-February-

Some days, the wind and snow blew so loud and constant that Daryl was sure he was liable to lose his mind. Not only did the constant whine of the wind leave him with headaches pounding behind his eyes, the monotonous days drew Beth into herself.

On those days, she opted not to read or play piano. She didn't even hum. Instead, she sat beside the window despite the cold. Her eyes stared forward, and her hand slid under the sleeve over her left wrist, worrying over the scar there.

Daryl didn't have to ask where the scar was from. He remembered that day on the farm, all the racket it caused. Maggie's anger at Andrea had been a fierce thing. During the humid days at the prison, Daryl had seen the scar plenty of times, winking first pink and then silvery every time Beth reached for something.

"These blizzards are gonna drive me crazy." Her words were so soft that Daryl nearly didn't hear them. He looked up from the arrows he was crafting, narrowing his eyes. Beth sat so still he could almost imagine he hadn't heard her speak.

Putting his arrows aside, Daryl pushed himself to his feet.

"C'mon," he said, hooking his hand under Beth's arm. He pulled her up to her feet. "Starin' at it's not gonna do you any good."

He pulled the curtains shut tight. It wasn't like the sun was visible to give them light, anyway. Daryl brought Beth with him, closer to the fire. He hoped the warmth might put some color back into her cheeks.

"You're liable to catch your death, sittin' in the window all the time." She gave him one of her petulant looks, the ones she did so well. He grabbed the first book he saw; Beth left them everywhere, bookmarks in all of them. She bounced from book to book so often that he couldn't keep straight all the stories she read out loud to him.

Now he pressed one into her hands. "Read to me."

Soon enough, Beth's voice and the scraping of his knife against wood replaced the sounds of the wind. Still, Beth held the book with her left hand…so that she might still run her fingers over her wrist with her right. Daryl didn't see a reason to point it out so long as she kept reading.

He had learned, over these many days with Beth, that nothing that sat so heavy in her head would stay there for long. It would come out eventually, when she was ready to say something about it.

That time didn't come until they had settled into their shared bed. With the wind still howling outside, Daryl saw no use in keeping watches. Nothing was likely to come up through the night, living or otherwise.

Since the first time Beth kissed him, she insisted on kissing him each morning and night. It took Daryl some getting used to, but he never argued with her either. They had also abandoned all pretenses when going to bed.

Now, Beth kissed him before slipping under the covers and fitting herself to his side. She pressed her cheek to his chest, snuggling her face against it.

"I used to think," she began, her voice soft and wavering, "that they were still people, just like Daddy did. It broke my heart when Mama and Shawn got killed the second time."

The Greene family farm felt like several lifetimes ago to Daryl. He had to wrack his mind for several seconds to recall that Beth's mother and brother had been among the walkers in Hershel's barn.

"They never would have been the same," Daryl said after a beat, when he realized Beth was waiting for him to speak. "Merle wasn't. But…"

He cut himself off here. There was something about Beth—he still wasn't quite sure what it was—that made him say more than he meant to.

"But?" Beth prompted, lifting her head from his chest to meet his eye. Daryl sighed. He would have to continue now. She would pester him until she got the rest out of him.

"I dunno. I think he knew me, still. Merle reached for me, but he didn't try to bite me. I think…he was askin' for me to end it for him." He closed his eyes against the memory, but that only conjured Merle more clearly. There he was once more, gray skinned and yellow eyed, reaching for Daryl no matter how many times he pushed Merle away. Daryl didn't realize the memory had made him shiver until Beth tucked the blankets in more snuggly around him.

"Maybe he was," Beth agreed. "I can't imagine how anyone would want to live that way. Before he…decomposed more…Jimmy used to pull at the barn doors. He got it open once. Daddy had to put a chain on the outside doors for a while after that."

Her fingers idly played with the buttons on his shirt. It was far too cold to sleep without layers of clothing, even together—though Beth had her doubts that Daryl would, anyway. He was always concerned about being ready at a moment's notice.

"I was so stupid," she breathed more than spoke, her voice was so soft and breathy. Beth lifted her arm, exposing her wrist to him. In the pale firelight, he saw the thin, crooked scar running its path along her skin. "I thought I would be with them again, somehow. I just missed them so much. Daddy's with them now, or I hope he is. Now I miss him, too, and Maggie. And Glenn…all the others."

