Chapter 12: The Art of the Deal, Part III

Something was wrong with Beth. Even with her back to him, Daryl could tell that much. Not physically, or at least he didn't think she was injured. He watched for that with every visit, couldn't help himself. Ever since he first laid eyes on the twin scars etched across her face… no, if he were being honest with himself, he'd been tracking her health since he pulled her away from the prison. It's just that now, he was more intense about it, in part from all the time she'd been gone from his world and in part from the grim knowledge that, if someone here did put their hands on her, there really wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

Tonight was technically only the tenth day he'd been able to see and speak to Beth since losing her back in Georgia, but they had wordlessly fallen back into an easy rhythm as if no time had passed at all. The scenery was different, and the motions themselves, but the fluidity, the level of comfort were the same. The rain that he'd sworn had never bothered him before had quickly become problematic. After all, before Negan, he'd never had to stay in the same ill-fitting, foul-smelling, soaking-wet clothes for days on end. In a concrete box with no air flow, nothing dried out. There was no way to hang the drenched sweats, and even laying them out on the floor did little – the water had nowhere to go. And it turned out that human skin did not do well when it stayed wet. Beth had noticed his skin rubbed raw, first chafing, then sloughing off thick layers in sections around the collar and cuffs (apparently he wasn't the only one tracking various hurts).

By the third day, they had a system down. She brought in a blanket and a stack of towels from the medical supply (when he'd asked if she were allowed, she'd shrugged her shoulders, but, so far, if anyone had said anything to her about it, Beth had kept Daryl in the dark). She would turn her back as he stripped out of the jump suit and, while he carefully toweled off, she would wring out as much water as she could into the five-gallon paint bucket that served as his toilet. She'd then sandwich the shirt and pants between layers of towels to soak up as much dampness as possible while they visited, with him tightly wrapping the blanket around his naked body and her snuggled against him. When she left, she'd keep her back to him again so he could safely hand her the blanket and towels – apparently, she could bring these things with her, but she couldn't leave them behind.

There was always the momentary, initial strangeness of being naked under a blanket while Beth tucked herself against him, and the admittedly irrational but still very present fear that she might catch a glimpse of his scars (and he was aware enough of the way most normal people functioned to know that it was weird to be more concerned about her getting an eyeful of his back than he was about her accidentally seeing his dick). But, once that few seconds passed, having her there easily made up for whatever shit he'd had to put up with that day. It made his head spin, whenever he let his thoughts get the better of him and he dwelled too long on the situation he now found himself in, but then Beth would breeze into his cell as if it were the most perfectly natural thing in the world to do, as if there were no place else she'd rather be and no one else she'd rather be with. They'd go through their toweling-off ritual and she'd pry a few details about his day out of him until she could sense he'd hit his limit when it came to personal sharing, and then she'd take over with story after story. Things that had happened at work that day, or something funny one of the kids had done. Good people she knew and good memories she had made during their time apart. Last night, when Daryl had mentioned having to dig out and fertilize a row of raised garden bed boxes, all the while being glared at and occasionally cussed out by a barefoot, crotchety old man in overalls and a bee-keeper's hat (netting and all), Beth had launched into a twenty-minute commentary on old Charlie Preston (the ornery old redneck in question) who grew the best tomatoes she'd ever tasted and tended the beehives outside the largest of the Sanctuary's greenhouses, who never had a nice thing to say about anything or anyone but still always slipped an extra spoonful of honey into her jar whenever she came to buy from him.

But tonight, something was definitely off. She was still going through the usual motions, setting the lantern by the door and trading towels for his dirty clothes in a well-rehearsed ritual. But her shoulders drooped, and her hands were sluggish as she wrung the water from each leg of his sweatpants, and she kept changing the rhythm to the tune she unconsciously hummed, as though the original version had been more upbeat but she was too melancholy to keep up the tempo.

He cleared his throat to signal that it was okay for her to turn around, but when she went to get the lantern, she also picked up something else she'd hidden behind it before carefully settling in her usual spot next to him.

"Brought you somethin'," she presented him a sealed glass mason jar, densely packed with various chunks of food, "Homemade vegetable soup. I know it ain't warmed up, but it's still really good."

