This is for the Winter of Bethyl January 17 prompt Winter Sniffles. It's a continuation of the prompt Footprints in the Snow.

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Beth tended to Daryl night and day with no heed to herself. She'd never been the type to get sick before, why would she now? And if she did, she'd deal with it. That was just something that no longer worried her.

She used to be a worrier, a worrier of trivial things. Like her hair or what to wear or a silly argument she and her boyfriend had. She'd only been eighteen when everything happened. Still a kid, still had a lot of learning and growing ahead of her.

Instead of being given the chance to mature with time, she had been thrown into a hard life where she had to think quickly and act even quicker. A life where you had to literally fight to live. Admittedly, she hadn't handled it well at first. After Mama died, and then her brother, she lost touch with reality, no longer able to see why anything mattered. Wondering what was the point of it all?

It took her a while to learn it did matter, though honestly, she couldn't exactly say why it mattered. It had been a hard lesson to learn.

Now she was too busy to worry about small things. She had to focus on the day that lay before her. She'd drive herself crazy trying to figure it all out, so negating the reason of why she put one foot in front of the other. Hour to hour, day to day, minute to minute. Doing the next thing that needed to be done. And right now that meant restoring her current houseguest back to health.

Daryl, she had learned that was his name. Daryl Dixon. At night his fever would spike and he'd dream, talking in his sleep. He'd talk about someone named Merle. Someone named Carl and Judith. Rick. He'd wake up with a start. Delirious and wracked with cough, hardly able to catch his breath.

Never having been a heavy sleeper, she was awakened at the slightest sound. He didn't even have the strength to sit up so she'd shove pillows and folded blankets under his back to angle the upper half of his body in the upward position. Giving him sips of water if he was able to drink in between coughing fits, topping off the pot of water she kept on the fire to help disperse a little humidity into the dry air.

In varying stages of consciousness, blurry-eyed and confused he'd eye her, reluctantly letting her tend to him. Too weak to fight her off. Taking the small round tin she kept on had, she dipped her fingers into the thick slave made from eucalyptus and peppermint and pig fat and uncovering his legs she rubbed it into the soles of his feet. Then she'd massage it into his chest, on his neck, around his shoulders.

The solidity of his broad shoulders felt good under her hands. Her fingers traced his protruding collarbones, the right slightly lower than the left making her wonder if it'd been broken and crudely reset. A name was scrolled above his right nipple. Its namesake, probably long since gone. Her fingers moved over a line of raised skin a few inches long on his bicep. She'd lose herself in his scars if she'd allow it.

Eventually, his coughing fit settled to a rattle in his throat and his eyes focused on hers. He'd been watching her and she looked away bashfully, rubbing the remaining salve into her own hands. She placed the tin of ointment on the side table nearby and just before she stood, he lifted a hand and closed it over hers. "Stay." He spoke weakly, his voice hoarse from coughing. She nodded and sat cross-legged next to him, covering him up again, brushing the hair off his sweat dappled forehead.

Daryl had woken during the night many times and watched Beth as she slept upright in the chair. He wondered about her and her life and why she was here all by herself. Did she have no family? No friends? No one to help her with the hard life that existed now for everyone. And why did she help him, a complete stranger? Sit with him, spoon-feed him broth and spread that salve onto his bare skin, which he had to admit he didn't mind too much.

She didn't know anything about him. You couldn't be too careful. Kindness was dangerous. He'd come across a lot of bad people in his life, even before everything went to shit. But he'd also come across a lot of good people. Rick, Michonne. Aaron. Rosita and Sasha. Abe. He hadn't expected to forge a relationship with any of them.

As far as he gathered, she had been sleeping like this the entire time he'd been there, keeping watch over him. In the upholstered rocking chair, she leaned on her hand, her elbow resting on the armrest. A blanket draped from one shoulder to her lap. It looked uncomfortable, she must wake every morning with a hell of a crick in her neck. Her face though was serene.

As she slowly nursed him back to health, he was beginning to have cabin fever, so to speak. Yes, he was in a cabin and had had a fever. Now he was getting restless, wanting to go outside longer than a few minutes with her help. His body no longer felt like it would crumble to pieces with the slightest movement. Unfortunately, he wore out fast. Things like eating, sitting up, or walking out to the outhouse didn't quite exhaust him like they used to, he still felt the need to sleep for hours a day. He never felt so useless in all his life.

She began to stir her eyelids fluttering against the shadows of the fire. He closed his eyes again. It was like she had some sort of sixth sense. Every time he'd awaken she'd be there, ready to help. It'd be annoying if she wasn't so damn alluring.

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes, made contact with hers. Most people avoid extended eye contact, himself included. This girl didn't. She didn't back down. She sat up, stretching her back as though it ached. The blanket fell to her waist, her nipples pressed against the ribbing of the long-sleeved henley she wore. Only then did he avert his eyes.

She stood and before she turned away, he saw the peek of a slight smile. Had she seen him… noticing her? He rolled onto his side, watched the fire. The fire was safer to look at than her. Her kindness, easy smile, her soft hair, the swell of her hips. She made him feel things he'd never quite felt before. Soft and light. Definitely uncomfortable.

