets what he forgets, and none of it matters, anyway.

Dead’s still dead. Gone’s still gone.

Crouching in the back of a van as someone drives it north out of Richmond, he stares out the rear window at the tops of trees as they pass, and he thinks about the texture of Beth’s sweater under his fingertips. He thinks about her hair brushing the back of his hand, and the last real conversation they had: everything he couldn't say to her, and the look of understanding that slowly dawned on her beautiful face.

Oh.

While he and Rick were figuring out how they were gonna get her and Carol back, Daryl allowed himself to imagine all the things he could say when he saw Beth again. He thought of plenty, though most he knew he’d never have the balls to say out loud.

But in the end, he never got the chance to say anything at all.

Daryl floats above himself like his head’s a helium balloon attached to his body by a long string. He can see himself below, trudging along an endless stretch of sun-baked asphalt with the others. They walk until the blisters on their feet split and bleed. There’s no water and hardly any food, and everyone around him suffers.

He kneels on the forest floor and scrapes nightcrawlers up, breaking his nails in the sandy dirt, and he eats them alive, filthy and wriggling on the back of his tongue.

None of it touches him. He doesn’t care. Even the baby – he dully observes that she gets first crack at whatever water they find, and that Rick and Carl have her, and that’s as much as he can care about any of them. He's hollowed out, like a buck strung up over a trash bag of its own guts.

Empty.

He starts to come back down into his body when Carol gives him the knife.

She cleaned and sharpened it, he guesses. It's narrow and light, a darting silver minnow of a blade, perfectly suited to Beth’s hip when she carried it for those weeks that they were alone together.

Carol kisses his forehead and he listens when she talks to him.

You have to feel it. You have to let yourself feel it.

Later, he sits alone with Beth's knife on his belt and he digs a lit cigarette into the skin between his thumb and forefinger. Something splits open inside him and everything surges out at once, and he sits there leaning against the trunk of a tree, and he weeps.

He loves her.

He loves her, and he was only just beginning to realise he could feel that way about someone when she got taken. He had only just barely begun to see.

He loves her, and now all of the things they did together, all the things they saw and felt and said are his alone. He’ll be the only one to remember the colour of the moonshine-fueled flames against the dark sky, and how she grimaced when she woke up hungover the next morning, and how she’d groan her sister’s name in aggravation in her sleep sometimes, and the breathless way she laughed when he scooped her up in his arms to carry her to their breakfast of diet soda and pigs’ feet.

He loves her, and she's dead, and his love has nowhere to go, nothing it can be except pain and rage. It burns inside him so wildly that it feels like a physical thing lodged in his throat, choking him.

He cries until his head pounds and his throat is raw, and then he smokes another cigarette and breathes through the urge to puke.

When he walks back to the group, no one says anything. He feels their eyes on him, and it's as uncomfortable as it always is to know that they care. None of them even know what they’re pitying him for, except maybe Rick and Carol, and they don’t even really know.

No one does.

Then the sky opens, and some of them seem happy, standing there getting soaked in rain, laughing and lying down in the road, crying to God, for fuck’s sake, but he feels empty again. Empty and drained and more tired than he's ever been in his life.

It’s the first time he ever really considers bailing on this whole shit show. Just taking one of the handguns and eating a bullet. He could do it quick, before any of them could do something stupid like try to stop him.

He doesn’t act on it. He just thinks about it, later, sitting in a piss-stinking corner of the barn where they hole up that night. He turns the thought over and over, her knife in his hands.

It’s so much to think about, though, and it’s exhausting. He’d have to pick the right moment and do it fast, do it properly. As the sun goes down and everyone settles in around the barn to sleep, the idea loses its appeal. Just continuing to survive is a hard habit to break, and it’s his turn to keep watch.

You have to put it away.

He puts it away, and makes himself go sit with the others.

But when Rick calls them all the walking dead, Daryl feels an uncomfortable resentment rise in him, and he turns away from all of them.

They’re not dead. They’re not them. They’re completely, painfully alive, and it’s fucking bullshit that they’re all breathing and she isn’t.

He doesn't sleep. He keeps watch and paces, and when rain and wind whip the sides of the barn and a herd of walkers hammers on the doors, he holds the dead at bay until the others join him and they all hold together.

They survive the night, and Daryl's awake to hear the first birdsong just before sunrise.

He’s been avoiding talking to anyone, but especially Maggie. He's afraid of what will happen if he does. What she might ask, and what he might fail to put into words she'd understand. But she's wading through a swamp the same as he is, and when she sits down beside him in the quiet dawn, he's surprised to find that it helps to talk about Beth.

It helps to say something about the girl he loves, even if it’s only what he can stand to say to Maggie, that Beth was tough. It helps to say out loud that she was real, that she was here, that she was something before she was nothing. For a moment it’s like a light has turned back on, and Beth isn’t dead, just gone someplace else for a while.

Maggie smiles at him. It’s weak, but it’s still a smile. Maggie will be all right. She’s got Glenn, and she’s got that same thing that Beth had: hope, always. She takes the music box he fixed for her and leaves him to rest there in the dirt.

Daryl watches as she crouches down to wake Sasha, and the two head out of the barn. There’s not much physical resemblance between Beth and her sister, and Daryl wonders if both of them took after their mothers. He can’t remember if Beth ever said. It’d be a strange thing to ask Maggie, so he guesses he’ll never know.

Anyway, it doesn’t much matter. Someday, he won’t even be able to remember what Beth looked like. Because she’s not gone someplace else for a while. She’s dead.

It feels like his chest has been blown open by a shotgun. Something bitter crawls inside that space. It curls up there and waits.

Then a stranger comes to them and says he has good news.

Daryl hates the place immediately, and most of the people in it. It's a comforting kind of contempt because it's one he felt long before the dead rose and walked. He'd have hated Alexandria, before, too, and there's familiarity in that.

Sheep, Merle whispers in his memory. Found yourself a whole flock of dumb fuckin’ sheep, little brother, and there ain't a shepherd dog in sight.

The people in Alexandria are sheltered and stupid, and they look at him like a freak. Just like how Rick and Glenn and even Carol used to look at him, back before the CDC. They looked at him with suspicion and disgust, a foulmouthed, violent redneck who happened to be useful.

So there’s familiarity in that, too.

He guts a possum on Rick’s clean front porch, and only refrains from telling the woman in charge to go fuck herself because he knows it would anger Rick, and because he meant what he says: the boy and the baby matter. They deserve something that at least resembles a life.

The group gets two houses, but they spend the first night together in just one of them. Daryl sets up by one of the windows, right next to Judith’s playpen. The window has a good vantage point of the road that leads to the town’s gates. Everyone’s quiet and trying to act like they’re all right, but it’s not that easy. They’re tense, and when there’s a knock at the front door, everyone goes still.

It’s the woman in charge. Deanna. Doing the neighbourly thing, checking in on all of them. Saying some foolish bullshit about jobs.

And I’m just trying to figure Mr. Dixon out. But I will.

Christ, he hates this shit. Mr. Dixon.

Daryl looks out the window and doesn’t respond.

Everyone eats, and then they settle in for the night, spreading themselves out on the floor beside one another like a pack of dogs. One by one, Daryl can hear them all drop off into restless sleep.

Rick is the last one awake with him, walking Judith around the house as she drifts off with her chubby cheek on his shoulder. When he comes to lay her down in the playpen, he looks at Daryl.

“Get some sleep.”

Daryl stares back at him for a moment, then grunts. Rick seems to accept this, for he nods, and then turns and leaves the room, flicking the last table lamp off as he goes.

The room is dark and quiet but for the sound of deep breathing and the occasional restless murmur from one of the others.

Daryl sits, leaning against the window frame, until his back and his shoulders ache and his ass goes numb, staring out the window into the dim street.

He wants to leave.

He thinks about it, about stepping over the sleeping people around him and slipping silently out the door. He’d jump off the porch and run to the gates and be gone before whichever dumbass is on watch could stop him, if they’d even try.

After that, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. He’d just be gone.

Judith turns onto her side in her sleep and heaves an enormous sigh.

Daryl slides off the coffee table he’s been perched on to sit on the floor, leaning against the wall beneath the window. Judith’s got one little arm thrown over her head and her other hand against her face. She makes soft snuffling sounds in her sleep. Daryl watches her for a long time.

Lil’ Asskicker made it. She made it. Just like you did. Just like you said they all could’ve. I didn’t believe you. Couldn’t. But here they all are.

Daryl listens to the crickets outside, and he stares up at the ceiling and tries to make his mind go blank and fuzzy like it was right after Atlanta.

It doesn’t really work. His brain won’t shut up long enough for sleep to take hold. He’s barely slept in weeks and it’s wearing on him, but he can’t seem to pass out.

As soon as the others begin to stir in the morning, he heads out onto the porch, sitting down with his back against the railing, and has a smoke. His eyes feel like two charcoal briquettes lodged in his skull.

Rick comes out onto the porch and tells Daryl everyone’s going to explore. The whole group troops past with tense, hopeful faces, except for Sasha, who goes, but scowling.

Daryl stays right there on the porch, watching people pass by on bikes, walking dogs, talking and laughing with one another like anything about this place is normal.

It unnerves him. It makes him feel like he’s going out of his mind, like someone is playing a massive, fucked-up prank on him.

What actually pisses him off, though, is Carol.

She puts on a clean outfit and a whole new personality, besides. It’s fucking strange, her in slacks and a sweater, going to make casseroles. Then she makes some crack about hosing him down, and he wants to shout what the fuck is wrong with you?

He doesn’t, though. He tells her she looks ridiculous, which she does, and she ignores him, disappearing down the sidewalk to go meet the neighbours.

It’s all a bit too much like finding himself stoned out of his mind at 4 AM watching an old rerun of The Twilight Zone, half-asleep and uncertain what’s real.

Geek ears, he thinks. He wants to go out into the woods and kill him some walkers, string their ears on a bootlace and wear it around his neck. He wants to dig worms out of the bare dirt. He wants to eat a rabbit’s liver while it’s still warm. He wants to rub filth and blood and ash all over his skin. He wants to leave this place and go stay in the woods until something takes him out.

But he doesn’t, because Beth said he got away from it. She really believed that, and in spite of everything, some small, stupid part of him still wants to believe it, too.

That and, despite the load of bull they’re all currently buying, he’d rather be within screaming distance when the shit inevitably hits the fan.

So everyone goes off to explore. To make casseroles. To make friends. To learn names and faces and fit in. They all go off to do that on this beautiful, sunny day, and Daryl sits on his ass in the shade of the porch, and the bitter thing inside of his chest grows bigger.

It grows angrier.

He realises dimly that he’s pissed at all of them. It makes no sense; they don’t need to stay stuck like he is, just because he is. It’s nobody’s job to give a hot shit how he feels. It doesn’t matter. It never has.

A soft whisper: it does matter.

Daryl gets to his feet, grabbing his bow as he goes. He skips the front steps and lands hard on the sidewalk, his shins protesting. He ignores the pain and heads for the front gates.

He needs to get out of this place before he explodes. Even if it’s just for a while. Even if it’s just for a minute, he has to get away. Before he does something to ruin it for the rest of them.

The gates are open as he approaches, the gatekeeper letting a group in. It’s Glenn, Tara, and Noah, and they’re with two of the locals. One of Deanna’s sons and the guy who let them in when they arrived with Aaron.

Daryl doesn’t hear what’s going on. He doesn’t need to. Glenn’s visibly pissed, anger rolling off him in waves that make Daryl’s scalp prickle. Others have gathered, Rick and Michonne and Maggie, as well as Deanna and a few random passerby. Deanna’s douchebag son tries to mad dog Glenn, and when he throws a punch that Glenn dodges, Daryl doesn’t even think. He just reacts.

His knees hit the concrete, his hands around the other guy’s throat. There’s barely a beat and then Rick’s on top of him, his arms around him, trying to haul him back, his voice harsh in Daryl’s ear.

not gonna do this now

Daryl lets Rick pull him off. The guy scrambles away, hands clutching his throat, stunned and terrified. Good. Daryl paces back and forth, unsatisfied, eager to split his knuckles open on the guy’s teeth, while Deanna and Rick try to calm everyone down, and Deanna takes the opportunity to ask Rick to be the fucking town constable.

Rick looks pleased, and so does Michonne. So do Maggie and Deanna.

After everything, Rick’s going back to being a fucking cop.

A wave of loathing surges through Daryl, and suddenly it’s Rick’s teeth he wants to knock out. He scoffs, grabbing his crossbow off the ground, and goes back the way he came.

This place is a fucking joke, and so is everyone in it. Including his group. Including him.

He wants to leave. He wants to go, and be gone.

But he doesn’t leave. He walks back to Rick’s porch, and crouches there with his knees bent and his face hidden behind his arms, and he thinks again about geek ears, and eating worms out of the ground, and the smell of his own skin burning.

One by one, everyone gets jobs assigned to them. They make friends with the townspeople, and when they gather at Rick’s for meals, there are names mentioned in passing that Daryl doesn’t recognize. Neighbours and friends. The doctor and the woman who makes jam and the guy on Maple Street who knows a thing or two about gardening.

Strangers. He doesn't want to get to know these strangers. He can't stand any more people.

Daryl doesn’t get a job. He doesn’t make friends. He sleeps on Rick’s living room floor, and sometimes out on the porch.

No one mentions Beth anymore.

Not that they did, much, before. Some of them didn't even know her, after all. Hell, Daryl barely knew her until after the prison. Until it was just them, and she saved him.

But it’s been a little over six weeks since Atlanta, and Maggie and Glenn and Rick and Carol and Carl and Michonne and the others from the prison don't talk about her anymore. They don't ask him their clumsy questions, either, their head-tilted, How're you holding up? questions.

That’s how it works, now. That’s how it has to be. People can’t get bogged down in every single loss.

Besides, Daryl’s passed the allotted amount of time for mourning a member of the group. There’s no reason for him to still wake up every morning feeling like something is crawling up his throat to strangle him. No one expects him to still give a shit.

After all, she was just a girl.

Just Maggie’s sister. Just Judith’s babysitter. Just one piece of a larger whole, who only mattered because she was connected to the rest, and insignificant in her own right.

Just another dead girl.

Just gone.

Rick and Carol want a back-up plan for if – when – the safe zone gets overrun or attacked. Daryl doesn’t disagree.

Meeting with them out in the woods about sneaking the guns out of inventory is oddly comforting. It’s familiar. It makes more sense to him to be making a plan than to be sitting around failing to do whatever it is these supposedly normal people do all day. It’s good to know, too, that he’s not the only one who thinks this place is full of dipshits.

They’re both squirrely as hell about the whole thing, but he goes along with it, because what the hell else is he going to do, exactly? Rick still calls most of the shots, and Carol calls plenty of her own, too, and the way they look at him, he knows they expect him to fall in line.

Fine. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It never has.

But then Carol tells him he has to try.

She doesn’t finish the sentence, but he can fill in the blanks just fine on his own. She means try to fit in. Try to adapt. Try to be normal.

Try to move on.

Daryl doesn’t agree to her request or bother to argue. He chews the inside of his lip and says nothing, and the three of them walk back to the safe zone without speaking. As they draw closer to the gates, a sick feeling builds in the pit of Daryl’s stomach, and he veers away, ignoring their calls to him, and goes into the woods.

He walks for a time, leaving the road and the town behind, and every step he takes, he feels the knots in his stomach loosen. Eventually he stops at the bank of a narrow stream and looks around.

It’s overcast and cool enough that Daryl’s actually comfortable. He’s always been hot-blooded, and it feels good when the breeze touches his bare arms. He splashes his way across the creek and heads into deeper woods.

In his path, he spots a small pile of deer scat. It hasn’t dried up, yet, and when he crouches down and touches it, it’s still holding a bit of body heat from the deer that left it there, more than can be accounted for by the air, given its shady location. The deer was here recently.

Daryl scans the ground, and spots the deer’s small, pointed prints, heading southwest.

He stands and tracks the trail for a while, but when he follows it into a clearing, he finds it’s been trod over by walkers, and the trail’s all mucked up. There’s no blood or gore anywhere that he can see, so the deer must have passed through before the walkers. But he can’t seem to pick it up, though he beats the bush, kicking the leaf litter aside in search of even one little hoofprint.

Annoyed, he’s standing there scanning the forest floor when he hears a branch snap.

He lifts his bow and turns in the direction of the noise, but he can’t see anything between the trees. Keeping his bow up in one hand, he follows it. It didn’t sound anything like a deer, or walkers, for that matter. He wants to know what it was.

Daryl walks somewhat aimlessly for several minutes, still checking the ground for the deer’s trail, waiting for whatever’s in the woods with him to make another sound.

Then he hears a branch snap off to his side, and the distinctive sound of a person’s footfall. He spins, lifting his crossbow.

“Come out! Now!”

Hands raised, Aaron emerges from behind a thick stand of bush, looking sheepish and only slightly wary of the crossbow trained on his face. Daryl lowers his weapon.

“You can tell the difference between walkers and humans by sound?”

It’s a stupid question, as far as Daryl is concerned, but then, he shouldn’t be surprised that someone from Alexandria doesn’t know their ass from their elbow.

Daryl lets Aaron follow him, anyway. He talks, which is not ideal, but he's careful enough that Daryl can't even reasonably tell him to shut the fuck up, so he lets him.

That would have been tolerable enough – fucking irritating, but tolerable, because Aaron can talk all he wants but that doesn’t mean Daryl has to answer – but then there’s the goddamn horse.

The horse stands, his flesh twitching with nerves, and he watches the two of them from the edge of the field where the trees give way to tall grass and wildflowers.

Aaron tells Daryl he’s been trying to catch him. They stand in silence and watch the horse watch them, his massive prey eyes belying the inner calculations he makes, weighing their presence against his need to graze.

Eventually the horse calms enough to allow himself to rip a few mouthfuls of grass up from the turf, but his whole body is still tense and flinching, waiting for something to lunge at him.

What a mindfuck, Daryl thinks, for the horse to one day trust the two-legged creatures around him, and the next, find them trying to rip the meat from his bones.

Daryl wants to catch him. He wants to help Aaron take the horse back to Alexandria so that he will be safe and a bunch of children Daryl’s avoided meeting will be happy. He wants the stupid horse not to be afraid anymore.

So he takes the lead rope from Aaron, and he tries.

The horse gets away, of course, and, like idiots, he and Aaron maintain hope and track it, and then they get the pleasure of watching a handful of walkers take the animal down as it screams in terror.

They take care of the walkers, too little, too late, and Aaron puts the horse out of its misery.

Daryl stands behind him and watches dark blood and brain matter leak out into the dirt, and though he expects to maybe feel something like envy, he doesn’t. The horse isn’t better off dead and no longer suffering. It isn’t anything at all, now. It’s nothing. It’s gone.

Aaron's disappointed. More than disappointed; Daryl can see that catching the horse meant something more to Aaron. When Daryl hears the break in Aaron’s voice, the guilt for not having caught the horse in time, Daryl feels sick and sad, his chest aching. The guy just wanted to catch a stupid, scared animal and give it a home, give the orphaned kids in the safe zone something to smile about.

Daryl remembers Beth standing by the railroad tracks, the morning after they fled the prison together, her stubborn hope sputtering out when they found the mess the walkers had made of the children who’d called the prison home. The empty little shoe just lying there in the gore.

That things always end this way, completely fucked, doesn't make it any easier to stand.

But the only other option is to be gone. To be nothing.

“You were tryin’ to help him,” he says, for whatever it’s worth to Aaron.

They walk back to the walls together, in silence.

Daryl tries.

Aaron said he should go to the party. He stands outside Deanna and Reg’s house and watches the silhouettes moving across the clean, tasteful drapes. People talking and laughing, and music playing. Normal people doing normal things, he guesses, except it was never normal for him and that, at least, has not changed at all.

This isn’t the kind of party he’d have gone to before the turn, and it sure as shit isn’t now, either.

He turns and walks back to Rick's.

But then Aaron sees him from his front porch and invites him in for dinner. For some serious spaghetti.

He stands there in the street, feeling like he could jump out of his skin, as Aaron waits for him to answer.

Carol told him to try.

Beth would want him to try, too. She’d be trying, if she was here. He'd look over at her and she'd give him an encouraging smile, a little wobble of her head.

C'mon. You can do it. You can.

If she wasn’t gone, and nothing.

Daryl puts one foot in front of the other, and he follows Aaron inside, his ears burning when he catches a glimpse of the small, pleased smile on Aaron's face.

It’s warm and welcoming inside their house. Eric is sitting at the kitchen counter, his busted ankle resting up on another stool, and he grins when Daryl shuffles awkwardly into the room. Aaron clears his throat.

“Look who I found outside.”

“An escapee from The Party,” Eric says, shuddering. “Please, Aaron, get this poor man a drink.”

Aaron pours him a large glass of red wine, and it gives Daryl something to do with his hands while he stands there feeling clumsy and out-of-place, watching the two of them finish making dinner.

There’s something different about a house when people who love each other live there. It’s like something else lives there with them. Something warm. Daryl remembers feeling the same way the first time he stepped over the threshold of Hershel Greene’s house. Whatever else the Greenes were, it was clear that they were the kind of family who loved each other.

It was strange. It made him feel like an alien. It still does.

But it’s bearable. Strange, but bearable, because they sit down to eat, and Aaron and Eric find a way to carry the conversation through Daryl’s long silences without excluding him altogether. They don’t ask him anything about before. They don’t ask him how he’s adjusting or what he thinks of Alexandria.

Daryl likes Aaron. Eric too, and it’s only partly because the two men make a mean spaghetti dinner.

It’s something else. Something about Aaron's eyes when he listens, how he seems to understand a lot without Daryl having to explain. There’s no pity in him, just a quiet kindness that makes Daryl feel like the way he is might actually be okay.

They're just nice people, good people, and eating dinner with them isn't painful or annoying. It's okay. It might even be good. Then, as they’re finishing up, Eric lets it slip. They want him for something.

They want him to take Eric’s place with Aaron out on scouting runs.

It annoys him, a bit, that they got him in here and fed him dinner and wine instead of just asking him straight up. But it’s not like that, or not exactly like that. Daryl can tell. They’d have invited him in anyway. So he considers it while he stands in Aaron’s bright garage and looks at the collection of random bike parts spread out all over the place.

It's something to do, something to keep him busy, and that's probably for the best. It's dangerous too, which suits him – if he dies out there trying to convince random assholes to join this joke of a town, that's fine.

It’ll take him outside the walls. Like Aaron says. That appeals to him.

But in the end, what decides it for him is the way Aaron says, you do know the difference between a good person and a bad person.

Beth would want him to do this. She would want this for him. He knows that, somehow, deep in his bones, in the pit of his guts. She would believe that this matters, that this is the job he has to do.

So he nods. He tells Aaron he’s gonna get him some rabbits, and Aaron smiles.

He meets with Rick and Carol again, and he says he doesn’t want one of the guns they’ve stolen, because Carol told him to try, and he is. He’s fucking trying.

They look at him like he’s a stranger.

When they get back to Alexandria, they go their separate ways.

The next morning, Daryl gets up before dawn, goes out into the woods, and catches three rabbits for Aaron.

Chapter Text

I used to go out in the brush sometimes,
So far out there no one could hear me,
And just burn.
I felt all right then.
I couldn’t hurt anyone else.
I was just a pillar of fire.
It wasn’t the burning so much as the loneliness.
It wasn’t the loneliness so much as the fear of being alone.

From "Tim Riggins Speaks of Waterfalls" by Nico Alvarado

Weeks pass.

The group moves out of Rick’s and spreads out into other houses in the community. Daryl stays. He doesn’t need his own place and he doesn't want it; he’d rather be close to Carl and Judith. He has a room at Rick's, and that's good enough.

There are four bedrooms upstairs, but he doesn’t want to be up there. Rick offers him a room on the main floor, instead. There’s a massive, solid oak desk in there, the top still smeared with dust and a vague outline where a computer once sat. Big, ugly thing is a complete waste of good wood as far as Daryl can tell; looks like something that belongs in a lawyer’s office, not a bedroom in a house. But he guesses that’s what it was like, before, for some people. Some people needed a separate room and a fancy desk in their million dollar house to read their fucking emails.

Daryl hauls the desk out himself, banging it down the steps of the front porch. He leaves it out on the sidewalk. It’s gone by the next day, and it gives him a juvenile rush of punk amusement to imagine the Alexandria Committee for Sidewalk Maintenance and Beautification or whatever, quickly coming to take the desk away before it disrupts the aesthetic of the whole neighbourhood.

The room is larger than it seemed, once the oversized desk is out. It’s plenty big enough for a bedroom. Daryl’s certainly bedded down in much shittier places, before and after the turn. His first bedroom was technically a closet just big enough to curl up in, when Merle couldn’t stand sharing a room anymore and kicked him out.

It’s fine. It's four walls and a window and a roof over his head. It has a door that locks. It even has a bed, eventually, when Carol arranges to have one brought over from Inventory.

Anyway, he doesn’t spend much time at Rick’s, except to sleep and eat, and when it’s his turn to keep an eye on Lil’ Asskicker. He’s usually out hunting, or over at Aaron and Eric’s working on the bike.

The jumble of motorcycle parts in Aaron's garage is missing a number of key items, so the first scouting trips they take in the car have them visiting junk yards and garages. They clear a couple of auto shops and dealerships out, and Daryl finds most of the missing parts. But it takes nearly a month before he finds the last thing he needs: an intake manifold that actually fits.

Daryl's up until midnight that night, crouching beside the bike in Aaron's garage, a couple of moths circling the overhead lights while crickets chirp in the hedges outside. He puts the final pieces of the bike together, piece by painstaking piece, his back aching and his arms filthy to the elbows with grease.

When he finally has everything in place, he tries the ignition. Nothing happens.

"Shit."

After tinkering for a while, he ends up taking the fuse box apart and putting it back together. This time, when he tries the ignition, the bike gives a short cough and roars to life.

Getting to his feet, Daryl listens as the engine hums along smoothly, filling the small, concrete space with noise and vibration. Something that almost feels like a smile pulls at his mouth.

He built this thing and he gets to ride it.

The door to the house opens, and Aaron pokes his head into the garage.

"So, does this mean you're up for a run this week?"

“Hell yeah.”

When Aaron goes back inside, Daryl switches the engine off. He tidies up slowly, wiping every tool clean of grease before putting them all back in their places. He scrubs his hands and throws the grungy cover back over the bike. Closing the garage door behind him, he walks back to Rick's place in the moonlight. As he goes, he rubs his fore and middle fingers against each other, jonesing a bit. It’s been a while since he’s turned up any smokes.

Maybe when he and Aaron go out, they can swing into a couple of spots that might still have some lying around. Take his bike on a test run and have a smoke. That’d be a pretty good day.

The moon is high and bright enough that it illuminates the street, making long shadows of the trees and houses as he passes them.

It hits him out of nowhere as he walks, as he listens to the night breeze brush the dry fall leaves still clinging to the trees’ branches against one another. He doesn't know what triggers it, but something does, and suddenly there’s a low, buzzing sound in his ears that fills the quiet.

He misses Beth.

The pain that comes with thinking of her is so sharp that he stops and blinks up at the clear, starry sky as his eyes sting.

It’s fucked up, how this still happens. How it will jump up and shock him like he’d touched a live wire. She’s dead and has been for a few months, now. She’s been gone far longer than they were together. Hell, he only knew her for a little over a year and a half, anyway. It doesn’t make any sense that she should still be able to fuck him up like this.

But she does.

She’d have liked this place, he thinks. She’d have fit right in here. Shit, these people would have been thrilled to meet her, friendly and kind and capable and hard-working as she was. She’d probably have gotten a job watching the little kids or maybe even teaching the older ones. He can picture her as a schoolteacher: patient and gentle, teaching the kids to read and sing and follow the Golden Rule, going home each night to Maggie and Glenn’s.

Stop.

Daryl puts one foot in front of the other and keeps walking, the hum in his ears tightening into a sharp whine. With one hand, he rubs at the side of his head.

It’s pointless, thinking about what might have been. He’s gone down this road a dozen times since they got to Alexandria, and he has to put a stop to it when it happens. When he lets himself think about her being here, it fucks him up. Makes him think about the woods, and the worms, and the dirt. It makes him think about disappearing.

But not thinking about her at all, ever, is so much worse.

It’s bad enough that no one talks about her. To not even think about her, to not even allow himself to at least take out his memories of her from time to time and run his fingers over them, feels like erasing her. Like pretending she never existed at all.

Daryl wants to remember her, even though it hurts. He doesn't want to lose what little he had of her.

He’s almost to Rick’s porch when he sees Maggie and Glenn leaving the house, hand-in-hand. They don’t notice him as he approaches, and they stand under the porchlight. Glenn says something too quiet for Daryl to hear, and Maggie laughs.

It’s there and gone in a flash, but it’s real: he sees Beth in her sister’s smile.

“Hey, Daryl.”

They stand on the top step and smile down at him, still holding hands, the porchlight bright behind them. A sick, lonely feeling tightens Daryl’s chest, but he nods to them.

“Hey.”

"We stayed after dinner to hang out for a bit, and it got late before we even realised," Glenn says, his words sliding together in a tipsy slur. "Got into some of the wine they have stashed away here, too."

The buzzing in Daryl’s ears has faded somewhat to a quieter hum, but it still makes their voices sound strange and muffled.

"Did you eat?" Maggie asks.

Daryl nods, and his fingers twitch as he thinks again about how badly he wants a cigarette.

Maggie tilts her head a little, looking at him more closely.

"Feels like I've hardly seen you since you started going out there to scout with Aaron. How're you holding up?"

It's the first time in a long time that she's asked in that specific tone. Maybe he could answer honestly; she asked, after all. She wants to know. Except there's something in her eyes, something fragile, and he knows what kind of answer she wants. What kind of answer she can stand to hear, and what kind she can't.

"Doin' all right, I guess."

He’s never been much of a liar. Neither of them seem to fully believe him, their forced cheerfulness flagging.

Daryl wishes someone would come right out and ask whatever it is they want to know. Say her name, if that's what they're really talking about. He wants to talk about her. He’d welcome it, regardless of how shitty the conversation might go.

Say her name. Please.

“You comin’ from Aaron’s?” Maggie asks.

“Yep. Finally got that bike runnin’.”

“Nice,” Glenn says, smiling like he’s happy to have something mundane and safe to talk about. Small talk, Daryl supposes, to help them feel normal, like Beth said, once.

It still doesn’t feel normal to him. But he’s trying.

“Gonna take it out for a rip tomorrow, probably go out with Aaron in a couple days, if it runs all right.”

“It’s great, what you’re doing with Aaron,” Maggie says, her voice soft and encouraging. “It’s a perfect job for you.”

Daryl shrugs his shoulders and grunts, uncomfortable. It’s really the only job around here for him, aside from hunting. He wants to say the truth, which is that he's doing it because he's pretty sure Beth would have wanted him to.

It's on the tip of his tongue, to ask Maggie to confirm it for him. He wants to blurt it out. He wants to say Beth’s name and make it feel like she’s still here, like they did back in that barn. He wants to ask Maggie, the only person left on earth who knew Beth for her whole life, what she woulda thought.

Would she like this place? Would she be all right here?

Would she still think I was good, if she could see?

But there’s something about the look on Maggie’s face, something frail. Something about it that says please don’t.

So he doesn’t.

“Well. Night. Get home safe,” he says.

Daryl takes the steps in two long strides and sidles between them, breaking the clasp of their hands, awkward and fucking rude as ever, and he goes inside.

The next day, he picks up some gas from the fuel stores. The young guy on duty makes Daryl sign for it, and gets huffy when Daryl wants three gallons. They settle on two, eventually.

He borrows a bungee cord from Aaron and decides to keep his eyes peeled for extra jerry cans and hoses while he's out so he can collect his own damn gas and skip the hassle.

His aggravation fades, though, as he warms up the bike. By the time the gatekeeper on duty pulls back the heavy gate with a shrieky grind of metal on metal, he’s feeling almost excited. Almost good.

Daryl snaps up the kickstand, balances the bike beneath him, and lets out the clutch.

The tall, steel walls fall away and Daryl twists the throttle as the burnt-out houses and the trees fly by. The wind whips tears from his eyes and chaps his bare face.

Daryl grins, shifting gears, and speeds down the highway.

The engine’s heavy vibrations and the wind batter his body, and the work of managing the bike and keeping a look out for obstacles and walkers shuts out everything else, leaving his mind quiet and blank for the first time since they arrived in Alexandria.

The bike doesn’t have a fuel gauge yet, so he can’t go too far without running the risk he won’t be able to get back. But he can make the most of what he’s got.

Daryl puts the bike through its paces, testing the roof of its speed capability. Once he’s gotten a feel for how it’s running, he slows down and turns around, taking a backroad for the return trip. He takes his time with it, weaving and bobbing back and forth across the empty road.

When he’s still a ways out from Alexandria, he passes a junction and a country store with two gas pumps out front. Keeping an eye out for any signs of walkers or people, he slows and doubles back to the store’s gravel lot. He drops the kickstand and grabs his crossbow off the back.

The pumps are both empty, not a drop of gas left. The store itself is locked up, but it’s easy enough to bust the glass door and reach in to unlock it. Daryl enters, his bow up as his feet crunch the broken glass on the floor. He stands just inside the doorway and reaches out to bang one hand against the side of one of the metal shelves, still stocked with dusty, sun-bleached magazines and newspapers.

A moment later, there’s a growl and a wet snarl from the back of the store, and two walkers lurch out of the hallway that leads to the restrooms.

Daryl aims and picks one of them off right away. The other starts to fumble its way towards him, around the dusty shelves. Daryl swings his crossbow around onto his back, removing his knife from his belt and stabbing the walker in the skull before it can take a swipe at him.

When he crouches down to wipe the gore off on the walker’s filthy green flannel shirt, he realises he didn’t grab his own knife. He used Beth’s. He wipes the blade carefully, then slips it back into its sheath.

Daryl stands and looks around.

The shelves around him aren’t full; the two walkers might have locked themselves in and survived on the store’s stock for a while, maybe. But there’s enough left that he’s surprised the place hasn’t been ransacked yet. With just two walkers inside, anyone could have cleared it.

Daryl pokes around a bit. He can’t carry much back with him – he didn’t even bother to bring a backpack – but he fills the pockets in his jacket with candy for the kids. He’ll tell Aaron about the place and they can return with the car for everything else.

Behind the counter, he finds several cartons of cigarettes, and he stuffs a few packs into his pockets, too.

The back end of the station is empty of other walkers. The cluttered office is a pig-sty, and it must have been where the walkers were staying before they turned, because there are blankets on the floor and empty cans and boxes of food all over. The office doesn’t look like it was much tidier before the turn, either; piles of bills and invoices cover every surface.

Daryl opens the top drawer in the desk, and, amongst the pens and elastic bands and a couple of old phone chargers, he finds a harmonica.

He picks it up and turns it over in his hand. He wipes the metal cover plate with his thumb, then lifts the instrument to his mouth and blows the dust out of it. His breath catches inside and a soft, harmonized scale of music comes out. Daryl holds it away from his mouth and looks at it.

You ever learn to play harmonica, girl?

The room is silent all around him, his unspoken question hanging there unanswered. Unanswerable.

Beth played the piano, and he's sure she mentioned guitar. Maybe she had a little silver harmonica, just like this one, back in her bedroom on the farm. Maybe Hershel used to play it himself and gave it to her.

Stop.

He's just making shit up now.

Daryl slips the little instrument into his jacket pocket beside his cigarettes and hitches his crossbow on his shoulder.

As he rides back to the safe zone, he feels the harmonica's weight inside his pocket, against his heart, and he thinks about what he does know.

He knows she loved music. He knows she was talented with it. He knows she made him appreciate a simple melody on a piano in a way he never knew he could. He knows that he spent months on the run with her, after the farm, but he didn’t really see her until the night they took the prison and she sat in the firelight and sang. He knows the sight and the sound of her that night did something strange to him, a stomach-dropping, heart-pounding thing that was a lot like riding a dicey rollercoaster at a travelling fair.

Terrifying and thrilling at once.

He knows she was there, and now she’s gone, and he doesn’t understand how all of that music that lived inside her can just disappear.

Daryl doesn’t believe in magic and he doesn’t believe in heaven. He’s not sure if he believes in ghosts, or spirits, though he’s seen enough in his time to know not to be too certain of what the dead can and cannot do.

But he’s afraid that if she has a spirit, it’s trapped. He’s afraid that he trapped her when he left her warm body in the back of that car. He’s afraid that she can’t get free because they didn’t bury her. They didn’t do right by her. They should have taken her some place quiet and green where they could have laid her body to rest in the earth, the way she would have wanted. The way it’s supposed to be when a person dies. The way she once said was beautiful.

Instead, they left her broken body in a car in the parking lot of the hellhole that took her life.

He put her in there himself.

Stop.

The good, almost free feeling Daryl had when he rode away from the safe zone dies as he approaches the walls. The gatekeeper pulls back the metal gate and closes it behind Daryl when he rides in. As it slams shut, he remembers the sound of the bars back at the prison. He'd thought it was sort of funny, in a way, that after a lifetime spent avoiding it, he’d ended up sleeping in a cell, anyway.

It’s stupid, he knows. Alexandria isn’t a prison, and neither was the prison, actually, not at all. But he feels confined all the same.

Daryl rides to Aaron’s, ignoring the frowns and stares of the people on the sidewalks.

He parks inside the garage and kills the engine. As he’s wiping the road dust and bug guts off the bike, Aaron comes out of the house.

“How’d it go?”

“Not bad. Found a country store on the way back. Ain’t big but it was locked up tight. Plenty of supplies, still. We oughta move on it soon, if we’re gonna.” Daryl hands over the candy. “For the kids.”

Aaron takes the candy from him and gives him a look.

“You could take this to Olivia, you know. I bet she’d love to thank you herself.”

Daryl shrugs, uncomfortable.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Aaron doesn’t push. He just nods, and they go inside to plan a run with the car.

The sun has set by the time he leaves Aaron’s. He’s late for dinner at Rick’s. When he gets in the door, the whole group is there, and everyone's nearly finished eating. He fills a plate with what’s left and finds a free spot over by Noah, near the window.

Everyone’s busy talking, and his arrival goes mostly unnoticed, though he catches Maggie and Glenn both smiling at him, and Carl gives him a little nod from where he sits at the table, helping Lil’ Asskicker eat.

In the kitchen, Tara and Rosita are cleaning up, starting to wash dishes. They're screwing around a little, laughing and carrying on, and they start singing some song Daryl doesn't know but which seems to crack them up.

It's annoying as hell, really, except there's no reason at all that they shouldn't have fun whenever they can and sing as loud as they want. They're not hurting anyone, and it's hardly their problem that he's a grumpy fuck.

Daryl shovels his food into his mouth and tries to tune them out.

"Beth used to sing all the time.”

Daryl stops chewing and turns his head to stare at Noah. He swallows, his throat tight.

"What?"

"At Grady. I worked down in the laundry so I wasn’t always in earshot. But I still caught her plenty of times. Just mopping the floors, singing away to herself. She told me she used to want to move to Nashville, before. Get gigs at bars, try to be a star."

Daryl stares, unable to make his mouth form even the most basic response. He’s got absolutely nothing.

“She was good. I dunno if she really would have made it big,” Noah says, a sad smile crossing his face. “But I know she sure as hell would have tried.”

Daryl feels jealousy the likes of which he's never experienced before that this fucking guy gets to have a good memory of her. But he's also pathetically grateful that Noah's decent enough to open his mouth and share this tiny crumb of her with Daryl.

He wants to ask Noah if he remembers anything else about her. If there are other things he knows about Beth. If he has more of her hidden away that he can share.

Tell me everything you know about her. Anything. Say her name. Please.

But he can’t say those words. He can’t figure out how to ask for what he wants in a way that doesn’t sound completely fucking nuts, so he doesn’t.

“Yeah,” he says, instead. “Yeah, she woulda.”

Noah nods, and goes back to his food, and neither of them says anything more.

That night, Daryl sits on the front porch long after everyone's left and gone to bed, and the street is dark and silent. He sits and rations out one cigarette for himself. He smokes it as slowly as he can, and then he holds the harmonica up to his mouth and just breathes through it, the sound getting richer as his breath warms the instrument up.

It sings a soft, strange little song on every inhale and exhale.

After a while, he puts it back in his pocket, and listens to the night sounds in the neighbourhood, and from the woods beyond, and he thinks about Beth and Nashville.

Noah dies two days later.

Things fall into a kind of routine.

Daryl rides out with Aaron a couple of times a week and they look for people and supplies. They find both. Whatever and whoever they can fit in Aaron’s car, they bring back with them.

Their best finds have been an abandoned semi full of canned food and a pediatric nurse named Rebecca, who was so thrilled to see living people that she threw her arms around Aaron’s neck and sobbed.

Daryl eats at Aaron and Eric’s a couple of times a week, but he tries not to overstay. They never let him feel like a third wheel, exactly, but he reckons they’d rather have their privacy. Anyway, Carol and Michonne get nosy when he doesn’t show up for dinner at Rick’s too many nights in a row.

The days that they don’t go out on supply and recruitment runs, Daryl gasses up the bike and goes hunting. Sometimes he goes out on foot to save fuel, and because getting up before dawn and walking in the woods until his legs ache usually means he’ll actually sleep through most of the night.

When he brings back his third deer in as many weeks, he notices a couple of Alexandrians smiling tentatively at him as he walks down the street with the doe slung on his aching shoulders.

The redneck with a crossbow and a noisy motorcycle is off-putting until he brings in food. Same as it ever was.

Daryl spends the afternoon processing the deer in Rick’s garage, and he delivers all the meat to Olivia at the inventory. She grins at him, and says something about how she’s learning to make deer sausage. She doesn’t even seem to mind that his boots are filthy or that he drips blood and sweat on her nice clean floor.

Later, he takes the longest shower he can tolerate, and he watches all the filth swirl down the drain.

Daryl stays at Rick’s for dinner. It’s not everyone, tonight; most of the group are elsewhere. Just Rick and the kids and Michonne and Carol and him. Carol makes dinner, and for once they manage to fit everyone around the dining room table.

The rest of them make small talk while everyone eats. Daryl mostly tunes the conversation out and watches Judith attempt to eat little pieces of pasta and peas and chicken off of her tray. About two thirds of her food ends up on the floor or her lap.

“She’s getting way better at it,” Carl says, smiling at him from where he sits beside Judith.

Daryl’s skeptical, but as he watches Judith determinedly pinch a piece of pasta between her thumb and forefinger and bring it to her mouth, he has to admit that Carl’s right. She’s growing and changing, in spite of everything she’s been through, and it’s kind of mind-blowing to see.

Beth would have been thrilled. She would have been right here, watching it all and helping Judith along at every step.

Don’t.

Daryl looks back down at his plate and finishes the rest of his food.

“Heard you’re making a name for yourself around here.”

It takes a solid twenty seconds of complete silence for Daryl to realise that Rick is talking to him. He looks up to see everyone at the table looking at him. Everyone except Judith, who’s finished eating, and is scraping up handfuls of food in one hand, holding it out over the edge of her tray, and watching all the bits drop to the floor.

“Huh?”

“Hunting, bringing folks and supplies in. People tend to notice that kind of thing.”

Daryl shrugs. “Gotta keep busy.”

Rick watches him for a moment, unspeaking, and then shares a look with Carol. Daryl glances at Michonne, who’s watching the entire exchange in that careful, measuring way she has, a deep crease between her eyebrows.

Daryl’s skin crawls. Rick and Carol have been talking about him, he can feel it, and even though they haven't included Michonne in their plans for taking over Alexandria, it's clear that she knows something’s up. She’s not stupid, and she knows Rick. Maybe better than any of them do.

But no one says anything, and Carl’s watching all of them.

Daryl looks down at his empty plate. He hates this. All this secretive bullshit and sneaking around. It’s exhausting and pointless, so fucking stupid, and he wishes Rick and Carol had never talked to him about any of it, seeing as they obviously don’t trust him enough to really involve him, anyway.

Judith begins to fuss, pushing at her tray and whimpering as she looks up at Carl.

“I think she wants a bottle,” Carl says, reaching to unbuckle the straps holding her in the highchair.

Daryl pushes back from the table and stands, nearly knocking his chair over.

"I got it," he says, coming around the table and scooping Judith into his arms. He takes her to the kitchen to warm up a bottle of formula.

Judith squirms and fusses in his arms as he waits for the bottle to warm. She rubs her little fists into her eyes and frowns at him, whining a bit.

Poor kid should be off formula by now, but she wasn’t fed regular after they lost the prison. Without a cow around to provide milk, the doctor figures it’s best to keep her on infant formula for as long as she’ll take it.

When the bottle’s warm, Daryl grabs it and heads upstairs to Judith’s room. He could feed her in the living room, but fuck it. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near whatever bizarre conversation is happening now, where everyone is no doubt pretending that something completely different is going on than what’s actually happening.

Fucking exhausting.

Daryl leaves the door to the hallway open rather than turning on a light.

He settles back into the rocking chair, Judith's head cradled in the crook of his elbow, and he tucks the bottle into her open, eager mouth.

Judith whimpers a little, then quiets, staring up at Daryl with wide eyes.

Daryl pushes off the floor a bit with one foot to rock the chair. Judith eats contentedly, watching him, and he finds that the motion soothes him, too.

Looking down at her, he thinks about the first time he held her.

Daryl remembers the warm, soft skin of Beth’s arms brushing against his as he passed the baby back to her. He remembers how Beth smiled, her eyes bright, looking at him like he'd done good. Like he was good. Like he mattered.

He looks at Judith and wonders who will tell her. Who will tell her about Beth Greene, the kind and gentle girl who took on someone else’s newborn baby without a complaint? Whenever Judith cried, Beth was the one who had known what she needed. Even Rick, unsure and broken and seeking help, had looked to Beth when Judith cried.

Judith lifts one pudgy hand and rests it against her face, stroking her hair as she continues to stare up at him.

"You remember Beth, Lil' Asskicker? She was the one with the long hair you liked to yank on. ‘Member that, sweetheart? She used to walk you up and down the cell block, day 'n night, singin' to you."

Judith just gurgles and grins, and grabs a handful of the scruff on his chin.

He wishes he had more to tell her. That Beth was kind and good isn't enough. It doesn't begin to explain everything that she was. He doesn’t know how to help Judith love her, and remember her, and keep her from disappearing completely.

There’s no grave for Judith to visit. At least they’d put out a marker for Lori, though there’d been nothing left of her to put in the ground, and they’ll never return to it, anyhow.

Beth didn’t get a marker. She didn’t even get a grave. She got the backseat of an abandoned car in a parking lot, like she was a walker. Like she was trash. Like she didn’t even matter.

