Sorry for the delay on this, and I hope it's not a disappointment. My anxiety seems to be manifesting as self-doubt today, so I spent most of the day alternating between disliking different passages of this before deciding they were fine and then moving on to being bothered by another passage. Whoops!

The midday sun glowed through the cracks in the coverings over the windows of the mill, lighting the whole place with a golden shine. In the little beams of light Daryl could see dust filtering through the air, dancing in motes that swirled around Beth as she shifted from side to side in front of him. "I just don't know," Beth murmured, darting her gaze from him to the window and back again, her voice thick with worry."It just seems like too much of a risk is all…"

"Ain't gonna go far. You'll barely even notice I'm gone." The reassuring words rumbled in Daryl's chest as he spoke them, but right as they sounded, right as he knew they were to say, he was still all off kilter. The fact was that being reassuring at all was new enough for him, and that wasn't even getting into the way he felt right now, all… unsure. As if her worry was making him worry, and that dual sensation was pretty damn new to him, too.

They were standing on the first floor of the grist mill a few feet away from the door, talking in lowered voices to avoid notice despite the fact that when he'd glanced outside a few moments ago there hadn't been a single walker in sight. Which of course was why he was down here right now having this conversation in the first place: they needed water, and to get it one of them would have to go outside, and now seemed to be the best time of day to do it.

Their bucket and bottles of water lasted them a little more than three days, getting them at least through the first wave of walkers drawn by the explosion and fire in the distance. It had burned through all three days now, leading both Beth and Daryl to believe that if anyone had survived the explosion, they hadn't stayed long enough to put out the fire. Unfortunately, the fact that the fire was finding plenty to burn through to keep it fueled meant that it was also continuing to draw more walkers towards it, especially at night when the flicker of flames in the distance was a draw for any walker nearby.

Ever since the morning of the explosion they had stayed locked up tight on the top floor, keeping as quiet as possible to avoid attracting the notice of the shambling creatures moving past. The truth was Daryl would have been more than content to stay up there with Beth. Their days had already developed a routine from meals to quiet walkthroughs to stretch their legs, and of course reading. They spent most of their time reading; there weren't many other forms of entertainment. They worked their way through the little stack of books which Beth was now calling their 'library', a fact which made him chuckle to himself, not the least of which because it was pretty much the largest number of books he'd ever had in his life.

Beth had told him once about making memories. How he might not have had any good ones in his past, but he could make them now… and these last couple days, sitting with her at his side as they read through paperback books filled with crime mysteries and action and even a few supernatural creatures far more interesting than walkers… he had felt like he was making memories, just like she'd told him. Making a simple story of his own.

Now, he had to put a stop to that; at least long enough to go venture outside.. He didn't want to have to leave the safety of the mill (didn't want to leave her), but they needed water. They could risk it, wait it out as long as possible… but Daryl didn't really want to do that. Beth needed to heal, and to heal she needed to be in the best shape possible. That meant food, which they had for now anyway… and water.

But the longer he stood here in front of her like this the less he wanted to go, even with all the logical reasons laid out in his mind. He didn't understand how it was she did this to him. How the sight of her staring up at him with her eyes all big and wide and her teeth dimpling the soft flesh of her lip could make him wanna just… take her arm and lead her right back upstairs and promise he wasn't gonna go anywhere.

He knew he couldn't, knew he needed to go get the damn water and that he should go now when it was still light out and there were miraculously no walkers in sight. But lord did he wish she'd stop looking at him like that, as if she could anchor him to her with his damn eyes, hold him here as if it were the only place he wanted or needed to be.

(Maybe it was. But thinking about that for more than just a few seconds was too much; too confusing, too deep, at least right now.)

"It'll be okay," Daryl said after a moment, gruff but honest even if the reassuring words still felt somehow foreign to him.

"I just got a bad feeling, is all." Beth cradled her still-injured wrist to her chest, biting down on her lip again as she rocked briefly back onto her heels and then looked up at him. "I know I don't have to tell you to be careful, but…"

"I will." That was a guarantee. "Look, the time it'll take me to get out there, get the water, and come back, will be less time than this conversation took, alright? C'mon, I'm goin'. You keep watch for me out the window, yeah?"

Try as he might to be firm, there was a reluctance in his movements that Daryl could see reflected in Beth's own, to the point that he practically growled when he finally pulled himself away from her and grunted, "You stay up on the second floor. Keep watch. I'll be right back."

Though he didn't say the words out loud, when he pulled open the door and glanced back over his shoulder at her, the look was in his eyes: I promise.

Then he stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him.

