A/N: Oh my goodness. It's been a month since I've updated this, and I apologize for that. I hope this chapter doesn't seem too strange after the last one, but I felt like some angst was necessary. Again, none of the recognizable stuff is mine.

Desperate Measures

Chapter IV: The Only Rattling Cage is Mine

A week passed, and they still hadn't talked about it. The thought of the discussion made the back of his neck itch, but he knew that they needed to have it.

After a third round in the shower and a fourth on his bedroom floor—he still had rug burns on his ass from being pressed into his discarded comforter while Beth straddled his hips—she had scrambled to dress and get home before they had to meet with Rick for a briefing about Daryl's upcoming interview with a popular magazine. They hadn't been alone together since.

His current position didn't help matters any. Makeup artists and lighting technicians swarmed around him as the photographer readied himself for the shoot at hand. Daryl could barely see Beth as she paced in the background, typing out an email on her phone.

It didn't help that the photographer insisted on blaring irritatingly peppy pop music while Daryl was trying to get his thoughts straight. The actor just wanted to lock himself in a room with Beth and be alone with her. He hadn't realized how much he missed the quiet moments with her until he hadn't had them anymore.

"You could try to look a little bit less like you're in pain. It might make this process a little easier," Michonne muttered, helping him into a faux-battered leather jacket.

Daryl sighed, shrugging his shoulders beneath the stiff material. "Just awkward is all."

Michonne frowned at him, smoothing her palms over his arms and straightened his lapels. The jacket was only one aspect of the rugged ensemble that she had put together for the photoshoot. In an effort to make him more comfortable, his stylist had incorporated elements of his own wardrobe into the clothes for the shoot. The worn boots and t-shirt were the only parts of his outfit that he really wanted to be wearing, but he suffered through the rest because he knew it meant a lot to Michonne.

"No. There's awkward, and then there's the glowering misery that you're sporting." Daryl rolled his eyes at her comment, shuffled about in his spot like he wished he were anywhere but there.

"I'm just saying that you might make everyone's life a little simpler if you would just cooperate. I know that this isn't your favourite thing in the world, but please. Behave, if only for the blonde that you've been making wounded-puppy eyes at for the past hour," Michonne murmured under her breath, winking at him as she stepped away for the photographer to take his place in front of Daryl.

Ears warming, Daryl avoided her gaze as she gave him a once over. "Don't know what the hell you're talkin' about."

The fierce woman nodded amicably from her stance at the sidelines, a rejected leather jacket draped over her arm. "Of course you don't."

The following two hours consisted of being prodded and directed by an increasing irritable photographer who insisted that his right side really was his better side, and that he was too short to do full-body shots. A headache was building behind his eyelids with every burst of flash, and he hadn't gotten a second to speak to Beth privately all day. Quite frankly, Daryl Dixon had had enough.

When the photographer suggested a shirtless photo for the article—they had captured the cover shot an hour ago—Daryl recoiled from the idea as if it were a snake coiled to strike. They had never created a written contract about what Daryl was comfortable with doing, and Daryl had only seen an overview of the feel of the shoot and what the photographer wanted to get from the photos. Beth had assured him that the photographer would not overstep his boundaries, and Daryl had not anticipated such a request.

He should have figured that they would want something of the sort from him—popular culture magazines always did—but he had hoped that they had gotten enough shots that they wouldn't have to ask for more than Daryl was willing to provide. His back was his own business. Daryl didn't trust the photographer enough to reveal the scars there to him, and he certainly didn't want a crowded studio full of people to see the extent of the damage done to his skin.

Realizing that the photographer was expecting an answer from him, Daryl shook his head mutely. He didn't speak for fear that once he did, his whole life story would come spewing out, and Daryl could not afford to suddenly start flapping his jaw. Of the twenty people in the crowded room, only three people knew the truth of how his scars had manifested on his torso: Rick, Michonne, and Beth. Daryl wanted to keep it that way.

As if thinking her name had manifested her in some weird Voldemort-style episode, Beth was suddenly strong-arming her way to his side amongst the set developers and lighting experts.

She was such a tiny thing, inches shorter than him in her flat boots, but her presence was impressive. Her shining blonde ponytail gleamed in the harsh stage lights, the top of her head fitting just beneath his chin as she stepped in front of him. It shouldn't have touched him as much as it did, that this woman was putting herself in the line of fire on his behalf. Always protective, Beth Greene was.

