Content Warning: Minor descriptions of self-harm.

Powdered Gold: August

Traveling through South Carolina had left supplies running dangerously low. Though he hated to do so, Daryl knew it was necessary to pull their truck into the first town North Carolina had to offer them. It was a small thing, little more than a gas station and a handful of other shops. "Don't get your hopes up," he cautioned Beth. "It's probably been picked through already."

"Anything we can find will be helpful," she asserted. The last of their fruit leather had been given to Miguel. Traveling in the truck meant they hadn't been able to forage or hunt, either, so they were likewise out of the berries and granola bars they had been eating. They needed to find a water source, too, not to mention more first aid supplies. Beth hated how light the near-empty bag was on her back.

"We stay together," he reminded her. "No wanderin' off." They hadn't ransacked a place in months, having had great luck in the South Carolina woods.

"Cover each other's backs," she added with a nervous smile. They nodded to one another, opening their doors and leaving the cab of the truck in tandem. Now in the open, bright summer sun shining down on them, they moved together in silence. Daryl pointed to the gas station with his chin; it was the most logical place to start. He took a moment to load his crossbow in anticipation and Beth drew her knife.

The door was unlocked, a sure sign others had come through with the same idea as they had. No matter. Backs to the wall, they moved quickly and quietly through the room to check for the presence of walkers—or living. Beth came across one crawling across the tiles, legs too damaged and decayed to carry the weight of the creature. She kicked it in the chest, pinning it to the floor beneath her boot, and sunk her blade into its head.

"Clear," came Daryl's soft call from across the tiny gas station. She responded in kind, once she made sure her friend was the only one. Together, they moved an empty shelf in front of the door to barricade themselves inside without the danger of interruption.

Now safely tucked away, they worked quickly. Though the station had definitely already been picked through, it wasn't a total bust. The pair came away with several overlooked packs of sunflower seeds, a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and a new set of fishing hooks and wire. Their last set had since rusted out, and while Daryl liked to show off his prowess with catching fish with his bare hands, Beth was thankful to have something she could use.

"What do you think about those restaurants?" Beth whispered, packing away their small haul. "Think they might have anything, or should we just skip over them."

Looking out the grimy window, Daryl took a moment to consider. "The probably ain't got much of anything either," he confessed. "But let's try that diner."

They repeated their routine of sweeping, clearing, and barricading before carefully picking through the diner. Only honey and sugar packets were gleaned for the second haul of the day. Not much in way of sustenance, but Beth knew that both would be invaluable should food run low. Her father had stressed the importance of keeping blood sugar up even if your belly was empty… especially if that were the case. Sugar water was one of the things that kept Hershel going when his leg was amputated. Rudimentary medicine at best, but better than nothing.

"Let's go on foot for a bit," Beth suggested. "There's a few houses that way. Might come by a garden, at least."

"Worth a shot," Daryl's shoulders rose and fell with his shrug. "Drivin' got us here sooner than I planned. We got the time for explorin' a little."

They did so, moving quickly so as not to spend much time in the vulnerable open. The houses were small and rural, as Beth had suspected. One house did have a garden, as she had hoped. It had been well-picked over by birds, but Beth was able to find some tomatoes and peppers that would serve them well enough. Fresh food for a handful of days was better than nothing.

Exchanging a look, it was clear they both considered it the end of their luck in this tiny town. They headed back to the truck, Beth taking the wheel while Daryl gave her directions to lead them to the next town over. They ate a quick lunch in the car, sharing a tomato, pepper, and handful of sunflower seeds from the bounty of their morning spoils between them.

"That dive bar might have some peanuts and stuff," Daryl said around a bite of tomato, motioning with his chin.

"And there's a pharmacy," Beth pointed across the street. "Might have some medicine that's still good, bandages, sanitizer."

"See that house over yonder to the left? Fruit trees in the back."

More good options, and this town seemed quiet. They had yet to encounter a walker. In fact, a deer walked across the street sedately, obviously confident in its own safety. A good sign. Beth smirked at Daryl's hand and how it twitched, no doubt yearning for his crossbow. The only thing that kept him from shooting the doe, she knew, was the appearance of her fawn loping behind her to catch up.

"Fruit trees first, work our way back up the street?"

"Sounds good to me." Daryl hopped out of the truck first, jogging around the front of the vehicle and opening her door for her. They moved quickly, weapons drawn, but managed to reach the yard without issue. Daryl lifted Beth up and over the fence while he covered her back. Peaches, pears, pomegranates. The alliteration made her smile to herself as she picked a bounty from each tree and carefully nestled the fruit into her backpack.

The dive bar was a bust besides the new bottles of whiskey Daryl swiped. Beth's high hopes for the pharmacy were fulfilled and then some—the shop was largely undisturbed, and there was a rack of snacks to pick through. They poked around some of the houses, piecing together new clothes to replace the travel-worn clothing they had been wearing for months.

