The small cabin was so sparsely appointed, Beth might have guessed it had been abandoned for years. To be completely honest, she was surprised he didn't carry her all the way back to the house, but there were still guests crawling all over the property. She assumed he didn't want two hundred pairs of eyes watching him carry Beth disheveled, barefoot, and smelling like the beer Aiden spilled on her.

Daryl dumped her unceremoniously onto the scrubbed wood floor, rolling his shoulder, "You're heavier'n you look."

Beth rolled her eyes before she caught sight of blood. She reached out and grabbed his hand, "You're hurt." His knuckles were swollen and bleeding. She forced him to sit down and went to a nearby cupboard. Daryl might not have let anyone into his home, but she knew that every single cabin on their farm had a crate full of emergency supplies stashed away in case they couldn't make it back to the main house.

She didn't dare make eye contact with him, but she could practically feel his scowl burning a hole into her head. Daryl didn't move a muscle as she tended to his injuries. At the worst of it, she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the snarl he released. It was like trying to reach out and pet a wild dog. Daryl gave the distinct impression that if she didn't finish up tending to the cuts and bruises, he would snap at her. And as soon as she finished wrapping up his hand, he did.

Before Beth could even get a word out to thank Daryl for his help in the barn, he leapt to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floorboards.

"The hell you thinkin' back there woman? Drinkin' like some dumb college bitch lettin' assholes feel you up?" he snarled, completing Beth's mental image of Daryl as a wounded animal.

Beth mouth dropped open. It took a lot to render Beth Greene speechless, but Daryl's outburst felt like a punch to the gut. It was a good thing she'd sobered up a little because wasted Beth probably would've kneed him in the balls or just burst into tears. He'd yelled at her before, but he'd never said anything like this, and he wasn't finished.

"I bust my ass everyday cuz I care 'bout your pops, and now I realize it's probably you and your sister puttin' him in an early grave! Maggie's dressin' you up in shit ain't big enough to cover one ass cheek. You're up on a stage singin' up in front of everyone like everythin's fun, like everythin's a big game! You've got your pet pony and your presents from Santa Claus, and a hundred guys bangin' down the door to get in your panties!"

"Daryl just shut up! You're bein' a jackass!" Beth interjected. Daryl's words sparked something in her that made her anger explode out of a dark place she rarely went to. He didn't spend even a second to get to know them—her— and there he was talking about things he couldn't possibly understand. "You know ya don't get to treat me like shit just cuz you're afraid!"

"I ain't afraid a'nothin'," Daryl got in her face, and they were both trembling under the tension of each other's accusations.

"Screw you, you don't get it. Ya might not see us, but I see you. God forbid you let anyone get too close just cuz ya ain't been outta Georgia, or done stupid shit like eat frozen yogurt," Beth realized the weight of her words as she was saying them.

And Beth expected the words Daryl would say to try and deflect the scrutiny directed at him, but they were no easier to hear out loud, "Get too close huh? You know all about that. Your dad's dyin', you can't even shed a tear! All ya have time for is bakin' pies and throwin' parties!"

God, why did he have to say that? Like that? She did not want to even think about that let alone talk about it. For just a few moments, that night, she hadn't been consumed with overwhelming fear. For the first time in so long, she was really looking at a man who'd been standing in front of her for months, and in that tiny cabin, they were completely exposed. Two open wounds just staring each other down. So for once, she did something without thinking just to drive out the awful reality she lived with every day.

Beth reached forward and grabbed the front of Daryl's shirt, roughly pulling him to her and pressing her lips to his. At first neither of them moved. There was something about his presence that drove all the darkness away. All she could recognize was the rough feel of Daryl's stubble against her face. The clean smell of soap and the woods that she could recognize anywhere as Daryl. The way her fingers curled into the soft flannel of his shirt, and beneath that the solid warmth of his body.