"You're making my client uncomfortable. If that sort of photograph was desired for the shoot, it should have been discussed and preapproved by either myself or his manager first, then followed by the consent of my client. As no such consent was given, I can't allow my client to go through with what you asked. If you continue to pester Daryl about it, I will revoke the rights for your magazine to use any of the photos taken today and you will have no cover story. Have I made myself clear?" Her crisp, clear voice was steely stern and, if Daryl hadn't known differently, he would have thought that Beth was more intimidating than anyone he had ever known.

The photographer nodded, raised his hands in surrender. His eyes were wide, as if he were surprised that someone so tiny could be so bold. Daryl wanted to smirk that a grown man had been bested by a woman a head shorter than him and wafer-thin, but he knew that to do so would be to undermine Beth's natural strength and stubbornness. Her physical size had nothing to do with that inner power—to bring her size into the equation would belittle her.

Beth turned to him then, a soft look in her eyes that made him think that he would hear more about this incident later. Her lips were pursed in concern, the soft pink colour of them making them appear plush and full. Instead of inspiring within him the urge to reveal his discomfort about the photographer's goals, her mouth only made him want to kiss her that much more.

Yes, they haven't talked about it. That didn't make Daryl Dixon want Beth Greene any less.

She gave him a small smile—not a full Beth Greene smile, but a little one—and tugged gently on the open zipper of his jacket. "Hang in there. You're almost finished, and the photos look great. Try smiling in one of them. You have a nice smile."

She lifted her pointer fingers to the corners of his mouth and lifted them in a faux-smile. "Like this."

"I know how to smile," Daryl grumbled, grabbing her hands in his own and pulling them down to her sides. It was more out of reflex than any desire to be out of her grasp. In truth, he liked it when she touched him gently, jokingly. He wasn't sure when he became so comfortable with her touch, but he couldn't imagine turning away from it now.

"Really? Wouldn't know it to look at you, grumpy pants. Now if you'll excuse me, I have the finishin' touches on your appearance at Monday's premiere to see to," Beth teased before turning on her heel to go back into the hoard of people.

"Beth, wait!" Daryl called, snagging her wrist between his fingers before she disappeared.

She turned her face to him, her ponytail swinging with the motion. Beth looked up at him expectantly, her eyes big and blue and curious. Lord, he was in trouble.

"Can we talk later? You know, just the two of us?" The question was hesitant, as if he were encroaching too much into her life, into her schedule, by asking a few minutes of her time.

Beth considered him for a moment, her eyebrows bent in thought. Her gaze peered into his in that eerie way of hers, as though she could see his thoughts without having to voice them.

Seemingly grasping what he wanted to discuss, Beth nodded warily. "I'll be waiting outside when you're finished. Maybe we can get a coffee and go for a walk or something."

Daryl nodded, trying to stem his eagerness to be in her solitary presence and his relief at finally airing out the issue between them. "That sounds good."

The blonde nodded again in confirmation before pushing her way through the crowd once again, her lithe form quickly getting lost among the moving bodies.

"Oh, and Daryl?" Daryl heard her voice before he saw her stick her head out from among the set technicians that crowded a large umbrella.

He raised his eyebrows at her, waited.

A smile—a real, thousand-watt smile this time—crossed her lips as she uttered her next words. "If you dare mock my coffee order, I will cheerfully dump it into your lap and make you buy me another."

A bubble of laughter spilt from his lips at her pleasantly uttered threat, a grin splitting his cheeks for the first time that afternoon.

Just as Beth had desired, the photographer captured the expression on camera with a burst of blinding flash.

Proving that he wasn't a stupid man, Daryl Dixon kept his mouth shut when she placed her order with the barista at the closest coffee shop to the shoot's location.

The magazine had chosen to use a warehouse for the photoshoot because they thought it would be edgy and sexy. It was all about exposed steel supports, rusted beams, and stark concrete. They said the industrial background suited Daryl, the harshness of his persona and the wildness of his character.

Beth thought that it was typical and overdone, but it hadn't been her decision to make. If she had had her way, she would have chosen a location that was outside, somewhere lush and green and wild. She would have photographed him with his crossbow, out in his element. He was a hunter, and she wanted to capture that.