“You loved her. You won’t remember it, but you did. And she loved you.”

A floorboard creaks in the hallway, and Daryl looks up to see Michonne standing just beyond the doorway, almost hidden, but not quite. He doesn't need to ask to know what she heard. His face heats.

They stare at one another for several long beats, and then Daryl lets his gaze drop back to Judith. She’s nearly done the bottle, already, and her eyelids have grown heavy. She shifts against him, cuddling deeper into the crook of his elbow.

Michonne leans in the doorway and watches them.

When Judith finishes her bottle, Daryl stands carefully, trying not to disturb the dozing baby. Michonne holds her arms out.

“I’ll change her and put her to bed,” she says, her voice soft. Daryl nods and passes Judith over, her head lolling gently onto Michonne’s chest. He steps away to leave the room.

But Michonne reaches out and lays her hand on his forearm, stopping him. Her touch is light, but even so, it takes all of his self-control not to shake it off. She tilts her head, catching his gaze.

"You're right,” she says, removing her hand to lay it on Judith’s back. “Someone should tell her. Someone should make sure she knows."

Daryl grunts, shrugging one shoulder.

“Don’t matter.”

Michonne’s eyes rake him over. She sees right through him, he’s sure, and he feels like she's got him at the tip of that sword of hers, except for how gentle she’s being.

Somehow, that’s worse. He swallows a lump in his throat and blinks back the stinging in his eyes.

“It matters,” she says. “It matters now more than ever.”

Daryl nods, watching as Michonne looks down at Judith, cradling her head over her heart.

“Kid’s lucky she’s got you," he says.

Michonne’s brows draw together and she purses her lips, and suddenly Daryl sees that he’s not the only one who’s struggling to keep it together. Right now, and maybe in general. He’s not the only one struggling with their family and this place. He’s not the only one trying.

“She’s important to a lot of people,” Michonne says.

“Yeah, but she’s lucky she’s got you.”

Michonne swallows, and looks away from him, back down at the baby in her arms, who’s relaxing deeper into sleep with every moment that passes, completely unaware of the two grown adults trying not to fall apart right in front of her.

Lil' Asskicker's had a few mothers. At least one of them is still here.

Daryl turns away and goes downstairs, stopping in his room for his lighter and a pack of smokes, and heads out to the porch.

It’s a cool evening, and it feels good when the air hits his face and fills his lungs. It feels even better when he gets a cigarette lit and some smoke inside him. He stands at the porch railing, looking out at the street, and waits for his hands to stop shaking.

He's halfway through his smoke when he sees Maggie walking up the sidewalk.

She stops when she sees him and offers a tentative smile. She comes up the steps and stands beside him, glancing back down the street before letting her gaze settle on him.

"Hey."

She sounds tired, the kind of tired that has nothing to do with how much sleep a person's gotten, and everything to do with what they're living through when they're awake.

"Hey," he says, bringing his cigarette to his mouth. "How're you doin'?"

Maggie shrugs. "Hangin' in there, I guess."

“Glenn all right?”

Maggie’s face goes a bit slack, and she crosses her arms over her chest. Standing this close to her, Daryl can see there are lines beside her eyes that weren’t there a few months ago.

“All right as he can be, I guess. He’s… It’s been hard. Since Noah. It was bad.”

“Yeah. Could tell. He was all right, Noah.”

“He was. When I found out he was friends with Beth, I knew he had to be.”

Daryl nods and looks down at the painted boards beneath his feet. He cups his cigarette to his mouth again and takes a hard drag, exhaling it out one side of his mouth, away from Maggie.

“How about you?” she asks. “Are you all right?”

When Daryl glances up, Maggie’s head is tilted as she searches his face, and there’s something in there that reminds him of Beth. The shape of her eyebrows or the angle of her head. Or the question itself, which is exactly what Beth would ask, of course. He swallows the lump in his throat.

“Dunno. Fine, I guess.”

Maggie nods, still examining his face, her eyebrows drawn together. It’s not concern for him, or it isn’t only that, at least. There’s a question that’s gone unasked. It’s the same with Rick and Carol and Michonne. They don’t ask it, but he can see that they want to.

What happened with you two, out there?

No one’s ever come right out with it. Maybe they’d rather not know. Maybe it just doesn’t matter, anymore, to anyone but him. He’s not sure if he wants them to ask or not. He’s not sure he wants to tell anyone how it was between the two of them, out there on their own.

He’s not sure he knows how it was, or what it was, himself, and he's damn sure he'd fail to explain it in a way any of them might understand.

Anyway, it doesn't matter.

“Wanna know what bothers me?”

Maggie blinks, the line between her brows deepening. She nods for him to go on.

“How we left her.”

Maggie’s throat works as she swallows. She gives a tiny shake of her head, but now that he’s opened his mouth, it’s like he can’t stop the rest of it from tumbling out.

“Can’t stand how we left her. A fuckin’ car? We shoulda –”

“Don’t,” Maggie says, shaking her head harder and taking a step back from him. “Please don’t. There’s nothing we can… Daryl, I… I can't. I just can't."

Maggie looks away from him, out at the dark street. She shakes her head again, her mouth a thin, firm line. After several moments of silence, she speaks.

“I have to keep movin’ forward, or else… Or else I’m afraid I’ll just fall apart. If I think too much about it. About them.”

That, he gets. He hates to hear her say it, but he does get it.

Daryl looks down at the forgotten cigarette burning down between his fingers. He holds it to his mouth and takes a drag so deep that his eyes water.

“Yeah,” he says, once he’s emptied himself of the smoke. “Best not to, then.”

"I need to talk to Rick," Maggie says. Her voice sounds rough, and it shakes. "He still up?"

"Mm."

Maggie turns away to go inside, but stops at the door.

"I'm sorry, Daryl," she says, so quietly he could almost have missed it.

"Don't worry 'bout it."

Maggie lingers a moment longer, and then goes inside, the screen door easing shut silently behind her.

Daryl leans forward, resting his hands on the painted porch railing. He closes his eyes, and they sting.

Fuck, he's tired. He's so goddamn tired.

When he opens his eyes, he sees the nub of cigarette still burning between his fingertips, and he thinks about it. About pressing it to his skin, feeling the sudden shock to his nervous system.

He thinks about the worms and the dirt.

Daryl lifts the cigarette to his lips and sucks hard, hitting the filter. He mashes it out against the clean white paint of the porch railing, then flicks it into the shrubs beyond.

He goes inside, into his room, and goes to bed.

Daryl gets up early, before it's light out. He decides to go on foot rather than risk waking Aaron up with the garage door and the bike's engine.

He needs to go outside the walls and he doesn't want to talk to anyone.

He grabs a fresh pack of smokes. He's got his knife and Beth's, and he's got enough bolts. His bow's clean and greased and ready. He's in the kitchen grabbing food to bring when he hears a creak on the stairs and Rick appears in the kitchen doorway, a sleepy-looking Judith in his arms.

As soon as Judith sees Daryl, she squeals and swipes at the air in his direction.

Rick looks at him, his brow furrowed.

"You goin’ huntin'? You were just out yesterday."

Rick says it in that tone he gets sometimes. More often than not, these days. It’s a tone Daryl knows well. A tone that says where you boys headed?, like Rick’s about to ask him for his license and registration. Daryl bristles.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs, opening the cupboard beside the fridge. He grabs a can of baked beans and shuts the door, then takes a spoon from the drawer. “No such thing as too much to eat.”

Rick nods, and goes to warm a bottle of formula for Judith.

“Still. It’s not all on you. You don’t have to go out every day.”

“I know I don’t.”

Rick leans his hips back against the edge of the counter while Judith’s bottle warms. Judith squirms, trying to turn around to see Daryl, who stands there with his beans and spoon in hand, waiting for Rick to finish whatever this is so Daryl can leave.

“Listen,” Rick says, his voice soft. “Been thinkin’ about Tyreese and about Beth.”

Daryl freezes, his stomach plummeting to his knees.

“They’ve got the cemetery, here, and the memorial wall.”

Michonne said somethin’.

“You wanna see if we can put up a marker for her, here? I'm sure it'd be no problem, and Maggie would –"

"No,” Daryl snaps, taking a step back, trying to fight the urge to run from the room. “Fuck."

Rick blinks at him, and Daryl can tell this isn’t the reaction Rick expected at all. Something furious and ugly rises like bile in Daryl’s throat, and he’s suddenly enraged. Absolutely fucking enraged at all of them for trying to manage him.

"If you want a marker for her, talk to Maggie about it. Nobody here'll give a shit; they didn't even know her. I don't give a shit."

Judith whimpers, pushing at Rick’s chest and turning around to stare at Daryl. He inhales tightly and shakes his head.

“Just leave it alone,” he says, trying to keep his voice low. “Leave me be.”

Rick stares him down, eyebrows drawn, looking like he's deciding whether he wants to put Daryl in his place. But his expression eases and he nods.

"All right. I get it."

Daryl just looks at him, his back still up.

“Am I free to go, Officer?”

Rick levels a look at him that sends a pulse of actual fear across Daryl’s nerves. He’s pushing it, now, and Rick’s barely tolerating it. It’s an old, familiar feeling, like the crackle in the air before a thunderstorm, realising he’s overstepped and is about to get his ass beat. They stare at each other for several long seconds, and then Daryl flinches. Rick clears his throat.

“Be safe out there,” Rick says, his tone careful and his gaze never leaving Daryl’s. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Daryl grabs his things and turns away. He heads outside, shrugging his jacket and vest on before shouldering his bow. It’s cool out, and, though the sun hasn’t risen, the darkness of night has faded away. The pavement is damp with dew, and mist hangs over the lawns.

He tries to get a rein on his anger as he walks, but when he passes the memorial wall, it rises again, fierce and spitting like a cat.

A fucking marker, like that’d fix anything.

Daryl left her in the back of a fucking car. She’s there right now, bloated and rotting, maggots in her blood-matted hair.

A marker over an empty grave won’t change that.

The gatekeeper lets Daryl out without a word.

Daryl walks down the main road out of the safe zone a ways before ducking between two burnt-out houses. He walks beneath the trees, the breeze sending waves of dead leaves down around him as he heads for the series of snares he has set out in the woods.

The first few are empty but still set. When he gets to the fourth snare, he stops ten feet away and crouches down behind a large bush. Ahead, two walkers are ripping apart a rabbit that must have gotten caught in the snare.

Daryl lifts his crossbow to aim, but he pauses, watching the walkers for a moment.

He sets down his crossbow and stands, pulling out his knife. He emerges from behind the bush and whistles, short and sharp. The walkers' heads both snap around to look at him. Growling, they wobble to their feet and advance on him, awkwardly stumbling across the forest floor.

"C'mere, you ugly piece of shit."

Daryl lets the first walker get within swiping range before he kicks it hard in the chest and sends it tumbling down against the rough trunk of a tree. The walker snarls as its companion comes at Daryl, trying to grab for his arm.

Daryl kicks that one away, too, and it goes down, sprawling in the leaves.

The first walker is back, clawing for him, growling, and Daryl kicks it again and tackles it, jamming his knife messily into its eye socket.

The other walker comes at him, but he rolls away from it and gets to his feet, grabbing it by the long, ragged coat it wears and sending it headfirst into the trunk of the nearest tree with a wet crunch. The walker collapses. The impact breaks its neck or maybe its spine; it's an inhuman jumble of odd angles as it struggles to stand again. Daryl boots it in the side, knocking it down once more, then kicks it in the chest and the face, again and again, his boot tearing flesh and breaking bones, making a gory mess of the walker.

He's still kicking the shit out of it when he realises he's sobbing out loud.

Daryl stumbles back, disoriented. The walker is a broken mess, but it still gurgles, still twitches with the desire to come at him. Daryl takes his knife and stabs the walker in the side of its head, and it finally stops moving.

He sits there with his knees in the damp dirt, his filthy, bloodied hands in his lap, his breath still hitching with sobs.

She'd be so disappointed in him.

He catches his breath and swallows, and he manages to stop crying, at least.

Daryl raises a shaking arm and wipes his sleeve across his face, trying to wipe away the blood and tears and snot.

He stares, detached, at the disgusting mess in front of him. It happened so quickly. He doesn’t remember deciding to take it that far; it just happened. Like before, back when Merle was around, how things just happened and Daryl was never in control of any of it.

The walker's face is a caved-in pulp of blood and torn flesh and broken teeth, its fractured skull leaking rotting brain matter onto the ground.

Daryl's stomach turns over and he closes his eyes.

Fuck. Her skull. Her broken skull cradled against his arm. The blood pouring out of her all over the floor and all over him. The desperate thought he suddenly remembers having, that if they could just stop up the hole in her head, stop the gush of blood from her, she’d be okay.

He remembers. God, he wishes he could fucking forget.

Daryl takes a few deep, steadying breaths before opening his eyes again. Around him, the woods are quiet. A few birds, nearby, calling to one another, and the light wind blowing through the trees. But other than that, it's just quiet.

He looks back down at the walker, and exhales a shaky breath.

At least she's not one of these things.

At least the bullet went through her brain. At least he didn't have to jam his knife into her skull. It would have been him to do it, he knows; nobody else could have done it. Nobody else would have been able to.

At least she was spared that, and so was he.

Daryl wipes his knife off on a handful of dead leaves. Cleaning his hands as best he can, he gets to his feet. He goes back and retrieves his crossbow from where it lies amongst the leaves. Sliding his knife back in its sheath, he continues walking deeper into the woods.

He walks until the adrenaline cranking through his body dies down. He walks until he feels calm and blank and empty again.

He walks until he hears the sound of running water.

He follows the sound through the bush until he comes into a small clearing. The fallen trunk of a large tree bisects his path, and a couple feet beyond it is a low heap of dark rock, where a spring bubbles out of the ground. Bright water flows out from between the rocks and into a clear pool in a bed of gravel, no wider than two feet across.

Daryl leans his crossbow against what’s left of the tree’s stump and sits down an arm’s length away, on the trunk. He leans his elbows on his knees, and he watches the water burble up from the earth and gather before seeping slowly into the forest floor.

The breeze rustles the dry leaves and touches his face. Squirrels chatter at him from the tree canopy.

It’s nice here. It’s good.

Daryl pulls out the can of beans and the spoon he grabbed from the kitchen before leaving, and pries the can open. He sits and eats the beans, watching a couple of songbirds swoop down from the trees to bathe in the pool.

He’s finished his beans and is just watching the birds when a deer steps between two pines and enters the clearing.

She moves silently, without disturbing the leaves beneath her tiny hooves. She doesn’t seem to have noticed him; she picks her way carefully through the clearing to the spring without looking at him at all.

He doesn’t go for his bow. She’ll spook before he can aim it. She’s young, anyway, and on the skinny side; wouldn’t do to kill her now. He’d rather leave her be. Give her a chance to find a couple of bucks to fight over her, maybe even make it through the winter and have a little fawn in the spring.

So instead of picking up his bow, he stays absolutely still and watches her as she approaches the spring and bends her long neck down to the water.

The doe drinks deeply, her dark nostrils flared wide. After several moments, she flicks her tail and huffs into the puddle of water. She lifts her head and looks at him, focusing on him properly for the first time, her ears flicking nervously. She stares, her dark eyes enormous, before taking two steps backwards. She turns away, then, and walks swiftly back into the cover of the trees.

Daryl’s alone again.

He looks down at the empty can still clutched in his hand, the spoon in his other. The lines in his hands and the beds of his nails are crusted with dried walker blood. He'd wash them off, but it would feel too much like tainting the spring and its perfectly clear pool. But the questions he’ll face if he goes back like this and someone sees him make his stomach ache. He scoops up a can full of the cold water and does his best to rinse most of the blood off.

When he’s done, he tosses the can away into the bushes, and he rests his elbows on his knees. He watches the spring flow, the water sparkling in the sunlight.

He wishes Beth was here so he could show the spring to her. So he could just point at it without speaking and watch her face go curious and then soft. Watch her smile and understand, like she always did.

He just wishes she was here, and he still doesn’t understand why she’s not.

She was tough and brave and she made it. Tougher and braver than most of the clueless, sheltered dumbasses tucked away behind the safe zone walls.

It doesn’t make any sense. He just doesn’t understand. They were so close. He had her. She saw him, he touched her shoulder, she was walking away, right by his side, and then it all fell apart.

Why?

Why would she do something so fucking stupid when he was right there? When they were so close?

He knows why: because something mattered to her. Something he can't know, now. Something mattered more to her in that moment than him, than Maggie, than her own freedom. Just like finding a damn drink mattered. Just like burning a cabin down mattered.

Stupid. It's fucking stupid. She was stupid. Just another stupid dead girl who couldn't keep her shit together long enough to just let them fucking rescue her.

Then again, he's stupid, too. He's the one who opened a door to a whole herd of walkers without even looking, all because she had him all tongue-tied and breathless. He’s the one who let himself depend on her, who let himself need her and love her. He’s the one who let himself hope.

So they're both stupid, but she's dead and he's here, and there's no rhyme nor reason to a single fucking thing that happens.

Daryl sits there until his legs go numb and the sun begins to sink towards the horizon. He walks back to the safe zone, his eyes dry and his mind empty and blank. He doesn't talk to anyone when he returns.

He takes a shower and scrubs the blood out from under his nails. After, he smokes a cigarette on the porch, and then he goes to bed.

That night, he dreams of a house on fire.

He stands in tangled grass up to his knees and watches the house burn, the smoke thick and dark against a starry sky. The heat of the flames is strong enough to scorch his bare skin. He doesn't step back, he just lets it redden his face and singe the hair on his arms. He lets himself feel it.

She's here. He’s never dreamed of her before. He can't see her but he knows she’s here, somewhere, just out of sight. Just out of reach. She's watching the fire, too. He can feel her.

The dream changes.

There's a bridge that shines silvery-white in the morning sun. A pink sky and clouds like melted Creamsicles. White-winged birds flocking together, rising up to glide as one on the wind.

Boots on pavement and trampling through leaves, snapping branches. Fast breaths and a pounding heart. The pungent stink of fear in sweat.

Then her voice. Her clear, bright voice, echoing off concrete and iron.

you gotta hold on, hold on, you really gotta hold on, take my hand, I’m standin’ right here, gotta hold on

He sees the bloody smear of a handprint he left on the car window as he forced himself to say something like goodbye.

but since it falls unto my lot that I should rise and you should not, I’ll gently rise and I’ll softly call:

goodnight and joy be with you all

Daryl wakes, his breath stuck in his dry throat, and blinks up at the perfectly smooth, painted ceiling of his bedroom. Of some dead asshole’s study.

The room is dim and blue with soft moonlight. There's a crack of light under the door; someone's still up, or they got up with Judith, maybe.

Daryl holds his left hand up and looks at it.

He strokes the scar on the back and digs a fingernail in until the pain sears and brings tears to his eyes.

He blinks. The tears don’t fall.

When he sleeps again, he dreams of the grassy meadow where Aaron’s horse went down, deep in the woods. He dreams of the spring and the doe.

He dreams of cutting the thick, green turf with a spade and digging a deep hole, a good place for Beth’s body. He dreams of finally doing right by her.

He dreams of climbing in beside her, pulling the warm, ruddy earth over them both, and never opening his eyes again.

Chapter Text

And I thought then
Of the far earth,
Of the spring sun
And the slow wind,
And a young girl,
And I looked then
At the white thread.

Hunting the minotaur
I was no common man
And had no need of love.
I trailed the shining thread
Behind me, for a vow,
And did not think of you.
It lay there, like a sign,
Coiled on the bull’s great hoof.
And back into the world,
Half blind with weariness
I touched the thread and wept.
O, it was frail as air,
And I turned then
With the white spool

Through the cold rocks,
Through the black rocks.
Through the long webs,
And the mist fell,
And the webs clung.
And the rocks tumbled,
And the earth shook.

And the thread held.

From “The Return” by Mary Oliver

The high school is a squat brick building set back behind a sprawling, overgrown lawn and a wide parking lot.

Glenn’s crew had gone on a supply run to a Costco and brought back information about potential survivors holed up at a high school. Daryl and Aaron headed out to check it out the following morning.

They follow Glenn’s directions to the Costco, located in a big-box shopping complex near a Target, and to the high school a few blocks away. They park the bike and the car down a shady back lane nearby before continuing on foot.

Goal posts peek over the flat roof of the school from the football field beyond.

“Think we should find a spot to watch for a while, try to pick up some sound?” Aaron asks, eyeing the building warily.

“Nah.” Daryl shakes his head. “Glenn said they went into the school. They could hide out for ages in there, and we’re not gonna pick up no sound, neither.”

Aaron nods, somewhat grudgingly, and they continue.

The parking lot is littered with abandoned cars and scattered heaps of trash and debris. They pick their way through it until Daryl’s eyes land on something that makes him stop short.

It’s an old, grey Cutlass, both of its rear doors hanging open. The pavement beside it is stained with rusty, dried blood.

Daryl’s jaw aches and his mouth fills with saliva. There’s a high-pitched, tinny whining in his ears.

“You okay, man?”

He glances to the side to find Aaron watching him. Daryl swallows hard, inhaling deeply to try to ease the nausea that churns in his stomach. He manages a stiff nod, and carries on to the building ahead.

They climb the concrete steps up to a pair of heavy steel doors. They’re closed, but unlocked, and no one’s barred them or otherwise shored them up.

Cautious, Daryl eases one of the doors open and leans in. The hallway inside is empty and silent, lit only by the cool mid-morning sunlight that slants in through the high windows.

They enter, closing the door behind them. Aaron hands Daryl a flashlight and they walk silently down the long corridor.

The classrooms they pass are empty. Daryl shines the flashlight’s beam inside each one. All of the outward-facing windows have been papered over, and the desks and other furniture have been broken down or removed completely.

Halfway down the hallway, Aaron makes a quiet, aggravated sound in his throat.

"Ugh, even now, just being here makes me feel sick to my stomach," he says, shuddering. Daryl glances over; Aaron’s face is pale and pinched. When Daryl doesn't reply, Aaron raises an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you liked high school."

Daryl scoffs.

"You kiddin'? Barely went and never finished. Hated school."

Aaron laughs softly under his breath as they pause at a closed classroom door. He peers into the room through the window in the door and shakes his head. They keep walking and Aaron sighs.

“Me too. I mean, I finished, but the hating it part – yeah. It was a means to an end for me. College. Moving away. Escaping.”

Daryl nods. He’s familiar with all of that, but not personally. Not for him. Not college and certainly not escaping.

You got away from it.

I didn’t.

You did!

Daryl sucks in a shaky breath.

Stop.

The hallway ends just ahead of them at a cluster of administrative offices, the corridor lined with dusty trophy cases. Daryl shines the flashlight around the corner, but there’s no movement or sound down the long, windowless hallway, darker than the one behind them.

“So you never finished school?”

“Nope.”

They pass more classrooms, all of them empty, but the tile floor is dirtier here, covered in dried, muddy footprints. The prints track around another corner, to a pair of heavy doors under a sign that reads GYMNASIUM.

“Think this is where they live?” Aaron’s voice is quiet and tense.

Daryl holds a hand up and approaches the doors on light feet. Pressing his ear against the metal, he hears movement inside that sounds like footsteps, but he doesn’t hear any voices. Instead, he hears a different sound: growling. Snarling.

Walkers.

He glances over to see Aaron watching him closely, and his expression must give everything away, because Aaron’s face falls, and he curses softly.

“Shit.”

Daryl looks around and finds a bucket and a mop leaning against one of the walls. He goes over and grabs the mop, sliding it soundlessly through the gymnasium door handles. It’s flimsy, but it might be enough to give some curious person who ventures into the school time to think twice and get the hell out.

When he stands and glances over at Aaron again, he looks disappointed. Defeated.

“C’mon,” Daryl says, tipping his head in the direction that they came.

“The people Glenn saw – do you suppose they were hiding out and some walkers got in, or…?”

Daryl shrugs.

“Don’t matter. They’re dead.”

Aaron doesn’t reply, but Daryl can practically feel him frowning as they walk back down the hallway.

They take longer making their way out of the building than they did coming in, ducking into every classroom as they go to check for anything useful. There isn’t much left that’s of any use, but they find a few stacks of textbooks, and they fill their backpacks with as many different books as they can carry before continuing on down the hallway.

Aaron clears his throat.

"You lost someone, didn't you?"

Daryl stops and glares at him, annoyed. It feels like Aaron’s broken their agreement not to talk about that shit. They didn’t actually have that agreement, but it feels like they did, and it’s aggravating that Aaron would just come out with something like that.

"The fuck you mean?"

Daryl’s tone is as surly as he can make it, but Aaron's expression doesn't change, and Daryl realises with faint irritation that Aaron is no longer afraid of him, if he ever was.

"I know everyone's lost someone. But what I mean is, you lost someone. Someone important."

Daryl shrugs, and doesn’t reply. They keep walking, the beam of the flashlight trailing over the dusty trophy case, glinting off the tarnished trophies inside.

He expects Aaron to carefully move on in that way he has, filling the silence with quiet conversation about some safer thing, like the new garden being laid out on the north side of the safe zone, or the clutch of chicks that hatched several days ago. But he doesn’t. He just lets the silence hang on and on as they walk, and Daryl realises Aaron’s leaving room for Daryl to keep talking.

Daryl chews on the inside of his cheek, more agitated with every step he takes.

He doesn’t want to talk about Beth.

Except he does. Of course he does. He remembers how it felt when he and Maggie talked about her that morning in the barn. How it felt for a moment like Beth was there, like she was only just out of sight. Now no one talks about her, and she feels more gone every day. More and more like she never existed at all, like she never mattered.

He hates that.

“Beth. Her name was Beth Greene.”

Aaron glances at him, but Daryl ignores him and keeps looking straight ahead.

“Greene?”

“Yeah. Greene. Maggie’s sister.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything right away, and Daryl’s insides squirm. He figures Aaron’s probably doing the goddamn math, trying to decide exactly how much of a pathetic creep Daryl is. His neck and ears go hot.

"Beth Greene," Aaron repeats. "What was she like?"

The question isn’t what Daryl expected. This is where a person usually offers whatever line of bullshit they prefer. That’s how it was, after his mom died. He remembers the discomfort on people’s faces as they mumbled how sorry they were and assured him they’d pray, like he gave a shit. The awkwardness when he'd just stare back without replying, because he never knew what to say and didn’t even want to try. The way people would move on as quickly as they could, unwilling to linger long with him and the ghost that followed him around like a cloud of smoke.

Aaron’s done something different, and Daryl has to really think about the question as he goes into one of the classrooms. There’s nothing inside but a couple of overturned desks and a stack of chairs shoved against one wall. He goes back out to where Aaron is waiting in the hallway.

What was she like?

"I dunno," he says, continuing down the hallway, towards the exit.

“Come on, man.” Aaron falls into step beside him. “There must be something you can tell me about her.”

Daryl shrugs.

"Tough. She was tough. Good person to have watchin' your back. Wouldn't think it to look at her, maybe, but she was."

"Your whole group is tough. What made her special?"

Daryl swallows and shrugs his shoulders again as they walk.

"She… she cared. About people. She cared a lot, and caring wasn’t just some feeling, to her. She did somethin’ about it.”

Daryl recalls that first winter after the farm. They were all still strangers, then. For the longest time the only conversations he had with Beth consisted of her stepping into his path and asking what can I do?, her expression serious and determined, like it always took her a bit of courage just to approach him.

Daryl clears his throat.

“She stepped up and took care of Judith like she was her own from the day that baby was born. She watched out for Carl. She cared about strangers. Dead ones, even. She was always the first one to take care of people, even when you were tryin’ to take care of her. She just… cared."

They reach the last classroom in the hallway. A heap of empty plastic binders sits in the middle of the floor. In the drawer of the large teacher’s desk, he finds a box of blue pens and pockets it.

"She cared about you?

"She cared about everybody," Daryl replies as they leave the classroom.

"Yeah, but she cared about you."

Daryl thinks of the way she looked at him on that moonlit porch, soft and tearful from the booze. The way she spoke to him. The way it felt when she hugged him even after all the shitty stuff he’d said to hurt her, to make her stop trying so damn hard to keep them alive.

He remembers the way he couldn’t dam up his stupid tears, how the instant her arms wrapped around his chest, he fell apart. He remembers how she just stood there, quiet and calm, her heart pounding against his back, and held onto him as he wept.

Yeah, she cared about him. He still doesn’t understand why she’d bother, but she did.

"We got out together,” he says. “From the prison where we was all livin’ before. It was just the two of us for a while, and it was rough at first, just barely gettin' by, but she… I dunno. She never gave up. Always believed everybody else coulda made it out, too. I didn’t, but she did, and she… She pulled me through."

She saved me. She saved me every day.

She still does.

They arrive at the end of the hallway, at the outer doors where they first entered. Daryl rests one hand on the handle and he stops. Aaron pauses, too, and just waits.

“We found a place,” Daryl says quietly, unable to meet Aaron’s eyes. “A funeral home. Nice place, big, already set up to keep walkers out, easy enough to defend, I thought, and… A piano. There was a piano. For her.”

Aaron just continues to watch him. Daryl’s cheeks burn.

“You loved her,” Aaron says, his voice very quiet.

Daryl bites the inside of his bottom lip as he tries to figure out what to say.

"Nothin' woulda happened, nothin’ like… You know.” He shakes his head. “But I didn't need it to. It wasn't like that. I woulda been happy just bein' with her. Just the two of us, gettin’ by. Havin’ some kinda life, there."

Saying it out loud hurts. His chest aches, and he swallows the lump in his throat.

It hurts to say it, to admit that he'd once been that hopeful, to dream for even a moment of making a life with her.

That's how unbelievably stupid I am.

But Aaron understands. Again. He doesn't ask Daryl a single thing more, doesn’t ask what happened to Beth; he just stands with Daryl in the uncomfortable silence there in the shadowy hallway, and says nothing.

When he finally does speak, his voice is very soft.

“Thank you for telling me about her. It’s not easy to do, but it matters. The people we’ve lost. They still matter.”

Daryl swallows again, blinking and avoiding Aaron’s eyes. He nods.

“Yeah.”

“Come on,” Aaron says. “Let’s go home.”

Aaron pushes the door open and they walk out into the bright sunshine, and begin making their way back to the car and the bike. They don’t talk, and Daryl thinks about that word.

Home.

Daryl knows Aaron means Alexandria. He means the walls and the streets and the buildings and the people who live there. He means his own house and Eric, specifically. But when Daryl thinks of the word, there’s only a blank, greyish space in his mind where there ought to be a house. A fence and a yard. A room and a bed. People. That thing he’s felt in Aaron and Eric’s house, and in the Greenes’ house.

They walk down the lane to the car and the bike. When Daryl straddles the bike, it struggles to start, and then stalls with a metallic cough. Daryl frowns and tries the starter again. It stays running this time, and the engine starts to warm up. Aaron leans his head out the driver’s side window of his car, concerned, but Daryl waves him off.

Aaron leads the way out of the lane and onto the streets, heading north. The bike’s clutch rattles noisily and vibrates under Daryl’s hand, and he frowns. He wants to hit the throttle hard and have the wind shake the tightness out of his chest, but he doesn’t. He takes it easy, instead. There are people waiting on them at home, depending on them.

Home.

Grape jelly, he thinks. All of a sudden, that’s what his brain comes up with.

Home is grape jelly and peanut butter. Warm, flat diet soda. Pickled pigs’ feet and slimy, salty canned okra. The smell of formaldehyde and bleach and melted candle wax. The soft pop of a struck match. An out-of-tune piano being played. Her voice from inside the house while he stood on the porch as the sun went down. Her back to him as he lingered frozen in the doorway and listened to her play.

Daryl hits the throttle and ducks the bike out from behind Aaron’s car. He speeds ahead, the wind screaming in his ears. He doesn’t let up until the metal gates of the safe zone rise up at the end of the road.

Daryl puts the bike back up on cinder blocks in Aaron's garage and wipes it down. He’s throwing the stained canvas cover over it when Aaron comes into the garage, having gone inside to talk to Eric while Daryl cleaned up.

"Want to stay for dinner? Eric managed to talk Olivia into handing over a roast from that buck you brought in last week."

Daryl's expected at Rick's, he's pretty sure, but the prospect of sitting through another meal with Rick and Carol shooting each other pointed looks as if he's too stupid to notice is exhausting. So he nods.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll stay."

Later, feeling full and almost sleepy for once, Daryl walks back to Rick’s in the dark to the sound of crickets rasping. He walks with his hands shoved in his pockets, staring down at the toes of his boots, until the hoot of an owl makes him lift his head. He stops in the empty street and listens. It hoots again, nearby but impossible to spot. A screech owl, he thinks. The crickets all go quiet.

There’s a long silence, and then the owl hoots once more.

Daryl cranes his neck back and stares up at the dark sky. The waxing moon is a sliver of light and the stars look like someone took a paint brush and spattered bright paint all over the sky. There are countless dots of light, more than could ever be seen before the turn, even way out in the bush, away from the city.

Even the sky is different now.

Squinting one eye, he stretches his hand up and cocks his thumb, covering the moon completely for a moment. His gaze lands on the back of his hand.

The burn there is fully healed now. It scarred, of course, but that’s all right with him. He wants it that way, the shiny pink crater in his skin a reminder. If he didn’t have the scar, he’d have jonesed for a tattoo, and might have even been stupid enough to try to give himself one. He would have wanted a mark, a reminder exactly and only as permanent as his body.

He has a tattoo on his right hand that he got at a party when he was 18. It was at Merle's buddy's place, the kind of party where bikers were doing speedballs in the living room and someone was doing tattoos in the kitchen with Bic pens and a pack of sewing needles. The kind of party where you'd worry about the cops breaking it up, except in that neighbourhood, nobody'd be caught dead calling the cops.

Merle opted for the speedballs, and Daryl for the tattoos.

It would have hurt more if he’d been sober or if the tattoo was larger, but it took the asshole all of five minutes to jab a little blue star into the back of Daryl's hand. It’s still there, though years of sunlight and lack of care have left it faded and soft at its edges.

The scar is better; nobody asks about a scar like that. Something stupid like a messy, infected tattoo of a dead girl’s name would stir up questions.

Daryl continues down the street to Rick’s. The porch is empty when he gets there, and there are lights on inside. He lets himself in and finds Carl sitting at the dining room table, alone. The sound of Rick’s low voice and the clinking of dishes against one another drifts through from the kitchen. Daryl hears a splash of water, followed by Michonne’s soft chuckle.

Carl hasn’t looked up. He’s frowning down at the object on the table in front of him: the music box he found and gave to Maggie on their way north of Richmond. The one Daryl had tried to fix that night in the barn.

Daryl frowns. He’d forgotten about doing that, somehow, about sitting there in the barn, opening the box and taking the gears apart, blowing the dust and dirt out of them before painstakingly putting the pieces back together. He’d forgotten about the tiny plastic ballerina he’d held in his palm.

Maybe he needs to find some needles and ink, after all, if he’s gonna keep forgetting things that matter and remembering shit he wishes he could forget.

“Lil’ Asskicker in bed?”

Carl glances up and nods.

“Hm. How’d you get outta doin’ the dishes?”

Carl studies the music box and the tiny screwdriver he’s holding in one hand. He shrugs.

“I put Judith to bed and I did the dishes yesterday. It’s their turn.”

Daryl snorts and leans against the doorframe, his hands shoved in his pockets. He gestures at the music box with his chin.

"What you got there?"

“Glenn brought it over and asked if I could fix it,” Carl says. There’s a beat and he shakes his head. “I mean. He asked if you could fix it, but I thought I’d try.”

"Mm.”

Carl continues dismantling the gears. There's a long silence, and Daryl is about to awkwardly retreat to his room when Carl clears his throat.

“Are you okay?”

Daryl stares at Carl's downturned head. The kid's hair is long these days and it hangs in his face, hiding his eyes. Of course, he's not the only one getting shaggy. Rick got a haircut off that neighbour lady with the prick husband, the doctor. Daryl wonders if she gives cuts to everyone in town, or just men who linger on her porch to talk a little too long.

“‘Course," Daryl says eventually. "Why?”

“You’re just not around much. That’s all.”

Carl leans in closer to fiddle with one of the tiny gears.

It's true, Daryl hasn't been around much. He didn't mean to avoid Carl, but avoiding the group means avoiding all of the individual people in it, even if they’re at the bottom of the list of people who're a pain in his ass. Daryl pulls out the chair across from Carl and sits down.

Carl takes the gears apart and Daryl watches, conscious of his own empty hands. His fingers twitch, and he wishes he could light up a smoke right now. He leans his elbows on the table and clasps his hands in front of him, the thumb of one hand running over the scar on the back of the other.

“Glenn say what’s wrong with it?”

“Yeah. He said it plays the first part of the song, and then it just stops. It ends when it’s not supposed to end. It gets stuck and it won’t play the rest.”

“Must be something wrong with that bit, there,” Daryl says, pointing at the tiny metal drum lying on the table by Carl’s hand.

“I know,” Carl replies, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. There’s a long pause, and then he clears his throat. “How’d the run go?”

“Shitty, but not as shitty as it coulda gone. Ain’t nobody left alive there and we couldn’t get at whatever haul those people had.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah. Brought back a bunch of textbooks ‘n shit, though. Seems like you might get to take chemistry, after all.”

“Ugh. My mom would be happy about that, at least,” Carl says. He glances up at Daryl, his face abruptly looking younger than it has lately. “Sorry.”

Daryl frowns. “The hell you sorry for?”

“I don’t know. It’s like…” Carl shrugs, his voice low. “It’s like we got here and we had to leave behind everything from before. Like to have a future here we had to let go of all of it, including things we maybe wanted to keep. To remember.”

Daryl watches the top of Carl’s head until the kid speaks again.

“It’s hard. When you miss someone and you want to talk about them, but it feels like if you did, you’d be hurting someone who’s still here.”

Daryl leans forward onto his elbows and rubs his thumbs against each other. He doesn’t reply right away, and Carl doesn’t continue, or keep working on the music box. Daryl can hear cutlery clinking together from the kitchen, and the murmur of Michonne’s voice. He hears Rick’s quiet laugh.

“It’s okay to talk about her. Your dad wouldn’t mind. You know that, right?”

Carl looks up, his cheeks flushed and his eyes sad.

“I know, it’s just... It feels like everyone would like it better if we didn’t talk about any of them.”

There’s another lengthy pause and Daryl thinks about how many people “them” really includes. How many lives have been cut away since the night Daryl and Merle happened to end up sheltering on the same ridge as Carl and Lori and Shane and the rest of them.

Most of the people he met that night are dead, now.

Carl bends his head over the pieces of the music box again and picks up where he left off, taking the mechanism apart.

“What do you miss about her?” Daryl asks.

For several moments of silence, Carl keeps working, his eyebrows drawn together in a slight frown. Eventually his frown eases and something like a smile begins to form.

“She used to burn dinner all the time.”

Daryl snorts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We got to go to Krystal for dinner a lot.” Carl pauses, running his fingers over the little metal drum embedded with the pins that pluck out the notes. He frowns at it and passes it over to Daryl. “Think that’s what’s wrong?”

Daryl turns the drum over in his hands and examines it himself, picking with his thumbnail at some grime stuck to one of the pegs.

“I used to come inside from playing after school and the smoke alarm would be going off and my mom would be standing in the kitchen. She’d kinda laugh and say, ‘What do you say we go get a bacon cheese and some tots?’”

Daryl knew Lori for less than a year, but the way they lived in those months left little room for any of them to stay strangers. He can picture her the way Carl tells it, hands on her hips, blowing her hair out of her eyes and smiling.

She'd have been glad to know they made it here. To know her children are living under a real roof, with people who love them. To see her baby girl's face, and to know her boy would get to take chemistry.

They'd have birthdays and holidays and summer picnics, just like Beth hoped. Just like Lori wanted.

They'd have some kind of life.

Daryl stares down at his hands, at the scar there and the faded smudge of ink, and he thinks for a moment about that party, and of his dead brother. He thinks about the little plastic ballerina and that morning in the barn.

"What else do you miss about her?"

Carl’s eyes are bright behind the fringe of hair hanging in his eyes.

He smiles and starts to talk.

Daryl decides to eat more meals at Rick’s, instead of arriving late on purpose just so he can eat alone over the sink before ducking into his room. He figures being around more probably counts as trying, too.

A few days after he and Aaron strike out at the high school, Daryl draws the short straw on clean-up duty, and so does Glenn.

Daryl had eaten beside Carl and Judith, tuning the others out while he and Carl took turns attempting unsuccessfully to convince Judith to eat some of the bumper crop of broccoli from the community garden.

When Daryl gets to the kitchen with the last of the dirty dishes from the dining room, he finds Glenn scraping compostables off plates and into a plastic bin at his feet.

“Hey, man. Welcome to dish pit duty.”

Daryl huffs and goes to the sink, eyeing the stacks of dirty dishes beside it.

“Wanna wash or dry?”

“I’ll wash,” Glenn says, straightening up and adding the plate in his hand to the stack. He runs the hot water and adds dish soap, then stares down into the sink as it begins to fill.

“I still can’t really wrap my head around it, man. Hot water.”

Daryl grabs a clean dish towel and comes to stand beside him.

“No kiddin’. Didn’t even have it this good at the prison.”

Glenn nods, and then the corner of his mouth quirks up.

“Remember fixing up the showers? What a shitty job that was?”

Daryl exhales harshly and nods, thinking about the hundreds of rats and mice they’d killed, the filthy mess they’d had to clean up with barely any supplies, just to have a semi-decent place to shower. Daryl’s still not sure it wouldn’t have made more sense to just brick the place off and set up camp showers out in the courtyard.

But he remembers the group coming down to see the showers when the job was done, everyone’s smiling faces. He remembers Beth was holding Judith, and that she’d grinned at him and held Judith’s chubby little arm up to wave at him.

“Judy, say, ‘thanks, Daryl!’”

Glenn reaches in front of Daryl to put a plate in the dish drainer. Daryl grabs the plate off the drainer and gets to work.

“It was worth it, though. I was pretty sick of washing my hair in a bucket by that point.”

Daryl shrugs as he takes a step to the side to put the plate away in one of the upper cupboards.

“I guess that kind of thing bothers some of us more than others,” Glenn continues.

Grabbing a couple of dripping forks out of the drainer, Daryl glances at Glenn.

“What?”

"You're starting to look like Rambo, dude."

"Thanks."

Glenn grins. "That wasn't a compliment."

Daryl ignores him, drying the forks in his hand before tossing them into the drawer by his hip. The drainer is empty, so he just stands there, waiting on Glenn to hurry up and wash something.

“Have you met Jessie yet? She cuts hair.”

“She don’t exactly have a sandwich board out front.”

“Yeah, but she gave Rick a haircut,” Glenn says. He glances at Daryl, eyebrows raised and a smirk lurking at the corner of his mouth.

Daryl scoffs.

“Guess she did.”

Glenn snorts a laugh and shakes his head, plunging his hands back into the sink to tackle the heap of knives in the greying water.

“Hey, guys.”

Maggie comes into the kitchen with another armful of dishes. She sets them down on the counter at Glenn’s elbow and peers over his shoulder.

“Well I can sure tell who the more efficient dishwasher is around here. If I ever open a diner, Daryl, you’re hired.”

“Hey,” Glenn complains.

Maggie smiles and leans in to kiss Glenn’s cheek.

“No loyalty,” he says to Daryl, deadpan. He gives Maggie a quick kiss, then grabs a dirty plate and gets washing once more. “Anyway, I don’t get why we can’t use the dishwasher. Aren’t these things, like, top of the line, high-efficiency deals?”

“Not efficient enough, according to Reg,” Maggie says with a shrug. She eyes Daryl. "Can we talk a minute? In private?"

Daryl nods, and Maggie heads out the back, the screen door gliding neatly closed behind her.

Glenn’s expression is hard to read. He nods to Daryl, then gets back to washing dishes.

Daryl tosses the dish towel on the counter and follows Maggie out onto the back porch. He finds her sitting on the top step in the twilight, her elbows resting on her knees.

It's chilly out, a hint of frost on the air. Daryl craves a cigarette, but he left his pack inside. He's standing there, still holding onto the door behind him, trying to decide whether to go back in for them, when Maggie's voice reaches him.

“I’m gonna ask you straight. What are Rick and Carol up to?”

Well, shit.

Daryl squints out at the darkened yard beyond where Maggie sits. He’s a shitty liar, something he figures Maggie knows and is betting on.

Sighing, he goes over and sits down beside her.

There's enough light coming from the doorway to illuminate the side of her face, and the first thing he notices is how damn tired she looks.

Daryl takes in the brick patio and the wide flowerbeds, full of a tangle of wildflowers and weeds, all of it turning brown as it slowly dies back for the season.

When he answers her, he keeps his voice low.

“What do you want me to say? They think we need a back-up plan.”

"Shit," she mutters, apparently having held out hope that whatever suspicions she’s had were mistaken. She shakes her head. "I can't figure out where Rick's head is at, and Carol… I just don't know. You've gotta help me out, here, Daryl. I thought we were all trying to make this work. Aren’t we?"

Daryl's stomach drops and he brings his hand to his mouth to bite at the calloused skin on his thumb. He doesn’t know how to explain what’s up with Rick and Carol. He doesn’t know how to explain that everything they’ve gone through together isn’t enough to keep them together. He doesn’t know how to explain to Maggie, of all people, how they’ve all changed since the prison. Since Terminus.

Since Atlanta.

"They're tryna look out for the group,” he says, eventually. “They don’t tell me much anymore, but as far as I know, they're not exactly plannin' to kill everyone in their beds."

"Well, that's a relief." Maggie sounds anything but relieved. "It's bad enough that not everyone wants us here. If someone were to find out that they'd even talked about it… They've kicked people out before."

"I know."

Maggie sighs, deep and rough, and runs her hands through her hair before letting her face rest on her forearms. They sit in silence that way for a spell. Eventually, Maggie lifts her head.

“Thank you for bein’ honest with me. I appreciate that. I know that Rick and Carol are… Important. I know they’re important to you, and I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t matter.”

He nods. He knows what Maggie means by important. He’s just not sure he knows what that means to him, anymore. Right now, they’re so important he can’t stand being around either one of them for longer than five minutes.

Sighing, Daryl wishes again for his smokes. He oughta just keep the pack in his jacket.

Maggie clears her throat.

“I meant what I said, you know. It’s great that you’re going with Aaron. You’re helping him, but you’re helping the rest of us, too.”

Us. Their people, and the people who’ve welcomed them into their safe, little town. It's both, now, to Maggie. Both groups of people matter to her.

Daryl thinks of Aaron and Eric and how hard they both try to never allow him to feel like he's intruding. To always let him know he’s welcome with them.

How already, Daryl can't picture an "us" that doesn't include them.

Something churns uncomfortably in his gut.