Before her brain could catch up to her overloaded senses, Daryl gripped her by her upper arms and jerked her away from him. Their faces were only inches apart, his eyes narrowed to slits as he looked down at Beth. His gaze wandered over her features, and she squirmed under the impassive expression on his face. If he bothered to look at her, he was either angry, laughing at her, or exasperated. This look was something altogether different.

"You're fuckin' ridiculous Greene," Daryl lowered his face, taking Beth's lips between his. It was hesitant, as if he was inspecting something foreign and possibly dangerous. Wasn't it dangerous though? They'd just screamed at each other, pointing out just how flawed the other was. Kissing didn't really make sense. And yet his hands moved from her shoulders down to her ribcage, the tips of his fingers nearly touching where they encircled Beth's narrow frame. Daryl pulled her up onto the balls of her feet so her chest was flush with his. She yielded her mouth to his, allowing his tongue entry and mildly surprised at how expertly he could coax a breathy moan from her. Everyone imagined him shyly keeping to himself, but Beth now wondered if he just shied away from the Greene family's company because he preferred to be with someone else.

Possessiveness surged through her body at the thought, and Beth snaked her arms around Daryl's neck so she could tangle her fingers into the thick strands of his hair. Most surprising was how quickly her body responded to him. Contrary to Daryl's accusations, her father had been at the forefront of all her thoughts from the day he'd fallen ill. Beth hadn't realized how badly she missed the intimacy of a man. More than that she realized how badly she wanted Daryl—every part of him. Belligerent, teasing, cranky, shy, jackass Daryl Dixon.


Shoulda known he was drunk. It was the only explanation for how he'd allowed himself to be standing at the foot of his bed staring down at Beth Greene in all her untouchable-boss'-daughter glory. Of course he had touched her. He'd put his filthy Dixon hands on her and tasted the lips he'd managed to avoid staring at for nearly a year. Shoulda known he was drunk, he was a Dixon after all. And now Beth Greene was laid out on his bed, leaning back on her elbows with the same expectant look she gave him every time he resisted one of her ridiculous demands. Only this time she was naked. If he wasn't fired come morning, he'd have to quit to avoid getting hard every time she ordered him to do something. She just had to give him that look when she was naked with her long golden hair draped over her shoulders and her legs; her legs. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

Daryl just stood there with his hand on the buckle of his belt. Half his mind was committed to burying himself between Beth's legs, the other half knew he was the deadest son-of-a-bitch if he took one step closer. Unfortunately where his mind was conflicted his body and Beth were not.

"Face it Dixon, I'm already naked, and you're gon' be kissin' me at midnight. You might as well take your pants off," Beth moved to kneel before him, unbuckling his belt and slipping her hand into his boxers before he could even register a protest.

Beth's hand stroked the length of his member with one hand as she worked to free him from the confines of his jeans with the other. Daryl tugged his shirt up and over his head, discarding it with the last of his resolve. As soon as his jeans and boxers were left in a heap with the rest of their clothes, he pulled Beth's legs out from under her and nudged them apart so he could lie between them. Daryl's mouth nipped and sucked at her earlobe before working his way down her body. Palming one breast, he took one rosy nipple into his mouth, alternating between lapping and suckling at the puckered flesh.

Never had Beth been so happy for loud diversions far across the fields. She couldn't stop the sounds Daryl drew from her like the chords she pulled from the strings of her guitar. Her whole body trembled as he dipped down to her center, stroking her swollen core with two thick fingers before plunging them deep inside her. Daryl groaned around her aching clit, and the vibration nearly sent Beth over the edge. Every move they made was filled with so much urgency, as if the world had ended, and this was their last chance.

"Daryl! Oh God," Beth cried out, clutching his hair as his tongue and fingers worked in tandem, setting off every synapse in her body as if some dead part inside of her was coming back to life.

