Every step the four of them took seemed to echo in the unlit dining room. Every table setting was perfectly in place on the glass topped tables. A full set of fancy silverware and water goblet and overturned coffee cups and napkin folded in some ridiculous triangle shape. All of it was covered in dust, and all of it made his skin crawl. Partly because it was too damn quiet, partly because they didn't too often come across something so immaculately preserved, like a goddamn museum. But mostly because such a fancy-ass place would've always made him feel like he didn't fit in his own clothes, in his own skin. Like he was all scabby elbows and knees, busting frayed seams and knocking over tea cups.

Michonne had found this place a while back, on one of her trips out scouring the countryside for the Governor. It was some sort of five star restaurant up on a hill and on a goddamn lake, apparently locked up tight since shit hit the fan and abandoned and forgotten by everyone. Probably because the people that could've ever afforded to go to a place like this were all rich fuckers without a skill in the world, aside from driving fancy cars and spending money. It was piss poor comfort to know that people like him were who everybody was looking up to these days, now that it was the end of the fucking world. Now that knowing how to survive meant a hell of a lot more than knowing how to look good while staring down your nose at the dirty little people.

Maggie paused for a minute, running her fingers along the edge of heavy glass goblet. Her face was all tense, mouth curved down and a furrow in her brow, when she turned her head to stare blankly out of the streaky windows, looking out over the placid blue lake and overgrown lawn. Glenn appeared by her side, and Daryl moved forward a little to catch up with Michonne when the couple caught each other's hands.

"Maybe we should've had our wedding reception here," he heard Glenn say to Maggie. Gentle teasing.

Daryl barely caught Maggie's low-pitched answer, but the crack in her voice seemed to echo in his ears. "Sure is beautiful here."

He heard the two of them start walking again, light footsteps on the thick carpeting. "Still wouldn't trade our wedding for anything," Glenn said, the two of them still probably holding hands as they caught up. Maggie breathed out a whispery, tiny sigh behind him.

Michonne nodded to first to Daryl then to Glenn and Maggie. She raised her katana as Daryl rapped on the swing door leading into the kitchen, peering into the porthole window. Nothing moved. No sounds. After a long moment, he slowly eased the door open, crossbow raised and finger hovering over the trigger.

Nothing. Just a stainless steel expanse of kitchen, everything seemingly in its place and covered in a thin layer of dust. They did a quick walkthrough of the kitchen, holding their breath as they checked walk-in coolers full of rotted meat and vegetables and oozing, waxy cardboard boxes. Found a huge pantry full of dry goods, huge cans and jars and boxes of non-perishable food. "Looks clear," he said, eyes darting from the grill to the wall of coolers to the dishwashing machine and back again. "Let's find a back door. Bring the car around and load 'er up." Maggie and Glenn agreed, already at work dragging food out of the pantry. Michonne offered to go with him.

Daryl headed off to the far corner of the kitchen, following a short hallway to a big set of double doors that led to a loading bay. "You can stay here an' watch the door. I'll bring the car around," he said, turning around to meet Michonne's eyes. "Make sure that we don't get locked out."

"Got it," she said, a little drily. Never really sure, with her.

He slung his bow across his shoulder, jogging around the tall, white plantation style building and down a sloping drive to where they had the Hyundai parked out front. Still so goddamned quiet up here. It was fucking eerie. Probably would've felt better if he had seen some walkers, or even some people. Not that he was complaining. Just didn't trust in this momentary run of good luck, is all. Daryl looked up at the big white building and the long since overgrown garden, bright colored flowers getting choked out by the weeds. He twisted the key in the ignition as he studied the decaying-by-degrees building, the dirty and chipping white siding and blown-askew shutters. Studied the peeling sign: The Red Magnolia, the red and black lettering peeling away. Shook his head as he turned the wheel and headed up the gravelly drive. Still looking around carefully, watching the sparse tree line and his mirrors, he backed the car up to the loading bay.