The hot tears soaking through his shirt was the only indication that Beth was crying. Her breath didn't hitch; her voice didn't crack. She sighed, hugging herself tighter to him.

"Beth…" Besides her name, Daryl was at a loss as to what to say. Talking about feelings; hell, talking in general was not part of his childhood. It was uneven ground for him, and if there was one thing Daryl did know, it was that he hated unsure footing.

"I try not to think about it. But days like this make it hard." Unlike Daryl, Beth had no problem letting her emotions tumble out of her mouth. "Do you think we'll see them all again?"

"'Course we will." It was the only placating words he could think of. That seemed enough for Beth. She sighed again, deeper this time, and tipped her head forward. Daryl felt Beth press her lips to his jaw.

Working by the murky light of the old flashlight, Daryl was elbows deep in cleaning a deer. It was a small thing, but the best he was able to do in this cold, wind-filled winter. Even now, though no snow fell, the wind howled outside.

Under the current of nature's wail, he could hear Beth playing piano. It wasn't a song he had her play before. This was something fast, and deep-toned, without lyrics, apparently. The melody ended abruptly, replaced by her footsteps on the hardwood floors overhead.

"Hey, Daryl?" She called down to him. When he looked over his shoulder, he could just make out her pale face in the trapdoor opening that led to the cellar.

"Yeah?" Even without looking, his hands knew well what to do. He slid his knife forward, cutting through tendon and sinew to separate the meat from the bones. Beth's face twisted at the wet sounds that accompanied the cleaning.

"Ugh, that's so gross," she all but pouted, distracted by her disgust.

"You grew up on a farm," Daryl shook his head. "Shouldn't you be used to this?"

"I used to help Daddy pop the heads off quail, until Maggie told me what exactly it was I was doing." She must have been laying down on the floor; her head came to rest on her folded arms.

Daryl shook his head and turned back to the deer and his work at hand.

"What're you doin', anyway?"

"Talking to you. I got bored."

"You could come help."

Beth made a great impersonation of gagging at that suggestion. When Daryl looked over his shoulder again, Beth had rolled onto her back. Her ponytail spilled over the edge of the trapdoor, creating a golden, waving waterfall.

"Isn't it freezing down there?"

"Yeah, but the deer's still warm inside." This time, Beth's gag had a much greater chance of being real.

"You're repulsive, Daryl Dixon."

"Try to tell me that later, when you've got your face mashed up on mine."

Her groan, he was sure, was supposed to let him know just how much she meant her words. Beth pushed herself to her feet, abandoning the conversation. After a few quick steps, the piano music began again, faster and louder this time.

Daryl couldn't help but smirk to himself in the almost-dark of the cellar.

Wearing three pairs of socks, Beth glided her way across the frozen river in an approximation of ice skating. Further down the river, Daryl was stretched out on his stomach, attempting to carve a hole into the ice for ice fishing.

"I didn't think you were really going to try it," Beth said, gliding close to Daryl. He peeked up at her, watching the way the pale winter sunlight made her glow. She was a person made for the sun, he was sure. Her mood had risen considerably since the sun had reappeared two days ago.

"If I can manage it, fish'll be a more reliable source of meat."

Of course, he didn't have the tools actually listed in the encyclopedia entry he had read. Daryl was making do with handcrafted tools, as he had for most of his life. The ice was thick, but not ungiving, and he was making steady progress with expanding the hole while Beth played.

He didn't fear either walkers nor the living in such a frozen place. Sneaking up on someone would be damn near impossible with the hardpacked snow crunching below a person's weight.

She slid alongside him, parallel, conjuring a tiny breeze. Beth's socks had given her considerable speed. Daryl was all too happy to let her play in the winter sunlight if it meant she would stop worrying over the scar on her wrist.

For someone who always complained about the cold, Beth's little hands always left burning trails along Daryl's skin. A line of fire blazed when she drew her fingertips ever so lightly along the ride of his cheekbone, down, down, down to follow the line of his jaw.

"Daryl," she whispered to him. He had been sleeping, but wakefulness pulled him upward. Sunlight met his eyes when he worked them open. How long had Beth let him sleep?

He remembered, eventually, that he had been taking a nap. One that Beth had insisted on, when the constant howling of the wind over the past three days had grown into a migraine in the space between his eyes. That had been hours earlier, in the dreary, gray morning.