She had never seen him track anything, had only heard of his prowess from Rick. By her guess, Daryl didn't let anyone go with him. To let anyone near his beloved crossbow was out of the question. Now that she thought about it, she wondered why he hadn't hissed at her for breathing on his bow when they first met.

Now, as she made her way through High Line Park with the man, Beth could see the hunter in him. He had a serious walk, every movement measured and languid at the same time. Beth knew that every person who crossed his path, every stare that lingered on him was assessed for a threat.

Beth saw recognition flicker over some of the faces that they came upon, and she could sense Daryl tensing at her side whenever anyone's gaze lingered for too long, clearly trying to place where they had seen the handsome stranger before.

"Does it ever bother you, the being recognized and stopped on the street? Doesn't it make you feel like you have no anonymity, no privacy?" Beth asked as they continued down the shaded path.

She had to look up at his face as she walked, their height difference more apparent than usual as she strolled through the park in flat shoes. It never failed to amaze her how attractive he was, how magnetic his presence was to her. She loved being around him, loved how she felt when she was with him.

However, that delightful feeling of being better than herself was swiftly fading as she waited for him to breach the topic of discussion that she knew he wanted to hash out.

After their night—and morning—together, they hadn't been able to discuss the sudden shift in their relationship's dynamic. Their schedules had not permitted any extended amount of time alone, and in the hidden depths of Beth's mind, she was pleased that they hadn't been able to talk about it.

A sense of foreboding had writhed in the pit of her stomach since she had hastily fled his apartment in order to prepare herself for that stupid meeting with Rick. She had wanted to linger in his space, make him blush over coffee and cold pancakes. She had wanted more time with him.

Now she was faced with the aftermath of a one-night stand that had meant so much more than she had thought it would, and she was scared. Beth didn't want Daryl to tell her that he was satisfied with what they had and didn't need anything more. He didn't date, and she knew that. His relationships lasted no longer than a home manicure, and she didn't want to be another footnote on a list of unremarkable footnotes. She glumly recalled a parade of gorgeous brunettes and leggy redheads sprawled across the pages of trashy magazines, sneaking subtly out of a limousine behind Daryl.

Beth didn't want that for herself, and she knew as soon as she opened herself up about that night, any hope of it working itself out would be over. Beth respected herself too much to be just another girl to him, and she would rather put everything she felt for him behind her than degrade her emotions in a relationship that wouldn't satisfy her.

Maybe it was selfish, but she wanted his heart and his mind along with his body. She didn't want to put herself out there only to have her feelings be rejected. In Beth's mind, the longer she could put off having this conversation then the longer she could protect her heart from being trounced under his boot.

Beth snuck a guilty glance at him from the corner of her eye, ashamed of herself for having thought Daryl capable of doing such a thing to her. She was glad that he wasn't looking at her while she pondered their non-relationship; he could read her like a book, and she didn't want him to see the cold things she had just thought him capable of.

"Ya I guess it makes me uncomfortable sometimes. I'm still not used to my life bein' everyone else's business. I'm used to my own space, bein' alone and stuff, and havin' to share that with everyone else is something that I'm not okay with," Daryl muttered, adjusting the Raybans that were perched on the bridge of his nose. Daryl wore those sunglasses like armour while he was out in public, as if covering his eyes and cheekbones would make him invisible.

Beth nodded, nibbling on her lower lip in contemplation. Beth had always known that he was reserved, but to hear him put his concerns into words made her realize that the implications of continuing a dalliance with him reached far beyond her own selfish desires. If word of their relations were ever to get to the press, his name would be splattered across the front pages of the tabloids and every reporter in the vicinity would want the scoop on his sex life. He wouldn't have any peace for weeks.

As his publicist, Beth was very aware of how important keeping secrets from the press was. Having always kept in mind how steadfast Daryl was about protecting his privacy, Beth had always been that much more motivated to preserve it. Taking that extra step with him had put all he held sacred in jeopardy, and she couldn't allow herself to do that again. Though the thought of it filled her with dread, Beth knew what she had to do.

Swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat, Beth tugged on the arm of his leather jacket as she pulled him off the pathway and into a secluded alcove. She gestured for him to sit down on the sheltered concrete bench while he stared curiously up at her through his fringe of dark bangs.

