A/N: Small warning: Beth has some negative, dark thoughts about her suicide attempt as part of her own process of accepting that part of her.

The thing is, Beth is aware that her flirting with Shane is less innocent and more serious as time goes by, but she never planned to act on it. He doesn't seem to mind her risque playfulness and occasionally even seems to find it amusing, never embarrassing. It's a bit of fun, for both of them, she thinks.

And maybe it had been, before she wriggled her way into kissing him.

He kissed her back, for a brief, heady moment, just enough for her to get an idea of how good it could be. Then she touched him, and something about it sent him fleeing with claims of not being good enough for her. Shame rolled off him thick enough that you'd think he accosted her, not her kissing him with little warning.

Once they reach the Iris, they follow normal routines. Although subdued, Shane doesn't give her the silent treatment or otherwise acknowledge what happened on the beach. She showers and feeds the dogs. He showers and starts supper. While they eat, he shares the course maps for the crossing to the Bahamas and drops a tourist guide he lifted from somewhere on the cushion between them at the galley table.

"Not sure how much is really accessible, and hurricane season could have hit some places that were intact when I sailed through," he tells her. "We can set off day after tomorrow, unless you want to go sooner."

It's a question without actually asking, she knows, when his dark eyes meet hers. Does she still want that to celebrate that holiday meal with him?

"Day after tomorrow," she assures him. She's an adult, and so is he. If he's not interested, she has to respect that. It doesn't change him from being her person.

When the supper dishes are washed and drying in the rack, she waits until he brings the dogs back in from their evening call of nature and motions to the television in the galley. "Want to watch a movie?"

It's a habit of theirs, when they raid places with DVDs, to squirrel away copies of anything that looks interesting. They have more than a hundred of the things now, enough that eventually she'll have to figure out a better way of storing them than plastic bins. Discard the cases, maybe, and put them in some sort of album.

"Sure. Check what we brought in today."

Beth catches a look of relief on Shane's face at the request, which seems so simple. It appears he needs reassurance in his own way that they're okay. The pile gleaned today in the condos isn't as large as some of the residential searches yield, but it's funny that she's been thinking about that show off and on today.

"All five seasons?" she tells him excitedly, waggling the DVD cases. "This is a score. I always watched this at my friend Kayla's house, because Mama thought it was one of the trashiest shows she'd ever seen."

Shane just smiles and shrugs. "Haven't seen it myself, but I know a lot of the deputies' wives were obsessed with it. Figured if you didn't like it, you could play frisbee with them."

"I saw the season finale for the sixth season, a few days before everything shut down. It was the last time I left the farm, actually. Stayed the night with Kayla and a couple of other girls from school, talking about what we were going to do with our summer before we went off to college." Sliding the first disc in, she plops in her customary spot, turning her side of the L shaped galley seating into a lounger by scooting back into the cusp of the L.

Bringing his nighttime coffee to the table and depositing another bottle of Ramune in front of her, Shane sits in his normal spot. It leaves him sitting normally, although sometimes for movies he'll prop a camp chair out to use as a makeshift ottoman. "Where were you going to college?" he asks, looking interested, despite it being fairly useless trivia.

"Georgia Tech's School of Architecture."

He looks suitably impressed, not at all like her schoolmates who rolled their eyes at dainty Beth Greene going off to do something that wasn't music or farming or fucking off through five years of college before scraping together a nonsense degree like Maggie did because Daddy said buckle down or he wasn't going to foot the bill anymore. She shouldn't think ill of the dead, but Maggie gave up on her, not the other way around. It's hard to not think about her sister's all too human shortcomings sometimes, now that the grief has receded and doesn't choke her anymore.

"At least it's not really an obsolete career field, if you still wanted to learn, right?"

It earns him a bright smile as she presses play on the remote. They're going to be okay, she knows, because everything feels like the kiss on the beach was just a fever dream brought on by too much time in the sun. Here, cozy in their galley with the sounds of her favorite evening soap opera playing, they're still good.

