"Dale won't be far from here, thank The Lord."

Daryl glared at the priest, making him shrink back. Scaring him always seemed to cheer him up. He deserved it. Whenever he spoke, it was always to try and make out it was by god that they could follow a map or manage to share food around. Sasha noticed and gave him a pointed look but Daryl ignored her. He ignored most people these days. Living so Clare to everyone on the damn RV made him uncomfortable. Glenn and Rick were the only tolerable men around. Carol was always busy with Judith or Tyrese, Tara kept cracking jokes to lift the mood, failing. Daryl sometimes sat at the back, near Maggie. Not because he wanted to have to sit near her, but because it was quiet. She didn't talk much and he appreciated that. Sometimes she wince and touch her swollen stomach. He'd get up to get Glenn but her warning glare kept him sitting. Wasn't his business but thinking of Beth made him feel soem sort of responsibility. Maggie may not care for his help but Beth wouldn't want him treating her like shit. As much as he wanted to tell her to suck it up and stop mourning the sister she had abandoned... He kept calm. He had faith in where they were heading. Faith in the group finding safety.

Beth had faith. Beth had hope. Beth had a way of making you see what she saw. Made you believe what she believed in. When he'd been with her, he'd caught a glimpse of what Beth Greene saw at the end of the road and it wasn't a brutal death or an unmarked grave out on the middle of nowhere. That's what he saw, sometimes, despite what people thought of him. He knew people took a look at him and saw him a certain way. Hill Billy redneck who was used to being out here, violent and wild, never staying in one place too long. He'd heard Lincoln call him something along those lines, back when he was talking about who should scout out Johnson. Rick relied on him for council, and for help surviving. No one would ever expect him to not make it. Like Beth said, he would most likely be the last man standing. Daryl knew he could be, physically it was possible. Mentally, he wasn't sure he could survive the week. His conscious was always heavy. Heavy with regrets for his past. Heavy with concern for the future of the group. Heavy with grief from everyone he'd ever lost. Most night he didn't sleep. These days, he just lay there, eyes closed, mind a blur of faces and moments he couldn't change. It was stupid, but he would go back to the start, back to when Merle first suggested going on that damn scavenge trip to Atlanta. Daryl knew he should have stopped his brother, saved him losing his hand, taken him into the Forrest to hunt squirrels with him. Changing history like that might have stopped Daryl changing for he better, but he missed his brother. He'd do anything to have him back.

Most nights he thought of the barn. The day they arrived. Walking up that wide dirt path, surrounded by fields of green, walking up to that perfect white painted house. He remembered seeing Hershel, seeing Maggie, then his eyes would fall on Beth and he felt that momentary spark every man felt when he saw a pretty blonde. Lucky Merle hadn't been with them. He wouldn't have trusted Merle around her. Daryl controlled himself, didn't care much for her and her depression. When he heard she cut her wrists, he'd remembered his own father, how he'd have beaten him bloody if he found Daryl trying to get some sympathy by cutting his wrists. Go back, he would have helped her. Let her know he wasn't a complete dick. When she'd come in that day, when he lay in bed recovering form that bullet wound, he'd have smiled, asked how she was. In the prison, he'd have approached her more. Taken Judith when he could. Beth was one of those people who did what she needed to do and didn't kick up a fuss. Didn't ask for help or look for sympathy. Always caring about someone else. Always brave.

Sleeping was painful, despite how much he needed it. Last time he slept, his vision of her were so vivid, so real, that waking up made him curse the sun and slam his fist into the nearest wall, half scaring Glenn to death. He felt bad. Doing that to Glenn. Guy was too pale lately, since Maggie's pregnancy, since she stopped functioning like a human, more walker than woman. He knew what was wrong with her, knew the guilt was hitting her hard, but he didn't sympathise. How could he? Maggie wasn't the one who went searching for Beth. Maggie just accepted she was gone.

