Well, hello, Walking Dead fandom...

Okay, here's the thing. I've spent the last five years of my life writing for a TV show that I no longer care for but I couldn't let go of the characters, but recently, I decided to give up on that, take a step back, and write other things. So this happened. This is the first thing I've written for TWD and I'm so so so SO nervous about posting it.

I have a lot of ideas for Bethyl stories (like legit plots - not something like this crappy little oneshot that can barely qualify as a oneshot) but I don't know if I'm at all good at writing for the show or the characters. My only real inspiration is LemonStar, the best Bethyl writer in my opinion, and I read their stories every day.

I had my mom read this, even though she doesn't watch the show and she hates zombies, but she told me that it's really good and she really liked it, but she's my mom and moms are supposed to say things like that, so I need other people to say things about this. :P

Enjoy?

Daryl was pissed. At least, Beth thought he was. He was acting like it. His shoulders were tense, his jaw was clenched, his eyes were narrowed, he refused to look at her, and he hadn't spoken to her beyond single word grunts.

Or maybe he was scared.

The day before, Beth had made the mistake of kissing him. It was a mistake, obviously, by the way he reacted. But she didn't regret it, not one bit.

Beth knew from simple observation that Daryl hated physical contact, so it just seemed obvious that he didn't like any sort of romantic contact either. She knew that it had something to do with his dad, his mom, his brother, the scars on his body—all those things made it hard for him to accept that a touch from another person could be loving instead of hateful.

Or maybe he was both—scared and pissed. Scared because she had just done it without a second thought; she had reached out, grabbed his face in her hands, and kissed him. Pissed because she had done it right after she had come so close to dying; that walker that seemed to have come out of nowhere, and she had almost fallen off the roof of that apartment complex. But of course, Daryl was right there when she needed his help.

So maybe, kissing him after a near death experience hadn't been her best idea. He probably thought it was confirmation that she was alive or a thank you for keeping her that way. But it hadn't been like that at all. It was more like, Beth had realized that no matter what you do, where you go, or how you live, time never stops. You may think you have enough time when you feel safe and secure, but then suddenly it's passing you by like a bullet. Time flies, so Beth Greene kissed Daryl Dixon.

He had kissed her back, there was no denying that. He'd stiffened at first, surprised, but then one of his hands wrapped around one of her wrists as he pressed back at her just as enthusiastically. His facial hair was rough against her smooth skin but his tongue was soft on hers. The kiss wasn't rushed because they had both wanted to savor that moment they had. But Beth whispered his name, just let it out on small exhale of pleasure, and then he was stalking away from her, mumbling that they should get a move on.

So they walked, set up camp, hunted, ran, scavenged, ate and took out walkers in almost complete silence, and it was killing Beth.

They had been out on their own for weeks since the prison fell. It had been hard at first because it had seemed like some kind of sick joke, them getting out together. But that night at the shack – that was probably a pile of ashes now – something had happened between them. A bond had been formed. It had gotten stronger when he taught her how to track and shoot his crossbow, when they worked together to clear a house, when they had their white trash brunch in that funeral home, when they had fought their way out of the herd that came to the front door.

The bond was still there, but it was frayed and Beth didn't know how to fix it. One wrong word and it could break forever. So Beth chose to stay quiet, which was hard for her because she had so many things she wanted to say to him.

Daryl continued to ignore her when they came to a narrow stream. She kneeled at the edge of the water and splashed some of it on her face while Daryl kept watch. Beth took a second to catch her breath. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch something. She wanted a hug. She stared down at the bubbly foam that floated atop the water for a minute before she forced herself to her feet.

Daryl's hand gripped her left shoulder when she straightened and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She felt something in her hair, right above where her messy side braid started. It tugged on her roots and she tried not to wince at the pinching in her scalp. And then his hand was gone from her shoulder, there was no more tugging her on her hair, and he was starting to walk away again.

"What was…?" She murmured, lifting a hand to the back of her head. Flowers. Daryl Dixon had put flowers in her hair.

"Forget-Me-Nots," he grunted, answering her unspoken question.

For the first time in twenty-four hours, Beth smiled, as bright as the sun. Daryl witnessed this smile he had put on her face when he looked over his shoulder to see if she was following him and the tips of his ears reddened.

"Thank you, Daryl," she said, falling into step with him along the side of the stream.

"Ain't nothin'," he shrugged.

Beth's smile didn't falter.

Feedback is greatly appreciated, don't be shy!

"Is there somewhere I could go? Oh, I would go there, take me anywhere. 'Cause this person I don't know, the one that's staring back at me, it's not who I wanna be." -Feel, Sleeping With Sirens

-Rachel