The height of summer was fast taking hold. Judging by the hours of daylight, the solstice already passed them by. Wanting to waste no time, fall would be here before she knew it. Beth woke with the sun early in the morning to get chores started before the day became too hot. Weeding, watering - taking bucket after bucket of water from the well to the garden - and basic upkeep were best done when one didn't risk heat stroke while doing it.

She kept the cabin pin neat, dusting her father's books, pulling out a few she'd need in the coming months, as well as Little House on the Prairie, a book she read so many times she basically knew it by heart and placed them on the nightstand.

She had begun sleeping upstairs again, reading by candlelight until she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. Speaking of which, she added making candles from rendered deer fat to her list.

There hadn't been any sign of anyone alive or otherwise and she wished someone would show up. If for no other reason than to have more to do. Something to help occupy her mind and what little free time she did have.

But, keeping her hands busy did not also keep her mind busy. It turns out she was a great multitasker and as she worked her mind often drifted to community and Maggie and the baby - because there should be a baby by now, and everyone else. And of course Daryl.

She had found love where she never expected to. And then she lost it. The world doesn't stop for heartache, this much she knew, so she pushed forward. Taking it day by day, hour by hour, sometimes minute by minute, though time meant nothing until the sun went down and she was forced inside. The darkness felt like it was pressing against the windowpanes, threatening to break through the glass. The silence, deafening. The cicadas and grasshoppers and the breeze whispering through the trees did nothing to combat the stillness that came from within.

Being in the center of town's renovations was a reminder of just how long Daryl had been on his own before he came across Beth. Or rather, before Beth came across him. He wanted solitude and quiet. He wanted it to just be him and Beth. Was that so much to ask?

Yes, yes apparently it was because he was stuck in this town.

He was constantly being asked where something was at or how to do this or that. Somehow he'd become the go-to man, somehow more approachable than Rick. If Rick wasn't careful he'd have a revolt on his hands. Someone had to let him know he was tearing things apart before they even got up and fully running. Daryl was afraid that someone was him.

He hated confrontation. It reminded him too much of his dad and brother. Ready to fight anytime anyone looked at them sideways. Ready to go to bat for the slightest perceived provocation. Daryl fought if he had to. But this was a different kind of fighting that he wasn't used to. One that required words, not fists.

The community was gathering in the dining hall. An excited hum buzzed in the air since Maggie had the baby. Everyone was excited and talking loudly, Except for Rick. He sat quietly at one of the tables, moody and mentally somewhere else.

Daryl slid into one of the metal chairs next to him. Rick hardly acknowledged him. They'd been through disagreements before. Something about this one settled deeper within Daryl.

After sitting there for a few minutes in silence, Daryl asked, "What's up, Rick?"

Rick leaned on the table with his clenched jaw in the palm of his hand, brows furrowed. Worried while everyone else appeared to be in high spirits. They'd all been waiting on pins and needles for Maggie's baby to be born and when she finally went into labor a calm quietness settled over the little village. They were hopeful but realistic, knowing anything can go wrong.

When she delivered him a day later, he was healthy and the town was overjoyed. They were floating on the reminder that good things still happen. Every birth was celebrated as the miracle it was in today's alternate world.

"Gonna have dinner?" He asked. "I'm not sure about it. Aaron's been experimenting again."

Aaron, the main chef, did amazing things with what they had. Sometimes he veered off and didn't quite hit the mark. They'd still eat whatever he served, each person knowing what it's like to go to bed hungry and refused to voluntarily do that again. Rick included.

He didn't say anything, his eyes going to Michonne when her laugh floated through the air. A sound they hadn't heard in too long was a common occurrence now. It dawned on Daryl what must be bothering Rick and it wasn't about what was being served for dinner, at least not fully.

"I know what you're thinking," Daryl said, calling him out.

"Oh?" Rick asked, lifting an eyebrow in skepticism, still not meeting his eyes.

"You're worried about her," Daryl said, pointing at Michonne.

