From the kitchen, Daryl could hear the low buzz of casual chatter in Rick's living room. The new arrival, who had shown up at Alexandria's gates the night before had seemingly found her way to Rick's doorstep, with Deanna's accompaniment, no less. She was a pretty girl with blonde hair, a sweet face, and creamy complexion; she couldn't have been more than twenty-five or so. He heard Deanna introduce her as Mona, and the girl named Mona reached out to shake Rick's hand.

"This seems like a really great community," Mona said brightly, her voice and face full of hope. Daryl wondered how she had survived this long and managed to keep her optimism.

Rick nodded with a soft, friendly smile. "Yeah, it's really somethin'. I hope you find yourself right at home."

"Well, that's something I wanted to run by you, Rick," Deanna started. "You see, Mona arrived alone, and I'm trying to find somewhere to put her."

With a sigh, Daryl picked his crossbow up from the kitchen counter and walked into the living room, headed for the stairs. As he walked by, Mona's satchel broke from its strap and clattered to the floor, her belongings scattering everywhere. The gentleman in him reacted, and he knelt down to retrieve what he could.

"This thing has been broken for awhile now. But it's all I've got," Mona stammered as she scrambled to cram her things back into her satchel. "Maybe now that I've found civilization, I can see about fixing it."

Daryl attempted a smile; after all, it was the socially acceptable thing to do. But he got distracted by the small, white piece of worn paper that had skidded across the floor in front of him. He picked it up and stood up slowly.

Daryl looked up at Mona carefully, his breathing shallow and his body suddenly flooding with feelings he had spent two years suppressing. His lip trembled, and Mona's smile faltered. He handed her the note and then walked towards the door without a word.

Rick took a couple of steps after him. "Daryl…"

But he was already halfway down the street.

Mona bit back a gasp as she looked down at the letter and then back up at Rick, who stared at her apologetically. She was still holding the note in her white-knuckled hand, a feeling of shock and gratitude overcoming her. She didn't even notice as Rick peered down at the letter and began reading over her shoulder.

My friend and I have been traveling for a long time and have seen so many terrible things. We came across this funeral home and are very grateful to have found something to eat and a roof over our heads. We have nothing to offer in return, but we wanted to say thank you anyway. Your food and shelter have been a great blessing to us. Thank you. Beth & Daryl

Then Rick looked up, all the air leaving his body, and watched as Daryl disappeared.

Two days later, Rick approached Daryl's house to find Maggie and Carol sitting on the front steps. Carol stood when she saw him, crossing her arms and taking a deep breath.

"How is he?" Rick asked lowly.

Carol shook her head and looked down at the ground. "Not good. He's destroyed the place. Maggie and I have knocked and knocked, trying to get him to let us in, but he won't."

Rick nodded and moved past her, heading for the front door. Maggie then stood and put a hand on his shoulder. "Be careful, Rick. He's drunk. There's no tellin' what he might do."

Rick returned the gesture by giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze and a small smile. "Don't worry, Maggie. I got this." Then he slowly trudged up the steps and entered the house without knocking.

The first thing he noticed was the darkness. Despite the beautiful day, every curtain was closed in the house. And then there was the furniture. Everything was turned over, some things broken. Broken glass was scattered all over the floor, and he noticed blood, most likely from Daryl and the glass. The couch had been flipped and the cushions torn open. The wall décor was crooked, barely hanging on. The chairs had been thrown across the room, and some had not made it without their legs being snapped in half. Behind where he stood, he noticed a fist-sized hole in the wall.

The only thing left intact in the entire first floor of the house, it seemed, was a small table. On it sat an opened bottle of scotch and Beth's knife, the one Daryl had worn on his hip for the past two years. Rick's stomach tightened. He looked up and there, in the back of the room by the bay window, sat Daryl with a near-empty glass in his bandaged hand. He didn't look up at him.