It's like I said: there are still good people.

"Gotta try, right?" he says, eventually, when he can find his voice.

“I don’t know what the alternative is.”

Maybe Maggie doesn’t, but Daryl does.

The woods and the worms and the dirt.

Daryl runs his thumb over the scar on the back of his hand.

“Carl said you fixed the music box. Again.”

“Hm,” he grunts. “He did most of the work.”

“Well, still. Thank you.”

Daryl shrugs. There’s a long pause. When she speaks again, her voice is soft, hardly louder than a whisper.

"My mom died when I was little. I don't remember her all that well, just bits and pieces, and things my dad used to tell me."

He glances over and she looks away from him, out at the empty yard.

"Beth's mom, Annette, she was my mom in most of the ways that mattered,” Maggie continues. “She never forced it, but she was always there for me. Never took it personally when I was sad or angry and I took it out on her. I could be such a brat sometimes…” She makes a sound that isn’t quite a chuckle, too low and sad to be that. “She was such a good person. My dad and I were so lucky to find her. That she came as a package deal with Shawn was a bonus. When Beth was born, things just… Well, things were about as close to perfect as you can get."

Daryl has a vague memory of standing in the Greenes' kitchen, glancing at the collage of photos held to their fridge by corny magnets. He remembers one photo of a willowy blonde woman with a ridiculously cute little blonde girl on her lap, both of them grinning at the person behind the camera.

He remembers wondering to himself once again how he’d ended up with the kind of people who put photos of each other on their fridge.

"But sometimes I'd still get so sad, you know, because my own mom was gone and she should have… I should have gotten…” Maggie pauses for a moment, breathing tightly. “I didn't miss her so much as I missed all the things that hadn't even happened yet. Things we never got to have. You know what I mean?"

He knows what she means. Fuck, does he ever. It’s damn near all he can do not to think about those things.

Beth playing the piano in the church at the end of the street.

Beth teaching Judith and all the other kids how to read and sing.

Beth sitting beside him out on the porch while the moon climbs the sky and the crickets chirp.

Beth’s hand in his as he finally finds the courage to say everything he wanted to say to her, to make her understand.

You. You changed my mind.

You did that. You.

There’s a lump in his throat and he can’t answer Maggie. He nods his head so she knows he’s listening.

"Annette would say to me that the heartache was good. It hurt like nothing else, but it was good, too, because it meant love was there. It showed me the space in my heart where I loved my mother, and she loved me."

Daryl nods again, swallowing hard. He thinks about the harmonica he kicked under his bed weeks ago. He thinks about the knife on his belt, digging into his hip. He thinks about Beth’s voice lulling him to sleep while he laid in that coffin, trying to keep his eyes open just so he could keep watching her. He thinks about the way she used to stand out in the prison yard at sunset, holding Judith in her arms, just swaying.

He thinks about all of the things he once foolishly believed he’d get a second chance to say.

You. It’s you.

“Daryl.”

Maggie reaches out and puts her hand on his, her warm palm covering the scar there.

"I hope the day never comes when I don't hurt for missing my sister, and missing all the things she should have gotten to have.” Her voice breaks and she squeezes the back of his hand. “I hope you understand what I mean when I say that I hope that day never comes for you, either."

Daryl blinks back the tears that have sprung to his eyes. Maggie, kind and decent as she is, stares straight ahead out at the yard.

After a minute, she squeezes his hand again and then lets go. She stands up and slips inside, the door closing softly behind her. Inside, Daryl can still hear people talking and laughing, Glenn’s low voice in the kitchen as he greets Maggie.

Outside on the porch, there’s only the sound of the fall breeze blowing dry leaves down from the trees.

This, right here, is what Beth should have gotten to have.

Safety. Food. A roof over her head. The goddamn hot water. Time to mourn her father. Somewhere to belong. People.

Her life. She should have gotten to have her life.

It’s right here, everything as it should be except for her. Her life is here, like it’s waiting for her, like she’s not dead, but just gone.

But it isn’t true. These things that should have been hers will go on without her. She’s dead, and what was left of her is rotting away in a parking lot in Atlanta. Someday she’ll be nothing more than dust.

He’s wondered if her spirit’s trapped there, but deep down, he knows that isn’t true. She’s not stuck in that car. She’s dead and she’s free.

He’s the one who’s stuck back there. He’s the one trapped.

You have to put it away. You have to. Or it kills you.

She said. He has to put it away, now, put her away. To bury her the way they should have done, and carry on without her. He has to. There is no way around, only through.

It’s what she wanted. She’d tried to tell him that night, on the porch of that falling-down stillhouse, drunk on moonshine. She knew what was bound to happen and she tried to prepare him. She wouldn’t have wanted him to be like this: angry and sick with it, furious at the people she cared about because they’re just trying to live.

She’d want him to put it away. She’d want him to try to live, too.

Still.

Daryl stares out at the shadowy yard for a long time, listening to the wind in the trees. He watches as the bright moon disappears behind a mass of heavy clouds.

He thinks about Beth and the weeks they spent together. It’s a blur of fear and grief and rage and the monotony of surviving, mostly, but there are bright spots. There are things he still remembers, and can hold onto.

The things she said to him, her weight on his back, in his arms, and the warmth of her hand when she laced their fingers together.

The morning she woke up and calmly and firmly told him that he’d be showing her how to use the crossbow that day.

How she used to stare him straight in the eye and ask are you okay? every single day.

He thinks about how she made him get up and track that first night on their own. How she kept making him get up, kept him going, even when he tried to make her stop.

She saved his life, and it would be the worst kind of betrayal to let that have been for nothing.

She wanted him to live, just like he wants her to have lived, now. She wanted that for him even as she accepted that she wouldn’t be there with him.

“You were right,” he whispers, resting his head on his forearms, mumbling into his knees, feeling like a complete idiot. But it’s like the words have to come out of him. “You were right. They made it. They made it and I miss you. Fuck, I miss you so bad. You were right.”

There’s no answer. There’s no peace or relief that comes with saying it out loud.

There’s just the wind and the bare trees, and the moon still glowing behind the clouds, and the sound of his own breath.

There’s just this moment, and the next, and the next, where he’s alive and she isn’t. There’s the plain truth that what’s left of his memories of her is all he will ever have.

Daryl sits a while longer in the darkness, watching moonlight briefly flood the empty yard before plunging into darkness once again, over and over, as the clouds cross the sky.

Eventually he stands, his legs stiff. He goes inside the house, and the porch door falls closed behind him.

When he sleeps that night, he doesn’t dream.

Daryl finally manages to slap together a fix that gets the bike’s clutch to stop shaking. After he figures it out, he stays at Aaron’s a while, planning a run out later that week to search for survivors. When he gets back to the house to shower, he finds Carol there, sitting on one of the couches in the living room, her stolen handgun in pieces on a dishtowel on the coffee table beside a basket full of laundry.

She’s cleaning the gun when he comes in.

“Hey, stranger,” she says.

Daryl closes the door behind him, then turns around and peers out the blinds. The sidewalk and the street in front of the house are empty. He lets the blind go.

“Pretty ballsy to clean your piece right here. Coulda been anybody, just now.”

Carol raises an eyebrow.

“They’re polite. They knock.”

Daryl leans in the doorway and shoves his hands into his pockets. He watches as Carol palms the magazine, putting the gun back together with practised ease.

“Carl got Judith?”

Clicking the magazine into place, Carol shakes her head.

“He’s at school. Judith’s upstairs. I’m on nap duty.”

“Hm.” Daryl chews on his bottom lip. He guesses Rick and Michonne are doing whatever cops do in a town of less than a hundred people that doesn’t happen to have a donut shop.

Carol sets the gun on the table and gathers the dish towel up. She stands there a moment, considering him.

“You know, I can’t talk to hardly anyone around here without them singing your praises.”

“Hm,” Daryl says again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “So?”

Carol smiles at him. It’s a strange smile, not the kind of smile he’s accustomed to from her. It’s the smile she’s been using on the people here. The kind of smile she reserves for strangers she’s hustling. She stands up and tucks the gun into her waistband at the small of her back, flipping the hem of her cardigan to cover it. She comes closer, stopping a few feet away and crossing her arms over her chest.

“It’s good. You’re winning them over the best way anyone can. You bring food and people. Aaron trusts you. So they trust you, now, too.”

Daryl shrugs.

“Don’t you think it’s enough, though?”

She says it casually, but Daryl knows it’s not casual at all. Her mouth pulls down at its corners, and there’s a crease in her eyebrows. She’s watching him closely.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you and Aaron have brought in, what, a dozen people in the last few months? Don’t you think that’s enough?”

Daryl shrugs again. “Ain’t for me to say.”

Carol’s brow furrows deeper and she cocks her head.

“You could stop any time you want.”

“What for?” Daryl says, shaking his head. “We got space and Deanna ‘n them want numbers. More mouths to feed, sure, but just about everybody we’ve brung in has been able to offer somethin’ we didn’t have.”

“Please. You’re not naive.”

Annoyed, Daryl rolls his eyes.

“Don’t you think they’d have some questions if I just up and decided I ain’t goin’ out there with Aaron no more?”

“We can think of something to say. They’ll believe you as long as Aaron believes you.”

"Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You said I gotta try. So I am. But what about you? You ain't gonna give it a go, here, for real?"

She doesn't reply, her eyes distant and troubled. Not for the first time, he wants to ask her what happened to her out there. What made her decide to kill two of their own, back at the prison.

What happened? is a question neither one of them can seem to ask the other.

She lifts her shoulders and then drops them like they’re attached to heavy weights.

"I can't. I don't… I can't get comfortable. Not anymore. Not ever."

Daryl studies her. He takes in the crisp, buttery yellow collar of her shirt where it peeks out over her grey sweater, at her neat hair and the tension at the corners of her eyes. She’s trying every bit as hard as he is, he realises, but she’s trying for something completely different.

“Don’t gotta get comfortable. But you don’t gotta do this other shit with Rick, neither. You could just be here, really be here. Try. See how it feels.”

Carol shakes her head and stares down at the floor.

“Daryl, I can’t.”

“Hm,” Daryl says. “Ain’t ever known you to be cowardly. Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

Carol’s head snaps back up and she glares at him.

“Hey. Screw you.”

“Hey, screw you, too,” he says. “Sure, they ain’t ready if something happens to this place. I agree. So we’re ready to do what we gotta do to protect it, even if they ain’t. Even if it gets ugly. The hell do you need to worry about the rest of it for? Taking this place? That shit’s fucked up and you know it, even if Rick can’t see it.”

“Rick’s doing what he thinks is best for the group.”

Daryl scoffs.

“Yeah, sure. What’s best for the group is him back in uniform so he has a good excuse to throw his weight around and go stickin’ his nose in other people’s marriages.”

Carol’s expression becomes sharp.

“Pete hits Jessie. Someone needs to do something.”

“Yeah, Rick wants to do somethin’ about it, all right.”

Carol scowls at him for a long moment, and then shakes her head.

“Michonne. She’s here. She’s keeping an eye on things. He won’t… He wouldn’t…” she trails off before shaking her head again, looking away from Daryl and down at the floor with a frown on her face.

“Yeah, well, Rick ain’t exactly bein’ subtle. All right? I know you think these people are stupid, but ain’t nobody that stupid, and they ain’t the only ones gonna have a problem if you and Rick try to start shit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The people you say you’re doin’ this for, our people? Carl and Maggie and Glenn? Everybody? They’re tryin’ to make a life here. How you think that’s gonna play out, huh? When you expect them to back you up against people they’re friends with?”

“Is this about Aaron?”

“No! Christ,” Daryl snaps, reaching the end of his patience. “It’s about you and Rick and what the fuck you think is really gonna happen here if you try to take this place. Both of you gotta quit this shit and use your goddamn heads.”

Carol just stares at him, her mouth hanging open, and says nothing.

Daryl goes across the hallway into his room and grabs his crossbow. He walks back out the front door without another word to Carol, only stopping himself from slamming the door behind him because Judith is sleeping, and it’s not her problem that every adult around her is a complete fucking mess.

He goes out into the woods on foot, stays out until well after dark, and returns empty-handed.

Fall is well underway, but the day of their run dawns sunny and clear, like one last, bright burst of summer.

They head south towards Richmond to scope out a couple of wreckers Daryl remembers passing on the journey to Alexandria. They stay off the major roads – too many pile-ups to work around – and take one of the county highways instead, out of the suburbs and through the chain of small towns clustered along the rural route.

On the outskirts of one small town, the clutch starts to vibrate and hum under Daryl’s hand. He waves to Aaron and they pull into the shade of a diner.

Aaron parks and kills the engine, coming to stand beside the bike as Daryl dismounts.

“Still, huh?”

“Yeah,” Daryl grumbles. “Fuck.”

Aaron winces and they both give the street a once-over. Across the way there’s a post office beside some houses and an empty storefront. Nearby, a four-way stop leads off to a tree-lined residential street. It’s quiet here, but there are houses to loot. Could be people holed up.

“Listen,” Aaron says, “Why don’t I go scout a bit, meet you back here in an hour or so?”

Daryl squints against the bright morning sunlight.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, might as well. I won’t go in anywhere; I’ll just scope out the houses down the side streets, see if I can spot any signs of people.”

Daryl’s face must give away his unease, because Aaron smiles.

“C’mon, man. I’ve got my flare gun, and anyway, I’m not brand new. I can handle myself.”

Daryl nods. It’s true; he can. Aaron knows what he’s doing.

“All right,” Daryl says. “Just don’t do nothin’ stupid, all right? We can ditch the bike and just take the car back if we gotta.”

“Deal.” Aaron adjusts his backpack and checks the ammo in his handgun. “See you in an hour!”

“One hour. If you ain’t back here, I’m comin’ to find you.”

Aaron tips his head in acknowledgement and grins before turning away and heading around the corner of a low, brick building, and out of sight.

Daryl sighs. He doesn’t like it. But the shitty job he did fixing his bike shouldn’t keep them from at least trying to get something accomplished today.

Crouching down on his knees beside the bike, Daryl pulls his tool roll out of the makeshift gear bag under the seat and spreads it out on the pavement in front of him.

He works on the engine for some time. The fix he made the other day seems to have stressed some other parts of the engine, and it takes him a while to figure out exactly what’s gotten fucked up.

Fuckin’ carburetors.

Pulling out his knife, he trims a hose and pulls out a couple of plastic cable ties to secure it. It’s a workaround; the old carb’s days are numbered. This’ll have to do until they get back home, and until Daryl can get to a junkyard to scavenge.

Aggravated, Daryl scratches the back of his neck and thinks about the half-full pack of stale smokes he once again left beside his bed.

His thoughts are interrupted by a sharp sound, like someone choking and crying in one painful bark. He’s on his feet in an instant, reaching for his crossbow, when he sees Aaron standing down the street.

Next to Aaron is a woman wearing a backpack and a rifle over her shoulder. She’s thin, with short blond hair, dressed in filthy clothes, her face sunburnt and stained with dirt.

Daryl goes absolutely still.

There’s something about the way she stands. Something about her height and the cock of her head and the hunch of her shoulders that makes his stomach plummet towards his knees.

That’s all he sees before she runs.

Everything slows down, like his brain’s running at half-speed, or like he’s dreaming. He doesn’t understand what’s happening right in front of him. He distantly hears the sound of her sobbing and sees her running full-out at him, a blur of long legs and pumping arms and a bright flash of blond hair in the afternoon sun.

But it doesn’t make sense. What he’s seeing just can’t be real.

She slams into him, throwing her arms around his neck. His breath is stuck in his throat, his chest tight like it’s being squeezed in a vice.

Beth

It’s her.

She’s alive.

Chapter Text

Let no love poem ever come to this threshold.
There is no place here for the inexact
praise of the easy graces and sensuality of the body.
There is only time for this merciless inventory:
Their death together in the winter of 1847.
Also what they suffered. How they lived.
And what there is between a man and woman.
And in which darkness it can best be proved.

From "Quarantine" by Eavan Boland

It’s Beth.

It’s impossible. It isn’t real. It can’t be real.

Daryl watched her die. He saw the bullet explode the top of her head and felt her blood hit his face. He watched her collapse in a heap at his feet like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He carried her. He laid her warm, heavy body across the backseat of a car. He closed the doors himself and laid his palm on the hot glass.

He looked at her one last, long time, at the blood staining her hair, at her pale face, her lips tinged blue. She was so still.

That happened.

He must be out of his mind. He’s finally lost it completely, and this girl with her arms around his neck is just some girl Aaron’s found, and she’s crazy, too, going around throwing herself at strangers.

But then she gasps on the end of a sob, a little sound at the back of her throat that’s almost like laughter. It’s a sound Daryl knows, that he heard from Beth when they were together, that he’s heard a thousand more times as he’s combed through his memories of her.

He’d know it anywhere.

It’s her. Impossible. But it’s really her.

Daryl grabs her, an arm around her body and one hand cradling the back of her head, and he lifts her against him as she clings to his neck. He tries to make his dry mouth work, tries to say something to her, and he thinks maybe he does, because she presses her face closer to him and mumbles something he doesn’t understand. He feels like he could laugh and shout and cry all at once, but all his sandblasted brain can come up with is one word.

“How?”

Beth pulls back and he sees her face properly for the first time. Her dirty, tear-streaked, precious goddamn face, gaunt and red and peeling from sunburn, marked with scars. Her eyes are full of tears, and she’s beaming at him.

“I made it,” she says, like that explains how she could possibly be standing in front of him. Like that explains anything at all about what’s happening.

They left her.

They left her unconscious and bleeding, a damn bullet hole in her head, so still and broken that they didn’t even question that she was dead.

He left her.

Daryl lets go.

He takes a step back, a high-pitched ringing in his ears, and he blinks hard, noticing finally that Aaron’s standing a ways off, trying to give them space. His expression is anxious, like he’s worried he’s done something wrong. Daryl tries to tell him without speaking that it’s fine, but the most he can manage is a tight grimace.

“We should go,” Aaron says. He gestures up the street, and for the first time, Daryl sees a small herd gathered there, just milling. The walkers haven’t picked up on the three of them standing there, but they’re bound to soon.

Daryl expects Beth to get in the car with Aaron, but she wants to go with him. She squints at him in the bright sunlight, her head cocked, and, for the first time in his entire life, he wishes he had a helmet. She oughta have a helmet.

He gets on, and she climbs carefully on behind him, scooting herself forward and wrapping her thin arms around his waist. The weight of her body against his back hits him like a punch to the gut, and for a dizzying moment, he’s sure he’s back outside that stillhouse in the sweltering heat and she’s hugging him tight, holding him together and letting him fall apart at once.

For a moment, none of the shit that’s gone down between then and now ever happened at all, and it’s just them, again, and his heart feels light, like someone’s taken all the lead weights out of it.

Daryl starts the bike and it hums steadily. They’ll get home on a lick and a prayer, but they’ll get home.

Aaron slams his car door, and the walkers up the road turn in their direction.

“You good?” Daryl asks, sensing the nervous way she holds her weight on the bike. She’s never been on one; she’d said as much before, when it was just the two of them.

“Peachy,” she says, her voice shaky and dry but amused, too. The sound of it startles him. It’s really her.

She’s not dead or gone. She’s alive and she’s right here.

Beth shifts behind him, her thighs moving against his.

Daryl grips the throttle and the clutch in shaking hands. He flips up the kickstand and pulls away as Aaron accelerates. Dodging the bike around the walkers, Daryl follows Aaron back onto the northbound highway.

White-knuckling the throttle, he stares at the bumper of Aaron’s car. Beth relaxes, eventually, once he hits a good cruising speed. She wraps her arms more tightly around him, letting her weight settle against his back.

Daryl holds his breath, sure he’s about to wake up any second and find himself staring up at the ceiling of his room. There’s just no way this can be real.

But the vibration of the motor is too heavy and the wind beats his body too hard for this to be a dream. And her hand is gripping his vest. That's real; he can feel it.

Beth exhales a deep breath and leans what feels like her cheek or her forehead against his back. He swallows the hard lump in his throat and tries to keep his shit together.

A moment later, her body trembles hard enough for him to feel.

She’s shaking.

He takes his hand off the clutch and touches hers, wrapping her cool, chapped fingers in his own.

The ride back to Alexandria passes in what feels like an instant.

Daryl hesitates as they approach the turn-off; he wants to keep going. He wants to ride with her arms wrapped around him until his bike runs out of gas. He wants to carry her on his back until they find some place like the funeral home, but real, quiet and warm with candlelight, where they can start over. Where he can keep her safe, this time, instead of fucking everything up.

But he doesn’t, because they can’t. She has family inside those gates.

Anyway, who’s he to think she’d want to go anywhere with him? He left her.

They pull into the zone and Daryl stops the bike and kills the engine. Aaron parks the car and gets out to talk to the guy on gate duty, sending him off to find Maggie and Glenn. Daryl holds the bike upright with his weight and waits for Beth to let go of him and hop off.

But she doesn’t. Her arms stay wrapped around his middle even as her feet ease down to touch the pavement. They've stopped and she could bail, only she doesn't. She holds on like she did the whole ride, almost hugging him.

Daryl swallows and doesn't move a muscle.

Then Glenn comes running down the street, and Beth finally lets go.

She gets off the bike, letting Glenn scoop her up in a hug, his eyes wide as he stares at Daryl over her shoulder.

Michonne is seconds behind Glenn. Her eyes linger on Beth, and then slide to Daryl, her expression so knowing, so stunned, that Daryl has to look away, down at the gas tank between his thighs.

Glenn takes off at a run, back towards the houses, shouting Maggie’s name, as Michonne carefully embraces Beth. The others come, and Daryl fiddles with the throttle, watching out of the corner of his eye as Beth’s surrounded.

Then Maggie comes tearing down the street with Glenn close behind, and Daryl has to look away again. He has to close his eyes and count to ten because he feels sick to his stomach.

Maggie makes a nearly inhuman sound of shock and plunges into the crowd of people.

Daryl feels a hand touch his arm and he startles.

Carol’s standing beside the bike, looking over at Beth, watching everyone pass Beth around like she's a new puppy.

Carol looks at him, then, her eyes wet with unshed tears. She opens her mouth, closes it again, and shakes her head. The look in her eyes is one he hasn’t seen in a long time.

She looks hopeful.

His friend’s still there, his good friend, his first real friend, underneath the costume, underneath the armour.

Daryl reaches out and takes her hand. Carol smiles, and the tears spill down her cheeks.

The noisy group is still clutched close around Beth, everyone who knew her still taking turns hugging her, and the others she hasn’t met introducing themselves.

Daryl catches a glimpse of her face and his stomach sinks.

Beth’s eyes are wide, her smile strange and forced. She looks like a rabbit when it hears a twig snap, and he wonders how long she's been out there on her own. They had vehicles to get them north of Richmond, at least, but she might have walked the whole fucking way for all he knows. How long would that shit take? When was the last time she slept soundly, without watching her back? How did she feed herself out there?

How did she survive a gunshot to the head?

How did she get away from that place?

How could he have left her there, alive?

The excited voices around him fade in and out like someone’s tuning a radio inside his skull. His chest feels tight and a low buzzing fills his ears. He lets go of Carol’s hand.

Maggie’s holding one of Beth’s hands in both of hers, like a strong wind will blow Beth away, and saying something about taking Beth home. Daryl realises he’s done his part; he got her back safely to the people she loves. He’s not needed.

Daryl starts the bike and kicks the stand up. Carol says his name, but he ignores her and slowly pulls away from the gates and out onto the street. He heads to Aaron's and stows the bike away in the garage, wiping it down carefully. When he's done, he takes the crossbow off the back and slings it over his shoulder.

He stands in the open doorway of Aaron’s garage for a minute, listening to the chirping of birds in the shrubs beside the house, and, somewhere nearby, the sound of children laughing.

Aaron’s gone to let Deanna know what’s happened, Daryl guesses, but he’ll want to talk to Daryl after. Check in on him.

Daryl starts walking.

When he gets to the front gate, everyone’s gone but two women on watch. Aaron’s car is still parked alongside the wall. The women on watch open the gate without a word.

Daryl steps off the main road immediately and follows the perimeter of the wall to the east a ways before heading out into the woods.

As he walks, he thinks. He wishes his mind would quit and go blank, instead, but it won’t. Instead it races.

Beth’s been alive this whole time.

Every minute he’s been struggling to put one foot in front of the other, wanting to die, feeling sorry for himself, she’s been alive, injured so badly he can’t even guess what she’s been through, fucking left behind, and it’s his fault.

He left her.

Beth was alive and he dumped her in a car to bleed out and die.

He could have stayed with her and helped her and instead he left her in that place. She got away somehow and had to find her own way here, all alone.

Daryl’s stomach rolls over. He stops and leans one forearm on a tree for support. He tries to breathe through the nausea, but his chest is tight and all he can draw are short, shallow breaths.

She was alive. When she was bleeding all over him and he was trying to figure out how they could take her with them and bury her someplace, she was alive. She was clinging to life and he dumped her in the back of a car.

He did that.

His stomach heaves again, his mouth filling with saliva. He drops to his knees and vomits in the leaves. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and his head swims, black spots spinning at the edges of his vision.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but eventually he becomes aware that his knees are aching and damp from the dirt. He inhales shakily and exhales.

Daryl’s not sure how he gets himself to his feet and walks back, but he does.

It’s late afternoon by the time he walks up the main road into the safe zone. An older man is guarding the gate, and he lets Daryl in with a wave Daryl doesn’t return.

Inside, the streets are quiet. Aaron’s car is gone. Everyone’s inside with their families, making dinner.

She’s here somewhere. Probably at Maggie and Glenn’s.

She’s here. She’s alive.

She’s here and he doesn’t want to be anywhere near her.

Daryl heads to Rick’s and lets himself into the house. He stands in the foyer, listening. The house is empty. He goes into his room, where he shuts the door and hangs his crossbow up on the nails he’d hammered into the drywall. His smokes are on the floor next to the bed.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he grabs the pack and pulls a cigarette out and holds it between his fingers. He rests his elbows on his knees and stares at the cigarette.

He should go out on the porch if he wants to smoke. It'd be shitty of him to smoke inside, even though Judith isn’t in the house right now.

The sound of the front door opening and closing startles him badly enough that he drops his smoke on the floor. A moment later, there’s a knock on the bedroom door. He leans down and picks the cigarette back up, sticking it behind his ear.

“What?”

The door opens. It’s Rick.

“Hey.”

Daryl doesn’t look up from his hands right away, but eventually, he does.

Rick’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching Daryl. His face looks strange, unusually pale, and his eyes are red, like he’s been crying.

Daryl swallows.

“What is it?”

“Mind if I come in?”

“Suit yourself,” Daryl says, shrugging.

Rick pushes off the door frame and comes into the room, leaving the door open behind him. He sits down beside Daryl on the bed, leaving a hand’s width between their legs. Rick leans forward and mimics Daryl’s posture, resting his elbows on his knees. He buries his face in his hands and sighs a deep sigh.

“Hell of a thing,” he mutters.

Rick doesn’t do anything for a long time except sit there beside Daryl, his face in his hands.

Eventually, he clears his throat.

"Dinner at Maggie and Glenn's tonight. All of us, for Beth."

Daryl says nothing. Rick turns to him, watching the side of his face, but Daryl keeps staring down at his feet.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Rick says, his voice soft and steady. Daryl blinks hard, his eyes stinging. “But you’d be missed.”

The last thing Daryl wants to do right now is eat a meal in Maggie and Glenn’s living room with the entire group breathing down his neck and gawking at Beth.

But he has to face her, sooner or later.

Rick opens his mouth a couple of times like he's about to say something, but he stops himself. Instead, he sighs roughly and rubs his hands over his face.

"Hell of a thing," he says again.

Neither of them says anything more, and they sit in silence together until it’s time to go.

When Daryl walks into Maggie and Glenn’s living room, Beth’s the first thing he sees.

Daryl’s grateful for how crowded the room is, because no one seems to notice him standing there just staring at her.

She’s sitting at one end of one of the massive couches, Maggie right next to her. Her short hair’s clean and shiny, curling softly around her ears, and her skin’s free of dirt. The scrapes and scars on her face stand out more than they had when they were hidden beneath the layer of grime on her skin. There are dark shadows beneath her eyes. She’s dressed in clothes that hang off her too-skinny frame, her collarbones sharp and pronounced above the collar of her grey t-shirt. There’s a plate of food balanced on her knees. She’s listening politely to Eugene while he drones on, her dinner untouched. Maggie leans over and says something to him, and he gets up and heads to the kitchen. Beth turns to Maggie and gives her a tight, grateful smile, and Daryl’s stomach aches.

He turns away, following Eugene into the kitchen. Carol’s there, serving up chicken noodle casserole. Sasha and Tara are there, too, picking up plates alongside Eugene.

The three of them troop out, and then it’s just him and Carol. She sets down the serving spoon and rests her hands on the countertop. She stares at him, her expression unreadable.

“You took off,” she says.

“Mm.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.

Carol covers the casserole with a wrinkled piece of tinfoil, smoothing the edges out. She picks up a full plate and a fork and comes around the counter to stand in front of him. She holds the food out.

“I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay,” she says softly. “But you should eat something.”

Daryl looks down at the plate of food. He can’t tell if he’s hungry or not. He must have eaten that morning before heading out with Aaron, but he doesn’t recall. He takes the plate.

Carol rests her hand on his arm, giving him a quick squeeze.

“Go on.”

Daryl turns away and takes his plate to the living room. The room’s not as big as the living space at Rick’s, and most of the seats are taken. He finds his way around the edge of the room and sits down on a wooden chest beneath one of the windows.

Beth’s right across from him, on the other side of the room. There’s about a dozen people between them, but he can see her perfectly from where he’s sitting.

Daryl crouches over his plate and starts shoveling food into his mouth while everyone else talks to one another.

They make her listen to all of their bullshit.

They’re trying to make conversation, he guesses, like people will do, trying to bring her up to speed like she’s been away at college and just come home for the summer, rather than nearly killed and left behind to fend for herself.

When Daryl dares glance up to get a look at her, he feels sick all over again.

She looks so fucking exhausted. Her smile is genuine, but her eyes are tired, and he wants to snap at everyone to just shut the fuck up and leave her be. It’s not his place, but it ought to be someone’s. Someone ought to look out for her.

Beth listens to them talk about their own journey here and life in Alexandria with patience, even though when she goes to tuck a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear, her hand shakes.

When everyone’s finished, it’s apparently Beth’s turn, and, in halting, disjointed pieces, she tells them all how.

She was in a coma for five weeks. It took her months to regain her strength, but as soon as she could, she left Atlanta and headed for Richmond, figuring that they’d gone that way to take Noah home.

Daryl can hardly stand to sit there and listen to her talk about it in her matter-of-fact tone, like she’s describing having gotten a flat tire.

Six hundred miles.

If he remembers right from their own trip out of Georgia, it’s about six hundred miles and change from Atlanta to where Aaron found her. The way she tells it, she had a truck for about the first hundred miles. She walked the rest.

She survived a gunshot to the head and a fractured skull and a coma, then she walked five hundred fucking miles to find them.

She tells the whole story, right up to running into Aaron, but there’s something in the brief silences she allows that tells Daryl there’s a lot she isn’t saying about what she’s been through.

Daryl feels sick again, the casserole sitting like a brick in his stomach. He glances at the front door, wondering how conspicuous it’d be if he went out for a smoke.

Then Carl brings Judith out to see Beth.

Carl puts her in Beth’s lap, and Judith doesn’t make strange for even a second. Her arms reach out and Beth pulls her in close, and when Daryl sees the way Beth’s eyes slam shut and her chin quivers as she tucks her head close to Judith’s, it’s suddenly too much.

It’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. It’s all too much, and he’s on his feet, out the front door and onto the porch almost before he even knows what he’s doing.

Outside, the evening is cool and it smells like oncoming rain. Outside, he can breathe.

Daryl reaches into his pocket and pulls out his smokes and his lighter, and it’s not until he feels the first bump of nicotine hit his bloodstream that he realises his entire body is trembling. He leans his butt back onto the railing, and smokes two cigarettes as quickly as he can.

It’s stupid, considering smokes don’t exactly grow on trees, but he does it anyway.

He lights a third, and is holding it between his fingers, contemplating whether smoking it is going to push him over the edge and make him puke, when the screen door opens.

Daryl doesn’t need to look up to know it’s her.

“Hey.”

Beth’s voice is soft and a bit hoarse.

“Hey.”

She comes over to him, but he moves, antsy, and rests his hands on the porch railing to look out at the street and the dark, silent houses.

Beth follows him, though, and stands beside him, placing her hands on the railing next to his. She doesn’t say anything, and Daryl pulls hard on his cigarette, taking the smoke deep into his lungs. His brain buzzes from the nicotine and his heart pounds in his chest.

There’s so much he wants to say to her.

He’s spent months thinking about all the things he never got to say. Months thinking about how things might have gone different if he had.

Now that he can, now that he wants to, he's tongue-tied. His mind’s gone blank, because everything he's felt in the last few months is pathetic and small beside the hard fact that she was alive the whole time and he just left her behind.

It doesn’t much matter what he wants to say. What matters is what he needs to.

He's never been any good at apologies, and he doesn't know if there are words that exist for the ones he owes her.

“I wanted to take you with us,” he says, eventually, taking a drag on his cigarette to try to settle his nerves. She’s looking at him, the side of his face, but he’s not looking at her. He can’t. “Maggie, too. Neither of us wanted to leave you there. We wanted to take you out of the city, find a place for you. Somewhere green, somewhere… Hated it, leavin’ you in that car in that fuckin’ place.”

Beth inhales sharply and Daryl's stomach twists. He shouldn't have lit this last smoke. He probably shouldn't have eaten, earlier, either.

He absolutely shouldn’t have just fucking told her that he’d wanted to bury her.

Fuck.

“If you’d buried me, I would have died,” she says. Her tone is so calm and reasonable that he wants to shout. “Daryl, it’s not–”

But it's suddenly like he's turned a faucet on inside himself. Or a firehose, more like.

“I’m sorry,” he says, interrupting her. “I’m so sorry, Beth. If I’da known, if we’da known, we never woulda – we thought – Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she says, shaking her head at him, her brow furrowing.

It's okay.

Unbelievable. Left for dead and she says it's okay. Like forgiveness comes that easy for her. Like any of them have earned it.

The surge of anger that rises up inside him is almost comforting. Anger is easier than anything else. Anger is familiar, at least.

“No. It ain’t okay,” he snaps, hating how his voice breaks. “Can’t believe we was so fuckin’ stupid, leavin’ you in that car when you was still alive. We didn’t check. We thought – we thought for sure – you coulda died, and we never woulda even known, I never woulda – goddamn it.”

Just as suddenly as it began, the avalanche of words coming out of him just stops, his mouth gone dry.

He waits for her to call him a piece of shit for leaving her there. A stupid, careless fucking asshole. He’d deserve it. He wants it, really, in a strange way. He wants her to be angry at him. He wants her to chew him out. That would make so much more sense to him than the calm way she’s talking about the worst thing that’s ever fucking happened.

Instead, her hand lands softly on his where it rests on the railing. He sucks in a breath and looks over at her. Really looks at her and can see her better, now that she’s cleaned up, and now that his brain isn’t slow and stupid with shock.

There are dark shadows under her eyes and she’s much too thin. There's a long, pink scar on her cheek and another over her eye. He remembers her face was all fucked up, like she’d been in a bar fight, the last time he saw her alive. The worst, though, is the skull fracture, a little crater on her scalp, partly obscured by the thick, short hair that makes her look like Tinkerbell or something.

It’s too much. Just looking at her is way too fucking much for him to handle, so he looks away, and brings what’s left of his cigarette to his mouth.

Except then she touches him.

Her fingers land on the back of his hand where it rests on the railing, brushing gently over the scar there.

“What’s this?”

That’s not a question he can possibly answer.

He stares down at her weathered knuckles and the way she carefully traces the smooth patch of scar on his hand. He can feel her looking at him, waiting, but he doesn’t answer. He’s not sure there are words for what that scar is.

Except this is Beth, and she’d get it. Better than most would.

They’re standing alone on the porch, just the two of them in the moonlight, and he could tell her how it was for him. He could tell her how it felt to leave her behind. How it felt to have failed her so completely. How it felt like he was sleepwalking. How he couldn’t feel anything, he was so empty, until he pressed that cigarette into his skin and felt his own flesh burn.

But the words don't come.

He can't say it.

He's ashamed.

He shakes his head, and bites the inside of his bottom lip so hard that he tastes blood.

Beth slides her hand beneath his, pressing her palm to his, and then she leans down and kisses the scar.

Her lips on his skin might as well have been a razorblade. The cold butt of his cigarette drops from between his fingers and lands on the deck. His breath sticks in his throat, and before he can yank his hand back or turn away or hop the railing and just get the fuck out of there, he’s crying.

“Oh.”

Daryl barely gets a glimpse of her face before she puts her arms around his shoulders and pulls him down to her. He goes, wrapping his arms around her and dropping his head to her shoulder.

It takes him a second to realise she’s crying, too.

He runs his hands up and down her back, trying to offer her some comfort. She just holds him tighter and cries almost silently into his neck, the hitch of her breath the only way he can tell she’s still crying.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there in the moonlight leaning against each other. It reminds him of that afternoon at the stillhouse. He didn’t know how long they stood there then, either. He just knew then, as he does now, that it was okay.

It was okay to let her hold him. It was okay to just fall apart.

The only thing that’s different is that this time, they’re face to face. She’s cradling his head on her shoulder and he’s hugging her into his chest.

It feels wrong to let her comfort him. He doesn’t deserve it. But she’s holding on tightly and she’s crying, too, and he thinks that maybe this is something he can do. This is one small way that he can make himself useful, even after failing her so many times.

So he holds on.

Daryl doesn’t sleep that night.

He walks around town for hours after they say goodnight and he leaves Beth standing on the porch. He’s exhausted but restless, and the urge to head out into the woods is hard to fight. He does fight it, though; he knows going out there in the pitch dark is a stupid thing to do.

Also, she’s here. She’s inside the town’s walls, and he feels pulled in two directions, now. Pulled out into the woods, away from everything and everyone, and pulled back towards her, to where he can see her, can keep watch over her.

Not that she needs him to. Not that it's his place. But still.

So he doesn’t sleep. He walks until his feet and his back ache and he starts to feel like a dumbass, skulking up and down the sidewalks in the darkness.

Daryl goes back to Rick’s and sits on the porch until he hears the first birds begin to sing, just before dawn. The darkness of night slowly fades, and Daryl goes inside to grab his crossbow.

He checks his snares as the morning dawns cool and sunny, just as beautiful as the day before, and brings two rabbits back with him.

On his way back to Rick’s, after leaving the rabbits with Olivia, he finds Maggie sitting on the front step of Deanna and Reg’s house. She’s got her head bowed and her hands clasped between her spread knees. It looks almost like she’s praying.

Maggie hasn’t noticed him, and he’s about to keep walking when she lifts her head and shades her eyes from the bright midday sun.

“Daryl.”

He comes over and stops at the base of the steps.

Maggie just looks up at him from where she’s seated for a long moment, and doesn’t say anything. They stare at each other until finally Maggie clears her throat.

“Yesterday was so… I didn’t get a chance to say thank you. Thank you for bringing her home.”

Daryl shrugs.

“Didn’t do nothin’. Aaron found her. Anyway, she got herself here.”

Maggie nods and glances over her shoulder, back at the house.

“She’s in there with Deanna.”

Daryl looks at the closed door, trying not to scowl at it.

Deanna’s all right, really. She doesn’t mean any harm, at least, but the curious way she looks at him, like he’s a strange bug skewered on a pin – he hates that. The way she’s been looking at all of them since her son was killed doesn’t make him too comfortable, either. He doesn’t like that Beth’s in there, on her own, being questioned and prodded, recorded, after everything she’s been through. Dealing with everyone last night was an ordeal already. But he knows there’s no way around it.

“She’s fine,” Maggie says. Daryl glances down at her. She’s frowning out at the street, and her chin wobbles even as she sets her mouth, stubborn and firm. “She’s gonna be just fine.”

Daryl doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t have to figure it out, either, because a woman whose name he can’t fully remember – Marie? Sarah? – comes jogging up to them and stops on the sidewalk.

“Maggie, can you come? There’s an issue with the supplies the run crew brought in yesterday. Olivia asked me to find you.”

Maggie frowns.

“Can it wait?”

The woman – Carrie? – looks taken aback. She glances at Daryl.

“Deanna said to come to you if she’s not available,” she says, giving a helpless shrug.

Maggie nods and stands.

“Daryl, would you mind waiting for her? I wanted to be here, but… I just don’t want her to come out and no one’s here.”

Daryl nods and palms his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket.

“Go on. I’ll be right here.”

“Thanks,” Maggie says, reaching out and touching his forearm briefly before going off down the sidewalk with the anxious-looking woman.

Daryl leans a hip against the gatepost. He pulls a cigarette out, lights it, and he waits.

Only a few minutes later, the door behind him opens. He looks up the steps to see Beth standing in the doorway, looking tired and pale. There’s a deep crease between her eyebrows. When her eyes land on him, the crease smooths out.

“Maggie was waitin’ on you,” he explains. “But some kinda fuss came up in inventory, I dunno. How’d it go?”

Beth comes down the steps to stand right next to him, furrowing her brow again.

“It was weird,” she says. She pauses, looking past him, out at the street. She shrugs her shoulders awkwardly. “It’s hard to talk about some of it.”

Daryl flicks the butt of his cigarette away, into the clean gutter. He stares down at it, then looks back to find her watching him.

Her face is tense and she looks exhausted, maybe even more so than she did the day before. Here in the daylight, up close, he sees how scarred her face is, never mind the gunshot scar at the top of her forehead. Going by what she’d said about her injuries to the group last night, there must be other scars hidden by her short hair.

There’s something different about her face, now. The scars, yes, and she looks different with her hair short. But it’s something else, too, like her face is a bowl that someone broke and then tried to glue back together. She’s just different than she was before.

She looks old, is what it is. She’s not even twenty, and she looks old.

He wonders how much pain he could have spared her had he done one single thing right.

“I got a hundred things I wish I’d never done,” he says. “Startin’ with tryin’ to get that damn mutt into the house for you.”

Daryl’s not sure what response he expected, but Beth smiling like she’s thinking about something good sure as hell ain’t it.

“Yeah, the whole time I was stuck in that hospital, all I kept thinkin’ was, ‘damn that Daryl Dixon, if only he hadn’t tried to get me that dog,’” she says drily, still smiling. He must have no poker face to speak of, anymore, because her expression changes, bright dots of colour forming in her cheeks. She tilts her head at him and says, more quietly, “I’m kiddin’.”

“Ain’t funny,” he mutters, feeling stupid. He jams his hands in his pockets and scuffs his boot against the pavement. He still feels raw and she’s standing in front of him, joking. After everything she’s been through.

“Sorry,” she says. She bumps the toe of her boot against his. He looks up to find her watching him, looking apologetic, and he feels stupid all over again. “What are you up to today?”

“Nothin’,” Daryl says. “Why?”

“You wanna give me the grand tour? No one’s offered yet.”

Daryl blinks at her.

Beth spent months with strangers, weeks on her own, and she’s finally back with her sister, back with all the people she wanted so badly to believe had survived, and now she wants a “grand tour” from him?

She’s waiting on a reply. He clears his throat.

“Ain’t much to see,” he says, but Beth just shrugs her shoulders and smiles at him. So he reaches out and touches her elbow, and they head down the sidewalk, back in the direction of Maggie and Glenn’s place.

Daryl figures he’s a pretty shitty tour guide. He doesn’t know what to tell her except the purpose of each of the buildings they pass, the inventory and armoury and the clinic, the schoolhouse and daycare and the gardens. She doesn’t seem to mind that he doesn’t offer much, though. She just listens and asks a question or two about how the water and power work.

He points out Aaron and Eric’s place. They stop on the sidewalk, and a squirrel darts out of the small tree beside them and crosses their path. Daryl scowls at it. Bold little fucker, and him without his bow. He glances to his side to find Beth watching him, a funny, half-smile on her face.

“I’d get it, but they don’t like that much, ‘round here.”

She nods. “You still go out huntin’?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Next time you go, you want company?”

Daryl stares at her. Odd enough that she asked him to take her around town, and now she says she wants to keep him company. She’s got family here, their whole group, and plenty of new people to befriend, besides, and she wants to go with him.

It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

“You wanna go huntin’ with me?”

Beth practically beams at him, her smile indulgent, like she doesn’t get why he’d even ask a question like that, but she’s willing to humour him.

“Of course. We only got partway through you teachin’ me everythin’ you know before we got interrupted.”

Daryl is momentarily overcome by the certainty that he’s dreaming. He gotta be. This can’t be real. He can’t be standing here on a sunny fall day with Beth Greene as she grins at him, asking him to take her out hunting.

Beth Greene, risen from the dead like something out of the dog-eared bible his mom kept in her bedside drawer. Who walked through five hundred miles of walkers and strangers and abandoned wilderness on only the faintest hope that she might find the people who left her behind. Who doesn’t seem to harbour even an ounce of bitterness in her heart for the dozens of ways he failed her.

This can’t be real. Nothing about it seems like something that could possibly happen to him.

But somehow it is. Somehow, she’s here. Somehow, she’s smiling at him, waiting for him to say yes.

So he does. He says yes.

They make plans for the following day, and the sight of her squinting in the sunlight, grinning up at him, is all of a sudden too much, and he takes off down the sidewalk to go hole himself up at Rick’s and catch his breath.

He feels her gaze on his back the whole way.

Daryl gets up before the sun rises.

He dresses and grabs his bow and knives, and he’s nearly at the front door when Carol’s voice stops him.

“Hey.”

Carol’s sitting in the living room, a cranky-looking Judith cuddled on her lap.

Daryl stops and sets his bow down by the front door.

“Hey. Still teething?”

“Yep,” Carol says as she blows out a sigh. “Rick was up most of the night with her and I thought I’d cut him a break. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Takin’ Beth out to hunt.”

Carol’s eyebrows pop up, a funny little smile spreading across her face. She tilts her head.

“What?” he asks, annoyed.

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “Was that your idea or hers?”

“Hers. Why?”

Carol’s smile just gets bigger.

“No reason.”

Carol stands up and brings Judith over, holding her out to him. Daryl takes her, propping her upright in the crook of his arm. Judith kicks her legs out and wobbles a bit as she balances herself.

“Watch her. I’ll be right back.”

Carol turns and disappears into the kitchen.

Judith watches him in silence, her expression very serious, then reaches up and hooks her thumb into one of his nostrils and pinches him so hard his eyes water.

“Ow,” he mutters. Judith laughs. “When the hell’d you get so damn strong?”