Heading up to Dale, they were forced to abandon the RV. Gas ran out and Douglas was sure they would make it there before nightfall. Few hours on the road sounded good to him. Time to walk and clear his head, move away from the group. As they packed everything up, Daryl moved away, watching them. Michonne was, as always, offering to carry the most supplies, helping Carol with Judith. Tyrese was by Carol's side, loaded with three bags that didn't seem to affect him. For a guy on minimal rations, Daryl admired how strong he was. Tara was helping Maggie with her jacket, fixing it so the collars kept her shielded from the harsh winds cutting into them all. Glenn came beside her, helping her walk ahead, a hand on her stomach. Made Daryl feel sick, knowing Maggie might be sacrificing a child's life because she couldn't get over a person she had already let go of. Maybe he'd say something...

"Hey Daryl, want some of these?"

Looking over, he saw Abraham holding up an energy bar. One of Douglas' contributions to their food stock. Hell, Daryl was starving. Cold weather made you want more and Daryl knew they could afford to double up on portions. He shook his head. Abraham nodded knowingly, passing it on to Rosita who also refused. He hadn't been sure about them, but Daryl knew they weren't bad people. Eugene eagerly took a bar and Daryl snorted. Yeah, he was another story. Daryl hated him. Almost as much as he did that damn preacher. A man who didn't say much lately, spending time with Sasha, trying to keep hold of his bible while everyone else planned on surviving the cold. Seeing him lingering beside Eugene, Daryl grimaced. Two people he'd have left behind if he was that kind of man. The kind of man he had been.

A groan made Daryl look over his shoulder. A walker was stumbling toward him, not close but he didn't mind taking it out. Gave him something to do. The cross bow was already loaded but Daryl walked a little closer, aiming it between the walkers eyes, it's teeth bared as the arrow broke through its skull. Blood coated the arrow as Daryl retrieved it, wiping it against his trouser leg, shuddering as he felt the heat against his leg. He'd be glad when they could be somewhere that shielded them from the wind, somewhere where they could start a fire... Fire. Why did such a basic element make him think of her.

"Ready?" Rick called from behind him. Daryl didn't turn around, wiping his eyes momentarily, nodding. He sure as hell wasn't ready, but that was his life in one word. Always ready for anything, never having the time to stop and look back. Maybe that was good. Looking back would only leave him empty. Standing out here, amongst the dead, frozen in the winter cold, her name burning on his lips.

...

Nothing quiet compared to the feeling of soaking in a bath tub filled with cool water. Sure she felt as though she might turn to ice at any moment, but the water was lifting the dirt and grime and pain away and she savoured the feeling of complete and utter numbness. She was numb to pain, numb to the fear and the grief and the trauma of what she had seen. Beth slipped a little lower into the water, inhaling the soft aroma of jasmine. The apartment bath room had been well stocked with a variety of bath salts and cremes. She'd tossed them all in, saving a small bottle of something called 'new Dawn' shampoo which she slipped into her jacket for no apparent reason. It smelt better than all the scents around her but she couldn't bring herself to use it. Maybe because she wanted to save it for when she found the group. For Judith.

Morgan shuffled past, she could hear him dragging the bags into the kitchen. They'd found the apartment abandoned door wide open. Whoever left had known to take only what was necessary. It was a single bedroom apartment, and the place was still filled with someone's belongings. The bedroom filled with men's clothes and valuables, computers and books and ties. The kitchen was stripped of food but they'd found enough at the market to keep them going. Beth couldn't believe it when the water ran from the tap, clean and clear, if a little cold. Morgan was gracious enough to let her have as long as she wanted in the tub. He knew she needed time alone, though he'd been uncomfortable with how cold the water was. Luckily, with all the jumpers he'd picked up at the store, she didn't need to worry about freezing.

Dipping her head dunker the water, she watched her hair float above her, swimming amongst the foam formed by the sweet smelling cremes, the water staining her eyes and drawing her deeper. If she could remain there, submerged in the blissful serenity that the water formed around her, perhaps Beth might never resurface. Then, she did, gasping for breath, shivering as her bare back began to feel the chill in the air. Slipping out of the water and into a towel, she dried her body swiftly, eagerly getting back into her jeans and three new sweaters, the last one being a little big, the sleeves covering her icy fingers, warming hem instantly. Carefully, she took the toothbrush from the sink, a new one front he's tore, coating the brush with thick toothpaste. The moment the bristles touched her teeth, the fresh taste of mint seemed to send erotic shivers through her gums and she brushed them hard, eager to try and brighten them. Growing up, he sister always had to make her brush them. Beth would pretend she was asleep, avoid cleaning them. A childish game but she enjoyed Maggie chasing her through her bedroom with a brush waving about.