Maggie giving birth brought Rick too close to the past. His mind was on Lori and her untimely death while giving birth to Judith. His mind was on Michonne who would be giving birth in two short months, give or take.

Rick shrugged noncommittally. He used to be the one to have to drag things out of Daryl. The tides had changed apparently. He leaned forward trying to catch Rick's gaze. "I could say everything's gonna be okay, but I don't know that. I can't lie to you. You mean too much to me to do that."

Rick only listened as Daryl continued to talk. "But I can say we're in a good place. Even got a doctor here. Whatever does happen, good or bad, you'll figure it out."

Just like that, their disagreement about how he was handling things in the community was put on the back burner because he wanted nothing more than for Rick to be happy after all he'd gone through. On the same note, he wanted nothing more than Michonne and the baby to be happy and healthy. Safe.

Rick dropped his hand and leaned back in the chair, finally looking Daryl in the face. For a second Daryl thought Rick might punch him, or at least storm off, pissed. Instead, his eyes became glassy with unshed tears. "I just can't stop thinking… about what happened to Lori. I won't survive if something happens to Michonne or the baby. I can't do it a second time."

"This is a different situation. Michonne is strong. This isn't an abandoned prison," Daryl stated the facts. He knows what happens when your mind gets to wandering. It went to dangerous places.

"Yet it still has walls," Rick commented staring off into the distance again.

"Yeah, to keep us safe and you know that. You gotta' find your footing again. You gotta learn to trust."

"Trust in what?" He asked, his eyes clearing of the tears, replaced with anger.

"Hell if I know," Daryl said with a chuckle.

Rick sighed. And much to Daryl's relief he nodded, meeting his friend's gaze. "So, did you write for Hallmark before or something?"

Daryl laughed out loud. A strange sound even to him.

"I appreciate you not blowing sunshine up my ass by tellin' me everything will magically be alright."

"Anytime brother," Daryl said with a chuckle. But he wasn't finished. "You don't want to mess up what you got here by alienating yourself and making enemies. Michonne, Judith, the baby, you… you all deserve a safe place. This is what we've all been searching for. It ain't perfect but you'll figure that out too. 'Cause you have to."

"I'm just so on edge. I know," he bowed his head, shook it back and forth. "I know you're right."

"Don't gotta make things so hard on yourself."

He nodded and Daryl felt Rick relax next to him. His rigid shoulders slumped, the furrow of his brow eased. Not quite so 'on edge'. He exhaled heavily as he sighed and leaned forward again, eyeing the passthrough that led to the kitchen.

"Well. What do ya say? Want to give Aaron's latest invention a go?"

Daryl curled his lip in uncertainty. He wasn't even hungry because he had other things that he needed to do. "Listen, Rick," he began. He hadn't planned on having this discussion right this moment. It suddenly felt like it couldn't be put off any longer.

"I gotta go." He waited and when Rick set him with a confused stare, he said, "I gotta go to Beth."

Rick searched Daryl's face and then looked away before standing, his chair scrapping against the concrete floor. Instead of turning his back on him, he offered him his hand.

Daryl cautiously shook it, standing as well. "You gotta do what you gotta do. But come back and visit sometime, okay?" Rick told him.

"It's a deal," Daryl said and they embraced briefly before parting ways.

At this point, goodbyes were easier in a lot of ways. You became used to it. When you were together you were thankful. When you had to leave each other, it was just a part of the vagabond life some now lived.

But strangely, the hardest goodbye was with Maggie. She was emotional and tired. Little Hershel didn't like to sleep at night. He was currently snoozing in a bassinet tucked into the corner of the living room. It was noon, though. Not midnight.

Daryl promised the next time he came back he'd bring Beth with him. Making promises was uncharacteristic of him. He didn't do it unless he knew without a doubt he could keep the promises and he had no idea how Beth felt about him suddenly appearing back in her life after she so abruptly left his. For all he knew, she might not want to see him. But he had to see her again even if it was only long enough to know she was alive and safe before she slammed the door on his face.