Judith just grins at him and swipes for his hair, but he manages to dodge her. He swoops her back and forth a few times, and she laughs, still grabbing for his face. When he stops and gathers her close again, he feels wetness on his forearm.

“C’mon,” he says, and heads down the hallway to the bathroom, where he grabs a clean cloth diaper and a washcloth from the stash. He goes back to the living room and changes Judith on the couch while she squirms and giggles. He’s just finished wrestling her into the diaper when Carol comes in holding a paper bag in one hand.

“This is for you,” she says. “But only once you’ve washed your hands.”

Daryl scoffs and goes back to the bathroom. When he emerges, Carol’s waiting for him by the front door, Judith on her hip and the paper bag in her hand. She holds it out to him.

Curious, he unfolds the top, and a whiff of peanut butter and jelly hits his nose.

Carol leans up and kisses him on the forehead.

“Have fun.”

Daryl scowls at her.

“We’re goin’ to hunt. Ain’t goin’ out for fun.”

Carol gives him a long, thoughtful look, her eyes soft.

"I know you're not. That's why I'm saying it. Have fun, Daryl."

Carol shifts Judith’s weight on her hip and turns away to disappear into the kitchen once again.

Daryl stares after her down the empty hallway, then goes out the front door into the cool, misty morning to head to Aaron’s.

He lets himself into Aaron’s garage and checks the bike over to make sure it can handle a short trip. They could go on foot; he knows Beth was nervous about getting on the motorcycle. But he remembers, too, how she relaxed against his back on their way up the highway, and how tense she was when everyone gathered around her inside the walls.

Daryl checks the bike over three times before he backs it out of the garage and down the driveway to the street, sweating his ass off to push it instead of starting it in the garage and waking Aaron and Eric. Once he’s out on the street, he starts it, lets it warm up, then rides down the street to Maggie and Glenn’s place.

He stops the bike at the curb and freezes. They hadn’t actually agreed on a time, or anything, but they always used to hunt first thing, before, when it was just the two of them, and he figures she probably remembers.

He wonders if he should go knock on the door.

Daryl’s still wondering, just sitting there staring down at the red kill switch and chewing the inside of his lip ragged, when he hears the front door open.

Beth’s hurrying down the porch steps and across the lawn, headed straight for him.

She’s wearing the same denim jacket and jeans she was wearing when she found Aaron, and a dark blue hoodie underneath. She comes to a stop on the sidewalk and smiles at him, her eyes bright.

“Hey,” she says.

Daryl can only stare at her, struck dumb.

It’s like he’s seeing her for the first time again. He still can’t seem to really believe she’s here.

She’s been haunting him for months and now she’s here, like she was never gone.

Every day since she died, his memories of her have been so real that it’s often felt like she’s been by his side, whispering in his ear. Now she’s here, standing right in front of him, and he has no clue what to do.

She’s not a memory. She’s not a bunch of confusing, shitty feelings.

She’s a person, and she’s right here.

“Daryl?”

Beth’s head is cocked and her brow is furrowed.

“Mm,” he says, the sound coming out as little more than a grunt. “You good to go?”

She nods, still watching him with that quiet, searching expression that makes his face go hot.

“Hop on.”

Beth does, carefully climbing onto the bike behind him without dislodging his crossbow from its bracket. She’s just getting settled when the front door opens again, and Maggie emerges.

She comes down the steps towards them, her brow knit, and when she stops on the sidewalk a few feet from them, she crosses her arms over her chest and holds her elbows.

Daryl suddenly has the strangest feeling that he's in trouble.

But Maggie doesn't grill him or issue any rules or curfews. She just watches, lips pursed, as Beth gets settled on the bike, her thighs hugging Daryl's.

"There’s that party tonight," Maggie says. "At Deanna and Reg's? Don't forget."

"We won't," Beth says.

Something about the way she says we does something strange to Daryl’s heart, making it clench and jump, and his head goes woozy for a second.

Beth taps her hand gently against his thigh, telling him to go. He glances at Maggie, at the frown on her face as she looks at the bike and at Daryl, and he can see she’s holding back something she wants to say.

“Daryl,” Beth says, very softly, her breath brushing the shell of his ear.

Daryl lets out the clutch, lifts his feet off the ground, and they pull away.

The woman minding the front gates must hear the motorcycle coming, because the gates are already sliding open as Daryl steers the bike to them. As they pass through the gates, he rolls the throttle and they begin to pick up speed.

Beth’s arms tighten around his waist, and he feels her rest her cheek on his back.

In the eastern sky, the sun rises.

They hunt all morning, and Beth barely says more words than Daryl can count on his two hands.

She wasn’t like this before. She used to talk to him all the time, back when it was just them on their own. She wasn’t annoying or anything; she just liked to talk. She liked to say how she was feeling, and ask him how he was. She liked to notice things around them, and point them out to him.

Now she’s so quiet that he doesn’t know what to do.

When the sun is high in the sky, Daryl takes her to the spring in the woods.

Beth crouches down by the edge of the shallow pool and cups a handful of sparkling water into her mouth, then swishes her fingers idly through the water a few times before standing.

Daryl sits down on the fallen tree by the spring and pulls the sandwiches out of his jacket pocket. He holds one out to Beth, and she just stares at it for a beat.

“Carol made ‘em, don’t worry.”

Beth smiles, taking the sandwich, and sits down right beside him, her knee bumping his. He takes a bite of his sandwich and tries to think about that instead of the way the whole length of her thigh is pressed against his.

Out of nowhere, Beth laughs. It’s not loud, just a quiet chuckle, but it’s so unexpected that Daryl startles.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” she says. “Just – peanut butter and grape jelly remind me of you.”

Oh.

Peanut butter and grape jelly. Like they had that morning, the last good day, when they sat together and ate and talked and Daryl almost believed that they'd be okay.

She remembers. He’s not the only one. She remembers, and it can still make her smile.

The silence between them draws out, and, though he’s not looking at her, he can feel her eyeing him.

Everything that’s happened to her, everything she’s gone through, and she still remembers their stupid white trash brunch. It still makes her smile.

“Me too,” he says, before shoving the rest of his sandwich into his mouth.

Only days ago, she was dead, and now they’re eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches together.

Daryl’s throat tightens and he swallows hard.

Nothing he’s seen in his life has led him to believe in such a thing as miracles. But this, here, with her, seems to qualify, and he wouldn’t have even made it here if it wasn’t for her.

It’s like Carol said: Beth saved his life.

Maybe she ought to know that.

“Don’t think you know what you done for me.”

Daryl looks down at the rocky ground between his boots. She's watching the side of his face.

“What did I do for you?”

Daryl frowns. He's not sure why, but it bothers him that she might not know. That she might really have no idea that if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't even have survived the loss of the prison, never mind everything else since then.

He wishes he had a cigarette. He'd left his smokes in his room again, on purpose this time, not wanting to smoke around her.

With nothing to keep his hands busy and nothing to put between his teeth, there's really only one option.

“I was lost, after they took you," he says. "Fell in with some bad people. Real bad. I didn’t know it, ‘til I did. That’s how I met up with Rick, Carl, Michonne. Then we found the others. Like they was sayin’ last night.”

“I’m glad you weren’t alone for long.”

He glances at her.

“Wasn’t alone. Had you with me.”

“What do you mean?”

Daryl huffs. He ought to know by now that anything he says, she's gonna ask questions. She’s curious. She always wants to dig deeper.

“Can’t explain it right. Just felt like… I dunno. Like you was with me. Tellin’ me what’s what. I dunno.”

“You were with me too. You were.”

Daryl huffs and doesn’t meet her eyes, though he can feel her staring at him.

He hasn't allowed himself to think much about what it was like for her there. Noah could have told him but Daryl never asked. He didn't want to know. What was the point? He saw those cops mow Carol down in the street. He'd watched that car peel away with Beth inside it, her backpack lying forgotten in the road. Those people didn't care about supplies. They cared about taking people by any means necessary.

Daryl never needed to know anything more than that to understand what kind of people took Beth.

I get it now.

He remembers her saying that to the cop, her voice low and strange, something ugly there he'd never heard out of her before.

He needs to understand why she’d do that. Why she didn’t just go with him and walk down that hallway and out of that place. Why she didn’t just let him protect her and take her away from there.

The question comes tumbling out of him.

“Why’d you stab that cop?”

Beth’s hands are in her lap, and she stares down at them.

“I’m not sure,” she says eventually. “I don’t remember that day. I mean, I think I kinda do, maybe, but I’m not sure if what I’m picturing is just ‘cause of what people have told me, you know?”

Her expression is weary and troubled, and he almost tells her to never mind it, except she keeps talking. Beth explains, or tries to. It doesn’t make a ton of sense to him, all of it coming out in fragments.

Then she says something that makes his heart fall.

She did things to me – made me do things.

A wave of nausea sloshes in his gut. His mind races as he thinks about the dozens of fucked-up things she could mean by that. He clenches his fists, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

If he could, he’d go back to Atlanta right now and burn that entire fucking hospital to the ground and piss on the ashes.

Beth’s gone quiet, just staring out at the woods before them, her eyes dull and sad. She trembles, and Daryl takes a slow, steadying breath.

It doesn’t matter.

Whatever happened happened. It’d be no good to her now, him losing his mind about whatever hateful shit was already done to her. He has to be here with her now.

He has to try.

“You don’t gotta tell me what happened,” he says. “You can, if you want, but you don’t gotta. You don’t gotta explain a damn thing to me, or anybody.”

Beth blows out an abrupt sigh and shakes her head.

“I lied to Deanna. I killed people.” Her voice breaks, and the sound of it makes a lump rise in his throat. “I don’t… I don’t know if I did the right thing. I never knew the whole story. It was all so… I don’t know if I’m a good person, anymore.”

The anguish on her face is painful, but all of his feelings get shoved aside in an instant by the bone-deep certainty that Beth Greene is as good a person as can possibly exist in this world, before the turn or since.

You do know the difference between a good person and a bad person.

Daryl doesn’t hesitate. He reaches out and covers the clenched fist in her lap with his hand. She looks at him, eyes wide.

“You’re a good person, Beth. Whatever happened, whatever it was, you did what you had to do. And I know you wouldn’t ever hurt nobody ‘less you didn’t have no choice.”

Beth closes her eyes like she’s in pain. He lets go of her hand. When she opens her eyes again, they’re wet with tears.

“What if they don’t let me stay?”

Then we’ll leave. I’ll go with you.

It’s a crazy thought to have, and he knows it, but he means it all the same. He’d go with her in a second, if any of them had a problem with her.

Not that that’s what she’d want. She wants to be with her sister, with the people she cares about, with walls and food and a bed, not living rough out there with him.

“Pfft. You? You’re exactly the kinda person we need here. You ain’t goin’ nowhere. Don’t worry about that.”

“But Maggie said they're trying to screen –”

“You gotta put it away,” he says.

Beth stares at him, and the frown on her face slowly fades. She just stares and stares at him, her expression clearing, and the fear and sadness that were there seem to vanish like rain clouds after a storm.

She moves suddenly, sidling closer to him and bending to rest her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his cheek.

Daryl freezes.

He thinks about the time she hugged him when he came to tell her about that poor, dead boyfriend of hers. About the time she held him tight in her arms, outside that stillhouse. About the time she reached down and took his hand in the middle of a graveyard.

Because she could. Because she wanted to. Because she always seems to know when to reach out and touch him.

He wants to hold her hand again. He wants her to know he’s right here. He wants to be that way for her.

When he tries to take her hand, though, he hesitates, choking at the last second. He pulls his hand back and leaves it in his lap.

But Beth reaches over and takes his hand in hers, sliding her calloused fingers between his and gripping his hand tightly.

Daryl blows out a long sigh and closes his eyes, thrown by the sensation of her warm hand in his.

Beth shifts beside him, still leaning on his shoulder.

She’s really alive. It’s still so hard to believe. She’s right here, as real as anything, and she’s been through hell, but she made it. She survived.

Right now, holding his hand, she might even be okay.

He might be, too.

Daryl lets his cheek rest against the top of her head, holds her hand a little tighter, and doesn’t let go.

Chapter Text

Daybreak. The low hills shine
ochre and fire, even the fields shine.
I know what I see; sun that could be
the August sun, returning
everything that was taken away —

From “October” by Louise Glück

Daryl's avoided every party since arriving at the safe zone, until this one.

This one’s different.

When he gets back to Rick's after dropping Beth off, he sits on the porch and smokes. He flicks ashes onto the boards beneath his boots and he thinks about everything she told him.

How worried she is that she doesn’t belong here, that she won’t be allowed to stay. How she doesn’t think she’s a good person anymore. How those cops did things to her, made her do things.

Daryl frowns, watching as the breeze blows the ashes into the cracks between the boards.

He didn’t ask her exactly what she meant by things. He doesn’t need to know. He can imagine plenty, after all, and it’s enough just to see how different she is.

Whatever happened back at that hospital, and in all that time she spent out there on her own, it’s changed her.

He remembers what she said to him months ago, when it was just the two of them sitting on the porch of that shithole in the woods. How she looked up at the moon, her eyes bright and sad.

I wish I could just change.

She's changed, all right, but who and what she is now doesn't sit right with her. That much is clear. She said she lied to Deanna. That she’s killed people.

He can only guess what the stakes must have been for her to kill a living person, and how it must be weighing on her.

But what he told her is true: he has no judgement for her. Anybody she saw fit to kill must have had it coming and then some. He’s downright proud to know she’d done what she had to do to get herself free of all that shit.

She's survived, and he can't find it in himself to hate whatever choices she made to do it.

Not even her trying to kill that hollow-eyed cop, despite the hell it brought down on her. Not even that.

Beth had a reason. Even when she did wild shit like getting lit on moonshine and burning down their only shelter, she always had a reason.

If she killed someone, he knows she had cause. If a single damn one of the people here has a problem with her and says she can't stay, Daryl will go with her. Simple as that. Carol and Rick, Maggie and Glenn, all of them – they can come along or stay. That’s on them.

Wherever Beth goes, Daryl will go, as long as she'll let him.

Daryl drops the butt of his cigarette onto the porch, snuffs it out with the toe of his boot, and goes inside.

Though they didn’t do any actual hunting, he changes into a clean shirt and jeans, anyway. He pulls his vest back on and heads for the bathroom down the hall, where he brushes his teeth and cleans under his fingernails.

He’s standing at the mirror in the foyer, pushing pointlessly at his messy hair, trying to make it do something, when Rick comes down the hallway and stops. He hesitates for a moment, then takes a step closer to Daryl and leans one shoulder against the wall.

“You’re coming tonight?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, glancing at him. “Why? What?”

Rick nods at Daryl’s reflection, something like a smile sneaking into his expression, his eyes bright. It's a kind of look Daryl hasn't seen on Rick's face in a long damn time.

“That’s good.”

Daryl rolls his eyes.

“Yeah? How’s that figure into your plans?”

He regrets the words even as he spits them out, but Rick doesn’t respond the way Daryl expects. Rick’s eyebrows draw together and he shakes his head.

“It doesn’t figure into any plans, Daryl. It’s just good. That’s all.”

Daryl turns to Rick, who’s still watching him.

“Hey, uh. Is this okay?”

Daryl gestures at himself. Rick cocks his head and knits his brow.

“Mm-hmm,” he says, looking Daryl up and down. “Fine, if we were headed to a roadhouse.”

Daryl scoffs. “Shut up.”

Rick squints.

“Since when do you care how you look?”

“Who says I do? Just never been to one of these damn things before.”

Smiling, Rick shakes his head.

“What you’re wearin’ will be just fine. You're fine, just how you are."

Daryl blinks.

"All right," he says, shrugging.

Rick looks like he wants to say something more, but he just nods and clears his throat, and mutters something about going to check on the kids.

Daryl glances again at his reflection. His face is flushed and his ears are bright red where they stick out of his hair. Worse, he has to admit that Glenn was right: he's starting to look like Rambo, and not in any kinda good way.

Scoffing, he turns away from the mirror and heads to the kitchen.

There he finds Carol standing at the counter, picking cocktail wieners out of a can and wrapping each one in some kind of sticky dough.

"Hey," she says, without looking up. "How was hunting?"

"Fine. Sandwiches were real good."

"Glad to hear it," she says.

“You comin’ tonight?”

“Of course. I told Deanna I’d bring pigs in a blanket.”

Daryl chews on the inside of his bottom lip, watching the side of her face.

“Sure. But you’d come anyway, right?”

Carol smiles faintly.

“It’s important to keep up appearances.”

Daryl doesn't know what to say to that. He stands there watching as Carol fusses with the casserole dish.

"You told me once that Beth saved your life."

Carol looks up at him, eyes wide, the smile dropping from her face.

"Yeah," she says softly, frowning. "I think she did."

Daryl nods.

"So you're comin' tonight 'cause you told Deanna you'd bring food? 'Cause you wanna keep up appearances? That all?"

Carol goes very still for a moment, frowning down at the dish in front of her. She moves, abrupt and jerky, going to the sink to wash her hands and dry them off. She covers the dish with a piece of tinfoil. Resting her hands flat on the counter, she looks up at him.

"You know, I thought it was stupid, you and me going to Atlanta, chasing that car. Searching for her. I thought you were kidding yourself. That it was pointless."

Daryl’s not surprised; she hadn’t exactly hidden her feelings, though she’d gone along with all of it regardless.

"So why'd you come?"

Carol arches an eyebrow.

"Well, you stole the car I was planning on taking, first of all."

Daryl had that much figured out, too, so he just nods.

"It wasn't only that," she says. She scrapes her thumbnail against the counter, furrowing her brow. "It was you. The way you were. You knew. You knew she was still out there and that we could find her, even though the odds weren’t… You had so much faith. And you were right."

Daryl's throat tightens and he waits for her to continue.

"It was like a miracle, finding her. I wouldn’t have made it out of that place if it wasn't for her. And then… and then it all just went to shit, and you…"

Carol's voice wavers. She takes a deep, shaky breath in and blows it out.

"I keep thinking I've got things figured out. That I know what I have to do, who I have to be. To survive. To make sure we survive. And then something happens that just shoots it all to shit, and I'm lost again."

Daryl looks at Carol's hands where they rest on the counter. They’re clenched hard, her knuckles white. He takes one step and another and another, until he's standing within arm's reach of her.

"Hey."

Carol looks up. Her eyes are tired and tearful. Daryl reaches out and covers one of her hands with his.

"You can start again. We gotta. Remember?"

Carol frowns at the countertop.

“You can. You have. Me…” She laughs, a sad, hollow sound. “I don’t know about me.”

“You can,” he insists. “I got faith in you.”

Carol’s eyes meet his. She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it again fast, shaking her head, and then her gaze jumps over Daryl’s shoulder.

Michonne comes into the kitchen, Judith in her arms. She takes a long look at both of them.

“We’re all heading over,” she says gently.

Daryl glances over at Carol. The troubled expression on her face has been put away easy as anything, like closing the blinds on a window, dry eyes and a bland smile taking its place.

“Let’s go,” Carol says, picking the casserole dish up and heading out of the kitchen. Michonne watches her go, then turns to Daryl and offers him an understanding smile before following her out.

The sun’s gone down since Daryl got back, the evening air crisp and cool. Down the block, Reg and Deanna’s house is lit up like a Christmas tree, a beacon of light and sound.

It’s enough to set Daryl’s teeth on edge. All that noise, so fucking careless, like the safe zone itself is some kind of bubble that protects everyone inside it from everything beyond its metal walls.

A loud burst of conversation spills out as Rick opens the front door, and Daryl fights the urge to book it.

He still hates this shit. But it’s for Beth.

It’s just like the last time, only now he doesn’t linger on the sidewalk. He doesn’t walk away. He follows Rick and Carl up the steps, holds the door for Carol and Michonne and Judith, and goes inside.

The large living room is filled with people. It’s not exactly standing room only, but it’s still many more people than Daryl’s ever cared to be surrounded by, all of them clustered in small groups, glasses of wine in hand. Most everybody is dressed nicer than him by far, and he’s scowling, about to give Rick a piece of his mind, when he spots Beth across the room.

He zeroes in on her like she’s standing in a spotlight.

She’s with Maggie and Deanna, a glass in her hand. She’s wearing different clothes than she was earlier, a pair of jeans and a loose shirt the same colour as her eyes.

She looks pretty. Real goddamn pretty, and for a moment all he can do is stand there and stare.

Though she’s nodding politely along to whatever they’re discussing, Daryl can see even from across the room that she’s not really listening, her expression distracted and her smile a bit forced.

Daryl sidles his way between the other guests until he arrives at Beth’s side. Reaching out, he touches her elbow.

“Hey.”

Beth turns to look at him and her whole expression changes. She grins and her eyes light up and she steps away from the other two, towards him.

Daryl goes still, staring at her.

He only saw her a little while ago, spent near the whole day with her. It shouldn’t mess him up so badly to see her, but it does, and being completely messed up is the only explanation for the too-honest words that come falling out of his dumbass mouth.

“You look real nice.”

Beth blinks and makes a funny, surprised little sound, turning self-conscious so quickly that he wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. Her hand goes up to her forehead, like she’s trying to hide the scar that peeks out from under her shaggy hairline.

“It’s – I mean, they had to shave it all off, and it’s growing back kinda crazy, I don’t know –"

“S’cute,” he says immediately. “You could be balder than Mr. Clean and you’d still be beautiful.”

“Um, I don’t know about that, but thanks,” she says, brushing it off like he’s bullshitting her or something.

Daryl doesn’t stop to think of the right words. He only hears the insecurity in her voice and grabs hold of whatever guts made him tell her she’s beautiful in the first place.

“Modesty don’t suit you.”

Beth stares at him, eyes wide. Her mouth opens and closes, and she wobbles her head a bit, like she’s trying to figure out what to say.

The last time he remembers leaving her speechless, they were sitting together at that kitchen table in the candlelight, eating grape jelly and talking about thank you notes and sticking around.

The last time he tried to make her understand how important she is to him.

Maggie interrupts before Beth can say a word, steering her back to talk to Deanna. Beth is none too pleased, giving Daryl an apologetic look before she goes along with her sister. He’s annoyed for a second, but he knows Maggie's just trying to get her settled in. Anyway, he's got no more claim on Beth's time and attention than anybody else here, least of all her sister.

Turning away, he sees Aaron and Eric, and he heads in their direction.

"You're here," Aaron says, eyebrows raised.

"Yep," Daryl says, twitching the fingers of his right hand against each other, wondering how soon he can duck out for a smoke.

"We figured you might be," Eric says, smiling.

"I'm sure it means a lot to Beth that you're here,” Aaron says quickly. “This part can be pretty overwhelming."

Daryl looks back over at Beth where she stands beside Maggie, talking to Deanna. There’s an odd, strained expression on her face. He frowns.

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”

Daryl turns back around. Eric is watching him expectantly.

“Maybe Beth could come? We’d love to get to know her better.”

Aaron elbows Eric again, giving Daryl an apologetic look.

“I dunno,” Daryl says, shrugging. “She’s probably busy. She and her sister got a lotta catchin’ up to do.”

Eric raises his eyebrows and is about to say something else when Olivia calls his name from across the room, waving him over. He rolls his eyes and excuses himself.

Aaron smiles after him, then turns to Daryl.

“Sorry. He’s just excited for you.”

Daryl scoffs.

“The hell for?”

Aaron eyes him for a long moment, then clears his throat.

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” Daryl says. “Why?”

Aaron gives him a pointed look and shrugs.

“You don’t want to talk about it. I get it. It’s fine.”

Aaron doesn’t say exactly what it is, but he also obviously doesn’t need to. Daryl feels his cheeks heat.

“Come for dinner tomorrow, all right? You don’t have to ask Beth if you don’t want to. But you’ll come, yeah?”

When Daryl nods, Aaron smiles, and then changes the subject completely to planning their next trip out of the safe zone.

A movement catches Daryl’s attention, and he sees Beth leaving Maggie’s side. She ducks around Sasha and Michonne, and he figures she's headed for the bathroom. He drags his attention back to the conversation in front of him. Aaron’s saying something about an apple orchard they hit last fall that they ought to check out, and Daryl tries to give a shit about how useful a truckload of apples would be, but he’s too aware of the minutes as they tick by.

Beth doesn't come back.

Aaron’s still talking, but Daryl interrupts him.

“Gonna go for a smoke,” he says, and turns away. He knows it’s rude, but he can’t seem to care right now. He weaves through the crowd to the hallway. The bathroom door is open and the room is empty; there’s nowhere else she could have gone except out the front door.

Frowning, he goes out onto the porch.

The porch and the sidewalk are empty, the neighbourhood quiet but for some crickets chirping nearby. He catches a faint whiff of an unpleasant, sour smell – puke, maybe – and he frowns.

Daryl walks to the top of the porch steps and looks down the street just in time to see the motion-detecting porchlight at Maggie and Glenn’s go dark.

He hops off the top step and heads down the sidewalk.

When he gets to the front door, he knocks softly, but there’s no response. The door’s unlocked, and he hesitates for a moment. Probably ain't his place. He oughta turn around and head back to get Maggie. It's probably weird to do what he's doing.

But Beth’s in there and something’s wrong. He knows something’s wrong.

Daryl pushes the door open and goes into the house.

It’s dark inside and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust. As the door shuts behind him, he hears a quiet, pained whimper.

She's lying on the couch, her arms up and covering her eyes.

Her head. Her busted skull. The way it was split open by that bullet, the blood all over his arms and his face, pooling on the floor. How it soaked the hair those people cut from her head.

Daryl’s guts twist. He can only guess what an injury like that leaves a person with.

He goes into the half-bathroom off the foyer and grabs a washcloth. He soaks it in cold water and goes back out to her, hoping he’s not about to scare the shit out of her, but unwilling to speak and cause her more pain. He's had a few migraines, but his skull's never been cracked open by a bullet, so he’s pretty sure he has no idea what she’s going through.

“Hey,” he says when he gets to her side, talking as quietly as he can. She doesn’t startle; she doesn’t respond at all.

He stands over her for a moment, uncertain, then leans down and nudges her hands aside and puts the cloth on her forehead.

“Mm,” she mutters, her voice low and tight with pain.

A moment later, she opens her eyes the tiniest fraction and peers up at him.

“Migraine?” he whispers.

She nods once, slowly. Moving her head at all must hurt like hell.

Fuck’s sake. He had her up early to hunt when she already had the stupid party to deal with. No wonder she’s all fucked up.

Shame turns his stomach.

“Hm,” he says. “Shoulda said somethin’. Hold on.”

He goes back to the bathroom and finds the house’s ration of meds. There’s nothing too strong, just basic painkillers, but he taps a couple of pills out into his palm, then goes to the kitchen for a glass of water.

When he returns to her side, he slides one arm under her shoulders and sits her up. Her body’s rigid with tension, but she lets him.

“Take these.”

She pulls the cloth from her eyes and squints down at the pills in his hand, her face a pinched frown.

“No," she says. "We gotta save those, other people need ‘em more.”

Other people.

The girl hauled her ass through six hundred miles of walkers and psychos and who the fuck knows what else, her body still healing from wounds no one should even be able to recover from, and she thinks other people ought to have her damn Advil.

“Nobody needs nothin’ more than you.”

Beth blinks softly and doesn’t reply. But she takes the pills and pops them into her mouth. When he hands her the glass of water, she downs the whole thing, the washcloth still clutched in one hand.

The moment she’s done the water and she’s set the glass aside, he crouches and lifts her up into his arms. Her arms loop around his neck and she exhales a soft little breath that touches his jaw. As he heads for the stairs, she lets her head fall against his shoulder.

Daryl gets her upstairs, where she points the way to her room. He carries her to the dim, moonlit bedroom, his eyes roaming around as he puts her down on the bed as carefully as he can. It’s a little kid’s room. There’s no real trace of her yet, not like there was back at the prison, where she found all kinds of things to decorate that grungy little cell and make it her own. Here, there’s just her ragged backpack slumped by the nightstand and a small stack of folded clothes sitting on top of the dresser.

It looks like she could cram everything into that backpack and be gone in seconds.

Beth’s squinting at him from the bed. Chewing on his bottom lip, he leans over and takes off her boots, setting them on the floor.

“This happen a lot?”

“Yeah,” Beth replies, nodding. “Since the… Well, you know.”

Since the point-blank gunshot wound that should have killed her.

Right.

Daryl exhales tightly. She left the party in this much pain without saying a word to anybody, not even Maggie. Just up and dealt with it on her own, like there was nobody there who’d give a shit.

She’s been on her own so long, fending for herself, that maybe she didn’t even think of it.

“You’re tough,” he says. “All right? Don’t gotta prove it to nobody by sufferin’ through this. We don’t gotta live like that no more.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” Beth grumbles. She puts the cloth over her forehead and leaves her hands there, pressing them against her eyes. “Just trying not to be a burden.”

“Burden,” Daryl repeats. Christ, she’s stubborn. “Doubt you’ve ever been a burden a day in your life.”

Beth doesn’t respond to that. Her mouth twists, but she doesn’t say a word.

Daryl stands over her for a moment, and then turns away, at a loss.

Beside an unplugged clock radio and a small, half-burned candle, there’s a little plastic figurine on the nightstand, one of those cheap dashboard deals, the type of crap you’d see for sale by the register at gas stations. It's a flower in a pot, and the flower wears a cheerful grin and sunglasses. It looks out of place in the room, the plastic grungy and sunbleached.

He looks back over at Beth. She’s perfectly still, her breathing deep and steady, her hands holding the cloth to her eyes. He should go. She doesn’t need company; she needs to sleep.

“Get some rest.”

Daryl turns to leave, but Beth’s hand darts out and grabs his. He stops.

“Stay.”

He stares down at her. She’s still holding the cloth over her eyes with one hand, the other wrapped tightly around his fingers. She squeezes him, and it takes him by surprise, how strong her grip is.

Stay. He isn’t really sure what she means. Stay here and sit on the floor and shoot the shit while she suffers through a migraine, he guesses, though it makes no goddamn sense. She doesn’t need him. She just needs to rest.

“Ain’t why I came to check on you,” he says.

“I know. But so what?”

“Yeah, well, Maggie’ll have somethin’ to say about it, she gets home and finds me here in your bedroom.”

He isn’t kidding, but something about what he says makes Beth laugh. It’s a pained, limp little laugh, but it’s a laugh, and pure joy bolts through him at the sound of it.

She squeezes his hand again, and he realises that his heart is pounding in his chest.

"You laughin’ at me, girl?”

The words come out sounding funny to him, breathless almost, and he feels his face heat.

“Yes,” she says, smiling, her eyes still hidden by the washcloth. She releases his hand and moves, then, shifting over to the far side of the narrow bed, leaving a space beside her that he can’t mistake.

Stay.

She wants him to, so he does. It’s really that simple.

Daryl sits on the edge of the bed and toes off his boots, then swings his legs up onto the bed so that he’s leaning back against the headboard, his legs alongside her body and her head beside his hip.

He hopes she doesn’t stay up on his account. It’s been a long day and she’s only been here two nights. She needs rest, not parties and hunting and putting up with everyone's needy bullshit. No wonder her head’s acting up.

Daryl picks at the bed of one thumbnail, aggravated.

Christ, they’re all so fucking selfish about her. Him especially.

But she doesn’t go to sleep easy, like he hoped. After a spell, she tugs the washcloth off her eyes.

“Daryl, know what I saw when I was out there?”

“What?”

“I was checkin’ out a house and I found one of those ugly planters shaped like a bikini top. Like the one we found, remember? In that old stillhouse in the woods?”

“I remember.”

“I stayed for the night but in the morning I burned the whole place down.”

Daryl looks down at her. It’s too dark in the room to see her whole expression, but he thinks maybe she’s smiling.

“No shit?”

“No shit. Burned that sucker right to the ground.”

Daryl shakes his head, thinking about the night they burned the place in the woods down, just for kicks. Just because they could.

Just because she wanted to do something.

Perfectly good shelter and she burned that down, too. He doesn’t know what to make of that. It’s something to do with him, he guesses, but he doesn’t understand. Why would she bother?

The room is silent but for the sound of her breathing and his. He sits there listening to the sounds fall into and out of pace with each other.

He sits there and wonders why.

Why’d you do that?

Why’d you want to spend the day with me?

Why’d you ask me to stay?

It’s on the tip of his tongue, but her eyes are closed and she’s gone quiet, so he doesn’t ask.

Beth’s breathing is deep and even, and Daryl’s starting to think she might have fallen asleep, when her voice, soft and rough and low, breaks the silence.

“I missed this.”

It feels like his heart trips over itself.

Blowing out a tight breath, he doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t choke like he did earlier, trying to hold her hand, unsure of himself and her. He’s no more sure of anything now, but somehow, he doesn’t choke.

Daryl reaches out and brushes a strand of hair off her forehead.

He finds the healed crater in her skull as his thumb passes over it. He means to pull his hand away, but instead it skates across her soft hair until he finds himself cradling the top of her head.

Her head, broken and healed at the same time, under his own hand. Her life, right here.

He swallows the painful lump in his throat.

“Me too.”

Beth shifts closer to him, but doesn’t say another word.

Daryl lets his hand rest on her head, his fingers trailing through her short hair, and he feels it in his fingertips when the tension finally leaves her body and she falls asleep.

Feeling strange, suddenly, about touching her while she’s asleep, he carefully pulls his hand back and rests it in his lap.

It’s a lot like how it was, before, when it was just the two of them, after they had it all out at that dump in the woods. After that, she got closer to him and he quit pushing her away. They’d camp out in the open and rig up their sad little string of garbage to act as a walker alarm, and Daryl would take first watch while Beth got some sleep beside him. That’s where she liked to be, right at his hip. She even held his wrist in her sleep, a time or two, while he watched their campfire die and wondered how long he could keep them both alive.

It’s just like that, but better in every way because they’re under a roof, and everyone they care about is here, and suddenly the protection of the safe zone, however flimsy, isn’t so damn stupid to him.

Suddenly, it feels like this place really could be his home.

Beth sighs, deep and content, and rolls towards him, onto her side. A moment later, her stomach growls.

Daryl looks down at her, at her face so close to his body and her hands tucked under her chin, and he feels a strange sense that this is not reality. That this is a memory, or a dream that’s about to end, and he’s seconds away from waking up in his own bed, staring up at the ceiling, with Beth rotting away to nothing in that car six hundred miles away, the way he imagined her all these months.

It’s disorienting, the way he can’t seem to accept that she’s here. His throat tightens as he listens to the sound of her steady breathing.

Daryl rubs his thumb against the scar on the back of his hand.

She kissed him there. She was gentle as could be and didn’t make him explain, but he feels like maybe she knew, somehow. That she understood. And then she kissed it.

She kissed him.

Daryl closes his eyes and breathes.

He thinks of all the times he wished he could talk to her again, how he’d have given just about anything to have five more minutes with her.

Now he can, and all those words he came up with while she was gone are stuck in his throat.

Words like missing and love. None of it is the kind of shit he can actually say to her. It’s all stuck inside him, smacking around inside his chest like a bird trapped in a room.

It’s all stuck inside him where it damn well belongs.

Downstairs, the front door creaks open.

Daryl tenses,but then he hears low, familiar voices and quiet footsteps on the stairs, and he relaxes. It’s Maggie and Glenn.

Moments later, there’s a quiet knock on the door, too quiet to wake Beth, and no pause whatsoever before the door opens and Maggie’s face appears.

Maggie’s eyes go from him to Beth and back again, and then she stares at him, her mouth dropping open.

"Migraine," he mouths, touching his forehead.

Maggie's brow furrows. She’s never been tough for Daryl to read, but he doesn’t know what to do with the stormy, confused expression on her face.

She looks down at Beth again and stares for several moments, then steps back out of the doorway and closes the door with a soft click. He hears her continue down the hallway, and then the click of another door.

Seconds later, he hears Glenn giggle through the wall.

For fuck's sake.

There’s no one looking at him, but he blushes so fiercely he can feel the heat in his ears.

Maggie and Glenn are both here now. He should ease off the bed and leave the room and let Beth get the rest she needs.

But he doesn't.

He sits beside her as she sleeps, deep and unmoving, and he listens to her breathe.

The moonlight in the room soon dims to almost nothing, the moon disappearing behind the clouds, he guesses. It’s so dark he can barely make out Beth’s pale face at his hip.

Daryl fishes out his lighter. Flicking it open, he leans over and lights the candle on the nightstand.

Beth mutters something in her sleep and shifts, reaching out and taking hold of his arm where it lies on the bed between them.

Daryl eases his lighter back into his pocket, trying not to disturb her. As he does, his knuckles nudge the knives at his belt.

Her knife. He's got her knife.

Beth sighs, still asleep, and lets go of his arm.

Daryl carefully unbuckles the sheath of her knife from his belt. He holds the leatherbound blade in his hands and looks down at it, wondering.

Did she have a knife when she was on her own? Did she have one when he and Aaron brought her in? He can't remember.

All he knows is that he had her knife the whole time she was gone, and that she must have needed it, that she could have died for want of it. His stomach rolls over.

That she's here, alive, is a fucking wonder, considering the dozens of ways he nearly made it impossible.

I should go, he thinks. He should leave the knife on her nightstand beside the plastic flowerpot and go back to Rick's. He'll see her around from time to time, when he's gotta make the occasional command appearance at group dinners, and that'll be fine. That would be enough.

That would be so much more than he deserves.

He's still thinking about sliding his feet off the bed and grabbing his boots when Beth opens her eyes.

She doesn't say a word.

She stares up at him, and her gaze feels heavy. Seconds tick by and still she doesn't say a goddamn thing. Beth, the girl who once made him play a stupid drinking game with her just to have a reason to talk with him.

Finally he can’t take the silence.

“Quit starin’ at me.”

She smiles.

“Hey.” She looks at the knife in his hand. "You know, I had them turn that hospital inside out lookin’ for that knife.”

Daryl’s stomach drops, and he just about shoves it at her in his hurry to give it back.

“Here.”

“Daryl,” she mutters, the gentlest scold. She takes it from him, though, shifting up onto her elbow. Turning the knife over in her hands, she makes a soft, thoughtful sound in her throat. “Where’d you get it?”

“Carol. She thought I’d want it.”

There’s a pause.

“Did you?”

Beth’s voice is soft and low, almost a whisper. Daryl doesn’t understand the tightness in his chest, the stupid fluttering in his stomach. When he glances at her, he finds her watching him, her eyes wide and shining in the faint candlelight.

“Yeah,” he says, “I did.”

Beth blinks and looks down at the knife in her hand. It looks good there, it looks right, like it’s back where it belongs, but she’s holding it like she doesn’t really want it.

Daryl remembers the little pair of surgical scissors lying in a puddle of her blood on the linoleum floor.

Maybe she’s grown tired of weapons, after everything.

Daryl clears his throat.

“Your sister came to check on you when she got home. Stuck her head in to say g’night.”

“Oh?”

“Stuck her head back out pretty quick, too.”

Beth’s face opens up into a wide smile, and she sets the knife down on the bed between them, shrugging the shoulder that isn’t holding up her weight.

“Good thing she’s still walkin’ on eggshells around me or else I’d probably be in for an earful.”

Daryl winces.

Beth’s not wrong; Maggie didn’t look too thrilled about finding him there, and he figures the only reason she didn’t haul him out by his ear was because Beth was asleep.

But it wasn’t that long ago that him and Maggie sat on her back porch and she took the time to give a shit about him, without ever making him talk about it.

Maggie’s his family, too.

Daryl glances at Beth.

“Go easy on her. Losin’ you was…Just go easy on her.”

Beth’s face falls, her smile disappearing like smoke into the wind, and Daryl realises he’s gone ahead and said the exact wrong thing.

She doesn’t need this.

Like it’s her problem, her fucking job, to make them all comfortable. Beth’s the one they left behind. She’s the one who’s been hurt and abandoned and had to go it completely alone.

Last thing she needs is to worry about everyone else’s feelings, after everything she’s been through.

Beth doesn’t say anything. She just lies there beside him, quiet, looking down at that goddamn knife, choosing not to tear a strip off him, even though she’s done it before. Even though he’d deserve it, just like he did back at that stillhouse when she snapped him out of it.

She’s so brave. She’s so good.

It still feels like she can’t be real.

“Last two days, I woke up thinkin’ I musta lost my damn mind. I lie there tryin’ to figure out if it’s real or not,” he says. A strange, hollow laugh takes him by surprise and he shifts uncomfortably. “Hard to shake it.”

Daryl stares down at his hands resting in his lap.

Beth’s watching him; he can tell without even turning his head to see. When she takes a shaky breath in, he thinks she’s about to speak, maybe about to bring the hammer down and give him what for, like he’d thought she would, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything at all.

She moves.

Nudging him, she hitches herself up the bed, working herself under his arm. She pulls herself right up against him and rests her head on his chest.

Daryl freezes.

Gravity does most of the work for him as he brings his arm down around her back, his hand landing under her ribs. That must be what she wants, must be, cuddling up to him like this, but he’s still stunned.

Beth stretches her arm across his chest and holds him.

Holding him together and letting him fall apart, just like always.

“I’m alive,” she whispers. “I’m here.”

Daryl tries to breathe, but it gets stuck in his throat as he blinks back the tears that well in his eyes. He exhales and lets his hand come up to cradle her head where it rests on his chest.

Her poor, busted head, healed and hurting, but not dead. Not rotting. Not gone.

Right here.

He holds her close and breathes in the clean, plain scent of her hair, trying not to blubber all over her again.

“I need you to let it go, now,” she says, her voice calm and firm but terribly kind, too. “I’m here. I’m back. It was horrible. I’ll never know how horrible it was for you, and you’ll never know how horrible it was for me.”

She might not know everything that happened while she was gone. She might not know about the worms and the dirt and the walkers and the blood under his nails and the ugliness he’s carried inside him. But she saw that scar on his hand and understood what it was. She might not know everything, but she sees what a mess he’s become without her.

Daryl should be ashamed, he thinks, or embarrassed, but he isn’t. Instead, there’s relief like nothing he’s felt before in his whole life. It's like stepping under the spray of a hot shower, the way it washes over him.

She sees. She knows, and she’s still right here.

“But you have to put it away.”

He closes his eyes and swallows the lump in his throat. Those words saved his life, once, and here she comes again, turning him around, making him face forward instead of always back.

He remembers what comes next.

“What if I can’t?”

Beth’s face is tucked against his chest so he can’t see her, but he can feel her smile, and he can hear it in her voice when she answers.

“You have to. Or it kills you. Here.”

She lays her hand over his heart. His breath catches in his throat and he remembers the way she sat on that porch in the moonlight and tapped her chest with her fingers.

Here.

She’s worried she’s not a good person anymore, that she’s unworthy of this place. He can’t shake her out of it all at once, make her see how important she is, how strong and brave and good, but he can try.

He lays his free hand over hers and wraps his fingers around hers.

“That’s what you done for me. That right there.”

You. You changed my mind. You saved my life. You.

Beth shifts, sitting up a little, and lifts her head. Her cheeks are wet with tears, but her mouth curves upwards and her shining eyes crinkle at their corners.

He said the right thing this time. Somehow, the exact right thing.

Though he’s still holding her hand with his, he thinks about cupping her chin in his palm, about touching her cheek and the edge of her smile with his thumb, but he doesn’t have the time to even think about how he might go ahead and do that, because something else happens.

Beth leans in and kisses him.

It’s quick and light, more his cheek than his lips, and she pulls back almost right away, her eyes wide, like she’s taken herself by surprise every bit as much as she’s taken him.

Daryl has no idea what to do. She’s caught him off guard, totally unprepared for this.

Beth’s watching his face so closely, so thoughtfully, and she must see something there, like she always seems to, because only seconds pass before she’s pressing her soft lips to his.

All the air in his chest rushes out his nose. She smiles into the kiss and shifts closer to him.

Daryl lets go of her hand to hold onto her upper arm, holding her closer with his other arm.

Her fingers tighten on his chest, gripping his shirt, and they hold onto each other, breathing each other’s air and barely moving as they kiss.

Daryl has no idea what to do with himself, no idea how he’s supposed to do this. He didn’t prepare for this, couldn’t have; he hadn’t even been able to admit to himself that this is something he’s wanted.

Never mind her wanting it, too. Never mind having.

But it’s happening. She’s kissing him and he’s kissing her right back, and suddenly he knows with absolute certainty that this is what he wants. This is all he wants. A bed and a roof over their heads and her hand on his heart as she smiles into his kisses like everything he’s doing is somehow just exactly what she wants, too.

Beth exhales a long, shaky sigh, her body trembling against his, and he remembers what brought him here. She’s exhausted and overwhelmed and she needs to get some real rest. He breaks the kiss.

“I should go ‘fore everyone’s up.”

Her eyes blink sleepily open as he watches her, hoping against hope that she gets what he’s trying to say without him having to say it.

She smiles and takes his hand and his heart jumps because she does. Of course she does.

Downstairs, he lingers on the porch when she follows him outside, closing the front door behind her and standing in the beam of the porchlight overhead. She doesn’t say goodnight or go back inside, so he stays put, shoving his hands into his pockets, unsure what else to do with them.

Beth smiles up at him, but he can see the strain there, the tiredness still dragging her expression downwards. The harsh light overhead darkens the scars on her face, emphasizing them and the sharp lines of her face.

“You all right?"

Wrapping her arms around herself, Beth shrugs. Her smile falters.

“Yeah. I’m okay. It’s just… It’s hard to get used to all this. It’s… It looks safe. And a lot of the time it feels safe. But it doesn’t feel like home. You know?”

Yeah, he knows.

He isn’t about to dump a bunch of empty promises on her about what a swell place this is and how it’s all smooth sailing from here on out. They both know better.

But there’s one thing he knows for certain, one thing he can promise her. One thing he’ll stake his life on.

“Anythin’ happens, shit goes bad, we can’t keep this place – we run. Simple as that. Done it before, we can do it again. You won’t get left. Not again. Not ever.”

Her eyes go round, shining with tears that don’t fall. She looks him straight in the eye, unspeaking, and she nods.

It’s intense, keeping eye contact with her when her face looks like that, and Daryl finds himself looking down at the porch.

Daryl’s feet point towards Beth, and hers point right back at him, her body square to his. Sucking in a breath, Daryl digs deep to find whatever courage he had ten minutes ago, and he looks up, meeting her eyes.

“Aaron and Eric have me over for dinner now and then. Headin’ over there tomorrow night. You wanna come?”

Her whole expression changes on him again, the tension and exhaustion draining away, replaced by a slow smile.

“Like a date?”

Her tone is amused but kind, somehow, and he knows she’s not laughing at him. Still, he feels his face heat, and he fights the urge to turn tail and stomp off into the night.

“Yeah, like a date. Damn.”

Beth laughs, but it too is a kind sound, warm and happy, and Daryl thinks about how it felt when she kissed him, how it felt to have that breath, that voice, on his skin.

