Surprise! I know I said updates would be weekly, but y'all made me feel so good with all the review and follows that I was too darn excited to wait! I thought about trying to reply to everyone, but I figured you'd appreciate an update more! Seriously, thanks for the love. It makes me want to get updates out to you faster!

Here's some incite into Daryl's head. I hope it lives up to expectations.

A Risk Worth Taking - Scene 2

As Daryl made his way quietly back to the prison, he was grateful for the solitude of the woods. Sometimes people came with him, which he didn't mind, but he found that today was a good day to be alone. He had woken up practically with the sun, and wandered out into the woods for a quick hunt before he had to meet Beth for their lesson.

If he was honest, she had shocked the hell out of him the other night. Not many people ventured up to the guard tower when he was there, and even fewer stayed to chat. Much as he resented the intrusion at first, he found that he didn't hate sitting up there talking to her. She had come a long way from being the scared little girl on her Daddy's farm, and he respected her desire to become more self-sufficient. He wasn't totally positive, however, that he would be the right person to teach her.

Daryl was a lot of things, but patient wasn't one of them. Most of what he'd learned about fighting was learned out of necessity, and he wasn't sure that he'd be able to break it down in an educational sort of way. If Beth wanted steps and techniques, he didn't have them. He was going to have to try to teach her to fight on instinct, and while he knew that Beth had some practical instincts, he didn't think they included violence.

He had agreed though, and so he'd at least give it a shot before trying to convince her to ask someone else. Also, the thought of disappointing her was weighing on him more than it should. He kept remembering the way her whole face had lit up when he'd said that he'd teach her, and the thought of making that disappear was not one he liked.

Daryl had caught himself watching her over the past few days and trying to pinpoint what it was about her that made him say yes in the first place. A few of the others from Woodbury had approached him about crossbow or hunting help and he'd turned them all down. For some reason, saying no to Beth hadn't been an option. Maybe it was because, grudging as it was, he had a pretty high level of respect for her. Beth had come through a lot since he first met her, and even though she wasn't a fighter, she made a point of taking care of the younger kids and keeping everyone well-fed and patched up. Those things were important too, and he'd be a fool if he didn't recognize it.

As he approached the fence, he raised a hand in salute to Michonne who was on guard duty, and she opened the gate for him. He slung his crossbow around his back and began detaching the squirrels he'd managed to bag from his belt.

"No deer this time, Dixon?" Michonne called.

"You win some, you lose some," he shrugged back.

Michonne nodded and continued prowling the perimeter of fencing. The fact that she wasn't one for conversation was one of the the things Daryl appreciated most about the woman.

He wandered down to the outdoor kitchen that Carol had rigged up in the yard to deposit the squirrels and was surprised to find Beth there, hauling a pot of water up onto the grill.

"You know that ain't never gonna boil with the coals that low, right?" he said in the way of greeting.

"I know that," she huffed back, "but if I can get it hot enough, we're gonna eat great tonight."

"How's that?" he queried, grabbing a few pieces of wood off the pile and shoving them below the grate.

"Maggie and Glenn found a bunch of boxes of pasta and canned tomatoes on their run yesterday," she said excitedly, "That combined with the onions Daddy and Rick have been growing - I think I can make something resemblin' spaghetti!"

Daryl raised his eyebrows and felt his stomach growl at the thought. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had spaghetti.

"Well, seein' as how that fire's gonna take at least a couple hours to get that giant-ass pot to boil, how's about we go and get started on those fightin' lessons while you wait."

He wanted to get this over with before he had time to second guess himself too much.

"Alright," she said grinning at him, "Is what I'm wearing ok?"

Daryl shrugged, even though it wasn't a stupid question. You had to be comfortable to fight well, and you were totally screwed if whoever you were fighting found something to grab onto.

He circled her, looking from top to toe and trying not to notice the way her jeans hugged hips that were slim, but did not belong to a child. He mentally cursed himself for being a dirty old man. While there was no denying that she was pretty, this girl was entirely too young and sweet for him to even be thinking anything along those lines.