Daryl tried to tell himself he didn't feel a churning in his gut the moment he did it. That he didn't feel a hint of a sense of dread that had him instantly looking around, worriedly scoping out the tree line to be sure there wasn't a risk.

But the truth was he did, and the sensation only lingered as he rounded the side of the structure, bucket in hand, heading towards the little brook that ran alongside the mill.

Daryl's stomach wasn't the only one churning. Beth's seemed to be twisting itself into knots, and she knew it wasn't over the hand-canned peaches they'd had for lunch. As she moved quickly up the stairs (or as quickly as she could go with her ankle still a bit sore) to the second floor, Beth tried to pick apart the sensation in her mind to no avail. Was it just worry at Daryl taking a risk? Was it the separation? Was it the fear of being left behind?

Maybe it was all of it. She didn't know, beyond the fact that her stomach felt all knotted up even as she reached the second floor and began carefully limping towards the window that looked down over the little stream of water. Gently nudging aside the sack cloth covering the window, Beth pressed her hand to the dusty glass and peered down to spot his familiar figure kneeling at the edge of the small brook that had once fed the mill's water wheel.

The afternoon sunlight glinted on his dark hair and lighted on his furrowed brow as he glanced up towards the window as if trying to spot her. Though she wasn't sure if the light glinting off the windows might make her invisible, the little wave she gave was met by a nod from Daryl, who immediately went back to work. Knelt beside the water, the dirt leaving stains on his dark pants that would probably only be barely noticeable considering all the other stains long-since acquired, Daryl dipped the bucket into the stream and held it there, allowing it to fill up slowly but surely.

Even as he worked at this simple task he was vigilant, always looking up and all around him, keeping an eye on the lines of the trees to make sure no walkers were approaching. That, more than the simple sight of him, helped Beth to feel more reassured. Daryl was good at what he did, there was no way anything would sneak up on him and catch him unaware while he was out there, right?

But she couldn't help but worry. Worrying wasn't new, at least not on it's own. Beth had been worrying about her family long before the end of the world, and that tendency had deepened especially after the loss of the farm. She'd worried about Maggie and Glenn, worried about her Daddy, worried about Rick and Judith and Carl and Carol and Michonne, and yeah, even Daryl. Even back then. When they'd fled from the prison side-by-side, Daryl had been her only companion and so it was no wonder that her focus shifted almost entirely to him. No wonder that she feared his injury, feared losing him and being left alone to fend for herself.

The truth was it was far more than that. She wasn't really afraid of him getting hurt because she didn't want to be left alone. She was worried for him. The thought of him getting injured twisted in her gut like the black roots of a tree tightening around her stomach. The thought of losing him was far worse, enough to make her heart ache, enough for the occasional nightmares of it to make her wake up panting for breath, skin clammy and cold, heart racing.

She couldn't bear the thought of losing him and it was for so, so much more than just because he was her only company. It was because he was, well… Daryl. It was hard to put into words; or maybe she just wasn't ready to. Maybe she just wasn't ready to piece it all together, to view the entirety of the quilt stitched together from all the little pieces. All the little moments that made up the whole; curling up next to him reading a book, the sound of his voice in her ear as he showed her how to use his bow, the sight of him beside her lit by flickering flames as they'd burned down that house or as they'd burned up her old clothes in the fireplace just a few days ago, the knowledge that he had run on foot after her for a whole day to save her, that he'd carried her bodily to safety with arms that should have long since given out.

And of course, that one shining piece of memory; in the barn, lit in a golden light, the press of his lips softly to hers in a kiss. A kiss that was, despite what she might have tried to tell herself, far from meaningless.

It was a kiss they hadn't shared again since though it had never once left Beth's mind. How many times had she looked over at him and thought about doing it again? About bridging the gap between them and brushing her lips over his? The only thing that held her back was, well… him. She feared it in the same sort of way that she feared him getting hurt physically, or even worse dying. She didn't want to lose him in that way, either, didn't want to push him away, scare him off, ruin the burgeoning connection between them… whatever it was. Even if it was just friendship.

Her thoughts raced through her mind, dueling with each other, like two squirrels in the midst of a play-fight, running and leaping and circling all while she stood there up against the window. Lost in her thoughts she almost didn't notice that Daryl had risen to his feet. On the ground below him the bucket shimmered, filled almost to the brim with water. The sag of the backpack he wore told Beth he'd filled their water bottles too, but for some reason Daryl wasn't coming inside.

Instead he was peering off into the distance behind the house, hand shading his brow as he reached behind him to unsling his crossbow. Instantly her heart beat kicked up, her stomach churning in fear. What had he seen? Was it walkers? All her instincts seemed to be on edge, the hair standing up on the back of her neck, and it was all she could do not to pound against the window and shout: Get inside!

