"Made you soup, girl," Daryl said through the bedroom door.

After they had spoken, she had went back to sleep - or at least, Daryl assumed she had. Either way, he hadn't caught a glimpse of her since. He was balancing a hot bowl of chicken noddle soup on the tips of his fingers, feeling the heat burn and gnaw at his skin.

When she didn't answer, he called again. Knocked with his free hand. After a few more minutes, he opened the door. He saw Beth sitting on her knees onto of the bed, journal placed in front of her. He also noticed the glass had been cleaned up from the broken mirror and disposed of.

"I told you to relax," Daryl said. "Not go cleanin' up my messes."

Beth made a small sound in the back of her throat, but otherwise made no move to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes were fixated on the page. Daryl could see her tiny writing in the back of his mind, her words haunting him still.

"Y'hungry?" he asked, setting the bowl of soup down on the dresser.

"No," Beth said. "Did you read this?"

"I had to," Daryl responded. "Thought maybe there was somethin' in it that could help me find ya."

"Of course."

"I'm real sorry 'bout it," Daryl said. "I ain't never had a... diary, or whatever... but I still know enough not to go reading someone else's."

"It's okay," Beth ground out, finally looking up at him. "You were just trying to find me. I can't be mad about that."

"Can if ya want," Daryl countered.

"Lot of good it would do me," she said.

Daryl rubbed his palm against the back of his neck awkwardly. He picked the soup back up and set it down next to her on the bed stand. His eyes followed Beth as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and picked up the spoon, twirling it around in the noodles.

"Feelings ain't gotta do you any good. Or bad. You just feel 'em cause you feel 'em," Daryl said. "Not that I want ya to be pissed at me."

"I'm not," Beth insisted.

"Y'are," he said with a small smirk. "A little bit."

She said nothing but stuck a spoonful of soup in her mouth. Daryl watched her, feeling more pleased with himself for getting her to eat than he should. He shuffled back a few feet and leaned against the wall, not sure what to do with himself. Was she sick of him hovering? Did she want space?

"Well, I'm just glad you found me," Beth said softly.

"I wouldn't read it again, you know, if you wanted to..." Daryl started.

"I don't think so," Beth cut him off. "But I'll keep the book in case I change my mind."

"Okay," Daryl said easily.

"Did you have some soup too?" Beth asked.

"Yeah," Daryl answered. "Figured you were still asleep."

Beth continued to eat the soup slowly. He listened to the clank and scratch of the metal against the glass. Her brow furrowed, either in pain or in thought, Daryl couldn't be sure.

"Y'okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Just my ribs."

Daryl nodded. He wished like hell he still had Merle's bag of medication, but that had gotten used up quicker than anyone expected - even rationing them. Daryl clenched his teeth, hating feeling useless.

"I could go back into town," he said. "Raid the stores and houses around. Maybe someone'll have something."

"As much as the possibility of a little relief is tempting, I'm not well enough to cover you. Or even myself. And you know it."

Daryl inclined his head, trying to think of another plan. Beth continued to eat her soup, not really looking at him. He took the opportunity to scan her over, taking in each bruise, cut, and injury. The longer he looked, the sicker he felt.

"Was it..."

"Was it what?" Beth asked, when he seemed unable to continue.

"Was it this bad last time?" he asked. "When you got out on your own, I mean. Were you this hurt?"

"No," Beth said. "They wanted to keep me around, so they didn't really do too much to hurt me. This time, they wanted to kill me, so..."

Suddenly, Daryl kicked his foot hard into the dresser. Something in his brain shut off, and his only response was violence. They had wanted to keep her around. So they could use her. Beth - use Beth. Blond hair, blue eyes, innocence - Beth. Beth who they touched. Beth who they tried to break. Their Beth. His Beth. He kicked the dresser again, knocking a dusty lamp to the ground.

"Daryl, you're scaring me," Beth said softly.

"Damn it, Beth, I'm sorry," Daryl said, her words stopping his rage like being splashed with cold water. "I didn't mean it."

"It's okay to be mad," she said, almost echoing his words to her. "I'm mad, too. But they're dead, Daryl. You can't keep chasing after ghosts for vengeance."

"I know," he said, exhaling slowly. "I keep tryin' just to focus on you, but it kills me, Beth. I was supposed to be lookin' out for you. Just like last time."

"You can't control anything in this world, Daryl," she said. "It's a miracle you even found me. You were sick as a dog last I saw you. The fever was talkin' more than you were."

"It's not enough."

"It's all we got," Beth responded. "I wish it were different too. I wish we had never went to that funeral home. That I went on being me and you went on being you. I wish that I could run away from all this. But this is all we got. I was taken. You found me. You didn't save me from everything, but you saved me from dying, and that's a whole hell of a lot nowadays."

"I guess it's not nothing."

"It's not nothing," she agreed quietly. "It's not."