Maggie looked so small and vulnerable those few minutes they were alone together he wanted to give her a line to tether herself to. Some hope she'll see her sister again soon. "Maybe in the fall, after the harvest."

When Glenn came into the house after work duty, dirty and looking equally tired himself, she straightened her spine and smiled at him. Genuine love radiated off of Glenn and vice versa. They obviously cared very much for each other, leaving him wondering if he and Beth might have that.

Maggie let that little bit of vulnerability show itself to Daryl and he wasn't going to take it lightly.

The problem with working from sun up to sun down was the exhaustion that took hold late in the afternoon. This elevation was cooler than, say, downtown Atlanta but the heat sunk into her bones draining her of the energy she used to have.

She needed to rest and retreated to the cabin for a couple of hours. She didn't necessarily sleep, though sometimes she did doze off. She just needed to sit for a while, drink water, and rest.

In the evening, she'd go back outside and tend to things before nightfall. A sense of defeatism seeped into her bones and she couldn't pinpoint what exactly was causing it. Her garden was doing well, the cabin was in order, she was all set up for any unexpected visitors. She'd even managed to trap two rabbits that procreated like… well, they procreated like rabbits.

She had a good start on the cages to hold them in the garage, securing meat for the winter. She couldn't live on rabbit meat alone, but it'd be a nice addition to the venison from the deer Daryl had gotten earlier in the year as well as anything else she might hunt in the coming cooler months when estrus was high and the animals were dumber.

All that being said, doubts nagged her. Doubts she'd never really had before. Primarily she wondered why she was doing this. In the beginning, it was to keep the memory of her father alive. The pain of his death was so insurmountable she thought she'd die too - almost wanted to die. She wanted this connection to him.

Then, there was safety to take into account. It was safer here than down the mountain closer to towns and people.

Mostly it was a form of internal protection. You can't be hurt if you don't allow anyone into your heart. It was true, most of the people that came through her home left with a small piece of her and sometimes she longed to follow them wherever they were heading. When it came down to it, she didn't really want to leave the cabin for good.

It was Daryl who finally managed to thaw the barrier around her heart. Without that barrier, there was pain and ambiguity.

She was certain of one thing, Hershel wouldn't want her to hide herself away, afraid of everything. He wouldn't want her to live out the rest of her life alone.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stood from the upturned log and tucked her hands into the pockets of her baggy jeans. The snap of a twig caught her attention. Turning toward the sound, instinctively she pulled her knife from its sheath at her hip, mentally chastising herself for staying outside later than she should have.

A figure, silhouetted against the tree line, shuffled towards her arms outstretched. She took a step back, then another. Everything faded away. Her eyes slit against the darkness, ears straining for the tell-tale snarl of walker.

She made a mental note to check the walker traps she had set up around the perimeter of the cabin. She hadn't heard the cans clang on the line. Sometimes they got knocked down for one reason or another. Strings break, the wind blows them down.

She backed up toward the house, not taking her eyes off the figure. She contemplated going inside and ignoring it. But in the morning she'd have to go looking for it and risk being caught off guard. Sometimes they'd move on, sometimes they'd stick around, sometimes any commotion they made would attract more walkers. It was a guessing game she didn't want to play.

Resigned, she took a deep breath and slowly made her way to the walker. It picked up speed, gurgling its un-alive grunts. Thinking on her feet she rounded it, trying to lead it away from the house and the yard wanting to bring it down further away. The night was falling too fast and she'd have to wait to deal with its carcass tomorrow. She definitely wasn't going to leave it in her yard. A dead walker drew as much attention as a wandering one. First by birds and then other prey. Then eventually other walkers.

Half stuck in her thoughts, not paying close enough attention to the task at hand, the hem of her jeans got stuck on something protruding from the ground. A sharp root, maybe? A tool left behind. Whichever, it presented a problem. As she pulled her leg to unsnag the pants it penetrated through the fabric and into her leg.

She stifled a yelp. She had more to worry about than the searing pain shooting from the side of her calf up her leg. As she continued to struggle with the snagged pantleg, the walker had a chance to get closer. She swung her knife back and forth. The tip made slashes in the ragged shirt it wore.