Glancing up at her in the window, Daryl caught her eyes and gave a reassuring nod before pointing towards the field behind the house. Frankly it wasn't very reassuring, but she was pretty sure he couldn't be pointing to any walkers, at least. But it didn't help her curiosity or her sense of wrongness, so when he began to move Beth followed him, keeping pace along the interior of the mill until she reached one of the back windows and peered outside. It was only then that she spotted what had caught Daryl's attention.

There, standing amid the long grass in the distance was a good-sized doe. It's skin looked almost russet-colored in the sunlight, dappled on it's hindquarters with flecks of white, it's ear twitching as it went still and looked around it. Beneath her window Daryl stalked closer, bow settled in his arms as he took careful steps to try and avoid making a sound.

Now she understood why he'd been so eager. A doe like that could feed them for days, maybe longer. They wouldn't be able to cook it the same as they might have considering the risk of staying outside, but they might be able to get some of it in before any walkers came. They could bleed it out in the basement, maybe, rig up something from all the machinery to cook the flesh into jerky, or dry it somehow, or…

Through the glass she heard the faint 'whizz' of a bolt being released, and looked up just in time to see the doe go down with Daryl's bolt lodged perfectly into it's neck. She almost felt a sense of regret that she'd missed him taking the actual shot. There was just something about watching Daryl lifting his bow, staring down the sight, his muscles shifting as he pulled the trigger…

There was a hint of a flush to Beth's cheeks as she pulled herself out of her head and reminded herself to watch as Daryl, below her, slung his crossbow back across his back and began to stride towards the deer. He'd need her to keep an eye out if he was going to dress the doe right there in the field, needed her to keep her eyes on the tree line in case anything appeared...

The sun was warm on his back as he knelt in front of the doe and drew his knife from it's sheath at his side. He knew that on some level he was taking a risk, even more than he had just coming out here to get water. This hadn't been part of the plan after all, but it was a risk worth taking all things considered. They could only last so long on canned fruit and beans; meat would do both of them good… especially Beth. Because it was Beth who had been on his mind when he'd spotted that deer; Beth and her injured wrist and leg, Beth who needed water and the best food he could find to keep strong and continue to heal.

It was Beth who lingered on his mind as he started to field dress the deer, cutting it from it's sternum right down and exposing the flesh beneath. It was far from the first time he had dressed a deer like this, and the familiarity of the routine actions left his mind free to wander; in this case, back to another similar moment. As he worked to remove the does guts, he remembered sitting in the middle of the woods with Beth looking on as he taught her to dress a rabbit she had killed herself with his bow settled on her deceptively strong arms. She'd been so damn eager to learn, as she seemed to be with everything. Back then his teaching her had been new, and he'd still been surprised each time she seemed so eager, each time she applied herself to the newest lesson without flinching. Like learning to dress a rabbit and ending up with her hands covered in blood, pulling out the rabbits guts as if it were nothing.

His hands moved with rhythmic smoothness, removing the guts and setting them aside before dipping back into the doe's stomach for more. In his mind he saw Beth, her hair shining in the sunlight that filtered through the trees above, her eyes bright and focused, her hands washed in red blood as she worked carefully to follow his instructions as the birds chirped in the trees above them, interspersed by the sound of something banged insistently and…

Wait. Something banged insistently?

Daryl's head lifted and turned, craning over his shoulder to look up at the building, squinting until he spotted the source of the loud banging that was not just in his mind. It was Beth, pressed up against the glass and slamming her fist on the window as she attempted to shout something that he couldn't hear either through the thick glass or over the distance that stretched between them now. When he furrowed his brow in confusion, she drew back and pointed through the glass, and at the field beyond him.

It was only when he slowly turned that he saw them. Coming out of the woods in the distance, not one or two walkers, not even five but ten, twelve, fifteen, and even more of them visible in the distance through the foliage.

A herd of walkers, and they were coming right towards him.

Her heart felt like it was going to pound right out of her chest, just as her stomach felt like it was going to fall through her right to her feet at the sight in front of her. Seeing those walkers coming out of the woods, more and more of them by the moment, it had been all Beth could do not to scream in terror. Even then, weighing all the risks that came with making noise, she'd given in. She had to. They were already coming this way, so her banging on the window wouldn't attract any more attention… and if it might save Daryl, she had to do it. She had to.

Each unanswered pound on the glass had made her stomach twist further and further into knots until finally, Daryl looked up; first at her, and then at the advancing herd.