"Awfully quiet out there," Michonne commented when he got out of the car. Her dark eyes were moving like his had been this whole time, scanning the open spaces around them, jumping from one corner of her vision to the next.

"Seems like it," he agreed, walking up the stairs to the loading dock.

They stood silently next to each other, him with his thumb hooked under the strap of his crossbow, her with her right arm flexing a bit as she held her sword steady next to her leg. Michonne breathed out a low-pitched sigh after a moment. "Never thought listening to the quiet would make me feel worse. Always makes me worry about the other shoe getting ready to drop."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah," he said. "Hate waitin'." Her dark eyes seemed to glitter as she stared at the lightly wooded area beyond the loading dock, and he was reminded of a big cat, all long, smooth muscle and eyes that could easily track every motion, prey or pack-mate.

"Why do you think I've been out there? There's too much waiting at the prison. Too much sitting pretty." She turned her eyes to him, that sidelong look of hers, and continued. "Would've thought you hated it, too."

"Don't like it," he said, watching the movement of a squirrel in the distance as it skittered up a narrow tree trunk and onto a skinny branch, leaves swaying behind it. Daryl thought carefully for a moment, turning his thoughts over in his mind before speaking them out loud. "S'always gonna be like this. Waitin' for whatever's comin'. Just know I'd rather be in there, with 'em all when it happens. Not out here, alone." And as he spoke, he saw in her own eyes that she was listening to his words carefully, maybe considering them. That was the thing about Michonne. Didn't know much about her, other than that she was lethal with that sword of hers and that she had a soft spot for Carl. That was the important shit, anyways. She had his respect, maybe because they were so much alike. For the two of them, the before was mostly blotted out, kept sealed up inside them. Didn't wear it on their sleeves, like Rick or Hershel. Now they were about trying to survive, trying to figure out what that meant when there was a whole bunch of people counting on them. For him, that meant sticking close to the prison, stepping up where Rick couldn't. Dealing with the waiting as best he could. And for Michonne, that meant going out there, burning up all that waiting by chasing the Governor's ghost and hoping to finally get her chance to kill him. They both would volunteer to put their necks on the line, whenever they had to, and in their own ways. They both really gave a damn about the people they'd lost, and the people they still had.

Michonne tucked her sword away. "Better get back inside. They're probably just about finished up in there." She swung the big double door open, heading down the dim corridor to the kitchen, and Daryl followed after making sure the heavy door had clicked shut behind him.

Back in the kitchens, Maggie and Glenn had lugged piles of foodstuff to the door heading out to the corridor, big jugs of vinegar and oil and huge cans of beans and sacks of flour and sugar. Even had big canisters of spices, which would give people something to get excited about, maybe forget about all the fuss of the morning. It was a pretty damn good haul, all in all. Probably take a bit of work to get the car loaded up well enough so they could all fit in there. Not a bad problem to have, though, these days.

Daryl and Michonne started loading up the car while Maggie and Glenn finished up emptying out the pantry. They hauled everything down the hallway to the loading bay, and by the time the last of it was out there on that cement pad, Glenn and Maggie were stripping the administrative offices of anything of value.

Still no sight of anything out there, so they didn't rush themselves packing up the Hyundai. Daryl jumped off the dock, standing to the side of the vehicle, letting Michonne hand him down cans and sacks and boxes of food, which he stacked carefully. Used to just throw his shit in the back of his truck, back before. Tools and rope and ammo, rattling around with empty packs of cigarettes and half-crushed beer cans. He'd gotten good and cramming as much shit as possible into cramped cars, these days. Never let a goddamned bit of food or car space go to waste.

Michonne was handing him down a heavy sack of flour when she broke the silence they'd been working in. "So," she said, a slight smile flitting across her face as she tossed the flour down into his waiting arms. "You and Beth?" she asked, one eyebrow arched.

The back of his neck heated up as he settled the flour into the car. "What about her?" he asked, keeping his tone even and averting his eyes from hers.

