A/N: For the record, I don't historically 'ship these two, but I've been interested in exploring this pairing since last season. I have no excuse for this. It's one part fluff and one part smut.

Maggie's tears were something that he could never get out of his head. Nor was the sound of the baseball bat as it collided repeatedly with Glenn's skull, the sickening crunch as it cracked through bone, the wet squelch as it tore through the brain of the infinitely kind, fair man. Obliterating everything he had once been, everything he would be…

Maggie…I'll find you…

Gone. Blood everywhere, Glenn Rhee nothing but a smear in the dirt, Maggie shaking as she sobbed on the ground, bits of her husband's brains in her hair. It's what had haunted him in that cell at the so-called Sanctuary. His fault. It was all Daryl's fault. Their ghosts had come to him, not just Glenn, but the others he hadn't been able to save. Beth…sweet, pretty Beth, smiling at him, her tiny fingers strumming her guitar.

It's okay, Daryl, she seemed to be saying to him. It's not your fault.

But she was wrong. Maybe there wasn't anything he could have done to prevent Beth's death, but this time, it was. And it had started with Abraham's death, with seeing Rosita's tears, how that sick fuck had tormented her, with Abe nothing but a smear on the ground next to her…

Daryl had lost it, and Glenn and Maggie had paid for his inability to control himself.

He put his head in his hands, trying not to remember as his foot tapped against the floor nervously, the sound echoing in the small room, amplifying it, but he couldn't seem to stop. To his left, leaning against the window, he heard Jesus's quiet sigh, while Rosita paced impatiently in front of him.

"Can't believe she hasn't pushed that kid out yet," she finally commented, and, through his hands that he was using to prop up his head, Daryl saw her boots stop in front of him. "The fuck does childbirth gotta take so goddamn long? Women are crazy, if you ask me. Who would choose to push a giant, screaming infant forcefully from their body?"

"And what are you?" Jesus said with a quiet chuckle. "Grow a body part we don't know about?"

"Hey. Fuck off." Daryl saw her hands planted firmly on her narrow hips, and he knew she was glowering at the other man.

He chuckled again, but Daryl wanted to tell her to fuck off if she was so goddamn impatient. The kid would get here when it got here, and she could get her impatient ass on somewhere else. He didn't tell her any of that, though. He liked the woman, respected her even, and when he looked at her he sometimes still saw Negan holding that bat in front of her face, telling her to take a good look at the thing, covered in Abraham's blood and bits of his brain.

"Relax," Jesus said, his voice calm as always. "Women have been giving birth since the dawn of time, but it's not like there's a standard. Every delivery is different."

Rosita merely cursed under her breath and turned away as she resumed her pacing, and Daryl did his best to tune the two of them out.

You're one of the good things in this world, Maggie had told him. Glenn believed that…

Those words re-played in his head on repeat, interspersed with the image of that baseball bat colliding with Glenn's skull…

"Daryl?"

His head whipped up, his hands sliding from his face. Carol had appeared in the open door. She was wearing hospital scrubs and looked exhausted. It was no surprise, seeing as how she had been in there with Maggie for hours now.

"The baby's here. Maggie's asking for you."

He didn't know why he was nervous. It's not like he had never been around babies. Hell, he'd given Lil' Asskicker her first bottle, held her and rocked her in the early days, when Rick had been…going through whatever the hell it was he'd been going through.

Still, this was different. It was Daryl's fault this child was fatherless, and how could he ever fix that? How could Maggie even stand to look at him, much less request his presence in the delivery room?

When he entered the room behind Carol—who reached out and squeezed his hand before moving quietly to the window—the first thing he saw was Tara. Wisps had come loose from her dark ponytail, and she was cooing and smiling down at a squirming, pink-swaddled bundle in her arms.

"Bethany."

Daryl's eyes whipped toward her then. Maggie had dark circles under her eyes, her skin was pale and clammy, but she still somehow managed to look beautiful as she smiled gently and reached out for him. He obliged hesitantly, moving into the room and taking her outstretched hand. He looked down at their clasped fingers, wondering how she could stand to touch him.

