Evening had settled across the lake when Beth and Daryl sat down around their small fire to share a freshly caught fish. Daryl had spent a good hour standing in the shallows of the lake with his crossbow before he had caught one. The fish moved faster than expected and the bending of light through the water had thrown him off initially, but eventually he had amassed a small pile of fish on their little beach. While he had fished, Beth washed any clothes they had to spare and rigged up their usual string of cans through the trees to alert them to any approaching walkers.

They settled around the fire as the sun went down. It was a warm evening and the soft glow from the fire along with the quite breaking of the water on the shore made it pleasant and peaceful. After eating, Beth relaxed back against a log with a needle and thread that she had scavenged and set about repairing a hole in the sleeve of her winter jacket. Daryl sat across from her cleaning his crossbow and testing the arrows for breaks. They sat this way in comfortable silence for a quite a while.

When Beth finished with her rather botched attempt at sewing, she put her jacket to the side and watched Daryl. He cleaned the crossbow with considerable attentiveness. Like her father with his animals, she thought. It was this unexpectedly gentle side to Daryl that Beth liked the best. She wondered how long he had had the crossbow for and where it had come from, but almost as soon as she thought of the question the answer came to her.

"He gave you the crossbow, didn't he?" Beth asked, already certain that she was right.

"Who?"

"Jackson!" she replied, annoyed that he was being deliberately obtuse.

There was a long pause in which Daryl didn't look at her.

""…Guess you could say that," he replied eventually.

"What do you mean, 'you guess'?" Beth asked, slightly deflated, "He either gave it to you or he didn't."

Daryl's mouth twisted a little. He was quiet for a long time before he replied.

"One night, 'few years before all of this, me and Merle was just at home and Merle was itchin' for a hit," He paused, his brow knotted, "He needed money for his dealer though and we didn't have anything left anybody would pay for… So he gets it in his head that we should break into a bar and steal some hooch to sell."

Daryl glanced over to her quickly, looking for a reaction but she stayed silent.

"So we get into this dump truck of a car of his and we get few miles down the road when we run outta gas. And Merle's itchin' real bad now- skin crawlin', can't sit still… But we're right near Jacksons' place so I figure, I'll just grab one of the spare gas cans in his shed and we can get goin'… Only once we get in there, Merle sees all the huntin' stuff; guns, knives, the bow, and he says we gotta take it. Says that it'd be worth more than hooch…"

Daryl fingered the fletching on one of the arrows, his face hard.

"I didn't even try an' stop him. Just let him clear the place out and take off... But when we got to the pawnshop, I wouldn't let him take the bow. Told him we should return it. Merle got real mad but he just wanted money fast, so he dropped it. He sells the rest, gets his hit and we go home. Next day, I went back to Jackson's 'n tried to give 'im back the damn thing."

"What happened?" Beth asked quietly.

""He wouldn't take it. Fired his shotgun at me. Said I was scum, but that Merle was worse. Said I'd better use it to shoot my brother someday 'cos we'd all be better off without him…"

Beth was quiet, taking in the irony of those parting words from Jackson.

"Do you think he's still alive?" she wondered aloud.

"No."

Beth didn't ask how Daryl knew.

They sat in silence, watching the fire crackle and spit its way down to coals. Beth was trying to take in everything he had told her, trying to put together a picture of the man Daryl was before and compare it to the man she knew. She remembered the hot-tempered, loud-mouthed redneck that had arrived on their doorstep a few years ago, a string of walker ears around his neck. She had been scared of him then. But now it was like an entirely different man sat before her. She wondered if she had changed as much as he had.

After a few minutes of silence, Daryl shifted and leant back on his hands. Beth looked up to find his eyes on her, contemplating her carefully. He looked like he was about to say something but then he shook his head minutely and looked away.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothin'."

"Daryl, what were you thinking?" she insisted.

He met her eyes briefly, looking uncomfortable. He shrugged his shoulders again and then said self-consciously, "Four years an' I didn't tell no one 'bout my life before this… now I can't shut up."

"There's nothing wrong with trusting someone," Beth replied softly.

He met her eyes properly then, looking cautious and almost childlike. She was reminded of that moment at the funeral home, which felt like forever ago now. She thought of how clearly she had been able to read his clear blue eyes then. She suddenly felt quite warm under his gaze and she bit the inside of her lip as her pulse quickened.

But then Daryl looked away and the moment was gone.

He lay back on the hard ground, his hands behind his head and gazed up at the night sky. Beth looked upwards as well and, as always, was struck by the sheer volume of stars she could see. One of the few benefits of loosing all electricity was that they could truly appreciate the carpet of stars spread out above them. Beth lay back against the log behind her, taking a moment to appreciate the feeling of insignificance prompted by the vastness of the night sky. Most of the time it was easy for Beth to tell herself that she didn't believe in God anymore, but staring up into the night, she wasn't so sure.

They fell asleep like that, staring up into the stars, Beth imagining those cautious clear blue eyes watching her from across the fire once more.

Sorry about the long wait, Ive been without internet for a few weeks. Will continue to update as I can. Hope you enjoyed it!