"You're gonna clam up on me now, Redneck?" she asked, handing him down a giant jar of pickles. "You really are a piece of work. Whole thing's got more than half the prison scratching their heads and you act like there's nothing to say about that girl hanging around with an ol' grump like you." She rolled her eyes, still grinning at him, and he just shook his head.

"I miss the days when you were all last samurai on us," Daryl finally offered up, when her knowing smile started really burning the back of his neck. Tossed a bag of chocolate chips into the car. "Weren't always runnin' your mouth, back then." His tone didn't have any bite though, which probably told the damn woman all she wanted to know anyway.

Michonne just shook her head, lobbing a box of raisins at his head which he caught with a single hand. "Leaving your audience mystified, I see."

"Yeah, righ'," he grumbled.

They finished up the loading the car in easy silence, careful not to slam the door too loudly, just in case. Went back inside to check on Maggie and Glenn, who'd torn apart the offices and come up with a couple of small boxes worth of office supplies and random shit.

"We found a stairway. Looks like it leads to the top floor. Did we want to go through it or…?" Glenn let his voice trail off, looking between Michonne and Daryl in the dim light of the kitchen.

Daryl thumbed the worn strap on his crossbow. "Nah," he said. "Just supposed to go out for food today. Car's loaded up full. We can lock 'er up and come back in a few days. Wanna make sure we get this food back soon, after all that bullshit this mornin'."

Glenn nodded, and so did Maggie. So they grabbed the last of the shit from the office and piled into the car. Pulled around front, locked the door back up with a spare padlock, and headed for home.

Soon as they pulled away from that restaurant, heading on back to the prison, that uneasy feeling he'd been having came back to him something fierce. He'd been feeling it all day, given that he'd woken up to a Pauline in a tizzy about a mouse infestation in the kitchens. Little fuckers tore through a whole hell of a lot of food overnight, making a mess of the pantry and ruining way too much of their food. They'd had mice getting into food before. Wasn't anything unusual. But this morning was worse than any of those other times, by far. By the time he and the others were piling into the car, six mice had been caught, all fat and sleepy like they'd been chewing at their hard-won larder all night long. Probably caught more since then, too.

Rick had given him a look, a steady-eyed stare over a chewed up sack of cornmeal that was leaking yellow granules and chewed up paper all over the floor, and Daryl knew he wasn't alone in thinking that all those mice in the storeroom wasn't just something that happened on its own. Something like this, happening so soon after the fence was nearly wrecked and all those half-eaten mice were found in the weeds, wasn't natural. Somebody was fucking with them, and it ate at him. Made him wary, just the same as Michonne. They were always waiting for something to happen to them. Something to tear them up and make them run for the hills with the devil on their heels.

They were maybe halfway back to the prison, sitting in tired silence, when they heard frantic sounds filtering in through the window Daryl had cracked. A single angry scream, gunfire. And all of it getting closer to their vehicle. Daryl could feel a shift in the air, all of them breathing quick and hands moving towards weapons. He tapped on the brakes, looking around carefully but not seeing anything just yet. One hand gripped the wheel while the other scrounged for his crossbow.

He'd just managed to get a hold of his bow when a tall, drab looking figure in a big coat and a baseball cap pulled down low broke from the trees, heading towards the road with six walkers chasing after them, not more than a few yards in front of them. He slammed on the brakes, and jammed the gear into park, all of them already opening their doors to get out and help the poor bastard. As soon as their feet hit the pavement, they got to work on the walkers. The figure, Daryl could see now, was a teenage boy, dirty and haggard looking, wearing a patched up army surplus jacket. He had a big old knife in his hand, and was hacking away at the walkers as best he could without tripping over his boots.

Daryl fired off a bolt, landing a shot to the eye of a walker advancing on the kid. Michonne dispatched of two walkers with a single swing of her katana, while Glenn and Maggie dodged around each other, covering each other's backs to kill a huge walker, well over six foot and built like a fucking train.