"Bethany," Maggie repeated. "I named her after her aunt. Something about her eyes… She just reminds me of her."

Daryl swallowed back the lump in his throat as he glanced at the pink bundle.

"She looks just like her daddy," Tara commented, her eyes never leaving the infant as she playfully stuck out her tongue at the child.

Daryl wanted to bolt from the room. He felt like an intruder. He didn't belong here, but Maggie's fingers only tightened on his hand, as if sensing that he was about to run.

"It's okay, Daryl." Carol was looking at him like she could see right inside him, to his very core, and he knew that she probably could. The woman didn't miss much, and she knew him better than anyone.

"Doc says she's healthy," Maggie murmured, clear adoration in her voice as she stared at her daughter. "Nine pounds, three ounces." She laughed then, her eyes flitting back to Daryl. "Believe me, she felt it, too. Like givin' birth to a watermelon."

He tried to smile at her, he really did, but he knew it came out a grimace. "Rick an' Michonne wanted ta be here," he said suddenly, more of an attempt to deflect the awkwardness he felt than anything.

"I know." She smiled, that closed-mouthed smile of hers that caused a dimple to form in her cheek. "They're busy re-buildin' the world. Or at least cleanin' up the mess it's been left in. They'll be here when they can. Believe me, I'm eager to git back ta Hilltop, but first thing's first. Wanna hold her?"

He started, glancing between Maggie and the baby and still not quite certain why she wanted him here.

"It's okay, Daryl," she whispered. "She won't bite. Go meet your goddaughter."

He stared at her, trying to wrap his mind around this new development. Why the fuck would she want him to be…?

But he didn't have time to complete the thought, because Tara had moved around the bed and was gently pressing the infant into his arms. He tried to control the quaking in his limbs as he stared down at the baby. She was awake, looking back up at him with a solemn expression on her little face. She looked like Glenn, without a doubt, but there was something in her eyes that reminded him startlingly of her namesake.

"Hey, honey," he murmured, bouncing her gently. Despite himself, it felt strangely easy, holding this child in his arms. "Wanna learn about bowhuntin,' huh? Your Auntie Beth picked up on it pretty fast. Maybe in a few years, yer mama won't mind. I'll teach ya ev'rything I know about trackin'…"

Slowly, he became cognizant of the fact that Carol and Tara had slipped quietly from the room, leaving him alone with the mother and child. Daryl wanted it to feel strange. He didn't deserve to feel like part of a family unit. But, somehow, as he glanced at Maggie, watching her watching him with a gentle expression on her face, it didn't. And he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

"Blow out your candles, Bethy."

The four-year-old girl looked up, pigtails askew as she stuck her tongue out at Enid, just as the camera flashed. At her side, Judith and Gracie burst into peals of giggles, and Bethy followed suit, eager to do everything that the older girls did. Only when the trio had settled down—at much coaxing from Aaron and Maggie—did little Bethy blow out the candles, while Enid snapped another shot: "Say cheese, Bethy!"

"Cheeeese!"

"I'm gettin' too old to be travelin' to Hilltop every time a kid has a birthday," Rick commented from the other side of the table, leaning into Daryl. "If Judith and Bethy's birthdays weren't so far apart, I'd say we start doin' 'em together."

Daryl chuckled, stroking his beard absently. "You say that every year. At least twice."

"Guess I do. Still true, though."

"Yeah. Bethy looks up t'Asskicker. Maybe you should move here."

Rick looked at him wryly. "She looks up to you, too, y'know. You oughta be real proud. You done good."

Daryl glanced at him, on the verge of asking him what he was talking about, but the other man clapped him on the shoulder and stood at Michonne's appearance by his side. He threw one arm around his wife, moving away to talk to a guy that Daryl only knew in passing, Rosita's new boy toy.

His eyes flitted back to Maggie, who was busy cutting the cake. She smiled as she admonished the girls for trying to swipe the icing with their fingers, and he didn't miss the glances she threw his way. He tried not to blush. Lately, it was happening more frequently. The looks that suggested he was more than just the close friend who'd helped raise her daughter.