By the early evening, Beth was in good spirits about North Carolina. Daryl seemed to echo her sentiment, especially once they were able to find more gas for their truck. Riding the high of a successful day, the pair decided to try one more house. It was easy enough to break into; Daryl was exceptionally skilled at picking locks with his little piece of carefully bent wire.

The scent of death hit them full force once the door sprang open. That sickly sour-sweet stench was nothing new to either of them, but the smell being contained in the house and baking in the summer heat magnified it enough to leave them both gagging. Raising an arm to block his nose, Daryl turned to Beth, finding she had pulled her shirt up over half her face. They met the other's eye, both nodding. Despite their morning bounty, they knew they were in no position to skip a search.

After all, they lived in a world where the dead walked about. What's a few more corpses?

Keeping their mouths and noses covered, they moved inside the house with weapons drawn. Daryl pulled the door shut behind them, which Beth hated, but knew it was necessary. The door they entered through let them into a mud room of sorts, with garden tools and a pair of rainboots comprising the entire space. They cleared first the kitchen and then the living room, Daryl kicking open a bathroom door in an effort to leave no stone unturned. The downstairs deemed clear and safe, he nodded toward the stairs.

Beth followed behind, turning to look over her shoulder every few steps just in case. The smell of rotting intensified as they moved upward, making her eyes sting.

"Stay with me," Daryl choked out. A repetitive thudding sound was coming from one of the shut doors on the second floor. Usually, they broke away from one another to cover more ground in a shorter amount of time. Not this time. In front of her, Daryl made a beeline for the third door to the left of the hallway.

Sticking close together, Daryl held up first one, then two, then three fingers. A silent countdown before he shouldered the door open. Inside were two walkers, one for each of them. Their arrival interrupted the walkers in their current activity of mindlessly slamming themselves into the second-story window.

With a low whistle, Daryl drew their attention. These walkers, unlike the ones they had grown used to in their voyager lifestyle, were more akin to Pablo than the decrepit beasts skulking through the forests. In a word, they were fresh. That explained why the smell of decay was so strong throughout the house.

It was easy to discern that this pair was a man and a woman, not so different from the living partners poised to end their lives for good. Beth caught the glint of gold rings on their hands, already outstretched in search of viable prey. Equally easy to see in the shafts of sunlight streaming through the window were the deep gouges carved into the right wrist of each walker, the wounds still oozing sluggish black blood.

Her gun clattering to the wooden floor drew the walkers' attention to Beth specifically, but with her ears ringing and her right hand drifting to her left wrist, she was of no mind to defend herself. She remembered the bite of the blade when she effected a similar cut to herself, the instant regret that had filled her body.

The way the void that had nearly swallowed her after her mother and brother's second deaths had called to her again following her father's.

"Fuck!" Daryl's voice sounded miles away, though she watched him spring into action and launch himself in front of her. The woman fell easily, but Daryl had to shove the man away several times while he retrieved his knife. Her fog broke as she watched him struggle, finally remembering how to move her body. The male walker nearly toppled over on Daryl, but Beth interceded and sunk her own knife deep in his forehead.

With the walker taken care of, she fell heavily on the floor beside Daryl's crouched form. Finally, he was able to wrench his knife free. He took a moment to retrieve Beth's as well before rocking back beside her.

Only with the immediate threats handled did either of them realize they were in a child's bedroom. A motionless lump tucked into a lavender bed made tears spring to Beth's eyes.

"Hey," Daryl said, reaching for her. She let herself be tucked up under his arm, clinging to his threadbare plaid shirt as she began to sob. Knowing better than to ask if she was okay, but knowing he needed to say something, the words "I'm sorry" slipped out of his lips.

Beth hardly heard him, her blood roaring in her ears. She felt hot all over, the walls of this child's bedroom closing in on her. Typically, Daryl's presence was more than comforting for her, but in the moment her only thought was to get away. She pushed off from him, rushing blindly down the stairs and bursting through the back door they had entered through. Taking gulping breaths of fresh air, Beth slid down the side of the house, drawing her knees up and hanging her head in her hands.

The clean air helped, clearing her mind and eventually calming her breaths from gulps to deep and lung-filling. Raising her head, she studied the sunset colors painting the sky. Pink to orange to red, all bleeding into one another, as a blazing sun sunk below the horizon. She was aware of Daryl coming through the door, which she had left open, shutting it softly before coming to sit beside her once again.

He didn't touch her, and for once, she was thankful for that. Her entire being felt raw, as if her skin had fallen away and the summer breeze was rustling over exposed muscle and nerves.

"That could have been me." Her voice sounded as it if was under water. Lolling her head to the side to look at him, the brick exterior of the house caught at strands of her hair. "Those walkers… I would have been like them, if…"

She dissolved into sobs again, burying her head into her knees. Daryl cursed quietly under his breath. While he understood Beth was having a moment, hardly in control of herself, they were out in the open. Not the ideal place for this much noise. He hoped their friends upstairs were truly the only residents left in this town.