The kid jammed his knife into the skull of a walker, yelling from behind clenched lips as the serrated blade sunk into the skull. The kid's eyes met Daryl's for a burning moment as he squeezed off a final bolt. Looking at that last walker as he brought it down, all Daryl could see was the helpless anger and fear in that kid's face. The white, compressed lips and burning eyes, light brown under dark, furrowed brows. Kid looked all of seventeen, and ready to rip the world apart with his rage.

Daryl lowered his crossbow as the kid doubled over, hands on his knees. "You shouldn't have fuckin' bothered," the kid spat out, glaring at Daryl. "They'd already fuckin' got me by the time you assholes were out of the car."

Then Daryl saw it. Saw the torn open gash in the huge jacket, the blood and ripped flesh dripping from the kid's left arm. Daryl's shoulders, still buzzing with adrenaline, fell. Felt that old buzzing in his fingers, that odd sensation of not knowing if they'd work. His knuckles felt stiff and worn, radiating tightness echoing up his arms. That accounted for the scream.

"Fuckin' hell, kid," Daryl said softly, meeting the kid's eyes. An apology. The kid stood there, glaring at the four of them, Michonne and Maggie and Glenn standing just slightly behind Daryl. Knew without looking they all had their eyes downcast, unable to look the kid in the eyes.

The kid swallowed hard, looking away at the hazy afternoon sunlight splintering across the tall grass. "Not much time left for me," he said, swinging the side of his tightly clenched fist into his thigh in a slow, steady arc.

"We'll stay," he offered. The kid eyed at him suspiciously, brown eyes narrowed, and Daryl just stared back, taking in the kid's sickly pale and sweaty face, the shaking and worn-thin frame. He jerked his chin to a big tree on the side of the road. Big trunk, big leaves casting shade. "You an' me, we'll go over there and take care of it when we have to."

Turned to look at Glenn. "Get these outta the road," he said, kicking a walker. Dropped his voice, meeting Glenn's unblinking eyes. "Won't be long now."

Daryl walked towards the kid, hefting his crossbow over his shoulder. The kid never offered his agreement, he just followed after Daryl, dragging his boots first along the pavement, and then through the dirt and leaves. Daryl sat down beneath the tree, settling his bow on his lap. After a long moment, the kid scuffed along to the opposite side of the tree and settled down. Daryl couldn't see him, but he heard the kid's head fall back against the big trunk, and he heard the kid breathe out a long sigh, a trembling sound that Daryl recognized. Recognized it because he'd made it himself.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Richie," he said, dully.

"Daryl." He ran his fingers over the string of his crossbow, studying it. "You probably been out here alone for a while, then." His eyes flickered over the woods. That silence was back, only this time it was more humid, making it hard to breathe.

"Since winter," the kid mumbled. "Fuckin' psychos got my little sister. Becky. Been just me since."

Daryl traced the fletching of the loaded bolt, running his thumb over it. Kid had a slow drawl, almost like the mountain accent he had. Same sort of backwoods look, with his heavy boots and oil and dirt stained Dale Earnhardt Jr. hat. Same hungry-mad look in his eyes, same look he'd seen in the mirror, seen in the faces of the people he'd grown up with. Same dirty package and the same sad, bitter anger. Probably raised the same hard way, with a belt and not much else. Dug through his pockets, pulling out his pack of smokes and his zippo. Lit one up for himself.

"Lost my brother," Daryl offered, tossing the pack of cigarettes and the lighter on the ground between them. Another apology. One shaky hand, dirt under the nails and in the lines of his knuckles, reached out, pulling out a cigarette. A crude tattoo of a cross marked the back of the kid's hand, in between his thumb and forefinger. Probably did it himself, drunk on whisky and making due with pen ink and a needle wrapped in thread.

"Seems like ya still got some people," Richie said, envy making the words sharp. Heard him inhale, then breathe out. "Been a long time since I had a smoke. Becky never liked me doin' it. Said it made me smell like Dad." Richie chuckled, but it wasn't a good sound. "Psychos takin' over the world seemed a good time'a quit. Hard to find 'em, that is."

They smoked in silence for a couple of long moments. Just the steady sound of inhaling and exhaling and the wind in the trees. Faint sounds of the other three dragging the walkers off the road and into the woods.

