They named him Ash. It was Daryl's little joke, one he had to explain to Beth, who'd never seen the Evil Dead movies.
That first night, he'd eaten nearly his weight in leftover beef stew. Daryl had questioned the wisdom of feeding a dog off of precious stored food, but Beth put her foot down. "He's a survivor, too, same as you and me," she said stubbornly.
The next day, his strength somewhat restored, Ash had returned from a jaunt in the woods with a freshly killed grey squirrel. He dropped it at Daryl's feet and then lay down in the dust of the yard, looking up at him with a big doggy grin. Daryl dropped into a crouch and scratched him affectionately behind the ears. "Tryin' to earn your keep, are ya?" Ash's tail wagged in approval.
Beth walked up just then from the direction of the barn, carrying another bucket of water. "Maybe he wants you to cook it up for him," she suggested, laughing.
But Daryl looked thoughtful. Picking up the offering, he quickly skinned it and cleaned it with a practiced hand, and then carried the carcass into the kitchen.
Beth followed him, setting the bucket down inside the back door. "I was just kiddin', you know."
He raised an eyebrow at her and flicked open his pocketknife. Moving confidently and efficiently, he deboned the squirrel and cut the meat up into chunks. It only took a couple of minutes to sear it in a pan over the small gas burner. Ash haunted the proceedings like a ghost. A hungry one. When it seemed the meat was nearly done, Beth rummaged through the cupboards until she came up with a large salad bowl. She handed it to Daryl, who scooped the chunked squirrel into it and placed it on the floor before the excited dog.
Ash had devoured the meat and was licking the grease out of the bowl by the time Daryl finished cleaning off his blade.
"You were right, Greene. Ash here was lookin' for a personal chef." He flashed one of his rare grins. "I guess we've got the job."
Ash proved to be a valuable companion in a world filled with walkers. He patrolled the farmyard most of the time, but sometimes went out with Daryl or Beth as they hunted or scouted the area around the property. Not only was he adept at flushing out game and bringing down his own food, but he seemed to have an instinctive understanding of the risks posed by walkers. He never barked, as if he knew that noise would draw danger to them; however, he was skilled at getting his humans' attention in other ways, from nudging them with his nose to thumping the ground with his large paws. More than once, Daryl said a silent thanks to whoever had trained Ash so well before he came to them. Daryl didn't like to dwell too closely on what might have happened to Ash's previous owner. And really, it didn't matter, did it? He was here now, and part of their motley little band of survivors.
With Ash in the house, they no longer felt the need to keep a round-the-clock watch. The dog's sense of hearing and smell were keen, and everything from walkers at the gate to a rabbit coming up under the fence of the compound brought him running to alert them. Though Daryl didn't exactly relish being awoken from sleep to come check out Bugs Bunny, it was a far sight better than having to stay up half the night keeping an eye on things. Ash's vigilance reassured him, and he and Beth were both well-rested for the first time since leaving the prison.
It was a week later when Daryl finally got up the courage to voice the question he'd been thinking of since they'd first arrived, battered and bruised, at this strange oasis in the wilderness.
The weather was turning cooler, the first faint breaths of fall a whisper on the breeze. They had woken to the promise of a storm, and around midmorning, the looming clouds had delivered on that promise with an echoing display of nature's fury. They spent the day inside, reading books from the library and cleaning and sharpening their weapons. Neither of them talked much, but the silence was a comfortable one, and Beth found herself remembering, wistfully, the quiet evenings her mother and father had spent in similar shared solitude. Warmth washed over her at the comparison.
After dinner, they had dragged the couch over in front of the fireplace and were both leaning back against it, Ash lying comfortably on the floor between them. Beth stroked his furry head affectionately as she gazed into the flames lapping at the firewood. Daryl had cooked tonight—corned beef and canned green beans for the humans, and for the dog, fresh-caught grouse, roasted in the flames of the fire that was currently wrapping its soporific warmth around them all. Full bellies and the sound of rain on the roof cast a spell of contentment over them.
They didn't usually light a fire until well after dark, and never on moonlit nights, wary that the plume of smoke rising from the chimney might give away their location to anyone who might care to look for its source. But the pelting rain was coming down in buckets. The strong wind and glowering clouds obscured the fading light of day and masked all signs from any observers unlucky enough to be out in the deluge.
Daryl reached across Ash and dropped a wrapped candy into Beth's lap. She looked up at him in surprise. "Where did you get this?"
He shrugged. "Found it back in that town where we picked up the canteens." It had been a couple of weeks ago when they had come upon the ransacked army-navy store on one of their supply hunts. A careful search had revealed the canteens tucked into a drawer hidden at the bottom of an empty endcap display. Beth hadn't noticed Daryl picking up anything else, but she had been preoccupied trying to find boots to replace her worn tennis shoes.
"You've had it for that long?"