Of course, it did nothing to stop it from coming at her. When you're undead you don't feel anything. Its mouth opening and snapping shut. Its grotesque yellowed teeth chomping and gnashing. It gave her chills - nails on a chalkboard.

She pulled, trying to loosen the pant leg, not daring to take her eyes off the walker, she stumbled and fell. It followed suit, falling atop her. She turned her head away, its pungent stench of decay was sickening. She pushed its head away, its skin slippery and cold underneath her palm. Clamping her own mouth shut, trying not to gag.

How can they be so strong if they're essentially skin and bones? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought and the walker inched closer and closer to her exposed neck. The knife in her hand was pinned between their bodies, her other hand pushing against him. She shoved with all her strength and gained ground. She flipped the walker over onto its back and stood. In the scuffle, her pant leg had come loose at least. The walker was working its way up to its feet, its thirst for blood and brains its only focus.

As always when it came to this, she was sad for the person this creature once was. Someone's father, someone's son. A person, now reduced to a shadow of a being. Before she put it out of its misery, she asked for forgiveness. From who? She wasn't even sure anymore.

Her arms were heavy and tired and tears inexplicably stung her eyes as she lifted her knife. Before the blade split its skull, its head shot backward with a sharp snap of skull and bone. Instantly it fell into a heap on the ground. Shocked, she stared at it, then to the house from which the arrow came.

Except for the full moon high in the sky, her little corner of the world was dark but she'd recognize that silhouette anywhere. Breathing heavily, shaking slightly - either from what had just transpired or from Daryl's sudden appearance, she limped over to him.

She cocked her head, a small smile playing on her mouth. "I had that handled," she said.

His reply: "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she laughed quietly.

He dropped his crossbow and encircled her in his arms, burying his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. She felt comfort for the first time since she'd left him. He held her tightly, seeming to need it as much as she did. Questions ran through her mind, but this was more important than anything she wanted to ask.

Finally, when he did pull away, she whispered. "You came back."

"'Course I came back. Sorry, it took me so long." His gravelly voice soothed her like rain after a drought.

Because she couldn't think of the right thing to say, she leaned up on her toes, pain in her leg all but forgotten, and pressed her lips to his. The hands she'd missed so much rose from her hips to cup her face. The blood in her veins heated up. Her body thawed. An unexpected whimper escaped her throat and she wanted to cry. He was here, but for how long? She wasn't sure she could handle another goodbye.

Being this distracted wasn't safe, so before things escalated they reluctantly pulled away from each other. He looked over her shoulder and said, "Go on inside, I'll take care of 'im." He motioned to the walker with a nod of his head.

The wetness against her now ripped pant leg reminded her she needed to tend to the wound. She nodded and they parted ways - but only for a short while.

A while later, Daryl came inside. In the dim candlelight, shadows lined his eyes, telling her he probably traveled non-stop to get there. He wore three layers. A coat, a flannel, and a t-shirt underneath. Same boots, same worn jeans, and his pack. His hands were wet from washing the walker off of them. His bow was slung over his chest. Another smaller bow was strapped in the opposite direction.

She was sitting at the table, cleaning the deep cut on her leg, bloodied water in a basin at her feet. Multiple rags sat in a pile on the floor. She had stopped the bleeding and was applying a salve of comfrey and lavender and beeswax made from the honeycomb. (Suffering a few stings to harvest the honey was proving to be worth it.) It didn't take long for injuries to become infected and she still wasn't sure what cut her.

When Daryl took in what she was doing he dropped his pack and pulled the bows over his head, leaning them against the pack. He was at her side in a second, kneeling to help wrap her leg. "What happened? You weren't bit were ya'?"

She chuckled, "No, I wasn't bit. Don't you think I woulda said something outside if I was?"

"I dunno," he said, trying a strip of cloth around the wrapping. "Maybe." He leaned back on his knees, looking up at her. He reached a hand up to cup her cheek again. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Now that you're here."

Thanks so much for reading and to those still interested. :)