Beth was stiff, at first, when Daryl gently lifted her to tuck her into his lap. The rigidness began to fade after a moment, her limbs going slack as she turned to bury her face in the crook of his neck. Her tears were hot and slick on his skin, seeping into his shirt. "I got you," he told her, at a loss for anything else to say. "I got you."

She cried for a long, long time. The sun had fully set, bringing on twilight as the last rays were diffused. When at last her sobs calmed to sniffles, she still did not raise her head. Instead, she breathed deeply the scent of him: the salty tang of sweat, a faint whiff of soap from when she had last washed his clothes, an ever-present earthiness that was as much a part of him as it was the world around them. His scent anchored her so that she was no longer drowning in her despair of what almost was.

"Can we leave this place?" Now her voice sounded impossibly small.

"'Course we can, Bethy."

He helped he to her feet, keeping hold of her hand as they left the wretched house behind. Night was falling in earnest now, casting him in shadows of dark gray, leeching the color of his eyes when he looked back at her over his shoulder. Daryl must be tired; he had driven the entire night before and hadn't yet rested. But when they reached the truck, he opened her door and helped her climb inside the passenger seat before taking the driver's seat for himself.

Not another word was said as he eased the truck onto the road, lights off, using only the light of the heavy moon and bright stars to see. Daryl didn't even check the map before cutting a path through the middle of the little town. Still feeling raw and exposed, Beth curled herself into her seat. The cool glass of the window felt wonderful on her flushed cheek. In the glow of the console, Beth studied his profile.

Did he think her weak? Surely he must. She had been so uselessly frozen that a walker nearly bit him, for God's sake. And then she hadn't even bothered to look through the house for supplies, their whole reason for being there! Hell, she would have left her knife and their backpack behind—ruining all the work they had done that morning—had Daryl not thought to grab both.

Stupid, she told herself. So damn stupid.

Beth was so wrapped up in her smear campaign against herself that she didn't realize Daryl had brought the truck to a stop. When it registered to her, she saw that he had effectively hidden it beneath an outcrop of trees with low branches heavy with Spanish moss. A smart move, as always. Because Daryl was smart.

Beginning to feel numb, she watched as Daryl slipped out of the cab. He opened her own door, reaching for her. "C'mon."

Daryl didn't lead her far, only to the back seat of the truck, where there was plenty of room for him to tuck her into his lap once more. He caught her left hand in his, turning it palm-up and drawing her scarred wrist to his mouth. There, he pressed a soft kiss, making her breath hitch. A final tear rolled down her cheek as her eyes drifted closed. With that one kiss, Daryl had given her more reassurance than any words could have.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Daryl shifted beneath her, laying back and bringing her with him so that she was atop him. Stretching one arm out, he managed to reach the front seat, the truck locking with a soft click. "Let's get some sleep, Bethy. We both need it."

And so she fell asleep listening to the reassuring rhythm of his heart, giving into the soul-deep exhaustion tugging at her.

Come the morning, Beth found the sun rising just as it always had. She woke up alone, or seemingly so, with the leather seat sticking to her cheek. Peeling herself off carefully, Beth rubbed at her face and looked around for Daryl. She caught a glimpse of him through the back window, sitting on the tailgate. The muscles of his back and shoulders rippled beneath his shirt, but with his back to her as it was, she couldn't see what he was doing.

Beth quietly opened the door, sliding down and walking over to the tailgate. She found him carving into one of the pomegranates she had gathered yesterday, laying out the seeds on a clean cloth beside him.

"I hope you cleaned that knife first." Her voice was thick with sleep. She pushed herself up onto the tailgate beside him.

"Fire's sanitizing, right?" He waited for her nod. "Then, yeah. It's clean."

They sat together eating pomegranate seeds in the early morning light. "I'm sorry about yesterday."

Daryl gave a little snort. "It was a little rude of you to let that walker almost get me." There was teasing in his voice, echoed by the twinkle in his eye. His amusement earned him a short-lived glare from Beth before she smiled despite herself.

"I'm sorry about that, too, but that's not what I meant."

The two fell quiet again. Daryl offered her more seeds, balanced on the edge of his knife. Plucking a few for herself, Beth picked through the words she needed to say next. Or thought she needed to say, anyway. Before she could frame anything, however, Daryl spoke again.

"That ain't anything to apologize for, Bethy." He cut his eyes to her, canting his head to the side. "How many nights have you seen me losin' it my sleep, dreamin' 'bout Merle? You ever expect an apology from me for that?"

"Of course not!"

He set his knife and pomegranate aside, reaching over to take her hand. Just as he had last night, Daryl turned it palm up, exposing that silvery little scar. Running his thumb over it, he told her, "This ain't any different, Bethy."

Fresh tears pricked at the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away. Scooting closer to him, she rested her head on Daryl's shoulder so they could quietly take in the morning together.