"No more Maggie," she murmured, spitting out the toothpaste remnants, holding onto the sink for support.

In the mirror, she watched herself, gazing into the face of a girl she barely knew anymore. Her scars were healing, red grazes breaking the pale skin of her cheeks. Her hair was damp and hung limply on her shoulders, longer than she'd ever kept it before. Her lip was cut deep from the store, scratches around her neck from where the woman's nails grazed her. It was as though her body were a canvas of marks left behind from every part of her new life. Every scar had a story, every graze and bruise symbolising a struggle she had survived. Glancing down, she noticed the nail marks on her ankle, the dark purple bruises to her thighs from where she'd fallen in the blood... They would fade but the memories wouldn't. Flesh heals but the mind never recovers. Sighing, she shivered, pulling down her jeans, covering the wound, slipping on her socks and boots, drying her hair carefully. She hadn't worn it in a ponytail since waking up in that coffin and it was starting to get too long, too in the way. She needed clearer vision and having an ocean of blonde hair either side of her was an unnecessary risk.

There was a box on the shelf above the toilet, covered with little boxes and bottles of perfume. It struck her as strange, a single guy in a single bedroom flat having so many nice things. Then again, she didn't know many men. Not normal ones anyway. If this was Daryl's place, she'd expect dirty dishes and moonshine and muddy boots. The bathroom would have a bar of soap maybe, the bedroom filled with his cross bow and knives and... No. No that was how Daryl had to live. If he was given a chance to be a normal man, who would he be? She knew him, knew him better than herself sometimes, and she knew deep down Daryl wasn't one to pretend to be something he wasn't. He'd always had to survive. Take that away and even Daryl would be lost. Maybe she could help him. If they found him. Help him have fun, like they had before, if they found somewhere safe.

Realising she'd been standing still, thinking of him, she shook her head, looking back to the shelf. In amongst the bottles of scents and pots of cremes, she found a small box. Inside, there were rubber bands and pins. Perfect. Typing up her almost dry hair, she smiled, her reflection a little more familiar. A little more like the old Beth. Glancing at the sink, she noticed the razor she'd taken for Morgan.

"I'm all done!" She called, opening the door. He peered round the kitchen doorway, smiling warmly as he saw her. Brighter than ever, clean and happy. He could feel soem of the stress and tension lifted from her.

He nodded to the kitchen table, "Foods ready."

She shook her head, holding up the razor, "Not till you've cleaned up."

He laughed, walking over, taking it from her, letting her leave as he glanced in the mirror. The bristles on his cheeks and chin were getting long, perfect for winter but he would prefer to feel a little more like himself. Plus, he needed to try and look clean and presentable. Wasn't fair on Beth to have to put up with a shabby man who hadn't brushed his teeth in three weeks. He knew she didn't mine, she wasn't one of those who cared about silly things like that, but he wanted to make the effort. Who knew, maybe they'd find Ricka nd his people in some nice walled off community filled with people who showered. He chuckled. They'd throw him out on sight. The thought of a sanctuary helped keep him going. Regardless of how lost he was. Where the hell was Rick? Where did they go next? What lay across the bridge?

...

Carl came walking beside him, gun in hand, shorter without the added high of his hat. The hat he'd left to Beth. Daryl knew the kid had taken a liking to her since the farm, tried to impress her when he could at the prison. How long it had been since a kid like him could enjoy the stupid things you do when your young. Now he looked stern, hardened by the violent new world. Judith was with Carol, so Carl seemed even graver. His sister kept him smiling, but now, all he knew was that they were heading toward a place that could be as hostile and as dangerous as terminus. Daryl shivered, the sun setting always brought out the cold winds that seemed to wait until nightfall.