"Been saving it for a special occasion." Daryl didn't look at her as he focused on unwrapping his own piece of candy and popping it into his mouth. It was a Werther's, and the sweetness of it rendered him temporarily mute as he savored the taste of caramel from a world that no longer existed.
Beth would not be deterred. "What's the occasion?" she asked with curiosity. Thoughts of birthdays and holidays flitted through her mind, but she didn't even know for sure what month it was, let alone what date. Puzzled, she turned toward him and propped her elbow on the couch as she waited to hear his answer.
"This," he said, waving his hand to encompass the fire, the dog, and the whole quiet house sheltering them from the punishing rain. "This place, finding it like this. Sittin' by the fire, pettin' the dog… It's like I could almost forget the way the world's going to shit out there, you know? Bein' here… with you… makes me think things could get better. Someday."
The words had come out haltingly, but Beth could see the effort they had taken. A sudden wave of affection washed over her for the diffident man at her side.
She unwrapped her candy. Ash pushed his nose against her hand curiously, trying to figure out if there was anything interesting in it. Apparently, he didn't care for caramel. He padded off to the kitchen instead to finish the food in his bowl.
Beth closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of the heat from the fire and the taste of the first candy she'd eaten in months. She felt comfortable. Drowsy.
The sudden touch of Daryl's hand covering hers shocked her back to wakefulness. What was this? He'd been careful, since their encounter in the kitchen, not to get too close to her physically. It was a constant source of frustration for her. The short kiss they'd shared had awoken her to a truth that had been silently growing inside her over the days and weeks since they fled the prison together: she and Daryl Dixon belonged to each other. That he didn't yet see it didn't worry her, but her longing to touch him, to be near him, to be held in his arms was beginning to drive her to distraction.
The feel of his large hand fumbling for her slender one sent a jolt of electricity up her arm. She raised her eyes to meet his.
"Beth, I've been thinkin'." He paused and looked into her face, as if he wanted to be able to gauge her reaction to his next words. "I know you still want to find Maggie—and the others."
It wasn't what she was expecting, but she nodded.
He squeezed her hand. "And I'm not telling ya to give up on 'em. But... you gotta know that wandering around the state of Georgia hopin' to cross paths with them is pretty much a long shot."
She did know, but it was still discouraging to hear it put so bluntly. Her eyes misted over at the thought of never seeing Maggie again.
Daryl saw her tears welling up and scooted closer to put a comforting arm around her. This uncharacteristic display sent her mind reeling. What was he leading up to?
"Listen," he continued, his voice low and tentative, "what would you think about stayin' here?" When she didn't answer right away, he went on. "We got clean water, we got more food than we can carry with us, and this place is pretty well off the beaten path. I could reinforce the walls some, till up a spot for a garden in the yard, and…"
"Okay," Beth said quietly.
Daryl halted, surprised by her sudden capitulation. He'd been preparing to argue his case for hours; he still had several persuasive points in his arsenal that he hadn't even touched on. Beth's acquiescence had come much more quickly than he'd expected. Maybe too quickly.
Daryl turned her to face him and examined her expression. "Ain't tryin' to push you, y'know. If you got any objections, let's talk about 'em."
Beth's eyes staring up at him were clear and blue, and so full of trust it damn near took his breath away. He could see her jaw set in that familiar way that meant she was gathering her determination. How any of them had ever thought of Beth as weak was hard to fathom now that he knew her better.
"I… I think you're right," she said. "I think we're supposed to stay here."
"What do you mean, 'supposed to'?" he asked.
Beth looked mildly embarrassed. "You'll think it sounds silly," she warned. "It's just—well, look at this place. You were sayin' yourself how perfect it is—food, water, shelter, clothing—all just layin' here two years after the turn, waitin' for us to come by." She tucked an errant curl behind her ear, preempting Daryl, who had been about to do it for her. "And then Ash showing up? How in the world did he find us, Daryl? I can't explain that. It's kinda like that funeral home we found, y'know? Except instead of feelin' like a trap, it feels like somebody's watchin' out for us. Does that… does that make sense?"
In his old life, Daryl would have scoffed at the idea, but now he didn't know. Was it possible that there was someone or something at work that they couldn't see? Hershel, watching over his girl? God?
All he knew was that Beth had agreed to stay. Mentally, he let out the breath he'd been holding. The prospect of moving on from this place of unlooked-for rest had been weighing on him heavily, and he found that he felt lighter knowing that they had, at least temporarily, found "home".
He smiled at Beth. "Yeah, it makes sense." When she smiled back, warmth suffusing her pale complexion, silent alarms went off in his head. He suddenly realized how close they were to each other. He knew he should retreat, but as his glance darted to her lips, he couldn't help but remember how soft and yielding they'd been under his. The urge to reach up and brush his thumb across them was almost overwhelming. Beth wasn't helping. Her face was all open invitation and hope. He wanted to fall in, and keep falling until his last shaky breath.