Three towns over, the pair met the biggest obstacle they had yet faced.

For the very first time in the almost-year they had been traveling together, Daryl was worried—no, scared—one of them might not make it out of this day. Walkers were thick around them and where the hell the things had come from, he couldn't even say. The dead pressed so thickly that it left Daryl and Beth back-to-back, fighting for their lives.

"Use your gun!" He shouted at her. Usually, they were hesitant to shoot it, due to the noise and their very limited supply of bullets. At the moment, though, they desperately needed to fell some of these walkers if they meant to avoid joining the ranks. Beth pressed herself closer to him, pulling the gun from her waistband and taking careful aim.

She knew she only had four bullets, and so she had to be choosy on who she used them on. The two walkers closest to each of them fell in short order, the successive pop! of the gun leaving her ears ringing. Daryl couldn't advise her; anything he said would fall on deaf ears. Going with her gut, Beth sent her last bullets into the walkers she judged to be the largest, after a quick survey of the dead still around them.

Still, it felt like it might not be enough to keep them from drowning. She dropped her gun in favor of her knife, stabbing carefully as soon as a walker drew near enough.

"Daryl!" Beth shouted, hoping he could hear her over the snarls and through the ringing in his own ears. His grunted response barely registered to her before the rapid-fire cadence of a machine gun interrupted her. Before she knew it, she was on the ground, the sunbaked concrete hot against her skin and Daryl heavy atop her. All around them, the walkers dropped like flies.

"Hey!" An unfamiliar voice sounded. Daryl shifted, giving her room to breathe but not enough to so much as sit up. It took Beth several seconds to locate the person speaking. "Nice job with those dead heads!"

A young man, hair buzzed short, lips curling into an appreciative smile. He was slick with sweat under the noonday sun, machine gun slung casually over his shoulder. Beth watched as he extended a large hand to Daryl, offering to help him stand. He didn't take it, pushing himself up and then hauling Beth to her feet beside him. She made sure to grab her now-empty gun on her way up. The young man was unfazed, the smile never slipping from his face.

"Name's Jay. I think I heard her call you Daryl?"

Jay waited for Daryl to nod before turning his smile on Beth. Now that she was face to face with him, she realized a long, puckering scar ran down the length of one cheek. It made a ridge in his dark skin, more obvious when his face crinkled in a smile. "Nice to meet y'all. And you are…?"

"Beth," she told him. No use in giving a fake name—as they had in the past—when Jay here already knew Daryl's.

"Daryl and Beth…?"

"Dixon," they spoke at the same time. It might have made her smile, the shared use of Daryl's surname, but not now with this stranger in front of them. "Um," she continued, "thank you for helping us."

"Ah, its no problem. Our fault, really. It's been a while since we culled the herd. We've been holed up inside, windows open, trying to catch a breeze. Too damn hot to be messing with the dead heads, you know?"

At that, Daryl gave a non-committal grunt. Beth thought it best to stay quiet. This Jay kept saying we… but how many were we? She didn't have to wait long to find out. Motioning with his head, Jay brought her attention to a hotel behind them. From the front, it appeared abandoned and unassuming, as did most structures of the post-apocalyptic world. But she had long learned that appearances could be deceiving.

That grin of Jay's only slipped when he began to really look the pair over and noticed the hasty splint Beth had made for his left arm. Coming to this significantly larger town had been a gamble to get medical supplies to they could properly care for Daryl's arm, which Beth was certain was at least fractured. The skin was swollen and bruised, feverish to her touch, and much to her chagrin, Daryl had refused to stop using the arm.

"Looks kinda serious, man," Jay said, inclining his head toward Daryl's splinted arm.

"It ain't." The hard edge of his voice rang alarm bells in Beth's head. While she had already decided she wasn't too keen on Jay, Daryl's judgment—always accurate—carried significant weight for her. Beth took a moment to glance all around them, as if she were looking for something.

"We just wanted something stronger than sticks for the splint. Is there a clinic around here? Or a hospital?"

Jay's smile returned to his face, and though it seemed genuine and lit up his brown eyes, Beth sensed malice in it. "We've got some stuff," Jay told her. "Why don't y'all come inside?"

"Oh, no, we would hate to impose." They were not so far from the truck. Reaching it would be easy… if Jay was the only person they had to contend with. "But if you could point us in the right direction, that'd be great."

Beth forced herself to smile at the man before them. He regarded them for a beat, before smiling wider and pointing to the west. "There's a vet clinic that way. Might be a little easier to tackle than a hospital, just the two of y'all."

"Thanks so much!" Daryl took her hand with his good one, giving her a hard squeeze. Follow my lead. Though it felt like a fatal mistake to do so, they turned their backs on Jay. Daryl set the pace so that they walked at a normal cadence, though Beth very much would have liked to run. He led her to the driver's side door, opening it for her and keeping close as she climbed into the cab, half-turning back to watch Jay in the distance.

