Everything settles into their old routine for the most part after the confession on the dock. They stay at Bimini for a few days, making a full exploration of the south and east island before trying out a few spots on the north one. The northern island isn't as walker free, so where they go there has to be selected with care.

Shane actually finds a water resistant camera for her in a gleaning trip through the houses nearest the marina. His only caution is that he only found the one memory card that was in the camera.

The nature trail is easier than the Everglades, although she does get to handle a boa for the first time, when Shane finds one small enough. Adding more bird sketches to her journal is fun, especially of the peacocks that roam the island with impunity now that there are no people to dissuade them. Even with the camera, she's still going to keep documenting their adventures the same way she started. Technology can fail, but as long as she doesn't lose the journals, she's good.

They kayak through mangroves to reach The Healing Hole, leaving the dogs behind for that trip. She's getting good at navigating the smaller craft, but they have to park them and wade the final part of the journey up a clear water stream bordered with roots. The water is warm from the spring that feeds the pool, and the whole thing is a little ethereal, the way they're enclosed by mangroves.

"You know, one of the books I found says these islands are the mountaintops that are all that's left of Atlantis," Beth remarks as they reach the pool. "This is supposed to be one of the legendary springs."

Shane just laughs softly. "Not exactly the most palatable of smells here, but most of the healing springs people discuss have minerals that add odor. Got a bit of a sulphur scent to it."

"And bugs." Beth grimaces, but laughs when Shane rolls his eyes at her. Anything around mangroves is always going to have bugs.

Wading back out to where they left the kayaks is almost chilly after the warmer water of the hidden pool. She wishes either of them knew how to scuba dive, but Shane didn't like the idea of teaching themselves that particular skill. Snorkeling usually keeps her entertained enough anyway.

"You ready to sail out in the morning?" Shane asks as they settle into the kayaks to cross back to where the Iris is still docked on the south island.

"Yeah. Not much left to do but be a beach bum." Slyly, Beth mainly waited this long because she knew Shane was unsettled from a combination of his confession and Rick's birthday. That day had passed with Beth and the dogs giving Shane space to spend the day out in a kayak, just exhausting himself by hard exercise.

"You still want to go find that place from the Bond movie?"

"Yeah. I mean, wading into walkers to find where Hemingway stayed would be the thing to really brag about, but I never could figure out why literature teachers were so obsessed with the man. I'll stick to being a child of the media age."

Shane's amused, but conversation drops off as they cross more open water. She enjoys the burn in her shoulders, and it makes her understand why Shane wanted the rhythm of the activity the other day. Fresh air, sun, and exercise definitely holds any depression at bay.

Getting back out into open water is starting to feel like home. Beth wishes hurricane season wasn't such a concern that Shane's assured her they'll have to move north by June. Then again, there's always a lot of America left to explore, right?

Exploring means increasing their likelihood of running into people, and while not all of them will be bad, Beth can't get the Governor or Terminus out of her head. Shane thinks finding a good community will make them safer - make her safer - but she thinks they're better off with just the two of them. The fact that she's not sure he wouldn't set out on his own afterward hovers in the back of her mind when she thinks about it.

Hopefully the islanders who survived the virus evacuated now that they can no longer import necessities from countries with more resources. Beth thinks she could live out on the ocean for the rest of her days, if fate would just allow her.

The weeks leading up to Christmas are just spent island hopping. They avoid the big islands, especially New Providence, because Nassau had enough of a population to still be overrun with walkers. But there are so many places that weren't inhabited at all before the world ended that they don't lack places to go - or fresh fruit.

"Can we come down here every winter?" Beth asks, sitting with her legs hanging over the side of the boat. She has a half dozen pomegranates next to her, while she eats her fill from the one in her hand. The dogs are all piled on the trampoline, snoozing after romping on land a bit today. "Because all the stuff that grows down here? That's not going to be doing much except in Florida, if we're lucky."

