"Hey, Girl." In the side yard of the prison, Daryl squints up through the bright sunlight at her as she passes. Daryl hadn't slept in her bunk last night as he had the night before. She would have welcomed him had he come, but it was late when he'd returned, and with so little words spoken, the gentle invitation of her hand reaching out to him in the guard tower that night was not easily decipherable as open. Neither playing coy, neither means to be presumptive. That there is a connection, and some kind of unseen likeness, is understood; still little else is.

When he'd followed her to her bunk that night, after the guard tower, once more they'd slept in their clothes, though Beth did at least remove her boots, and he his. And though awkward at first — the shifting around one another, the sitting on the side of the bed with averted eyes, the wordless putting out of the light — behind each guarded look or hesitant movement was the knowledge that they had done this already once before. When their heads met her pillow, and she once again found her place, nestled within his arms, the awkwardness faded, the stark absence of words dissipated, and their breathing slowed, sure, and steady, and constant. Sleep had not come quickly, and so they laid in comfortable silence, their resting bodies sinking into her mattress and blankets, her thin jeaned legs tucking one of his between hers, listening to the other breathe. She would have expected so much of it to be strange — lying in a bed this close with no words, with not even a kiss, lying in a bed with a grown man, with Daryl Dixon, but in the moment as it happened it had not felt strange.

She likes now that as he sees her in the yard there is not the distance of unfamiliarity between them: He knows her, and he calls her, and Beth laughs a bright warm, sunshiny smile back at him. It's so bright, and open, and so very Beth, it's hard for him to sustain eye contact, and so down his head ducks, looking instead at his bike he's sitting on. But he can't break away that long, not while she's there beaming, presumably just for him, and so his eyes lift back up to hers, and the smile she's smiling deepens. And he looks at her, and thinks about that face, that cute, girlish face; it doesn't even seem real.

"Hey." Sitting there casually astride his bike, Daryl doesn't quite look like himself; he appears younger somehow, rendered so by a navy tee she'd freshly washed for him. She'd thought it would look good on him — it's not ripped up or torn for one thing — and she'd thought it would be soft, more comfortable in the summer heat than what he's got. The thing is old, and has been washed to supreme softness; whatever band logo runs across the front of it is now barely visible, but it isn't about the shirt — he could use it as a rag for all it really mattered — it's about them: Quiet. Soft. And there. She smiles again at him, at his bike, "You going out?"

Daryl squints at her, looking at where the light hits her on the slope of her slender neck. "Uh, uh, maintenance. Why?" He nods at her, "Whut're you doin'?"

Beth shakes her head, "Nothing."

"Not on watch?"

"Uh, uh."

Daryl's not sure what more to say to her, what more to say without saying too much — how to keep it going, but keep it them. Daryl can talk to anyone, that's never been a problem, and he can talk to girls — ain't no different than talking to anyone — but, he likes Beth, and he hasn't liked someone like Beth in a long time, maybe never. "You, wanna…" he scratches the small beard on his chin. "Wanna, go for a ride?"

Beth smiles at him, and looks at the bike, "On that?"

Daryl looks down at the bike, kind of like he's checking it hasn't changed into something else without him seeing, "Sure."

"That's not a waste of gas?"

"M'bye."

She smiles. "Jist, come walk with me." Her blue eyes glance up to the sky of the same hue. "It's pretty today." Daryl's brow arches skeptically. "It'll be getting cold again, soon; heat's already burning off. We should enjoy it while we can."

Daryl looks at her, and spits to the side, "Words to live by." He nods. "Al'right." Beth takes a step backwards, inviting him with her eyes, in a manner close to taunting him, to follow, and he ushers her off before him with a wave of his hand and a broken smile, "Git goin'."

Daryl smiles, shakes his head to himself, and dismounts the motorcycle and strides along side her, around the perimeter of the prison yard, down by the planting, down to Michonne's horse. Daryl swipes a stalk of tall grass and works the blade between his thumbs as they walk.

He whistles with the grass blade as Beth leans over the railing, calling the horse to her. She pets it's nose, speaks soothingly to it, and nuzzles her face in its neck. Daryl too pets the horse, patting his neck and clucking at him. "You ride?" she asks.