Daryl frowned and shook his head, "Ain't gonna get you in trouble over a bowl of soup. Ya said you weren't allowed to bring anythin' like this." Not that he wanted to refuse – far from it. One small dogfood sandwich a day on top of a year of low rations at Alexandria, on top of two years of feelin' sick to his stomach every time he thought about how badly he'd failed the petite blonde by his side… he'd felt himself lagging more every day, and today's heavy lifting and slogging through the rain had definitely taken its toll on his already limited physical strength. But he'd rather fall flat on his face from exhaustion in front of every single Savior than find out what kind of punishment Beth would face if Negan got wind of, and fed up with, her sneaking contraband into his cell. Besides, she already had to worry about earning enough points to feed herself and her kids without trying to slip him food as well.

"Your argument might carry a lot more weight if we couldn't both hear your stomach growlin'," she pointed out, half-grinning as she waggled the jar under his nose.

"Ain't takin' food from you and your kids' mouths."

Even in the limited light, he could see her eyes go steely, "I can take care of myself and my children just fine, thank you very much."

The hell - that hit a nerve. Deciding that an at-least partial surrender was the safest course of action, Daryl offered, "Make ya a deal. Sing that song you were hummin' just now, and I'll eat."

"Thought you didn't like my singin'," she softly recalled a conversation from their first night at the funeral home.

"Ain't no jukebox," he had no trouble remembering.

"It's not a very happy song," she broke from their reminiscing.

Figured that bit out for myself, funny enough, he thought but wisely didn't say aloud. But he'd learned by observing Beth that, though she could fill silence easily enough, she rarely talked about her own feelings. But she had a personal rule about music needing to come from something true, and she only sang what she was feeling in a given moment. It had led to some interesting lullabies for Judith at times. But if Daryl wanted to know what was on her mind, getting her to sing was his best bet.

"You can either sing, or you could just tell me what's got you all twisted up inside. I ain't eatin' until you do one or the other."

"What makes you think something's botherin' me?"

Daryl didn't bother to respond, just raised an eyebrow and leveled a stare in her direction until she rolled her eyes, "Okay, fine, I ain't myself today. But what are you gonna do if I choose singing instead of tellin' you about it, which is what I know you really want me to do?"

"Eat one spoonful so's I can say I kept my end, and then not eat the rest until you tell me what's goin' on."

She narrowed her eyes, "Don't you try to out-stubborn me, Daryl Dixon. We both know you'll lose."

Gently teasing her seemed to be bringing her out of her earlier funk. Maybe it ain't as bad as I'm makin' it out to be. Still, he pushed a little further, "Yeah, but tonight, you got somewhere you gotta be. Clock's tickin' if you want me to eat before you have to go to that weekly meetin'."

Saturdays, Daryl had learned, were a bit different than the usual work-to-death routine. Not only were these to be the designated day for regular runs to Alexandria, but, every Saturday night, all the adults of the Sanctuary (adult being defined as anyone eighteen and up and any teenager who had met the Sanctuary's coming-of-age mark of killing 1000 walkers) gathered on the factory floor for a town-hall style meeting. Daryl, of course, as their prisoner, was not invited, but the change in routine did mean that he got put back in his cell a bit earlier, as families would eat in their own apartments before leaving an older child in charge for the hour or so it took for leaders of various responsibilities within the community to share news, request additional workers for special jobs, or deal with any concerns that had cropped up that week.

Mentioning the meeting seemed to bring Beth down again, and Daryl inwardly sighed. Why was it he never seemed to be able to do right by her?

"You sure you wanna hear that song? I can sing somethin' else if you really wanna hear…"

"Sing whatever you want," Daryl reached for the jar and spoon she offered. Yes, I want you to sing that song, or whatever it is that's gonna tell me what's makin' you so damn miserable.

When she started, her voice was soft, making him wonder if she was out of practice. Did she not sing anymore since coming here?

Ever since I was a kid,
I remember having dreams of grandeur,
I was gonna be someone. I know what I want.

Everybody played second best,
And I held you back just like all the rest.
Now I think I got what I want.

Everybody's got to fight their demons.
And you know I had to fight mine, too.
It took a lot out of me, it took a lot out of you

To be living in Oz, living In Oz;
Sometimes the dream can wake you.
Living in Oz, living in Oz;
Sometimes the dream can shock you, too.

All the money that I spend on you
Doesn't mean a thing if the love's not true.
Baby please, I'll get what you want.