And it was a herd, there was no doubt of that. Beth could only guess it had been drawn by the explosion days ago, that it had been slowly but inexorably working it's way closer hour by hour, day by day, until now it was spilling from the lines of the trees and through the field. Maybe it had even come from the ruin of the prison, or maybe instead it was the same herd that had swarmed her family farm, the same herd that had ripped Patricia from her arms as she'd screamed in panic.

The thought only filled her with a deep dread, one that clenched within her and made her sway on her feet before she caught herself, before she forced herself to stay strong.

They were already lurching towards Daryl, drawn by his movements and the blood of the doe spilling across the ground which would only tempt them closer. Not that they needed any more incentive, of course.

Standing in the window, Beth was torn. Part of her irrationally wanted to leap from the window to help him, part of slightly-more-rationally wanted to hurry to the door and outside, draw her knife and make sure he got back to safety. What she really wished for was a crossbow of her own to prop into the window; at least that way she could help defend him as he made his way back to the Mill.

If he made his way back to the Mill. Because rather than running Daryl was crouched back down, fervently slicing at the doe as if to finish the task as quickly as he could and drag it back with him.

Beth slammed her hand on the window in a desperate attempt to get him to look back up at her, to get him to come back inside right now. But he kept working, picking up the guts and unneeded organs in his hands and tossing them off to the side as far away as he could before bending down to grip the doe and heave it up over his shoulders.

For a few moments she thought he was gonna make it. The walkers had gained on him but some of them had been distracted by the guts he had tossed their way and the blood he had left behind. Bearing the doe over his sturdy shoulders, Daryl strode slowly but purposefully through the swaying grass and back towards the mill, close enough that she was just about to turn and move to the next window to follow him…

And then he stumbled and fell to the ground.

Beth didn't think she'd ever seen Daryl Dixon stumble in his whole life, then again she also had never seen him carrying an entire deer over his shoulders while working his way through tall grass with a herd of walkers in his wake. The same herd of walkers that were gaining on him now, reaching with outstretched arms and yawning their bloodied, gorey mouths to snap their jaws at the sight of the feast ahead of them.

"Daryl!" Beth slammed her hand on the window desperately, but there was nothing she could do… not from here.

And in that moment she didn't care that she was injured, didn't care that she couldn't run without limping or that her wrist was still healing. All she cared was that Daryl was out there on the ground, pinned beneath a deer carcass, with a herd of hungry walkers gaining towards.

With his name on her lips Beth turned and ran for the stairs.

Idiot. He was a fucking idiot. He didn't know why he'd done it. There was just something about Beth Greene that drove him to take desperate measures, that convinced him to burn down perfectly good shelters and run for hours just to try and save her, and, it seemed, to almost risk his safety just to make sure she had some damn venison to eat.

And now here he was on the ground with a deer carcass on top of him and herd of fucking walkers heading right towards him. Next time that Beth said she had a bad feeling, he was gonna damn well listen. Maybe then he could avoid getting himself into another situation like this. Not that he was panicking, of course. Daryl Dixon didn't panic.

(Never mind that he had been something close to panic when he'd lost Beth back at the funeral home, when he'd seen that car driving off and known she was in the back of it, known that he might have just lost her. Never mind that he feels something like that now at the thought of getting taken down, leaving her alone in the middle of a goddamn herd without him to have her back.)

His mind filled with the thought of Beth standing in that window watching him right now, Daryl heaved with all his might and shoved the doe off of him and to the side, allowing him to scramble quickly to his feet. He barely had time to glance behind him to where the walkers were gaining on him inch by inch and he knew he had no time; no time to pick the doe up again, no time to try to carry it back towards the house, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

With a growl that rumbled in his chest, Daryl drew his knife, leaned down, and dug it into the deer's shoulder. This was far from the right time, but he wasn't gonna go back with nothing to show for this idiocy. Knowing the shoulders were one of the easiest things to remove and that there'd still be some meat for them to eat he worked quickly, sliding his blade in to cut the muscles that connected them to the chest and drawing his blade slowly up. Normally he'd have skinned the deer first but there wasn't much he could do about that. The walkers were gaining.

A couple twists of the knife and his arm and he popped it loose from the joint and tore it free. Just as he came up with the leg clasped in his hand, a walker stumbled towards him with a snarl on it's lips. Daryl acted instinctively, jabbing forward to stab his blade right into the walker's eye. As he pulled it free, he thought dimly that it was a good damn thing he'd already cut the deer, he couldn't use the knife to do that now.

But it wasn't the time for thinking about anything except getting away. Behind him the walkers were falling on the carcass of the doe with grunts and snarls, but more and more of them were coming and the deer wouldn't prove a distraction long enough. Daryl ran, clutching the doe's leg in one hand, his backpack and his crossbow bouncing against his back. He stopped only long enough to grab the bucket of water, grunting at the weight of it as his pace slowed to stop the water from spilling free.

