The first time Beth captains the Iris completely solo is absolutely the most terrifying and exhilarating thing she's ever done in her life so far. Shane had been right to tell her to keep an eye on the weather due to the man-o-war colony surrounding their boat in the little harbor. They're anchored on the Atlantic side of the Bahamaian island of Mayaguana, completely exposed once the storm approaches.

Shane rouses enough to try to help, but between his injuries and the significant dose of pain medication, she orders him to stay below decks. Experienced or not, putting him on deck would be tantamount to letting a drunk driver have the keys to a car. Maybe they won't be endangering anyone else, but the wrong decision on the boat's deck could kill them both. Even as the pain meds wear off, she still doesn't feel safe turning the boat over, not when he can barely stand.

They've only run the engines sparingly, conserving fuel because finding new diesel that isn't contaminated or broken down is hit or miss. But as the winds pick up, Beth drops the sails, starts the engines, and sets the Iris at the top speed she feels she can safely run the hardy catamaran on her own.

It takes nearly a full day even on the engines to reach what she hoped would be a safe harbor, a hundred or so miles south of Mayaguana at the Inagua Islands. It's still the Bahamas, but about as far south as you can get in that country's territory. Storm winds and unsettling waves are still battering at the sturdy catamaran, and she's so far beyond exhausted she can't see straight.

They haven't let the dogs out on deck at all, making her glad that the bathroom in the supply cabin can act as a canine potty in a pinch. She just moved the liner from their deck tray inside. It doesn't stop the anxious eyes at the cabin door, staring in full canine worry at her being outside and cut off from their protective reach.

Shane convinces her to sleep for a few hours, reminding her that running the boat with the diesel engines is far different than navigating the sails. His injured leg isn't as dangerous sitting in the captain's chair versus trimming sails out on the deck. When she wakes four hours later, feeling too queasy from rough seas to sleep any longer, he pulls her into his lap as he keeps the Iris on course.

"Where are we?" she mumbles, mind more on the mug of coffee she's liberated from his stash than navigation.

"About two hours north of Haiti at our current speed." He's tense, eyes on the electronics. "Radar's showing we can probably clear the storm if we get south of the island or at least into the protected gulf between the two peninsulas."

"Do we have the fuel for it?" They do have the sails, but she hopes they don't have to try them, not with her experience level.

"Yeah. You did good to keep the speed under max. It saved fuel, and the tanks had enough to give us good range anyway. We could make the coast of South America, if we needed to."

Staring at the radar, Beth shudders, remembering her panic when she realized what was headed for Mayaguana wasn't a small squall that would blow through quickly. The late season tropical storm had been unmistakable, maybe even a forming hurricane, and she's grateful that the electronics still work so well. "We've got to keep an eye on radar more, don't we?" she asks.

Shane sighs as he kisses her temple. "Yeah. It's too easy to forget bad storms can blow up outside of the season. I'm sorry you had to handle so much of this without me."

The self recrimination in his voice makes her put her mug down before turning and cupping his face between her hands. Making sure he meets her gaze evenly, she tells him, "You're allowed to be human, Shane, and you got hurt making sure I didn't." Stroking her left hand along his cheek, she leans in for a kiss, glad when he responds easily. There had been a part of her afraid he'd get past the initial shock of his injuries and change his mind.

He doesn't turn navigation over to her, particularly because passing between Cuba and Haiti can be tricky according to all their collected information, so she goes to make them both something substantial to eat, since they've been getting by on easily eaten things like sandwiches or fruit up until now. Eventually, she gets to see her first glimpse of the Haitian coast, although most of it is obscured by the predawn hour. By full daylight, they're able to finally drop anchor in the Gulf of Gonâve, although they stay well away from any of the places where the settlements were.

The dogs are finally set free of the cabin, and Beth can't settle to sleep until Shane lays down with her. With the dogs free to roam, he seems to relax a little about being inside.

"Why are you so worried?" she asks, letting herself settle into the comforting heat of his chest as her pillow. "You weren't in the Bahamas."

Shane sighs, a motion she feels more than hears. "Bigger population here, so more potential for survivors that we don't know the intentions of. They were still recovering from the earthquake, though, so that's why I aimed here instead of Cuba. I figured if any government survived, they're more likely to be friendly here."

Trusting that he understands the complexity more than she does, since her main knowledge of Cuba is confusing memories from history class that involves lectures about the evils of Communism, she accepts the explanation and files it away before she finally gives in to her body's exhaustion and sleeps.

They stay in the Gulf of Gonâve for three days, alternating between catching up on sleep and letting Shane heal a bit more. He walks Beth through a mechanics check of the engines, considering they just put them through a massive strain compared to all their prior usage. During that time, they don't see any signs of other boats, or any movement at the closest shore, which Beth's maps tell her is the island of La Gonâve.

The main change between them by him kissing her the night he was injured seems to be that occasional hugs have been replaced by regular kisses, and some leisurely makeout sessions that make Beth simultaneously confused, frustrated, and relieved that things haven't just instantly switched to sex between them. It's not that she's inexperienced, but with first Jimmy and then Zach, things had never gone beyond very satisfying third base including oral sex. With condoms in short supply and fiercely hoarded at the prison, Beth simply hadn't wanted to clue her sister in by taking her share.