“I’d love that,” she says, and it’s incredible, how his stupid heart absolutely leaps for joy.

I love you, he thinks.

“A’right,” he says instead, his breath short. He swallows hard and digs the sharp point of one canine into the inside of his bottom lip.

He wants to kiss her again.

He wants to kiss her good and hard and completely. He wants to kiss her goodnight right now, and good morning tomorrow, and he wants to kiss her every day of the rest of his life, and he wants to kiss her a dozen times for every single day that they were apart.

He’s never felt this way before. He didn’t even think he could feel this way. Deep down, truly, he didn’t believe anybody really felt this way.

But he does. The way she’s still smiling at him, just watching him and smiling, her arms still hugging her middle, makes him think that maybe, somehow, that’d be all right with her.

Daryl takes a steadying breath in and steps towards her, intending to put his hands on her shoulders, but he finds himself cradling the back of her neck instead. Beth goes completely still, her eyes wide, as he traces the path of the scar on her cheek with his thumb.

Part of him wants to know what happened. Part of him can't stand to find out.

Maybe it doesn't matter.

Maybe ugly places have wasted enough of both their lives.

Maybe they get to start over in this place, for real; put all that shit behind them for good and live.

Probably not. He doesn’t know. He can't know what's in store for them. Nobody can.

But he does know that he loves her, and he wants her to understand that he’d have died if not for her. If she hadn’t made him get up on his feet that first night after the prison. He wants her to know her ghost kept him alive, but he’s been half-dead since she’s been gone.

He can’t seem to say all that. But he can find one thing to say. One true thing he needs her to know, right now.

“Best thing I ever saw, you runnin’ towards me."

He closes his eyes and kisses her before he can see what she thinks of that. She unclasps her arms and grabs hold of his vest and kisses him back.

It’s like this comes naturally to her, the way she stands there kissing him, her hands gripping his vest tightly. Like it’s something they’ve done before, something they’ve always done. Like she was never gone and he was never lost and there’s never been a single unanswered question between them.

They kiss and kiss until Beth pulls back and gulps down a shaky breath, and Daryl remembers that she’s supposed to be resting. He’s supposed to be leaving her alone. Christ. He hugs her to him and kisses her forehead.

When he lets go of her and steps back, she’s smiling.

“Night, Beth."

“Night, Daryl,” she says, her voice soft and husky.

He goes, finally, and leaves her standing there in the beam of the porchlight, and as he walks away he’s absolutely sure she stays put and watches him go.

At Rick’s, he lets himself in and closes the door behind him. He stands there for a moment, listening to the heavy quiet of a house full of people fast asleep, then goes into his dark bedroom.

He strips his clothes off and climbs into bed, the sheets smelling of burnt tobacco and his own skin and faintly, still, the detergent Carol uses for all their things.

Daryl closes his eyes and falls asleep.

He dreams of the ocean.

His feet are bare and the water is cold. The breeze touching his skin is warm, though, and the sky is pink and orange and purple, all melting into one another like ice cream. Waves roll into the shore, shoving at his legs, but he can’t hear the sound of the water. He can only hear the pounding of his heart, the rush of his own blood in his ears.

He’s never been to the ocean before.

His chest feels tight, like he’s scared or excited, and he can’t tell which it is.

Beth's here.

She stands in the surf beside him, the rolled-up hems of her jeans soaked. Her hair is loose, longer, blowing across her face. The sunrise paints her skin and her hair warm gold, makes her look like she’s glowing.

She takes his hand.

"C'mon. You can do it. You can."

She tugs him along behind her as the water rises up her thighs to her hips, drenching her clothes. The water is cold enough to sting his skin, but it doesn’t bother him; her hand is warm in his.

They trudge through the rolling surf, past their hips and their bellies, up to their chests, until Beth pulls hard on his hand and surges forward, her feet leaving the ocean floor.

Daryl follows her as she rolls onto her back, laughing, soaked and splashing, still clinging tightly to his hand.

They float, held up by the rolling water to the bruised purple sky and the rising sun.

They tangle their fingers together and hold on.

Chapter Text

We walk together, slowly, on this your fifth day
and you, occasionally, glimmer with a light
I’ve never seen before. It frightens me,
this new muscle in you, flexing.
I had the crutches ready. The soup simmering.
But now it is as we thought.
Can we endure it, the rain finally stopped?

From “Recovery” by Marie Howe

vi: this new muscle

Daryl knocks on Beth's front door.

The late autumn sun is setting and the air is cold, smelling of dead leaves and oncoming rain. The street around him is empty, everyone indoors eating together, he supposes; he left Rick and Michonne and the kids as they were sitting down to dinner.

He couldn’t stay, though. He's got a date with Beth.

His stomach turns over and he blows out a tense breath, and just as he's about to lift his fist and knock again, the door swings open.

Glenn stands on the other side of the threshold.

“Dude. Knocking? You don't have to knock.”

He stands back and gestures for Daryl to come inside.

“Yeah, well. Ain’t gonna barge in,” Daryl says, following him.

“Oh my god,” Glenn groans, an amused grin on his face. “You're nervous.”

Daryl doesn't reply, instead just glaring at him.

“No, honestly,” Glenn says, “this is kind of cool, actually – I've never seen you really freaked out before.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, walkers, prisoners, prisoner-walkers, cannibals – you're not fazed. It's whatever. But a date with Beth has you sweating.”

Daryl rolls his eyes.

“Don't get me wrong,” Glenn continues, eyebrows raised, “if I was taking Maggie's younger sister out, I'd be scared shitless.”

“Thanks a lot,” Daryl grumbles.

Glenn's expression softens and he tilts his head.

“C’mon, man. I'm just bugging you. Trust me, you've got nothing to worry about.”

Daryl considers high-tailing it back out the front door, but he doesn't, because right then, the floor at the top of the staircase creaks. The last thing he needs is anybody hearing Glenn grinding his gears, but then he sees Beth standing at the top of the stairs. Whether she overheard Glenn or not, Daryl suddenly doesn't care, because damn.

She's wearing skinny blue jeans and a grey zip-up hoodie and she's got her cowboy boots on. As she comes the rest of the way down, Daryl sees she's done something with her hair – her shaggy bangs are pulled back from her forehead by a couple of neat, dark pins. With her hair pulled back, the scars on her forehead are more exposed than she’s let them be before. His stomach hollows out for a moment and he blinks, trying to make sense of how such cruel things as those scars, put there by such ugly means, can possibly be at home on a face as beautiful as hers.

Because somehow, in spite of the marks on her face – maybe even because of them, maybe because she isn’t trying to hide them – she’s pretty, real pretty. He knows he’s staring at her like a complete moron, but he can’t seem to pull his eyes away.

Daryl's stomach flutters embarrassingly and he feels almost sick because he didn't even think about dressing up or doing anything out of the ordinary with himself, but his thoughts stop spiralling when he pauses long enough to see the expression on Beth's face.

She's smiling, her eyes crinkling up at the corners, admiring him.

She’s happy to see him, just as he is, for reasons he doesn’t understand but also doesn’t question, because he’s never known her to be dishonest.

Beth opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, Maggie comes in from the kitchen and stops beside Glenn. She eyes Beth for a beat, then Daryl.

It's not the friendliest look Maggie's ever sent his way, to say the least. Her mouth is a flat line, like she's holding back about a dozen things she wants to say.

The four of them stand there in a painfully awkward silence for several beats, and then Maggie crosses her arms over her chest and clears her throat.

“Make sure you're home before -”

“Maggie,” Beth interrupts. She closes the scant distance between her and Daryl and takes his hand. Her palm is warm and dry, and as she laces her fingers with his, she gives him a firm squeeze.

“I'll be home later,” Beth says in a slow, deliberate sort of way, directly at Maggie. Daryl realises that this must be the continuation of a conversation between the two of them.

“Say hi to Aaron and Eric for us,” Glenn says, deliberately cheerful. He gives Daryl an encouraging nod and puts an arm around Maggie.

“We will,” Beth says, and then Daryl finds himself being dragged decisively out the door and into the cool evening.

On the porch, she stops and turns to face him. For a moment, she just studies him, her eyes searching his face, and then she takes his other hand in hers.

“Hi,” she says, in a quiet voice.

“Hi,” he replies. “You still wanna go? ‘Cause we don’t gotta, if you –”

“Of course I still want to go,” she says. “I want to get to know your friends.”

Friends. Right. He has friends. And his date – girlfriend? – wants to meet them.

Weird. Weird as hell.

It used to just be him and Merle. No friends. Dealers and acquaintances, sure, but never friends. Not really. Women, sometimes, but nothing like this, nobody anything like Beth. One night stands orchestrated by Merle, mainly, because Merle wanted to get laid and assumed the same of his brother; it was nothing that Daryl ever wanted or enjoyed. Just another thing Merle told him to do, like everything else, another thing Daryl was expected to do to be normal, though it never felt that way to him.

Everything is different now.

“All right,” he says. “Let’s go.”

They head for Aaron's, hand in hand.

“How’s your head?”

“It’s fine. The headache was gone by the time I woke up this morning.”

Daryl studies her profile.

“You sure you're all right?”

She shrugs.

“It could be worse. Last migraine I got, the only place I could find that didn't have walkers or people was an empty hog barn somewhere in North Carolina. The pigs were long gone but the smell sure wasn't.”

She says it so matter-of-fact, like it's kind of funny that she had to find someplace to hide out from walkers while she tried to cope, completely alone, with the side effects of surviving a gunshot wound to the head.

Daryl must take too long to respond, because she gives his hand a squeeze.

“Daryl… It's fine.”

Daryl doesn’t reply, his eyes cast down at the sidewalk as he wishes for a cigarette so he'd have something to do with his other hand. Except he’s pretty sure having a smoke less than five minutes into a first date is probably not the thing to do. It’s a short walk, at least; in no time, they’re walking up Aaron and Eric’s sidewalk.

When they get to the front door, Daryl's about to knock when something strikes him. He stops and turns to Beth.

“Hey, you… You look real pretty,” he says, stumbling through the words before he loses his nerve. “I mean, you’re always real pretty, but uh. Your hair ‘n all that. You look nice, is all.”

Hearing himself, Daryl wishes the ground beneath the porch would open a sinkhole and kill him instantly.

But Beth smiles, her cheeks going pink.

“Thank you, Daryl. You look nice, too.”

Daryl scoffs, his face heating.

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it,” she says, her eyebrows drawing together. She tilts her head, examining him, her expression serious. “I wish you could see what I see.”

Daryl blinks, unsure how to respond to that. Instead of saying anything, he clears his throat and knocks on the door.

Eric answers a moment later, opening the door wide for them to enter.

“Come in, come in,” he urges. “You’re right on time, dinner is very nearly served.”

Inside, the house is warm, a fire crackling in the fireplace and candles lit on the dining room table. The air smells of roasting meat and woodsmoke. Aaron greets them from the kitchen, urging them to sit down. Beth hesitates by the table, peering into the kitchen.

“Anything I can do to help?” she asks.

“Nothing at all! Make yourself comfortable,” Aaron replies as Eric joins him in the kitchen.

Daryl and Beth find their seats as Aaron and Eric bring out a platter of pot roast with carrots and little potatoes all gathered around it.

“My mom would be ashamed to know I came to your house empty-handed,” Beth says lightly. “Next time you’ll have to let me bring rolls or dessert.”

“Oh, please,” Eric replies, shaking his head. “You’re square with us; we wouldn’t even be having this meal without Daryl. He’s the only reason anybody around here gets to enjoy venison chuck.”

Beth turns her head and grins at Daryl.

“Lucky us, then,” she says. “I’ve lost count of how many meals I’ve gotten to enjoy on account of Daryl.”

“Pfft,” he says, feeling his cheeks go hot. “You did most of the cooking while we were out there, the way I remember it.”

They take turns serving themselves, loading up their plates, and then Eric stands up to get a bottle of wine from the kitchen counter before seating himself again.

“Beth?” Eric asks, holding the mouth of the bottle out towards the empty wine glass by her plate.

“Oh! Sure. Please,” she says.

Eric begins to pour, then quirks an eyebrow.

“We use the honour system as far as the legal drinking age is concerned.”

Aaron nudges Eric in the elbow.

“Well, guess that makes me dishonourable,” Beth says as she takes the glass. She brings it to her mouth and takes a sip. Her eyebrows pop up. “Oh, okay. That goes down a little smoother than moonshine, hey Daryl?”

Aaron sends Daryl a curious glance.

“Moonshine?”

“Don't ask,” Daryl says.

Beth laughs.

“Well, now you kind of have to explain,” Eric says, looking between the two of them.

Daryl finds Beth watching him, a warm smile on her face.

“Go on,” he says, nodding. “Pretty sure you’ll tell it better than me.”

“I don’t know about that, but…” she says, her expression turning thoughtful a moment before she gives her head a shake. “My dad was a recovering alcoholic my whole life, so we never had liquor in our house. And then he died, badly, and we were on our own, and I… Daryl… Well, long story short, I was determined to have my first drink. Daryl found this old cabin in the woods with a still and a whole stash of moonshine. We got stinkin’ drunk and ended up burnin’ the place down. The headache I had the next day just about put me off booze for good.”

Aaron and Eric both laugh.

“My word,” Eric says, shaking his head. “I've heard some pretty intense stories from people who've been stuck out there, but I think that's the first case of drunken arson.”

“Took me by surprise,” Daryl says. “Never woulda had her pinned for a firestarter.”

Beth laughs softly and bumps her shoulder into Daryl’s.

“I’m not gonna make a habit of it, I promise.”

“Let me get this straight,” Aaron says, a half-smile on his face. “You got so drunk on moonshine that you managed to convince Daryl – this Daryl – to burn down your only shelter?”

“It didn’t take much convincing,” Beth says. “Anyway, I only suggested it because I thought it’d make him happy, and things were so… We needed somethin’ to keep us goin’. You know?”

“I think I do,” Aaron says, smiling at Eric. “We decided to collect license plates. We’re still working on all fifty states.”

“I wish I’d known!” Beth exclaims. “I bet I saw at least a dozen states you don’t have yet on my way here.”

They eat while Eric tells Beth the tale of how he acquired Idaho, Aaron watching their back-and-forth with a fond expression on his face. Daryl tries not to spend the entire meal staring, dumbstruck, at the side of Beth’s beautiful face, watching her eyes shine in the candlelight and her cheeks turn dark pink from the wine.

“So, has Deanna assigned you a job yet?” Eric asks her as they’re finishing their food.

“No, not officially, I don’t think.”

“You’re not sure?”

Beth lifts her shoulders in a helpless shrug, and shakes her head.

“She and Maggie seem real set on me helpin’ out at the school, but I’ll be honest – I don’t know a thing about teachin’. I like babies and kids, and all, but I’m not sure what use I’d be.”

“She’s bein’ modest,” Daryl says. “She pretty much raised Judith for damn near the whole first year of her life.”

Beth blushes.

“That’s true, I guess, but I really don’t know anythin’ about teachin’ and… Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure that’s how I want to spend my time, if I get a choice about it.”

“Of course you get a choice,” Aaron says. “You don’t have to do something you don’t want to.”

“That’s good,” she replies, her eyes dimming. “Not everywhere’s like that.”

Aaron’s expression falters a little, and Daryl can tell he wants to ask Beth more about that, but he doesn’t. Instead, he clears his throat softly.

“Deanna has her way of doing things, but she really does believe in consensus, and she’s very skilled at facilitating that. Democracy on a community level. She was a congresswoman before.”

“Maggie told me. And her husband, Reg – he’s an architect, right?”

“Professor of architecture,” Eric says. “He’s more of an academic than a hands-on kind of guy.”

“He and Aiden and Spencer built the walls around the community,” Aaron says. “So he’s not all books and theory.”

“Wow,” Beth says, sounding impressed. “My dad was a veterinarian and Maggie went to college, but I was in the middle of tryin’ to get my parents to understand that I didn't really want to go to college when… Well, you know. When the world fell apart.”

Daryl watches Beth as she takes a bite of her food, and thinks about all the things he still doesn't know about her.

All the things he gets to discover.

A hard surge of feeling rises up inside him and takes a sip of his wine.

The harmonica.

He'd wanted to know if she played the harmonica.

The urge to stand up and leave the table right that second to go get it for her is strong, but he stifles it.

There will be time for that, too.

The pause in the conversation is long enough that Aaron stands, starting to clear the table, but Beth hops up.

“Please, it’s the least we can do, after such a great meal. We’re friends, after all, not guests. Right, Daryl?”

Daryl’s up and out of his chair in an instant, and he catches the amused expression on Aaron’s face as he starts clearing the table with her. Beth insists on doing the dishes, and Daryl insists on drying, and they all end up staying in the kitchen to clean up together and drink another bottle of wine.

It’s late by the time they say goodnight and Beth and Daryl head out, warm and full and just a little tipsy, into the dark night.

As Beth takes his hand in hers and swings their arms back and forth between their bodies, Daryl’s not sure that he’s ever been this happy before in his whole life.

When they arrive on Beth’s porch, they stop, and she grins up at him, her hands still holding both of his.

“That was a really nice first date,” she says. “Just so you know.”

“Pfft, sure,” Daryl says. “Not like we got a lot of options. Those two do make a good dinner, though.”

“They do,” Beth agrees. “But I didn’t really mean them, or not just them. I meant you. I had a nice time with you.”

She says it in that earnest way she has that always makes Daryl feel self-conscious, almost uncomfortable, like there’s nothing about him that escapes her notice.

He swallows, fighting the instinct to brush her off.

“I did, too,” he says, instead. “Don’t think I care what we do, so long as I get to sit beside you.”

Beth smiles at that, her cheeks turning dark pink, and he doesn’t think it’s from the wine or the cool night air. It’s adorable, she’s adorable, and Daryl’s trying to muster the courage to tell her that when she speaks.

“I’m pretty sure there’s only one way to finish off a perfect first date.”

He doesn’t have time to respond, because she takes hold of the lapels of his jacket to pull him close, and she kisses him.

The feel of her lips on his is still so new, so shocking, that he’s slow to respond. He’d hoped for a goodnight kiss, sure, but he hadn’t expected it. He doesn’t know what the rules are, what’s allowed, now that things have changed between them.

Now that they’re together.

Beth’s hands slide up his chest and over his collarbones before cupping the back of his neck, still holding him close to her as she tilts her head to kiss him deeper, her mouth opening and her tongue brushing against his like an invitation.

Daryl inhales shakily and follows her lead, kissing her deeper in turn, chasing after her. His hands find her waist, pulling her to him.

Suddenly, there's nothing soft or gentle about this kiss. It's not like the other kisses they've shared at all.

Beth’s arms go around his neck and she pushes herself up onto her toes, pushing her weight into his, pushing until he gets the hint and starts walking backwards, until his ass hits the porch railing and he leans back on it, nearly sitting, as she fits herself into the spread of his knees and presses their bodies together, chest to chest.

She doesn’t let up for a second, her kisses so relentless that he can barely catch his breath, as she rakes her fingers up his neck to tangle them in his hair. Her fingers pull a little, sending an unexpected avalanche of sensation down his spine.

Every inch of his skin feels hypersensitive, like he's one big raw nerve. Up until only days ago, he felt half-dead, walking around in a numb haze. Now he feels so alive it's almost too much to bear.

Beth shifts her weight, her hip brushing the fly of his jeans, and it takes all his self-restraint not to groan right into her open mouth, because shit. Jesus fuck. He truly cannot remember the last time he had a goddamn hard-on, but here he is, lightheaded, short of breath, her hip pressing against him, his blood pumping.

She exhales a soft breath against his face.

Alive.

They’re both so alive it’s almost painful.

Beth breaks their kiss but doesn’t move away, her hands still tight on his neck, in his hair.

“I want,” she whispers, her breath hot on his face as she makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “I want, I want.”

“What?” he asks, kissing her lips between her words. “What d’you want, girl?”

“I want you. God, I missed you so much,” she murmurs, her voice breaking; his chest clenches at the sound of it. “All that time in that place, all those weeks out there… I missed you so much I could barely stand to even think about you.”

His throat goes tight, and he swallows, leaning forward until his forehead touches hers. He cups her face between his hands and squeezes his eyes shut.

It makes no sense that she feels this way about him. But it must be true. Must be, because she wouldn't lie about something like this.

“You got me,” he says, failing to keep his voice steady. It breaks as he speaks. “I’m yours, whatever you want.”

“You were right,” she says quietly. “It is hard to believe this is all real. Do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Remind me sometimes, okay? That we’re here. That it’s real. Okay?”

A memory comes to him: her face, streaked with sweat and dirt, upturned in the moonlight, her eyes wet with tears.

“No,” he says, gently as he can. “Can’t rely on anybody for anythin’, right?”

Beth laughs softly.

“Fair,” she says, before kissing him again.

She lets go of his hair and wraps her arms around his neck again, leaning into him as he hugs her close.

“Just kiss me, then,” she says against his lips. “So I don’t forget I’m here with you.”

Daryl does as he’s told, of course – he’d never do anything else – and kisses her again as he holds her tight, her slight body swaying in his arms, leaning into him, her hip still pressing against him in an aching tease that makes his heart pound.

They’ve barely begun again when the front door opens with a thwack. Startled, they break their kiss, and Daryl is in the middle of shoving Beth behind him to protect her when he realises what’s happening.

Maggie stands in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.

“The porch light keeps flicking on and off,” she says, after a brief silence. “It’s on a motion sensor.”

Beth smiles, obviously biting back a laugh.

“Okay, Maggie,” she says. “I’ll be right in.”

Maggie stares at them for another long, awkward moment, then she turns and goes back into the house without another word.

“Sorry,” Beth mutters. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Guess that means it’s curfew, huh?”

Beth grimaces and shakes her head again.

“I think in her head I’m still 15, tops,” she says, aggravated.

Daryl searches her face, his stomach turning over. He can’t exactly blame Maggie; Beth was 15 not that long ago. After a moment, he clears his throat.

“I'm too old for you. You know that, right?”

Beth meets his eyes, her brow furrowed, and shakes her head.

“No, I don’t, actually. Why do you say that?”

Daryl shrugs his shoulders.

“Dunno. Is she wrong? You’re too damn good for me, I know that much.”

“Then I guess you don’t know jack, Daryl Dixon, because that’s bullshit.”

Daryl scoffs.

“Hold up. Are we fightin’ about whether you’re too good for me?”

Beth’s scowl disappears and she grins.

“We don’t have to fight. You could always just agree with me that we had a really nice first date, and we’re gonna go on another one real soon.”

Daryl can’t help it, he laughs.

“If that’s all I gotta agree to, then, yeah. All right, I guess.”

Beth crosses the scant space between their bodies and kisses him.

“Goodnight, Daryl,” she whispers.

“Night, Beth.”

She turns away and goes into the house without another word.

Daryl stands there on her porch, the night quiet and cool around him, the streets empty, a giddy, goofy kind of feeling filling his chest up to bursting.

They had a real first date, and she wants to go on another.

Insane. Like a dream, really, and for a moment he wonders yet again whether this is all something his brain has invented to torment him, and when he wakes, she’ll still be gone.

Daryl reaches into his pocket and grabs his smokes, lighting one as he steps off the porch and down the sidewalk, heading for his place.

He thinks about the evening as he smokes and walks, about how good it felt to share a meal with his friends with Beth by his side, how happy it made him to watch them all get to know each other.

How strange it feels to belong somewhere. To someone.

There are lights on inside the house when he arrives. It’s not that late, so although Judith has long since been put to bed, Rick and Michonne are likely still up, and Carl, too.

He stands on the porch to finish off his cigarette, thinking about the evening he’s just spent with his friends and his girl, and about what might come next, since Beth said she wants to go on another date.

“Daryl.”

He turns around to find Maggie standing on the sidewalk, holding her sweater closed against the chilly evening.

“I need to talk to you,” she says, her voice breathless but firm.

Daryl’s stomach rolls over. He already knows, somehow, the conversation she wants to have. Still, he’s going to make her say it.

“What is it?”

Maggie swallows, her eyes searching his face for a moment, her mouth a humourless line.

“What’s going on between you and Beth?”

Daryl resists the urge to roll his eyes, but only just.

“You really gonna make me spell it out?”

Maggie scowls.

“She’s 19,” she says flatly. “You’ve got no business takin’ her out on dates.”

Daryl takes a hard hit off his smoke and exhales it, torn between the half of him that’s pissed off at her and the half of him that agrees. Except Beth said she had fun, and that she wants to do it again, and he’s starting to believe there’s no power on earth that could keep him from seeking that feeling he has only ever felt when standing right beside her. He clears his throat.

“That ain’t up to you,” he says.

“I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t gotta like it.”

“Daryl, I’m tryin’ to talk to you, here.”

“Doesn’t really seem like you are,” he replies. “Kinda seems like you’re tryin’ to tell me to fuck off, actually. That right?”

Maggie makes an exasperated noise.

“I just… I just don’t get it. I’m tryin’ to understand.”

“Look, why don’t you just go ahead and say what you wanna say?”

Maggie stares at him in silence for a beat before speaking again.

“I never asked because I trusted you, and because I could see plain as day that you were hurtin’ bad. But Daryl Dixon, I’m askin’ you now: did you mess with my baby sister?”

Anger rears up inside him, hot and furious. It was never like that, and although Daryl knows exactly how it must seem to Maggie now, he’s pissed anyway. Everything they’ve all been through together, and that’s what she thinks of him?

But of course she does. That’s what anyone would think. It’s what everyone will think, when they find out.

“I didn’t mess with her,” he says, struggling to keep his voice even. “Not once. Not like that, like what you’re sayin’. You can ask her if you don't believe me. I don't got nothin' to hide, and you know as well as I do she won’t lie.”

“She won’t tell me,” Maggie replies, obviously irritated, but forlorn, somehow, too. “I’ve asked and she just says you looked out for each other. That you saved her.”

Daryl swallows the sudden lump in his throat. He stares up at the dark dome of sky overhead for a moment, blinking back stupid, stinging tears.

The very idea that Beth believes he saved her, that it’s not the other way ‘round entirely, throws him off balance.

“She got that part wrong,” he says, squaring Maggie’s gaze. “Beth saved me. We got outta the prison together. We was the last ones, far as I know; I stayed, fighting, and she was tryin’ to find the kids. The bus was gone and we couldn’t find nobody else. So we kept movin’. Same as the rest of y’all.”

Daryl pauses, thinking about that night with the moonshine. The smell of the smoke that followed them as they ran off into the night, like they were both dumbass kids, still half-lit and fully stupid, not a single regret between them. The weeks that followed, of scrabbling in the woods, scavenging and hunting together, barely surviving, and then catching some lucky breaks, some food, shelter now and then, as they wandered, searching for signs of the others, until they came to that funeral home.

He doesn’t know what they were to each other, then. He doesn’t know if a word for it even exists, for the kind of loyalty and devotion they had between them. But there isn’t any of it that feels like something he needs to explain or justify to anybody on this earth, except for Beth.

It’s theirs.

“I never touched her,” he says. “I’ll swear to it on a stack of bibles if that’s what matters to you. The rest of it… Well, I guess if Beth don’t want to tell you, then it ain’t none of your damn business.”

He turns away and goes inside, leaving Maggie standing on the sidewalk in the moonlight.

It rains hard all night.

Booming claps of thunder wake Daryl in the pitch dark, and he lies awake, listening to the rainwater gushing from the downspout on the outside of his bedroom wall.

He wonders if this is the scattershot tail of an Atlantic storm – maybe even a late hurricane – spinning its way north up the coast, battering empty cities with rain and wind before sputtering away to nothing out in the middle of the ocean.

No way to know. No such thing as weather broadcasts anymore.

He goes back to sleep.

Daryl wakes for good to the sound of footsteps and soft voices in the hall. The rain has stopped, the downspout dripping slowly, and the light coming in the window is thin and dim and grey.

He starts to follow the smell of fresh coffee to the kitchen, but he stops short when he hears voices and a soft, familiar laugh.

Turning around, he follows the sound to the front door. Carol and Beth are sitting on the steps, knees pointed towards each other, Judith playing on a quilt on the porch between them. Both women have a cup of coffee in their hands, and the morning air is cool enough that steam is coming off the mugs, swirling up into their faces.

They're smiling, both of them, and then Beth says something that makes Carol laugh and shake her head, her mouth stretched wide in surprised joy. Carol’s reaction makes Beth’s cheeks go dark pink, and she shakes her head and says something else before taking a deep sip of her coffee.

Daryl’s chest tightens, like his heart is suddenly too big for the space it occupies inside his ribs.

Carol turns her head and their eyes meet. Her expression softens and she tips her head at him, an invitation. Daryl opens the door and comes out onto the porch.

“Mornin’,” he says.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Carol’s smile takes on a teasing kind of edge, her eyes bright. Daryl glowers at her but it has no effect, and as he glances at Beth, he wonders what exactly the two of them have been talking about.

But Beth doesn’t seem to notice his expression, or if she does, she’s not put off. She grins at him.

“Morning, Daryl.”

“Mornin’,” he says again, sitting down in one of the empty wicker chairs to the side of the front door, feeling awkward and clumsy and uncertain where to sit or what to do.

Judith squawks noisily in what that he thinks is meant to be a greeting.

Beth laughs softly.

“I guess she’s not waving at people or talking just yet, huh?”

Carol shakes her head.

“Nope, not yet. She’s doing everything on her own schedule.”

Daryl steals a glimpse at Beth. She's watching him, her eyes warm, like she's got a smile hidden behind her raised coffee cup. His cheeks heat and he peers out over the neighbourhood beyond the porch steps.

The sky is grey and dull as the bottom of an old saucepan. Everything is damp from the heavy overnight rain, the lawns sodden and puddled and the sidewalks brown as mud.

The porch is dry, though, and surprisingly cozy.

Judith fusses a bit, then suddenly starts to cry.

“She needs a change,” Carol says, scooping the baby into her arms as she stands.

“I can take her,” Beth offers.

“I've got her,” Carol says. “You’ll get plenty of turns changing diapers, don't worry. Enjoy your coffee.” She shoots a quick smile at Daryl and takes Judith inside. The door closes, and they’re alone.

“Hi,” Beth says quietly, her expression very soft, like she’s just shared a secret with him.

The tone of her voice reminds him of the way they talked on the porch last night. It’s a tone he’s never heard her use except when it’s just the two of them, like it’s something special, just for him.

He wonders if his ears look as hot as they feel. He clears his throat.

“Hi,” he replies. “How’re you doin?”

“I’m great,” she says. “I’ve got a hot cup of coffee and I went on a really good date last night.”

Yes, his ears must look as hot as they feel, by now, and so must his face. He scoffs.

“Do I know him?”

Beth laughs and then takes another sip of her coffee. She furrows her brow.

“Hey, did Maggie come after you last night?”

Daryl sighs and rubs his face with both hands for a moment, wishing idly that he’d swung through the kitchen for a coffee before coming outside.

“Yeah, she did.”

Beth makes a harsh, aggravated kind of noise in her throat.

“She can be such an ass.”

Daryl huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, tilting her head. “Did she… Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Not really,” he admits. He sighs again. “I mean – she said just about what I figure everybody else must be thinkin’. That you’re 19 and I’m a piece of shit.”

He expects offence, but that's not what he gets. Beth’s face is solemn as she stares out over the quiet street. She takes another long sip of her coffee.

“Maggie doesn’t get it,” she says, eventually. “And if anybody else thinks that about you, they don’t get it, either. They don't know you or me. None of them were out there with us, livin’ through what we did, and if they think you – that you would –” she trails off, her voice breaking suddenly, and shakes her head. She turns her head and regards him, and he’s shocked to see tears in her eyes.

“You are a good man, Daryl Dixon. The best of them. And I don’t give a shit what anybody thinks about you and me. Not even Maggie.”

Before he has a chance to even attempt some kind of reply, the front door opens again and Carol returns. She’s holding a big mug of coffee that she hands to Daryl.

“Michonne’s got Judith. It’s my turn to do laundry for the Robinsons,” Carol says.

“Thanks,” Daryl says, accepting the mug from her.

“The Robinsons?” Beth asks, after a moment.

“Older couple,” Carol explains. “Everybody takes turns doing their chores, bringing them meals, that sort of thing.”

Beth’s eyebrows quirk up and she takes a sip of her own coffee.

“Huh,” she says. “That’s… That’s pretty civilized, actually. My mom used to do stuff like that with the other ladies at church, like when someone died or had surgery or a new baby.”

“Yeah, it’s real civilized ‘round here,” Daryl says, and he thinks he even manages not to sound sarcastic, except Beth shoots him an amused glance.

“Everybody seems pretty nice so far,” she says. “Have you both been to the doctor? Maggie thinks I should go see him, because of that migraine the other night.”

Carol stops where she's standing on the porch and stares at Daryl, her brow furrowed. Beth notices, her gaze going from one to the other as her expression dims a little.

“What?” she says. “What is it?”

Daryl hesitates, eyeing Carol. He clears his throat.

“Maggie gonna go with you?”

Beth lifts her shoulders.

“I don't know. I haven't made an appointment yet or anything. Why?”

Daryl hesitates, but Carol doesn’t give him a chance to respond.

“Pete, the doctor,” she says, keeping her voice low though they're the only people in sight. “He hits his wife.”

Beth's spine straightens. She stares at Daryl, then back to Carol.

“How do you know?”

“One of their sons told me,” Carol says carefully.

Daryl stares at her. She’d told him about Pete and Jessie, a week or two back, but he’d figured she was making assumptions. Now he wonders when she's had time to bond with the neighbourhood kids enough for one of them to tell her something like that.

That's not the kind of thing any kid in that situation just tells someone. He knows that much for sure.

“Does Deanna know?”

Beth's voice sounds strange, high and strained, and her whole body has gone tense, her knuckles white where she grips her mug of coffee.

Carol nods.

“Rick tried to talk to her about it, but…” Carol trails off, shrugging.

Beth blinks, her brow furrowing.

“And they let him stay here?”

“Seems that way,” Daryl says. “He's the only doctor.”

Beth frowns at that, her gaze dropping to her coffee. She stares into it for a long, silent moment, and then puts it down on the porch beside her and crosses her arms over her chest, almost protectively.

“I’d better get going,” Carol says to Daryl, seeming not to notice Beth’s discomfort. “Don’t want to be late. Bye, you two.”

She leaves, heading off down the sidewalk, and in her absence, silence draws out into awkwardness.

Daryl clears his throat.

“You okay?”

Beth glances at him. Her eyes go blank, almost, and she smiles a weird, toothless smile. She blinks and nods her head, still smiling. It’s meant to be reassuring, but it isn’t. Not to him.

Something’s wrong. Something is really wrong, because there was a time not all that long ago when they could communicate without even talking, and he has absolutely no clue what’s going through her mind right now. He knows her, and he’s never seen her react like this.

“Yep,” she says tightly, still smiling that odd smile. “Everything’s just fine.”

It isn’t, of course, and she’s lying, trying to put him off, but he’s not stupid and she’s not fooling him.

“Don't really seem like it is,” he says, gently as he can. “You wanna tell me what's goin’ on?”

The strange expression on her face wavers a little and she shakes her head.

“I'm feelin’ kinda sick, actually,” she says, suddenly standing up.

“Beth -”

“It's okay,” she says, her words sincere even if her expression is troubled. “It's fine, I promise. I'm just gonna head home and lie down. My head, it’s… I’ll see you later, okay?”

At a loss, Daryl nods. He can't exactly make her stay here and talk to him.

“All right,” he says.

She goes down the porch steps and heads off in the direction of her house, shoulders hunched like she’s bearing into a hard wind. Daryl watches her, a terrible crushing feeling rushing into him as the distance between them widens.

The fresh morning dims for him, then, and he finishes his coffee quickly before picking up Beth's empty mug and going inside.

Daryl gives Beth space. Or he tries, at least.

He spends the rest of the morning tuning up his bike, then seeing Olivia about starting a list of supplies needed on the next run he and Aaron are planning.

It keeps him busy enough that he only thinks of what happened that morning with Beth a few times, but his stomach rolls every time he thinks of her, anyway.

Something’s up. Something is not right.

She acted so off that he wonders whether she's having second thoughts about them. About him.

Can't blame her, he thinks. But they’d had fun, hadn't they? They had a good time last night. He didn't imagine her laughter. He didn't imagine her holding his hand or pulling him close, kissing him.

Something's not right, and he's determined to find out what it is.

In the middle of the afternoon, he works up the guts to go see her. She’d said she’d see him later, and though this isn’t much later, he figures it still qualifies.

He knocks on the front door, ignoring Glenn's words from the night before. Knocking still seems like the thing to do.

The door opens, revealing Maggie on the other side.

“Oh,” she says, her tone hard to read. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Beth's in bed. She's got a headache again.”

Daryl bites the inside of his lip. He nods.

“All right. I'll just…”

He turns away to go.

“Daryl, hold on.”

His stomach drops, but he turns back to face Maggie.

“Come in. I need to talk to you a minute.”

She stands back and opens the door wide.

Daryl nods, and follows Maggie inside, into the kitchen. She goes to the stove and picks up the kettle, taking it to the sink to fill it.

“I was just about to make her some tea. You want some?”

“Nah, I'm good,” he replies, feeling awkward. Maybe that's why people drink tea, he supposes, to have something to do with their hands, like smoking. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “What's up?”

“I'm worried about these migraines,” Maggie says as she gets a mug down from the cupboard. “She never had them before. Did she say that she's been havin' 'em since… Since she's been awake?”

“She told me it happens sometimes.”

“She needs to see the doctor.”

“That guy's a prick.”

Maggie nods, then rests both hands on the island countertop, studying him.

“Yeah, he is. But he’s the only doctor we’ve got.”

“Yeah,” Daryl echoes, thinking back again to that morning on the porch, to Beth's reaction to Carol's words. How it was like a raincloud came and darkened her eyes.

The kettle begins to whistle, and Maggie turns away to take it off the heat.

“Between you and me, I don't want her to go see Pete, either, but she needs to see somebody. She needs stronger painkillers than aspirin, for one, and I know they’ve got some stored away.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, thinking of how Beth tried to refuse even the pills he gave her the other night.

“There's another doctor, you know.”

Daryl turns his head to see Tara standing in the doorway. He scowls at her.

“Fuck's sake. Ain't anybody here ever heard of privacy?”

Tara raises an eyebrow.

“Uh, with how many people living under one roof? These houses are big, but they're not that big, dude.”

Daryl glowers at her, but Tara is completely unbothered. She comes into the kitchen and goes to grab a glass out of the cupboard before filling it at the sink.

“Listen, I'm just trying to help,” she says. “There's another doctor. Denise. I met her yesterday when Pete didn't show for my check up. Maybe she could help Beth?”

Maggie shakes her head.

“Deanna told me Denise’s some kind of therapist, not an MD,” she says. “Said she told Deanna she didn’t think she’d be qualified.”

Tara shrugs.

“Seemed qualified to me. And one hundred percent less of an asshole.”

Daryl exhales harshly and rubs his face.

It seems plenty of people have figured out that Pete's a dick, whether or not they know the extent of it.

“She oughta feel safe, whoever she goes to,” Daryl says. “Shit she's been through, she oughta feel safe, at least.”

Maggie nods.

“I agree. We can -”

“Are you talkin’ about me?”

Daryl startles.

Beth is standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over her chest, her expression stormy as she glares at the three of them.

Shit.

“Bethy, we’re just -”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re just decidin’ what’s best for me,” Beth says bitterly, cutting her sister off. “What else is new?”

Maggie stops short, her hurt all over her face. Tara winces, looking back and forth between the sisters.

“Hold up,” Daryl says, shaking his head. “We ain’t decided nothin’. We ain’t tryin’ to, neither.”

“What the hell do any of you know about what I've been through?”

Daryl blinks, hurt.

“Beth, we’re worried about you,” Maggie says. “We’re tryin’ to help.”

Daryl can tell instantly that it was the exact wrong thing to say.

“Help me? By sending me to some doctor these people keep around even though he beats his wife?”

Maggie gapes at her sister, blinking, and spares Daryl a bewildered glance as Beth continues.

“That’s right, Carol told me. How could you let this happen?”

“What -? Beth, I don’t know what happened, but can we just -”

But Beth turns on her heel, suddenly, and heads toward the front door. Maggie follows her and Daryl is only a step behind as Beth storms out of the house and onto the front porch.

“Beth?” Maggie says. “Where are you going?”

“Deanna.” Beth stops on the porch long enough to turn and face her sister. “I need to talk to her right now.”

Maggie stares, shaking her head, as Daryl comes through the doorway.

“She’s probably busy, but whatever it is, maybe we should -”

“I want to know what the hell kind of place this is,” Beth continues, turning away.

Maggie reaches out and grabs her arm to stop her, but Beth yanks back without missing a beat, pulling herself free of her sister’s grasp.

“Don’t do that,” Beth hisses, breathless and wide-eyed. She shakes her head. “Don’t ever do that to me.”

Maggie goes still, holding her hands up in a placating gesture, which doesn’t seem to calm Beth at all.

Beth turns to Daryl, her expression twisting miserably.

“These are strangers!” she snarls at him in a voice he’s never heard from her before. “How could you trust them? What's wrong with you?”

Daryl takes a step back, his heart sinking at the disappointment and anger in her voice. He’s never seen her like this before; even when she chewed him out, back at that cabin in the woods, she wasn’t so full of rage.

“Beth,” Maggie says, low and urgent, glancing up and down the block which is fortunately empty at the moment. “I want to talk about this, but we cannot do that out here. Do you understand?”

Beth’s face is flushed and sweaty, her hair sticking to her temples. She exhales a shaky breath.

“Talk about it?” Beth says, quieter now. She gives a strange, dry laugh. “Some people can make you believe almost anything if you just let them talk long enough. I bet Deanna would love to talk about it. So nobody ever has to do somethin’.”

A tense silence follows.

“You're right,” Maggie replies, after a moment. “I don't know what the whole story is with Pete, I really don’t, but you're right. Somebody should have done something. And you don't have to go see him if you don't want to. You don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

“Nobody's gonna tell you what to do,” Daryl says, shaking his head. “Not us, not Deanna, not anybody.”

“That’s bullshit,” Beth snaps. “If you think they won’t try to make us do what they want, you’re kidding yourselves.”

“I know that Grady wasn’t…” Maggie pauses for a beat before continuing. “That it wasn’t good. But this place is different. I swear.”

Beth levels her sister with a stare like steel, like a blade.

Daryl’s scalp prickles as he watches the sisters stare each other down.

“This place is special. Is that right? It’s full of survivors so it must be special. What would you do to protect it? To keep it going?” Beth makes another hollow scoffing sound and shakes her head. “Look what you’re already willing to do for them. To keep their secrets, to keep things how they like them. You’ll talk to me – your sister – as long as we keep it quiet. As long as I don’t make a scene, right?”

Maggie has the good sense not to answer, and she just gapes at Beth, her expression confused and almost frightened, like she’s talking to a stranger.

“What would you do?” Beth says again. “What will you do the day they want you to do somethin’ you know isn’t right, when the safety you have here starts to matter more than anythin’ else?”

Down the street, a door opens and slaps shut, and voices call to one another. A dog barks.

“I don’t know,” Maggie says, finally, her voice little more than a quiet rasp.

Beth’s jaw flexes and she makes a sound of disgust.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

She turns and stalks quickly away from them, down the street.

Maggie and Daryl stand apart on the porch, stunned and silent, as three children come running out from behind the nearest house, laughing, splitting the peaceful afternoon with their screams.

Chapter Text

The past so far
                                    behind us

it’s no longer
in colour.

                                    The future
                                    so wide open

I can see
all its teeth.

From “Even the Dust” by Nicole W. Lee

vii: all its teeth

Daryl finds Beth, eventually.

She's fast, fast as hell, which he knew from their time together trying to outrun hungry walkers every day, but he's never been the one she's running away from, so it stumps him a little how quickly she up and vanishes.

But it's a walled-in community. She can't exactly sprint all the way to the ocean without somebody noticing.

He tries Rick’s place first, then the school and Deanna’s house, on the off chance Beth planned to make good on her plan to confront the community's leader, but she's not there.

Next, he tries the church, but he only finds a startled Father Gabriel. Daryl leaves, and heads down the street, passing by Aaron and Eric's house.

There, he spots Aaron sitting out on his front step.

“Daryl.”

He stops short, then comes halfway up the walk.

“Listen, have you seen -”

“Beth?”

“Yeah.”

Aaron nods.

“Pretty sure she's in my garage.”

Daryl blanches and gives his head a shake.

“She's fine,” he finds himself saying. “She's — it's no big deal, she's just —”

Daryl falters. He doesn't know what he's even trying to say, or why, except it seems unwise for anyone to know that she’s struggling. But Aaron looks back at him, steady and unbothered as always.

“You know,” Aaron says, “it'd be okay. If she wasn't fine.”

Daryl's shoulders drop and he feels sick, suddenly, like Aaron's words have caused all the panic Daryl's trying to keep at bay to come rushing in.

But he doesn't need to say a word. Aaron stands up.

“Come on,” he says, gesturing at Daryl.

They go into the house and Aaron goes directly to the kitchen and to the interior door that leads to the garage.

Daryl pauses at the door and listens. He hears a soft sound like somebody stifling a sob, and his heart breaks.

This is his fault, he's sure. He doesn't know exactly how, but he's sure it must be all his fault.

Taking a steadying breath, he raps a knuckle on the door.

“Beth. That you?”

A silence follows, and then a quiet sniffle. 

“Yeah,” she says, sounding miserable.

“It's me. Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Daryl nods to Aaron, who nods back, then turns away and makes himself scarce elsewhere in the house.

Opening the door, Daryl finds the garage completely dark, except for the long rectangle of sunlight coming in the open door that leads into the backyard.

It takes his eyes a minute to adjust, but when they do, he finds her sitting on the dusty, oil-stained concrete floor beside his bike, her knees bent and drawn up close to her chest, and her arms wrapped around them. Her face is hidden, tucked against her knees.

His heart hurts just to look at her.

“Hey,” he says, gently as he can. “Want me to leave you be?”

There’s another long pause punctuated only by the sound of her quiet sniffling.

“No. Stay.”

Daryl comes in and shuts the door behind him.

He stands there for several seconds, at a loss, and then he goes across to the open door and stands in the light.

When he looks over at Beth, she hasn't looked up.

She needs something. She needs help, comfort — something — and he has no idea what to do.

He thinks about sitting down on the floor beside her, but what then? There's nothing he can say that can fix what's bothering her, if he even has the first idea exactly what that is, which he's pretty damn sure he doesn't. 

Nervous energy bangs around inside of him and he rubs his fore and middle fingers together, jonesing for a smoke.

Ah.

“Hey,” he says. “You wanna get outta here? Go for a ride?”