Can't you tell me you and me ain't lost?
I know what I did, I know what it cost.
Now I'm yours, but I'm not what you want.

All the fightin' will have been for nothin'
If at the end I can't have you.
I'll throw it all away if that's what you want me to do,

'Cause it's funny how desire can burn you up inside
And make you commit emotional suicide.
Everybody's got the desire to leave their mark;
Some just do it over a trail of broken hearts

To keep living in Oz, living in Oz;
Sometimes the dream can shake you.
Living in Oz, living in Oz;
Sometimes the dream can wake you, too.

Is that what she thought of herself? Trampling over everyone around her out of some kind of selfishness? That he didn't want to be wherever she was, and that everyone around her was damned lucky she was even a small part of their world? But he couldn't say any of that. He knew if he did, she'd just shrug and say it was just a song, nothing more. Instead, he twisted the metal lid off the mason jar and stuck the spoon halfway in, pulling out a random medley of vegetables and shoving them in and Christ almighty, it was all he could not to abandon the spoon and just up-end the entire contents of the jar straight into his mouth.

"'s good," was all he said, but something of the bliss he felt at the explosion of flavors and the feeling of real food hitting his belly must have showed on his face, because Beth quirked a knowing grin before ducking her head back against his side.

"At least I've done something right today," she muttered.

Well, that was an opening he could take advantage of, "Something go wrong in the hospital wing today? Someone get hurt?" Doctors got upset over patients they couldn't help, that was a thing, right?

But Beth was shaking her head. "No, everything's fine there. I'm fine, really. Just tired. It's stupid…" she trailed off.

"Come on, you're always makin' me tell you when I got bad shit goin' round in my head."

"It's not even… there's so much more to be thinkin' about and worryin' over, with our family in Alexandria, and Maggie's baby, and you… and this is just, it's just silliness, I know it is, I made it through so much more, this oughta be nothin'…"

Daryl set the empty glass jar down beside him (damn, he really was hungry) and wrapped both arms around her middle, turning her so her back was against his side and he could hold onto her like he had that first night. And that, it seemed, was signal enough for the dam to burst.

"I'm a terrible mom," she whispered tearfully. "Babysittin' was so easy, you can always give them back. Even Judy, if she got fussy, it was like, even though I was the one takin' care of her the most, she wasn't my baby. What was I even thinkin', Daryl? Tim's only eleven years younger than me, did you know that? There was more space between Mama and Daddy than there is between me and Tim. Eleven years… I ain't old enough to be his mama, or Sunni's! Twenty-one's barely old enough to be havin' one child. I'm just… I'm screwin' up everythin' with them, all of 'em, and I don't know how to fix it or if I even…"

Daryl squeezed her tighter around the middle and rested his forehead on the top of her braided hair. "You love 'em?" he murmured.

"What?"

"The kids, you love 'em, right? Not just the twins, but the older two, just the same as if they had come from inside ya?"

"Yes, of course. This ain't got nothin' to do with lovin' em. They're my babies, all four of 'em."

"They get enough to eat today?"

She sighed, "Yes."

"Got better shoes than the sorry ones on your feet right now? Sleepin' tonight somewhere cleaner and better smellin' than this place?"

Beth put her arms overtop his and gripped at his elbows, "I know I'm givin' em everything they need to not die. That ain't the same as bein' a good mama."

"'s still more 'n' better than I had growin' up," Daryl revealed. This was the closest he'd come to discussing the uglier parts of his home-life since their drunk afternoon at the moonshine trailer. Even that day, all he'd really let her see, with his ten-second tour of the trailer's interior, was that he'd grown up poor white trash. But poor folks could still love their kids. "If my ma loved me, it wasn't enough to stay sober. And I know the old man couldn't've cared less whether any of us lived or died. Whatever it is you think ya' ain't doin' right or enough of, they got what they need and they know you love 'em."

"I ain't tryin' to compare or make it like what other kids go through ain't horrible," Beth tried to apologize, but Daryl gave her a bear hug squeeze from behind until she got the message.

"I know that, girl. Ain't nothin'. Now, come on, how bad did you fuck up?" he teased.

She huffed a breath of laughter, which was a definite step in the right direction as far as Daryl was concerned. She had enough going on and was doing far too much to be feeling down on herself about what he was fairly sure was the kind of mistake any decent parent makes.