It had been so long, her walls were so tight around Daryl's fingers, but he added a third, stretching her out in a mixture of slick pleasure and delicious pain. With a twist of his wrist, he was curling his fingers towards himself, as if he was beckoning her orgasm to him.

"I want ya to come for me girl," Daryl growled. His fingers found the rough spongy erogenous zone that Beth imagined was like some dark corner covered in cobwebs, and he circled the pads of his fingers there until she was sobbing out her release.

"Daryl!" Beth gasped, "So. Good." Her arms struck outwards, clutching at the sheets as she rode out wave after wave of gushing pleasure. Every muscle unraveled under his determined touch, and when he crawled up her body to replace his fingers with his rock-solid member, the sensation nearly killed him. For everything he'd done to prepare her body, the slick, tight, heat surrounding him sent a shock through both of their bodies.

Beth's hands flew up to Daryl's shoulders, and she curled up so forcefully, she nearly head-butted him. Daryl chuckled into her collarbone, his voice coming out all gravel, "Easy girl." He placed wet, open-mouthed kisses to her soft and flushed skin, rocking his hips into her as he slowly progressed up her neck to take her lips between his again.

What a revelation to usher in the new year, being held captive by Beth's body as if he was finally finding home. He would never again be able to listen to her voice without coming back to that very moment, breathing in every single whimper and moan. Daryl slowly withdrew before burying himself deep within Beth, marveling at this tiny creature's ability to respond with her whole body. Her hands slid under his arms, trailing down his sides, to grip his hips, urging him to drive deeper and deeper with every thrust.

"Oh, Daryl, pleaaase," Beth begged, digging her fingernails into his skin. He hoped she left marks he could look at the next morning to remember what was happening was real. She was barely coherent, murmuring more and harder and she had no idea the power she held over him. He couldn't deny her anything, not matter how hard he put up a fight.

So he drove into her with all of his strength, stroke after stroke stripping away the rest of his control. Daryl created some space to reach the sensitive bundle of nerves between them. The slight pressure of his thumb on Beth's clit sent her careening over the edge, her pussy contracting around his cock until Daryl's world narrowed down to the intense sensation of being inside her.

"Fuck, Beth!" Daryl slammed into her once, twice, and then the world fell apart in one blinding flash. He shuddered as his release pricked starbursts behind his eyelids. He rolled off of Beth, and flopped onto his back, and when his vision finally cleared, all he could see was Beth's chest heaving next to him. One hand was splayed across her sternum, and the other gripped at the wild knot of golden waves rippling out in every direction.

When she turned her gaze to him, they both froze. Daryl found his voice first, and though the words were the same just moments before, the meaning had never been so different, "Fuck. Beth."


When the surge of adrenaline falls way, shock can settle in in multiple forms. For Daryl, it was like the first recognition after coming out of the fog of amnesia... and discovering he'd screwed his boss' daughter. For Beth, it bubbled up and out of her in hysterical laughter. Seeing his face stricken with complete horror only made Beth laugh even harder. She hadn't come like that in… ever. She had never experienced an orgasm like the one Daryl Dixon had given her. Twice. The perfect wall he'd constructed to keep her out now lay in rubble at their feet. They'd blown it to smithereens.

When Daryl's features fell into their trademark scowl, Beth knew he'd survive. His voice was raw and strained, "Greene. Fuckin' ridiculous."

"Dixon. Fuckin' jackass," there was no heat in her voice though. Beth slipped from the bed and picked up one of his long-sleeve flannel shirts off a chair in the corner. She went out to the sparse kitchen and found a cup to get a drink of water. When she returned, he was just pulling on a pair of boxers. At the sight of her in the doorway, he sank onto the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands.

"Yeah," Beth handed him the cup of water, "Carol's moonshine will do that to ya."