Now Rick had seen a lot of horrible sights in the last several years in this new world they were trapped in. He had seen lives end in the most slow and tortuous ways imaginable and had even been the cause of it from time to time. He had seen men disemboweled, their throats slit like livestock, their bodies burned, bodies butchered. He had seen people he loved and cared for eaten alive by the dead, beheaded by the living, raped and tormented by evil. He had witnessed his own people do things none of them would have ever imagined in the life before this one.

But standing there, staring intently at his friend- his brother- he knew that few things in this world would be harder to see than this. This pain… this mourning. Rick had felt his share of loss, but Daryl…

He wasn't sure what to do. So he began by picking up the furniture and setting it upright. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Man, you really wrecked this place," he said.

Daryl didn't answer him. He just brought the glass of scotch to his lips and let the golden liquid run down his throat.

"Carol and Maggie are worried about you. You haven't left this house in two days." No response. "And I know you're hurting right now. I think it's because you never let yourself really feel it."

Rick watched as Daryl put down the glass. He was suddenly hopeful that he would speak. Instead he picked up a new bottle of scotch, opened it, and drank straight from it. Rick sighed and looked down for a moment. "You know, I've been where you are. I know how this feels, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. And I hate that you're going through it."

Daryl took another long drink. Then he leaned his head back against the window sill and closed his eyes.

"We need you, man," Rick told him, leaning closer to him. "There's a life out there waiting for you to live it. It's what she would've wanted you to do, Daryl-"

"Rick, what are you doin' here?" Daryl suddenly bit out angrily.

Rick froze, staring wide-eyed at him, shocked that he finally spoke. "You need to come out."

Daryl scoffed. "Why should I come out, Rick? I'm doing just fine right here. I got all the scotch and misery I want. What more could I ask for?"

Rick winced and didn't answer. He knew it was just the pain and alcohol talking.

"Am I missing somethin'? Did I forget anythin'? It all worked out, just like you said it would. We made it here, to the promised land, and all the danger is outside these walls. So what the hell you doin' here, checkin' up on me?"

"I wanted to see you," Rick said calmly.

Daryl jumped to his feet and Rick followed suit. "Well, you see me! Now go! Go home!"

"I can't do that."

"Whaddya mean you can't do that?" Daryl bellowed, picking up his glass and chucking it at the wall and shattering it. "Go!"

Rick lowered his voice. "So you can stand in the dark and drink?"

"I'm a grown-ass man, Rick. I've paid my dues and dealt with my fair share of shit! So I'm gonna stand here in the dark, and I'm gonna drink alone! I don't need you to hold my hand, and I don't need you to pick up after me! I just need you to go!"

"I'm not leavin' you!" Rick finally yelled back.

"Yes, you are leavin'!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are!" Daryl growled, picking up a vase off the floor and indiscriminately throwing it to his right, sending it through the window.

Outside, Carol and Maggie jerked their heads toward the broken window and shot up off the porch steps. They scurried over to where all the glass shards lay strewn across the grass and leaned back against the house, listening to Daryl and Rick and wondering if they should intervene.

"I'm not leavin'!"

"Get outta here!" And then Daryl shoved him.

"I'm not leavin'!" Rick yelled, shoving him back.

"I SAID GET OUT!"

"I'm not leaving!"

Daryl shoved him again, sending him stumbling back into the small table with the scotch and knife sitting on it. And as the knife fell to the floor, the clattering sound it made seem to bring Daryl back, and he backed off, allowing Rick to straighten back up.

The two men stood there staring at each other, chests heaving from breathlessness, and Daryl was the first to look away. He reached down with a trembling hand and grasped Beth's knife. Rick mirrored his movements and grabbed the bottle of scotch. They both picked up a chair and sat down at the table. Daryl took the bottle and another glass that was sitting nearby. He filled it halfway and took a drink.

"How's Mona?" he asked in a gruff voice.

Rick looked up at him and nodded. "She's good. She's gonna be stayin' with us for awhile."