"Last night, after I left here, Sunni's teacher stops me on the stairs. Says she understands I've been dealin' with a lot lately, but it was real important that Sunni come back to afternoon classes, she was missing out on all the readin' and she already struggles with it. I had no idea what she was talkin' about. Turns out, my seven-year-old has been going to her teacher every day after lunch with the same note – 'Mama said to tell you she wants me to help in the greenhouse' – except she hasn't going into my greenhouse, because I'm in there every day tending the herbs and such we use for healin'. A seven-year-old skippin' school every day for over a month it turns out, and I have no idea where she goes. It's not like this place is all that big, only so many buildin's and a great big walker fence all around, but no one sees a little girl all by herself and thinks somethin' might be wrong, thinks maybe they should tell her mama?" Beth was getting riled up.

"So, after I finally get the twins to bed, and I ask Tim if he'll go read in his bed so Sunni and I can talk alone. I sit her down, try to be calm about it. But my child has been goin' missin' every day and I wanna know where she's been sneakin' off to and I wanna know why. But she can't say, she never can say anythin', and she's a little girl whose never been good with writin', and I keep tellin' myself we've got to sit down and really practice but I never seem to have time and now, when I really need her to just tell me what's goin' on in her head, she doesn't have the words. And I can see she's tryin' to figure out what it is she wants to… and I can hear a voice in my head, just as clear, 'don't push, it's not her fault, she's doin' the best she knows how', but I just… she's cryin' 'cause she's so frustrated and feelin' like she's in trouble, which she is, but fussin' at her ain't helpin' anything, just makin' it worse. So I finally tell her to just go to bed, and I can hear her sniffles even with her and Tim's door closed, which, of course, makes me feel like the worst person in the world. No matter what, we've never gone to bed upset with each other."

Dary could hear her getting choked up again just talking about it, but he didn't want to interrupt her, sensing that she needed to get it all out of her system, "I'm tryin' to get myself calmed down and wipe my face enough that I can go in there and try to make it right so she can at least get a decent night's sleep instead of cryin' herself out. But then Liam just lets out this, this scream, and I'm so sure when I open the door I'm gonna find somethin' in there hurtin' him… I've heard about night terrors from parents, but I've never… He was so scared, and I couldn't… he wouldn't wake up, or his little eyes would be open but he wasn't hearin' or seein' except for whatever was in his head. And of course, he and Lily are in the room together, so he's woken her up and she's cryin' because he's upset and it scares her. I finally got her calm and back in bed, but Liam… I couldn't calm him, nothin' worked. He just thrashed and screamed like something was killin' him. I sat up with him on the couch all night. He'd sleep, then he'd scream. All night. And then there's Tim." She sighed.

Daryl frowned even deeper than he already had been. The other three, he never saw and they didn't know him from Adam, but if that boy, who was definitely old enough to know better, was givin' Beth trouble after all she was doin' for her kids, Daryl was going to have something to say to him about it come morning.

"He told me he wanted to go out and practice with my bow in the early mornin's, and I was fine with that. Made me a little sad that I wasn't out there with him. Taught him to use his first bow, right after… he was so proud, the day he got his first rabbit. We were in South Carolina by then, and he'd been workin' at this child-sized crossbow we'd found at Terminus every time we stopped for even a few minutes. 'Look, I got us dinner!'. First time I'd really seen him smile like kids oughta always be smilin'."

"Should be proud, rabbit's not easy to hit," Daryl agreed, wondering where this was headed.

"When he first asked me about early morning practices, I could tell he was hopin' I'd go with him. But with the little ones and so many of the women preferring to see me, especially when they're pregnant, I'm just… So I'm usually asleep when he goes out there, or maybe just getting out of bed. But this morning, of course, I'm still sittin' on the couch with Liam, and he's finally settled and sleepin' alright. I can tell right off that Tim didn't sleep much. Can't blame him, the walls ain't paper-thin but they ain't soundproof, either. He sits down on the other side of me and leans against me, hugs me for a bit, which feels amazin' after everythin' last night. Then he says, 'Don't worry, Mom, it's gonna be okay soon. Mr. Negan caught us working on my count which was a little scary at first but he's cool with it, so I think I can finish by the end of the summer. And then we'll have my points, 'cause I don't even want a gun, plus I can start working and then you won't have to worry about points or work as much."