"Not much." He looks into the animal's large eyes, tenderly strokes his hand down its jaw. "That horse of your dad's threw me pretty hard."

"Oh," she laughs, "I forgot about that."

"Weren't funny," he grunts. "Got the scars to prove it."

"I'h ride," she remarks serenely. "I did," she corrects. "Western and English. Jumping. I used to win ribbons."

Daryl eyes her, "Used tuh wonder who did that. All that," he wags his fingers, "prancin'."

"Me," she smiles, despite knowing he'd been slightly mocking her. "I was good. I's co-captain of the equestrian team. Would have made it to Nationals, maybe, if..." She swallows. And forces a smile... "I was good."

"I never seen you ride."

Beth shakes herself out of the past, and shrugs. "He's Michonne's horse." She adds, in case that's not enough, "They're never here for very long. 'Sides," she smiles a little, "Judith." Daryl nods, wondering if maybe there's more to it, but he wouldn't venture to guess what. "Ya know what?" she asks him, smiling at the horse she's stroking, instead of over at him.

Daryl glances at her, then looks back at the horse, letting it be the thing in common between them; his eyes do not return to her for some time. "Whut?"

She's nearly twinkling standing there, "You should kiss me."

Daryl keeps on looking at the horse, sneaking a sideways downward glance in her direction. "Yeh?"

"Mm,hm."

Daryl's getting ready to laugh it off, or chide at her, or walk away, but then her hand's in his. Just suddenly there in his, steady and sure. Suddenly that field is electric. Who knew such a simple touch could light such a spark?

Still he doesn't look at her, and she too carries on looking straight ahead — at the horse, at the crops, at the tall grass and wild flowers, but not at him. She knows what his face must be doing though — flinching in conflict.

"I don't mind," she says simply.

Daryl jerks and looks at her, "'Mind' what?"

"Whatever you're thinkin' I will." Beth kisses the horse's nose, and smiles. "I know you, Daryl Dixon."

She couldn't have said it simpler, or sweeter. There's nothing more this girl could have said or done to tell him she's on his side. There's enough already, has been enough, for him to know it. It's the knowing though, that's hard.

Beth is his, quite literally for the taking, her hand already set in his, but, he does not kiss her. He doesn't know that he should. This girl can't know him, what he's done, how he lived. The world's changed, and him with it, but it didn't change everything. The old days, they're still there in him. No point in acting like they're not. And that's a big thing for her not to know.

So often Beth says something, that to anyone else would be the thing to say, but always manages to flay Daryl Dixon. He isn't known, not really. Least not all of him. And he's second guessing himself. Again.

The age thing isn't it — if Glenn was his age and Maggie was Beth's it would be all right. So, it's not age that keeps him from kissing the girl who wants to be kissed by him. Maybe it's a part, but, it's something much more. It's them. What makes her what he wants is what makes him think he maybe shouldn't get it. He can't hang his hope on just one person.

It's hard to hold on to people in this world. Harder still to lose them. And they've lost so many already. Too many. Among them Sophia. Merle. Andrea. Almost Carol. When Rick lost Lori he nearly lost it all. Maybe it's better not to get that close. Beth Greene is so easy to hope with.

Would it hurt more to lose Beth than to walk away and keep things as they've been? He can't answer. And until he can he can't act. His expression clouds, and slowly Daryl shakes his head, "You don't know me."

"I do. Enough."

His eyes dart to her and away again. "Forget it," he mutters, dropping her hand. "We can't do this." He feels her eyes on him as he extracts himself from her, making an excuse to get away. "I got watch." Daryl leaves her, climbing the grassy slopes back to the yard, back to the cell blocks, back to the group that's been his family for three years.

AN: Had a little trouble pulling this one together, may go back and revise...

If you're frustrated by that non kiss, so am I. (Yes, I know I wrote it.) I don't know why I shut them down like that. Sorry! Guess I had to live up to my "angst" descriptor. :-/ I really don't know that Daryl would fight it this hard, but since he's been so chaste, I didn't want the switch to be so easy. Anyways, please keep reading, it won't all be like this. Also, as you saw, I took some liberty with re-appropriating the 'last man standing' conversation from S4 "Still" to something similar offscreen at the prison. Obviously, I never have, never will, own anything of TWD. (save for my much beloved DVDs)