Author's note: As always, thank you guys so much for your reviews. I love every single word of them - you & your feedback is what keeps me writing instead of just playing out these elaborate Bethyl scenarios in my head. I thought I'd do something a little lighter today, because darker times are coming...

Daryl felt the sun beating down on the back of his neck. As far as plans went, this one was pretty shit-brained, but he was committed to it now. He pushed the wheelbarrow over the uneven ground, cursing when water spilled out over the edge.

"Damn it," he spat, "God damn it all!"

He stopped to rest for a minute, picking at the callouses on his hands. The house was still a few yards away. In the last couple of days Beth had been moving around more and sleeping less - a good sign if ever there was one; and to Daryl, that was a cause for celebration.

Of course, he didn't feel comfortable praising her out right, and even if Daryl was, he worried it would bring up bad memories. Instead, he did the one thing he knew how to do - he used his actions. Yesterday Daryl had stumbled across a stream when he had been hunting, and saw the red wheelbarrow resting on the side of the house when he returned. He ran inside to check the downstairs bathroom - the tub was a bit small, but it was still a tub.

The idea had started forming in his head. Daryl began scouring the cabinets until he found shampoo and body wash. Hell, he could even heat some of the water up over a fire. A nice, hot bath. Anyone still alive in this fucked- up mess would love that, right?

Unfortunately, the trip to and from the house didn't leave much water by the end of it. He had already made about four trips, but Daryl thought he was starting to get the hang of it. The wheelbarrow now was still half full - a victory in its own right. And if he could get it the rest of the way without spilling anymore, then he'd have enough for Beth.

Gritting his teeth, Daryl started walking back, arms aching with exertion. Who knew trying to keep a wheelbarrow steady would be such hard work? By the time he reached the yard, he was thankful that all the water still remained. Daryl pulled his load up to the side of the house, and began filling the large bucket he'd found to heat up the water.

"What're you up to, Daryl Dixon?" said Beth from behind him.

"Damn it, girl," Daryl muttered to himself. "It was s'posed to be a surprise."

"You wanted to surprise me?" she asked.

"Ain't nothin' special. Just found a stream and thought you might wanna clean up."

"Are you saying I smell?" Beth asked in a laughing voice.

"Naw," Daryl said awkwardly. "Even if ya did, I wouldn't be able to smell ya over my pits."

"Well, if you wanted it to be a surprise, you shouldn't have spilled so much water inside," Beth said. "I stepped in a huge puddle leading into the bathroom."

"Shit," Daryl groused. "I didn't even think of that."

"I wish you would've told me. I could've helped."

"I wanted to do somethin' nice for ya, Beth," Daryl said. "Doesn't really work if I let you do half the heavy lifting."

Beth said nothing but came to stand beside him. They both looked at the flames flickering away in front of them. As the water began to heat up, steam rose from it, dancing phantom ballet in the air above them, mingling with the smoke. Light and dark. Beth looked at Daryl.

"Should be just 'bout ready," Daryl said. "I got the soaps set up in the bathroom. I'll take this in and rustle ya up a towel."

"Hey," she said. "Not so fast. Are you not going to let me say thank you first?"

"Y'don't need to."

"No," Beth argued. "This was really thoughtful, Daryl. I can't wait, honest. It's been so long since I've had a hot bath."

"I ain't noticed," Daryl joked. "Just thought the cold water might be a bit much still, y'know, with your pain."

"It's not so bad today," Beth said with a small smile. "Though if I knew it would get me a hot bath, I might've faked it."

"How'm I gonna be able to trust y'now, Beth?" Daryl asked.

"Lord knows," replied Beth, rolling her eyes. Before Daryl could take the water inside, Beth stopped him. "You know, I'm sure we could split the water no problem."

"Nope," Daryl responded. "Stop makin' a fuss and let a guy do somethin' nice."

"Alright, alright," Beth said, holding up her hands in defeat.

"Besides, I'm just gonna jump in the stream later," Daryl said. "Y'know, after you're finished."

"You gonna take the girly soap with you too?" she asked.

"I'unno," he replied. "Ma used to say I was like a dog anyways - as soon as I was clean, I'd just go rollin' in the mud. Whatever soap I use, I ain't gonna smell pretty for long."

Beth moved her head closer to him and sniffed. Daryl felt uncomfortable. He knew she must be smelling dirt, and sweat, and possibly blood. Ain't nothin' a girl would want to smell, he told himself.

"I kind of like the way you smell," she said. "I mean, you stink, but it's nice. You always still kinda smell like Daryl underneath."

"And what's that mean?"

"You know, like wind and motorcycle oil," Beth said. "Which is funny cause you haven't been on your motorcycle for ages now."

"Must be in the blood," he said with a smirk.

"Yeah, maybe," Beth said.

They walked into the house together silently. Daryl was careful not to spill the hot water, which was hard because the steam was rising up and burning his knuckles. When he reached the tub, Daryl dumped the hot water in with the cold, and watched as Beth swirled her hand under the surface and flicked the droplets off at him.

"You're in a good mood," Daryl commented.

"Well, ain't everyday a girl gets to take a bath anymore," she replied. "Now how 'bout that towel, Daryl Dixon?"