Daryl tried to work out in his mind what was bothering her about this this most, "You don't want him quittin' school so young?"

"No, I mean…" she paused, took a breath, and started again, "No, of course I don't want him quitting school, not even part-time, but that's not… I didn't know he was going out there, Daryl. When Tim said he wanted to practice, I thought he meant at the range, " she said, referring to a cleared area along the west side of the factory, on the opposite end of the compound from the school, where targets for archery and knife-throwing were set up so that only the fence walkers were in any danger of being hit by stray shots.

"I told you I was workin' with him. I thought that was what you wanted."

"When you said you'd run into him out there and were keepin' an eye on him, I thought you meant you were coachin' him through the fence. You know, you workin' the other side and givin' him pointers. I didn't think he was actually fightin' walkers every mornin'."

"I'd never let anything happen to him," Daryl vowed.

"I know that, silly," her fingers squeezed his arms tightly for a second, "Even if he weren't mine, you'd never let a child get hurt if you could help it. It's just… that's what Tim is, he's just a little boy. 'bout the same age as Carl was when y'all first came to the farm, remember?"

"M-hmm," Daryl nodded, his beard-hairs tugging lose a few of her long, fine blonde strands from her braid. "Long time ago. You'd hardly recognize him now if you saw him."

"Well, I don't want that for Tim. I want him to get to be a boy for as long as he can. Deserves it, after all he's been through. Ten-year-olds don't need to be worrying about quitting school and getting any old job that'll take him because he thinks his mama can't put food on the table or clothes on their backs."

"Ain't that what most kids do here? Not the worryin' part, I mean, but the job trainin' or whatever it is," Daryl asked.

"Well, yes, but not this young! That's the whole point of having that mark. Negan had the school set it up so kids would have to work at it for years. It gave them something big to work towards, like graduation used to be, and it kept them busy and out of trouble. If a kid were really good, they'd get there a bit earlier than others, but the whole idea of it was to keep them from growin' up before their time. I think the youngest so far was, like, fourteen, fifteen? And that was a big deal, I remember folks talkin' then about how he was too young and we should maybe re-think the mentorin' rules to keep him from gettin' through his job trainin' too fast. No one Tim's age has ever finished, how could they? 1000 walkers, and no bullets allowed? No ten-year-old kid can do that!"

"Well, our kid can," Daryl quipped, a bit of smugness and pride in his voice.

Beth turned her head to look at him with a sad smile as she whispered, "I never meant for you to get trapped into – "

He bumped his nose against her forehead to stop that train of thought, "Girl, ain't trapped me into nothin'." Another nose-bump, "You want me to slow him down?"

He could see the wheels-turning expression on her face before she shook her head, "No, he's so pleased with how he's doin'. 'Sides, Negan's already seen y'all out there, it'd be strange if ya suddenly stopped."

"Didn't say we'd stop. Plenty of things I could teach him, keep him busy so he doesn't get too high on that walker count."

"Maybe," she murmured. "Let me think on it, okay?" Daryl nodded, wanting her to know he had her back no matter what she decided. She was the mama, after all. "While we're on the subject of kids goin' off and doin' things behind my back, you haven't happened to see a blonde-haired, green-eyed snidget sneaking around when you're working, have you?"

"Snidget?"

"You know, small, golden-colored bird that flits about, can change direction in the blink of an eye, almost impossible to catch?"

"The hell you talkin' about? Ain't no such bird, not around here anyhow."

She giggled, "It's a made-up animal, Daryl, from the Harry Potter books?"

"You nicknamed your kid after a bird that ain't even real?"

"Well, if you saw her movin' through the woods, 'specially if she's climbin' trees…"

"So call her 'squirrel' or 'chipmunk'."

"Sunni ain't like those things, she's… she's like a snidget," Beth shrugged helplessly.

"I ain't callin' her that. But I'll keep an eye out for her. You think about what you wanna say to her, try to figure out this whole cuttin' school thing?"

"Not yet. But Sunday's my day off anyway unless somethin's happenin' like a baby bein' born. I told them, when I was gettin' their dinner on the table, that we'd take the whole day tomorrow just for us. Even got some fresh honey from Charlie 'cause Sunni's favorite treat is fresh-baked bread with honey and butter. Figure if we're all havin' a good time and relaxin' a bit, it might make it easier for her to tell me what's goin' on."

