Sorry this is late. I had a weird kind of issue where I had an idea of a chapter and I actually had it pretty heavily outlined but I really needed a chapter to come before it. And I really had no idea how to get to where I wanted to go, so I wrote a whole chapter, but then scrapped most of it because I just couldn't get it right and sometimes that is just how things work out. A little shorter, I think, but I am really just trying to get them somewhere specific idk why they make it so difficult.

also, this may sound odd, but a few people have been approaching me about doing a new Daryl/OC story? Because Strip Target Practice was sorta my rise to fame (lol) around here, before fandom (and myself) was overflooded with Bethyl. So I'm going to be doing a one/two/three shot sort of thing, not publishing it publicly (at least not yet) but I'm already sending it out privately to some people through the site so if you want to get in on that just shoot me a PM! The same goes for my HIYA story, which I've taken down. If you want a copy all you have to do is ask! Sorry if this sounds like self promo. I just want y'all to know the option is there. And ISF, is coming, eventually. It's just low on the priority list, if we're being honest.

He didn't even see Merle until a couple nights later. He'd come by, he could tell, but either his timing was lucky or Merle was watching for when he left because it was only ever when Daryl was out working. Which he'd been doing a lot of, catching up after these days of doing nothing with Beth, and he needed the money but it meant he hadn't seen her, either, her working those nights and him too tired to catch up after. And he didn't want the two of them to meet again, not even chance it, not until he'd talked to him. He'd asked Beth to leave it be until he told her different, and she'd obliged, giving him the space he'd asked for.

So he'd been alone for a couple days. Which was weirder than he would've guessed. Messier, too, trash piling up faster than he'd expected. But he wasn't working today and he was pretty sure he could wait Merle out. Between the two of them he'd always had more patience. He'd bought more of the beer Merle liked, even had pizza sitting here, and he felt like he was prepared for a war that he didn't even know was coming. He didn't know if Merle was angry or if he even felt anything about this at all, but if there was some kind of real discussion that had to happen he'd rather he be drunk and pliant. At least as pliant as Merle ever was.

And he was right. Merle showed up, close to midnight, took a second to look at the offering of pizza and beer, and didn't even bother asking why as he threw his jacket and shoes on the ground and sitting on the armchair, turning on the TV and helping himself. Daryl didn't bother asking him where he'd been and Merle didn't explain, though at least he didn't look strung out, his skin not too gaunt and his eyes clear. It was a couple hours later before Daryl was even tipsy enough to bring it up at all, the pizza mostly gone and both of them sporting a sizeable collection of the cans they'd emptied. Daryl texted her, just a got him, hoping that the thought of her would help spur him along.

"I know you saw her, man," he said, just throwing it out there between them and letting it burn.

Merle took a second to answer, taking his time chewing and swallowing. "Well, she saw me, too," he answered, a thread of annoyance in his voice. "You got a point?"

"No," he said, sighing and grabbing another beer just to have something in his hands and something to sip on so he could figure this out as he went, hoping to find some sentences somewhere.

"This the same bitch?"

He didn't even mean it like he said it, just a general term that he'd been using too many years to count, and it had never even bothered him before because what did he fucking care but now he felt it bothering him, twitching in his fingers. "Same girl, yeah." He swallowed, then just chugged, reaching for another when it was empty. "Been goin' long enough for you to call her by her name."

Merle looked at him, disbelief and irritation in the curl of his lip. "Her name?"

"It's Beth." He paused. "Might fuckin' see her again so best get out whatever bullshit you have about it now."

"Stayin' over?" he asked, and the disbelief was getting stronger as he wrapped his head around what he was saying. "You tellin' me this bitch -" he paused when Daryl threw a pointed look at him, "-this Beth is gonna just be here now?" He could respect boundaries, sometimes, if Daryl insisted on it long enough, could learn which limits not to test.

"Maybe. I dunno." She'd texted him back and he checked it now. Your brother? He couldn't explain, would probably tell her later, so he typed a simple yes and shut it close, letting it fall and bounce on the couch. "She wants to meet you."

Merle looked at him, plopping more than sitting as he came back with a fresh drink. "Get on my Sunday best? Make us somethin' real nice? Say please and thank you? That what you want?"

He rolled his shoulders, sliding his empty beer into another bottle from a different night, watching them both fall off the edge of the table. "Just don't be an asshole, is all," he said, opening another, drinking it down. The beer had been here for Merle, but it was here and he found himself partaking anyways, things going warm as he watched the TV. "Don't fuckin' say shit 'bout what you saw."