As soon as he was in his own seat, Daryl told her, "Fuckin' floor it, Bethy. Don't stop for nothin'. Just go straight and get us the hell out of here."

"Gladly."

Despite his lie that his arm injury was 'nothing', Daryl cradled the limb to his chest as Beth accelerated. She drove straight, taking the highway that cut through the middle of the town, but movement on the side of the road caught her eyes. People—living people—had come out of hiding in droves. The sight of them sent a chill down her spine. Of course, they didn't escape Daryl's notice, either; he turned in his seat to look behind them, taking in the sight of Jay now flanked on either side by two more men.

Neither of them said another word for nearly two hours, after the town was long behind them and Beth had taken many random turns to twist and convolute their path. Just in case. It was evening, the sun beginning to set, before she dared speak the truth into the safety of the cab. "We would have died had we stayed."

"Without a doubt." Daryl took a long pull of whiskey. They were running low; he took a nip every now and then to manage the pain of his arm. "I dunno what they were up to there, and I don't wanna know. I'm glad we won't know."

"Agreed."

They stopped only after sundown, pausing their journey to eat a dinner of nuts and plums. Beth took a shot of the whiskey for herself, hoping it might calm some of the nervous energy that had invaded her muscles. Though it annoyed him, she knew, Beth laid her hand on Daryl's forehead and neck to check for fever. Finding him blessedly cool, she drew his splinted arm toward her to gently probe at the skin. "Does it hurt anymore than it did yesterday?"

"Nah," he told her. Stubborn though he was, he knew he needed to be honest. "It kinda just hurts all the time."

Not chancing any other light, Beth looked over it as well as she could in the dim glow of the console as the truck idled for a few minutes. Sighing, she shook her head. "We have to find better supplies, Daryl. Just not from creeps in an abandoned town."

She shivered again, thinking about the way that wave of walkers had descended on them on all sides. It was obvious, now, that this wasn't a bad stroke of luck. Those creeps had to have had the hoard ready to release on any unfortunate souls who crossed their path.

"We will," he reassured her. From his tone, she knew there was something he wasn't saying. She peeked up at him, quirking an eyebrow.

"But?"

"But it would be safer to hide the truck and spend a few days in the forest, just to be sure those fuckin' creeps aren't on our tail."

Beth chewed on the inside of her cheek, considering. Unfortunately, Daryl certainly wasn't wrong. She had no bullets left and, with his arm as it was, he needed her help to load the crossbow. One injured, low on adequate medical supplies, and only the two of them. Though her mouth set in a grim line of resignation. "You're right, but… not too long, okay? Even if it is just a fracture, it needs to be more securely set in a splint for it to heal right."

"I know." He withdrew his arm, tucking it close to his chest before leaning over to kiss her. They only drove at night when they had a clear sky and a full moon, so they didn't have to use the headlights. This was not one such night. Beth pulled the key from the ignition, letting full dark fall over them. "Feel good enough to take first watch?"

"Yeah, but can I have the crossbow? I don't have any bullets left. We'll need to look for more of those, too."

With the crossbow in her lap, the window cracked ever so slightly so she could hear the happenings beyond the truck cab, and her eyes slowly adjusting to the moonless night, Beth settled in for her turn. Daryl was snoring softly in the seat beside her in no time. Glancing at him, she saw his injured arm cradled to his chest still, forehead resting against the glass. He was pale for her liking, and she knew it was because of his injury.

Just had to get the arrow, didn't you? She thought ruefully, remembering the scene that had led to his fall. Daryl had taken aim, trying to get a large black bird for their dinner. Such fare had stopped being unusual months back; meat was meat, and they weren't so picky about where it came from. What Daryl was picky about was those arrows, most of which he had crafted himself.

"Come hell or high water, Bethy, I'm getting' the damn thing back." The massive bird had flown away with its life intact, the arrow meant to kill it sinking into the trunk of the tree instead. Beth had to tilt her head entirely back to see 'the damn thing'. She had already told Daryl to forget it and leave it, count his loss and make a new one as soon as he could.

Had Daryl listened? Of course not. Instead, he had shimmied his way up the trunk before going from branch to branch. Beth split her attention between nervously watching him climb ever-higher up the tree and making sure they weren't happened upon—by the dead or the living. He reached the arrow, helpfully placing it between his teeth before beginning his descent.

Exasperated on the ground, Beth flicked her gaze back and forth between Daryl and keeping watch. Still, she managed to miss the moment where Daryl chose the wrong branch halfway to the bottom, the limb giving under his weight with a crack!

The dull thud of his landing was the only thing that kept Beth hopeful it was just a fracture and not a truly broken bone. Another day with no fever was a good sign, but Beth worried about his arm healing adequately should they be unable to find supplies to secure the wound or a place to hunker down until the bone could set and fuse. She was determined to find a solution, incredibly stubborn man sleeping beside her notwithstanding.