Daryl nodded. "Well, put it this way, when I was her age was about when Merle gave me my first cigarette. So, long as she ain't sneakin' off for a smoke and a six-pack, you're probably doin' alright with her."

Beth outright laughed at that. "You feelin' any better?" he risked asking.

"Yeah. I told you, it was just stupid silliness. Like we ain't got a whole world full of bigger things to be worryin' over."

"Ain't stupid or silly," Daryl countered, "You're a great mama. They're lucky to have you worryin' over 'em. You're just tired. Ain't no wonder, neither, up all night with upset kids. Workin' too hard." He got quiet, considering whether he should say what had been on his mind ever since he first wrapped his arms around her ten days ago.

"Maybe I should go to Negan. Tell him I changed my mind. Tell him he's won, or whatever. Could maybe move up there with you, if you want, help you out with things. Maybe you wouldn't have to worry about so much."

"What, first Tim and now you, too? Don't go thinkin' just 'cause I had a rough day that I can't hold my own."

"Girl, 'course you can. Can do anything you put your mind to. It's just… I see all those folks at lunch every day, all those tables, they got two parents lookin' out. Ain't right, you havin' to go it alone." He put his head down, gnawed on the inside of his bottom lip as he confessed, "Should've chose you from the start. Not just when Negan said I could. Should've told Rick back at that damned church that there weren't no way I was leavin' 'til I found ya. That if he didn't like it he could just go on without me."

"And leave Judith with no one to look after her?" Beth gently scoffed.

Daryl wasn't letting her push this aside, though, "She had her Daddy. Her brother. Our whole family. You only had me, and I left ya. Wish I'd never opened that damned door."

"I used to wish that too," she shifted against him, burrowing deeper into his side.

"Not anymore?"

"No. You wouldn't have found our family. I wouldn't have found Sunni and Tim, had Lily and Liam, found this place… As aggravatin' as it can all be sometimes… but I do miss 'us'… miss when it was just the two of us out in the woods, Daryl and Beth against the world… I miss how that felt, miss the quiet of it all. Miss my huntin' and trackin' lessons with Mr. Dixon."

He snorted at the title. No one had ever called him "Mr." except for her.

"But that's not who we get to be anymore. Gotta put it away, right? Besides, you never know, somethin' good's always comin' along if you're lookin' for it. Just 'cause we can't go back don't mean we can't find something else we'd want even more."

"There you go, always lookin' at the bright side of things." Daryl paused, letting a bit of silence take over before asking, "What do you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you could have anything, any kind of life, what would it be? What do you really want?" He was genuinely curious.

She stilled in his arms for a moment before suddenly turning to meet his gaze, "You really wanna know?" Her eyes were bright and she had a hopeful little grin on her face.

And he did. In that moment, he suddenly wanted to know every little detail of every hope and dream she'd ever had.

At a small encouraging nod from him, Beth's grin grew, as if she had some great secret she was about to share with only him, before turning back around and pulling his arms back around her, and, though he couldn't see her face this way, the excitement was clear in her voice. "About five miles east of here, just past the road you'd turn on to head towards Alexandria, there's a farm. The family who lives there, the Lykins, they've kept it this whole time. And we trade with them. I go out there every couple of months or so to check on them, the farm animals, they're really great people. Reminds me a lot of what Mama and Daddy were like when I was growin' up. Anyway, on the north edge of their farm are woods and about a mile, mile and half in, there's an old mill house, sittin' on the other side of the creek running through. It's in real good shape, all stone walls, and with a water wheel for workin' the grind-stone that wouldn't take much to get working again. Three stories – the bottom level's built down into the hillside the whole thing's sittin' on, and that's where all the grains would get ground down to different flours – there's even an old dirt and gravel road that could be cleared again without too much trouble that leads right up to the lower level entrance. And then the main floor is just one big room with two fireplaces on either end and we'd have to rebuild the stairs to the lofts, but Caiman Lykins and I brought a ladder out there one time to check it out, and the loft floors are still pretty solid. It wraps around three walls and it's all open, but it's more than enough room."

"Am I invited?"