"Didn't see shit. Didn't see shit 'cept you behind bars." He laughed, once, scratching his head. "Fucked up, man."

It was. "She's legal."

He snorted like he didn't believe him. "By how much?"

He paused, shrugging, not quite wanting to say it. "Eighteen," he managed, and he only choked around it a little bit. He was too far into it, now, but Jesus sometimes it hit him hard.

Merle howled, tossing his can behind him, grabbing for more pizza. "I try and get you home with how many fuckin' whores and I find you shackin' up with a goddamn teenager."

"Ain't like that," he said, feeling like they'd had this conversation before, but it was still going on and it was too much to deny. "It ain't that."

"What is it, then?" he asked, and here, at last, was a genuine conversation, the crux of the thing.

"It just… is," he said, trying to figure out the terms that would give him the least amount of shit but the most amount of understanding. "She ain't a lay."

"Yeah, I didn't think so," he grunted, rubbing the back of his neck, and the silence came out between them that was heavy like he'd feared. "It's weird, man," he finished after a second, drawing it out. "Ain't us, no matter what that pussy is tellin' ya."

No, it wasn't them. He'd said it before and he wasn't wrong. But the word "us" was being redefined, not so exclusive. He could be paired with her, them and us and we and together, all these words that meant something different now than they had for his whole life. "Yeah, it's weird," he agreed, grabbing another beer and sitting back. "But it's alright."

"Looked a little more than alright," he groaned, back to himself, a wink in his voice. "Looked pretty fuckin' perky from where I was standin'." He nodded in agreement with himself, making an outline of an hourglass with his hands.

Daryl just closed his eyes, letting himself feel good and drunk without the feelings of anger twined with deeply physical exhaustion that overcame him when he took it too far. But now he was good, light, no thoughts lingering too long and everything stretched out and languid. "Maybe you'll keep the fuck off my bed, now."

"No, no, brother," he countered, cracking open another drink. "See, now, you don't just lie there with all your fuckin' clothes on. You've gotta make love," he said, and Daryl didn't have to open his eyes to know the motion he was making with his hips. "I know I never taught you nothin' 'bout the birds and the bees. I ain't convinced you ever learned."

"Fuck you talkin' about?" he asked, opening his phone when he heard it vibrate. Beth. "Know more about where your dick's been than you do."

you good?

Merle kept on talking, but he tuned him out, focusing on making his fingers work on the keys that were too small, the screen blurring out.

Yes what's

But he accidentally pressed send too early, and he narrowed his eyes while he started another one, trying to remember the words he wanted to say in the right order he wanted to say them, ignoring the enthusiastic gestures that went along with whatever story of fuckery Merle was telling him.

Where are you

That was good. Not what he'd been going for the first time but this was a question he wanted to know the answer to, too. She texted back before he could even get his phone back in his pocket, and he took it out begrudgingly, opening it again.

Home.

Right. Where he'd asked her to be.

He wanted to respond but it was too annoying, so he just pushed himself off the couch and pressed the button to call her, waving Merle's questions off as he stepped outside. It rang a few times before she answered, her voice quieted.

"Daryl?" she asked, concerned. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging to himself, lowering his voice in response to hers. "Just. Callin'."

She paused. "You're drunk," she observed, sounding like she was smiling.

"I'm good." And he was. Nothing like before, not empty or searching or reckless.

"Didn't say you weren't," she said, still quiet.

It was late, he realized. And the last time they'd talked about this it was a whole different context, and things were different but maybe this was the same. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she sighed, yawning, her voice coming back clearer. "I mean. I trust you."

"Yeah." And he thought about that, all his thoughts kind of light and drifting, about trusting her and having it framed this way instead, and then thought about her on top of him and beneath him and the way she felt and the words she'd said. "Were you serious?"

He could hear her shifting. "About what?"

"About wanting to come." Impatient, trying to get her on the same page.

She sighed again even as she laughed, stifling it quickly. "Come where, Daryl?"

"With me. Out. Wherever."

"Huntin'?" She was confused and he guessed he couldn't blame her. It wasn't even about the hunting, or anything in specific, but about the opportunity and the asking and having her say yes. It was new even though it wasn't, and he wanted to hear her say it. "Yeah. If you want. I don't really want to kill anythin', but… yeah."

Listening to her talk, it wasn't even enough to just hear her. He was at a good level of lit and he wanted to see her, and his voice went lower as he let himself picture her. "Come."

She breathed, in and out. "I want to. But I think it's kinda late."

Yes, it was, and he wasn't far gone enough to insist on anything. He listened to her, timed a breath with hers. "Tomorrow, then."