He moved in front of her again, putting some needed distance between them, and motioned to the tangle of bracelets on her arms.

"Those need to go," he said gruffly, "Might get caught up on somethin'."

He watched as Beth hastily removed the bracelets and attempted to shove them down into the totally useless pockets that were in women's pants.

"Also might wanna put your hair up," he motioned to the tumble of blonde that hung halfway down her back.

"Right," Beth said matter-of-factly, securing it into a ponytail with one of the bracelets, "Don't want it in my face."

"Y'also don't ever wanna give anybody the chance to grab it."

"So where do we go?" she asked, eyes bright and excited.

"I's thinking about the side yard," he answered, indicating the direction with his hand, "figured it'd be best if we don't get ourselves an audience."

"Good thinkin'" Beth agreed, "I'm nervous enough without everyone bein' amused by how terrible I'm gonna be."

Daryl chuckled.

"Once I'm done showin' you, ain't nobody gonna be laughin'." he said, surprising himself. He wondered where this show of confidence was coming from; especially considering the fact that he was doubtful just twenty minutes ago. Maybe if Beth believed he could do this, then he could.

He set his crossbow down once they reached their destination and squared off, facing her.

"So what all do you know 'bout fighin'?"

Beth shifted her weight and tucked her thumbs into her pockets.

"Nothin' really," she admitted, "I mean, Rick taught me to shoot, same as he taught everybody else, but that's all."

"Have you ever actually hit anyone?"

Her face turned the darkest shade of red Daryl had seen yet, and he tried to contain his surprise.

"I slapped a boy's face in high school once," she confessed sheepishly.

"Why?" Daryl asked, protective hackles rising involuntarily.

She straightened her small shoulders and met his gaze square on.

"He thought that buyin' me dinner gave him the right to put his hands where they weren't wanted."

Daryl fought to keep his anger in check. He couldn't fathom why that tiny confession had him longing to do some very real damage to kid who was likely already dead. He had to get it together. He couldn't allow little Beth Green to get under his skin this much.

"Sounds like the bastard deserved it," he grumbled.

To his relief, she smiled a little and looked as if she was beginning to relax. Now he just wished he could.

"Ok," he said, trying hard to think, "So, let's say you want to hurt me, but you don't have a weapon. Where do you hit?"

Beth worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

"Umm, your face?" she guessed with a shrug.

"Wrong," he said, "My face has a lot of hard bone to it that can mess up your hand real bad. Try again. Think about places that are soft, where you can do a lot of damage."

She glanced over his body and started to say something, but then changed her mind and looked at her shoes.

"What?" he asked, trying to maintain his patience, "Ain't nothin' you gotta say gonna shock me, girl. I promise you that."

She met his eyes shyly and ran the toe of her boot through the packed dirt at her feet.

"I's just thinkin' that I can't imagine you havin' anywhere on your body that isn't hard."

Whatever he thought she was afraid to say, it certainly wasn't that. Daryl knew her words were innocent - that she was referring to his strength and not anything that his filthy mind was creating, but damned if those words coming out of her mouth all shy like that didn't cause a reaction low in his gut. He fumbled for how to recover without clueing her into his thoughts.

"I-i guess I am a skinny cuss," he started, in a voice that he hoped was unaffected, "but if I can't breath, I can't fight either."

He raised his eyebrows, hoping that she would draw the right conclusion from there, and he wasn't disappointed.

"Your neck?" she guessed again.

"Exactly," he approved, "Goin' for someone's throat ain't real sportin' in a proper fight, but if its a walker or someone who means you real harm, you don't worry about that shit."

Beth nodded, looking like she was mentally taking notes.

"Now, I ain't gonna lie to you," he continued, "You're not going to be able to hold your own for too long against somebody bigger'n you, but if you move fast and know where to hit, you have a chance of gettin' away so you can run."

"That makes sense," Beth said, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet.

"You wanna try a punch?" he asked, noting how eager she looked.

"Sure," she said nervously, "Just in the air?"