They make it through two episodes before calling it a night. Beth considers it a victory because Shane's attentive, not bored in the least, although he calls Meredith annoying as hell. The fun of a show like this is that you don't have to like the main character to enjoy it, thank goodness.

Lying in her bed as the boat rocks with the water's movements, she finds herself rubbing her wrist along that ugly, telltale scar. She hates the thing, because it tells anyone who sees it how weak she was, how she allowed her mind to go down a dark path of despair. When Shane kissed it today, though, something about the gesture sticks with her even more than the frustrated arousal her kissing him brought.

Holding her wrist up, she studies the silvery tissue in the glow of the nightlight she switches on for moonless nights. The blue light casts odd shadows, and she can't see what about it made him press his lips so tenderly to the mangled ridge of flesh. That look he gave her after was so intense, like it's not a mark of shame, but some sort of badge of honor.

Maybe he would tell her, if she asked, but she's used up her quota of bravado for the time being. Once there's more time between today and her asking the question, it'll be easier for them both, she suspects. With a sigh, she rolls to her belly, feeling Biscuit creep up the bed to lay against her hip and side now that she seems to be going to sleep.

Thanksgiving dawns, and Beth doesn't need to whip up an elaborate meal, but a sense of anticipation sends her out of bed even without a trio of puppies demanding to be let out. Shane's amused when she peruses cookbooks, refreshing her memory versus what they have supplies on board for. Piemaking probably isn't within her ability, but a cobbler should be much easier.

It is, but that's because Shane actually knows how they're made. "My grandmother was the cobbler queen back when she was alive," he imparts, helping her make changes between the book and reality of their supplies. Don't ask me to figure out cookies or cakes or anything fancy, but cobblers and breads? Those I learned."

She already knew he's a fair hand at breadmaking. They even have a breadmaker that earns full time residency on their limited counter space. He collects cans of milk like they're precious treasures, along with testing out any powdered supplies he finds. Today's loaf is something cinnamony smelling, which makes the entire gallery smell like a kitchen should on a holiday.

Beth makes a mental note to learn his favorite cookie and hopes it's something she can figure out with the substitutes she'll have to make. At least applesauce seems to be in plentiful supply to replace eggs that aren't, and it's something they can actually recreate themselves. Well, if they go find orchards at the right time of year, anyway.

"Chef Shane," she teases, heading into the supply cabin. "Cherry, blueberry, or peach?" she calls out. They've got several cans of each, some as fruit, some as pie filling, plus others, but she's in the mood for one of those three.

"Cherry."

She gathers up the rest of her items, including those for lunch later, and ventures back into the galley, vowing today will be a good day, a holiday for both of them to have good memories to look back on.

Spam's version of turkey isn't quite revolting, but it does incite a lot of groans (Shane) and giggles (Beth). Shane manages to bury his slices under what looks like half a can of cranberry sauce.

"Pretty sure calling that turkey is like calling vienna sausages fine dining," he declares. "I suggest we use the rest for dog treats and fish bait."

Agreeing, Beth spends most of her time enjoying her vegetables, knowing they can gorge on cobbler after the meal. Instead of the football game Shane probably hovered over in the old days, if he wasn't working, they spend a lazy afternoon watching more episodes of her show. It's entertaining to critique the show with him, because his jaundiced opinions of the shenanigans are so much more complex than Kayla's had been.

It isn't until the final episode of the first season is underway that Beth realizes she may have made a mistake with the series. Shane goes from casually watching to stiffening when Addison introduces herself, and Beth snakes a hand across the cushion to link her hand with his. He allows the gesture.

"We can watch something else," she suggests. His thumb rubs across her unscarred wrist as if there's an echo of the other one there.

"I'm fine," he assures her. "What happened, happened."

She hesitates, even as the DVD goes back to the menu. "Um, it gets more complicated later, when the other man shows up." Jesus, it's almost creepy what she's done here, picking this series to watch, with the triangle turned whatever you call it adding Meredith into the mix.