Another smile, wide enough for him to hear. "You gonna be any good tomorrow?"

Probably not. "Don't matter. I'm sayin' come," he said, and his words weren't slurring but there was an edge to them, thinking of her over there and him over here and he had no idea when he'd become like this.

"Okay." She breathed some more, and he listened some more, and for a minute or two that was all there was. When she spoke she was even more awake than before, something serious in her voice, out of place. "Daryl, can you -"

But Merle came out at that moment, the door thudding back loudly against the outside wall, starting to walk off down the walkway before coming back and grabbing his shoulder, talking about being whipped and he couldn't even hear what else, loud and obnoxious and drunk.

"What?" he asked, closing his free ear against the noise, trying to focus, but Merle was almost yelling and everything was swimming and he couldn't even quite see straight.

"Just - I've been - nothin'," she said, giving up, voice back to tired quiet. "I'll come tomorrow."

He wanted to insist, but he was being dragged away, and he didn't really have any desire or want to leave but he didn't have much choice and sometimes, when the mood was right and the stars aligned, hanging out with his brother was good. "Tomorrow, alright?"

But she was already gone, the line dead, and he flipped the phone close, trying to let himself go where the night would take him without feeling like he was nothing more than a passenger.

He'd see her tomorrow.

The knocking at the door came way too early, and when it started it would not fucking stop. He grabbed for a pillow from the couch to put over his head, but of course their couch didn't fucking have any pillows, and of course Merle had gotten the bed and he'd been stuck on the couch when they'd come crawling back from a bar last night, his back sore and his ears hammering into his brain, gut churning as he reluctantly opened his eyes.

"Daryl," came her voice, and he could recognize it through the door, a couple more persistent taps. "It's noon."

He grabbed for his phone still sitting on the table, accidentally knocked it to the floor instead, leaning over further and cursing to pick it up. She wasn't lying. It wasn't crack of dawn, but nearly one. He looked at the time, but then a little lower there was a notification. Two missed calls from Beth, just her number because he still hadn't saved it, one call at three in the morning and the second one forty minutes after that. He hadn't fucking heard at all, and he forced himself awake, trying to get his thoughts moving faster.

He stood, slowly, keeping the swaying to a minimal, pushing himself with feet that dragged to the door and fumbling with the lock for a second before swinging it open. The light nearly knocked him off his feet, definitely pushing him back into the shadow as he threw his arm protectively over his eyes so that he couldn't even see. "What the fuck?" he asked, more on instinct than anything else, blinking a couple times before daring to move his hand. "You alright?"

Sure enough, it was her, standing there smiling, a bag of what looked like groceries hanging in one hand, hair half up with the braid and a tank hanging loose. "Mornin'!" was all she said, all perky and cheeks, making him suspicious that she was edging into being purposefully cheery as if to rub it in.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his eyes and then just his whole face, thinking maybe if he could just remove whatever layer of gross shit covered his skin then he could open his eyes without wincing. "You called-"

"You look good," she said, cutting him off, and she was most definitely doing it on purpose, just a walking exclamation point as she pushed past him under his arm, reaching up to pat his cheek in a move that shook his brain around his skull. "I brought breakfast stuff. I've never actually been hungover so I looked up what you should eat," she explained, and he watched her as she looked around, taking in the bottles and cans, glancing at him with alarm when she heard Merle's chainsaw of a snore. "Is he-?" she whispered, pointing at the bedroom.

He nodded, still standing at the frame with the sun beating down on his back, trying to let himself process without just throwing up all over the floor. He pushed the door shut, leaning heavily against it.

"Okay. Well. I brought enough," she said, resolute, walking around the couch and into the kitchen. "Sausage, eggs, biscuits," she listed, voice echoing.

He guessed he should follow her, but this was weird and he needed a minute to orient having her here walking around like she even knew where things were. And there were those calls she'd brushed off that he was curious about, but she didn't seem real set on telling him. He looked towards the bedroom, thinking that maybe he was supposed to wake Merle up, too, or maybe at least make some minimal effort to just shove all the trash to one side of the room, but she'd already seen and he decided to let sleeping things lie. So he meandered over to her, stopping to lower the blinds on his way, but it was all useless because in the kitchen she'd opened every single one, not just the blinds but the panes themselves, letting the light and warmth stream in.

"I brought powerade, too," she said absently when he came in. She was ducking down next to the fridge, opening the cabinets and frowning when she looked up at him. "You don't have any pans, Daryl."

He shook his head. "Nope."