Beth's solution came a few days later, deep into the woods. Pushing a damp piece of hair out of her face, she asked, "What river?"

"The Tar." Their truck was hidden miles behind them, well covered by branches and waiting for their return. Daryl's plan was to have them camp along the river a few days to make absolutely sure Jay and his group hadn't followed them.

"Tar River," she whispered to herself. It was pretty, and lively with fish. Their scales flashed here and there in the sunlight and the waters rippled with their swimming. "Much farther?"

"Few miles." The pair were back to their hushed, abbreviated speech. A few walkers had crossed their path so far, but Beth had easily felled them with the crossbow. Not a bad amount, considering the expanse of forest all around them. It wasn't a fail-proof method, of course, but they tended to treat walker sightings like tracking the distance of a storm by the lapse of silence between a lightning strike and a rumble of thunder. The last walker had been killed more than thirty minutes ago and they had yet to see signs of another.

Neither had they seen any signs of living people.

They were on the right track, then, for finding a safe area to set up camp. Beth was thankful; never mind the aching of her own legs, between the driving and now the hiking. Daryl was still pale, in her opinion. He had taken to swatting her away like a mosquito when she went to hovering over him to check for signs of fever or deteriorating conditions, smirking all the while.

Now, she watched him from the corner of her eye while they followed the path the river cut through the trees. Having a water source close by again was going to be nice once Daryl decided on a place for camp. He finally settled on a spot late in the afternoon, choosing a thicket of close-growing trees choked all around by ferns and other foliage. It would give them cover without impeding their ability to keep watch on their surroundings.

After making camp, they ate fish pulled from the river and cooked over open flames. Picking carefully among the bones, Beth peeked up at Daryl. It was quiet; they hadn't been interrupted whatsoever since settling. Chancing a true conversation, Beth asked, "How do you know? When people are bad or not. You're always right. Ever since the farm. You have a knack for knowing people's intentions."

Daryl lifted a rib bone, sucking the meat from it, taking his time before answering. "It's easier, now. No one's worried about manners and shit, so it's easier to see true colors shine through. But it's instinct, really, Bethy. You know. We all know. We just gotta listen, is all. People get it in their heads that humans ain't animals, and that makes 'em cocky. Prey knows when its bein' hunted, though."

Her mouth twisted as she considered his words, Daryl taking it for uncertainty. "Think about it, Bethy. What made you wary of that Jay guy?"

"His eyes," she answered immediately. He couldn't know just how very much thought she had been giving it.

"Right. His eyes didn't ever match what he was saying, huh? The Governor was the same… only he had just the one, after Michonne was done with 'im."

It wasn't often that they spoke of their friends—their family—preferring to let them live on in the context of the journey the pair was taking in an effort to find them. Now, though, they smiled at each other at the memory of Michonne—quiet, strong, fearless, Michonne.

The night proved to be as quiet as the day had been, leaving Beth sitting in silence to watch the stars and swat at mosquitoes while Daryl slept. Fireflies were thick here, flitting over the river, their light reflected in the water, so it appeared the night sky was both above and below. While Daryl slept beside her, she thought more on his comments.

Despite her father's hesitancy, which at the time she had thought ridiculous, Beth had never feared any of the strangers that became so dear to her when they first came to the farm. Even when Daryl slept in that tent alone, barely speaking to anyone and slipping into the forest every day to look for Carol's little girl, his hard demeanor hadn't been threatening.

Tilly had been safe, too. She smiled, thinking of the woman and her cats in their little forest haven. That felt like a lifetime ago, if she were honest. But what of Miguel? Obviously, Daryl had noticed that Pablo was sick before she had. And the fact that the boys were so young—and not at all like Carl, who was just as young as Miguel yet as fierce as any full-grown man—had discounted them as a threat. The boy had plainly said he was a part of a larger group, yet Daryl had been unbothered by the fact that they were in the same vicinity as these unseen strangers.

We were planning on leaving, though, Beth reminded herself. Can't be a threat if you're left behind. Which was the same reasoning that had spurred them back into the forest, far from Jay and his malicious intents. She shuddered, thinking again of Jay's smile. Half-turning, she checked on Daryl again. For someone who insisted he was fine, the man was sleeping uncharacteristically hard. Again, she touched his forehead, relaxing only when she found his skin still cool.

Turning her eyes to the stars above, Beth did something she hadn't since shortly before her father's death. She prayed. Perhaps it was a bit dramatic, if she looked at it from Daryl's point of view, but the experience with Jay had shaken her. They had barely escaped that day and whether Daryl wanted to admit it or not, his injury was part of the reason why.

So, she prayed. A quick request for safety and rest for Daryl, for better treatment for his arm. Though it had been months since she had spoken to God, Beth immediately felt the weight lift from her shoulders when she whispered, "amen".