"'Course you're gonna be there. Can't go running a grist mill for all the communities and outposts without ya. We'll put the kids' beds on one of the bigger sides of the loft and we could be on the other. And the roof's got to be re-done, but when we do, we could build big open doors into the roof, like storm doors to a cellar, but openin' right up to the sky so we can look up at the stars. We could make a garden and a chicken coop for fresh eggs and maybe keep a couple of other animals, or just go over to the Lykins farm whenever we felt like, they would love it, and all the kids could play together and Nicole would homeschool ours right along with hers. And we could build a greenhouse so I can grow all the medical herbs and things. Maybe a smokehouse for all the game you'll hunt. We'd have a horse or two, and I'd ride up to the Sanctuary a few times a week to help out with the hospital wing, maybe teach others what I know, make sure their healing ointments and such are still well-stocked. Maybe on Sundays we'd all go to Alexandria, see our family, let the cousins play together, and have a big meal, but then we'd come home to our own quiet little place in the woods. No more big communities, no more feelin' stuck in the middle of all this fightin'. Just us. That's what I want."

And then she sighed, and her voice turned wistful, a bit disappointed, "Almost had it, too. What grains we grow in the fields around the Sanctuary, it's a lot, but not so much it can't be ground by hand and still be manageable. But that satellite outpost was gonna put us over, be almost triple how much grain we could grow in a year. Enough that we could start buildin' up a food storage reserve again. And it was enough to convince Negan and the rest that restorin' the mill and gettin' someone settled out was worth doin' this year. But now, no outpost, so no new farmin'. No need for pullin' all those workers for a mill, 'specially with everyone nervous that Alexandria might attack again. Ain't too many people gonna line up to volunteer to work on a project out in the middle of nowhere after what happened at the satellite station. But in a few years, maybe, if things settle down and stay calm long enough for folks to feel safe again, maybe – "

Two quick knocks on the cell door cut off whatever Beth's train of thought might have been, before the door was yanked open and Negan stood on the other side, grin growing almost impossibly wide as he surveyed the scene in front of him.

Daryl knew how it must look, him wrapped in a blanket but obviously naked underneath, Beth leaning against him. Fine, let him draw whatever conclusions he wanted. They were supposed to be married, after all.

"Oh, my fuckin' goodness, well isn't this awkward?" he chuckled, "I am terribly sorry to interrupt. Although, I'm not quite sure if I'm interrupting the beginning of something or the end of it… Doc looks all put-together, shoes tied and everything. Come on now, Daryl – a gentleman should always take care of the lady, she comes first, you know."

Beth had tightened her fingers around his forearms ever-so-slightly when Negan had first opened the door, and Daryl could feel her flexing as she asked with a syrupy sweetness, "Is someone hurt? Or sick? Because I'm sure you wouldn't be bargin' in on a private conversation that you promised me unless it was somethin' serious."

Even with his face mostly hidden in shadow, Daryl could see Negan's eyes flash with some unnamed emotion as Beth challenged him. "Meeting's about to start. I'd hate for you to miss it."

"I know what time it is, Negan. I'll be there in a minute."

"I don't doubt, Doc. Wasn't talking to you. Daryl's going to be joining us for this one." Negan didn't move, just shifted his eyes to Daryl's, "Might want to put some clothes on. Got a job for you. Unless that's a problem, Doc?" he challenged her back.

"No, that's fine."

Beth stood carefully and walked past Negan and down the hall that would lead to the lower level of the factory. Without another word, Negan closed the door but stood waiting on the other side as Daryl quickly threw the blanket off and rushed to pull the sweatshirt over his head. He may not have been much for dating and his marriage may be a sham, but even he knew that, when a woman said everything was 'fine', duck-and-cover was just about the smartest thing a man could do. Whatever was about to happen tonight, Daryl had a feeling that 1 – it was going to be interesting and 2 – Negan wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much as he thought he would.

More importantly, Daryl was going out there with a new sense of purpose. That mill house on a hill by a creek with nothing but him, her, and a few kids he could learn to love like he had Lil' Asskicker didn't sound half-bad. Definitely not too much to ask for someone who had been to hell and back and was still fighting to protect her family. And if a quiet life in the woods away from everyone is what Beth wants, he was going to do everything he could to make sure she got it.

*Song credit: "Living in Oz", Rick Springfield, 1983.

Hope this tides you all over for a few days, because this girl has GOT to get some work done on her dissertation, but I couldn't leave us all hangin' without a weekend dose of Beth and Daryl! As always, any and all reviews are greatly appreciated!