"Like bananas and papayas?" Shane asks through the galley windows. He's making banana bread, with the bananas they also found. This island had a place that was a combination produce stand, bakery, and plant nursery. Much of their little farm is ticking along just fine without human assistance.

"Exactly." Beth's fingers are stained from the pomegranate, with little drips down on her legs from where a few seeds escaped to tumble into the water. The purply pink stain is worth getting to eat the tart fruit, even if Shane's laughing at her through the window. "Some things aren't even canned fruit back home."

"I figure we can plan on that sort of thing, as long as we can keep a seaworthy sailboat. Eventually, even the old stashes of diesel might not be salvageable, but as long as we have sails, we're good to get this far."

"You ever thought about trying for Europe?" she asks after a few minutes of quietly listening to him work in the galley.

"Sometimes. Last lab standing for a cure that we heard of was France. But I figure if they actually managed it, whatever's left would have scraped together something to poke around across the Atlantic. Hell of a risky trip compared to sailing the islands like we are."

"Yeah, I guess so. Lot of open water, right? And no Coast Guard or whatever to help anymore." They've seen a few official type craft, just as abandoned as police cars and military equipment back on American soil. "Shane? Why weren't the smaller places safer?"

He doesn't answer immediately, and a glance tells her he's coming out on the deck. Sitting beside her, he steals one of her pomegranates and deftly pops it open. "Can't speak for everywhere, but back home? People didn't want to believe it was happening, and they definitely weren't able to put down their own family members."

"You had to put down people you knew, didn't you?"

"Yeah, more than a few. The virus spread fast, and the walkers spread it even faster. When I finally abandoned my post to get Lori and Carl out, I was the last deputy left standing, Beth. Out of twenty-three. Sheriff died of the virus less than three days after it hit King County."

"Oh my God." Beth can't imagine the scope of that, not happening back when everyone was confused. It's not like now, where everyone mostly expects their safe havens to fall to walkers. Losing your coworkers one by one? That's got to be like the prison falling, as far as Beth can make an association.

Shane motions toward shore. "Place like this? I think it would have fallen much the same way. There were probably survivors the first year. There could be survivors still, just in areas we haven't visited. But the population was already low, so I'm not counting on it."

"Everywhere we've gone is dusty," she observes, and he nods. She sighs and picks at her pomegranate a bit more. "It's sad."

"It is."

They finish their fruit in silence, hanging out on the deck until the sun begins to set. Maybe they'll eventually run into a survivor, and as much as Beth prefers things the way they are, there's a part of her that finds it even worse that there's no one at all.

Everything's been going so well that Shane gets a bit lulled in the week just before Christmas. People and walkers, those he is always alert to, but that's just a cop's habit expanded to add dead folks to living ones. What ends up getting past him is a stupid fucking accident. He swears Biscuit and Muffin have 'I told you so' written across their doggie faces.

"Seriously, Shane, just stop wiggling so much," Beth chastises him, her voice light but frustrated. "It's like one of those shows where they're trying to get a thorn out of a tiger's paw."

The amusement behind the frustration makes him laugh ruefully. "Sorry. Although you digging in my calf is at least making me almost forget my arm."

It had been an easy little adventure, snorkeling around a deserted bay. All the time they'd swam and snorkeled, nothing bothered them, not even any of the sharks they encountered. They'd been careful around the coral reef, even wearing swim shoes in the water. When they'd surfaced this afternoon after Beth chased photos underwater, the danger they were in caught his eye. What was drifting into their little spot was Portuguese man-o-war.

Beth was closest to the impending danger, and Shane didn't think twice before he snatched her close, flipping them in the water. It was followed by something lancing across his bare arm from shoulder to forearm, and before his brain fully registered the lightning bolt of pain, he'd jerked right into a ridge of coral reef. Getting to shore had been rather excruciating, but at least nothing touched Beth.

"How bad is the arm now?" Beth asks, peering up from where she's using medical tweezers to pluck tiny bits of coral out of his flesh.

