Author's Note: As always I would like to thank everyone who has stuck with this story. You all amaze & humble me with your reviews. I've been doing my best to be more consistent with my updates & thank you all for your patience when real life (or lack of inspiration) gets in the way! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

While Beth slept, Daryl found himself outside of the house, staring up into the starless sky. For once in his life, he didn't know what to do with his hands; swinging, shooting, hunting - all of that came naturally. But this, healing someone, helping someone... he wasn't sure his blunt fingers and their square nails were cut out for the job.

He had stayed with her for a good hour while she slept. Just watchin' her, prayin' she didn't wake up and see him. Daryl had meant to leave after checking in on her, but she had just looked so damn small in that bed. Every time her brow creased, or she muttered in her sleep, he wished there was more that he could do - anything that he could do - but all he could manage was starin'.

There was a headache that had been building behind his eyes - some kind of terrible pain that he couldn't shake. It blurred the edges of vision and made him dizzy. Daryl pressed his fingers into his temples, but they were as useless as they had ever been when it came to anything important. Anything that required a little gentleness, a little care.

Daryl Dixon, roughneck. Daryl Dixon, hillbilly. Daryl Dixon, emotionally stunted. He didn't know jack shit about women in the best of situations. What was he supposed to say to her? How was he supposed to know when to push her and when to back off? He was notorious for letting the first shit-brained thing he thought just come flyin' out his trap. Daryl groaned, feeling a sharp twinge of pain just between his eyes.

"Penny for your thoughts," said a small, strained voice.

Daryl turned to see Beth standing in the doorway, covered in a sheen of sweat. Her face was pale, making her bruises look deeper than before. She grimaced, leaning her weight onto her left foot. Daryl watched her pull a red sweater around herself, something she must have dug out of the closet in the bedroom. She looked like hell, but it was the happiest he had ever been to see the flames.

"Penny's worth less than it used to be, girl," he said. "You shouldn't have gotten out of bed."

"Well, didn't kill me," she said with a slow, pained shrug of her shoulder.

"S'pose not," he agreed.

He wanted to order her back into the room. To tell her to rest. To stop being so damn stubborn. But the sound of her voice calmed his thoughts some and it was hard to leave her - for any length of time. Daryl was sure he would never feel one hundred percent certain she would be there when he got back. Even now.

"What were you thinking about?" Beth asked again. "You looked mighty pensive."

"Just wishin' like hell someone who could actually help you was here. Like your sister. Or Carol. Or anyone else, really."

Beth said nothing. Instead she looked up into the inky black sky. He wondered what she saw - what she thought of the darkness. How it stretched and devoured everything around it. How you could get lost in it.

"Beth," Daryl started, "are you sure... I could find Maggie for ya. I could do that much, at least."

She only shook her head in response. Her expression, which had been open before, seemed to shut against him; and once again he was on the outside looking in. Fuckin' shit, he cursed at himself. Way to go, dumbass, off to a great start already.

"I ain't gonna push ya, girl," Daryl said, trying to correct his mistake immediately. "But it's an open offer if ya go and change your mind."

"And," Beth started, her voice so quiet he almost couldn't hear her, "if you ever change your mind - if you want to go find Rick, or Carol, or Michonne..."

Part of him could not believe she was still on about it - he had to remind himself that she wasn't trying to hurt him. That she was pushing him away because she thought he would be happier without her. He tamped down the urge to lash out at her, though his anger seemed to boil in the back of his throat, waiting to spill out if he wasn't careful.

He had to be fuckin' careful, for once in his life.

"Nope," he responded simply.

"Daryl, I mean it," she argued. "I'm not saying you have to. I'm just saying, open offer."

"Ain't nowhere else I'd rather be," he said gruffly.

"Yeah," Beth said sarcastically, "we've got ourselves a real dream situation going on."

"You're here," he said. "You're alive. That was the dream."

"Maybe you should've aimed bigger."

"Seemed mighty big at the time," he responded.

Beth said nothing to that, but only continued to stare up at the sky. Daryl got the urge to hold her hand, the way he had once in the graveyard, but was afraid it would make her uncomfortable. He pressed his nails into his palms until it stung.

"You know," Beth said, turning to face him one last time before she left, "I used to love the stars, but I think I like it better this way now."

Daryl wasn't sure what she was trying to tell him. He was shit at metaphors, reading between the lines - anything that required a bit of subtly. All he knew was that, deep down in his tired bones, something about what she said made him sadder than he had any right to be.