There's a pause, and then Beth lifts her head and peers up at him. Her face is puffy, her eyes reddened and her cheeks streaked with tears. After another long silence, she nods.

“Yeah.”

Daryl crosses the garage in a few long strides and lifts the door. By the time he's turned around, Beth is up. He goes to the bike and starts it.

He gets on, straightening up and holding the bike's weight, then she gets on behind him. Her arms go right around his waist, her hands grabbing on tightly to the front of his shirt.

At least there's this. At least he can offer her this.

A minute later, once the bike’s warmed up, he flips the kickstand up, and they roll out of the garage and onto the street.

As they approach the wall and the guards roll the gate open for them, Daryl is struck by some strange, foolish feeling that they’re running away, running away from this place and its complications, going somewhere wild and free, together.

***

They go to the spring in the woods.

Daryl doesn't have to ask where she wants to go. He plans to go there, anyway, and when they approach the turn, Beth taps his arm and points.

They hide the bike in the bushes and continue on into the woods towards the spring on foot.

Beth sits on the log beside him, watching the water flow in silence. She hasn't said a word since they got on his bike and high-tailed it out of the safe zone, and Daryl hasn't said much, either.

The ease between them seems to have disappeared. He's never seen Beth that angry before, not even that day they got drunk on moonshine.

He isn't sure what to do, so he just sits by her side, which she doesn't object to, and he watches the water flow, and listens to the cool autumn wind shake the dry, leafless branches of the trees overhead. He buries his chin deep into his jacket, and thinks about getting up to walk around, just to stay warm.

Somewhere nearby, a songbird sings a bright, brief little song, and another answers it.

“The ride helped,” Beth says, out of nowhere. Daryl glances to the side to find her still staring at the spring, her brow knit. “Kinda cleared my head out. Does it do that for you?”

Daryl considers the question. He's always loved to ride, ever since he learned how as a kid. He was determined to learn, when Merle taught him, so that he could ride alone. That was the best part — the way a ride allowed him to be completely alone, just himself and the road and the wind, and the motorcycle like a rocket beneath him.

That's what he needed, in the past. Now, it's different.

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Something about the wind kinda clears my head, I guess.”

Beth nods, then shifts in place and sighs quietly.

“Daryl… I owe you an apology.”

“Pfft,” he says, glancing at her again. “No, you don't.”

“Yes, I do. I was angry and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

Daryl looks away, over at the water.

It’s kind of strange, being apologised to. It's new. He hasn’t spent much time in his life with people who made a habit of apologies, and the sensation of it is uncomfortable, wrong somehow, like putting on wet clothes. He clears his throat.

“It’s all right,” he says.

“It’s not all right,” she insists, her tone grim. “Sometimes I just… I just get so angry and I don’t know what to do with it. What to do with myself. I never used to be this way, and it’s… I’m sorry, okay?”

Daryl turns and looks down at her face.

“Said it's all right,” he says. “I get it. We're good.” 

Beth sighs again and shifts closer, pressing herself to his side. He wraps his arm around her, removing the last of the distance between them.

He clears his throat.

“You’re allowed to be angry, you know,” he says. “You've got a lotta reason to be.”

Beth doesn't reply or look at him. Her brow is furrowed and her face looks troubled. He continues.

“I'm sorry we were talkin’ about you behind your back. I get how it must have felt to walk in on that.”

Beth cuddles into his side and reaches over to grab his hand in hers. He laces their fingers together; hers are cold. They sit that way for several minutes, in silence, watching the spring and listening to a few songbirds nearby chirp at one another.

It’s easier, somehow, out here, where it’s just the two of them. But out here isn’t where they live. 

When Beth speaks again, her voice is lower, softer.

“Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course,” he says, nodding.

“How’d these people convince all of you to hand over your weapons?”

Daryl exhales tightly. He’s not going to lie to her, no matter what Rick and Carol have to say about it. 

“They didn’t,” he says.

Beth pulls away enough to look at him, her gaze sharp.

“You still have your weapons?”

“They let me keep my bow and my knife since I hunt, and ‘cause I go out with Aaron and all that, but Rick and Carol, they… They got a stash.”

Beth’s brow is a deep furrow as she takes the information in.

“Just Rick and Carol?”

Daryl nods his head. 

“Maggie don’t know about the guns, but she knows… Well, I’m not sure what she knows, but she knows Rick and Carol ain’t exactly planning on bein’ caught defenceless.”

Beth's frown deepens, and Daryl's stomach turns over. She’s going to tell Maggie about that, he supposes; he'd never expect her not to. He hates all of this lying and sneaking around, and how it's putting everyone in their group at odds with everyone in Alexandria, and each other.

He hates to bring Beth into it, but he knows he can't lie to her, either. He won't lie to her. And anyway, she's here now. She's part of things.

“They’re probably not wrong,” Beth says, after a long silence. “I’m glad you still hunt. One less thing you owe these people.”

Daryl examines her profile. She’s looking away from him, at the spring. It affords him the time to really look at her, at the troubled look on her face, and the scars that stripe her skin.

Someone did that to her.

After a minute or two of silence, she speaks.

“Noah explained to me how it worked at Grady,” she says quietly. “They told him they could only save him. But they didn’t bring his dad because he was strong. Because he’d fight back. That’s why they took me and not you. Because I looked weak enough for them.”

There’s a miserable plummeting feeling in Daryl’s stomach as he thinks back to the night she was taken. Was the whole thing a set-up? Did those bastards watch them for a while or just stumble upon them? He doesn’t have time to dwell on these questions, for Beth quickly continues.

“How they got people was bad enough, but the way things worked in that place…” she gives a short, sharp little sigh. “The cops, they… They were raping the girls that were there. They made them work and they wouldn't let them leave and they raped them.”

The sick sensation in Daryl’s stomach sharpens, twisting.

“The cop in charge. Dawn. She looked the other way. She let it happen, like it was just… Just nothing. Just the cost of doing business.”

If he had ever felt any real guilt or regret about shooting that cop in the head, he’d be free of it now, knowing that.

He wants to ask Beth exactly what happened to her, is almost desperate to hear her say the words, whatever they are, but he can't make himself ask. He can't demand that of her.

Instead he listens, and he holds onto her hand.

“Nothing happened,” she says quietly. “I mean, lots happened, but nothin’ like what you're thinking. Not to me… There was one cop there who wouldn't leave me alone. He was there that night, at the funeral home. Gorman. He's the one who kidnapped me.”

Daryl says nothing. His heart is in his throat. Suddenly he's not so sure he does want to hear another word about it, after all.

“He'd been hurtin’ this one girl, Joan.” She pauses for several beats, and when she speaks again, her voice is low and terribly sad. “Rape. He raped her. A bunch of times, I think.”

Daryl’s unsure what to do. It seems she just wants to get it all off her chest, and he’ll listen to every word of the horror she’s been through if it lightens her heart even an ounce.

“I liked her,” Beth says, her voice very soft. “I think. I never got to know her, not really, but she… She was a fighter. She fought back. She didn't let it go, you know? They made me… They made me help them amputate her arm. She didn't want it, but… I helped hold her down. I wish I hadn't, but I didn't know what else to do. It all happened so fast.”

Daryl’s known that people are fucked up and do fucked up things for as long as he’s been alive. The fucked up stuff used to be normal, really. He's spent most of his life around people who were cruel for fun, who liked to make other people feel small and weak.

It wasn’t until he found himself with the Atlanta group and then the Greenes, that first winter, that he began to understand that what was normal to him should never have been normal at all. Since then he’s seen ugly things — the ugliest things people can do to one another — and somehow none of it has prepared him for the despair in Beth’s voice as she tells him what they made her do.

“Gorman came looking for me. He tried to…” she trails off for a moment before making a soft sound of disgust in her throat. “He tried to make a deal with me, you know? Like I even had a choice. I let him think I was gonna… I don't know what he thought would happen, but I let him think, and then —”

She cuts herself off and shakes her head before taking a steadying breath.

“I killed him. Don’t tell me it’s fine because he was a piece of shit,” she says. “I got him killed. He wasn’t even the only one. I killed one of the other cops, and not even for any good reason. Just to protect Dawn. God. It all happened so fast. And that place was just… Everything there was so backwards and wrong. I didn't know what to do.”

Beth’s expression is raw with pain, and he can’t bear it a second longer. He pulls her to him, and she goes readily, pressing her face to his chest.

Daryl strokes her back as she sobs. His chest aches at the sound of her distress.

She’s been so brave. So strong. She’s gone through so much shit, he can barely understand how she even made it here. He wants to say all of that to her, make her see herself that way, but he knows he can’t.

She has to feel her way through all of it. He can’t fix it for her. 

Her sobs quiet down, and she sniffles a bit, and he feels her hand grip his jacket. He clears his throat.

“Know what I told you, ‘bout those men I fell in with?”

Beth nods.

“We killed ‘em. They was gonna… Well. They made it clear they had plans for Carl and Michonne, and that they was gonna kill all of us. So we killed ‘em. All of ‘em. With our bare hands. And Carl… Carl saw it all.”

“I’m sorry,” Beth murmurs, rubbing her cheek against his jacket. Daryl tightens his hold on her.

“Things got worse from there,” he continues. “Ended up held captive by fuckin’ cannibals, had to fight our way outta that. Lost track of how many people I’ve killed, now.”

“Did you tell Deanna about all of that?”

“Nope, and I don’t plan to, neither. Not ‘cause I got somethin’ to hide. Just ‘cause it ain’t none of her damn business. I don’t got nothin’ against them people back there. They just got lucky. But they don’t know what it’s like out here. They don’t. I hope they never find out, neither.”

Beth nods again, then pulls back out of his arms enough to look into his face. Her eyes are rimmed with red, her cheeks damp with tears. 

“That doctor… Why do they let him stay?”

“It's hard to just get rid of somebody like him, I guess.”

“What are we supposed to do about people like that? People who hurt people.”

“I dunno.”

“And if we kick him out… Why shouldn't I be kicked out, too? I've killed people. Isn't that worse than hitting someone?”

Daryl stares at her.

“Hittin’ somebody like clockwork, like a regular part of your day, hittin’ kids? You think what you done was worse?”

“Maybe,” she says. She lifts her shoulders. “I don't know! I really don't. It's like I said — I don't know if I'm a good person anymore.”

“You are,” Daryl insists. “I wouldn’t say it about just anybody, but you are.”

“We are what we do, not what we believe we are,” Beth replies. “We have to be honest about what we've done. About who we are now. Or else nothing means anything. This place… It's no better than Grady if we're dishonest.”

It’s harsh, but Daryl supposes what she says is true, hard as it is to hear it.

Harder still to decide what that should mean for all of them, after everything that’s happened to them on their way to this place. After everything they’ve done. All to find themselves in this safe, peaceful place full of people who are so sure they can force everything to be normal again.

Normal. 

The only kind of normal Daryl knew for a very long time was the kind where a man could beat his wife and kids and then go for a beer with the boys. The kind of normal that seems to have survived even beyond the end of the world.

They’re still sitting together in silence, hand in hand, when Daryl hears a walker bumbling through the brush nearby, on the far side of the spring, where the woods are more dense. He stands at the same instant as Beth, but doesn’t have a chance to go after it, because Beth darts around the shallow pond, pulling out her knife. He follows her and the sound of the walker, and they find it a few yards away, thrashing between the trunks of a couple of trees, its tattered jacket caught in some low branches.

Beth gets to it in a few long strides, and stabs her knife into the side of its head before it can so much as swipe at her. The walker collapses, sagging down between the two tree trunks, still tangled in the branches.

The illusion of this quiet place of theirs evaporates.

Daryl glances around them at the brown-grey trees and the colourful leaves on their limbs and on the ground.

Before he can say a word, Beth speaks.

“We should probably get back.”

“Yeah.”

Daryl turns from her to lead her back to the spot by the highway where they’d stashed his bike, but he stops when Beth grabs his hand. He turns back to her.

Beth tucks her arms under his, around his chest, hugging him tightly, her head up under his chin. Daryl wraps his arms around her and hugs her back.

“Thank you for being here,” she says quietly, her voice muffled against his jacket. “Thank you for listening and just… Just getting it. All of it.”

Daryl’s heart jumps in his chest.

He doubts he’s up for this, that he can be what she needs. He has no idea what he’s doing, but she doesn’t seem to care.

She doesn’t seem to need anything other than him, just as he is, as impossible as that is to believe.

“I’m here,” he says. “I just wanna be here for you. With you.”

Her hands grip the back of his jacket.

“I don’t think I could do this without you.”

Daryl’s throat tightens and he closes his eyes. After a moment, he rests his cheek on her head, hugging her closer.

“Yeah, you could. You did.”

Beth gives a sad, watery laugh.

“I don’t want to do this without you.”

“I don’t want to do it without you, either.”

Maybe he’s not sure how to be what she needs. And maybe she’s not gonna magically make everything perfect and simple just by being alive.

But they have each other now. They have that.

Everything else they’re gonna have to figure out as they go. Together.

“C’mon,” Daryl says. “Let’s go home.”

***

“Shit.”

Daryl slows the bike down as they approach the safe zone, the movement of a small herd of walkers along the wall, near the front gates, catching his eye. Behind him, Beth removes her arm from his waist and points at the walkers. He nods.

They can either stop and fight, or run, and try to come back later. As Daryl slows to a stop and steps onto the road to steady the bike, the noise of the engine has already drawn the attention of the walkers. He turns his head.

“What you s’pose?” he says to Beth. “Stay and fight, or run?”

When Beth replies, her voice is steady and calm.

“Stay and fight.”

So they do.

Daryl drops the kickstand and grabs his crossbow, picking off one of the walkers closest to them, while Beth stands at the ready, knife in hand, watching the herd approach.

Suddenly, one of the walkers goes down hard, its head exploding in a sudden burst of gore.

Daryl’s confused for a moment until he sees something glinting in the sun, way up in the church bell tower inside the walls. Beth must see it at the same time as he does, for she points there.

“Sasha’s covering us,” she says, throwing her arm up high overhead in a wave of acknowledgement. The light in the bell tower flickers again.

He’s grateful for it, too, because Sasha’s one hell of a shot, and with only his crossbow and their knives, without any guns themselves, he’s not sure staying to fight was the right choice. 

But Beth charges forward, stabbing the first walker through its temple before kicking it away, hard, sending its body into the others behind it so that it knocks a couple down, and Sasha takes care of them before they can stand back up. 

Daryl tosses his crossbow aside and goes in with his knife, and between the two of them and Sasha’s steady trigger finger, they manage to dispatch all of the walkers, but only just.

“Go on,” Daryl says, panting, giving Beth a nudge. “Run for the gates. I’ll get the bike.”

But Beth ignores him completely, running back to the bike, instead. Daryl grabs his crossbow and follows her, and in moments they’re roaring up to the gates as they open, Deanna’s son Spencer pulling them closed behind them.

Spencer locks the gates as Daryl rolls the bike to a stop, and turns to them with a panicked look on his face.

“Either of you bit?”

“We’re fine,” Beth says, calm as can be, her arms still wrapped around Daryl’s waist. “Right, Daryl?”

“Yep,” he replies. “Ain’t exactly our first barbecue.”

Spencer opens his mouth to reply, but he doesn’t get the chance, because at that moment, the sound of raised voices reaches them. A few houses down, Daryl sees a couple of Alexandrians go running up the street.

Beth is off like a shot, before any of them can say a word, and Spencer is right behind.

Daryl kills the engine and ditches the bike where it stands, taking off after Beth. He catches up as she rounds the corner to find a small crowd of Alexandrians, including Jessie, standing in the street alongside Carol, Rosita, Carl, and a few others.

Everyone is standing around in shock as Rick and Pete grapple with each other right there in the middle of the road, Pete pinning Rick to the ground, his hands around his neck.

Rick’s face is covered in blood.

Daryl is about to jump in and break it up when Jessie bursts forward and grabs onto Pete, trying to pull him off, only for him to backhand her and send her sprawling to the ground. Rosita catches her, helping her up, but Daryl can barely spare her even a glance, for Rick then gets the upper hand, scrabbling to get his hands around Pete’s neck.

Carl darts forward and reaches for his father, but Rick shoves him roughly away and grabs Pete into a chokehold.

Daryl’s stomach falls, and Beth gasps beside him as Glenn and Nicholas come running up and stop beside them.

“Shit,” Glenn mutters.

“Stop it. Stop it right now!”

Deanna has arrived, breathless, her usual authority deflated as she tries to command the men to stop fighting.

Rick mutters something to Pete that Daryl can’t make out.

“Damn it, Rick, I said stop!”

The chaos of the moment drains away into tense silence as Rick suddenly gets up on his knees over an unconscious Pete and pulls out his pistol, waving it at the crowd of shocked onlookers.

“Or what ,” Rick shouts, still waving the pistol like a goddamn lunatic. “You gonna kick me out?”

So much for stealth.

“Put that gun down, Rick,” Deanna says, holding her hands up, her voice calm.

Daryl looks around them, and makes brief eye contact with Carol, who’s standing nearby, consoling one of Jessie’s boys, the younger one.

Carol doesn’t have to say a word for Daryl to know this wasn’t part of any plan.

Rick is ranting, now, shouting hoarsely at Deanna and the others.

“You want this place to stay standing? Your way of doing things is done. Things don’t get better because you want them to. Starting right now, we have to live in the real world. We have to control who lives here.”

When she replies, Deanna’s voice is as cold and hard as steel.

“That's never been clearer to me than it is right now.”

“Me? You mean me?”

Rick is unhinged.

His rage, his paranoia — it pours out of his mouth in a torrent of threats, and Daryl doesn't even need to look around at the faces of the people gathered around to see how badly this is going down.

For all Rick's talk about these sheltered, foolish people, they can certainly see danger when it's staring them right in the face.

“Daryl, we have to stop him.”

Beth's voice is low and urgent, just for him, and he looks to his side to find her watching Rick with a grim expression on her face.

Daryl has no idea what to do, but Rick's still talking, still ranting, still acting like he's gone right out of his whole damn mind, so Daryl pulls his arm free of Beth's grasp and takes a step towards him.

But he doesn't get a chance to do a thing. 

Michonne moves, deadly certain and so quick that Rick doesn’t even see her, and she clocks him upside the head, knocking him out.

Silence falls, and drags out, as Daryl and the others stare in shock at Rick where he lies slumped on the sidewalk.

“Lock him up,” Deanna says, low and furious, and then she turns and walks away.

***

That night, their group gathers for dinner at Maggie and Glenn’s house.

There are voices in the kitchen when Daryl arrives, and he follows them, stopping in the doorway before anyone notices him.

Glenn and Carl are making dinner, and sitting at the table with Judith in her lap is Beth.

Daryl watches as Glenn walks Carl through a step in making what looks like spaghetti, while Beth talks quietly to Judith, who’s looking up at her, grinning.

Suddenly, Daryl thinks of Lori.

How happy she’d be to see her children being loved. Being raised in this place full of people trying to build something.

How sad she’d be to see what’s become of Rick. How frightened.

Beth glances over at the doorway, then, and spots him, a big smile spreading out over her face.

Daryl comes into the kitchen proper and stands out of the way, feeling awkward.

“Y’all need any help?”

Glenn looks over his shoulder at him and smiles.

“Carl’s got it covered.”

“All right,” he says, looking around and feeling like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Maybe he ought to go back out into the living room or something. Just ‘cause Beth is here doesn’t mean he has to be; she’s allowed to live without him hovering around her all the time like some lovesick idiot.

But then Beth pushes the chair beside her out from the table with her foot.

“Have a seat,” she says. “Take a load off.”

Daryl scoffs, red-cheeked, but does as she says.

“You know,” he says, keeping his voice low, “you don’t gotta be here. If you don’t wanna. Everybody… All this… It’s a lot. You can go hide out at my place, if you want.”

Beth looks at him and raises an eyebrow.

“I assume you’d be hiding out with me, in this scenario?”

Daryl stares at her, then gives his head a shake.

“Didn’t say that. I just meant — you know. If you need some space.”

“Darn,” she replies, smiling at him. “Here I was hopin’ you were offerin’ to sneak off and fool around.”

Daryl blanches.

He wishes he was the kind of guy who might have something to say to that. Something cool or at least funny. He isn’t, though, and he doesn’t. Instead, he stares at her, and then when he opens his mouth to finally say something, he does that thing where he inhales his own spit and coughs.

Jesus Christ.

But Beth just grins at him and shifts the baby in her lap, and Daryl’s saved from having to find some kind of way to flirt back by the sound of the front door opening, and Maggie coming into the kitchen.

Maggie smiles at the sight of Beth and Judith, but it’s a tense kind of smile.

“Hey Carl, would you mind givin’ Tara and Rosita a hand getting the tables and chairs set up?”

Carl nods and leaves the spaghetti to Glenn, but not before giving Maggie a knowing kind of look as he passes. He’s still a kid, but he’s not exactly stupid.

Maggie watches Carl go, then clears her throat.

“Deanna’s keeping Rick locked up for now. To cool down. To let everybody cool down.”

Daryl's not sure that cooling down is going to cut it. Rick's mask is off and there's no putting it back on.

These people may be sheltered, but they're not stupid.

“She’s going to hold a forum,” Maggie continues. “About Rick.”

“A forum? What does that mean?” Beth asks, her voice uneasy.

“A community meeting, to hear from everyone,” Maggie replies. “To see whether the community thinks he should be banished.”

Daryl’s stomach sinks. He wouldn’t have thought that Maggie, of all people, could make the word community sound as ominous as it does now.

“Ain’t that just… Like a mob, or somethin’?” 

Maggie looks at him and lifts her shoulders helplessly, her mouth a flat line.

“Yeah, or democracy, depending on who you ask. Deanna thinks it’s democracy, obviously.”

“Which way you think it’s gonna go?”

Maggie shakes her head.

“I mean… He waved a gun at people. At Deanna . Honestly, Pete’s not popular with them either, and I don’t think anybody would have kicked up too much of a fuss over him getting beat up. But then Rick pulled a gun. People are scared, and I don’t blame them.”

“What can we do?” Glenn asks.

“We can be there and speak up for him,” Maggie says. “We can hope that Rick speaks up for himself and shows them who he really is.”

“Maggie,” Beth says slowly, “that is who Rick really is. He pointed a gun at people. He did that. We can’t pretend he didn’t.”

Maggie looks stricken. She shakes her head.

“I guess I have to believe that’s not true. That that’s not all he is.”

Beth just looks at Maggie for a long moment, her expression sombre, and then she nods.

“I know.”

Carl comes back into the kitchen, then, and they all break apart, trying to look busy, though Daryl doubts any of them are very convincing. The kid wasn’t born yesterday.

Banished.

What happens to the kids if their dad gets kicked out?

Daryl feels sick again.

He can't dwell for long. Dinner is ready, and then he and Beth have their hands full keeping Judith from flinging spaghetti around the dining room.

Nobody mentions Rick again for the rest of the evening, but everyone's uneasy regardless.

After dinner, Daryl helps Tara and Glenn clean up, piling the dishes up in the kitchen for Abraham and Rosita to deal with. On his way back to the dining room to check for stragglers, Beth finds him, with Judith squirming in her arms.

“I’m headin’ to your place. I told Michonne I'd do bath and bedtime,” she says. She looks down at Judith and smiles. “I hope Judy won't mind that it's not Rick. We're still just getting to know each other again.”

Daryl nods, thinking of the countless nights Beth spent sitting up with Judith at the prison. It doesn't seem fair, somehow, that Beth is as good as a stranger to the baby now.

He watches as Judith reaches up and gently pats Beth's cheek to get her attention. When Beth looks down at the baby and smiles, Judith grins back.

Maybe not a complete stranger.

“C'mon,” Daryl says, “I'll walk you.”

“You don't have to,” Beth says, though she follows him as he goes out the front door, holding it open for her. She hitches Judith up on her hip.

Daryl walks the two of them down the street to Rick's. When they get to the front door and go inside, Beth turns and looks at him.

“I think you should go talk to Rick.”

Daryl scoffs.

“Think he listens to me these days?”

“I know,” says, nodding. “But still.”

“He ain't the same as he was before, back at the prison. He's changed. A lot.”

Beth shifts Judith from one hip to the other, gazing down at her face for a moment before looking back up at Daryl.

“I know Rick’s different. Carol, too. I mean, we’re all different, but…” Beth pauses, frowning. She shakes her head. “But maybe that's what he needs. Somebody to remind him who he is, like you do for me.”

Daryl blinks.

“Huh?”

Beth tilts her head.

“This afternoon.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” she wobbles her head a bit, searching for the right words. “You see me. And you helped me see myself. That's important.”

Daryl scoffs, self-conscious, disbelieving.

“You do,” she insists. She shakes her head. “I know; can't depend on anybody for anythin’, right? But maybe… Maybe that's exactly what we're supposed to do. Depend on each other. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard.”

Daryl bites the inside of his lip, turning her words over in his mind.

Not that long ago, he would have scoffed at the suggestion. It's just like he told her, back at that old cabin in the woods: he'd never relied on anybody for anything before. 

Not even when he was a kid. Not even Merle.

The first thing Daryl ever understood in his life was that he was alone, and he couldn't rely on anybody to show up or stick around or do anything except make him regret needing somebody in the first place.

Before her. Before all of them, their whole group, these strangers he's found himself risking his own skin for.

He didn't know it could be like that before. Until that day in Atlanta with Rick and Glenn, searching for Merle. He didn't know what it meant to depend on people, and have them depend on you.

He hadn't even really understood what was happening to him, not even when he decided to search for Sophia when she went missing. He was doing it almost before he knew what he was doing, and searching for that poor kid felt like just about the first thing in the whole wasted length of his life that had ever made sense. 

Finding out it was all for nothing, but figuring out that he would still do the same all over again — learning that changed his life. Changed him.

Now it seems Rick has changed, too, but in some other direction altogether, going down a path Daryl’s pretty sure he can't follow. 

“You're right,” he says eventually. Beth looks up from Judith to meet his eyes, and she smiles softly.

“About which part? You being important?”

Daryl huffs a laugh.

“Nah, talkin’ to Rick. You're right. I gotta.”

Beth nods.

“You guys aren't close like you were before,” she says. “Why?”

Daryl sighs deeply and shakes his head.

“Dunno,” he says, considering the question. Something happened once they got here that changed things between them. He can't quite put his finger on it, but something happened.

Something about how Rick's been acting since they got here.

Something about him being a cop again.

Something about the way Daryl damn near drowned in his own grief, alone, after everything they've been through together.

“You’re different, too,” Beth says, her eyes searching his face. “But it’s like there’s something more in you, not something less. With Rick, it’s like… It’s like something’s missing.”

Daryl nods.

“Think he's too far gone?”

Beth doesn't reply right away. She looks down at Judith for a moment, then shakes her head.

“No, I don't,” she says softly. “I can't. We can't afford to think like that. Any of us.”

Daryl swallows the lump in his throat and nods. 

“I should get her into the bath,” Beth says, shifting Judith's weight on her hip. “You wanna stay?”

Daryl sighs.

“Yeah, I do, but you're right. I should go talk to him. See if he's… I dunno. I should check on him.”

Beth's eyes search his face, something there in her expression that's warm and soft, like she looks at him and sees somebody . He’s spent his whole life being nobody, and she makes him feel like that couldn’t be further from the truth, like he’s really somebody.

Somebody who matters to her.

Beth tilts her head, her expression turning thoughtful.

“You’re so good. You know that?”

Daryl scoffs, embarrassed, his cheeks hot.

“Yeah, sure,” he says.

“I mean it,” she insists, refusing his brush-off completely. “You’re a good friend to Rick. That’s what he needs now. The people who know him, who know who he can be.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Is that what you need?”

Beth’s gaze drops from his and she looks down at Judith in silence for a moment. When her eyes flick back up to meet his, they gleam with unshed tears. She nods.

“I think maybe we all need that. Don’t you?”

Daryl is winded for a moment by the intensity of the feeling that goes all through him, the feeling that she is so precious to him that it’s terrifying. It’s too much to stand, sometimes, to love people in a world all too likely to snatch them away. To love her when he’s already had to endure losing her.

But maybe that sorrow is not hanging over them right this second. Maybe it will hold off a while longer.

“Yeah,” he says, his throat narrow and tight. He clears it. “Yeah, I do.”

She smiles softly.

“Thank you, Daryl.”

“What for?”

“For being there for me today. For… Just for being there. For understanding and not treating me like I’m — even though I was so — I don’t know. Just — thank you.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” he says, unsure what else to say. I love you, he thinks. He doesn’t say it. The words are right there, but he can’t seem to summon up the guts it would take to let them out.

“It’s not nothing to me. Sometimes I feel… Broken. But not when I’m with you.”

Oh.

Daryl clears his throat again.

“Felt pretty damn broken myself,” he says. “But not when I’m with you.”

Beth’s smile widens and her cheeks flush a soft pink, and suddenly there’s absolutely nothing else Daryl can think of to do except kiss her. Because he can. Because she’s here, and so is he, and they’re alive, and he wants to.

Daryl bends his head to cross the distance between them and kiss her, only briefly, because Judith seems to find this very funny. She giggles and swipes at him with one hand.

“Don't be too hard on her,” he says to the baby.

Beth smiles and hugs Judith closer.

“Compared to those middle of the night feeds, this stage is easy.”

“I guess so,” he says. “See you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she says, smiling. “Night, Daryl.”

“Night, Beth.”

He leaves, closing the door behind him, and he’s surprised to find that, in spite of all the uncertainty, of all the difficulty unfolding around them now, his heart feels full and light, and that he believes, if only for this moment, that everything is going to be all right.

Somehow, they're going to figure things out.

And somehow, for the first time in a long damn time, Daryl wants to talk to Rick.

Chapter Text

We have not touched the stars,
nor are we forgiven, which brings us back
to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes,
not from the absence of violence, but despite
the abundance of it.

From “Snow and Dirty Rain” by Richard Siken

viii: the abundance of it

They’ve got Rick locked up in one of the empty townhouses on the west side of town.

Locked up, like he's a criminal or a rabid animal.

Rick must hate that, Daryl figures, as he walks over there, given that Rick’s accustomed to being the one to do the locking up.

When Daryl arrives at the house, Michonne’s just leaving, and they both stop and stand together on the front stoop in the early evening darkness.

“He up?”

“Yeah,” Michonne replies, nodding. “Doesn’t look like the damage is permanent.”

Daryl scoffs.

“Yeah, well, he had it comin’. You saved him from himself, whether he gets that or not.”

Michonne’s expression is weary and troubled.

“He’s been through a lot,” she says. “It’s hard to trust people.”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, though he figures there’s a difference between struggling to trust people and plotting against them. “But here we are.”

“Here we are,” Michonne echoes. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

“Pfft. I can try, I guess.”

Michonne smiles, but it’s a tired, dented kind of smile, and it fades quickly. She takes a deep breath and blinks, her mouth flattening into a determined line, and meets Daryl’s eyes. 

“How’s Beth?”

Daryl shrugs.

“Dunno. All right. Different, I guess.”

Michonne nods.

“That's a long time to be on her own out there. Any amount of time is too much, but that's a lot. I know.”

Michonne's expression is faraway, like she's looking at something Daryl can't see. Remembering things she'd rather not.

“Yeah,” Daryl says. “S’pose you do. Better than most.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

Michonne gives him a straightforward look that says cut the bullshit.

“C’mon,” she says. “Don’t act tough. She’s alive. You both are. So now what?”

Daryl scoffs and looks down at the sidewalk, embarrassed, but it’s less uncomfortable than he expects it to be.

“No idea,” he says, exhaling. “I got absolutely no clue.”

“I heard you went on a date already,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “So you’ve got some clue.”

Daryl snorts and rubs at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, we went on a date, or what passes for one, around here. Just to Aaron and Eric’s for dinner. Went okay until I dropped Beth off and Maggie came over to tear a strip off me.”

“Maggie knows you,” Michonne says kindly. “Give her time. She’ll come around. And as for Beth… Don't leave her alone.”

Michonne’s mouth is tight, her eyebrows a troubled downward curve. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye.

“I don't mean don't leave her alone . I mean, don't let her be alone with it.”

“I dunno. Seems kinda like she wants to be alone.”

Michonne’s eyebrows draw together and she gives him a long look.

“Are you looking for advice, or…?”

Daryl huffs, his cheeks warming.

“If you’re offering, then yeah, I can use all the help I can get.”

Michonne’s mouth curves upwards into a half-smile.

“Don’t overthink it,” she says. “The way I see it, these days, we’re all just here to take care of each other. So keep showing up. And don’t waste your time, or hers.”

Michonne reaches out and gives his hand a squeeze, then she turns and goes. Daryl watches her, his eyes on her back as she walks slowly down the sidewalk, her shoulders back and her head held high.

It takes him a moment to figure out what’s different about her.

Her sword. She isn’t carrying it, and he can’t recall the last time he saw her with it.

He’s been pretty distracted lately.

Turning away, he goes into the house. One of the Alexandrian men, a guy he’s seen on watch at the front gates a few times, is standing guard in the foyer. Tobin, Daryl thinks, or something like that.

Daryl expects questioning or resistance, but Tobin just lets him in and points to a closed room down the hall. Whatever damage Rick’s done to the trust of the Alexandrians, it doesn’t seem to extend to Daryl. 

Not yet, at least.

He nods at Tobin and knocks on the closed door.

“Yeah.” Rick’s voice is clear enough through the door, but he sounds tired and aggravated.

Daryl goes in and shuts the door behind him, finding himself in a small room with a twin bed and not much else. Rick sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. His face is bruised and bandaged; he may have knocked Pete out, but the doctor got plenty of good shots in before he went down.

With a sigh, Daryl leans back against the wall opposite and crosses his arms.

“How’s your head?”

Rick turns to look at Daryl, squinting.

“It’s been better.”

“Michonne packs a real punch.”

“That she does,” Rick says, licking his split lip. “She’s angry. I get it.”

Daryl scoffs.

“Michonne didn’t knock you out ‘cause she was pissed. She did it to stop you doin’ somethin’ even stupider than what you was already doin’. She did it to protect you. And them.”

Rick rubs his face with his hands and groans quietly.

“Not my best moment,” he says.

“No shit,” Daryl says, rolling his eyes. “Lemme ask you somethin’ — why the hell’re you messin’ around with that woman, anyway? She's married, Rick.”

“It’s not how it looks,” Rick says.

“Yeah, sure it ain’t. Just a concerned officer of the law, right?”

Rick pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I got a family to protect,” Rick says. “Kids. You wouldn't understand.”

That hurts. 

Daryl isn’t exactly sure why. It’s true, he doesn’t have kids, and he probably doesn’t understand exactly where Rick’s coming from. What he does understand, though, is that Rick isn’t thinking straight and he’s being a stubborn asshole besides.

“Yeah? What the hell good are you gonna be to them kids if you get kicked out of this place? Huh? The fuck kinda father is that?”

Rick glares at him.

“You come all the way down here just to bust my balls?”

Daryl shakes his head.

“I knew you were an arrogant son of a bitch, but I've never once thought you were stupid . If you were tryin’ to keep them guns under wraps, I think the secret’s out.”

Rick sighs, and actually looks cowed for a moment.

“Yeah, it is.”

“You’re lucky as hell Michonne was there.”

“They weren’t gonna do anything to me,” Rick says.

“I ain’t talkin’ about what they was gonna do to you,” Daryl replies. “I’m talkin’ about you wavin’ a gun at everybody like a tweaker robbin’ a liquor store. I’m talkin’ about you bein’ completely out of control. What were you gonna do next? Do you even know?”

Rick doesn’t reply to that and he doesn’t look at Daryl either, instead staring down at the floor between his feet.

“Like I said,” Daryl continues. “You’re lucky Michonne was there to put a stop to it before somebody besides that dickhead doctor got hurt.”

Heaving a huge sigh, Rick rubs his bruised face again with both hands and lets out a muffled sigh.

“All right. I get it.”

Daryl shifts his weight, watching as Rick rubs his busted nose too hard and winces.

“Michonne. She'd follow you into hell. You know that? She'd follow you and drag your ass right back out.”

Rick scowls down at the floor between his feet.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, after a long pause. “Yeah, I know.”

He sounds tired, suddenly, and defeated, almost. Like it brings him down to know that Michonne’s got his back.

Daryl doesn’t get it, at first. But then, he hasn’t always been comfortable with that kind of loyalty, himself, and the responsibility that comes along with it. He thinks suddenly of the days right after they lost the prison, when it was just him and Beth. How everything he felt was too big, too much, the grief and the guilt, and how all he could let himself feel was rage. How he took all his shit out on Beth, who deserved it least.

How stupid people are when they’re afraid. How spiteful and mean and small.

“Ain't nobody gonna follow a dictator they didn’t elect,” Daryl says, after a span of silence. “The harder you try to come down on all these people, the less they’re gonna wanna follow you. Believe me. Fear ain’t respect. Fear ain’t loyalty. Not in the long run. You gotta earn them things, same as the rest of us.”

Rick looks at him for a long, silent moment, his expression serious, and then his eyebrows go up and he shakes his head.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’ve got a point. I get it.”

The silence between them draws out, until finally Daryl straightens up and clears his throat.

“Get some rest,” he says, as he turns to go. “Gotta get your head right, and you can’t do that when you’re all keyed up, yeah?”

Rick nods, and Daryl turns to go. He’s got the door open and he’s halfway out when Rick’s voice stops him.

“Hey,” he says.

Daryl turns his head to look back. Rick is watching him, and his expression is open, his eyes clear.

“Thanks,” Rick says. “For comin’ by. For bein’... Just — thanks.”

Daryl clears his throat and nods.

“It’s just like you said: you're my brother,” he says. “It’s what we do.”

He leaves Rick, then, and goes out into the chilly night, headed home.

***

Maggie is waiting on Rick’s porch when Daryl gets there, sitting on the top step. The harsh glare of the porch light overhead leaves her face in shadow.

His own face must do something because when he stops in front of her and she looks up, she cracks a half-smile and shakes her head.

“I’m not here to yell at you, I swear.”

Daryl huffs a dry laugh at that. He stands there watching her for another moment, then sighs, and comes to sit down on the top step, same as her, a couple of feet away.

“Beth go home?”

“Yeah, she left a little while after Michonne got back.”

“It’s a good thing, her helpin’ out with Lil’ Asskicker again. Like she used to.”

“Yeah, it is,” Maggie agrees, smiling. “She’s always been a natural with kids and babies. She never had to get an after-school job in high school; everybody in our church had her babysitting their kids every football game and date night.”

Daryl nods and they both go silent for a beat, then Maggie clears her throat.

“Did you go talk to Rick?”

“Yep.”

“How is he?”

Daryl shrugs.

“That doctor’s got a pretty mean right hook,” he says, offhand, though he regrets it immediately. Maggie glances at him, looking almost queasy.

“Poor Jessie,” she says quietly. “Those poor kids.”

Daryl thinks of his mom, then, of the black eyes and split lips and sprained wrists. Of the times she stood on the front porch convincing the cops to leave when a neighbour called because the shouting got too loud. Of how much worse it got for him after she died and after Merle took off.

The belt.

The smell of his own skin burning.

Daryl exhales deeply.

“I know Rick didn’t handle it right, and he’s his own kind of mess,” he says, after a moment. “But I’m hard-pressed to find any sympathy in me for that asshole, Pete. Fucker had it comin’.”

Maggie sighs heavily herself.

“Yeah,” she says. “My dad used to say ‘an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.’ I think he was right, but sometimes it’s hard to see, so to speak.”

An awkward silence descends between them, then, and Daryl doesn’t do anything to remedy it. He just lets it ride out, and listens to the quiet night that has fallen all around them. Eventually, Maggie clears her throat and turns to look at him.

“Daryl… I owe you an apology.”

Surprised, he stares at Maggie for a beat. He has no idea what to say, but Maggie doesn't let the silence rest long.

“Beth having a boyfriend was one thing, before, but her having a man…” Maggie smiles wryly. “I guess I wasn’t ready for that. And I haven’t exactly done the best job looking out for her, you know? I promised my dad, and then I didn't… I couldn't… But that's my problem, though, between me and Beth. It's nothing to do with you, really, and you didn’t deserve any of what I said. I'm sorry, Daryl.”

He scoffs and shakes his head.

“I get it. I wouldn't exactly be thrilled, either, if I was in your shoes.”

But even as he speaks, Maggie's expression softens, and she shakes her head.

“No, Daryl, listen to me. You don't have to do that. You deserve the benefit of the doubt. Not every guy would, but you do. I should have known that. I'm sorry.”

Daryl’s unsure what to do with her apology. He doesn't know how this works, with people like her and Beth. People who are honest and true and willing to own up to things they're not proud of. It's all so strange to him, still, to find himself with people like this. To find himself respected.

He shrugs.

“It's all right,” he says. “I get it. You were lookin’ out for her. We're good.”

Maggie smiles a half-smile, her vibrant eyes tracking his face, and then she shakes her head.

“You know, I really do wanna do that whole big sister thing and tell you you'd better be good to her, or else, but…” she trails off, still looking at him thoughtfully. “But you will be, won't you? You wouldn't treat her any other way.”

Daryl gulps, unable to muster a reply to that.

“Beth… She loves hard,” Maggie continues. “She always has. There’s always been something kind of… I don’t know. Intense about her. Serious, even when she was just a kid. She could never stand teasing or practical jokes — too mean-spirited for her. People used to call her an old soul.”

He thinks of the look on Beth’s face when they were at that golf club and they found that walker propped up, a sign around its neck, degraded in death. The way Beth insisted on taking it down and covering the body.

It does matter.

“She’s special,” Daryl says, after a moment. “She sees how things oughta be. Sees through people’s bullshit. Not everybody’s like that.”

Maggie just looks at him for a moment, and then she smiles softly.

“You really care about her, don’t you?”

I love her.

Daryl would say it, except it doesn’t seem right for Maggie to hear those words before Beth does. So he holds his tongue and nods instead.

“Daryl, those cops… They hurt her, didn’t they? I don’t mean her getting shot. I mean before that. They… They hurt her?”

He meets Maggie’s eyes and nods, watching as her chin wobbles and she takes a shaky breath.

“I’ll never forgive myself,” she says, her voice breaking. “For not being there. For letting that happen.”

“Hey,” Daryl says. “Ain’t your fault. You weren’t there ‘cause you weren’t there. You didn’t even know where she was. It happened how it happened. We can’t undo any of it. But she’s here now. She made it. If she’s tough enough to make it, you’re tough enough to handle that. You gotta put it away.”

Taking another shaky breath, Maggie runs her hands through her hair and swallows hard. 

“That’s pretty much what Glenn’s been saying to me, too.”

Daryl nods.

“Gotta put it away,” she repeats, nodding. After a moment, she grimaces. “Guess that means I can give up the whole big sister routine. I never was very good at it. I mean, I've always bossed her around like it was my job, but being protective… That was more Shawn’s deal.”

Daryl scoffs and shrugs his shoulders.

“She thinks you were both pretty annoyin’, if that helps any.”

Maggie laughs at that and stands up, brushing her hands against her jean-covered thighs and heading down the porch steps. At the base, she stops and turns back. She meets his eyes, examining him for a long moment before smiling a wry smile. 

“You’re a good man, Daryl Dixon. You know that?”

Daryl scoffs and scratches at the side of his head, wincing in discomfort.

“I don’t, but I’ma try, anyway.”

Maggie laughs quietly, and nods, then walks down the sidewalk and away from him, heading home.

Daryl breathes a deep sigh and reaches into his jacket for his smokes, lighting one up as soon as he can get his lighter out.

He takes a deep drag, almost too deep, the pleasant buzz of the nicotine making his head swim for a moment. His tolerance has gone to shit. He used to be a pack a day guy, back before all this. It’s only been two years and change, but everything is different now, and the lack of gas stations and corner stores ain’t even the half of it.

His whole life is different now.

He’s got a roof over his head, a real one, and people who count on him. People who look to him, who think his word is worth something. People who respect him.

Love. He’s got love.

Nearly impossible for him to believe, but that's what it is. That’s what it must be.

Daryl flicks the stack of ash off the end of his cigarette.

For the first time in his life, he belongs somewhere he actually wants to be, with people who want him there.

With a woman who, in spite of all the ways he’s failed her, looks at him and sees somebody worth her time.

Somebody. Not nobody.

Not nothing.

He finishes his smoke off, listening to the crickets chirping in the hedges and the loose dry leaves blowing down the sidewalk. He listens to the quiet of this peaceful place, the world outside held back by nothing more than high walls of metal and the work of the people inside it.

Home. This is his home.

Daryl stubs his cigarette out on the bottom of his boot until it stops smoldering, then he tucks it into his pocket to throw in the trash.

Inside, the house is dark and quiet, except for the warm light pouring down the hallway from the kitchen.

He goes toward it, and finds Carol alone at the sink, washing dishes. 

“Hey,” she says, glancing up. “How's Rick?”

Daryl sighs and pulls a stool up to the island. He rests his elbows on the countertop.

“He got his clock cleaned pretty good.”

Carol makes a small tsk sound and shakes her head.

“Pete should be locked up, too,” she says. “But he’s got sway with these people, so Deanna gives him a pass.”

“Maggie tell you what’s going on?”

Carol nods, then gives her head another shake.

“Where do they get off, judging Rick? Judging any of us?”

“He beat the town doctor unconscious and then waved a loaded gun at everybody. The hell are they supposed to do with that? Bake him cookies?”

Carol puts a plate in the draining rack and looks at him, her eyes narrow.

“Really? You’re taking their side?”

Daryl exhales heavily.

“I don’t think it’s us versus them. Kinda seems like Rick’s got everybody freaked.”

“If they can’t see that Rick is trying to keep this place from falling into the wrong hands -”

“Rick is the wrong hands,” Daryl says, interrupting. “Even if he’s convinced you and himself that he’s got all the right reasons, none of them see it that way. Why would they? They don’t know him. He hasn’t given ‘em a chance.”

Carol scowls at that.

“Giving someone a chance is all it takes for them to get one over on you. I can’t believe I have to say that to you, of all people.”

Daryl stares at the side of her downturned face for a long moment in silence before he replies.

“What happened, out there? Before Terminus. Something happened to you.”

Carol squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t answer immediately, and when she does, her voice is very quiet and thin.

“Something didn't happen to me. I did something.”

Her voice breaks, barely more than a whisper.

“You can tell me,” Daryl says, trying to keep his voice even. Trying not to spook her. “I know you think you can't, but you can.”

Carol takes a shaky breath, then reaches into the sink and pulls the drain plug. The water swirls noisily down the drain as she removes the yellow dish gloves and then hangs them neatly in the cupboard under the sink. She comes and stands across the island from him, her hands, reddened from the heat of the water, resting on the countertop in front of her. She clears her throat.