It hadn't been on purpose. He hadn't planned on never leaving Hilltop, but Maggie had been exhausted following the delivery of her daughter. Daryl ended up sleeping in the room adjoining hers so he could help where he was needed. He couldn't help with the nighttime feedings since she was breastfeeding, but he could change diapers. He could rock the infant once she was fed, allowing Maggie to get some much-needed rest. Maybe it was partly out of a sense of obligation, at first. Glenn couldn't be there, and it was Daryl's fault. At any rate, she hadn't protested, accepting his help with a grateful hand on his shoulder, a smile of gratitude.

Once Maggie resumed her leadership duties fulltime at Hilltop, Daryl had alternated with Enid and Tara to care for the infant during the day when he wasn't hunting or on watch. He was surprised by how easily he took to nurturing the girl, blowing raspberries on her belly, playing peek-a-boo. Trying to see what would cause her to burst into a fit of giggles. It felt as natural as breathing, and he took joy in it. At some point, maybe after a year, perhaps two, he realized he'd stayed because he wanted to. He hadn't wanted to miss her first steps, her first words. The moment she'd looked at him and tried to say his name. "Dow-dow." Her first word. Maggie had been in the room, and she'd burst into tears, but Daryl suspected it was more 'cause her girl's first word hadn't been "mama."

What's more, and he only admitted it to himself in recent months, was that he hadn't just stayed for the girl.

At that thought, he found his eyes drawn to Maggie once more. She was wearing a sundress, and her fair skin was smooth, soft-looking in the sunlight, punctuated by the occasional scar. Her legs were long and shapely, her waist narrow above the flare of her hips. She had grown her hair out again, and it was loose about her shoulders.

"Eyes back in your head, Pookie." Daryl started as Carol placed a large slice of cake in front of him, playfully nudging his shoulder. He blushed and fidgeted as she moved away, throwing a knowing look over her shoulder that seemed to say, "What are you waiting for?" before settling in her spot at the table next to Ezekiel. Woman didn't miss a damn thing.

It was a sunny day, cloudless, with just the hint of a breeze in the air. Children darted here and there, excited by the prospect of a party and cake—a rare treat. Even though Hilltop, Alexandria, the Kingdom, and other surrounding communities that emerged from the ashes of war were thriving, the world was different now. Simpler. These kids didn't remember video games and cell phones. Internet and McDonald's. Even cars were scarcely used now, as fuel was a rare commodity, reserved for emergency situations.

"Hey." Maggie slid into the chair next to him that Rick had recently vacated. "You okay?" Her hand covered his. The fact that she was touching him more frequently wasn't lost on him. He'd never craved human contact and had only let a handful of people truly in—first Carol, then, all too briefly, Beth. Rick. Michonne and Glenn, to an extent. Now Maggie. And he found himself craving her touch, more and more, and his guilt was paramount, all-consuming. Glenn wasn't here, because of him, and now he was having less-than-innocent thoughts about the man's wife.

"Fine," he lied, snatching his hand away. He covered any potential sting that might have caused by forcing a smile. "Just…can't believe how fast she's growin.' Like a damn weed."

She returned his smile as she watched her daughter, that close-mouthed grin of hers that suggested she saw right through him, but, evidently, she chose to let it go for the time being. "Wish Daddy was here to see 'er. He'd be so proud."

Daryl grunted his agreement. "Hershel'd be proud o'you. What you've done here. The woman you've become."

She laughed. "I like to think so. A good man, my daddy, but he was old-fashioned. Very…biblical. In his eyes, women belonged in the home, tendin' to supper an' the kids."

"Nah. He'd be proud."

She smiled again, gently, as they watched Bethy chasing Judith and Gracie, the girls having finished their cake and on a sugar high. He wanted to tell Maggie that Glenn would be proud, too, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He hadn't spoken aloud Glenn's name, not once. A fact, he knew, that wasn't lost on her. Maggie rarely mentioned Glenn in front of him these days, and he hated that she felt the need to walk around on eggshells with him. But there it was.