He accepted the glass with a grunt and tipped it up to his mouth rather than respond. Beth was only half-joking about the moonshine. She wasn't sure what would be more painful, the customary peach-tinged hangover, or choosing between fight or flight there in Daryl's cabin. If she walked out without saying anything, Daryl would most certainly be gone by sunrise. If she talked it to death like she was itching to do, he might hop on his bike right that minute. Even if he didn't act drunk, he had to be. He'd probably ride his motorcycle straight into a tree.

So Beth sat down next to Daryl, fiddling with the cuffs of the softest flannel she'd ever felt against her skin. She stretched her legs out in front of her because her knees still felt like jello, and if she was going to have to trek across the field back to the house and the party, she might not make it. It felt like agony to keep her mouth shut and wait for Daryl to register some sort of response. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his Adam's apple bob as he slowly downed the entire glass of water. She dropped her gaze lower to try and drink in every inch of his exposed skin before the other shoe dropped. Or in this case, the cup.

Daryl let his hair fall like a curtain across his face as he placed the cup on the floor with so much purpose the plastic rim would probably leave a circular impression in the worn wooden planked floor. He'd never seen Beth hold back before, and yet there she sat with her legs delicately perched out on her heels, worrying her bottom lip. If her legs didn't have the creamiest skin he wanted to lap up like a kitten, he could figure out exactly what he was supposed to do. If Carol's punch wasn't coursing through his veins like a raging river. If Beth hadn't curled her toes just as his eyes traveled from hip to toe.

He twisted to face her, and cupping her jaw with both hands, he pulled her mouth roughly to his. Neither of them knew how to put what happened into words, but the contact of lips, teeth, and tongues seemed to communicate, We want this. This is happening. There is more here. Beth allowed herself to be pulled over until she was straddling Daryl's lap, hands resting on solid chest muscle, firm beneath the pads of her fingers. Under ordinary conditions, it was so quiet out in that part of the woods, Daryl would have heard the snick-snack of Hershel's trusty shotgun just outside. But Beth Greene's pelvis was pressed into a quickly recovering erection, so it wasn't until the boom of his front door being blasted off its hinges, did either of them register that they were no longer alone.

The sound launched Beth off Daryl's lap, and she bounced ignominiously off the edge of the mattress and onto the floor. Her tailbone was still throbbing as she scrambled up to her feet. She'd never seen Daryl pull his jeans on so quickly. Well, she'd never seen Daryl get dressed before, but she imagined on a given day it wasn't like he was suiting up to escape the apocalypse.

"Daryl?! What the fuck have you done with my baby sister?!" Maggie screeched from the next room.

Beth emerged, face red with fury to match her sibling's. She knew exactly how many shells were in the chamber of the gun, but even if she was about to risk being shot by her completely sloshed and hysterical sister, she would have stormed right up to Maggie Greene to pull her hair and pinch the tiny bit of flesh at her side.

Glenn was hot on Maggie's heels, ducking every time the barrel of the gun swung in his direction, "Mags, c'mon—sorry guys, she got away from me there."

Daryl stepped out into the living room because he was either an idiot or so gallant he didn't want Beth to risk getting shot on his account. Maggie immediately pumped the shotgun, expelling the shell she'd used to obliterate the already rickety front door.

"Maggie!" Glenn cried out, fully envisioning their wedding plans going down the tubes on account of the bride being in jail for murder.

When she pulled the trigger to a disappointing empty click, Beth rolled her eyes and grabbed the gun before Maggie started waving it around like a caveman would a wooden club. "Maggie, damnit, this is why Daddy only keeps one shot loaded and the rest of the ammo hidden!"

Hands empty, she flung herself at Daryl, presumably to scratch his eyes out, but luckily Glenn stepped in to haul her back. To Daryl's credit, he hadn't even batted an eyelash at Maggie's slurring and bumbling attack. The wall between Beth and him might have come down, but the one between Maggie and him was a foot thick of reinforced concrete with shards of glass embedded at the top. He stood there, bare-chested, with his arms hanging at his sides, impassive expression denying Maggie the satisfaction of eliciting a response from him.