“When Tyreese died, I thought maybe it could just die with him. That I could… That nobody would have to know.”

“Know what?”

Carol's eyes meet his and she stares in silence for a moment before she finally speaks. 

“I killed Lizzie,” she whispers.

Daryl searches her face, but she continues before he can find any way to respond.

“She killed Mika. There was something… Something was wrong with her. I don't know what... It wasn't her fault. She was only a child. But then she killed Mika, and we had to protect Judith… I promised their dad that I'd — she was only a child, Daryl, and I was supposed to be a mother to them, and instead, I — I —”

Her expression cracks open and she sobs once, a desperate, broken sound, and presses the heels of her hands to her eyes.

Daryl's stomach flops over with disgust.

He doesn’t rush to comfort her. He doesn’t know if he should. She just admitted to doing something most people would call unforgivable, and maybe it is. Maybe Carol’s a monster.

Or maybe she’s just a person. Maybe she did something terrible because she didn’t know what else to do. Maybe she made a hateful choice.

Maybe she hardly had any choice at all.

It could have been him in her shoes, or Maggie, or Rick, or Glenn, or Michonne.

Or Beth.

Maybe it's pure dumb luck that has kept them from having to make worse choices than they already have, like it's pure dumb luck that has kept the people here in Alexandria safe and sheltered this whole time, their hands clean and their consciences clear.

“I know you,” Daryl says, eventually. “I know you wouldn’t have done somethin’ like that ‘less you didn’t have no other choice.”

Carol uncovers her eyes, swiping at the tears on her cheeks.

“Oh yeah? You know that, do you?”

Her voice is bitter.

“Yeah,” he insists. “I do. I know you saved Judith’s life. Saved all our asses back there at Terminus. I know you tried to protect those girls, tried to teach them kids at the prison how to protect themselves. You tried.”

Carol shakes her head and doesn’t reply.

“We all got stuff,” he continues. “Stuff we done when our backs was up against the wall. All of us. Nobody here’s got clean hands. Even these folks here who ain’t had to face the world out there. You think they never made choices that favoured themselves over somebody else? They've banished people from this place. Sent people back out into all that. They ain't angels any more than the rest of us.”

“What about Karen and David?” Carol asks, looking at him in a way that’s almost defiant, like she’s demanding that he condemn her. “Was my back up against the wall then, when we had the prison?”

“We had a lot to lose, and you were tryin’ to protect that,” he replies. “And then we lost it anyway. You tried and we lost it all anyway, ‘cause of somethin’ that blindsided us completely.”

Carol frowns down at the counter.

“So, what?” she says. “We shouldn’t bother?”

“Didn’t say that. ‘Course we gotta bother. But maybe when it comes to figurin’ out who our enemies are, we gotta talk to each other, ‘stead of trying to handle everythin’ alone all the time.”

“You trust them that much?”

Daryl shrugs.

“What choice we got?”

“That’s what Rick and I have been trying to do. Make sure we have a choice.”

“Yeah, well, while you were doin’ that, nearly everybody else has been tryin’ to fuckin’ settle down and make some kind of life for themselves, so maybe you two think you’re givin’ us a choice, but you’re leavin’ Deanna with no goddamn choice.”

Carol doesn’t reply right away. She just looks at him, her eyes tearful, her face betraying little.

“I’m the one who should be kicked out,” she says, eventually. “Rick was right. Before.”

“No, he wasn’t. And he wouldn’t be now.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Yeah, actually, I do.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you get it? Strikin’ out alone is what’s easy. Givin’ up is what’s easy. Stayin’ in one place, puttin’ down roots, stickin’ with people — that’s what’s fuckin’ hard.”

Carol blinks at him, stricken, then swallows.

“We don’t gotta figure it all out right now,” he says. “Just gotta convince ‘em not to kick him out. After that, we’ll… Well, I dunno. We’ll figure it out. Make it work.”

Carol exhales harshly and swipes at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. She rests her hands on the counter in front of her and stares at him for a moment, giving him such a searching look that he squirms, uncomfortable.

“What?”

“You amaze me,” she says, all bitterness washed out of her words, earnest as can be. “Look how much you’ve changed.”

Daryl looks away, uncomfortable.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters. “I got people countin’ on me, don’t I? You do, too.”

Carol reaches out and pushes his hair out of his eyes before pulling her hand back.

“I’m proud of you,” she says. “For whatever it’s worth, anymore. I am. I’m proud of you.”

Daryl stands and reaches out, placing his hand over hers on the countertop.

“Go on and get some rest,” he says. “Can’t undo what’s been done, no matter how much you want to. Punishing yourself won’t undo any of it. Just gotta move forward. Try. Yeah?”

Carol swallows hard, looking like she’s barely keeping it together, but she nods, and gives him a tired, fragile kind of smile.

Behind it he sees a glimpse of the Carol he remembers from before, back at the prison.

“You too,” she says, her voice hoarse. “Get some rest.”

Daryl nods, and leaves her there, turning away to go back down the hallway to his room. When he gets inside and closes the door behind him, he leans back against it for a moment and closes his eyes.

It rushes into him all at once, how tired he is. How drained.

With a sigh, he stands up straight and goes to his bed. He undoes his belt and sits down on the edge, toeing off his boots. When he shifts to slide his jeans off, he hears the metallic thunk of his lighter falling out of his pocket and onto the floor.

“Damn it,” he mutters, reaching down to grab it. He can’t feel it.

Sighing again, harsher, he stands and kicks off his jeans, shrugging his jacket off and pulling his shirt over his head. He crouches down on his knees, feeling around in the darkness under the bed.

He gropes around with his hand until his fingers touch cold metal. He grabs hold of it, but he realises right away that it’s not his lighter.

It’s the harmonica.

He holds it in his palm and blows the dust off of it, then stands and tucks it safely into his jacket pocket.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, they’ll come together with everyone and decide what’s to be done about Rick. They’ll decide how things are going to be in this place. What is too much and what is too far, and who belongs here.

Tomorrow.

He’ll give Beth the harmonica tomorrow.

Chapter Text

It was a flower once, it was one of a billion flowers
whose perfume broke through closed car windows,
forced a blessing on their drivers.
Then what stayed behind grew swollen, as we do;
grew juice instead of tears, and small hard sour seeds,
each one bitter, as we are, and filled with possibility.
Now a hole opens up in its skin, where it was torn from the
branch; ripeness can’t stop itself, breathes out;
we can’t stop it either. We breathe in.

Ruth L. Schwartz, “Tangerine”

ix: what stayed behind

The next evening, the town gathers to decide whether Rick stays or goes.

Just after sunset, Daryl walks down the block to pick Beth up.

It’s not a date, which is good, because if it was, it’d be a pretty shitty one.

When he gets to her house, she's sitting on the front step, her chin resting on her hands, looking out at the neighbourhood.

Her head turns as he approaches, and she perks up, a smile spreading across her face.

He goes up the sidewalk to meet her, but before he can say a word, she's up and coming towards him, throwing her arms around his neck. She kisses him, taking him completely by surprise, and he rocks back on his heels as his arms go up around her, hugging her close as he kisses her back.

It’s a cool evening, but her body is warm against his, even through their clothes.

It’s still so new, doing this with her, being like this, that he’s caught off guard, thrown by how easy it is for her to reach out and touch him.

When she breaks their kiss, she smiles up at him. 

“Hi,” she says, her eyes bright.

“Hi,” he replies, embarrassed by how breathless his voice sounds. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because her hand finds his and she tugs on him. 

“Maggie left already. Let’s go,” she says, and they head off down the sidewalk, towards Deanna’s, hand in hand. 

Daryl doesn’t know what to say or exactly what to do, but holding her hand comes easy to him, like they’ve been doing it forever.

Like the months of shit that’s gone down since that day she took his hand in the cemetery never happened at all.

Almost.

“I saw the doctor today,” Beth says, as they walk. “The other one. Denise. She’s real nice. Have you met her?”

“Seen her around, but we’ve never talked or nothin’. How’d it go?”

“Okay, I think.” She shrugs. “She said there’s not much we can do, obviously, but she has some ideas for how to treat my migraines and panic attacks, anyway.”

Daryl looks at her profile.

“Panic attacks?”

“Yeah,” she says, glancing at him and forcing a smile. “It’s no big deal.”

He glances at her again. After a moment, he clears his throat.

“You don’t gotta talk to me about it if you don’t want to, but don’t act like what you’re goin’ through don’t matter. It does matter, a whole lot. To me. All right?”

Beth blinks at him and then looks down, shaking her head.

“It’s hard. Getting used to… I don’t know. People caring, I guess.”

It’s strange, hearing something like that from her, a girl so lovable that he can’t imagine there’s ever been a moment of her life when she hasn’t been cared for.

Except he knows that’s not true. Not anymore, anyway.

They left her behind. He left her. She was on her own for a long time, and that was after being held prisoner by just about the worst kind of people there are.

He tries to clear the lump from his throat.

“You’re not out there anymore,” he says. “You’re here, where you’re supposed to be. And lots of people care about you. Don’t gotta figure it all out on your own anymore, all right?”

“No, I guess I don’t. Denise is going to help as much as she can. And I’ve got Maggie. And you.”

Her hand squeezes his.

“And,” she continues, her tone brightening, “Denise asked me to help out at the clinic. Since I’ve got a bit of experience. Rebecca is going to teach me what she knows, so I can at least assist with some stuff.”

“That’s what you wanna do, then?”

“I think so. It seems like a good way for me to help out, anyway. I learned a lot while I was stuck at Grady. Might as well make some use of it.”

Daryl nods, thinking of what he used to imagine, before she returned. How he pictured her teaching the kids. His heart swells, hurting, like it’s pressing against the bones of his rib cage.

He’s never been happier to be wrong about something. To get to be wrong about it.

Tugging her hand up, he brings it to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it before letting their clasped hands fall back down. He pulls on her, swinging their arms between their bodies.

Beth laughs gently.

“So, does that mean you approve?”

Daryl scoffs.

“Don’t need me to approve. Ain’t your chaperone, right?”

Beth laughs again. 

“That's right, Mr. Dixon.”

They turn the corner onto the cross street. Down the block, a bonfire has been built in Deanna and Reg’s yard. It’s big and bright, creating a halo of light that pushes back the autumn twilight. Plenty of people are gathered there already, some of them seated and some standing, their flickering shadows stretching across the empty road.

Beth stops short on the sidewalk, her hand still holding his.

“What do you think is gonna happen?” she asks, the humour abruptly gone from her voice. She sounds tense. Daryl’s stomach turns over.

They’re not going on a date, here, off to have wine and spaghetti with friends. They’re going to find out whether Rick will be banished from this place.

They're going to find out if their family belongs here. If they belong here.

Daryl swallows.

“I dunno,” he says. “Guess we just gotta make our best case for him and then see what everybody thinks. Democracy, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Beth says wryly. She sighs. “We can't live in fear.”

Daryl eyes her. She shakes her head.

“I mean… Maybe we have to live in fear, I guess, but… But we can't make choices because we're afraid. That can't be why we do what we do.”

He thinks, suddenly, of the funeral home. Of the two of them together, alone against everything, sitting in that candlelit kitchen, eating peanut butter and grape jelly straight from the jars, thinking about what their future might be.

“So you do think there are still good people,” he says. 

Beth smiles at him, and he sees the understanding in her eyes. When she reaches up to kiss him, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, determined to put all of it off for another few moments.

They kiss for a beat, then two, and then Beth breaks the kiss, her eyes on his. She opens her mouth, about to speak, but then her gaze shifts to something off to the side, a deep crease furrowing her brow.

“Is he supposed to be walkin’ around like that?”

Daryl looks over his shoulder and sees Pete on the other side of the road, walking towards Deanna’s house. He’s drunk, that much is clear, barely able to stay on the sidewalk as he stumbles along. He’s carrying something in his hands, something long, and Daryl is confused until moonlight glints off the long, sharp length of metal.

Michonne’s katana. 

Beth must clue in at the same instant as he does, because she utters a curse under her breath and grabs Daryl’s forearm.

“We gotta stop him.”

They follow him as he reels down the street in the direction of the bonfire.

As they try to close the distance between themselves and Pete — without alerting him — Daryl glances ahead at the gathering in Deanna’s yard and sees that the forum is already underway. Maggie is there, and Carol, and many of the Alexandrians, including Jessie. On the far side of the assembly, he sees Michonne and Glenn standing with Rick between them. 

As they approach, Spencer breaks away from the group and jogs off in a hurry towards the front gates.

Deanna’s voice carries out onto the street.

“— going to talk about how he had a pistol he stole from the armoury, about how he pointed it at people, and we’re going to talk about what he said —”

Pete lurches, almost falling off the sidewalk, the sword swinging recklessly through the air at his side.

Before Daryl can reach him, Beth darts forward.

“Hey!” she shouts, “drop that right now!”

Pete turns back towards them, careless, swinging the sword around in front of him.

Daryl's heart kicks in his chest, and he reaches out and grabs Beth's arm, yanking her back to his side, away from Pete.

“Where’s Rick Grimes?” the doctor shouts, his words slurring together. “You all wanna talk about him, let’s talk about him!”

By now, the people gathered around the fire have noticed them, and Daryl is aware of raised voices and movement as people spill out onto the sidewalk.

“He's not one of us!” Pete shouts, incoherent, still waving the sword around.

There's a strange, tense moment that draws out as everyone slowly takes stock of Pete's state and the shining curved blade in his unsteady hand, all of them reacting with stunned surprise. 

“Pete!” Deanna's voice booms. “Put that down immediately!”

Still the person closest to Pete, Beth tries to intercept him.

“No,” Daryl shouts, holding tightly to her sleeve.

But she pulls herself from his grasp and closes the distance between herself and Pete, her hand reaching out. Daryl knows a moment of pure, wordless animal panic as Pete turns towards Beth, the metal blade in his hand cutting the air between them.

Beth moves too quickly for Daryl to stop her, holding one arm up to block her face while the other jabs Pete hard in the side of his abdomen.

He stumbles back, yelling in pain, as Beth’s other arm comes down on his, breaking his hold. The sword hits the pavement with a ringing clatter that reverberates through the still autumn night.

For a moment, everything goes still and silent, the only sound the crackling of the bonfire. No one speaks or moves except Pete, still bent double and groaning in pain, and Beth, who picks up the sword and holds it loosely in her hand.

Then everyone seems to abruptly launch into action.

Daryl reaches Beth’s side as several gasps and exclamations rise from the group gathered around the bonfire. Abraham and Rosita break away from the group and stop Pete where he stands. He struggles, shouting unintelligibly, until Michonne and Aaron move in and the four of them manage to subdue him.

Deanna stares down at Pete, Rick all but forgotten.

“Pete. What were you going to do?” she says, slow and deadly serious.

Pete doesn't reply. He slumps in the headlock Abraham has him in, and glares at her.

“You see?” It's Carol, standing beside Maggie. “This is what Rick is trying to protect us from. To protect you from.”

Daryl gets a decent look at Rick in the firelight, then, and sees he’s splattered in blood. At his feet, near the fire, is an unmoving walker, its head a mess of gore.

The fuck is going on?

“Pete will do it again,” Carol continues, looking around at everyone gathered around her. “He can say he won't, and maybe he even believes it. But he will do it again.”

“We’re not here to discuss Pete,” Deanna says, holding a hand up. She shakes her head like she's trying to remember where they left off. “We’re here to discuss Rick.”

“Is what Rick did worse than what Pete’s been doing?” Beth says. “What he just tried to do, in front of everyone?”

Deanna closes her eyes and shakes her head again, obviously floundering as her forum goes off the rails.

“We don’t know what Pete was trying to do. Let’s let him sober up and we can -”

“He came here, drunk, with a sword ,” Rick says. “Callin’ for me but wavin’ that thing around without a care for anybody else.”

“A sword you brought into this place,” Reg points out, without any anger, endlessly reasonable and diplomatic. “And we are gathered here because you waved a gun at several of us.”

“Rick didn't bring the sword in,” Michonne interjects. “I did. It's mine. Pete stole it.”

Daryl hazards a glance over at Jessie, who’s sitting beside Olivia and leaning on the other woman. Her face is tear-streaked and terrified as she looks between Pete and Rick and Deanna. His stomach turns over at the sight of her distress.

What a goddamn mess.

“I didn’t bring this in,” Rick says, giving the walker a nudge with the toe of his boot. “It got inside on its own. They always will — the dead and the living — because we’re in here. And the ones out there, they’ll hunt us. They’ll find us.”

Rick pauses, looking over at Pete.

“People will try to kill us,” Rick continues. “The living. But we’ll kill them. We’ll survive. I’ll show you how.”

Everyone is staring at Rick, now, listening intently.

“You know,” Rick continues. “I've been thinking ‘how many of you do I have to kill to save your lives?’ But I’m not gonna do that. You’re gonna change.”

The sick feeling in Daryl’s stomach worsens as he looks at the shocked faces of the gathering. He watches as Maggie brings a hand to her mouth, covering it, her face horrified.

They're afraid of Rick. All of them, even their own group. And Daryl can't pretend that they're wrong to feel that way.

Rick is dangerous.

“I’m sorry for not saying it sooner,” Rick says. “You’re not ready for the kinds of things you need to do, but you have to be. Right now, you have to be. Luck runs —”

“That ain't right, Rick Grimes, and you know it!” 

Beth interrupts him, her raised voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Daryl glances to his side. She’s taken a step away from him, towards everyone, her hands in fists at her sides, and she’s looking straight at Rick.

“Just 'cause you can pull a trigger doesn't make you the boss of these people, or us, or anybody. Shame on you, Rick! What's gotten into you? You’re better than this. What do you think my dad'd say, if he could see you, hear you sayin’ these things?”

Rick blinks, his shoulders dropping abruptly, and he takes a physical step back.

“And you !” Beth continues, turning on Deanna. “You call yourself a leader? Pete hits his wife and kids, and you’ve been letting it slide because he’s a doctor? It’s all for the greater good, right? I’ve seen what that does to a place, and to the people inside it. How it messes everybody up, makes them act… Makes them bad.”

Everyone is staring at Beth now, an uneasy silence fallen over the gathering.

Daryl can't take his eyes from her, either, but his anxiety is fading and his heart swells with something painful and good at the way everyone is listening to her.

This is what they need. All of them. This.

She can save their lives just exactly like she saved his.

“Beth's right,” Maggie says. “Pete may be an abusive asshole, and we're gonna have to deal with that, but Rick . You don't get to just decide. It’s not up to one person. We don't have to live like that. We can choose not to live like that.”

“I'm with them,” Glenn says.

“Me too,” Daryl agrees.

“Deanna,” Maggie continues, looking at the other woman. “I know you have a way of doing things here. But so do we. We don't just wait and hope for things to get better. We can't just sweep ugly things under the rug.”

Deanna looks to Reg, and some silent communication passes between the two of them. Deanna nods.

“You’re right,” she says. “We have to find ways to address these things head-on, even when it makes us… Uncomfortable. Perhaps especially then. We cannot let violence go unanswered, no matter what it might cost us.”

Deanna looks at Jessie and shakes her head.

“Jessie, I’m so sorry. This should all have been handled so differently.”

Jessie doesn’t reply. She just looks away, tears still streaming down her cheeks, and leans on Olivia.

“Jessie should get to decide,” Beth says. She looks over at the other woman. “She should have more of a say than anyone here. This is her life, her family. She should at least get a say.”

“She's right,” Carol says. She's talking about Beth, about Jessie, but she's looking right at Daryl. Her eyes gleam with unshed tears, and she sticks her chin out, the mask she’s been wearing since they got here disappearing altogether. “Beth and Maggie are right. We can choose not to live like that. But it's for Jessie to decide what that means. How that's going to look.”

Carol turns and looks down at Pete. She blinks and her eyes go cold.

“Everyone sees what you are, now. Everyone knows what you've done. You can't hide it anymore. You don’t get to act like you're a good man. We all see you.”

Pete glares blearily at her, but he says nothing.

“I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” Jessie says quietly, her voice breaking. She shakes her head. “Please. I just… I just don’t want anybody to get hurt.”

Deanna nods and clears her throat.

“Pete, you’ll move into one of the townhouses in the block. You are to have no access to alcohol. You are to have no contact with Jessie or your sons inside their home. You are to stay away from their home. You will have supervised visits with your children only if and when they are ready, if they so wish. Same with Jessie. We’ll start there.”

Deanna turns to Rick.

“I made you a constable. I did not make you judge, jury, or executioner. You are not an attack dog. And you are not here to do our dirty work.”

Rick stares, his blood-stained face unreadable. 

“You’re a member of this community like any other person here,” she continues. “You had better start acting like it. And you had better thank the people who know you best for coming to your defence tonight.”

Rick just looks back at Deanna for a moment, then at Michonne, who is watching him.

Michonne tilts her head, her eyes on his, and nods.

“All right,” Rick says quietly. “That's fair.”

The only sound, then, is the crackle of the bonfire.

“Let's all head home and get some rest,” Reg says, with strained calm. “This is a lot for everyone to process, so… Let's do that.”

It's a dismissal, if a polite one, and the meeting breaks up, with Olivia and another woman walking beside Jessie, while Abraham and Rosita get Pete to his feet and walk him away, Deanna and Reg close behind.

Michonne goes to Rick’s side and reaches out, her hand touching his upper arm. She says something to him, and Rick bows his head and looks down. 

Daryl looks away.

Maggie comes to Beth's side and takes her hand.

“I'm glad you were here for this,” she says quietly. “We need you.”

“I didn't do anythin’ special,” Beth replies with a shrug. “Just common sense to me.”

Maggie smiles wryly, then pulls Beth in for a hug.

“Like I said. We need you.”

When Maggie lets go of her sister, she manages a tired half-smile, then lets them know she's going to go see if Deanna needs any help. Beth looks at Daryl as Maggie walks away, a similar, tired look on her face.

“Well,” she says. “That was kinda crazy.”

“I'll say. Glad we slowed that drunk fucker down before he just barged in there. Who knows what he woulda done.”

Beth shakes her head in bafflement.

Daryl reaches for her hand, knitting their fingers and hooking his thumb over hers. She squeezes his hand.

“Sorry I grabbed you,” he says. “Just couldn't let you get hurt.”

“It's okay,” Beth replies, smiling at him. “I get it.”

“Walk you home?”

Beth nods, and they go back in the direction of her place, hand in hand.

When they get to the porch steps, Beth stops, but instead of saying goodnight to him, she sits down on the top step, never letting go of Daryl’s hand, so that he doesn’t have much choice except to sit right down beside her.

Lucky for him, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

They sit in silence for several minutes, listening to the crickets chirp in the bushes and the bare tree branches rustle dryly in the breeze. It’s deep into autumn now, and the air has a bite to it. Beth shifts closer to him, pressing herself to his arm, still holding his hand.

A screech owl’s eerie hoot splits the quiet, and Beth shivers.

“I’m still not sure about this place,” she says softly. “But right now, with winter comin’... I’m grateful for the houses, that’s for sure.”

“No kiddin’,” Daryl replies. “Remember that first winter, after the farm?”

“Who could forget? We nearly froze in those cars. I've never been so cold.”

Daryl thinks of her back then, what feels like a lifetime ago, when they were strangers, and how much has changed.

How far they've all had to come.

Beth’s watching him, and when he turns his head to look at her, he finds her smiling at him, her eyes searching his face.

“What?”

She shrugs.

“I like you.”

He feels his face go hot in spite of the chilly evening. 

“Pfft, stop.”

She laughs.

“I mean it,” she says, her hand squeezing his. She traces the back of his hand, her fingertips brushing the scar there. Her fingers press down on the bones of his hand like she’s playing the piano. His body goes quiet, paying attention to her. “I like you, and I like looking at you.”

Daryl just stares down at their hands, unable to find something to say.

Beth turns his hand over and clasps it, palm to palm, lacing their fingers together. Daryl clears his throat and looks at her.

“Maggie came ‘n talked to me.”

Beth’s eyebrows pop up.

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, she did. We're good.”

“I hope that means she said she was sorry for being a complete jerk.”

Daryl huffs and squeezes her hand.

“Yeah, more or less. Like I said, we're good.”

Beth nods and doesn't reply, looking out at the dark, quiet street for a moment before she gives a short, soft laugh.

“What's funny?” he asks, watching her.

Beth shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head.

“I was just thinkin’... Fair’s fair, I guess. When we were younger, just the idea of Maggie havin’ sex once literally made me cry.”

Everything freezes for a second and Daryl’s brain stutters to a halt.

“Um. Not that we’re…” Beth trails off, wincing. Her cheeks are bright pink.

Daryl blinks. He has no idea how to respond to that. Absolutely no clue, because he hasn't thought about it. It didn't occur to him to even consider what might come next.

It doesn't seem like something he should be allowed.

The tension between them drags out into awkwardness, and then Daryl clears his throat.

“All those months cooped up in the prison listenin’ to the two of them convince themselves they were bein’ sneaky musta drove you crazy.”

Beth laughs, a joyful, airy sound, and it cuts through the lingering tension. She bumps her shoulder against his, like a cat rubbing up against another.

“Actually it had the opposite effect,” she says. “Got so used to hearin’ the two of ‘em that I got over it completely.”

Daryl laughs at that, shaking his head, then remembers abruptly what's sitting in his jacket pocket. 

“Hey, I got somethin’ for you,” he says, pulling the harmonica out. He holds it out to her.

Beth’s whole face lights up and she grins at him.

“I love harmonicas! How’d you know?”

“I didn’t,” he replies, shrugging. “Found it weeks back while I was out lookin’ for smokes and shit, if you wanna know the truth… But it made me think of you, for some reason, so I kept it.”

“Oh,” she says, taking it from him. She closes her palm around it. Her eyes search his face. “Why’d it make you think of me?”

Daryl sighs, unsure how to make any of his thoughts make sense. The grief that felt like it would drown him, that still seems to be lurking around the margins of each day, whenever he looks at her.

Because now that he has her, he can lose her again. He has let grief take up permanent residence in his life. He will never be free of it for as long as he lives, for as long as he loves her.

There’s no chance of avoiding it, now.

Then again, maybe there never was.

“I found that harmonica and I wondered whether you'd ever played one before. You weren't there to ask. I had this one, stupid question and I couldn't ask you.”

Beth’s eyes shine with tears in the cool moonlight. She squeezes his hand. When she speaks, her voice is strained.

“I got one in my Christmas stocking when I was 8. Drove my whole family nuts playin’ ‘Love Me Do’ over and over for the rest of Christmas vacation.”

Daryl laughs breathlessly at that as he pictures her little child self running around that big old farmhouse, playing The Beatles on her harmonica.

Something in his chest expands, almost painfully, as he thinks of her, this brave, tough, gentle woman, this person he was once fool enough to underestimate, this force of nature sitting beside him, holding his hand in hers.

“Beth,” he says, swallowing hard, trying hard to force his shaking voice to be steady, determined to force the words out before he loses his nerve. “Beth, I love you.”

She goes absolutely still, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I have for a while now,” he continues. “Even before, back when it was just us two. I didn’t know what it was. What to call it. You know? I’d never felt nothin’ like it before. I’ve never… I’ve never had somebody like you. When you were gone, I figured it out, but I couldn't tell you, and it hurt like nothin’ I could ever put words to.”

Her hand squeezes his again and he watches as huge tears brim over her eyelids and slide down her cheeks.

“I love you, too, Daryl Dixon,” she whispers. 

She leans in and kisses him gently on the lips, leaning her forehead against his when their lips part.

“I was so afraid,” she says softly. “The whole time at the hospital, the whole time I was out there… I was so afraid I'd never find you, that you were dead. I was so afraid, Daryl.”

The lump in his throat is painful. He swallows.

“I'm here,” he replies quietly. “I'm alive.”

She smiles.

“You're right. Sometimes it doesn't feel real.”

“I know it,” he says. “But here we are.”

They stay like that for a minute, their foreheads touching, just breathing.

Just living. 

Then Daryl remembers what's in her hand.

“Play somethin’?”

She sits back and lets go of his hand, palming the harmonica to warm up the metal. She's quiet, just looking down at the instrument, and then she nods and lifts it to her mouth.

Beth blows into it, playing a scale up and down, then pauses for a moment before launching into a song.

It's a song from back in his folks’ time, one he knows by heart, though it wasn’t a song he remembers them liking. He just remembers it playing on the oldies station when he was younger. There's a faint memory, almost impossible to visualize or grasp, of a hot summer night, driving somewhere in the darkness, curled up in the back seat, this song playing on the radio as the glare of headlights passed across the ceiling overhead.

No, I won’t be afraid, oh I won’t be afraid, just as long as you stand, stand by me.

Beth plays the whole thing, every bittersweet note, and when she finishes, she holds the harmonica in her hands and smiles a gentle, content smile he hasn't seen on her face in a long time.

“Thank you,” she says softly, her voice cracking, and then she leans in and kisses him again.

He walks her home, and kisses her goodnight on the front step, and as he walks back home, he thinks of the harmonica, and her smiling face, and the song she chose to play for him.

Stand by me, stand by me, stand by me.

***

Back home, Rick is waiting for him.

Or, at least, Rick is up. The house is quiet and dark except for a light coming down the hallway from the kitchen, and when he comes into the house, Daryl follows it.

Rick's sitting alone at the island counter, resting on his elbows, staring down at a book lying before him. His face is shadowed by the faint light behind him, but his hair is damp and he's no longer spattered with blood and walker gore.

When Daryl stops in the doorway, Rick looks up.

“Welcome home,” Daryl says.

Rick nods. 

“Thanks,” he says. “Where've you been?”

“Just walkin’ Beth home,” Daryl replies. He comes into the kitchen and leans back against the counter across from Rick. “So. How's it feel to be a free man?”

Rick snorts and shakes his head, then thumps his knuckles against the book in front of him. 

“Like I got homework instead of detention.”

Daryl looks down at the book. He can't see much of the cover, and it's upside down, but the words ANGER MANAGEMENT are clear as day.

He scoffs and shakes his head.

“Guess it can't hurt to give it a skim.”

“Probably not,” Rick says. 

They both fall quiet. In the hallway, the grandfather clock chimes, striking midnight.

Daryl thinks back to the strange bonfire meeting and what happened there, and then he thinks of the two kids sleeping upstairs.

“Listen,” he says, eventually. “My old man was one mean son-of-a-bitch. Wasn't a day in his whole life he wasn't angry, far as I ever knew. I ain't sayin’ you're like he was, ‘cause you ain't. But you weren't always like this. I know everything's different now, people gotta change, but… But your kids, man. They deserve better.”

Rick lifts his head and looks at Daryl. He just stares at him in silence for a long moment, then leans forward on his elbows and rubs his face with his hands.

“I know,” he says quietly. 

The silence stretches out for so long that Daryl is about to leave, but then Rick speaks again.

“Thanks for being there tonight,” he says, his voice low. “You and Beth. Everybody. Not sure what would have happened if you hadn't been. So, thank you.”

“Family,” Daryl replies with a shrug. “It's what we do.”

Rick heaves a sigh and leans heavier onto his elbows.

“Beth… When she was gone, when we first got here... I should have been there for you. I wasn't. I see that now, and I'm sorry.”

That takes Daryl by surprise, and he just nods, finding that the anger and resentment he's felt since coming to Alexandria seem to have cooled.

“Think we were all goin’ through our own shit,” Daryl replies. “We're square. It's all right.”

Rick doesn't look like he completely agrees, but he nods, anyway.

They both go silent for a minute. It's less than awkward but not quite comfortable, and suddenly, Daryl thinks of the morning after they killed Joe and his crew, how he and Rick sat together on the ground, blood-stained, stunned in the aftermath of such rage, such violence, and Rick called him his brother.

Daryl clears his throat.

“Hey, can I ask you somethin’?”

“Of course,” Rick says with a nod. “Anything.”

“Just… Me ‘n Beth. I don’t wanna be some kinda creep, y’know? Can’t help wonderin’ what her dad’d say if he was here… But he ain’t. I dunno. Be honest: you think I’m in the wrong, here?”

Rick takes that in, silent, and doesn’t rush to respond. He rubs the nail of his thumb along his jaw and tilts his head.

“Back when I was a deputy, there was this guy in town, had a reputation. He liked girls, and I mean girls. You know?”

Daryl nods. He’s known a few of those guys in his time, too, unfortunately.

“He was pretty smart about it, knew which girls to pick, ones who didn’t always have someone at home waitin’ on them to make curfew, girls who had to grow up fast for other reasons.” 

Daryl’s stomach rolls over as he realises he’s thinking of his own father. His mom was real young when they met and she got pregnant with Merle, and Daryl doesn’t know for sure, but he can make a good guess at how all that went down.

“This guy, he knew where to find ‘em, how to talk to ‘em to earn their trust. How to make ‘em feel special. He knew which buttons to push to get what he wanted. He knew they were underage and so did we, and there wasn’t a damn thing we could ever do about it.”

Rick turns his head and fixes Daryl with a long look.

“I can’t speak for Hershel and I’m not gonna try. But I’m a father and I’ve been a husband. And I’d say I know you pretty well by now, yeah?”

Daryl nods.

“I’ve never seen you act any kind of way that’s anything like that guy. You’re a good man. Honourable and loyal and selfless. A far better man than me, Daryl. And I think if Hershel was here, he’d say that much at a minimum.”

Daryl realises he’s been holding in a breath, and he lets it out with a shaky sigh.

“Shit. I dunno ‘bout all that.”

Rick nods, then tilts his head again.

“So does that mean Maggie’s threatened you with a shotgun already, or…?”

Daryl snorts.

“Just about. We talked it out, though. We’re good.”

“That’s good,” Rick says. “Though I don’t know why Maggie thinks Beth needs protecting. Pretty sure she could go toe-to-toe with just about anybody without breakin’ a sweat.”

Daryl smiles, the unexpected rush of pride sparking a joy in him he’s never felt before.

Damn right.

“Yeah, she could. She’s tough and she’s brave. She went through some real shit at that place. And after, gettin’ here on her own.”

Rick nods.

“I know. She doin’ okay?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

Rick nods again and then looks down and rubs his face with both hands.

“Maybe that’s all any of us can ask for, anymore. To be okay sometimes.”

“How ‘bout you?”

“Sometimes,” Rick says. “Sometimes I’m okay.”

Daryl nods.

“Listen… Since we’re talkin’... I’d be no kinda friend if I didn’t say it… You know Michonne’s gone for you, right? Like gone gone.”

An odd kind of look passes over Rick’s face, like he’s embarrassed and he’s got indigestion to boot. He winces and shakes his head, looking away. After a brief silence, he tilts his head at Daryl.

“You really think so?”

“You kiddin’? It’s like I said: she’d follow you to hell and back. If you don’t feel the same kinda way about her, that’s fine, but I don’t really think that’s the case, is it?”

Rick exhales and gives a rueful shake of his head. His cheeks have turned bright red.

“No, it isn't.”

“So talk to her. Quit screwin’ around. We ain't got that kinda time to waste. Nobody does.”

Rick nods.

“You're right about that,” he says. “But Carl…”

“Carl loves Michonne and she loves him. Kid's got a big heart. He knows it don't mean he don't love Lori no more. He’ll understand. Hell, he'll be thrilled.”

Rick smiles at that and nods his head. After a moment, his expression goes serious again, and Daryl can tell he wants to say something but can't quite do it.

“What?” 

Rick inhales and shakes his head.

“Wasn't always such a good husband,” he says. “Especially at the end. I wasn't… I couldn't… I couldn't forgive her. I wasn't kind. And then… She died afraid. Unloved. I can't forgive myself for that.”

Daryl nods, thinking back to that brutal day Judith was born, and how it made something break inside Rick, something that's still not healed.

Maybe it’s the kind of thing that can't be.

“Lori… She loved you,” Daryl says slowly, trying to find the right words. “I know it wasn’t simple, what all went down. But she wouldn't want this for you. She'd want you to be happy here. You and your kids. She'd want you to try.”

Rick takes a shaky breath and nods, looking away from Daryl, so obviously fighting tears that Daryl knows to ease off.

“Go get some rest,” Daryl says, eventually. “It's been a fucked up few days.”

“You too,” Rick says, his voice strained. “You slept at all since Beth showed up?”

Daryl sighs.

“Yeah, believe it or not,” he replies. “Better than I have in a long time.”

Rick just looks at him for a moment, a funny kind of smile playing at the edges of his expression.

“She's real good for you, huh?”

Daryl feels his face heat and he shrugs.

“Yeah, I think so. Not so sure whether I'm good for her, but…”

“But we gotta try,” Rick says, raising his eyebrows. “Right?”

“Guess so,” Daryl replies. He stands up straight and turns to head for the kitchen doorway. “Lemme know when you finally get the balls to ask Michonne out. Me ‘n Beth’ll watch the kids.”

Rick snorts.

“Sounds good,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“Night, Daryl.”

He leaves the kitchen and heads down the dark hallway towards his bedroom, an unfamiliar feeling of lightness filling his chest, like his heart is an overfull balloon.

When he opens his bedroom door, he stops short, tensing immediately. The window is open and the room is chilly, smelling of autumn night air.

He's not alone. He can hear someone breathing. It's slow and deep, the breaths of someone who's fallen asleep.

His eyes adjust quickly to the moonlit semi-darkness, and he sees a pair of well worn cowgirl boots sitting on the floor right by him, and in his bed, a slight form of someone under the blankets, just the top of a bright blonde head poking out.

Beth.

Daryl closes the door behind him without a sound. He goes across the room and slides the window closed.

He tosses his jacket and vest onto the chair in the corner and toes off his boots, then comes and stands by the side of the bed. 

Beth hasn't heard him; she's still asleep.

Watching her sleep makes him feel like a creep almost immediately. He sits down on the edge of the bed and he's about to wake her when she sighs and shifts a bit, turning onto her back, the blankets sliding down off her shoulders, revealing the blue tank top she’s wearing. 

Daryl watches her in the moonlight, the way the tender muscles of her throat roll as she swallows. She sighs deeply, her chest rising and falling, and Daryl wants to spread his hand across her sternum and feel.

So he does.

He gently rests his hand between her breasts, light enough not to wake her, he hopes, as he feels her ribcage under his palm. She’s much too thin, still, but he can feel her heart beating, steady and strong, through muscle and bone.

She's alive. She's right here.

A bolt of sheer terror goes all through him.

That she is real, and not some cruel lie of his imagination, is still so hard to believe.

Her eyes open slowly and meet his. The smile that spreads across her face is so genuine, he can hardly stand the strain of maintaining eye contact, but he does.

He can be brave enough for this.

He has to be.

He has no other choice.

Beth's hand comes up and clasps his wrist. His chest tightens, certain she's going to push his hand away, but she doesn't. Instead, she pulls a little and brings his hand to her face. She kisses his palm, her eyes never leaving his.

She kisses him a few times, slow and gentle, and then she kisses each of his knuckles. She kisses her way up to the scar on the back of his hand, where he burned himself.

When she pauses there, she's still looking at him.

“Hi,” she says quietly.

“Hi,” he replies.

Beth releases his hand and sits up, the bedsheet sliding down to cover her lap. She's wearing only a tank top, looking like she’s dressed for bed.

“What're you up to?”

She tilts her head.

“I didn't want to be alone, and I remembered I don't have to be. Like you said.”

Daryl nods.

“Bit of a walk just for some company. Maggie gone to bed, too?”

Beth smiles at him.

“I thought maybe you might not want to be alone, either.”

Daryl shrugs.

“Used to it by now.”

The smile on her face droops a little and her eyebrows draw together as she searches his face.

“Are you?”

A wave of self-consciousness hits him. She's looking at with him with such concern, it makes him uncomfortable. He swallows.

“Yeah, I mean, whatever.”

He squirms inside at the crack in his voice, at the faint bravado that he already knows she'll see right through.

Beth's still searching his face.

“If you want me to go, I'll go, but…”

“Didn't say that.”

She exhales harshly, though it ends in a funny kind of laugh.

“Okay, then,” she says.

She pushes the covers down and draws her knees up to her chest. Her legs are bare, and he can’t tell what she’s wearing on her lower half, but whatever it is, it isn’t much.

Daryl’s face heats.

Something inside of him sits up, alert, and his heart pounds in his chest.

Beth leans forward, resting her crossed arms on her knees. She tilts her head, her eyes examining his face.

“Kiss me,” she says softly.

It sounds too gentle to be a command, but it feels like one, anyway. He rests a hand on the mattress beside her hip so he can lean forward and kiss her lips.

She tastes minty, like she brushed her teeth before coming over here, and her breath is warm on his face.

It's a gentle kind of kiss, almost innocent, as their lips brush against each other and their noses bump, and it's so sweet, so good , that his head swims.

Beth smiles against his mouth and her hand comes down to rest on his thigh. 

Daryl freezes.

He doesn't have time to freak out, to doubt himself or her, because she angles her head and deepens the kiss, swiping his bottom lip with her tongue before taking hold of it between her teeth for just an instant.

He groans, his hands sliding up her sides to her back to pull her closer to him.

She goes, eagerly kicking the blankets off, throwing a leg over his lap to straddle him, hugging his sides with her long, bare thighs.

All she's got on aside from her tank top is a pair of panties. 

Her kisses are urgent now, almost frantic, as she buries her fingers in his hair.

He kisses her back, trying to keep up with her as she flicks at his tongue with hers, sliding her weight forward so that their bodies are pressed together.

They make out, her in his lap, drawing him out with long, deep kisses that leave him lightheaded, clinging to her with tight, desperate hands.

After a few minutes, she tugs on him, pulling him with her as she lies back against the pillows. He falls with her, trying to shift to the side so his whole weight doesn't land on her, only to find himself cradled by her open thighs.

When his weight settles, his dick pressing against his fly, he groans.

She shifts, rolling her hips up against him, and he freezes, stunned for a moment by the bolt of desire that snaps through him.

He wants her.

All of her. Everything she's willing to give him.

He wants her so badly it hurts, suddenly, because what he said to Rick was true: they don't have time to waste.

He loves her and she loves him, and everything between them now is a second chance borne out of impossible luck.

It hits him all at once, the urgency of it, as her warm body moves against his, her breaths quick and short. He breathes in to try to settle his nerves, but the smell of her hair and skin and her breath, her sweat, all of it is too much and he breaks their kiss, resting his forehead against hers.

Her hands slide up his arms and shoulders and up to tangle in his hair. 

When he opens his eyes, she's looking up at him, her eyes wide and shining and so warm it's almost too much.

Because how can she look at him like that?

How can she possibly feel like that about what she sees?

“I want to,” she says, unprompted, as though he asked her a question.

He stares down at her, still shocked that he's here, and so's she, and they're having this conversation at all. He swallows dryly. 

“We don't have to,” he says, because the only thing he's sure of right now is that she does not need to give him anything at all for him to keep loving her.

“I want to,” she repeats. She looks at him for several long seconds in silence, then cocks her head. “Do you?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. He's not completely certain exactly what he's agreeing to, but he knows the answer's yes.

Anything with her, anything she wants, anything that allows him to stay right here, beside her, is a yes.

He opens his eyes to find her watching him closely. 

This isn't something that's ever come easy. 

Not for him.

“Don't wanna hurt you, is all.”

Beth shakes her head.

“This,” she says, gesturing between them before pressing her palm to his heart. “This could never hurt me.”

His throat narrows and he swallows.

That's not exactly what he meant, but maybe it kinda is, too. He doesn't want to cause her pain, he doesn't want to make her sad.

But she doesn't give him time to worry about it, to get too far inside his own head. She kisses him again, searing and open-mouthed and messy, and she rolls her hips up to rub against him.

It chafes, in the worst, best kind of way, and he kisses her back, hoping against hope that he's making her feel even a fraction of the unreal bliss that he's getting from her body pressed to his.

As he kisses her, he brings his hand up her side, fingers touching her ribs, sliding up her shoulder and then down the hard muscles of her biceps and her forearm to catch her hand in his and pin it to the bed beside her head.

She moans into his open mouth and her thighs tighten against his sides as she lifts her hips up against him.

He groans and knits his fingers with hers, pressing their palms together.

She moans again, a sound so soft and so sweet he fixates on it, on the thought of making her make it again and again.

He kisses her cheek and her jaw, then kisses his way down her neck, measuring how many kisses it takes him to travel from her mouth to the soft skin where her neck meets her shoulder.

Twelve. It takes twelve kisses.

Keeping hold of her hand and easing up onto one elbow, he skates his free hand down her side until he reaches the hem of her tank top.

He slides his hand up underneath it, up her belly and the expanding cage of her ribs, until his fingers find the slight swell of one breast and the stiff pebble of her nipple.

She moans into his mouth.

Daryl breaks their kiss and pulls back just enough to see her face as he rolls her nipple between his fingers.

She's watching him, her eyes wide. Her cheeks are flushed a bright pink, and her mouth hangs slightly open as she breathes heavily.

“That feels good,” she says softly. He rubs the pad of his thumb over her nipple, then pinches it gently. She exhales harshly, squirming a little. “Daryl…”

He pauses, looking up at her.

“Don't stop,” she says, giving an exasperated little laugh. 

“Yes, ma'am,” he replies, flicking her nipple again with his thumb before skating his hand across her chest to palm her other breast.

Beth runs her hands restlessly up and down his biceps and his shoulders, then up farther to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck. She tugs a little, pulling him down.

He gets the hint immediately and pulls his hand out from under her top to tug the neckline down, exposing her bare chest.  Ducking his head, he swipes her nipple with his tongue before sucking it between his lips.

Beth hums a pleased sound he can feel vibrating from within her chest.

“That feels good,” she murmurs again, combing her fingers through his hair. 

The skin on his back prickles with goosebumps, her words making something inside of him hum with happiness.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he mumbles between licks, rubbing his nose against her soft skin.

As he says it, he realises how deeply he feels that want, how badly he would like to be the source of her happiness, her pleasure, how much he wants to make her forget the ugly things that have happened, the things she's seen and done, the pain that she still suffers.

How desperately he wants to make her forget everything on the other side of his bedroom door.

Beth's hand comes down to cup his cheek, and he lifts his head to meet her eyes.

“You do,” she says softly, her eyes gleaming. “You are.”

Daryl closes his eyes and kisses the tender skin of her breast, then sucks her nipple into his mouth again, dragging his teeth over her.

She moans, louder this time, and he's grateful, suddenly, that all the other bedrooms are upstairs and towards the back of the house, because just about the last thing he wants to do is quiet her.

He lays the palm of his hand on her chest, then skims it down her side to cup her hip for a moment. He slides his hand further down, gripping a handful of her butt, and she rocks her hips against his.

His hard-on presses uncomfortably against his fly again and he groans.

“Drivin’ me crazy, here, girl,” he mutters.

Beth shifts in his arms and laughs softly.

“Are you serious? I'm the one teasin’ you?” 