Richie's voice was fainter when he broke the silence. "You can make it quick," he mumbled, half question, half statement. "Reckon you know how." The kid sighed, the sound more rattling that before. "It's been just me for a long time. Dad's been gone for years. Mom got bit in minutes, seems like. Then Becky. An' now me." Daryl saw the hand, the misshapen blue-black cross, rubbing the end of the cigarette into the dirt. Smoked down to the pinched filter and twisted back and forth, back and forth, into the oily soil.

Daryl stared at the sun until he had to close his eyes. "How you want me to do it?"

Fabric rustling and metallic clinking. "Here," he said, throwing down a hatchet with a leather sheath covering the blade, the kind you could keep on a belt. The thick yellow-tan leather was cracking and the stitching had long since been discolored by dirty hands and the elements. Scratched into the leather, childishly shaped letters spelled out Richie. The kid threw his big buck knife down, too. "May as well keep 'em. Won't do me no good."

"I'll take care of 'em," Daryl promised, picking them both up, one at a time and settling them down next to him.

"Reckon you know how," the kid said again, softly, almost to himself. "Why are you doin' this?"

Daryl's voice was low, when he spoke. Gravelly. "My brother died alone."

The kid hmm'ed a response, gurgling a little. "I ain't your brother."

"Nah," he said, quiet, looking up at the leaves above his head for a minute. He ran his thumbnail down a deep scratch, smoothed by age, in the wooden handle of the hatchet. "Coulda been, though."

"What's it like? Where y'all are from." The kid's voice was less than a whisper. Barely heard above the rustling of trees and the birds hopping around above them. Wouldn't be much longer now.

Daryl unsnapped the leather from around the hatchet head with his thumb, an idle movement he'd have to make sooner or later. "S'at a prison. Lots of people always underfoot." He huffed a muffled snort through his nose. "Rick's always farming. Got two kids, a boy and a baby girl. Lil'Asskicker, I call her. Maggie and Glenn, that couple out there. Michonne, with the sword. Carol's good with the kids, good with getting work done. Hershel's always makin' sure we're doing right. A vet's as good a doctor as we got, these days." The kid wheezed out a gasping breath, and Daryl moved his crossbow off his lap, pulling the leather cover all the way off the hatchet. "An' Beth. Takin' care of Lil'Asskicker. Singing songs and making you think the world ain't fallen all the way apart yet."

One more labored, rattling breath. Daryl wrapped his hand around the handle. Muscle and tendon shifting bone wearily, getting ready to stand. Creaking joints and creaking leather. The scrape of boots on dirt and leaves, rock and root.

Hollow air, and then one inhuman, rattling, gasping and sucking breath, deflating Daryl's tired lungs. Deadweight but living fingers curled around the handle of the hatchet, settling into the worn-in grooves of another man's hands. Loose wrist, the muscles of his arm flexing without thought, the jerk of his elbow and the swing of his forearm, force rippling down his arm. And then, a sickeningly loud, sickeningly wet and squelching thud. A few birds, flapping away in startled distraction.

And then silence.

The rest of the trip back to the prison was still and quiet, like being wrapped in cotton. Deaf and blind. Daryl had sprawled in the passenger's seat after he'd tossed the keys off to Glenn, one elbow propped up by the window, the other hand resting against the hatchet in his lap.

He found Beth in the library, stretched out on her back with the baby resting on the flat of her stomach, propped up against her raised knees. Laid out in a panel of sunshine and singing a Faith Hill song from the nineties. She caught his eye and kept singing as he watched from the doorway for a moment.

Daryl walked on over to her, settling down on the hard floor next to her, trying to keep a respectable distance between them. He folded his hands behind his head and watched as she moved the baby's hands in time to the music. Judy's chubby little face was bright with excitement as she listened to Beth, arms waggling and fingers wiggling. Little blue eyes intently watching every move of Beth's face.