It was stupid to be so reserved about it, she knows, because she probably could have simply asked Carol for them. The older woman would have signed them out of supply herself, and since everyone thought she and Daryl were a couple, Maggie never would have noticed. Her sister's tendency to act like Beth was twelve instead of nearly twenty had been frustrating in the extreme, especially considering she knows Maggie lost her virginity in the barn's hayloft when she was fifteen.

Beth knows Shane's vastly more experienced, thanks to Carl's tales of the man that include a parade of short-term girlfriends, and Shane is already unsettled about the darker parts of his past and their age difference. It's harder for Beth to see the latter as an issue, because her father had been fifteen years older than her mother. The extra two years between her and Shane is nothing much to worry over, in her eyes, even if her mama had been thirty when she met Hershel, not twenty.

But if she tells him she's never actually had sex?

Yeah, that'll make the man swim for Cuba and not look back, she's afraid.

Shane's unease about being within easy boating distance of a city that numbered close to a million inhabitants before the virus leads to them sailing west out of the Gulf of Gonâve on the twenty-third of December. The storm is long gone, possibly dying out in the Atlantic somewhere, or maybe it's even spun its way up the eastern coast of the States to spawn a winter blizzard. They have no way of knowing.

"The only thing west other than Cuba is Jamaica or the Caymans," she remarks after adjusting the sails as they need. There's no reason to use up more of their diesel, since if the winds stall on them, they'll need the engine.

"Yeah. Sailing east isn't ideal, but we can manage. We'll stay in safe range of the coastline of Haiti and the Dominican Republic. As much as you liked the Everglades, we can always see about getting off the boat a bit at Isla de Mona. Wasn't that in one of your tour guides?"

Beth goes and fetches her collection. Part of their random tour of the Bahamian islands had been building this treasure trove, but sometimes she really misses the internet. "The Galápagos of the Caribbean," she tells him. "Think we could make it there by Christmas Day?"

Shane chuckles, shaking his head. "If the navigation charts are still accurate, it's about five hundred nautical miles away. We'll still be in Haitian waters on Christmas, especially heading east."

Their original plan had been to be at Turks and Caicos for Christmas, with the plan to sail to the British Virgin Islands afterward via the Puerto Rican coast. It would have been their first really long open water sail, requiring them to work and sleep in shifts since they wouldn't be able to anchor for at least four days.

"Oh, Jesus," Beth breathes as they round the westernmost point of the southern Haitian peninsula. They're a good distance out from land as a precaution, but it doesn't stop the shock at seeing the huge tanker ship run aground on the coastline. Shane stands with the binoculars, studying it for a few minutes before passing them to her.

"It's still flying a Venezuelan flag," he informs her.

On the deck, she can see a trapped walker, but otherwise, it's deserted like all the other abandoned boats they've seen since Florida. The flag is so tattered she's surprised Shane recognized it, so she thinks the ship's been there a while. Lowering her binoculars, she sighs. "I guess we should be glad for the wildlife that it doesn't seem to have spilled, at least."

"There is that." Shane takes off his hat, running a hand through his hair and glancing back toward the west. "You know what we haven't seen at all?" When Beth shakes her head, he continues. "American naval ships. We aren't that far from Guantanamo."

"Do you think the base fell?" she asks softly. It's one of those things they don't think about much anymore, at least she doesn't. It's been more than a year and a half. If there was any American military left worth talking about, someone would have seen them by now.

"Probably. I can't see them not patrolling an area this close. If someone got sick, got a walker on a ship, you get things like that, navy or not, I bet." He motions toward the desolate tanker.

With the sobering sight of the beached tanker behind them, the rest of the day is a quiet one, both of them lost in thought. Beth doesn't query Shane about his own musing, but hers is that she's starting to wonder if they'll ever see anyone else at all, no matter where they go.

On Christmas Day, they leave the boat for the first time since Shane was injured. It's been a full week, and the dogs are downright miserable. All their information indicates that Grosse Cay is an uninhabited island, but they still use caution with Shane not in top form. They spend most of the day ashore, since everyone needs time on dry land. The temperature is in the low eighties, and Beth goes for a swim in the late afternoon before joining Shane where he's settled in the shady spot where they ate lunch.

"How's your leg feeling?" she asks. They've got it wrapped for the excursion, so his calf is hidden behind a swath of colorful blue athletic wrap. Tonight she'll probably remove the stitches, because it is healing quite well.

"Better. Wouldn't want to hike the island, but it shouldn't bother me later." He smiles at her, gaze admiring as she towels off the excess water. There's a heat to his gaze she's still getting used to seeing, and she wonders if he'll stick to that polite control he's held onto lately if she pushes his buttons.

