It was after midnight when Beth put the final touches on her history paper. It was due first thing in the morning. She'd always thought that History was a bit of a rough class to start out a schedule. When she woke up in the morning; that was usually the brightest, happiest moment of the day, following it up with all that heavy war and human mistakes that no one seemed to have learned anything from was always a downer.

She was alone in the kitchen where she'd been for the last few hours, reading and working on the paper. She started to pack up, taking care to be quiet, and not disturb the rest of the house.

There was no need. The front door swung open and Otis came in, his breath was a little labored as he took a few heavy steps into the kitchen. "Ya still doin' up?" he asked, furrowing his brow at her, "Homework? Well, that'll please your dad. He's been worried about your grades. Senior year ain't the time to check out."

"Yeah, I've been worried too," Beth privately wondered if her senior year was the perfect time to check out, but Otis was probably right. "Why are you still awake?"

"Me and your dad," he motioned out the window onto the grounds, then ducked into the fridge, through a yawn he said, "There's wolves roaming nearby. We gotta start a night-watch 'til they move on." He looked exhausted, rubbing at his eyes and then his beard with both hands.

"Why don't you go to bed? I can go do my homework with dad—make sure he doesn't fall asleep," she offered. There was no need for her to get anything else finished, but she could always get a head start on her next assignments, and besides, she wasn't tired.

"I dunno," said Otis, shaking his head, but his eyes were bloodshot. It was calving season and he'd been up all the night before.

"It's fine. I need to pull my weight around here, anyway," she smiled apologetically. She was the only person in the household who didn't have any set chores at the moment, on account of school and her high-priority mission to pull her grades up. Still, she usually pitched in where she could, when she had time, but this week she hadn't even feed the chickens.

"Alright," Otis nodded, "I appreciate it," he patted her on the shoulder as he shuffled past, letting his exhaustion show more than ever. "He's at that spot in the fence that needs to be dealt with. Take a couple of drinks and a snack out to him, will ya?"

She'd assumed that was what Otis was doing in the fridge, and was already looking around for something portable and filling to take with her. A couple of apples from the counter and her mother's homemade granola to munch on would be perfect.

On the far side of their property, she found her father, white-haired and stoic with a shotgun propped in his hands. She felt a familiar sorrow, because when he was tired he looked real old. It was always a little jarring when she noticed her father's age. He was still strong and had no intention of dying for a few more decades, at least, but all the same. The wrinkles in his face were a source of expectant fear whenever she noticed them.

He stood beside a pair of lawn chairs. Beth hadn't been out this way in a few weeks. She couldn't see with her own eyes what was wrong with the fence, but then again, everything looked the same to her as it always had.

Hershel turned as she approached; tilting his brow when he saw that it was her coming and not his foreman, "Ya sent Otis to bed?"

"Didn't give him a choice," she set her backpack in the dirt, unzipping the top to fish out the snacks and water that she'd brought him.

"Well, probably best," said Hershel with a sigh, "Poor man's exhausted… but you've got school in the morning. I'll be fine on my own."

In response, she sat down in one of the lawn chairs and smiled up at him. Her father was in his seventies and with each passing season he became more prone to falling asleep under conditions that shouldn't allow it. Even now, she was sure that the reason he'd chosen to stand even though there were two chairs was because he didn't want to drift off and leave his post unattended. "I promise. I'll go to bed when I feel it. I'm not tired. I got homework, anyway." To make a point of settling in, she start fishing through her backpack, pulling out her history text book and propping it open in her lap. It was all pantomime, but he didn't call her on it.

She pretended to study as long as she could stand it, but soon ended up sitting with her chin propped in one hand, watching her father fight off sleep even as he stood stalk-still. He'd never let her stay out here alone on watch, least of all because she didn't really know anything about guns.

Hershel blinked slowly, head dropping about half an inch in a few seconds. She was going to have to keep him awake.

"Wolves?" she asked, somewhat hopeful. She didn't want them to cause any trouble, but it would be something to see a wolf up close, in the wild.