"I thought everyone had pans," she said, standing up and taking two quick steps over to the other side of the room, boots clicking off the cheap linoleum as she searched the shelves there, too, and there was an unfamiliar note of tension in her hands as she stood on the tips of her toes. "Who doesn't have pans? Or silverware or real plates or cups or anythin'?"

"People that don't buy 'em," he said, peaking into the bags she'd left on the counter. Carton of eggs, rolls of sausage, biscuits in a can. He felt kinda bad. He didn't know what else he was supposed to have done, or how he was supposed to have known, but he couldn't remember the last time someone had made a meal for him outside of being paid to do so and he'd ruined it without even meaning to.

"Well," she said, turning around and putting her hands on the counter edge, tapping her nails, agitated. "What am I supposed to do, then?"

He shrugged, taking out one of the powerades from the plastic rings, twisting the top off. He felt bad, and she looked so disappointed that he wanted to offer something to fix it, her lips pursed as she looked around. "Got a microwave."

"You cook everything in the microwave?" she asked, looking at him like she was genuinely concerned.

He nodded his head, leaning against the fridge, sipping gingerly at his drink, trying to think of what else he could tell her to relieve her distress. "Beth, are you -"

"Who the fuck you talkin' -" Merle had come in, speaking at the same time, looking like some picture definition of white trash in a wife beater stained off white and boxers, and his brother looked old. He looked from Beth to Daryl, eyebrows shooting up to his receding hairline. "Well what do we have here?"

Daryl was looking at Beth, and even though she'd brought herself here and she said she wanted to know him she looked nervous. He thought how it must look from her point of view, the connection that could be drawn between them, and if Merle looked old Daryl had to look like he was right up there with him. He moved more towards her just to increase the distance, make them more separate, and she flashed a look at him before looking back to Merle.

"We met," she said. "But I'm Beth. Beth Greene." and he wanted to interrupt and referee this thing but also had a sense of sinking or swimming. He couldn't control Merle, and he definitely fucking couldn't control her, so he tried to be calm as he watched the forces meet, ready to come in if Merle made it necessary.

Merle nodded, appraising almost like he was checking her out, but Daryl knew better. Sizing her up, taking in the cross and the hair and her stature, the make of her clothes and how she wore them. "We sure did, sweetheart," he said, and walked in closer, taking up so much space. "You must excuse my brother," he continued, annunciating purposefully, giving a sarcastic little bow of his head that made Daryl wince. "Never did know how to give a proper welcome. Merle Dixon, at your service."

She didn't seem to know what to say, glancing at Daryl, muscles on her arm flexing as she squeezed the counter. "It's alright. We've got plans. But I'm sorry if I woke you," she said, voice even and clear and sweet. "I was gonna make some breakfast but turns out there's not too much cookin' done here."

Merle nodded some more, pushing Daryl with his shoulder so he could get to the fridge. "Best way to cure a hangover," he said, opening the door, grabbing another carton and shoving it loudly onto the counter next to her, "is to get drunk again," he finished, offering a beer to Daryl and then to Beth.

She shook her head, smiling tightly as she waved it off.

"Right, right," he said like he was realizing something. "Ain't of legal age to partake."

"Merle," he said loudly, shaking his head sharply when he had his attention, but Beth was already picking up what he was putting down, looking down towards her feet.

"Just pointing out the obvious, bro," he said. "We're all friendly here."

"Yeah," he repeated more slowly. "Friendly."

"I'm hungry," she interrupted. "And since I can't cook any of this - I'm just gonna go wait in the car. Alright?" she asked, and looked at him, and something was off. He didn't know if it was Merle or him or if it had something to do with why she'd called him, but he just nodded his head. "It was nice - sorry about breakfast," she said to Merle, but she waved off her own words, looking at the ground as she made her exit.

It was silent until the door closed behind her. Even Merle seemed a little off centered by the abruptness, but then he just shrugged, drinking his beer and swallowing loudly. "Hate to break it to you, but if she couldn't handle that then she sure as shit can't handle whatever the fuck you got goin'."

"Man, you don't know when to shut the fuck up," he said, and there were more things he wanted to say and his head was still pounding, everything gone downhill from an already shitty start, and he grabbed another powerade before he left to gather his shoes and follow her out the door.

I WILL be reintroducing some angst next chapter and getting back to those phonecalls. I am just struggling with fucking up their happy place in a way that makes sense. But back to Beth POV. And I'm sorry if Merle was off? Idk. I really just want to focus on Beth and Daryl but sometimes these side bits are necessary. And I'd like for them to be friends but if I was an eighteen year old girl meeting my grown ass boyfriend's grown ass brother I don't know how smoothly it could possibly go. Next segment I am infinitely more excited about.