This chapter is a little longer than usual. Enjoy! :)

"Give me your shirt," Stella demanded.

"Why?"

"I'm going to wash it, that's why. You've been wearing the damn thing for almost two weeks, not even counting however long you wore it before you got here. Give it here."

Daryl scoffed at her, but she was right. His tattered shirt was indeed filthy. He glanced at her bucket of soapy water by the water pump and shrugged. He peeled the shirt over his head and tossed it to her. Her eyes shamelessly devoured his shirtless form, and he couldn't resist giving her a smirk. She was unfazed, however.

"And your pants?" she continued, her eyes twinkling.

"You wish."

She snickered. "Suit yourself."

He moved to check the status of the meat drying on the tripod. He had been drying as much meat as possible to stock up in preparation of hard times ahead. The trees were changing colors and the nights had turned quite chilly. Fall was here, meaning winter was just around the corner.

"I should probably get a warmer shirt the next time I go to town," he said. It had been a week and a half since his last run, but after the close call with the group of men, he hadn't been eager to go back. Thankfully, they had seen no sign of the group. Daryl had taken the car to search for Beth twice since his supply run, and he had kept his eyes peeled for signs of the men as well. His search for both had turned up empty thus far.

"Some gloves would be nice, too," Stella said. He glanced her way and noticed that she had stripped down to her bra and was in the process of removing her pants. His eyes roamed her body as shamelessly as hers had examined his bare chest. She threw her clothes into the soapy bucket and bent down to begin scrubbing the clothes.

"I need to go out hunting soon," he said.

"So go."

"Not till you're up in the house," he shook his head. "I've told you before and I'll tell you again. I ain't leavin' you alone unless you're safe up there."

Stella sighed. "We haven't seen any sign of them since you first saw them. And if they're as loud as you described them, I'm likely to hear them well before I see them. I'll be fine."

"Sorry. I'm not changing my mind about this."

Stella shrugged and continued scrubbing. She tried not to let herself think that Daryl's concern over the group would lead to him staying forever. She knew that one day soon, he would leave, and the thought put an ache in her heart.

She glanced up at him and took in his concentrated expression and lean body. She chuckled to herself as she realized how long she had been daydreaming about the two of them in as little clothing as they wore now.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she replied, unable to wipe the grin from her face. She pulled each article of clothing out of the soapy bucket and rinsed it thoroughly under the spout of water from the pump. When all the clothes had been rinsed, she splashed the still-soapy water over her skin, trying to ignore how cold the water was.

"You wanna wash?" she asked as she rinsed the soap from her body. Daryl shrugged and made his way over to the bucket. He haphazardly washed, his eyes still on her. She gathered up the clothes and made her way up the ladder to the house to hang them to dry on the balcony.

"I'm out of harm's way if you want to go hunt," she called down. "But your shirt won't be dry for a while."

"Roll up the ladder," he replied. "I'll give you a holler when I get back."

Stella did as she was told and went inside. She watched him through the window as he moved out into the trees, his crossbow slung over his shirtless back.

Why did he have to be so attractive? The sexual tension was killing her. She collapsed on the bed with a heavy sigh. They had been living together for two weeks, but Daryl still slept on the couch and only shared furtive glances with her. She wanted him to do more than look. She desperately wanted him to touch, to grab her and kiss her forcefully, to ravish her. She allowed her imagination to wander and slipped her hand into her panties to give herself the release she so desperately needed.

Stella let out a contented sigh as she finished her meal. Daryl had brought back another rabbit, and although they had been eating a lot of rabbit as of late, it hadn't gotten old. She still considered fresh meat to be a treat.

Daryl sat in a kitchen chair by the wood stove, working on more arrows. Stella reached into the pantry and grabbed the untouched bottle of Evan Williams from the shelf.

"Have a drink with me?" she asked.

Daryl eyed the bottle. "Nah, I'm good."

"You're going to let me drink alone?" she teased.

"I'm a mean drunk. You don't want me drinkin' with you anyway."

"I think I can handle you. Besides, I asked if you wanted to have a drink, not if you wanted to get drunk."

Daryl sighed, thinking about the last drink he had had. It had been with Beth. She had helped him let go of some of the shit he had been carrying his whole life. "You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon," she had said. And she was right. He missed her like hell.