He looked up with a jerk, able to snap to alertness in an instant, "Wolf pack," he nodded. "Thinks it's going to settle in the area awhile—but it won't. Can't let it. We heard 'em earlier, Otis and I. They were out there cryin'."

As if on cue something stirred in the tree-line beyond the fence. The rustling pulled both of their eyes into the shadows.

"...it's probably something smaller and less interesting," said Hershel, but he had his shotgun at the ready, just in case.

"You ain't gonna shot a wolf if you see one, are ya?"

"Nah. Not unless one actually tried to attack one of us, or one of the animals." He gestured to the shotgun, "This is just Otis' beanbag gun. It wouldn't do much damage even if you did hit the poor beast. It's just to scare 'em off, if they come. Help them figure out that our animals aren't a viable food-source. If all the farms around here do the same, the pack will move on, look elsewhere."

She peered into the night for another four minutes before she gave up on seeing a wolf. Whatever it was that had made the noise seemed to be long gone now.

"With the fence needing to be redone, and with this new night-watch, we could sure use a few more backs to bear the burden."

"Yeah," said Beth, so quiet she hardly heard herself speak.

"S'not really the season to pick up a troop of migrant workers, but I think I'll have Otis look into it in the morning," He took a bite out of one of the apples with a crunch.

She had really thought that Daryl might come, but with each day that passed she felt it was getting more and more likely that he'd forgotten all about it. Maggie would be pleased, she realized, heart sinking. Her older sister had texted Beth both Monday and Tuesday asking if he'd shown up. Finally, Beth had promised her that if he came, she'd let Maggie know—but only after Maggie swore up and down that she wouldn't say anything to their parents about him.

It didn't look like Beth would ever need to send that text. It had been almost a week. He must have found something else… she just hoped it wasn't the gun running job that Jeremiah had been trying to talk him into.

"You doing alright, Bethy?"

"Yeah, 'course," she didn't look up from pretending to read her textbook.

"…It's just I noticed you haven't done anything with your friends all week. I haven't heard you mention them since your birthday. You came right home everyday. Didn't linger to chat after school, like you usually do. Don't talk much either, you just read in your room, or do your homework."

She gave a prolonged shrug, "I just wanna raise my grades before I graduate."

"Ya didn't get into a fight with your friends?" He raised his eyebrows in concern at her.

She shrugged again. They hadn't exactly gotten into a fight, but she hadn't been speaking to them much. After everything that had happened that night, it was getting clearer to her that she and her friends had been drifting apart for months, and maybe that was okay. She didn't want to do anything to make them feel bad, but a little distance was as healthy as it was inevitable.

"Well, I can't say it's a grand loss," Hershel chuckled, "I'm just glad their overindulgent ways never influenced you, like we feared."

Stunned to silence, Beth could only stare at her father. "You know that they…?"

"Where do you think you get your observant nature from, Bethy?"

She glanced at the house, fighting a smile.

"That's right—your mother. But, I've picked up on a few things. It's easy with your friends, because their vices are so familiar to me." He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "Whenever you come home from hanging out with them, your clothes smell, Bethy—even if you're not the one doing any of that stuff. It rubs off. Just being around booze is bad enough."

"Daddy, I just want you to know, that I never—"

"I know," he interrupted her, nodding. "I'm proud of you for taking my word for it, this far into your life, but I'm well aware by now that I can't make every decision for my children." He added, "As tempting as it is to try," after a moment of quiet.

"…Kinda tempting to let you," she giggled, but it faded quickly into uneasy silence, "but not really. I know that isn't the way it works."

"…Listen, you'd probably rather talk to your mother about this kind of thing, but I just want you to know, we do pay attention to you. We've noticed that this year's been testing for ya."

"There's no reason for it to be," Beth couldn't look up at his face. "There's nothing wrong—"

"Sure there is," he said gently, "You're about to finish high school, you'll be heading out in a few months, and I can see that ya aren't thrilled about that."