Her voice is breathless and warm, and his heart pounds in his chest as he finds himself lifting his head to grin down at her.

Beth's eyes are shining with happiness, her pupils huge and dark.

He doesn't get a chance to say a word, because she reaches down and takes his hand, bringing it around to her belly. Without taking her eyes off his, she slides their hands down past her bellybutton, and he suddenly finds his hand between her legs. Her panties are damp and they stick to his palm where he cups her.

His throat is too dry for him to groan, but he wants to, he wants to whimper like a hungry dog into the bend of her neck, because fuck.

She's so wet he can already feel it, and he would never have believed that she might feel this kind of way about him, except the signs are all right here. It’s all right here, in front of him, her and this bottomless want he feels for her, and he gets to have it.

To have her.

He’s lightheaded, he wants her so damn badly.

He rubs his hand against her, feeling the slick slide of the fabric under his hand.

She shudders, her whole body quivering against his.

“Daryl,” she mutters, her voice high and strained.

He freezes.

“Want me to stop?”

“No, no,” she says, shaking her head, blinking at him. “Keep going.”

Still staring down into her face, he slides his fingers under the band right at the crease of her thigh, brushing his knuckles against the tangle of soft hair he finds there.

He rubs the backs of his fingers against her a few times, slowly, before sliding his fingers up to grasp the side of her underwear and tugging it down over her hips.

She helps, lifting her butt off the bed, laughing softly when he struggles to get them off with one hand.

Daryl glances up to find her watching him, her eyes shining, as he finally gets her underwear off and tosses them to the floor.

She lifts her head from the pillow and kisses him.

“Keep going,” she says again, against his lips.

She stays close enough that, when he cups her soft pussy in his hand again, she gasps right into his open mouth.

It's just about the prettiest sound he's ever heard, so he does it again, and then crooks his middle finger, sliding right into slick, wet heat.

This time, he can't hold in the pathetic sound he makes, a quiet gasp against her lips, because she's so wet. He's drowned out only by the volume of her moan.

He strokes her slowly, gently, spreading the wetness around until he runs over a stiff little nub that makes her whole body jolt like she's been shocked.

“Oh,” she squeaks, her hands tightening in his hair. “Oh, Daryl, that’s —”

Her words cut off on a gasp as he circles her clit, rolling it back and forth under his fingertip.

She turns her head and buries her face against his neck, incoherent for several beats as he finds a steady pace with his fingers. 

It's his turn to jolt in surprise, seconds later, when she licks his neck and then presses her teeth to his skin.

His dick gives a needy jerk.

She sucks on his skin, kissing him again and again, and he groans as he glides his middle finger back down again, but this time, he slides it inside her pussy, up to his knuckle.

Her muscles clench down, gripping him, and for a second he can't breathe. His head swims.

She's so tight and so strong.

Please, he thinks. Please let me fuck you.

Christ, he's pathetic.

But it's a fleeting thought. He doesn't care if he never gets to fuck her so long as she lets him stay by her side, any way she'll have him. He'd gladly crawl on his hands and knees if she told him to. 

His spiraling thoughts are interrupted by Beth sitting up. He pulls his hand away from her and rests it on her thigh. She yanks her tank top over her head and tosses it aside, her eyes never leaving him.

She leans back on her elbows and just looks at him for a moment before she reaches out to tug on the hem of his shirt.

“Take it off?” 

It's not a demand, but a question, and Daryl senses she's trying to be gentle with him about it.

Before he can feel embarrassed or ashamed, or second guess any of it, he sits back and unbuttons his shirt, shrugging it off and tossing it onto the floor.

Beth looks him up and down, her eyes wide, an expression on her face he can scarcely believe.

She looks hungry.

She reaches a hand out and touches his abdomen, gliding her fingertips lightly upwards to brush across the tattoo on his chest, then back down the middle of his stomach to his bellybutton, her touch leaving goosebumps in its wake before coming to rest on his belt buckle.

“This too,” she says, and this time it's less of a request, more of a command.

He shivers.

She tugs at his belt, her hands unusually clumsy, as she struggles to get it loose. He pushes her hands aside and sits back on his heels, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly, the sound of the metal oddly loud in the quiet room.

He glances up at her face, but her eyes are on his hands, one sharp white canine catching her bottom lip as he shifts, sliding his jeans down his hips, freeing his hard-on. He sighs sharply at the relief.

He kicks his jeans off and away before kneeling back where he was, between her spread thighs.

She makes a soft sound in her throat that he doesn't know how to interpret; her eyes haven't moved from below his bellybutton.

“Can I touch you?” she whispers, after several beats spent with her just staring at his body.

He gulps, his face flaming hot.

“Yeah,” he manages. “If you wanna -”

His words die in his throat when she reaches between them and takes hold of his dick, wrapping her hot hand around him and sliding his foreskin down.

“Fuck,” he grinds out, shutting his eyes and trying to breath steadily. “Fuck, Beth -”

She wastes no time and she isn’t coy; she slides her ringed fist down him and back up, squeezing just enough.

His breath sticks in his throat and he feels dizzy for a moment, almost woozy, because she's touching him with soft, hot hands, and even though he remembers every step they took getting here, he can't quite believe this is actually happening.

That she is here and she wants this. Him.

She twists her hand, pulling his foreskin down and dragging her thumb across the head of his dick.

He groans, a broken and pathetic kind of sound, but he doesn’t care, because she’s jerking him off so goddamn perfectly that he doesn’t even care how stupid he looks or sounds so long as she does not stop.

Except he’s not supposed to stop. He’s supposed to be getting her off.

Opening his eyes, he looks down to find her gazing up at him, her eyes half-lidded, her mouth slightly open, like she really, really likes what she sees.

He nearly squirms with discomfort, but he doesn’t shy away. He doesn’t move an inch.

He lets her look, and then he gets back to what he was doing. He rolls his thumb over her clit, then shifts his hand and slides two fingers inside her, shuddering at the way her pussy grips him, at the way her hand tightens on his dick.

She speeds up, squeezing him a little harder, twisting a little rougher, and he does his best to keep up, thumbing her clit and pumping his fingers inside her, shocked at the easy way they fall into sync with one another, the way her pussy seems to get wetter with every thrust of his fingers.

“Daryl,” she moans, her voice breaking.

“Right here,” he grinds out. 

“This is gonna feel so good,” she says, her voice trembling. “It's gonna feel so, so good.”

Daryl sucks in a steadying breath, overwhelmed by the husky sound of her voice, the heat of her skin, the sharp, sweet smell of her, and the way she squeezes his cock in her strong hand.

Something is cracking open inside of him. She's the one doing it, prying him open like chiseled stone.

“Daryl,” she whispers, her voice abruptly sounding almost distressed. “Please, Daryl, I need you, I need —”

“Shh,” he murmurs, bending down and cupping her face in his hands. He kisses her cheeks and her lips, his heart aching at the sound of her voice. “I'm here, I'm right here.”

“I want you inside me,” she murmurs, her voice strained.

Beth shifts her hips, her hand still firmly gripping him, and notches the head of his cock snug against her pussy.

His head swims.

He doesn't have time to hesitate or second guess anything, because Beth lifts her hips up and starts to pull him in, so he shifts his hips forward, meeting her in the middle, sliding inside of her.

The sound he makes then is undignified. Agonized. Hardly more than an animal whimper.

Her body is unbelievably hot and snug where it opens for him, and he has to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep from coming immediately. He holds still, fighting his own body as he tries to catch his breath, as he tries with all his restraint to hold back.

Beth shifts her hips up and they slide together.

“Oh,” she murmurs.

He looks down at her spread out beneath him and bites down hard again on his bottom lip.

He takes a couple of breaths, then bends at the waist and slides his arms beneath her, gathering her close to him. He buries his face where her neck and shoulder meet and he tries to breathe steadily.

His back aches with the strain of keeping his weight up off of her; he can't bear to hold still another moment longer, and he rolls his hips forward into hers, thrusting in deep.

Beth makes a hard little sound in her chest that he can't identify.

“Okay?” he gasps, pulling back to examine her face.

Her eyes are wide open, watching him, and she nods quickly. Her fingers tighten their hold on the hair at the base of his neck, and he shudders. 

“Gotta tell me,” he grinds out as he rolls his hips and thrusts back into her, picking up a slow, even pace and pressing his forehead to hers. “Gotta tell me if it feels good, if I don't —”

Beth's thighs tighten where they hug his hips as she starts lifting hers, meeting his every thrust, quickly picking up the pace until they're chasing each other, gasping into each other's open mouths.

“You feel good,” she stammers out, her nails digging into his skin where she clings to him. “You feel so good inside me, Daryl, I -”

Daryl plants one hand beside Beth's head to lift himself off of her just enough to drag his other hand down her chest, cupping her breast and brushing her nipple with his thumb.

She moans brokenly.

He continues down her body, over her bellybutton and between her legs, finding her clit with his thumb.

She tightens her legs around his hips, holding him close so that it's all he can do to grind down into her with short, hard thrusts that have him careening towards coming so much faster than he wants.

He rolls his thumb back and forth across her clit as he fucks her, desperate to figure out how to make her come even as his brain goes blank with pleasure from the way her pussy grips his dick with every thrust.

She groans, her hands falling away from his shoulders to cup her breasts, thumbing her nipples, pinching herself.

She's watching him, her blue eyes dark and hazy and serious. She gulps.

“Daryl, I love you,” she murmurs, her voice thick and tearful.

He closes his eyes a moment, his heart clenching. He wants to touch her face, but he doesn't have a free hand.

He leans down and kisses her open, gasping mouth before resting his forehead against hers, his weight held up on one arm as he thrusts hard and steady inside her.

“I love you, Beth,” he rasps. 

“Hold onto me,” she whispers. “Don't let me go, don’t leave me -”

His heart feels like it's pulling itself apart. He swallows the lump in his throat.

“I've got you,” he pants. “I'm right here, sweetheart, ain't goin’ nowhere, not without you, not ever again, I swear.”

She nods, her forehead brushing his, tears sliding from her eyes to run down her temples, and she clings to him, her nails digging into his biceps as she rocks her hips up to meet every thrust.

“I got you,” he repeats, faintly noticing the bed creaking beneath their rocking, straining bodies, the headboard knocking the wall. “Fuck, Beth, you feel so good, baby, so good.”

“I'm close,” she whimpers, sounding almost pained. 

He twists his wrist, bracketing her clit with a finger on either side, and she yelps, her hands going to his neck, holding onto him, a high-pitched, broken sound coming from her. He feels her come, her hips jerking, her pussy fluttering and clamping down on him so tightly he sees stars.

He fucks her through it, unable to stop as she brings her hands to the sides of his head, raking her fingers through his hair, holding him close as she leans up to kiss him again. When she breaks the kiss and falls back against the pillow, her eyes look dazed, almost stoned, her face flushed red and the hair at her temples dark with sweat and tears.

He did that to her.

He’s right there on the edge, now, his thrusts erratic, because he did that to her and it feels so goddamn good that just the sight of her fucked-out expression is sending him hurtling to the edge.

“Gonna come,” he pants, barely able to get the words out. He grabs at her hip, trying to pull out.

But her thighs hug his hips more tightly, and he feels her cross her ankles at the small of his back, and she clings to him.

“Come inside me,” she whispers.

He doesn't even have half a second to argue, to fight her on it, because he's already on the sharp edge of it, and her words slide hotly into his ear and up and down his spine to press some hidden switch in his brain that sets him off in an instant.

All he can do is grip her waist in his hands as his hips pump and he comes so hard his brain goes completely blank and he fucks her full of his come.

She whimpers, like that feels good to her, too, and her fingers tighten in his hair.

Panting, he stares down into her face.

Before he can say a word, before he can feel even an ounce of regret or fear, she’s pulling him to her, kissing him deeply and pulling him close, breaking the shaky hold he’s had on his upper body, so that he collapses on her with his whole weight, still deep inside her, and buries his face in the bend of her neck.

For long seconds, all he can do is try to catch his runaway breath, and feel her body against his as she tries to do the same.

Her fingers relax against his head and she runs her fingers slowly and gently through his hair.

When he finally catches his breath, he lifts his head and looks at her. She smiles sleepily at him, tilting her head, looking like there is nothing more in the world she wants than this, right here.

Him.

“Stay,” he says, before he can talk himself out of it. His throat is tight and dry, and the word comes out like he's strangling himself to keep it in. He swallows hard and tries again. “ Please stay with me.”

She kisses him, soft and close and melting.

“Of course,” she whispers, between kisses. “Of course I'll stay.”

Daryl lays his head down on her chest and she hugs him close, close enough that he can hear the thump-whoosh of her steadily beating heart and its rushing blood.

He falls asleep.

Chapter Text

How lightly we learn to hold hope,

as if it were an animal that could turn around

and bite your hand. And still we carry it

t he way a mother would, carefully,

from one day to the next.

From “Insha'allah” by Danusha Laméris

x: and still we carry it

The sun is just rising over the tops of the trees on the eastern side of town as Daryl walks to Aaron's place.

It's a cold morning, colder than what he’s used to, back in Georgia. He buries his face in the denim collar of his jacket, which doesn't offer much protection from the chilly air.

The roofs of the houses are coated with a thin sheen of frost that sparkles in the morning sun. Every blade of grass is covered in frost, too, as well as the bare branches of the young trees and clipped hedges that decorate the landscaped yards.

Hardly anyone is out, just a woman walking a dog, but there are lights on inside the houses Daryl passes on his way.

He clenches his jaw, stifling a yawn.

Last night was long and intense in a couple of ways, and he didn't get much sleep. He and Beth were up before sunrise so he could sneak her out and back home.

Not that they need to sneak around. What happened between them last night isn't anyone's business but theirs. Maybe that's why they both decided without discussing it that she ought to sneak home — to keep it private. Just theirs.

Or maybe it was the thrill of it, of waking in the dark to her warm, naked body curled up against his. Of helping her find her scattered clothes in the dark, of watching her sit on the edge of his bed, putting on her boots, of lingering with her by the front door, kissing, before watching her slip silently out and closing the door behind her, his heart in his throat.

Maybe they're allowed this. Maybe they're allowed to just be a couple of idiots in love.

Because that's what they are. She said she loved him last night, and again when she woke up this morning with her head resting on his chest, and her drowsy eyes met his.

They're in love.

Daryl walks up Aaron's driveway and around the side of the garage. He unlocks the garage door as quietly as he can so he doesn't disturb Aaron and Eric; it's stupid early for him to be here fiddling with the bike, and they ought to have their privacy same as anybody else.

He turns the light on and uncovers the bike before bringing his hands to his mouth and blowing into them to warm them.

When he inhales, he can smell Beth.

He didn't bother showering this morning, he just got dressed with her and left a short while after she did, after having a smoke on the porch, and that's what his hands smell like — cigarette smoke and her.

Sparks light up his brain and skate down his nerves, leaving him aching in their wake. 

He wants her again. He wants to go find her, grab her hand, take her some place where they can be alone — really alone — and then he wants to strip her down to her bare skin and figure out exactly how many ways he can make her come, starting with licking her pussy until she can't stand it a minute longer, and they —

Daryl takes a hard, shaky breath.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his smokes, taking one between his lips and lighting it.

He's never felt this way before.

He certainly never thought about this when they were alone together, before. He doesn't really get why. He figures most guys would have, wouldn't they? Whether they acted on it or not. Pretty girl, end of the world, nobody left to say nothing about it. 

Not him, though.

He thought about her, sure. She was just about the only thing he thought about during those weeks after the night they got drunk on moonshine. But his thoughts were about how to keep her alive. Teaching her to track and hunt, how to find shelter, how to build fires, how to gut an animal without spoiling the meat.

The rest of it — no. He never thought about any of this. It never even occurred to him to want it. It's like she came back from the dead and reached her hand inside his chest and turned something on deep inside of him.

Now he can't seem to stop wanting.

The door that leads into the mud room off Aaron's kitchen creaks open, and Aaron's head pokes through the gap.

He smiles.

“Morning,” Aaron says. “Thought I'd better make sure it was cigarette smoke we were smelling.”

Daryl feels bad immediately and opens the outside door. He puts his half-smoked cigarette out on the cement, then puts it in his pocket.

“Shit,” he says. “Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you.”

Aaron comes fully into the garage, closing the door behind him. He's wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants with a robe over top, and dark circles hang under his eyes. He seems exhausted. Daryl is embarrassed, feeling like he's overstepped completely. 

“I'll go,” he says. “I was just up early and needed somethin’ to do — sorry.”

“No, no, stay,” Aaron says, waving a hand. “We've been up a while; we’ve got coffee on. Want a cup?”

Daryl shrugs, not entirely sure whether Aaron's just being polite or if he's sincere.

Then again, he's never known Aaron to be insincere. 

They're friends, after all.

“Sure, if it's no trouble.”

Aaron nods and disappears back inside the house. He returns moments later with two steaming mugs of coffee. He hands one to Daryl.

“Thanks.”

Aaron comes into the garage and stands beside him, and they take a few sips of the hot black coffee in silence.

“So,” Aaron says eventually. “Last night was pretty… dramatic.”

Daryl raises his eyebrows as he downs another sip of coffee.

“Fuckin’ crazy, more like,” Daryl replies. He shakes his head. “Kinda surprised Rick didn't get the boot, considering.”

“If you all hadn't spoken up for him, it could have gone that way. I'm glad you were there.”

“Yeah,” Daryl says. “Kinda lucky for all of us that Pete decided to up the ante as far as crazy goes.”

Aaron shakes his head, his expression troubled.

“I talked to Deanna late last night. Jessie doesn't want him banished.”

Daryl nods, unsurprised.

“My mom was like that,” he says. “Never could bring herself to kick my dad out, no matter how bad it got. Though he never woulda paid her no mind if she’d tried, anyway.”

Aaron says nothing for several moments, giving Daryl a long, thoughtful look.

“I worry about the kids,” he says eventually, his eyes still on Daryl's. “None of this is fair to them.”

Daryl takes a sip of his coffee. He's tried hard not to think too much about those two boys and what they've been living with.

It's something he knows all too well.

The belt. The cigarettes.

The smell of his skin burning.

How impossible it was to imagine a life without any of it.

Daryl takes another deep sip of his coffee and glances up to find Aaron still watching him.

“Ain't much fair in this world,” he says. “No easy answers, I guess. Still, we gotta figure it out.”

Aaron nods.

“If Jessie doesn't want him gone, I guess the rest of us need to make peace with that. Do you think Rick can?”

“He'd better,” Daryl replies. “Or else he's gonna be the one packin’ up his shit.”

“I know Rick has made mistakes,” Aaron says slowly. “But if you and Maggie and Glenn and Michonne are all behind him, well… There must be hope for him.”

Daryl nods.

“And Beth,” Aaron continues. “I'm glad she was there. Maybe more than anybody.”

Daryl takes another sip of coffee as he thinks about it. About the way she stood tall, how her voice rang out, how everyone turned to listen to her.

“Me too,” Daryl replies. “She's got a way of gettin’ to the heart of a thing. I dunno how to explain it. But when she talks, people oughta listen.”

“She's like you. She knows the difference between a good person and a bad person.”

Daryl shakes his head.

“Ain't that simple. She'd say the same.”

“I know,” Aaron says, nodding. “She knows something more important. She knows people can change. People can come to believe their judgment is better than others’, can start to justify whatever they do. And people who've done selfish things, violent things — they can decide to choose differently. We can all change. Any one of us. I think Beth sees that, maybe better than most.”

“That's true enough,” Daryl replies. “So, what're you gettin’ at, anyway?”

Aaron laughs wryly.

“I'm just wondering if Beth would ever appreciate getting out of here for a while. Like you do.”

Daryl considers that.

Beth has certainly been game to leave the safe zone since she's been back. He's not sure if it's him or the motorcycle or just getting away from everyone she likes. Probably the last one.

But she has the skills. She was a solid partner back when it was just the two of them, not to mention the strength and tenacity she needed to walk from Atlanta to Alexandria all on her own.

Yeah, he figures she'd kick ass at accompanying him and Aaron out there to scout for survivors.

If she's interested, that is.

“I'll talk to her,” Daryl says. “See if she's up for it.”

Aaron smiles.

“So, aside from Rick and Pete and last night and everything else… How's it going?”

Daryl shrugs.

“I dunno. Fine, I guess? Might go hunting this week. It's still deer season and we oughta take advantage.”

Aaron laughs gently.

“No, I mean how's it going with Beth.”

This conversation with Aaron was a solid distraction, but memories of last night with Beth flash into his mind, vivid and raw, and his heart leaps in his chest.

Daryl’s face heats.

“Uh, well,” he stammers, unsure what to say or how much he wants to share.

But Aaron just takes a sip of his coffee and then grins.

“I saw her climbing in your window last night on my way back from Deanna's.”

Daryl groans.

“Also,” Aaron continues, “you’ve got a super obvious hickey on your neck.”

Daryl’s face is so hot it hurts. He shakes his head.

“Damn. Might be even less privacy here than back at the prison.”

Aaron laughs.

“Well, yeah. This is suburbia. Nobody’s got anything better to do than get into each other's business.”

That makes Daryl snort.

“Guess some shit really don't change.”

“No, guess not,” Aaron says, shaking his head. “Sorry to butt in.”

“Nah, it's all right. Just don't say nothin’ to Maggie — she only barely decided not to neuter me.”

Aaron winces.

“I believe it,” he says. “It's understandable that she's protective. But it seems to me you're just about the last person Beth needs protection from.”

“Yeah,” Daryl mutters, uncomfortable. “Ain't like I don't know how it looks. Hope there ain’t gonna be a community meeting about tossin’ my ass out.”

Aaron shrugs his shoulders. 

“Well, they'd have to go through Beth to do it, so you'll probably be okay.”

Daryl snorts at that and shakes his head.

“And me,” Aaron says. “They'd have to go through me.”

Aaron's face is open and earnest as can be, and Daryl thinks about how lucky he is that Aaron found them all when he did, and that Aaron is as brave and tough as he is, because they owe him a lot.

Daryl owes him a lot.

“Thanks,” he says gruffly, when he can find his voice. “Feeling's mutual, yeah?”

Aaron smiles at that and nods his head, then finishes his cup of coffee.

“Let me know what Beth thinks about it,” he says as he opens the door to go back inside. “We're due for a trip out there, don't you think?”

“Sure thing,” Daryl replies.

Aaron pauses in the doorway.

“Hey, just so we're clear — the garage really is yours. Any time. You're not bothering us. You're always welcome here. Okay?”

Daryl nods.

“All right,” he says.

Aaron goes into the house and shuts the door behind him.

Daryl takes a long look at the bike.

The oil could use a change, and he's still got to replace the carburetor one of these days before it breaks down somewhere out there beyond the walls.

Can't have that, especially if Beth's with him. She needs a safe ride home.

So does he.

He shrugs off his jacket and sets it aside, then goes to the tool bench and grabs a dirty old oil pan and some wrenches.

As he settles in to change the oil, he wonders whether Beth might want to go for a drive with him in Aaron's car one of these days to see about finding some bike parts.

He wonders what she's doing right now, and if she keeps thinking about last night, like he does.

He wonders what she'll have to say about Aaron's idea.

He wonders if she might want to go for a ride with him tomorrow morning to go deer hunting.

He wonders how she'd feel if he climbed in her bedroom window tonight.

He wonders if she'd let him take off all her clothes and kiss every last inch of her bare skin.

He wonders how many kisses long those thighs of hers are.

He wonders if she'd let him fall asleep holding her every night.

He wonders if any of those empty townhouses on the edge of town are up for grabs.

He wonders if he could find a diamond ring somewhere.

He wonders whether she might agree to wear it, and to marry him, someday soon.

He wonders if this, here, with Beth, with their family and their friends, can really be his life, one he could never have imagined for himself.

His very own life. 

He wonders and wonders and wonders.

***

That night, Maggie and Glenn have the whole group over for dinner.

Daryl walks the kids there, carrying Judith in his arms while Carl complains about his algebra homework.

“Wish I could help,” Daryl says. “But if I ever accidentally learned any of that shit, I sure don't remember it.”

Carl sighs heavily, and Daryl glances at him.

“You ask your dad?” 

Carl’s face is skeptical.

“No,” he replies. “He's been kinda… Busy.”

Daryl nods and comes to a stop at the end of Maggie and Glenn's sidewalk. Carl stops too, and scowls down at the ground.

He wonders if Rick has apologised to Carl for shoving him the other day. If he's made that right yet.

“Yeah, he's had a lot to deal with. Don't mean you don't matter.”

“Kinda hard to tell,” Carl mutters. He scuffs his shoe on the sidewalk and heaves a sigh. “I know my dad would do anything for me. I know ; I've seen what he's willing to do. But sometimes… I don't know.”

Daryl peers at what he can see of Carl's downturned face. Poor kid. The strange truth of it is that he doesn't need some hardened warrior always on the watch for danger, willing to kill for him.

Right now, the kid just needs his dad to help him with his algebra.

“Your dad ain't the only one in your corner. You know that, right?”

Carl looks up at him and nods, seeming unconvinced.

“Ask Michonne. Got a feeling she was an honour roll kinda kid, once. Maggie, Glenn, Beth — hell, if all else fails, Eugene must be good for this, at least.”

Judith lurches forward in Daryl's arms, reaching for Carl. He goes to take his sister, but Daryl shakes her head.

“I got her. You worry about you. Find someone to help you tonight, all right?”

“Okay,” Carl says, nodding. “I will. Thanks, Daryl.”

Daryl bobs his head and they continue up the sidewalk to the house.

“Sorry I ain't more help,” he says. “Lemme know when you wanna learn how to hot wire a car, though.”

Carl laughs and they go inside, where it's warm, and where they find most of the others gathered in the front room. Daryl searches the crowd for Beth, but doesn't see her there.

His stomach turns over.

What if she's upset about what happened last night? What if she didn't like it? What if she's pissed at him for not pulling out? He should have, he knows it, but in the moment — 

Carl leaves his side without another word, heading over to where Glenn and Maggie and Abraham are sitting in the living room.

“C'mon,” Daryl says quietly to Judith. “Let's go see what's for dinner.”

He follows the smell of food down the hallway to the kitchen.

There he finds Beth putting dinner together alongside Tara and Rosita, the three of them talking and laughing quietly as they work.

Daryl stands in the doorway for a moment without speaking.

Just watching her live her life.

Tara notices him first and she smirks, raising an eyebrow at him before nudging Beth with her elbow.

Beth turns her head and meets his eyes.

Everything else but her disappears.

There's something warm in her gaze, something familiar and intimate that makes his face go hot, makes his chest burn like he just downed a shot of moonshine.

She smiles at him and then looks down, blushing.

He clears his throat. 

“So, what's on the menu tonight, ladies?”

“Random beans chili,” Tara replies. “We've got broccoli in the oven, and bread. Of course.”

“Chili, huh?” Daryl looks down at Judith, who is watching the women curiously. “Better go find somebody else to take you for that. I ain't wipin’ chili off the walls.”

Rosita guffaws and goes to open the oven.

Beth smiles gently, giving him a little wave.

“Later?” she mouths.

Daryl nods and tries to smile, sure his face must be doing something awkward as hell, but Beth just grins at him and turns away to grab a stack of plates from the cupboard. 

When Daryl heads back to the living room, he finds Rick and Michonne have arrived, and Carl is beside them, talking to Michonne. Rick looks over and sees Daryl and Judith, and he smiles, tipping his head to invite Daryl over.

He goes, and hands Judith over to her dad. She goes eagerly, babbling a series of happy dadada sounds.

“Algebra,” Michonne says thoughtfully, glancing away from Carl to briefly meet eyes with Daryl and then Rick. “It's been a minute, but I always kinda liked algebra.”

“See?” Daryl says to Carl. “Told ya. Honour roll kid.”

Michonne narrows her eyes at Daryl, still smiling.

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

Daryl's about to keep on grinding her gears when Tara calls everyone to come get dinner.

The rush takes everybody’s attention, then, and Daryl hangs back to let the others go and get theirs first. It takes several minutes for everyone to serve themselves. When nearly everyone is seated around the dining room table and the living room, he goes into the kitchen.

Beth's there, all alone, scooping herself a bowl of chili. When she glances up and her eyes meet his, her whole face lights up.

“Hi,” she says, her voice very soft.

“Hi,” he replies. His voice comes out that way, too, a bit breathless. His cheeks go hot.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to,” Beth says, putting the bowl of chili on a plate with a serving of broccoli and bread. She comes around the island and holds it out to him.

“Nah, you take it,” he says. “You did all the work.”

Beth smiles and tilts her head.

“Mine's over there. This is for you. I insist.”

Daryl takes the plate from her.

“All right,” he says, as she turns away from him to grab her own plate off the counter. “Since you insist.”

Beth comes back to his side with her plate and they look at each other a moment before she glances over his shoulder at the noisy, crowded living room.

“I guess it'd be kinda rude for us to eat in here by ourselves,” she says.

“Not our fault there's nowhere to sit out there.”

Beth smiles.

“Come on,” she says. “But one of these days I'd like to have a meal just the two of us. Even if it's just peanut butter sandwiches in the woods again.”

Daryl nods, his heart giving a joyful leap.

“Me too.”

They carry their plates into the living room and luck into a couple of spots at the ends of the couches, sitting so Beth’s knee bumps up against his.

He's struck by an abrupt sense of intimate familiarity.

They used to sit like this by their campfires, back when it was just the two of them, after she set him straight at that old dump with the moonshine.

They'd spend their days searching for food and water, hunting when they could, Daryl teaching Beth how to track animals, how to shoot his crossbow. At sundown, they'd sit and cook whatever they'd scrounged up, if they were lucky, and Beth took to sitting beside him instead of on the other side of the fire, her knee just touching his.

Daryl watches the side of her face for several seconds as she eats, and then he gives her knee a gentle push with his.

She looks up at him, her eyes wide and curious, and then she smiles and pushes back with her knee.

“All that's missin’ is our campfire,” she says.

He stares at her for a moment, marveling that she somehow knew exactly what he was thinking.

Then again, maybe it's not so strange. It wasn't long that they were out there on their own together before they could communicate without words, just a glance or a gesture from him and she'd nod, getting it right every time.

“Just what I was thinkin’,” he says quietly.

Beth's smile widens as her eyes track over his face, her expression warm. She seems like she's about to say something more, but she doesn't get the chance, because just then, Rick stands up in front of everyone and clears his throat. 

“I wanna thank Maggie and Glenn for having us all here tonight,” he says.

Daryl glances at Michonne, who's sitting near to where Rick stands, watching him as she helps Judith eat. Her expression is calm but unreadable.

“And I want to thank all of you for bein’ there last night.”

Rick pauses and stares down at the floor, his hands on his hips. After a pause, he clears his throat again and scratches his eyebrow with his thumb.

“Truth is, I owe you all an apology,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I messed up. I thought I was protecting all of us, but… But now I see that wasn’t exactly so. Instead I jeopardised what we have here, and for that, I’m sorry.”

Everyone has stopped eating and gone very still, all eyes on Rick.

“All of you… All of you came here with empty hands. You'd walked through hell to get here, same as me. But you all chose to be a part of the community that was already here. Me, I tried… Well, I tried to do somethin’ else. Somethin’ stupid, to be honest.”

Daryl glances across the room and finds Carol, who's watching Rick, a tense, uncertain expression on her face.

“I wanna thank you all for trying. For… for not letting everything that happened before poison things here. This place isn't perfect, but neither am I. None of us are.”

Rick pauses for a moment and looks over at his kids. He clears his throat.

“I guess… I guess we're all just trying to figure it out,” he continues. “I need you all to keep tryin’. So you can show me.”

Daryl glances over at Carol.

Her face is stricken. 

Rick continues.

“So, next time we all gather together to eat — bring someone. Bring someone from here. Or someone who just got here. Someone who's made an impression on you. Someone you like. Anyone. Just bring them here so we can get to know them, too.”

Aaron, Daryl thinks. Next time, he'd like to invite Aaron and Eric.

Rick sits down and there's an awkward beat or two of silence before everybody starts eating and picking up their own conversations again.

But the awkwardness isn't unkind. Not at all. There's a lightness to the feeling in the room, suddenly, as if everybody has exhaled all at once.

Michonne's watching Rick and smiling a gentle kind of smile Daryl's never actually seen on her face before, and suddenly he feels a bit like he's invading their privacy. He looks away just in time to see Carol slip out of the room and disappear towards the kitchen.

Beth touches his arm.

“I'll go check on her,” she says, setting her half eaten dinner aside on the coffee table.

“No,” Daryl says, shaking his head and doing the same. “I got it.”

“I'll go,” she says, so firmly that he finds he can't argue. She stands and leans down and kisses him, just a brief brush of her lips against his cheek. The scent of her skin and her hair fills his nose, making his heart race. “I'll be back.”

Thrown, Daryl can only nod and watch her go.

As soon as he finishes his food, he gets up and takes his plate to the kitchen, where he finds Glenn starting to deal with cleaning up.

“Hey, man,” Glenn says. “You stuck with dish duty?”

“Nobody's handing out job assignments just yet,” Daryl says, bringing his plate to the sink. “You see Beth come through here?”

Glenn smiles.

“Yeah, she's outside with Carol.”

Daryl nods and fills the sink with hot water. He starts washing the dishes that have already accumulated, and Glenn joins in, drying them and putting them away as Daryl washes.

“So, are we gonna be brothers in law, or what?”

Daryl just about drops the plate he's holding.

“Damn,” he mutters. “We only just went on the one real date.”

Glenn snorts.

“I'm not sure if what Maggie and I did when we met really counts as dating .”

“Pfft,” Daryl says. “It counts.”

Glenn laughs.

“I guess it does as much as anything can, these days.”

They wash in silence for a few minutes as the others meander in and out of the kitchen, dropping off more dirty dishes.

When there's a break and they're alone again, Glenn clears his throat.

“Maggie and I were wondering if you and Beth'd have dinner with us tomorrow night, just the four of us.”

“Sure,” he replies. “Gotta check with Beth, but yeah, sure.”

Glenn grins.

“Good, Maggie’ll be thrilled.”

“Dunno about thrilled.”

Glenn tilts his head and gives Daryl a knowing smile.

“Maggie only says she's sorry when she means it. It's all good.”

Daryl nods.

“Besides,” Glenn continues, “even if she hadn't… Beth's an adult. She can make her own decisions, and Maggie knows that.”

Daryl's not sure it's so simple as all that, and he's not sure Maggie would be thrilled to know about what they did last night. His stomach lurches, but he doesn't have to think of anything to say, because Glenn continues.

“You should have heard her tell Maggie off. It was something else.”

Daryl exhales harshly and laughs.

“Kinda wish I had heard that,” he says.

Glenn is about to reply when the back door opens and Carol appears. Her eyes are damp and reddened, but when she sees Daryl there, she smiles wanly.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he nods. “You okay?”

Carol doesn't reply immediately. She glances away, her eyebrows raised, and then shakes her head. She lifts and drops her shoulders in a brief shrug, then looks at Daryl. She smiles gently.

“I don't know,” she says quietly. “But I think maybe I will be. Ask me tomorrow?”

Daryl searches her face for a moment, but she's real hard for him to pin down, just then. Yet that hardness that she's been wearing like armour seems to have melted away. Instead, she appears raw, like skin after a scab has been picked off.

“You got it,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

Carol smiles again and then raises her eyebrows and tilts her head at the back door.

“Beth asked me to find you,” she says.

“Lemme just finish these dishes and I'll —”

Carol makes a soft tsk sound.

“Go on,” she says. “Glenn and I can handle it. Right, Glenn?”

“Always,” Glenn pipes up. 

Daryl doesn't bother arguing. He heads out the back door and finds Beth sitting on porch steps, facing away from him, out at the yard.

He watches her back for just a moment, then closes the door behind him and sits down right beside her.

When she turns her head to look at him, he can see she's been crying.

“Hey,” he says softly, “you okay?”

She nods and wipes at her face with the sleeves of her hoodie. When she smiles, it's a fragile kind of smile, but genuine.

“Yeah,” she says. Her voice is gravelly, and she clears her throat. “Yeah, I just… Carol's been through so much. She hides it so well that it's easy to miss sometimes, you know?”

Daryl's unsure what to do, what he's allowed ; he wants to pull her to him and hold her, but he's not sure if he should.

But then Beth sighs and inches closer, resting her head on his shoulder, so Daryl wraps his arm around her back.

“Thanks for talkin’ to her,” he says. “It's been… I dunno. It's been hard. Her and Rick. Both of them… It's just been hard.”

Beth nods her head against his shoulder and heaves a shaky sigh.

The yard is dark except for the yellow light that spills from the house’s windows. Most of it is in shadow, and the only sound is the cool breeze in the leafless trees.

They sit in the quiet without speaking for several minutes, and Daryl thinks about everything Rick just said, and what Carol told him about what she did, and Beth’s guilt and fears, besides.

None of them have clean hands.

Yet here they are. Alive, still, somehow, in this place where people are trying to make some kind of life.

Where people are just trying to hold on.

Daryl clears his throat.

“Listen,” he says. “Aaron had an idea he wanted me to ask you about.”

Beth lifts her head. Her tears have dried and her eyes are bright and curious.

“What kind of idea?”

“He thought you might want to come out with us next time we go. Search for survivors with us. He thinks you'd be good at it.”

“Oh,” Beth says, eyebrows raised, sounding surprised. She searches his face. “What do you think?”

Daryl blinks. He didn't expect her to want him to weigh in. He shrugs.

“I think you can do anythin’ you put your mind to. That's what I know. But do you want to?”

Beth thinks it over for a moment, her expression serious. Then she tilts her head, her eyes on his.

“Would I get to ride with you?”

Her warm, almost teasing tone takes him by surprise; she sounds like she's flirting with him. He swallows.

“You wanna?”

She smiles at him, her eyes searching his face, and then he knows she's flirting with him.

“Do I want an excuse to ride on that motorcycle with my legs around you? Um, yes.”

Daryl scoffs, his face heating.

“It can be dangerous out there.”

Beth's expression flattens a bit.

“You think I can't handle it?”

Daryl shakes his head. 

“Didn't say that,” he says. “It's just… You don’t got nothin’ to prove here, is all.”

“You sure that's all?”

Daryl sighs.

“I mean, I don't want you riskin’ your neck for no reason. I want you safe. I wanna protect you.”

Beth just looks at him for several beats, her face impossible for him to read.

“You know you can't, right? It doesn't work like that.”

“What doesn’t work like that?”

She smiles, but it’s sad. Or if not sad, resigned. Matter-of-fact.

“Life,” she says, soft as anything. “Life’s going to happen to me. And you. All of us. It’s happening right now.”

“Yeah, s'pose you're right.”

Beth rests her hand on his thigh and squeezes.

“You don't need to stop anything bad from ever happening to me. You make me feel safe. Right now, here. Even if we aren’t really safe. That's enough. That's everything to me.”

Daryl stares into her bright eyes and he can't help it — last night comes rushing back into his mind, every look, every sigh, her body beneath his, the pure bliss that rocketed through him when she told him to come inside her.

He clears his throat.

“So, uh… Last night.”

Her eyes search his face.

“What is it?”

Beth’s expression is open and calm. She doesn't seem worried at all.

He clears his throat.

“We weren't real safe,” he says.

Beth's cheeks go pink and she drops her gaze, smiling.

“No, we weren't,” she agrees. She looks back up at him, her eyes bright. She shrugs. “But I don't care. Do you?”

Daryl doesn't know how to answer that. Of course he cares. Of course he doesn't want to get her in trouble. Of course he can't stand the thought of putting her in any kind of danger.

But there's something else, too. Something else that feels selfish to want, to even think about. That feels forbidden, somehow.

It's just that he’s always liked seeing her with Judith, even back at the prison. Something about the way she held that baby. Something about how naturally it all seemed to come to her. 

He wonders how she'd be with a baby of her own. With a baby that's his. 

Theirs.

An uncomfortable feeling comes over him. Shame, maybe. It doesn’t seem like something he ought to even think about, never mind want.

Beth's eyes are searching his.

“I dunno,” he says, eventually. “Seems… Risky.”

“It is,” Beth says, nodding. “But everything’s risky, now. It's just a matter of deciding what risks are worthwhile.”

She reaches out and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“They have some Plan B here,” she says. “It's almost all expired now, but it may still work. Do you want me to take some?”

Daryl stares down at their joined hands. He rubs his thumb against hers.

He has no idea how to have this conversation. He's never needed to, before. Merle caught the clap enough times that Daryl always used condoms, himself, given he only ever had sex with strangers, anyway, and only as frequently as was necessary to convince Merle he was normal in the ways Merle demanded he be normal.

He clears his throat.

“Ain't really my decision,” he says. “I'm not the one that'd be takin’ it.”

Beth nods.

“I haven't even had a period since before I left Grady,” she says. “I had a couple there, after the coma, once I started eating enough… It's not super likely that I'd get pregnant right now, but I guess it's not impossible.”

Daryl doesn't know what to say to that, because her saying the word pregnant out loud has him launching himself about ten miles down the road, imagining the dozens of things that could go disastrously wrong.

“You're mad at me, aren't you?”

Daryl glances at her. She's got an uneasy expression on her face. He shakes his head.

“No, no, shit, not at all. I'm just… I dunno. Worried, I guess.”

Beth nods.

“I'm sorry. We probably should have talked about it before, but it all happened kinda fast, and I guess it just felt right.”

Daryl huffs out a tense breath.

“I'll say,” he mutters. 

Beth smiles at him, crinkling her nose a bit.

“So you liked that, huh?”

Daryl's sure his cheeks must be bright red. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Did you?”

“Um, yes,” she says, suddenly a bit prim. She raises her eyebrows. “Kinda thought I made that obvious, but I was tryin’ not to be too loud.”

He laughs at that and gives his head a shake.

“We should probably be more careful next time,” he says, after a moment. He squints at her. “Uh, you know, if you want there to be a next time.”

Beth searches his face, still smiling.

“Of course I do,” she says softly. She goes quiet a moment, and he can practically hear her thinking something over as she looks at him. He watches as she makes up her mind. She clears her throat.

“Maggie thinks she's pregnant,” she says very quietly.

Daryl raises his eyebrows.

“For real?”

Beth nods.

“She told me this morning. She asked me not to tell anyone for now, not until they're sure. Only she and Glenn know.” She glances down and gives a rueful little shrug. “I couldn't not tell you, though. Not about something like that.”

“I won't say nothin'.”

She smiles softly. 

“I know. I trust you.”

“I guess you do,” he says.

Beth’s smile widens and her cheeks darken again. She comes closer, pressing her shoulder to the side of his arm and resting her head against his shoulder.

“How d'you feel about it?” he asks.

“Scared,” she says. “Excited. And, well…”

“What?”

“Maybe I'm a little jealous, too. I always wanted to be a mom, someday.”

His first instinct is to tell her she still could. It's so immediate, it almost falls right out of his mouth. He stops himself just in time. Because he doesn't know that. He can't reassure her about something like that. 

Besides, he's not sure what it would mean to say a thing like that, now that things are different between them. He doesn't know how things stand, but he knows it's different now that they've done what they've done.

“You got time,” he says, after a moment. She nods, not meeting his eyes, not reassured. He swallows the lump in his throat. “Uh, we got time. If that's what you want.”

Beth's eyes search his face.

“Yeah?” Her voice trembles, barely more than a whisper.

Daryl squeezes her hand.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I don't know the first thing about — I mean, I know the first thing, sure, but —”

Beth snorts.

“But yeah, if you want. Maybe we could… Maybe we could make it work.”

She smiles at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Maybe we could,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She squeezes his hand, then closes the distance between them and kisses him.

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her in close as they kiss. When they break away to take a breath, her smile is gone, her expression serious once again. She stares unspeaking into his eyes for several beats. She swallows.

“I'm not the same as I was before,” she says quietly.

Part of him wants to argue with her. Try to reassure her somehow. Insist to her that she's still the person she was before those cops kidnapped her.

But she isn't. Neither is he.

No sense bullshitting her or himself. She hates bullshit, after all.

“You don't have to be,” he says. 

Beth looks right at him, her expression still sober.

“You don't,” he insists. “Not for me, not for anybody. I want you just the way you are, and you don't gotta pretend for me.”

Beth smiles at him for a moment, then shakes her head.

“I want… Well, not to freak you out, or anything, but I don't see the point in anything except the truth, after all we've been through… And the truth is I want everything with you.”

Everything.

She wants everything with him.

“I want that, too,” he says, when his narrow throat allows him to speak. “I want everything with you, too.”

Her expression splits open into the widest, brightest smile he's ever seen on her, and it seems like just the right moment to hold absolutely nothing back.

He can be brave like she is. He can do it for her.

“I love you, Beth. Long as you’ll have me, long as we’ve got — it’s you, for me. You get me?”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears and she nods.

“I love you, too, Daryl,” she whispers. 

She leans in and kisses him again, briefly, then shifts and rests her head against his shoulder again. He gathers her close with one arm.

They sit there a while, staring out at the dark, quiet yard, the only sound their friends’ voices from inside the house.

After a long silence, Beth speaks.

“Daryl, do you think there are other people out there? Other places like this?”

“Gotta be,” he says. “The folks here made it this long. Figures there must be other places with people in ‘em.”

Beth nods. 

“What if they're not good people?”

“Yeah, well… Maybe they'll be the kind of people who were good and want to be good again. The kind of people who want to try.”

Beth rubs her cheek against his shoulder.

“And if they're not?”

“If they're not, we'll figure it out. Together. Yeah?”

“Together,” she says softly.

So far, their track record with meeting other groups hasn't been great. Most strangers they've met have been nothing but trouble. The worst kind of trouble.

But once, Beth was a stranger. So were Maggie and Carol and Rick and Carl and Glenn. Michonne and all the others who joined them at the prison and afterwards. Aaron, too, and all the people here who opened the gates of this place and shared it.

They were all strangers to each other, once, and now the bond they have goes much deeper than blood. Deeper than bone.

What they have now had to be built, like anything worth having. It did not come to them whole and simple, waiting for them.

It had to be built.

Whatever future they all might share will have to be built, too.

Daryl turns and kisses the top of Beth’s head. He buries his nose in her hair for a moment and inhales the warm, familiar scent of her skin.

“Know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think… I think maybe someday all that bad shit will just be some scary story we tell the kids.”

She pulls away to look at him and smiles softly. Her eyes shine.

“The kids, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Carl and Judith. The kids here. The kids Maggie and Glenn are gonna have… And ours. Our kids.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.”

She kisses him again, then cuddles close under his arm, and they both fall silent.

They sit hand-in-hand on the porch steps, balanced on the edge of one day and the next, awaiting their unknowable tomorrow.

Their future stretches out before them like a dark road, every shadowed turn hiding danger.

Every curve full of promise.

-end-