Disclaimer: I own none of the Walking Dead characters, settings, etc.

Part I – The dinner

Zac had just died. The aftermath of the saddening trip weighed on everyone's slumped shoulders. The grey walls mirrored their spirits, and not even the eight cooked squirrels Daryl had hunted the night before helped set their moods at a higher level. They knew they couldn't get this upset over every single death – it was just the cruel reality they lived in, and they had come to grasps, as much as possible, with the concept more than a few deaths ago - , but the young boy passing away had left a mark, and a deep one at that. Losing someone so young, despite not knowing him that well, had made everyone consider how not even the young were spared. They'd had proof of that before, but this time it had happened right under their noses. One moment he was alive, and the next he wasn't.

Daryl kicked the floor with his foot, startling everyone, though no heads turned in his direction. They were all sitting on the floor of the prison, secretly enjoying the proximity and the comforting messiness of the situation. Carl had fallen asleep against the wall next to Rick, who instantly put a hand on his boy's shoulder instinctively. He quickly recovered.

"Anyone care for mor'?" Rick offered, eyes transfixed on the plate with the scrawny squirrels.

Everyone mumbled otherwise. Silence settled in again, and this time it brought strings attached. Carol stood up and left, and Daryl followed her with his eyes, taking in her guilty frown. She didn't need to feel guilty; it was on all of them. He was a kid, and he'd had to fight alongside the rest of them. They couldn't have done anything, and blaming herself for whatever reason wasn't going to help her, or anyone else for that matter. He supposed they could have trained him a little bit better, but, quite frankly, they'd needed the help and they'd needed it fast. But yeah, he figured it made Carol remember Sophia, the way all the kids had that naïve look to them. He heaved a sigh. The world was messed up.

Hershel sighed. "Beth's comin' this way."

And indeed she was. She'd been laying low for the entire evening, neither crippled from sadness nor overrode with joy, but instead with an unsettlingly neutral stare. Her eyes were empty of emotion, and she walked absently toward the group, which tried to act as normal as possible while casting her apologetic glances.

Daryl stood up, unexpectedly, making Beth stop a few steps away from him, surprised. "He slipped right through ma fingers." He stated firmly, his eyes on the ground. "I know I spoke to ya already, but I had to tell ya it was ma fault."

Her feet shrugged a little, being the only part of her he allowed himself to see, and she murmured. "Just to make it clear, yeah?"

"Yeah. That." He sighed, clenching his jaw ever so slightly.

"Don't be upset. You never really cared much for 'im anyways." Beth offered, and he lifted his head to her face.

"I'm not." He cleared his throat, as if compelled by her confused frown. "Just thought I'd tell ya."

"And what? I'd cry?" Beth asked, crossing her arms, but maintaining her look of nonchalance.

"Yeah." Daryl surprised himself by saying it. It's not that he hadn't been thinking about it, because he had, but he'd never thought he'd say it aloud.

"You're tryin' to make me cry, Daryl?" Her face was unreadable, and he was becoming less and less confident about his approach. Again, why did he have to stand up?

"Huh… yeah?" He gulped, barely noticeably. "Guess I am. You gotta count your losses and move on. But you… you gotta count'em."

The silence that followed his bold statement was overwhelming, to a point where he thought if he found a stick he ought to beat himself in the head with it. Why couldn't he just stay put, eating his squirrel in silence as the rest of them? He put his hands in his pockets, at the lack of a better thing to do, since he was starting to fidget, and, well… Daryl Dixon didn't fidget.

"He didn't deserve to die." She told no-one in particular.

"No." He agreed.

"Like this, nonetheless."

Daryl shrugged. "Yeah. Kind of an overkill, if y'ask me. Poor dude."

Glenn rolled his eyes at his lack of tact, and Daryl himself wondered if he'd gone too far. But it'd worked.

Beth's rigid posture began slowly crumbling, and he saw her lower lip starting to tremble. He knew what would follow: watery eyes and quiet sobs. But no – she held her own and allowed for streaks of tears to fall without a single sob to accompany them. There was no sound whatsoever, and everyone stood still. The group knew Beth, and especially her and her big heart, had to process things as they came, or else she'd blow up later and it wouldn't be pretty or pleasant. Hershell and Maggie watched in anticipation, torn between hugging the blonde and letting her deal with what she needed first by herself.

"Thanks." And before he knew she'd hugged his waist, tighter than he would ever have imagined. He just stood there, arms close to his body, engulfed by her body, hands in his pockets, and the beginning of a stunned smile tugging at his lips.

He chuckled. "Weird, never had a girl thank me fer makin'er cry before."

Beth punched him lightly in the back. "You're one silly person, Daryl Dixon." And she added for only him to hear. "You're silly and good."

"Who'd have thought, huh?" He smirked.

"Not you."

"Smarty pants." He smiled. "Yeah, prob'bly not me."

She giggled between the tears as he patted her forehead playfully. "See? Silly."

And as each made their way back to their respective places, everyone else was left thinking, some more pleased than others: Who would've thought, indeed.

A/N: And this is the first chapter. I'd really love to continue this story, and it'd be awesome to know what you think. This couple is lovely, super cute, and super cleverly crafted (the TWD writers hit the Jackpot with this one!) – also, they're not that easy to write, hence my nervousness.

Tell me what you think, pretty please?

Grazie mille!