When Beth finished singing, she gently brought the girl's hands together in a pantomime of clapping. "Judy Grimes, country music sensation!" she cheered, eliciting peals of laughter from the baby. Daryl smiled a little at that, a quirking of his lips he didn't think he really had in him.

"Guess you taught her a thing or two, then," he said.

Beth smiled. "Somethin' like that." She laid her head back, ponytail spreading out across the floor, blonde strands splayed every which way, shining in the sunlight. "Run went okay?" she asked, turning her face towards his.

He hummed a non-committal response, looking at the lock of hair by her ear before turning his eyes to the window above him. "Looks like it might rain later. Maybe stay inside tonight, after dinner."

She rested one hand on the baby's belly, keeping her upright against her knees with a light grasp, a move that was neither rushed nor worried, simply matter of fact, simply knowing how to hold the baby with barely more than her fingertips. "Sounds good to me," she said, reaching out and lightly running her hand down his arm. Blue eyes like glass, and still smiling.

Sure enough, it did rain. Not a hard rain, but a cool, steady one, falling from the sky in relentless fat drops that dribbled down the windows, clearing muddy streaks in the dirt that had built up there. Daryl felt restless, sitting in the library, even with Beth curled up on the couch next to him, reading quietly. He'd sharpened the blade of Richie's hatchet, though it hadn't really needed it. The kid had kept it in good shape. Just felt wrong, not to try to return it to the condition he'd found it in. So, he'd ran the blade through the sharpener, careful not to jostle Beth too much or make too much sound. Just the steady sound of metal on stone, slow and even. Careful. Wasn't even sure if he was ever going to use it again. Wasn't against a good blade, and his magpie instinct wouldn't let him leave the thing behind. But tangled up with all that was the idea that it was somebody else's blade. Somebody else's weapon. It wasn't his to use, except for taking care of the kid the way he'd asked to go. So when he'd finished up sharpening it, he'd just put the leather cover back over the blade and set the hatchet down on the arm of the couch. Used his fingers to cover up the kid's name scratched into the leather, and sat in silence for a few minutes. Watched Beth off and on, mostly because she was being so twitchy. Followed tracks of water on the dusty window panes. Felt the same tiredness he felt sometimes, that feeling of being older than ever and not any wiser for it. Wanted to be doing something. But he knew there was nothing that was going to work this day out of his system. No amount of walking the fences, killing walkers, or getting tangled up with a dragging exhaust pipe was going to clear away the unease he'd been feeling since he woke up this morning. So he sat still, trying to clear out his mind, one word from that kid's mouth at a time, one look at that kid's dying face at a time.

Beth shifted next to him, crossing her legs. She furrowed her brow as she kept reading, her thumbnail moving back and forth along the edge of her jaw for a moment, from below her ear to the point of her chin and back again. Flipped a page and licked her lips before drawing the lower one in under her teeth. Blue eyes scanned the page quickly, as her hand dropped from her jaw to her necklace, finding the twin heart pendants and worrying them between her thumb and forefinger. Shifted again, this time turning her whole body around and facing towards Daryl, her toes brushing against his thigh. His hand moved on its own, dropping down and settling across her feet.

"Sorry," she said, faint pink blooming in her cheeks as she looked up from her book. But she didn't move her feet away.

He watched her fingers moving across the larger heart pendant, steady careful movement. Saw the red of her bitten lip. "Y'alrigh'?" he asked.

She tucked a bit of paper into her book and placed it on the couch behind her. Looped her thin arms around her knees and hooked her fingers together. Looked him with eyes that shone like polished stone but moved like water. "The mice this morning, in the pantry. Did somebody do it on purpose?"

Looking up to the ceiling, Daryl answered. "Don't know. Probably." Looked back over at her, seeing the worry shining in her blue eyes.

"Same person that was feedin' the walkers out by the fence?" She still had that worry in her eyes, making her look tired, but she kept her features even all the same.

"Probably is. Rick an' I don't know yet." He watched her nod slowly, chewing on her lip as she considered his words.