"Bearable since you stuck it in that bucket of warm sea water." The forearm seems to have gotten the worst of it, with a tendril wrapped around it. Beth had rinsed and scrubbed the remains of the tendril away, layering soaking wet, warm towels over his shoulder and bicep also.

"That's what the first aid book said to do."

He considers teasing her with the old idea that people pee on jellyfish stings, but she just might throttle him right now if he did. Pain lances through his leg, causing him to grit his teeth. She's already flushed the leg wound multiple times, including something to kill a sting that seemed an echo of the man-o-war sting. Some of the grittiest bits are stubborn and require painstaking eviction, along with snipping away dead skin.

Breathing deeply, he makes it through to the point where she flushes the wound again. "This is gonna make one hell of a scar," she comments.

"I can imagine." Three inches of his calf laid open for the main injury that has Beth preoccupied, along with enough scrapes to look like he ran his leg over a cheese grater. There's a part of him that isn't entirely sure his left forearm won't bear a scar itself, as harshly as his skin there reacted to the venom.

"This part is gonna hurt more, I think," Beth warns him.

He glances over his shoulder to see her pick up the wound cleaning sponge and braces himself. Yeah, it fucking hurts more. More saline to flush the wound, and finally, she seems content. Then she shaves the area around the wound, applies steri-strips, lathers on antibiotic cream, and covers it all with the hemostatic gauze he'd gathered from a military checkpoint months ago. For once, his paranoia will be helpful, he supposes.

"Blue, green, or orange?" Beth asks, brandishing the wound wrap.

"Surprise me." Shifting a little makes the pain in his arm spike up to challenge that in his leg for a moment, making him groan.

"Almost done. Then you get inside and rinse off best you can. Get some dry clothes on, so you can rest in bed and elevate the leg to keep swelling down." Her touch is firmly gentle as she wraps his calf, before she finishes by patting the back of his thigh.

Shane follows her instructions as soon as she sets him free of his spot belly down on the deck. He doesn't want to undo her hard work on the bandaging, so he settles for a sponge off in the sink. Getting into any more clothing than a set of shorts isn't happening, but he doubts it'll bother Beth.

He's been stuffed with painkillers and antibiotics both, and he knows that eventually, the pain med will knock him out. Looking at her as she makes sure everything is in reach, he notices that she looks paler than usual, so he pats the bed beside him. "C'mere, Beth."

There's no argument from her before she's crawling up on his right side, but she's hesitant in her hug until he drags her firmly against his chest. Her arm goes around his waist, and she sniffles just a little. "I'm okay. You fixed it all up, and I'm damn grateful I didn't have to turn myself into a pretzel trying to clean up my leg."

"It was a lot of blood," Beth mumbles against his chest. "But I fixed it."

"Yes, you did." With the things she's seen, he can only imagine what might be lurking in her mind right now. But he's fine, and she's fine, and their little pack is staring at them from his cabin door. He supposes their wariness of water creatures is sort of justified now, although not in shark form.

"They're floating all around us now, you know."

Shane has a vague memory of seeing the eerily beautiful creatures in the water as Beth steered the dingy back to the Iris. Most of his mind had been on not vomiting or passing out from the combined injuries. "Might be a storm pushing them in. They don't propel themselves. We'll have to keep an eye out."

"I will. You need to sleep." She raises up, cupping his face and stroking his beard before leaning in to kiss his cheek. Hovering close after, she huffs. "Don't scare me like that again."

"I'll do my best." They're too close, and all the reasons he's given himself that this is a bad idea aren't coming to mind right now. When he leans up just enough to brush his lips across hers, she makes a sweet sound of yearning, cupping his face firmly and returning the kiss.

But no matter how good it is, eventually they have to breathe, and instead of worried and fretful, Beth is smiling down at him. "Did you do that to distract me?"

"A little bit." Shane smiles at her, tangling his fingers in her still drying blonde locks. "But also because I wanted to."