Sleep is good for healing, her father's voice ran through her head. Daryl had been exhausted lately, understandably; putting all that energy into ignoring a broken arm was tiring, she had no doubt. If Daryl doesn't wake on his own, she decided, I'll let him sleep through the night. But he didn't. Sleep through the night, that is. Daryl stirred halfway through the night, rubbing the sleep from his face with his good hand before pushing himself up. Perfectly awake as always, motioning for her to lay down and take her turn. Though she was upset her plan to let Daryl sleep was foiled, Beth knew that a pair with one injured and one overly exhausted wouldn't help their chances, either.

Beth had meant to sleep lightly, but obviously her body had different plans. It was fully morning, the light filtering through the leaves and branches above her, when she woke. But it wasn't morning light that coaxed her to sleep; rather, Daryl's voice, speaking in a regular conversational tone some yards away from her. She was stiff as she stood, reiterating just how hard she had been sleeping. Stumbling from their little bramble of cover, she found Daryl close to the riverbank, talking to an older woman and a man that was obviously her son. Even from this distance, Beth could see that they shared the same full-lipped mouths and wide, alert eyes.

The strangers were in a kayak of all things, idling in the current of the river, paddles across their laps.

"…a little ways on down that way. You can't miss it if you know where to look for it," said the elderly woman. She was in the front spot of the kayak, giving Daryl directions to what she assumed must be their camp. Beth drew up beside Daryl, peering curiously around him at these new people. The woman smiled brightly when she caught sight of her. It reached her eyes—green, just like her son's—lighting them up with kindness.

"Y'all are both welcome," she said, leaving it up to Daryl and Beth if they took the invitation or not. "Just tell them Nessa and Callum sent you on."

Nessa and Callum. A slight lilt existed in Nessa's voice, not the drawl of the south though the woman spoke with the colloquialisms of the area. Beth waited until the kayak disappeared around a river bend before turning her face up to catch Daryl's eye.

"Well?" She asked. "You got to talk to them more than I did. Are we gonna go a little ways on down that way and tell them Nessa and Callum sent us on?"

Despite himself, Daryl smiled, using his good arm to pull her into his embrace. "Yeah, little smartass, but only 'cause I'm tired of my arm hurting every time I breathe."

"Good enough reason for me," she told him, taking a moment to hug him around the waist before they broke their camp to follow the directions Nessa had given him.

The sign on the gated fence, which buzzed with quiet electricity, said 'MacDonald's'. Cattle were the intended reason for such a fence, and a clump of them still moved together within the confines, eating tufts of wild grass. Standing side by side at the gate, Daryl and Beth took in the cluster of log cabins that made up what once was a ranch. The main cabin was massive, two tall stories stacked atop each other. Though hardly diminutive, the other cabins were dwarfed by the size of the main house.

"Kind of like the farm," Beth commented, nodding toward the barn. "I just hope they didn't have Daddy's idea of saving the walkers."

Daryl barked a humorless laugh, letting the crossbow slide from his shoulders. "Take this, Bethy."

A figure had appeared from the main cabin, making their way slowly down the path that led to the gate. As the person drew nearer, another older woman—not Nessa—came into view. While Nessa had black hair shot through with gray, this woman's blonde strands were fading to a soft, cloudy white. Yet, like Nessa, her age hardly seemed a detriment. She was lithe, muscles evident in her thin frame.

"Hello," she greeted them plainly, face passive as her gaze raked over each of them. After a beat, she raised an eyebrow, transforming her features into an expectant look.

"Hi," Beth said, smiling, "Nessa and Callum sent us this way?"

At the mention of the names, the woman relaxed visibly. She returned Beth's smile and swung the gate open. "The magic words. Y'all come on in." She spoke with the same soft lilt to her words that Nessa had. "I'm Dierdre, by the way."

"Beth," she introduced herself, "and Daryl."

"I take it Nessa sent y'all this way on account of Daryl here's arm, yes? Follow me and I'll have Cian take a look at it. He's a vet by trade, but most of his knowledge transfers pretty well to humans."

Cian turned out to be Callum's double, sharing his ruddy hair and full mouth and wide eyes—not to mention every other feature. Beth wondered idly how they told the twins apart, considering how very identical they looked. He was in the massive barn Beth had joked about; she was pleased to find the only residents of the barn was a mare that had recently foaled, her knobby-kneed filly standing beside her in a stall as Cian inspected them.

"Hey, Mama," Cian greeted them easily. "Find some friends?"

"Well, your mother did. Where'd the two of you meet Nessa, anyway?"

"Kayaking," Beth told them. "She was with a man named Callum?"

"Ah," Dierdre nodded. "I wondered where the two of them had slipped off to. Not even the dead will keep those two out of the woods, huh, Cian? Anyway, my new friend Daryl's got a broken arm. Mind taking a look at it?"