She stood and folded up the blanket and placed it on the back of the chair and left the room. He knew she'd come back a little while later with steaming cups of tea, just had she had every day that he'd been coherent enough to drink it. Today he dedicated enough of this lying around. He'd fight past the weakness and the dull ache in his skull. He didn't make it this far into the end of the world to let a little flu break him.

Sitting up slowly, he folded the blanket so it layed flat at the foot of the mattress because she'd like it that way. Slipped his socks on, pulled his shirt over his head, ignored the ache that ran through his body and stood.

When he entered the kitchen, she turned from the cookstove, her eyebrows raising in pleased surprise. "I can bring this to you, I don't mind."

This much he knew. She didn't mind, but he did. He held up a hand as if to say no and shuffled over to her. He stood nearby watching as she set a primitive cast iron teapot onto the flame burner. The cookstove itself must have been a hundred years old. The kind you stuff with wood to heat the oven and light the burners. The wide-planked wood floor felt cool under his feet, the counter was smooth from years of being wiped down. A white cast iron sink was situated in front of a short double window, the faucet long since rendered useless. The curtains were closed tight, he figured to help keep the warmth in and also for protection against anyone seeing inside. He noted she had herself a nice setup. Proficient and functional.

His eyes went back to Beth as she busied herself with jars filled with different herbs of different colors and varying proportions on an open shelf. He must have moved his head too fast because the world swayed around him. He swore under his breath, grasped the lip of the counter to his right.

She didn't miss it. Of course she didn't. "Sit," she told him almost forcefully, taking him by the arm. Without thinking he snatched his arm back. It was instinctive. He never needed anyone before. Taking help from a stranger added insult to his bruised ego. It took him a long time to let someone beyond his tough exterior and allowing Beth to see him in such a weakened state was humiliating.

Realizing what he did he immediately apologized. Great, he thought. Groveling was even more humiliating than needing someone's help. "I'm sorry. This…," he searched for the right words. Honesty was probably best in this situation. "This isn't easy. Letting someone take care of me."

Seeming to understand, she nodded. Lightly taking his elbow she walked with him to the table. He lowered himself into one of the chairs. Before she had a chance to walk away he took her small hand in his. It wasn't soft as one would expect. She had callouses just as he did. He liked that.

"I'd probably be dead if it wasn't for you." He felt his words were lacking. Words never came easy.

She didn't pull away. She smiled again giving him that light feeling in his stomach. "Don't worry, you're getting stronger. Just gotta' take things slow."

Slow, he didn't know about that. He wasn't patient. He released her hand and she turned her attention to the kettle that had begun to whistle. After measuring out the herbs and letting the tea steep for a bit, she brought him a cup and he nodded his thanks.

"Drink up, it's got elderberry and ginger in it. The ginger will help clear your lungs," she told him.

He'd never had tea before, definitely never thought he'd like it but this was sweet and cinnamony with a hint of kick, soothing his throat - dry from coughing and sleeping next to the fire for so long. She sat across from him also drinking the tea.

"How long you been out here?" He questioned, motioning to the space in general.

She thought a moment, spinning the mug around slowly with her forefinger and thumb on the scarred surface of the table. "Since about a year after the fall. Seemed like the safest place, other than home."

By his calculation, she'd been here about two years then. Time was a rough estimate at best these days. "Where was home?" He sure was asking a lot of questions but he liked the melodic way she talked. Her soft yet sure voice. He wanted to keep her talking.

"Home is here," she answered evasively. He got the hint. Let it drop.

"Anyone else close by?" He asked instead.

She took a drink nodded her head. "About two miles east there is a community. I've only been there a couple of times, in the late summer, early fall when the weather is more fitting for a hike." She smiled at him coyly, making him wonder if she was teasing him. "Fifty or so people of all ages. Gates, guards. Doctor. Equipment. The whole bit."

"But you choose to stay here?"

She shrugged a shoulder in a way he was quickly learning was what she did when she didn't really want to answer a question. "This is where I belong."

He respected that. He wondered what it was like to have a place of your own. A place you belonged. He never felt like he belonged anywhere, even as a child. He supposed, wherever Merle had been that was where he went, and then later on with Rick and Michonne. That's where Daryl felt most like he belonged. Those times were no longer to be had. They came and went like the wind, quick and fleeting. His chest ached for them in a way he wasn't used to - made him wonder if the pain would ever dull.

"What about you?" She asked, deflecting the attention off herself. She was alone more than she wasn't and had gotten used to it being that way. She had once been social, talkative. Never meeting a stranger. She missed human contact. Now with how things were, even when she had someone in her home she wasn't used to being the one having to answer questions. "Where are your people?"

"I don't have people."

Anymore. The unspoken word hung between them, a daytime specter.

"What we're you doing in the woods? During a snowstorm."

"I didn't know a snowstorm was coming, in my defense," he said, not really offended.

There it was, the slight humor only a few people, she was guessing, got to see. He tried to hide that half smile with the mug as he took a drink. She chuckled at his fake indignation, waited to see if he was going to answer her question.

"Didn't have anywhere to go, nowhere to be. I was just wandering around I guess. Hunting, looking for people."

Normally she left people to their own stories. Didn't push them if they didn't want to tell her. She couldn't help but be curious who this man was and what his story was. She leaned in searching his ruggedly handsome face.

"How long have you been on your own?"

"Too long."