It's not a near death experience, only a painful one, but it makes him realize that all the reasons he plays in his mind every night to reinforce his need to ignore her crush are pitiful ones. She's right that the criminal mistakes he once made aren't ones he would do now. No longer caught in the panic and constant threat of those early days of the apocalypse, he's stable now. He's far too old for her in an ideal world, but in this world? Age is not as significant as it once was.

Now, as Beth kisses him again and again, Shane just enjoys the thrill of finally allowing himself to want something beautiful in his life again.

After Daryl's request that she talk to Rick, Carol does make an effort to find the man. He doesn't want to be found, apparently, avoiding her even more skillfully than he dodged people back at the prison in the days after Lori's death. So she does what she's good at and ambushes the man once he's gone to sleep.

It's not truly an ambush, because she figures out quickly that Daryl was right. In the darkened room, Rick is in the throes of a nightmare. She listens for a minute, drawing any clues, and thinks Daryl's probably done the same.

It's a little heartbreaking to hear him call out to Hershel for forgiveness, while weeping in his sleep. What's worse is that she makes it to the bed without alerting him. Either his sleeping mind somehow recognizes her as family and not a threat, or he's somehow losing the necessary wariness to survive long in their world.

One of the things she changed was bringing in actual beds for everyone to sleep on. As much as it seemed to be a frivolous decision, both sets of people needed that luxury to move beyond the environments they'd come from. No one here sleeps on a narrow hospital bed reminiscent of the prison bunks.

That's how she has room to sit on the bed next to Rick, and she calls out his name. He doesn't respond, so she does what she would do for Daryl or the children. Carding her fingers through his sweaty curls, she watches his body ease out of the nightmare.

There's enough moonlight in Rick's room for Carol to catch the glimmer of pale eyes when he opens them. "Carol?"

"It's me." She keeps up the motion of running her fingers through his hair, gently rubbing his scalp now, too. "You were having a nightmare."

This is when she expects him to pull away from the comfort she's offering. Rick's an expert at punishing himself, for real and perceived mistakes. She suspects half of his inability to act as Judith's father is guilt over the girl's lost biological parents, not any resentment of the child herself. He loves Judy; he just doesn't know how to express it.

But he doesn't pull away. Instead, he actually scoots a little closer, pillowing his head on her thigh like he's a child in need of comfort. It's not that different from what Daryl's done many times since Merle died, when the grief and loss got to be more than he could handle on his own. So she treats him the same way she does Daryl, with careful sisterly affection.

They're the only adults left of the group that left the quarry in Atlanta, she and Daryl and Rick. Glenn doesn't count, as even married or not, he always feels like one of the kids to Carol, just like Beth did. Both men lost their brothers, and somehow gravitated to each other to fulfill that void. Somewhere along the way, Carol just simply adopted them both. She knows that's why she didn't kill Rick for forcing her out of her home and away from her daughter. It's why she forgave him.

"Do you want me to stay the night?" she asks him, leaving the curls behind to rub his back as well. The thin white t-shirt is damp from his nightmares.

"Please."

Getting him to roll over is easy enough, and she spoons her thin frame against his back. With her arm over his chest, she places a hand over his heart, feeling its strong beat. He covers her hand with his own, palm big and warm.

"Go to sleep, Rick. I'll wake you if you dream again."

But she knows he won't, because Daryl doesn't ever wake up crying or screaming when she's protecting his dreams like this. This won't solve all their conflicts of personality, she knows, and Daryl will keep getting caught in the middle of them when they clash. But for now, for tonight, they're just family, and there's very little on this earth Carol won't do to protect her family.

A/N: Timeline Notes: Their discussion on the docks is November 25th. Shane's POV takes place December 18th. Beth has been traveling with Shane since October 15th.

The romance is still slow burn to an extent, and the man is drugged and wounded, so no smutty bits. 😉

The scars theme was an arc I'd been planning a while, and one of the reasons for the Portuguese man-of-war is that their stings can scar. It's something more visual than the leg to remind Shane his focus is staying sane and as a protector, by taking on an injury that would have scarred Beth again.

Alas, Carol's thoughts of Daryl getting caught in the middle are a little prophetic.