"It's still fine. You like the show. We'll keep watching." He watches her yawn and shakes off the melancholy. "But not tonight. Tomorrow, we venture out into the Atlantic and let you set foot on foreign soil for the first time, if all goes right."

When they both stand to head to bed, Shane surprises her by drawing her into a hug. It's closer to the early ones, where he flung an arm across her shoulder and gave her a hug like she's used to seeing guys giving each other. She still smiles, because he did it of his own accord.

"See you in the morning," she calls out as he heads down the steps toward his cabin.

His dark head swivels long enough for her to catch his smile. "Sweet dreams, Beth."

"Same to you," Beth replies. Sleep comes easier this night, because she smiles all the way to bed and even after she's beneath her sheets.

Shane's biggest fear after the beach was that it would damage the easy camaraderie he and Beth have developed. They live in such close quarters that avoiding each other is completely impossible. It doesn't change his refusal, because that is a complication they certainly can't get over when it inevitably fails because that's how any relationship with him will end.

It ends up such a needless worry that he laughs at himself in the privacy of his own cabin. He knows Beth better than that by now. It's only his own sense of never keeping anything he values that made him think she would somehow change their friendship.

Crossing the Gulf Stream is easier with two sailors than one, which Shane expected, but he's grateful that they dallied so long. The extra practice Beth's had with the boat shows as she responds to his orders with ease. Twelve hours to make it from their exit point of the Keys to Bimini exhausts her, even with the stamina she's been building since they met.

He selected Bimini because unlike some of the more populated areas, he's been on shore here. After the exhausting crossing on his own, he needed time on dry land. With an already small population that catered more to fishermen and environmentally inclined tourists, it was essentially deserted when he arrived.

Beth flops onto the trampoline netting in the bow of the Iris once she drops the anchor. For tonight, they're staying off shore of South Bimini. Just because the island was home only to wildlife when he left, doesn't mean someone hasn't taken up residence in the meantime.

"You gonna sleep there?" Shane teases, nudging her knee with his foot after letting the dogs out of the cabin.

"Might. Shouldn't be any bugs, right?" she replies, still energetic enough to cuddle three puppies who are overjoyed to have their Beth back after a day spent inside for their own safety.

"Nah. We're just far enough out." The bulk of the Iris obscures where she's relaxing from the shoreline, so it's also out of sight.

She giggles tiredly. "I'm in a whole different country now. It feels weirder than it should."

Shane laughs, sprawling on the firm surface of the deck, looking over the side into the clear, tropical water. "No real country lines anymore, I imagine, unless places like Europe or Asia held together better than North America did." He raises up to smirk at her. "You'd be committing a crime of sorts in the old world, you know."

Arching a brow, Beth rolls to her side to face him. "How so?"

"No passport."

"True." She flops back on her back. "I'm betting you had one, probably for some crazy trip to Mexico."

"Nah. Had one since I was a kid. Rick's parents always took me along if they traveled, so he didn't get lonely." It could have been an uncomfortable thing, always being Rick's tagalong, but his best friend's parents had been so casual about assuming Shane would be along that it never felt wrong. He brought himself out of the genteel poverty his mother raised him in, gaining that football scholarship, but he's honest enough to know it was easier to break free of where he came from, with the elder Grimes' influence and kindness.

"That must have been really nice, always having someone your own age right there with you." Beth's got Jelly settled on her chest, petting the gangly puppy's silky fur. Her expression is more sad than tired. "Shawn and Maggie were enough older than me that I usually felt like I was an only child once they were teenagers."

"How much older were they?" Shane had no idea how old Maggie was, other than young enough to run almost completely on emotional reactions, like the day she egged poor Glenn's head for being loyal to his own people's safety. It had been such a petty, bitchy thing to do to the earnest kid that he wishes Glenn had been wiser than Shane in his romantic choices.

"Maggie was five years older, Shawn eight."

"Sucks being the youngest," he teases, wanting to chase away the lingering sadness. "Rick was a whole two months older than me, right down to the day."

