-March-

Daryl had let himself become spoiled. He knew it, and yet…he couldn't bring himself to change his newfound habits. Never before had he so appreciated a soft bed, warm blankets, and another person curled up beside him.

I'm watchin' out the windows, at least, he tried to convince himself. And he did. Daryl made sure to lift his head up from his pillow and look toward the windows every now and then. Mostly, though, he stared at the wall without thinking about anything in particular, holding Beth as she slept.

She was a little thing, but she radiated warmth where she lay curled beside him. Her hand had worked itself partially into his shirt, fingers slipping through the gaps in buttons to rest against his skin. Beth's cheek was pressed to his shoulder, one leg thrown between his. Daryl twisted the tail of her braid between his fingers and listened to her soft breathing.

These were the best early morning watch duties he had ever spent.

The snow started to melt nearly one week into March—or, at least, what Beth's calendar called March. Patches of snow stayed frozen and strong where shadows fell; the east side of the house, in the shadows of trees. As the earth thawed, so did the walkers.

"That has to be the tenth one today and it's not even noon," Beth groaned. She rolled her eyes before moving her checker, jumping over two of Daryl's.

"Spendin' the winter frozen over didn't preserve their brains any." When the walkers thawed out, they went on their way roaming the land for something living to eat. "Joints must be stiff."

Yet another walker bumped into the house to punctuate Daryl's words. He leaned over and jumped three of Beth's pieces in a row, landing on her side of the board. "King me. What do I get for kickin' you ass in checkers, again?"

This time when Beth rolled her eyes, it was directed at him. "I don't remember promising you anything."

"I'll just pick once I knock all them red pieces off this board."

Beth didn't doubt he would have, if it weren't for the walker that managed to fall through the window just then.

"Son of a bitch," Daryl cursed, on his feet before the first word had even passed through his lips. The sound of glass shattering made Beth jump. She recovered herself quickly, pushing herself to her feet to follow Daryl.

The window the walker broke through, thankfully, hadn't been in the living room. It was a back-bedroom window. Bouncing onto her tiptoes, Beth could just see over Daryl's shoulder to get a good look at the walker. Shards of glass stuck out of its skin, catching the sunlight and throwing sparkles around the room.

She wasn't sure when Daryl had grabbed the crossbow, but as if by magic, it was in his hands. The arrow he launched from the crossbow lodged itself into the walker's head before Beth could take another breath.

"We gotta board it up fast. There's some two-by-fours down cellar. Bring 'em up to me, and I'll start hammering."

The urgency in his voice made it clear that there was no room for hesitation. He didn't have to tell her twice; the memory of the house nearly overrun with walkers when they had first arrived was still fresh in her mind, despite the months. Beth ran down the hallway, threw open the trap door to the cellar, and started to lower herself down the ladder two at a time. As quickly as she could, Beth started lugging the boards close to the cellar door. When she had amassed a sizeable pile, she began throwing the boards upward, launching them through the opening.

She nearly launched herself through the opening shortly after, making a stack of boards and trying to haul them to Daryl. He met her at the doorway to that bedroom, helping carry the load. While Beth held the board steady, Daryl began to hammer it into place.

"We gotta get this in place before more walkers get here," Daryl mumbled to himself more than to Beth. "Bastard was loud as hell. I'm sure his friends are comin'."

Sure enough, before they had the second board secured in place, they could both hear the growls of walkers drawing nearer.

"Shit." They both said it, nearly at the exact same time. Were it not for the urgency of the situation, Daryl might have teased her for picking up his habits with cussing. As it was, instead he slammed the hammer into the hand of a walker that tried to reach through the destroyed window. The entire limb broke off at the elbow, falling limply to the ground.

"That's gross," Beth pointed out, lifting the third board and lining it up with the others. This blocked the window just enough for her hammering heart to slow down some. Walkers were still bumping into the boards, as Beth could easily feel and hear, but luckily none of them had the brains left to think to crouch.

"We're lucky they're so stupid most of the time." Even with immediate danger eliminated, Daryl didn't slow down one bit. In record time, he had two final boards nailed in place.

The adrenaline and urgency with which the two had worked left them both sweaty and short of breath. Beth looked at their work, at the walker arm on the floor. She nudged it with her boot, almost expecting it to still move. It didn't, of course, but she still held her breath for a moment. Only when the arm proved itself immobile did Beth look up to meet Daryl's eyes.

Daryl closed the distance between them in one large step. He pulled Beth into his arms. She shuddered against him, the excitement of what they had just done draining from her. After a few moments, Beth relaxed into him.

This was the calm after the storm, this steadying of each other.

Deer jerky and dried berries wrapped in clean fabric.

Clothing in the best condition washed and hung to dry around the house.

Only the most useful canned foods lined up on the table.

A stack of arrows ready for the quiver.

The snow outside had nearly melted entirely, and they were making preparations to leave. Beth wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. Looking around the cozy little house that had gotten them through the winter, she felt her chest grow tight at the thought of never seeing it again.

"I think today's my birthday."

My pretty spring blossom, her father used to say. Now he was gone. Maggie could be, too, for all she knew.

"I'll be sure to bake you a cake later," Daryl didn't glance up from where he was looking through their medicine stash. He held a bottle of ibuprofen in one hand, and a bottle of Tylenol in the other. She knew he was scrutinizing the dates and the number of pills left in the bottles, trying to decide which would be better to take with them.

Beth shot a hair tie at him, the little ring of elastic bouncing off his cheek. "You're a brat."

"I know," Daryl picked up the hair tie and shot it back at her. She wasn't fast enough; it bounced off her head mid-duck. "You've been tellin' me for months."

"That's because it's true."

