His lips are still split. The coppery tang of his blood over powers the taste of him every time she kisses them. He refuses to use the chapstick she gave him, just shoves it in his vest pocket. He still isn't sleeping or eating enough, but he's a little more willing to give up a watch here and there so she doesn't push the issue, just monitors it. She's worrying about him, watching as he moves around the small room they're set up in. His movements are stiff. It's barely noticeable, but she sees it plain as day.

"Come lay down."

He does.

Beth slowly starts on the lines of buttons, her fingers are used to the motion. Muscle memory takes over while her eyes drift to his face. His eyes are closed. She's slowly peeling away each fraying layer of armor. She draws out the process of undressing him, knowing if she takes her time his breathing stays calm and even. If she keeps her movements steady and predictable he won't jump or flinch at her touch.

Daryl's not the man she would've pictured herself with before but she knows he's who she belongs with now. His eyes are bright, but hidden behind dark circles and years she has yet to experience and things she never will. His too long hair and slightly graying beard obscure the lines of his face. He doesn't have chiseled abs and smooth skin, like the boy-men she used to pin up in her locker. Daryl's strong, his body is solid in all the places that make sense, but sometimes he can shrink down into nothing. She's used to the way he feels under her hand, how every now and then he shifts her fingers to a spot that is easier to have touched.

Tonight he's still, letting her rub his shoulders. He knows she's checking the right one carefully, disguising it with a kiss. Any barrier between them is laying in a wrinkled pile on the floor. They have an actual bed and a lock on the door, it's almost like their old room. It's still hard, these gentle moments, he has to work to enjoy this kind of attention. He tries not to think about how inept he is and concentrates on the idea that he can do this, he can give her this. She's made it so he can.

She rubs the place where his leg meets his hip, she knows how sore that spot gets. She sees the way he favors it, how he rubs at it when he's been sitting too long. She's pretty sure it's arthritis.

He'll never tell her how it only got bad after he ran for nearly eight hours straight. How he can still feel the changes in his body, the physical symptoms of her disappearance are lingering even though she's been back with him for nearly a year. His joints still ache, his knees click when he squats down to check tracks, his left ankle turns under him for no reason, sometimes he can't catch his breath until he's touching her. He doesn't hide it from her, but he never explains how much damage losing her really did. Daryl knows she sees him limp across the room in the morning before sucking it up in front of everyone else. He knows she hears his slight groan when he stands up too fast, she watches him squint to read when she finds something he might like. His eye never healed right after the night he found Rick, doesn't focus the same.

Laying next to her, his head beside hers, he forgets. He doesn't think about how broken he feels during the day. He pushes away the thought that one day it will happen again, he might not be enough, strong enough, fast enough, to keep her safe. He replaces that thought with the image of her hefting his bow onto her shoulder, using what he taught her, the image of her coming back to him, the image of her strength. He reminds himself how she is so much stronger than he is. Daryl tucks his face into the curve of her neck and pulls her soft, strong body against his rough one.

Beth can feel him pulling his lip into his mouth, the patch of hair above his chin tickling against her skin as he pushes his toungue in front of his lower teeth. His hand goes from her side to her shoulder. He's rubbing his thumb over his lips, and then lets it move between his teeth.

"Daryl?"

"Mmm?" His chest vibrates against her, his response comes out as a low hum.

"Do you think…this was all meant to happen?"

"Like fate, or somethin'?" His words are a little mumbled, toppling out of his mouth, past his hand, landing warm on her skin.

"Yeah."

"Got some little red string tied to me?" He knows faith in some greater power, something more than just them, pushes her forward. His thumb is pulling at the corner of his mouth.

She smiles even though he can't see it. "Mmhmm, it's not good for man to be alone." She touches his elbow, "Think I'm your suitable helper?"

"Suitable ain't the right word."

"Think I'm made outta some missing ribs?"

"Maybe." He strokes her neck. "Definitely made outta stuff I aint."

"Think I was made for you?"

He's quiet, let's his fingers trace the line leading to her collar bone. "Nah, that aint right." He clears his throat a little, "You're made for more than just me. I… I was made missin' you. Probably a thousand more just like me, walkin' around half empty."

"What made you so lucky?"

He huffs, pulls her closer so he can feel her breathing. "Still tryin' to figure that one out."