His cat-eyed stare always cut right through her, and their severity was no less astonishing on that grey afternoon in the park. His expression was harmless, but those eyes spoke of a wariness simmering steadily beneath the surface.

Beth took a deep breath before she spoke. "I think I know why you wanted to talk, and I think I should speak first."

Daryl nodded, cautious.

Her hands were shaking as she stood before him, and in that moment Beth would rather have stood in front of thousands of anonymous faces than one that she knew almost better than her own. Discreetly, Beth slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans before she continued her speech. "What happened last week—our night together— it can't happen again. It was unprofessional and reckless and stupid, and I can't let myself do anything that would be detrimental to your career. You're my client, and it would damage your reputation for you to be involved with me in a relationship that is anything other than strictly professional."

The man sitting before her didn't speak, cast his eyes to the ground as if the answer he was looking for was ingrained in the concrete between his boots. His shoulders were hunched over, his resting on his knees as if he were bracing himself against the siege of her words. The dark curtain of his hair cast his face even deeper into shadow, and Beth couldn't discern his expression from her vantage point.

Clenched fists hung between his legs, and his fingers flexed in a practiced motion that she recognized immediately as being one of discomfort and nervousness. Good, Beth thought. At least I'm not the only one who is not fine with how things are.

"Is that what you really think?" Daryl's voice was gruff, rumbling from his chest out into the air.

"That's what I know! I can't ask you to start anything with me when doing so would attract attention that you clearly don't want. Your dating life is already a hot commodity in the press, and I don't want to add any more drama to that sphere of your life," Beth stuttered out, surprised by the blunt nature of his question.

Daryl shook his head, pointedly dismissing her words. Rising to his full height, he met her gaze straight on. His shoulders blocked out the weak sunlight that streamed through the trees behind him. "Nah, that ain't it. If you really believed that, you wouldn't have slept with me in the first place. There's somethin' else, isn't there?"

Beth took a step back, feeling too crowded for her liking. He was too close. He was always too damn close for comfort. "I don't know what you're talkin' about. I said I couldn't do this, and I meant it. You'll thank me later."

He stepped into her again, the toes of his boots brushing hers. "I never much liked people doing things for my own good. I kinda like figurin' that out for myself."

His eyes were hellfire bright, and they burned into hers. She had only seen them like that once before: that night at the bar, when she had proposed the plans that had gotten them into this mess. His eyes had yearned for her then, and they did again now.

That yearning could only come from that broken place inside him that he never talked about, the blonde realized. It was too raw, too honest to stem from anything else. She knew that the openness she was experiencing from him now would not be afforded to her again after she threw it back at his feet like a dog might a dead bird. Beth also knew that the loss of it would rip her apart.

She was going to hurt him by protecting him, and he wouldn't forgive her for it. She wouldn't forgive herself for it either. That would be something that she would have to live with.

Tears budding in her eyes, she willed them not to fall. She didn't meet his gaze as she pieced her words together, praying that her voice didn't waver as she tore her own heart out and his along with it. "Don't make this more complicated than it needs to be. You don't date, and my conscience doesn't need the extra baggage that having a fling with my client would provide. We had one great night, and let's leave it at that. I'll email you the information about the premiere on Monday, and we'll reconvene Monday morning to make sure you're ready."

Feeling like she was putting the final nail in her coffin, Beth turned her back on him and strode away.

She felt the insistent brush of his fingers against her wrist as he tried to stop her from leaving, but she yanked it from his grasp before he could get a firm hold.

"Beth!" His tone was urgent as it reached her ears, but she was already too far gone. If she turned around she was lost, so she shook her head and prayed he wouldn't come after her. If he did, her resolve would crumble.

He didn't.

The tears began to fall in earnest as she hailed a cab from the sidewalk, mumbled her address to the driver before burying her face in her hands. The sobs wracked her shoulders, and they continued to do so even as she fumbled to unlock her apartment door.

Beth made it as far as her living room before her eyes were too blurry to help her navigate around her apartment any longer. Curling up into a ball on her couch, Beth cried until her eyes fell closed with exhaustion.

Her last thought was that doing the right thing shouldn't have to hurt so much.