Beth rested her chin on her knees, looking at him thoughtfully. He still had his hand on the tops of her feet, his thumb rubbing over a spot where a hole had been stitched together in her sock. She gave a quick half-smile, wiggling her toes a little. She kept looking at him, a little curiously, as the smile faded from her face. Moving again, she scooted over to his side. He lifted his arm, putting it onto the back of the couch so she could scoot in closer. She tucked her legs under her as she rested her head against his shoulder, curling into him.

"Did something happen on the run today? You seem a little out of it." Her voice was quiet, words brushing across his skin and giving him pause.

Daryl thought about the terrible quietness of that place, the Red Magnolia Restaurant, with its dusty, preserved table settings and peeling paint. Thought about that awful cracking in Maggie's voice as she studied the place and whispered to Glenn. Thought about the fact that they were going back in a day or two to empty out the upper floors. And then he thought about Richie. The look of anger, angry to be dying like that, in that kid's face. The anger fading as they smoked under that tree, facing away from each other, and the kid finally asking what it was like at the prison. And Daryl telling him, telling him about what they had here, all the good people and the act of just living. Rick, with his farming and Carl and Judy. Maggie and Glenn. Michonne and her katana. Carol. Hershel. And Beth, pretty Beth with her pretty songs. And then the kid dying, getting put down with his own hatchet, just like he asked.

Least he didn't die alone, Merle's voice whispered in his mind.

"Saw a kid. Reminded me'a someone." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

Beth was quiet for a long moment. Daryl could feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, relaxing because it was steady, her body moving alongside of his. Inhale, exhale. Didn't stop, didn't falter. Just kept going.

"Do you want me to ask who?" Beth pulled her head away from his shoulder, and he opened up his eyes to see her staring up at him. She had that old hard, unflinching look in her eyes. No pity, no softness. Just giving him the choice of pulling himself apart in front of her, or not. Daryl looked at her silently, his blue eyes tracing the curve of her pale cheek and the pink of her lips. He thought about the words he might've said, if she'd asked. Merle, he would've said. Me.

But she hadn't asked him. Just asked him if he even wanted that question at all.

So he let his hand fall from the back of the couch, his arm pressing gently into her back, his hand finding the base of her spine and pressing aching fingers against the sturdy bone and soft skin. Let his fingers curl up towards her hip, sliding under her shirt to trace the skin there. Felt that restlessness in him start to change as his fingers ran along her hip, making her shiver lightly and push closer to him. It made his body turn loose, his mind emptying out and something else waking up to take its place.

"Nah," he mumbled, finally offering her an answer. Lowered his head so his nose bushed along her cheekbone. "Don't matter," he said, his lips moving against her soft skin as he spoke. Pressed a kiss to the corner of her jaw. Tasted sweet, clean. Smelled like sin to him, though, all want and need and not knowing which was which anymore.

Daryl didn't want to think about that kid dying, or his brother dying, or all the shit he'd never had and all that he lost along the way. Didn't want to think about the fact that they were doing like Michonne said, and waiting for that other shoe to drop. This was where he belonged for now. Belonged here, working alongside Rick and trying to stop them falling apart from within. This moment, though, this moment, stolen fucking minutes in the prison library, were all about being pressed up against this girl. Breathing her in and tasting her skin.

An' Beth. Takin' care of Lil'Asskicker. Singing songs and making you think the world ain't fallen all the way apart yet.

So Daryl did the only thing he could think to do, and kissed her. Held onto her chin and dragged his mouth across the smooth skin of her cheek until he found her lips, soft and pliant under the pressure of his mouth. Beth hummed into his kiss, her throat vibrating against his fingers. Tasted the sweetness of her lower lip with the tip of his tongue as his hand moved further up her side, up the dip of her waist to her ribs. Splayed his hand there, feeling her skin, warm and shivering all at once. Felt her fingers at the neck of his shirt, lightly moving against the skin, brushing back and forth over the hollow of his throat. She curled in tighter against him as he deepened the kiss, his thumb pressing into the corner of her mouth, opening her up to him. Kissed her like that until he wasn't sure he could breathe anymore, until she was gasping against him and her hand had fallen to the v of his shirt neck, gripping the fabric.