With Cian much closer than Callum, it was easy to see that the twins and Daryl were of an age with each other. Cian smiled, patting the mare and filly on the heads in turn, before motioning for the two of them to follow him. "All my people stuff's in my cabin."

He led them to the cabin farthest in the back, warning them to excuse his daughter's mess. The door opened to peels of laughter and a woman calling out, "Maisri! Get down from there!"

"She's adventurous," Cian explained, smirking ruefully. "Good for this world, I guess. Brit! We have guests!"

There was some shuffling from another room before a fair-haired woman came through the doorway into the living room Beth and Daryl had been let to. She held an equally blonde toddler on her hip, smiling at the two of them. "Hello! I'm Brittany. This is Maisri, otherwise known as the force of nature that destroys this house on a daily basis."

Maisri smiled at them before wiggling her way out of her mother's arms so she could be set down. As soon as her feet touched the floor, Maisri was off, running to a different room and laughing all the while. Brittany smiled apologetically and excused herself to chase after the little girl. Cian instructed the two of them to take a seat on the couch, perching himself on the coffee table and taking Daryl's arm into his lap.

While Cian poked and prodded at Daryl's swollen, bruised skin, Beth took a look around. The cabin was filled with wooden furniture that looked, to her, handmade. A rocking chair beside a brick fireplace held a folded, faded quilt. There were Polaroid pictures framed on the mantle below a wall-mounted television, though the thick dust on the device made it clear it had not been used in quite some time.

"Ah, Mama's dramatic. I can't say for sure, without an x-ray, that it's not a break. Feels like a fracture at most to me. Sit tight for a minute and I'll splint it up for you."

Gone away was Beth's rudimentary care comprised of sticks and strips of old fabric. Cian replaced it with two rigid lengths of plastic on either side of his forearm to keep it steady, wrapping good, cloth bandages tightly around to keep it all in place. "Know how long ago you hurt it?"

"Week and a half?" Daryl asked more than stated, seeking Beth's gaze for confirmation. Beth thought for a moment, back counting the days, before nodding,

"Closer to two weeks, honestly," she amended. "Is that okay?"

"Not ideal, but y'all took the best care you could. It'll take about four more weeks to heal entirely, maybe a few more. Harder to judge now, in this world. Anyway, what with Mom and Callum extending an invitation here in the first place, I think it goes without saying y'all are welcome to stay for those four or so weeks."

The surprise must have been evident on both of their faces, in the quiet look they exchanged. Cian merely smiled. "Y'all can decide between yourselves. I got some cattle to check on; these mosquitoes have been insane this year. C'mon, I'll point y'all in Mama's direction so she can finish the tour and sway y'all into staying while that arm heals up."

"Daryl."

"The night," he insisted, even as Beth pouted. "We'll decide in the morning."

On Dierdre's tour, they had met a sheep dog named Tucker, viewed the MacDonald family's crops, seen the water well, and had the electric fence explained—it ran off a generator, and only the fence was allowed to use electricity. Every cabin was heated by the fireplaces, when needed, and Dierdre was apparently very good at making candles from beeswax. Moving around the compound reminded him of the farm, yes, but also of Tilly—the woman they had met months ago and stayed with a few days—and their own community they had been building at the prison.

They also met Callum's wife, Samantha. The dark-haired woman had popped up from the middle of the corn stalks, pushing some braids off her face and waving to them before returning to her work.

Beth threw her hands up at him in exasperation. There were five cabins in total on the compound: the 'main house', belonging to Dierdre and Nessa; Callum and Samantha's directly to the left; Cian and Brittany's behind. Dierdre had led Beth and Daryl to the one closest to the barn, explaining it was theirs for the night—or longer, if they decided.

"This arm needs to heal," she told him, gently touching his forearm over Cian's careful work. "We got lucky when we ran into that Jay guy. What if we aren't lucky next time? I don't want to chance it again while you're hurt."

Sighing, Daryl knew she had a point. Just as he knew, after watching the family, that they weren't hiding anything behind their hospitality. Still… "The night."

He kissed her until her pursed lips softened under his own. The both of them were stubborn, and he knew that well. He wasn't surprised at all when Beth resumed her case as soon as he pulled away.

"We can work. Earn our keep and help them out while we're here, so we're not indebted to them." Daryl smirked. Just because he knew he was liable to lose this argument, that didn't mean Beth needed to know the same.

"We're going to be late for dinner," he said instead, taking her by the hand to lead her from the borrowed cabin. She blew her breath and rolled her eyes at his back, but then she smiled.

Beth had prayed for a solution, and here it was, in the form of an Irish farming family that felt not so very different than the one she had lost.

A/N: OldLanBird, thank you for pointing out an inconsistency with my portrayal of Daryl and the wariness we all know is natural to him. I tried to make up for that with the scene of Beth and Daryl talking in their camp near the river.

Thank all of y'all for the reviews and comments and kindness! Thank you for still loving this story despite that long break. I am loving writing and working on it again!