She finally looked up at his kind smile and returned it, "It's stupid," she shrugged, "I just thought I'd know what I wanted by now. What I'm supposed to do." Purpose.

"I'd be worried if you weren't thinking about this kind of stuff. You're a good girl, you're bright. You'll figure it out, with a little faith and a few hundred prayers."

It shouldn't have made her feel better. It was the kind of thing he'd said countless times, for as long as she could remember, she was growing numb to some of his council. But all the same, it did help her to breathe a little easier for a moment, because she knew he was right, deep down. She would figure this adult thing out.

The moment ended when something shuffled in the darkness up ahead. She stiffened and watched with wide eyes, Hershel still beside her with the beanbag gun at the ready, but nothing showed itself.


When he saw the farm, Daryl almost flipped an immediate U-turn.

It was too perfect.

The Greene Family Farm was ideal. Bathed in sunlight, it looked especially reminiscent of some painting; an artistic representation of a six year old Southern girl's dream-home. He couldn't really imagine people actually living in that damned doll-house.

Except he knew that Beth lived there, and she was kind. She'd asked him to come. In the end, that was what kept him from tearing away down the road; it was the silver of hope that he might still be welcome here, by her, at least. Unless she'd thought better of it. He could hardly blame her if that was the case.

He parked his truck in the shade, on the road, not too close to the house. He thought he might need it to steel himself with a little bit of a walk. Besides that, he didn't want to draw any attention to his own arrival.

Too late. The second he stepped out of the truck he saw a figure coming towards him. A heavy guy with a ring of keys as his waist and a cautious kink in his eyebrows.

"You the foreman?" Daryl shouted when he was still a few dozen yards away. He put his hands in his pocket as he came to meet him in the driveway, trying to fake some confidence with his chin cocked up.

"Yeah? Who's askin'?"

"I was told there might be some work to get done."

The foreman's mouth closed shut in an instant and his face split into understanding, "Well—that was fast. We just started lookin' this morning."

That gave Daryl a second of pause, but he shrugged it off. Maybe it was better if he didn't mention Beth's name. He doubted her family would have a load of appreciation for the circumstances under which they met. If she'd told them anything about him—she'd have lied. He highly doubted she would say anything.

"Name's Otis," he stuck out his hand for Daryl to shake. "I've been the foreman for Hershel Greene for round about twenty years."

"Daryl Dixon."

"Dixon? Ya local?" After taking his hand back, he immediately moved in the direction of the far field, waving one hand to beckon Daryl to follow him. "I know some Dixons."

"There's a few of us," muttered Daryl, "Nah, ain't from here," he added a little louder.

"How'd ya hear 'bout our need?" Otis glanced back over his shoulder at him. They tried to stick to the shade, but there wasn't much on the way. It was the first properly warm day of the year, the humidity warning them of an inevitable storm to come.

"Just passin' through town. Word gets 'round."

Otis nodded in acknowledgement but didn't comment further, he'd know better than to pry. A farm like this probably had a lot of migrant workers come and go. Their business was their own. Daryl was no different.

"Our main reason for needing extra hands right now is this fence," Otis slapped it, as if to prove is insufficiency it rocked a little under his big hand. "Can't wait through another winter, and Hershel wants it done and outta the way 'fore something more pressing comes up. The other thing—we gotta establish a night-watch. There's pack of wolves in the area."

Daryl nodded, "Alright."

"You got any kinda experience on a farm?"

"Yeah," it was usually Merle that did all the talking through his part. He tried to think of something that his brother would say, but thinking about his brother at all twisted his chest up. "Any kinda job ya got, I've probably done it before," he shrugged, "Horses, cattle, whatever. S'long as ya pay me I'm game." He was staring at his feet a lot, too much, but Otis didn't seem to care.

"Well, we'll try you out where we need ya, just to see," Otis offered, "Can you start right away?"

"Ain't got any other plans."

"There it is then," Otis gestured back towards the dollhouse, "I'll introduce you to Hershel and we can get started."