Daryl moved a little closer to her and held his palms up to her at shoulder height. He didn't have anything to protect his hands, but if his instinct was right, Beth wasn't going to be able to do any real damage to him. Not yet, anyway.

"You sure?"

"Mm-hmm. Give it a try."

Using her right arm, Beth punched lightly into his open palm. Her form was terrible, but she had a look of concentration on her face that said she was open to suggestion.

"Well, that was…" Daryl trailed off, trying hard to be nice.

"Awful?" she supplied, "I know. That was probably the sissiest punch on the planet."

"Maybe," he agreed, the corners of his mouth turning up, "but it's because you only used your arm."

She looked at him inquisitively.

"A good hit needs to come from your whole body," he explained, "If you take a little step first, and use that motion to swing your hips into, it puts all your power behind your punch. You know, instead of just what's in your arm."

Beth's face lit in recognition.

"Like a volleyball serve!" she exclaimed.

"What?"

She made a motion like she was tossing something above her head and then smacking it with her other hand.

"My volleyball coach said the same thing," she said quickly, "For a hard serve, you have to step into it."

"Sure," Daryl said. If that analogy worked for her, it worked for him. "Can't say I've played much volleyball, but it sounds similar. Try again."

Beth punched his hand a few more times. Her hits were getting a little stronger, but she was still throwing her arm too late. It needed to coincide with the hip movement, and she couldn't get the timing right.

"Almost," he allowed, taking a step back, "Try like this."

He punched the air a few times, keeping his wrist rod-straight, and causing her to take a step back. She tried again when he was done, her brow furrowed in concentration. After ten or so times, she put her hands on her hips and sighed.

"I just can't do it fast like you can," she mumbled.

Daryl hesitated. He knew what would help, but he was almost positive that it was a bad idea. Sighing slightly in resignation, he decided that he was probably going to hell as it was anyway.

"C'mere," he said, reaching for her hand, "Lemme show you."

She paused, not sure what he was asking, and he felt his anxiety level move up a notch.

"C'mon, girl," he almost barked, "I'm not gonna bite you."

He seized her wrist and dragged her body in front of his, positioning her back to his front. He felt her sharp intake of breath and tried to hide his own.

"Now," he said lower, right next to her ear, "Do it like this."

In, what felt like, slow motion, he balled her right hand up into a fist and wrapped his larger one around it. He went through the motions slowly, guiding her body with his, until she had the arm swing down.

"Now add the hips," he instructed.

Gritting his teeth and willing his thoughts to stay sane, he lightly grabbed her hip, trying desperately not to notice how his hand practically wrapped around one side of her. He forced her to swivel in the correct direction in the same moment that he guided her hand through the punching motion. He looked down to check her feet and noticed that her pulse was jumping at the side of her neck. Either she was scared or… No. That wasn't possible or a good idea. He should be shot.

He stepped away so fast, that she swayed a little as she was thrown off balance.

"Right," he said gruffly, "Now you practice that a hundred times til it feels natural."

She looked a little dazed, but nodded nonetheless. He stood there looking at her with no idea how to proceed. He figured they should just call it for the day, before he made an even bigger ass of himself. If she wanted to do this again, he'd focus on knife skills, or something else that didn't require him touching her. He clearly couldn't be trusted.

"S-so, I just practice that for now?" she asked, "What next?"

"Well, I got some stuff to do right now, but we can work again, if you want, some other time?" he mumbled, feeling like a damn schoolboy. A part of him was hoping she'd say she'd had enough, but the other part was praying she wouldn't.

"Yeah," she replied, brightening again, " I promised Carol I'd cover her shift with the kids for the next couple of days, but then, maybe?"

"Sure."

"Ok."

Daryl lifted his crossbow again and made to bolt for the cover of the woods where things made sense when she called his name again. When he turned to look at her she wore that same smile from the guard tower.

"Thanks!" she said.

He allowed the corner of his mouth to turn up in response before heading off. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that she was practicing the punch and doing every move damn near perfect.

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