When his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, they landed on Beth's smiling face. "The wind stopped."

"That's what you woke me up for?" He asked, not bothering to hide his grumpiness as his mind emerged fully from sleep. Daryl reached out for her, hooking his arm around her waist to pull her down onto the bed with him. Giggling, Beth let herself fall forward, bringing their faces close together.

She wasn't wrong. It was quiet now, and that silence felt weird on his ears when he had grown so used to the wind. He had no time to think about that, though. Instead, Beth closed the distance between them.

There was that hot little hand again, cupping his cheek. He was still holding onto her waist, making it easy for him to tuck her underneath him. Daryl ran his hand through her hair—loose for once—as he kissed her back in earnest. Beth's back arched, bringing herself flush against him in their warm, quiet bed.

Daryl was fairly certain they would get themselves in trouble one of these days.

Slow and melancholy. That's how Beth would describe the notes she was playing—and exactly how she felt. She was missing Maggie a lot.

Beth didn't allow herself to miss anyone else, anyone who was dead.

"This is my winter song to you, the storm is coming through, it rolls in from the sea."

The song never held so much meaning to her until now.

"My voice a beacon in the night, my words will be your light, to carry you to me."

She knew she really couldn't complain too much. One look around the cozy house and she knew she was luckier than most in this broken world. Fish popped and sizzled over the fire, filling the room with a smell that made her mouth water even as she sang. If she happened to look over her shoulder, Beth knew that she would see Daryl stretched out along the floor, keeping an eye on their dinner as it cooked.

Or, at least, Beth assumed he would be. In reality, the majority of Daryl's attention was focused on her.

"They say that things just cannot grow, beneath the winter snow. Or so I have been told."

Maggie seemed impossibly far from her. Perhaps it was foolish hope and naivete, but…somehow, in her heart, Beth knew her sister was still out there. Alive. Truly, heart-beating, alive.

"I still believe in summer days. The seasons always change, and life will find a way."

That wasn't the end of the song, but Beth stopped singing there anyway. Her fingers kept moving over the keys, finishing the tune without the accompaniment of her voice. The music faded away into the quiet night. Though the winds remained, it hadn't snowed in a week. This small fact alone gave her the smallest bit of hope.

But what warmed her more than any summer sun was Daryl's hand coming to rest on her shoulder. She lifted her own hand from the keys, threading her fingers through Daryl's.

"Careful."

No new snow had fallen in two weeks by then, but it was still bitterly cold outside. So cold, some days, that it was hard to even speak to one another above the wind. But sometimes it was necessary, such as when Beth took a misstep and nearly sunk into the snowbank they were cresting. Only Daryl's hand hooked under her arm kept her from falling through the snow.

"Sorry," Beth murmured, though she was fairly sure the wind stole her word. She didn't bother to remind Daryl that her stiff, awkward steps were his fault. He had insisted, after all, that she bundle up more than usual for this scouting adventure.

Winter would be ending soon. At least, Daryl insisted it must—February was nearly over. Surely, once they slid into March, the weather would warm, and the snow would melt. They could be on the move again in just a handful of weeks.

They were scouting, looking for any hints of other people. The wind bit through their clothes, but they leaned into it. Beth followed Daryl as he led the way, trying to carve a path through the forest to the road.

Sometimes, the wind got caught between the trees. It created a brutal tunnel to try to walk through. In those moments, Daryl would reach behind him, extending his hand to Beth. Tethered by their clasped hands, heads bowed to the winter winds, making slow but steady progress.

Daryl was holding tightly to Beth's hand when they finally broke through the forest. Here, the wind was an enigma in itself. Beth only caught some of it, shielded as she was at Daryl's back. It stung her eyes, but the tears that leaked from them didn't get a chance to roll down her cheeks. They dried immediately.

Rubbing at her eyes with her free hand, Beth managed to clear her vision enough to notice something Daryl hadn't. It made her gasp, the cold air burning down her throat and into her lungs.

"Daryl! Look!"

How the paper sign had lasted through the winter, she had no idea. She held it down, stilling it long enough for Daryl to read it.

Terminus. Sanctuary for all. Community for all. Those who arrive survive.

Beneath it was a map, protected by a poster frame though the sign was not. A large star marked the location of Terminus, of the so-named sanctuary.