Closing his eyes against the onslaught, he leaned away, preparing to escape. But Beth's voice brought him up short.
"Why do you always do that?" she asked, a tear of frustration sliding soundlessly down her cheek.
That tear nearly undid him. He reached up with one rough finger and brushed it away. "Do what?"
"Run away. Ever since that night." She looked at the floor. "Am I really that—I mean, if you don't want to…"
A short, barking laugh erupted from Daryl's throat. "Don't want to? Is that what you're worried about?" He swiped a hand distractedly through his hair. "I ain't been able to stop wanting you, Beth."
Whatever pleasure she might have felt at this admission was tempered by the bitter self-condemnation haunting his face when he said it. "It just ain't right, me and you."
Beth huffed in annoyance. "Why? WHY? Would you just tell me that, Daryl Dixon? And don't say it's because of our age difference. That stuff didn't matter before the turn, and it matters even less now!" She tried to reach out to him, but he leaped to his feet, pacing back and forth before the flames like a caged animal.
"Why, Daryl?" she repeated, more softly now.
He turned to her with a face full of misery. "Because Hershel woulda hated it. He always wanted the best for you. And you—" he sighed. "You deserve a hell of a lot better'n me, Beth."
She wanted to shake him, to shout, but instead she rose from the floor and went to stand before him, waiting to speak until he had lifted his eyes to look at her.
"Daryl, my daddy loved you. From the moment you stepped onto our porch back at the farm, he knew somethin' that took the rest of us a while longer to figure out: you are a good man."
Daryl shifted his eyes down and away, but Beth's hand on his stubbled cheek drew his gaze gently, inexorably back to hers, until she could see the little spark of hope that was burning there.
"You're the only man I want, Daryl Dixon. And it's not because of that bow, and it's not because we're alone in the world. If tomorrow everything went back to the way it was, I'd march myself right down to your cabin and bust down the door to get to you."
He cracked a smile at that, imagining the feisty blonde storming into his old shack, looking for him. Beth, sensing a chink in the armor, did the only thing she could think of at that moment. Lacing both hands around Daryl's neck, she threw her weight backwards, unbalancing him and toppling them both onto the couch. Before he could recover, her lips had found his, and whatever vestige remained of his objections melted away in the heat of their second kiss.
It was different this time—slower, deeper. For Daryl, it felt like taking a long, quenching drink after days of stumbling, parched, through the desert. He was no longer fighting himself. Beth's softness, the taste of her mouth, the scent of her skin were all wrapping a web of intoxication around him more powerful than any he'd ever found at the bottom of a bottle.
He shifted his weight to avoid crushing her, drawing her slender body in close to him while he turned. She was pliable and responsive in his arms, and he had to remind himself to be gentle. When she pulled back to look into his eyes, he drank in the sight of her for several moments before claiming her lips again with a low rumble of desire.
Exultation was singing through Beth's veins as she reveled in the sensation of Daryl's arms around her, his warm breath mingling with hers, her fingers buried in his long hair. She didn't know what she was doing, but she did it with abandon, trusting herself entirely to Daryl's strength and care. Her lips parted at the pressure of his tongue, and her hands ran freely up and down his back, feeling the muscles shifting under the soft flannel of his shirt. She wanted to touch him, so she did, sliding her fingers under the hem to make contact with his rough skin.
It caught him by surprise, sending a wave of electricity coursing through him. For a moment, he hovered on the brink of sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her upstairs. His body and heart ached to lay claim to her, to make her his the way that he was hers, irrevocably. The impulse was strong, but a more measured, rational voice inside of him urged him to slow down, to remember Beth's youth and inexperience.
Groaning inwardly, Daryl pushed himself up to a standing position, pulling Beth up after him. He smoothed away the worried look on her face with a kiss and pulled her into an embrace, holding her until his racing pulse had calmed down a little. It took a few minutes. Finally, though his head still felt like it was full of champagne bubbles, he found that he was thinking a little more clearly. He didn't know how much time this world would give them, but even so, he wasn't going to rush this. He would honor Hershel's faith in him, and live up to the trust Beth gave him so freely.
Releasing her, her bent to pick up his vest and his bow and took a step toward the door. "Why don't you head on up to bed and get some sleep," he suggested. "I got some things to do down here." He gave her a reassuring grin. "Don't worry. I ain't runnin' no more."
The concern on her face faded away, and she smiled back at him. "Better not be," she returned, "because now you know: I will follow you anywhere, Daryl Dixon."
He laughed, a sound she'd rarely heard, and she knew with sudden conviction that she wanted to spend the rest of her life listening to it.
"I'll be back, Greene," he promised, and headed out to the barn. There was a cold bath out there with his name on it.