Daryl and Beth spent some of the day snooping around the mortuary's various rooms. Daryl found himself upstairs, in the master bedroom. He rifled through the drawers of the nightstand, but found nothing of value but an old Bible and a handful of hard candies.

"I found a pen!" Beth said, hobbling into the room and holding up the implement as though its discovery was some great victory, like walking on the moon.

"A pen?"

"Don't say it like that," she said with a mock pout. She then smiled once more and limped over to him before she slid up to take a seat on the bed.

Daryl pushed the nightstand drawer closed and turned his full attention on the cheerful blonde. "What's so important 'bout a pen?" he asked.

"Because I can start writing again," Beth said, smiling as she pulled out her little green journal from her back pocket.

He watched her wiggle her way further onto the bed, swinging her legs up and turning over, onto her tummy as she laid there. She pulled a pillow down under her to help prop her up into prime writing position as she opened the weathered journal. He loomed there awkwardly for a few moments, his eyes trailing up and down, trying to determine what role he was supposed to play. Did he stand by as she scrawled in the pages? Did he excuse himself and give her privacy?

Suddenly, Beth felt the bed shift. She looked beside her and saw Daryl had taken a seat on the edge, about halfway down.

"What do you write in it?" he asked, an air of caution in his voice. He was worried that to ask such a thing might have been too intrusive.

"You can't ask that," she said.

Immediately, Daryl felt his insides just compress in on themselves, his pulse racing and a lump forming in his throat. "Right, I'm… I… I'm sorry. I-"

"Daryl," Beth said with a soft laugh as she turned onto her side to face him. She reached down and touched his hand as though she'd done it a thousand times before. "I was joking," she assured him.

It wasn't hard to miss the relief that washed over Daryl's face, though he found himself utterly confused in the frenzy of emotions. Honestly, a small part of him was even a little annoyed with her for that, but how could she have known what storm of feelings was swirling around inside him? He didn't even know himself! "Oh.." was all he could muster, looking down at her hand on his, scared to pull away, yet nervous to let her linger.

She withdrew first, just like when they'd held hands. He found himself saddened when the warmth went away.

"I write all sorts of things," Beth explained. "What I'm thinking. What I'm feeling. Things that I want to remember. Sometimes even things that I want to forget. I write stories… songs…"

Daryl nodded and watched as Beth rolled onto her stomach again and returned to her journal. There was a question burning in his mind, a curiosity he was trying desperately to contain. But the question bubbled up inside of him like a spring and just poured out without a thought, "You ever write about me in there?"

"Sometimes," Beth said, honestly. Not an ounce of hesitation. "You, Maggie, Rick… my dad…"

He felt like he could relax with that answer. It wasn't just him; she wrote about everyone. That made sense, but…

"Bet you have a lot to write about now," he said.

"About you, you mean?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

Daryl froze for a moment as their eyes met. Had he meant it that way? Yeah. Yeah, he did. Could he admit that to her? Nope. He looked away, glancing down at his lap.

Beth smiled. "All good things, Daryl."

He looked up and caught her smile, held her gaze for an unsettling length of time, and yet he didn't mind it. He nodded and cleared his throat before he stood up. "Well, I'm gonna see if we missed anything."

Beth began to sit up, "I can help."

He raised a hand, gesturing for her to stop. "Naw. You stay put. Rest your ankle. Write. I've got this," he assured her with another nod.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Mmmhmm."

"Well, 'kay, but let me know if you need me," she said.

"I will." With that, Daryl picked up his crossbow from the dresser top and left the room. He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. All good things, she had said. All good things.