A/N: I've been marathoning The Walking Dead on Netflix, which resulted in this little one-shot instead of other things I should be writing. Anyways, this was originally meant to be during the winter between Seasons 2 and 3, but I guess it could happen anytime they're on the road.

Disclaimer: Story - claimed. Daryl Dixon and the story's source - claimed by someone else.

The first time it happened was in the middle of the night, after the first shift had ended. He'd always been a light sleeper, even before the dead started gettin' up and walkin'. But he knew it weren't a walker who opened up his tent and rolled out a sleeping bag next to his. And he knew it weren't no mistake, neither. He always set himself a little apart, the first line of defense if those on watch happened to let their guard down.

Truthfully, he just didn't know how to be around all them. Merle had been the talker, the one to gain their confidence. He'd been the charmer. And Daryl had been the quiet one, hiding in the background or disappearing into the woods to go huntin'. It was what he was good at, and animals and walkers weren't exactly ones for conversation.

He should've said something that night, but before he could figure out the words, the body beside him had fallen asleep. He tried to do the same, turning his back to the other person, trying to mimic the deep, even breaths. It was no use. Weren't no way he could sleep with someone next to him.

It happened again, a few nights later, same as the first time. And he was ready to tell her to get the hell out of his tent. 'Cept it had been a hard day for all of them. The farmhouse they'd come across had a root cellar, which meant they'd all be a little less hungry for the next few days. But the family thought they'd be safe underground. And the farmer had had two kids, a boy and a girl.

So he let her stay. And he didn't say anything the next four nights, neither.

She didn't come around the night after, and he woke up shivering in the morning. Alone. He didn't know why he missed her. Weren't like they did nothing besides sleepin'. Back to back, separated by layers of clothes and blankets and individual sleeping bags. Didn't seem like she was interested in doin' the dirty with him.

Not that he hadn't thought about it before. Hell, he'd thought about all them women at one time or another. But none of them were like the girls he'd dealt with back home. He sure as hell knew they weren't like the hooker Merle got him for his sixteenth birthday on account of him still being a virgin. And the other times he'd gotten drunk enough, or high enough, to let another person touch him without flinchin', he wasn't exactly in a state to remember the sex.

Weren't no way he could do that with these women, though. Forget the lack of available alcohol, not that bein' impaired was the best form of judgment when there were walkers about. No, these women weren't forgettable. He couldn't walk away from them. And they were bound to notice the scars.

Problem was, these women would ask about 'em. They'd ask because they weren't high or drunk or stupid. They'd ask because they cared. Ain't no one but Merle cared about him before. Truthfully, he didn't care about no one but Merle before, neither. But these women, these people. He cared. And it scared the shit outta him.

A week later, she opened up his tent again and came in, settlin' down beside him. He was still angry, so got up and moved his roll a few inches away from hers. She didn't pay him no mind and fell asleep just the same. But when he woke up in the mornin', he felt her back pressed against his. It was the first time in over a week that he hadn't been up before dawn, shivering from the cold.

When she came in that night, he laid his poncho over both of them before rolling over so his back was to her. He heard her shuffle about for a bit, and then he felt her body curl around his. Somethin' loosened inside him, something hard and taut, honed through years beneath his father's fists and belt, his mother's neglect, his brother's taunts. Before he drifted back to sleep, warmth seeping through him, he thought he heard her whisper, "Thanks."

Additional Notes: I was really interested in exploring Daryl's character, so it didn't really matter to me who "she" is. If you're a Bethyl shipper or a Caryl or even a Michyl (Daronne?) shipper, then that's who it is. The only ones I don't see him with are Lori and Maggie, so not those two. Because Gleggie forever! Okay, fine, if you really want it to be Maggie or Lori, you can. It's your story, too. Feel free to interpret it however you want.