"Maggie, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" Beth held the shotgun away from Maggie as she struggled to get out of Glenn's grasp. She didn't really need an answer to that, she could smell Carol's punch all over her. How the E.P.A. hadn't classified it as an environmental hazard years ago, she'd never know.

"Bethy, Daryl lured you out here! Probably to skin you and wear your face as a mask!" Maggie yelled as if anything she was saying made sense. Glenn scrubbed a hand over his face because for better or worse, he was in love with this belligerent woman.

"Do I look like I'm skinless?!" Beth motioned to the oversized flannel shirt hanging off her.

Maggie gasped, "He took advantage of you! Glenn, quick, go get Daddy and Rick! I will burn this farm to the ground if that's what it takes to get Daryl off this land! Beth is a princess, she deserves a pretty white stallion like Spencer… or a brown…"

Beth calculated the hundred ways she was going to make Maggie pay the next day when she was dehydrated and dry-heaving in the powder room of the big house. She could already see sweat beading at Maggie's forehead with the exertion of being such a complete lunatic. At no point was Maggie steady on her feet. Who knew if she even meant to shoot the front door in? The door was probably about seventy-five years old, she could have kicked it in if she hadn't checked and realized it was unlocked.

Beth stepped back and crossed her arms over the shotgun, keeping it close to her chest. She hadn't lived with her sister for twenty-five years and learned nothing. If she had a watch on her, she could count down the minutes before Maggie was retching into the bushes. "Glenn, you better get'er outta here. She's goin' down in 'bout five minutes and Daryl and I ain't starting the year cleanin' up puke."

Glenn nodded distractedly, trying to contain Maggie's flailing arms as he dragged her out the door. Beth half expected a film crew to step out of the shadows and an emcee to announce, "The Greene Family everybody!" Raucous applause on a laugh reel would follow, and then all that would be left behind was a Daryl-shaped puff of smoke.

She slowly turned around, unsure of what she'd find. She was surprised instead by the sight of Daryl trembling with the effort to keep from laughing. His swollen and scabbed knuckles rose to his chin, fingers scraping his bristly whiskers like he'd just realized who she was. Like he was surrounded by a bunch of outside cats who just happened to live inside.

Tucked away with the emergency provisions like food, blankets, and a first aid kit was a bottle of bourbon. It was a practical component of the supplies, good as a last ditch antiseptic for cleaning wounds, making a Molotov cocktail, or in this case, to take the edge off of a brush with death staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Daryl reach for the bottle, unscrewed the caps and took a swig. He probably hadn't drank so much since before his brother was on lock.

"I've… never had my brother wave a gun at me before. He punched me once, but that was more like friendly fire," Daryl extended the bottle to Beth, inviting her to participate in the game with the gesture.

Beth took a swig, letting the warmth of the amber liquid light a little fire in her belly, "I've… never been accused of wanting to skin someone and wear her mask as a face."

"I've… never held a gun pantsless," Daryl took a step closer, fingers wanting to skim the top of her thighs where his flannel shirt rested over her bare legs.

"I've… never ditched a Greene family New Year's Day hangover lunch," Beth put the question out there with the bottle of bourbon.

A flash of uncertainty crossed Daryl's features, but he accepted the bottle and let it dangle limply from his hand. "C'mon, best get ya back to your pops."


An incessant knocking at Daryl Dixon's bedroom door forced him to peel one eyelid open, not quite able to voice his protest at being woken. After a brief pause, the knocking began again, this time much louder. Daryl shrank down, burying his head under the covers in an effort to buffer his ears from the sound and hopefully send the message that visitors were not welcome. Except he didn't have a front door, so technically anyone, wildlife included could stroll in and make herself comfortable.

Just his luck, as Daryl began to drift back off to sleep, he felt something cold press against his leg. A slight weight landed on his chest, and he peered directly into the twinkling blue eyes of Beth Greene.