"Good t'start 'er learnin' the basics o'trackin' an' bowhuntin' now, right?" he asked after a moment, opting to change the subject to safer territory.

"The deal was when she turned five," she said with a sideways glance, nudging his shoulder with hers.

He huffed. "Ain't too young ta learn. Bagged my first buck, I's only four."

Maggie let out a small laugh. "Uh-huh. I'm sure. She ain't mature enough, Daryl. Would scare away the game."

"Ain't the point."

"Fine. Four and a half. That's all you're gittin,' an' that's only 'cause I trust you with her more than anyone."

He swallowed back the lump in his throat as he turned to look at her, forcing himself not to glance away immediately when her eyes met his, wide and sincere. "Fine."

"It's a deal, then." She stuck out her hand, all business, and he took it.

"Y'know, y'ain't as tough as you think you are, woman," he stated, releasing her firm grasp.

Her hand slid up his arm as she stood, lingering briefly on his shoulder. "Mm. Keep tellin' yourself that. By the way, Bethy's lucky to have you." She bent down then, pressing her lips briefly to the top of his head before quickly straightening once more. "Girls, slow down!" she called as she turned away from him without another word. "Aaron, will you take that from her? Someone's gonna git an eye poked out…"

Looking up, he caught Carol's eye.

"What?"

She merely shrugged, doing a sucky job of hiding that smartass, know-it-all grin behind her glass of punch as she took a sip.

Daryl tried to scowl as he looked quickly away, but he couldn't stop the slight tug at the corners of his lips. When Ezekiel made an all-important announcement about having an all-important announcement to make, Daryl chose that moment to make an escape. Standing suddenly, he shoved the remainder of his cake in his mouth. He had a damned piñata he had to get the kids going on. Like they really needed a piñata filled to the brim with homemade candy. They were going to be on a sugar high for days as it was.

"Daryl, will you be my daddy?"

He froze, in the process of reading Dr. Seuss's Oh, the Places You'll Go! for about the gazillionth time when she posed the unexpected question. Of all the things that could've come out of the girl's mouth, that was the last thing he was prepared for.

"Bethy…" The little girl was staring at him with solemn eyes, awaiting his answer. She was wearing her favorite pink pajamas, Mr. Bear clutched to her chest, and looking for all the world like a miniature version of her father. Except the eyes. They were wide and blue. "You've already got a daddy, sweetheart. And he was a good man. The best."

She sighed. "I know. Mama says he's in heaven." Her little face screwed up then. "You think he likes it there? Is that why he doesn't come to visit us?"

Daryl stared at her, wondering why the girl didn't ask her mama these questions. He wasn't equipped to handle this. "He…uh, I'm sure he likes it a lot, Bethy, but that ain't why he don't visit. He would if he could, but…he's…gone, honey."

She sighed again. "That's what Mama says. That he's with Auntie Beth and grandma an' grandpa. I just thought…if he wanted to enough, maybe he could come back, and I'd have a real daddy. Just like Judy and Gracie."

He couldn't look at her. All he could see was Glenn's face that day, Negan laughing after he'd brought the bat down on his head that first time, Maggie sobbing at his side…

It was his fault, and now he had to explain to Glenn's daughter that her father was never coming back. "It don't work that way, honey." He forced himself to look at her. It was the least he could do. "But he loved your mama, and he woulda loved you, too. He did love ya, and he didn't even know ya yet."

She smiled, looking a lot like her mama in that moment. "If he ain't comin' back…then maybe you could be my daddy, too. My Other Daddy. You already do all the stuff that daddies do anyway."

Daryl's throat worked, and he had to force back sudden tears. Lord knows he loved this kid like his own, but he didn't deserve that honor. At the same time, though, he'd gouge out his own eyes before he broke her heart. "Far as I'm concerned," he finally said, "you can call me anything ya want, Bethy. You're like my own kid, but you might wanna check with your mama first. Don't wanna hurt 'er feelins,' all righ'?"