With walkers right on his heels, Daryl rounded the corner with a gasp… and came face to face with an open door and Beth Greene standing in it, knife raised and about to swing down on him.

"Damn it, Greene! Get inside. Now!"

Beth would have punched him right then and there except she could hear the walkers on his tail, could hear the rumbles and snarls just feet away around the edge of the building and now so wasn't the time to do anything but exactly what he'd said, and fast.

Gasping she whirled around and stumbled inside, turning just in time to hear the clunk of the bucket as he set it on the ground, followed by the click of the door pressing shut- slowly, despite the advancing walkers, because Beth knew he didn't want to risk drawing any more of them towards the door by slamming it shut.

Not that it mattered. The walkers had seen him, they could smell the blood of the leg he carried in his hand. Soon the mill was filled with the sounds of rotted hands slapping on the wooden door, groans filtering through the windows as they passed by, dragging their bodies against the vine-entangled walls.

Beth rushed forward to help Daryl at the door, barring the door and then dragging the table back over to wedge it against the frame and block it. The pounding didn't cease, but the door didn't move, and Beth was pretty sure they'd be okay. She wanted to be certain though and she knew she wasn't the only one. Daryl set down his bag and the haunch of meat on the steps and then indicated that they should check out both sides of the Mill with just a grunt and a gesture rather than words. They covered the whole floor at the same time, Beth to the right and Daryl to the left, each of them checking the covered windows and barricading any that looked like they might not hold up somehow.

It was only when they met in the middle in front of the stairs that Beth, certain they were as safe as they could be for the moment, finally snapped.

"What were you thinking?" She hissed, knowing better than to scream even if it was boiling up inside of her. Even if she was every inch of her frightened and furious at the risk he'd put himself in out there. She could have hit him and if he'd been anyone else she might have. The only thing that held her back was what she knew about his past, about his father, about what the man may or may not have done to turn Daryl into the kinda man that could flinch even at simple touches.

So she didn't hit him though lord if she didn't want to, right then. Instead she curled her fingers into his shirt so tightly that her knuckles went white as she leaned up on her toes and looked right into his eyes to growl, "You could have gotten yourself killed, Daryl Dixon!"

"Was just…" He blinked down at her, a sea of emotion in his deep blue eyes but one- bafflement, maybe, as if he were taken back by the depth of her emotion right now- coming to the forefront as he said surprisingly simply, "Just wanted to get you somethin' good to eat. Somethin' better'n canned food so… so you could heal faster."

So that was it. He'd nearly terrified her to death, he'd put himself at risk of a herd of walkers… for her. So she'd have something to eat. Because he had wanted to get that doe for her.

And really, Beth didn't know how to respond to that with words, so she did the only thing that came to mind, the only thing that seemed natural and right in the heat of the moment. She leaned up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

If the kiss started hesitant, it didn't last that long. Just long enough for the tension to ease from Daryl's body and for his hands to come up and press right against her lower back. As soon as she knew he was okay with this Beth gave in, pressing her lips hard to his, pouring into it all the anxiety she'd felt when he'd been out there so close to that goddamn herd, so close to death, so close to her losing him that her heart had already felt like it was breaking.

When she pulled back, Beth was breathless and panting and her eyes were dark and plaintive as she looked up at him. Fingers still curled into his shirt as his spanned her slender back, Beth gasped out, "Don't you ever do that again, okay?" She took a step closer, just one, just enough to feel the warmth of his body against her own. "I was so scared."

He didn't apologize. Beth wasn't sure it was in him to apologize yet, at least not out loud. She could see it in his eyes; his regret maybe not at the risk, but having terrified her the way he had. She could see it in his movements too, as he hunched up his shoulders, even as he reluctantly took a step back and let his hands fall to the side.

"Still plenty to be worried about," Daryl grunted. His eyes lingered on her lips and Beth knew he was thinking about that kiss, knew he wanted to kiss her again. But Daryl… awkward yet practical, went on gruffly instead, "Got a herd full of walkers outside. Now we're really trapped."

If she hadn't been so suddenly focused on that worrying statement, she might have given thought to the fact that he was so damn fixated on keeping her safe and protected, as if he'd made it his life mission or something to make sure she was safe.

She had no way of knowing that was exactly what he'd done, the moment he'd almost lost her to the black car with the white cross on it.

Thank you all again for your continued readership. I will do my best to update this again soon. Please review if you can, it is greatly appreciated and loved!