"The hell Beth?" Daryl stiffened in more ways than one.

If it was even possible, Beth's grin only grew. She was positively glowing with excitement, "You called me Beth."

"That what you're wakin' me up for?" Daryl flopped back onto his pillow. If she was in his bed, he preferred her naked instead of in —what—cowboy boots, jeans, and a slouchy oversized sweatshirt printed with soft pink unicorns? Who the hell was this woman?

"Nope, put your pants on," Beth threw back the covers. The wide neckline of the sweatshirt slipped off one shoulder, revealing a tiny sliver of black lace. Before Daryl could tug her back down to him, she hopped out of the bed, "Maggie's 'bout to pay for what she did last night."

Daryl was cold, tired, and slightly hungover. But there he was crouching below a window next to Beth Greene with an air horn in his hand. She had another air horn in one hand, and a metal spoon in the other. At her feet was a metal pot which she positioned right between her legs. On the count of three, they raised such a holy racket, Daryl would have been surprised if anyone on the farm was left asleep. A flock of birds evacuated a nearby tree. Their squawking punctuated by swearing and a clatter just inside the window.

"Run!" Beth squealed over the shrieks coming from inside Maggie and Glenn's cabin.

She headed straight for safety, directly to the kitchen where Hershel no doubt sat sipping on a cup of coffee in the early morning light of the New Year. Twenty-five years old and she knew she could still find safety, albeit temporary, from her father.

"Where're the guns?!" Daryl yelled beside her, gripping her elbow to push her faster through the trees until they broke out into the field leading up to the farmhouse.

"I hid them all!" Beth threw a look over her shoulder to see if Maggie was chasing after them, "... I think!"

"What?!" Daryl looked behind him then over at Beth Greene. She had the same wild look in her eye that he'd seen hundreds of times, the same one Maggie Greene had the night before. What was the point of running from Maggie and Glenn when the woman running next to him was just as insane?

As they got closer to the farmhouse, it also dawned on him that he was running directly towards a man he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to look in the eye again. They made it to the front porch, and Beth doubled over, clutching at a stitch in her side. The color had risen in her cheeks, hair flying out of a messy ponytail. He wished he'd never laid eyes on Beth Greene because once he had it was over. Daryl Dixon would never be able to look anywhere else.

Beth let her head droop down to her chest, sucking in as much fresh air as her lungs would take. When she finally stood, Daryl had his hands shoved in his pockets, just staring at her. Beth's heart sank. The old uncomfortable, shifty Daryl stood there looking at her like she was a bomb ready to detonate. Her eyes flitted to the front door then back to him.

"If you don't wanna come in, I can just tell Daddy you said Happy New Year," Beth offered. Daryl had defended her honor, bedded her, and was an accessory to revenge. He'd come a long way in just one night, she didn't want to push it. There was a very distinct possibility he was sick of being caught up in the Greene family's bullshit.

Daryl gnawed the inside of his cheek, contemplating the out Beth extended to him. He hadn't crossed the threshold. There was still a point of return. He could retreat to his cabin, build a new door and lock himself away until he could keep himself from touching porcelain skin framed by ridiculous unicorn printed fabric.

And then the unreliable material dipped off Beth's shoulder as if he'd willed gravity to give him a hand. In one swift motion, Daryl had one arm curved around her waist and his other hand fisted in her hair. He must've had a death wish, pulling Beth to him and kissing her on Hershel Greene's front porch, just two feet from the door.


Hershel Greene bowed his head to bless their traditional New Year's Day feast. Collard greens, black eyed peas with rice, fried green tomatoes, and a peach cobbler he could smell bubbling away in the oven from his seat at the head of the table. He was blessed beyond anything he could imagine. His two daughters, his soon-to-be son-in-law, his two closest friends, and a miracle. Daryl Dixon sat at his right hand, finally letting them in, even if it was just for a meal and some football on TV.