She nodded, her expression somber. "If she says yes, then I can call you 'Daddy'?"

He nodded, overcome by a hundred conflicting emotions all at once: Undeniable love and pride intermingled with guilt and shame. One day she was going to know. She was going to find out that he'd as good as killed her father, and then she'd hate him. "Yeah, kid. If she says yes."

Unexpectedly, Daryl suddenly found himself with an armful of little girl: She'd launched herself at him so quickly that he didn't even register the movement until she'd about knocked the wind out of him. "I love you, Daryl."

"Back atcha, kid," he breathed.

She released him just as suddenly as she'd grabbed him. "Oh! I almost forgot—I saved somethin' from my party for ya." Fuzzy bunny slippers stuck up in the air as she bent over and rifled beneath her bed.

"Yeah? You have a good time at your party?"

"Sure did! It was the best!" She re-emerged, something clutched in her tiny hands, which she then held out for him. "It's a little archer. See? I found it on the ground. I think it was in the piñata."

He took the small plastic toy from her. It wore a hat with a feather and pointy shoes. "Sure do."

"He reminded me of you. I thought you might like 'im."

He couldn't stop the upward tug at the corners of his lips. "I ain't got a feathered hat," he pointed out.

"Well…maybe I could make you one."

He laughed aloud—something he rarely did, but this kid had a way of bringing that out in him. "You do that, an' I'll wear it every day. I think it's great, kid, but you keep it." He pressed the toy back in her hands. "Sumin' to remind you o'me when you're scared or lonely."

"I ain't never scared or lonely," she protested, even as she placed it carefully on her nightstand. "You're always close."

His throat worked. "You mean I'm not ever," he corrected her grammar, poking her in the ribs as she settled beneath the quilt once more, eliciting a giggle from her. "'Ain't' ain't a word."

"Yes, it is."

"Nope, it ain't."

"Then why do you say it?"

"'Cause I'm a grown-up. When you're grown, you can say whatever ya want." Reaching out, he flipped off her lamp. "Get some sleep, kid. Tomorrow's a school day."

"Okay. 'Night, Daryl."

Leaning down, he kissed her forehead. "Sweet dreams, honey."

When he slipped from the girl's room, he almost bumped smack into Maggie, who lingered in the hallway outside her daughter's bedroom. She was wearing her blue bathrobe, and her hair was wet. She smelled good, like that vanilla lotion she sometimes used.

He couldn't read the expression on her face. Her jaw was set, and she seemed angry. When she wordlessly gripped his arm and steered him down the hallway and into her room, he knew he was in trouble.

"You, uh…ya heard all that?" he asked nervously, worrying his thumb. Her back was turned to him, and he didn't know what to make of it when she quietly pulled the door shut and latched it. If she was angry because he'd over-stepped his boundaries, that was all fine and dandy. He'd accept responsibility. "I know I shouldn'ta—"

"She's lucky to have you." Her voice was quiet, none of the anger present that Daryl had expected. She had gone utterly still, her back still toward him. "I'm lucky to have you, Daryl." She turned to face him then, her eyes meeting his. The single lamp on her bedside table illuminated her beautiful features, and the spark of something…heated, almost hungry in her eyes.

Slowly, her eyes never leaving his face, she untied her robe, allowing it to slide from her body and pool at her feet. Unable to stop himself—but knowing he should—his eyes raked her from head to toe, his breathing laboring as all the blood in his body rushed decidedly south. She was naked beneath the robe. All smooth, creamy skin. Her breasts were high and firm, her nipples dark and puckered. Her belly was flat, her hips femininely flared, and his eyes were drawn instinctively to the thatch of dark hair at the junction of her thighs. Thighs that were rounded just enough; he could easily imagine slipping between them, becoming lost in her breathy sighs as she panted his name…

Fuck. He wanted her. Had for a while now. But it was more than that…

A/N: There's one more part, and that'll be that. If you're interested in more from me on this pairing, speak up, because I don't even know if there's an audience for these two. ;)