Pulled away from her mouth long enough to haul her onto his lap, her knees ending up on either side of his waist. Beth's hands found his shoulders when his tongue ran up the side of her neck, pressing a wet kiss to the soft spot below her ear. She settled on top of him, and instinct had him rocking against her, a slow rhythm he kept up with his hand holding onto her thigh, thumb close to the zipper of her jeans. Slid his other hand up the back of her shirt, fingertips brushing against the silky fabric of her bra. She made him fucking burn for her.

Beth's palm found the back of his neck, her fingers sliding down under his collar. Didn't go far, just skimmed across the top of his back, close to his neck, nails lightly scratching the skin.

He locked up, ice running down his spine, spreading across his skin. Pulled his mouth from her neck and just reached up, hand closing around all those bracelets she kept wrapped around her thin wrist. Lowered her hand to rest on her thigh. He didn't let go, though, just kept his big hand tucked over hers, thumb pressed to the inside of her soft palm. Didn't want to let go.

Daryl ran his hand down her back, smoothing her shirt down. "Alrigh'?" he asked, looking into her eyes. His voice was gravelly, low, not much more sound than the rain falling on the windows. Wasn't even really sure what he was asking about, but he needed to know all the same.

"Alright," she murmured softly. He felt her eyes on his face, tracing whatever she saw in the blue-grey light coming in through the window. With her free hand, she brushed his hair out of his eyes. Licked her swollen lips, still studying him.

Maybe the world was falling apart. Maybe there was something out there waiting to get them, same as there was something in here, out to get them. Maybe he was a no-good son of a bitch, a coward afraid of anybody touching too much of him, pulling him apart and making him bleed all over again.

But he fucking had her.

Judith was wailing hysterically, long and loud cries broken up by ragged breaths. Beth hurried down the walk to Rick's cell, Daryl trailing after her. He hung back, watching as Beth swung into the cell. Saw the bewildered look on Rick's strained face, the red creeping up the man's hollow cheeks.

"Oh, darlin'," Beth said, reaching for Judy, pulling her from Rick's arms. The baby's wailing slowed as Beth hugged the girl to her chest, patting her back and talking quietly to her, cries turning to whimpers and snuffles and hiccups. "See," Beth cooed. "You have to be a good little girl for your Daddy." She turned back to the men. "She didn't sleep so well last night. Probably overtired, is all." Looking down at the girl with a smile on her face, she carried on. "Say goodnight, Judy. Time to get your jammies on and get you in bed!"

Beth left the cell with a smile for each of the men, rubbing Judy's back in smoothing circles and coaxing the last of her sniffles from her. Daryl's eyes followed Beth down the hallway for a moment, and when he turned back to Rick, he saw the man's eyes were watching the girls, too. Wasn't happy, whatever was written in the man's eyes. Something sad, something broken. Something like losing Lori all over again.

A/N: Wow, this took forever. Mostly because I had the original chapter 11 halfway written when I decided to re-write it. (Sorry, guys! Major nitpicking kicking in.) This version of the chapter gives me an opportunity to do a bit more in chapter 12, linking 11/12 together a bit more explicitly and moving the plot along a bit more. For those that don't know, I was up in the Highlands without internet/cell service, during which time I did a lot of writing and plotting. There is a lot going on, a lot scribbled down in my notebook… If I could, I would always skip school and disappear into the wilderness and write nonstop. And then y'all wouldn't have to wait so long between updates.

Anyway! Let me know what you all think. There's going to be more Beth in the next chapter, and I'm strongly considering writing a few one shots in Beth's POV from the Heavy-verse, although I'm not exactly sure what bits I'd like to do just yet. I know some of y'all are worried about how Beth's pretty much a paragon, here. Don't worry. We'll all be getting to know her a little bit better in upcoming chapters.

As always, thank you all for the incredible support and love and reviews. You guys rock! Come find me on Tumblr: CoraRochester