"Last time I drank was with Beth," he muttered. "It was . . . special, I guess."

"I'm sorry," Stella said softly. "She should be here."

She should. She should be here trying whiskey for the first time, learning to dry meat and to make deadfall traps with Stella. God, Beth, where are you?

Stella poured herself a small glass of whiskey, leaving the second glass she had pulled from the shelf untouched.

"Ah, what the hell," Daryl muttered. "I could use a little numbing anyway."

Stella smiled and poured him a glass as well, sitting down next to him at the kitchen table.

"See that's the thing though," she said. "When all this first started, we used to grab a bottle of booze on every supply run, and we'd drink to numb ourselves to the world outside. We drank to forget. But as time went on and we realized that this was it, this was life now . . . it wasn't about numbing as much as it was about celebrating. We should drink to celebrate life, and to celebrate all the things we have, even with the world the way it is. That's how I look at it, anyway."

"Aren't you just a ray of fucking sunshine," Daryl said with a grin. "I found it hard to be so positive when all I could think about was survival."

"What about when you were at the prison?" Stella asked. "Wasn't life worth celebrating then? And now, now that you have a safe place to sleep and a stove to keep you warm, and obviously awesome company," she winked. "Survival isn't living, Daryl. In this moment, it isn't just about life or death, and you should be able to live as well as survive."

"Survival ain't living," Daryl repeated. "Never thought of it that way."

Stella smiled and raised her glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

The whiskey burned as it went down her throat, making her feel warm. The pair sat in silence for a while, sipping contentedly.

"Were you and Beth . . . you know. Together?" Stella asked suddenly.

"Nah," Daryl shook his head. "I love Beth, but not in the way you're askin.' She's just a great person through and through."

"So you never got intimate?" Stella pressed. "You said the last time you drank with Beth, it was special."

"No. She just helped me get through some shit, that's all," Daryl said. "Besides, she's like eighteen."

"What does age matter nowadays anyway?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her. Was she insinuating something about herself?

"So when was the last time you had sex?" she asked bluntly.

He stopped himself from snapping "None of your business" and sighed. "Not sure. Before the world went to shit."

She gawked. "That long? You mean to say that even while living in a stronghold like the prison, with several available women to choose from, you never got down and dirty with anyone?"

Daryl glared at her. "No. Why's that so hard to believe? We had other things to worry about." She scoffed and he found himself growing annoyed. "What about you? When's the last time you got any?"

"About a year ago. Tyler and I had a thing . . . an arrangement, more like. But then he fell in love with me and I didn't feel the same, so I put a stop to it. I didn't need any drama."

"Hmm," Daryl grunted. His thoughts drifted to Judith, and he wondered if she was still alive. "Sex isn't what it used to be anyway," he said. "It's dangerous. Getting pregnant is pretty much a death sentence, for both mom and baby."

"Good thing I don't have to worry about that," Stella replied.

"What do you mean?"

"When I was in my early twenties, I was diagnosed with early-stage ovarian cancer. They removed both of my ovaries and my fallopian tubes." She lifted her shirt and pointed to the long scar that ran down her abdomen. "It took care of the cancer, but now it's physically impossible for me to get pregnant."

Daryl grunted in reply, mulling over the information and what it meant. No risk of pregnancy . . .

He looked up and met Stella's eyes, staring at him, unwavering, as if waiting for him to make a move. He leaned closer to her across the table and breathed in her scent: soap, sweat, and smoke. She smelled almost wild, and he bit his lip thinking about what he wanted to do to her . . .

With a start, he downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass and stood, marching out the door of the house without a word. He leaned against the balcony railing, his thoughts whirling. He knew what he wanted, but he was afraid to take it. Afraid of letting himself get close to someone. Afraid of getting involved and losing it all. Beth would probably have been proud of him for admitting his feelings to himself, but that didn't make it any easier.

Daryl Dixon was afraid. That was the ugly, hard truth.

Author's Note: I feel I am obligated to state that I do not condone unprotected sex, even for women like Stella who are unable to have children. There are other risks besides unwanted pregnancy! Make sure your men always wrap it up, ladies!