Last night had been hard on both of them. With the walker falling through the window, Beth and Daryl had found themselves on edge. Neither of them had slept much that night, the sounds of walkers bumping around outside pulling them from shallow sleep.

"Take a nap," Daryl suggested after Beth's third huge yawn. "It's quieter today."

And it had been. Since the walker fell through the window, they had made sure to only speak in whispers, keep away from the windows, and not use any candles. There efforts hadn't been for nothing; since the sun had come up, the walkers had dwindled to nothing.

It didn't take much convincing, though. Beth wandered over to him, bending down to kiss him before dramatically throwing herself onto the bed. "If you insist…"

Daryl reached over, untying her boots for her and slipping them off her feet. As soon as her feet were free, Beth rolled away from him, cocooning herself in blankets. Shaking his head, Daryl waited for her breathing to even out as she fell into sleep. Once he was certain she was out, he pushed himself to his feet and made his way out the door.

There was no snow left for Daryl to melt. Despite Beth's insistence that he was a brat, he was pretty certain a brat wouldn't spend his time hauling buckets of water up from the riverbanks.

A brat wouldn't have boiled the river water over the fire to make it warm. Or poured in some bubble bath, swishing his hand through the water to stir up the bubbles. Would a brat build a fire, so Beth wouldn't be cold after her bath? Probably not.

She had said it was her birthday—or close to it—and one of their last nights in the house. Daryl figured that was occasion enough

He woke Beth from her nap by running his fingers through her hair. She woke slowly, turning her face toward his touch. Daryl's hand was warm against her cheek, and when her eyes fluttered open, she saw that he was sitting on the bed beside her, one of his rare smiles playing at his lips.

"Hey," she murmured sleepily, reaching out to Daryl. She found purchase on his sleeves, pulling him down to the bed with her.

"Hey yourself, sleepyhead." Beth curled herself into him, relishing the light kiss he placed to her forehead. But she wasn't meant to stay in bed, despite her trying to hold Daryl there. Ignoring her stubborn attempts, Daryl wrapped his arm around her and pulled her up so that she was sitting in his lap.

Pushing errant locks of hair away from her face, Beth slowly realized why Daryl was making her wake up. "You made me a bath again!"

"I couldn't figure out how to bake a cake with canned beans, so I figured this would do."

That was all the motivation it took for Beth to abandon Daryl in their bed, slipping behind the blanket curtains Daryl had hung up for her. Beth shed her clothes quickly, eager to sink into the warm, soapy water.

She dunked her head, combing through her tangles with her fingers. Baths had really become a luxury in her new life, and any bath that she didn't have to take in a cold river or stream was a huge plus in Beth's book. Beth hadn't had a bath like this since the winter, after she had nursed Daryl back to health.

With the fire burning in the hearth, Beth lingered in the bath until the water lost all its warmth. Only then did she pull herself from it, relishing in the clean feeling of her skin and the floral scent the soap had left behind. She was almost sad to slip back into her clothing.

What made Beth the saddest, though, was the realization that this was drawing to an end. Once the nights were warm enough to eliminate the fear of frost, they would be on the move.

"To Terminus." Beth said just days later. The morning sun was playing in her hair, which she had pulled into two tight French braids. She lifted her glass, waiting for Daryl to clink his own against it.

"Terminus," he obliged her. In sync with one another, they each threw back the fifth of whiskey Daryl had poured into their cups. He had been saving the bottle for this moment, an echo to the burning shack they had left before finding this house.

Beth's face scrunched against the burn of the alcohol. She stuck her tongue out, making Daryl chuckle. "Ugh, that was gross."

Along with their glasses, Beth left the key to the front door sitting on the porch step. She covered the key with her hand for a moment, feeling the cool metal press against her palm. The farm, the prison, this house. She couldn't seem to stop losing homes.

"Take care of whoever comes next," she whispered to the key, the house. Before they had left—taking only what they had decided was necessary—Beth had cleaned the house, leaving it ready for new tenants.

Now she straightened, despite the sadness weighing on her, and turned to Daryl. The way the morning sun cut across his face, it illuminated his eyes brighter than the blue spring sky above them. Stepping closer to him, Beth cupped his face between her palms and bounced onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

She could taste the aftermath of his whiskey on his lips, a shadow of the burn when she had drunk her own. He wrapped his arm around her, pressing her body closer to his. Too soon, always too soon, he pulled away from her. The travels ahead were dominating Daryl's mind, Beth knew.

"Gun in hand while we walk," he reminded her, leaning down to pick up the backpack they had prepared. He settled the weight of it on her back for her before slinging his crossbow across his own. Beth took a deep breath as she watched him, the clean spring air filling her lungs.

"We're on the road again." She said it softly, more to herself than to Daryl. Despite all the packing they had done over the past few days, hearing herself say it aloud made it more real than anything. She hung back for a moment, watching Daryl walk away from the house. He had made it to the tree line before he realized Beth wasn't following him.

"Beth," he called to her, making her name sound like an offer. Daryl reached a hand out to her. "Let's go."

Beth took one more deep breath. With one last look over her shoulder at the house, she turned her back on it entirely. A few quick steps brought her back to Daryl, and she slipped her hand into his.

"Okay." A bright smile spread across her face. "I'm ready. Let's go."

A/N: Hi, friends! I'm sorry this took so long to get out. This is the end of Winter Song, but for all of y'all who have enjoyed this little story...would y'all be interested in me extending it? I think it would be fun to follow this thread of Bethyl through a whole year. Since this story is already called Winter Song, I was thinking of having three more sets of stories over the course of the hypothetical year, each one focusing on a season. Thoughts?

Also, a huge thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story! It was a lot of fun to write. Beth and Daryl are one of my all-time favorite couples.