Author's Note: This takes place sometime post 5x13. I've slowed down the events of the season a lot and there will be a lot of canon divergence. This is a strictly no Savior story, so don't expect Dwight or Negan to show up anytime soon.

"Well, would you look at that?"

The wrench in his hand nearly slipped at the sound of her voice as his eyes snapped up, finding her as if somehow he knew where she was all along. She sat on a poorly crafted workbench, legs swinging back and forth carelessly as she tilted her head to the side with a soft look in her eyes. He didn't say anything, his eyes flitting to the open garage door before he let out a questioning grunt.

"You were just smilin'," Beth said, a note of triumph in her voice.

Daryl certainly wasn't smiling now, his brow furrowing as he returned his attention to the task before him.

"Wasn't," he muttered quietly, twisting the bolt until he couldn't anymore.

"You can't fool me, Mr. Dixon," she said, a melodic note in her voice, almost as if she was singing the words. "I saw it with my own two eyes."

He risked a glance her way, seeing that those two eyes were glittering with mischief. The same look he saw all those months ago, with nothing but moonlight shining down on that shitty little shack.

We should burn it down.

"You should get your eyes checked, girl," he said, dropping his eyes again.

There was no rustle of movement. No tread of boots over concrete. She was just there, kneeling on the other side of the motorcycle that was slowly coming together under his patient labor. Her hand reached out, pale and striking as it settled against the black leather of the seat.

"Ain't nothing wrong with bein' happy," Beth said quietly.

His throat clicked as he swallowed, making him wonder when the hell his throat got so dry. He didn't answer, giving her nothing more than a shrug as he went back to working.

"I know that you like it here, even if you don't wanna admit it," she said, those big blue eyes snatching at his heart as they stared right into his. "I know that you're real happy about Aaron and the good work you're gonna do with him. And I know you're scared about how it all might fall apart, like it did everywhere else."

Daryl just about looked away again, lifting his hand to gnaw at his thumbnail to cover the fact that he had no idea what to say. He eyed her warily, wondering what other thoughts she'd carve out of his mind. What else she lay bare before him, making him deal with it whether he wanted to or not. She wasn't really Beth. He knew that. But she was as close as he'd ever get again, and a part of him never wanted to hear her stop talking to him.

"I know, I know," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Daryl Dixon ain't afraid of nothin', right?"

He couldn't help it, the small twitch at the corner of his mouth as he let his hand fall to his lap, drinking her in from the golden shine of her hair to the scuffed toes of her boots with all the desperation of a man starved. Maybe that's what he was. Hungry. Hollow. Growing more empty with every day that passed.

"I'm afraid of forgettin' you," he said, the words falling from his lips between one breath and the next, barely reaching his own ears with how quiet he said them.

Beth blinked three times before her lips parted, a soft sigh falling through them.

Oh.

She hadn't said it this time. Not like that night. The night that everything changed. He'd wished to go back to that place, that night, a hundred times at least. He wouldn't walk away, thinking that damn dog was back. He wouldn't tell her to go on without him. He wouldn't let her be taken. She'd be here for real, not in his head.

"Eight," Beth looked away from him as she spoke, flinching just slightly as if it hurt her to say it.

Daryl's eyes fell closed and he felt his shoulders curve. Hunching forward. Making him smaller.

"Stop," he breathed with a shake of his head.

He couldn't stand to hear it. The numbers she wouldn't explain. Maybe they meant nothing at all. He knew it was all in his head. Maybe they were just another fucked up part of this ghost that he couldn't shake. Wouldn't shake. Didn't wanna shake.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice hitching slightly.

His head lifted, words rising in his throat. Questions. Answers. Everything.

She was gone.

He wasn't smiling anymore.

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