It's just a joke, but Beth registers the significance faster than Shane does. She's got her left hand linked in to his nearest hand before it hits him, squeezing his hand and anchoring him in a fresh wave of grief. Breathing through it, he keeps ahold of her even when he can acknowledge what's wrong.

"Jesus. He would have been thirty-seven in three days."

Beth absorbs that information, just holding his hand. The raw emotion in his voice draws Biscuit to trot over and nose along his jaw. The pit bull is always more attuned to emotional shifts than Muffin, although the Aussie isn't far away, watching him with solemn doggie eyes. He pets Biscuit with his free hand, which leads the dog to flop down right on his chest.

Shane groans at the impact of sixty pounds of solidly muscled dog, hearing Beth giggle. It signals the puppies he's fair game, and all three abandon their favorite to play pounce on Shane. It's hard to hold on to the gaping sense of loss while keeping Butter from nipping his nose, so he ends up smiling. He'll do something to remember his estranged brother by when the day comes, but for tonight, he's just going to be in this moment instead.

Beth's suggestion to sleep outside turns into what they actually do. She budges over, tugging Shane to roll off the hard deck onto the trampoline. Long trained to wake early, Shane wakes before she does. The tangle of limbs is something he should extract himself from, but he allows himself a few contented moments of being Beth's pillow.

It's not like they haven't shared a bed before. After the horrors of Terminus, they'd shared the bed in the bus for a while. But once they were on the boat, he'd carefully directed her toward her own space. The night in the tent on the chickee in the Everglades was the only time that changed. This feeling of rightness when she's lying against him is why he had to say no when she kissed him.

There will be no such thing as casual if they cross that line, and he can't risk becoming obsessed with her the way he did with Lori. Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, he eases away, counting on her exhaustion to keep her sleeping. They skipped supper last night, so a hearty breakfast will be a good way to start off the day.

South Bimini proves as deserted as it was before, at least as far as the dogs alert to. Shane didn't go house to house on the small island's eighty or so homes, but he cleared the resort of half a dozen walkers. Loose on the island had been another twenty or so, but those were easily lured to a central place to be dispatched.

They drift back to the broad white sanded beach, and Shane motions. "Is this what you had in mind when you thought about tropical beaches?"

Beth flashes him a grin. "Guess we need to head back to the boat so I can change."

Like most of her wishes, it's an easy one to fulfill. To emphasize that things haven't changed between them, he swims with her. The dogs get braver here, with better visuals in the water, coming to swim with them a bit. After an hour, Beth naps under a beach umbrella on a towel, still clad in the ruby colored one piece she chose today.

The funny part is, the more conservative swimsuits seem almost more than a bikini would be. Ignoring flashes of bare skin is a necessity in close quarters. When he doesn't have to turn away, he keeps catching himself looking when he shouldn't.

Now that he knows she's serious about flirting, he needs to lay all the cards on the table, instead of just telling her no. She needs to truly understand what he is.

Although there are pretty places to stay on the island, they choose the Iris. The boat is home. Shane can't quite begin the conversation in the galley where they spend so much time together, so he's out on the dock, feet dangling over the water.

"Shane?" Beth's voice fades in and out as she makes her way through the boat, obviously looking for him.

"Out here, Beth." Avoidance isn't his thing, not anymore.

Light footsteps tell him she's walking down to his spot on the wooden planking for the next slip over, which stands empty. "Shane? I thought you don't drink."

He tilts the bottle toward her, letting her see that the seal is not broken. On their explorations, he found it in an outdoor cabana, no worse for wear after eighteen months sitting on a shelf in a barely sealed cabinet. Peeling at the label, he looks up at her. "Have a seat if you like. I got something I need to tell you."

Once she knows about that night in the CDC, she'll never look at him the same way. He'll find a way to live with that somehow.

A/N: Well, remember how I said 2 or 3 chapters? It's at least 4, because I'm mostly done with the third and it's still not complete.