Otis had Daryl wait on the steps in front of the house while he went inside to get the farmer. Left alone with the Greene farm bright and humid all around him, Daryl couldn't help but wonder what it might have been like for Beth, growing up in a place like this. Did she listen to her dad and stay close to the house, avoid the duck-pond unless someone was around to watch her? Or did she worry her folks and run off past that dark tree-line that he could barely peer into on the edges of their fields?

He wasn't alone with his thoughts long before Hershel appeared. He was older than Daryl might've guessed—if he'd taken a second to do so. The man was at least in his seventies with neatly-set white hair and clear, pale eyes like his daughter's. His mouth turned down in a natural frown, but he made an effort at friendliness as he descended the steps, "Hershel Greene."

Daryl gripped his hand, "Daryl Dixon."

"Otis tells me you'll be joining us to help with some of this extra work."

"Yeah, grateful for the opportunity," Daryl mumbled.

"We're a bit old-fashioned around here. My family and I are very hands-on with the work, so you'll be answering directly to me and to Otis when it comes down to it," he glanced back at the doorway, where Otis was looking past them onto the fields, though he was still holding a decided demeanor of eavesdropping. "It might not be as big an operation as you've encountered in the past, but I do want to make something perfectly clear. We've had all types come and go. Every year for the harvest we take on migrant workers, and that's fine. They mind their own business and we mind ours. We follow a strict set a rules. No one from my immediate household will ever be alone with you."

It wasn't Daryl's first ballgame. He'd heard speeches like this before. It had never bothered him in the past. It was just logical. It was a policy that protected everybody. No one had to worry about being harmed or taken advantage of by a stranger, and nobody else had to worry about being accused of something they hadn't done. Nothing could ever get boiled down to a he-said she-said if there were always witnesses. It was the system that all good farmers followed.

Today, it irked him. He bit the inside of his cheek.

"No one from my immediately household will ever be on watch or working with you unless Otis or I are present, if a situation arises like the one I just described, there's been an oversight and I expect it to be corrected immediately," said Hershel firmly.

With two good-looking daughters, the man would be a fool if he didn't air on the side of caution. Quietly, Daryl acknowledged that it would be difficult to respect Hershel if he didn't look out for his girls. He started to like the old man immediately as he got over his own stubborn pride and shame. At the same time, he felt a hollow ache as he realized that this put the possibility of him and Beth seeing any of each other down to nil.

It was probably for the best.

"It isn't so much a matter of trust as precaution. I often don't know anything about the men who come to work here, and you don't know anything about us. It's better that way."

Daryl found himself nodding in agreement, more out of nervousness than anything else. "Makes good sense."

"I'm glad you feel that way—Otis, would you get Daryl his papers so we can square this?"

Otis nodded and disappeared into the house.

"It's good to meet you Daryl. We're very grateful for the help. I'll see you out there in no time," Hershel nodded a goodbye and left him alone again to wait on the porch.

No sooner had Hershel vanished than the sound of an approaching car drew Daryl's attention to the end of the long drive. Dust kicked up and finally settled as the little coupe came to a stop just a few yards in front of his truck. He didn't even have to see with his own eyes before he knew it would be her. His heart picked up the pace and he breathed out a ragged lungful of air mingled with a cuss.

She was wearing a short skirt like she was looking forward to summer a little too early in the year. All the way down on the ends of her legs he found those cowboy boots. She must love them. Her blonde hair was in a bit of a curly mess. She'd tried to pull it back in a ponytail but it was coming undone all over her face.

Beth shut the door, haphazardly trying to keep her backpack from slipping off her shoulder. He thought he'd come early enough that she'd still be in school for a few more hours, but it seemed he was wrong. Her eyes were stuck on his truck parked in the road behind her and Merle's motorcycle in the back.

Then she turned, found him on the steps and froze.

Thirty seconds into his new job and he was already breaking the rules.


Hey folks! Let me know what you think:) next update should be coming right along...

Shh - Frou Frou