"You okay?" Carl glanced at him, seeming confused by the question, a small frown on his lips as he understood what Daryl meant. Beth.

He shrugged, pushing back his fringe, "I'm good. You?"

"M'fine."

Daryl answered too quickly and he knew it, but Carl didn't comment. He'd seen what happens to people when guilt hit them hard. He knew Daryl blamed himself for what happened to Beth. His dad told him it wasn't Daryl's fault, that Beth stabbed the woman who'd been holding her captive, that she shot her and Beth died before their eyes. Carl had she'd a tear held onto Judith a little tighter, but he'd accepted it. Death wasn't quiet so surprising anymore. He was just glad Beth didn't come back or have a slow death. Bullet to the head. Swift and merciful. Clearing his throat, he spoke up, "Judith ain't easy to carry... I wonder how Beth managed, yknow, taking care of her all the time."

Daryl nodded. He didn't reply. He didn't want to lose himself to memories of Beth, walking with Judith, feeding her, laughing at all the new things she'd do. It hurt him and Daryl needed to be strong. He couldn't let his mind be clouded with lingering shadows of a girl he'd never known would cause him to hate himself so much. Carl just looked on at the path ahead, the silouhette of a row of houses appearing from the mist ahead.

"Beth was the type to take care of people of who needed her most. I always... Well, I always hoped maybe... It's stupid. I kinda just expected one day she'd like me the way I liked her."

Daryl let out a short laugh, amused by the boys guilty secret, shrugging his cross bow to his other shoulder, "weren't you a bit young to be likin' Beth."

Carl nodded, glancing up at the sky, breathing out a thick cloud of mist, "way I see it, that kinda stuff don't matter anymore. When you feel something, you should just... Just go for it. Maybe if your lucky, it might last."

The words hit Daryl like an arrow. Spoken from a boy so young, they seemed strange. The words were too wise, too aware of how little chance there was of having anything good these days. He agreed, of course he did, but to hear it from Carl. The boy noticed Daryl's frown and smirked, "not my words. Something I heard my mom say to Glenn, back when he was worried about getting too close to Maggie."

Made sense, but Daryl couldn't shake the words from his mind. He knew too well why they hit him so hard. What he felt with Beth, that warmth, that hope... He wouldn't find that again. That was his chance and he'd lost it. Lost her. Lost something that might have lasted him a long time. Nearing the community, Daryl slowed, running a hand through his long hair, fingers numb from the cold. Carl stood beside him, watching his dad approach. He didn't seem to notice Daryl raise a hand, ruffling his hair the way Merle would do it to him. Carl laughed and pushed him away, hair disheveled, making Daryl smirk.

Fixing his mop of hair, Carl began walking back toward Carol and Judith, voice teasing as he spoke, "My mom always said it's the tough guys that end up being suckers for love. Watch out, might be you next."

Daryl shrugged. Lori wasn't wrong. She just wasn't aware of how hard it was for a tough guy to know what that word meant. Maybe it was easy for other people, people like Maggie and Glenn and Rick, people who had good lives before all this, who didn't carry the scars of a broken life. Even if he... If he did feel anything for Beth anything like that! he'd never have admitted it. Wouldn't be able to every tell her. What did he know about feeling like that about someone. He'd never known what it meant to love anyone. He did love his mom, deep down, but her way of living, her way of ignoring him and drinking her life away... It made him hate her. His father had been the devil disguised as a drunken red neck. Merle was a lot of things, a lot of bad things, but Daryl did love him. What brother can ever truly hate his brother? Hell, Rick was up there to in his list of people he'd die for. Beth was just... Beth was the dead girl he'd never had a chance to understand. Never had a chance to look at long enough to know what that pain was. The pain he felt when he thought of her. Right by his heart. Sharper than any knife, more severe than the bullet he'd taken at the barn.