"How're you feelin' Mags?" Hershel asked his eldest daughter. Her skin was tinged green. She managed to pick her way through the meal, but when the peach cobbler dish was handed to her, she kept passing it on to Otis.

"Oh, she's alright," Glenn spoke up for her, giving his fiancée's knee an affectionate squeeze, "Though probably not feeling as good as Beth and Daryl."

Beth's eyes grew big as saucers and Daryl froze. She laughed nervously, "Well of course we're feeling better, we didn't drink a gallon of Carol's punch."

"Yeah," Glenn's brow furrowed and he stared up at the ceiling as if he was trying to recall a memory, "I guess at midnight, you two were too busy making out."

Busted.

Leave it to Glenn, the perfect gentleman, to take up the mantel of elder sibling torture when his fiancée was down for the count.

Six pairs of eyes slowly slid over to the head of the table. Beth's face felt like it was on fire, and it took every ounce of her control not to reach over and clutch Daryl's hand. She couldn't even bear to look at him.

Hershel had his spoon poised over his piping hot dessert, eyes flashing between Beth and Daryl as if he was trying to compute the equation Glenn had spelled out for them all. A sticky, hot glob of peach dropped back down onto his plate, the only indication that time was still passing.

And then Hershel Greene shattered the silence with his thunderous laughter, quaking so hard he had to set his fork down. Daryl was too afraid to move, speak, or do anything to make Hershel snap back to a reality where some dirty redneck had put his hands on his daughter. Then the old farmer wheezed, and clapped the petrified hunter on the shoulder, "Oh, son, I'm glad it was you, otherwise Maggie might have sold Beth off as a mail order bride to one a' them crazy fellas she invited to the farm last night."

Daryl's mouth gaped, trying to form words, and instead looking like a fish out of water.

Hershel picked up his plate, "I do believe the game's about to start. I think I'll enjoy the rest of my cobbler in front of the TV."

No one at the table moved, or could muster up the strength to pick their jaws up off the floor. From the living room, they could hear the sound of the pre-game commentators fill the room. Otis mumbled his excuses and hurried after Hershel, and Patricia bustled off to the kitchen "to get the pans soakin'."

"Glenn, come watch the game with me," Hershel called, "I find it best not to get in the middle of a tiff between two sisters."

The Greene girls stared across the table at one another, two gunslingers at dawn. Despite the staggering headache and wave after wave of nausea, Maggie did not fail to notice how Daryl's hand shot out to cover Beth's arm as if he was prepared to protect her. She rose to her feet, clutched her head and shuffled into the living room to sprawl out on one of the couches. Only then did Beth turn to have a proper look at Daryl. She'd spent the better part of the year cataloging the various shades of irritation that crossed his features, but she was not familiar with this facial expression. He scowled at her, yes, rolled his eyes, every inch of his face conveying the sad lot of a put-upon farm laborer. Even the night before, his expression ranged from incredulous to stupefied disbelief. Not this time. No, the way he was looking at her was something altogether new, like they'd stepped across some invisible divide. The magic of the New Year had carried them to the start of a future.

"So…" Beth eyes trailed down to where Daryl's big warm hand gripped her wrist.

"So." Daryl returned, succinct as ever.

"What're you gonna do, now that you've made yourself Maggie's mortal enemy?" Beth's face was the picture of naive innocence. The question was just the spark.

"What—me? You're the one who pulled me outta bed to get back at her?!" Daryl struggled and failed to keep his voice down.

Beth was already scooping into the peach cobbler, dishing out a plate for each of them, "Yeah, but Maggie n' I are sisters. We're gon' pick at each other till one of us dies, and we'll keep the other alive just for the satisfaction of gettin' to keep the war going. You and Glenn, you volunteered for the draft, which really means you've put yourself in the crosshairs like some tiny helpless bunny you snag out in the woods."

Daryl blinked, once. Twice. "Ridiculous."