Daryl nodded, but didn't say anything else. He was never any good at small talk. Hell, he was never any good at talking. And Rick knew that. But that didn't stop him from wanting to help him… help him face what had been following him relentlessly for over two years… what had finally caught up to him.

"Daryl," he said quietly, "what happened out there?"

Daryl didn't look up. His lip trembled again as he ran his thumb over the lip of the glass and then took another drink of scotch. Rick continued to stare at him pleadingly. Outside, Carol closed her eyes, already prepared, and Maggie pressed her body closer to the side of the house as if it would bring her closer to the pair of men inside.

"I used to see her face, sometimes, Rick," Daryl said lowly. "Right in front of me, like I could… touch her cheek." He took a breath. "I told myself I'd die seein' that face… but I never thought, man… it never occurred to me that she'd really die like that." He shook his head in defeat. "I did everythin' I could, ya know?" He took another breath. "I did everythin' I could to keep her alive, I-"

Daryl suddenly stopped and grit his teeth, balling his hand into fist by his face as he rested his elbow on the table. Rick eyed him intently, forgetting to breathe.

"I shoulda looked!" he continued angrily. "I shoulda looked out that window 'fore I opened that damn door!" He sighed into his glass before taking another drink. "If I'da just looked, those walkers woulda never got in, and she woulda never ended up in that shithole with those bastards that took her."

"It's not on you," Rick told him resolutely, leaning closer. "It's not. You did your best to save her, Daryl. This is not your fault."

"That she died, anyway," he replied, shrugging. "Yeah, you're right. I mean…" His voice got quieter again and his heart began to ache as the raw, harrowing truth clawed its way out of the depths of Daryl's soul and out into the open. "But it doesn't matter why she died. What matters is she's dead… and I can't be with her again… except when I sleep; then I'm with her all the time."

Rick's eyebrows furrowed in sudden understanding. Outside, Carol's eyes were still closed as Maggie's filled with tears, her body racked with shock and agony, finally understanding why Daryl had taken her sister's death as hard as he did.

"You know, I have nightmares where I… scream myself awake. And I say to myself, 'That is the worst thing'… But Beth… Dreaming of Beth is 'cause when I wake up… she ain't there." Daryl brought his thumbnail to his lip and turned away from Rick as the tears finally fell from his eyes. "She ain't there…" After a few moments, he turned back to his friend. "I know you wanna help me out," he told him, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "But you can't."

And with one last deep breath, Daryl stood with his glass of scotch and walked forlornly back to the bay window. Taking one last drink, he opened the curtain just enough to look out and observe his new reality. A neighborhood with green lawns and eight-hundred-thousand-dollar houses and neighbors that wave to you when you walk by. A reality Beth would never know. That was the cruel irony of it all: the girl who believed there were still good people would never meet them. The girl with enough humility and gratitude in her heart to write thank-you letters to perfect strangers would never know where her letter ended up or that the person who ended up with it was so touched that they'd kept it. Daryl had always known that life wasn't fair. But this was the first time he had ever felt bitter about it.

Rick stared at Daryl for a solid minute, everything he had said sitting on his shoulders like a weight. He had wondered, even if only briefly, what had happened between Daryl and Beth after the prison fell. And even though he now knew practically no more about it than he did before, he was suddenly acutely aware of something far more paramount. A spark had occurred between Daryl and Beth in those woods, and through the course of their isolation, it had become a flame. And then Beth had been killed right in front of him before they had the chance to set the whole world on fire.

Running a hand through his hair, Rick turned around and slowly made his way out the front door. Carol was still leaning against the house under the broken window, and Maggie had taken off down the street. Rick could hear her sobbing. Less than a block away, he spotted Michonne walking toward him, her katana strapped to her back like always. Her pace slowed as she got closer, Rick's and Carol's faces becoming clearer. She looked toward Daryl's front door.

"What happened?" she asked.

Rick looked down for a moment and then back up at her. Carol wiped tears from her cheeks. "After the prison fell…" He sighed and shook his head. "A lot more happened out there than he'll ever let on."