Hershel said it once. Said it when he was gardening, talking to Rick about his wife. How he sometimes wished he'd never loved anyone. How much it hurt when you lose the,. Daryl remembered something the old man had said. Something that seemed to linger in his mind lately. Attachment leads to suffering. Daryl Dixon knew, as hard as he might try to deny it, that he'd never escape his suffering. There'd always be a scar. Another scar he couldn't hide. A scar inside him, burning with a pain he couldn't block out with any drink, nor could he erase it by a others company. No, the scar would stay, always with him. Always reminding him that his pain had a name. Beth Greene

"Fog got you nervous Dixon?"Rick smiled, stopping before them, glancing at the entrance of the gate. Wide open, inviting them in, but no sign of the convoy. Daryl could read the wary thoughts in Rick's mind, his eyes scanning the collection of houses before them. A board was hammered to the nearest telephone post, fog lifting a little to reveal hastily painted letters reading 'Alpha.' Douglas joined them, smiling with genuine relief.

"Finally... They should be inside. If not, they'll be here soon. Old community hall will be warm."

Rick held out a hand, keep the man back, glancing at Daryl, "we need to scout it out."

Daryl nodded, nodding at Michonne and Tyrese.

"We got this."

...

...

Wrapped up in a blanket on one of the couches in the front room, Beth took small spoonfuls of the canned beans, wishing they might be warmer, watching the sun set through the window, the room bathed in fiery orange light. The room was cold, growing colder, but she persevered, watching the sunset with a sad smile. Deep down, she was all too aware of how far they were from finding her group. Morgan was just walking in as she began to think about Rebecca and Jess and Ben, her eyes following him as he lay down on the long couch, stretching his back, sighing in relief. He looked younger, not just because of his shave. Their was a spark to him, a renewed vigour. Beth was glad to see she wasn't the only one who had treasured the chance to get clean.

"Think we can stay here for the night?"

His question was honest, and she appreciated that he valued her opinion. Shifting so she could see him better, she nodded, placing her empty plate on the floor.

They were both weary but she knew he needed the rest, "Morgan, I want you to rest up, I'll take watch."

He frowned, glancing over at her, head resting on his arms. His eye were blood shot and edged with dark circles. Beth couldn't help but worry about him. He reminded her of her father and, like her dad, he sometimes needed to be taken care of. He seemed close to exhaustion as he spoke, "Doors barricaded up. No walkers about and gates clear. We might chance having a silent night."

Beth shook her head, uneasy with the thought, "No... I can't help but feel, back in Johnson... No, it's not the dead we have to worry about."

Morgan knew she was right. He didn't feel right leaving her to watch alone but he didn't have much choice. Sleep overcame him in seconds and Beth covered him with her blanket, exploring the apartment. The hall was getting dark so she clicked her torch on, studying the pictures on the walls. Most were of families. All of them seems to have the same man in them. As she studied more of the photos, she noticed a few of them depicted only two people. A man, young, always dressed smart, with a pretty blonde. They were in Paris, the Eiffel Tower behind them, sharing a kiss. Another showed them at a fair, her arms filled with a stuffed bear that seemed bigger than she was. The man was by her side, arm around her. Suddenly, the bathroom filled with women's products made sense. She must have stayed over, his girlfriend or fiancé maybe. The sight of their smiling faces made her sad. It had been a long while since she'd felt that way, that warm feeling of being loved by someone, of being adored and singled out as the only person they ever want to talk to. There wasn't much chance for love these days, but Beth lived in hope. She knew eventually she'd find someone... Or maybe she had found...

She glanced toward the bags in the hallway, crouching down, sifting through what they had. At the barn, when everything went bad, Maggie would do the stock check. Counting the cans and adding up how long they'd last. When they needed more, she'd just go into town, sometimes coming back with nothing, most times getting back with everything. One day, she came home with a bleeding cut on her arm, unsteady on her feet as she admitted she'd been attacked by Mr Harris, a neighbour of theirs. Daddy had rushed her to the kitchen and cleaned her wound while everyone worried. Then Maggie called Beth in, gave her a hug, and told her to look in her bag. The dead had attacked her and she'd barely made it out alive, and Maggie was only focused on seeing Beth smirk when she found a tin of sweet cherries in her bag.