Instead of her more conservative tankinis or one-piece bathing suits, today Beth is wearing a blue patterned bikini that is far more daring than she's chanced before. The halter top isn't all that revealing, but only because she's small enough in the bust not to strain the fabric. But the bottoms are a hipster cut, and they flash the bottom curve of her backside. It somehow feels more revealing than the thong bikini she tried on before stuffing it back in the bottom of her drawer.

Figuring she'll never know if she doesn't try, Beth doesn't take a seat beside him on the blanket they have spread out. Shane is propped on his hands, long legs stretched out in front of him. Taking advantage of him needing his hands for balance, she settles astride his lap facing him. His intake of breath is immediate, and not just because she's still damp from her swim, she can tell.

Holding his gaze, she reaches up to release the catches on her bikini top. The straps fall, the fabric heavy enough with seawater to completely bare her chest. Maybe she's not built like Maggie, but her breasts are pretty and she knows it.

So does he, because there's no hiding his response when the heat of her is resting against him the way it is.

"Beth." The way he says her voice makes her ache, because there's so much desire and arousal in it that she can't help but shift against him as she braces her hands on his shoulders and leans in for a kiss.

They've gotten heated before, backing off before things could get to any points of no return. With his injuries still healing, she understood, but she's sort of at the end her willingness to wait, as long as he's willing. There's no rule here for them to follow, no set number of dates or time dating, and dammit, she wants to know what it'll be like to have his hands on her bare skin.

It works, because while she's exploring his mouth with every bit of yearning she's had since she first noticed her interest in him, he shifts their weight to free up his hands. It pushes her legs wider, because he has to bend his knees, and then his hands are cupping her breasts. The whimper she makes is not sexy or dignified in the least, and she breaks away from the kiss to whisper, "Please, please don't stop this time."

His answer is initially a groaned repetition of her name. "On the beach… not a good…" A rocking shift of her hips seems to make him lose his train of thought for a minute. "Jesus, Beth, I'm not saying no."

Pulling back enough to see his eyes, all the color is gone, their usual coppery brown a barely-there rim around blown wide pupils. "You aren't saying yes, either."

"Sand is a nightmare, darlin'," Shane manages, but his hands are warm as he caresses her, making her gasp. "You don't want that, I promise."

She doesn't want to wait to get back to the boat, because he might want to slow things down again. "Please?"

"Goddamn, baby, you're enough to tempt a saint," he growls in response to the plea, and she finds herself flipped to her back on her side of the blanket. Her heart rate rises just enough to be thrilled and a little apprehensive when he goes instantly to her bikini bottoms, tugging them free with ease. But he doesn't settle over her like she expects or even remove any of his own clothing.

He's got very different intentions, she finds, and she isn't going to protest.

-Edited Scene-

Beth isn't sure how much time has passed before Shane moves to retrieve her towel, gently cleaning her skin between stealing small kisses. She smiles impishly up at him. "I thought you said no beach."

The words make him laugh even as he returns her bikini bottoms to her. "I said no sex on the beach. This was a little less likely to get sand in places we sure as hell didn't want it." His smile fades a little. "Besides, I'm not going to risk getting you pregnant, Beth."

Oh. That makes a few things fall into place for her. Considering how Judith's birth turned out, she understands why he wouldn't want to take that chance. "That's fine," she tells him a little flippantly. "Guess we'll have to raid my stash of condoms back at the boat then."

Collecting them had been a bit of ironic amusement, when they'd gone into residences. Shane always passed them up, only checking bedside tables for useful things like hidden weaponry. But on some impulse, Beth started squirreling them away in her pack. At first, she figured they were always good for trading, if they ever crossed paths with another friendly group. As her crush grew, she remembered all of her hesitation before Zach died and started keeping some for herself, too.

"Sounds like you're awfully prepared," he responds, and she grins as he helps her refasten her top.

"It's my motto now, you know."

The pert answer gains her a kiss. "I think the dogs have had enough freedom for today," he tells her. "Ready to go back?"

Beth glances over to where the dogs are all napping in a big heap, worn out from all their exploring. She'd kept quiet enough not to alarm any of them, at least. That would have been a hell of a cold shower moment, if one of the dogs had freaked out. "Yeah."

Shane whistles, the piercing sound he uses to summon the entire small pack. His gaze is on the sleep clumsy puppies when he speaks, voice dropping back to that rich timbre it takes on when he's aroused. "They can stay in my cabin tonight, Beth. We'll take yours."

The promise in his voice, and the reason for not having their constant canine companions underfoot, those are an answer to all her yearning. There's going no more waiting or wondering, settling for teasing kisses or simply the pleasure they just shared. She's not going to lose him and regret what they didn't get to experience together. Not this time.

Tonight.

Beth shivers with anticipation.

A/N: It's solely Beth's POV for this half, with Shane getting the next chapter for his. As a reward for waiting an entire month for this update, part 2 will post tomorrow. There likely won't be any updates for Carol's group at Grady until at least chapter 18, though.

I finished up another series (for those not reading the Grenade stories) to hopefully free up writing time to move things along faster, which caused things to go about a week longer than normal between posting.

Hopefully it was worth the wait. :)