Though she was smiling, the cold air stinging her cheeks and lips, when she turned to look at Daryl, she found him regarding the sign with his blue eyes narrowed. Beth's smile began to falter, her eyebrows knitting together.

"They would go. You know they would. Maggie and Glenn…Rick would take Carl and Judith."

Daryl didn't respond. Instead, he continued to scrutinize the sign. She watched his eyes rove over it before Daryl gave a small shake of his head.

"Nah, Beth…that shit's too good to be true."

"Even if it is," she began, already arguing. Beth gave his hand a squeeze. "Even if there is nothing there, and it's completely deserted, or overrun with walkers like the prison…or, I don't know, invaded with freakin' aliens…you can't tell me that our friends wouldn't see that sign and at least try."

When he sighed, it made a cloud of mist in front of his face. "Woman, you're gonna be the death of me."

That was enough to bring the smile back to Beth's face. It wasn't much, but she knew she had him there.

And she knew she had him entirely when Daryl reached passed her, edging his fingers around the outside of the frame. He pulled it off the post it was mounted on carefully, tucking it under his arm.

When they got home, Beth stood on one of the kitchen chairs and took down the painting that had been hanging there for months. She wasn't all that sad to see the tranquil meadow scene go. She hung the map showing Terminus in its place.

Daryl stood behind her, shaking his head. He didn't share Beth's enthusiasm, but at the same time, he hated to take it from her. Instead, he came up behind her, scooping her off the chair and making her laugh.

There was still deep snow on the ground. He wouldn't have to face the prospect of Terminus for weeks yet.

"Do you like candy?"

The question came out of nowhere. Or so it seemed to Daryl. The winds had made it easy to keep up with firewood; the frozen branches snapped under the pressure. While Beth was gathering branches, Daryl dug through their growing stash. He kept the straightest, strongest branches to fashion arrows out of.

"Find a candy shop out there or what?" Beth had been going fairly deep into the woods to gather the branches, but Daryl was unconcerned. He had already done a sweep of the area. Plus, Beth had her gun and her knife, and he himself wasn't far off from her.

She dumped the fresh pile of branches in front of him and rolled her eyes.

"A yes or no without your usual sass would suffice." Daryl picked up one of the branches he was saving and launched it at her. Beth didn't bother to dodge it, instead letting it bounce off her thigh.

"How are you going to make this candy?" He asked instead, just to annoy her further. Really, if the look she was giving him was any indication, he should have felt blessed she had yet to smother him in his sleep.

"Don't worry about that. You're not the only one who reads books, Daryl Dixon."

That was stating the obvious, but he didn't point that out, either. He was sitting in the snow himself, and mound of branches on either side of him. Reaching forward, he wrapped his hands around the backs of Beth's knees and pulled her forward.

This made her fall forward, into the snow and toward him. He quieted her little shriek of annoyance by pressing his mouth to hers.

"We're both going to be soaked," she chided him between kisses.

"I'll warm ya up later," he promised.

That night, Beth gathered clean snow and packed it into pots and pans. Over the fire, she heated up and melted a jar of molasses she had found in the pantry. She dripped the liquid molasses over the snow, creating designs as she did so. The molasses sizzled when it hit the snow, seizing up into a solid.

Beth plucked up a flower-shaped piece of candy with her fingers. Turning away from the fire and toward Daryl, she offered it to him where he lounged on their bed.

Rather than take the candy, his fingers closed around her wrist. Daryl brought her hand closer to him, eating the candy straight from her fingers. Beth tried—and failed—not to shiver at the touch of his lips against her skin.

The molasses candy started to melt against his tongue as he met her eye. It filled his mouth with sweetness as he watched the blush rise in her cheeks.

Only then did he answer her question from earlier. "Yeah, I like candy just fine."

A/N: I wanted to explore Beth a little bit more this time, for whatever reason. She always struck me as an interesting character-the undercurrents of melancholy, though on the surface, she was a bright-smiled girl. Her sometimes carefree nature; her developing strength as she learned to survive in the world. I just loved Beth, okay?!

Also exploring Daryl as he was at the time. Still some of that teasing, smart-ass we saw peeks of in season 1 and 2. Plus, writing him as a romantic partner of Beth-and how the dynamics of that would work between them-is always fun.