Beth felt her eyes burn, vision blurred as she found the tinned cherries from the store, taking them to the kitchen, using the can opener Morgan left out to open them. Taking a heaped spoonful, she enjoyed the sweet mushy flavour, close to tears as she remembered her sister's face when she saw her eating them, in the past, back when Maggie had a pulse and Beth was still a girl. A girl who would never have killed anything in her life, who would never survive seeing dead children, who couldn't bear her mothers death let alone her entire family. Sometimes waking up to reality was the hardest part of life. Not the walkers or the threat of being attacked by men with guns, or walkers holding guns... No, Beth wasn't scared of life out there. Not anymore. It was the life in her head that threatened to destroy her. The life in her mind, the vision of people who weren't there when she woke up. Sometimes her dreams were just memories, things that had happened, places she could feel, people she longed to see again. Those weren't the hardest dreams to wake from.

She was angry when she woke up, because only in her dreams could she see them. The people she loved. The people she'd lost. Her dad. Her mom. Maggie. Judith. Rick. Carol... Beth sighed. Why did she always think like that. Why did she always try and pretend it was everyone else but him that she saw in her dreams. Apart from her sister, Daryl was the only other occupant of her dreams, always there. Sometimes, he just stood, too far for her to reach, watching her with that smoky look of discovery, the same look he'd given her at their last meal. Other times, he was behind her, telling her to keep going, to aim the cross bow higher. He'd call her Greene and she would feel that odd shiver run through her spine. Maggie would be there too, calling her, crying her name. When Beth woke up, she would be crying, or worse, she'd be burning with fiery anger, cursing the sun for rising and forcing her to be alone again.

The sound of a car broke her from her thoughts. She ran to the bedroom, glancing out of the window, ducking down as she saw a car driving down toward them. Cherry juice trickled down her chin and she wiped it, suddenly aware of how her hands shook. The car reminded her of the car that took her away from Daryl. The one driven by those cops who... She shivered and shook the thoughts away. For a moment, she considered that it might be her group, the wild hope urging her to open the window and wave to them, but she waited. Beth wasn't that naive. Not anymore. The car was black, an SUV, the back window open. She could make out the figure of a man, a rifle in his hands, his face unfamiliar. No, these weren't her friends. They kept driving, turning before they reached the gate, heading down toward the sign that signalled the upcoming bridge. Beth cursed herself. They were an easy target. The line of walkers by the fence was a clear sign of life, the car parked out in the open. Luckily these people weren't looking for them, but they would be back. They would search this place when they saw the gate. As sad as she was to abandon such a safe home, she knew it was too risky. Once the snow fell, they'd have to abandon the car. If Daryl taught her anything, it was that tracks were how people found you and killed you. They'd be back. She had that gut instinct.

Waking Morgan was necessary but she took a moment, knowing she could buy them time if she got higher, if she got a better grasp of the area. They were only one level from the roof. Silently, she headed to the door, pulling away the table against it, praying Morgan wouldn't hear her, slipping outside. The hallway was narrow, a few other flat doors leading to the stair case that led up. Taking out her knife, she darted up the stairs, ignoring the faded blood on the lower steps. The roof door was open. Carefully, she emerged into the dying sunlight, bathed in orange light, looking around. She was alone. No sign of any life, save for the car fading into the distance. There were too many building about, higher than this one. She couldn't see the bridge or very far down the road, but she saw a field close by. A school field. The school on the map. There was a high brick wall around it. American flag flying. So alike to her school, back in Georgia. Then she remembered. In her old school, they had a school radio station. Wasn't her kind of thing but she remembered how they had their own generator, Jimmy used to say it was so easy he wanted to set up his own. All he needed was some microphones, a radio antenna... Squinting in the fading sunlight, Beth could make out a long pole with beams that resembled the one jimmy had pointed out to her. It was a long shot but how many shots did they have left to take. Morgan wouldn't admit it but the trail was cold and they weren't gonna find Rick and the others by lying low here. The school might be a way of contacting wherever it was in Washington that Rick was heading. Maybe this was their chance. In the sunset, Beth stood, smiling at the newfound hope that lay just across the road. Her faith was starting to return, little by little, her pain easing as she realised she might have found a way to go home. To her group. Her family. To Daryl.