"If y'ever..." Daryl started and tapered off.

They were sitting in the yard, the fire crackling between the two of them. Daryl had cooked the squirrel he caught, and they were both full and quiet. Beth, whose arm he had wrapped with gauze, was picking at the corners of the white fabric absentmindedly.

"If I ever...? Want to talk about it?" Beth finished for him. "It would seem a lot more sincere if you could actually finish the sentence, y'know?"

"Beth, I mean it," he said. "It can't be good for ya, keepin' it all inside like that."

"Whether I talk about it or not, it happened," she said. "You never talk about your Pa - not really. Does it make a difference?"

Daryl grunted and poked the fire with a stick he had picked up from the ground. Did it make a difference? Maybe. Maybe if he had talked about it when he was younger, he wouldn't have grown up so gnarled and hard. He didn't know though. It was pointless to question it.

"Guess not. But no one 'round me really cared none," he said gruffly. "That ain't the case here."

"I know," Beth said quietly. "I know you care, Daryl."

"But y'don't wanna talk about it?"

"It'd just upset you," she responded. "I'd get a couple words in and you'd go puttin' your fist through a tree - and I just don't think nature's done anything to deserve that."

"Was that a joke, Greene?"

"Maybe," she said with a small smile. "Besides, you already know what happened."

"I don't, girl," he said. "I mean, I do, yeah - but I don't."

"Well, thank you for the offer; but tellin' you all about it just doesn't seem like a very good time to me."

"It ain't supposed to be a good time," Daryl said.

"Would you please just let it go!" Beth exclaimed

"You got it," he said harshly. "Don't know why I bothered!"

Beth jumped up quickly and stormed into the house, leaving Daryl alone in the yard with his thoughts. God damn it! God fucking damn it. How did an offer to talk to Beth turn into a fight? Why did these situations always get away from him? Why couldn't he be cool-headed, just one time?

"Hey, Beth," he muttered to himself. "Why don't you g'me a play by play of the most traumatic moment o'your life?"

It was a miracle she didn't think he was some sorta pervert who got off on that kind of stuff. God, like her rape had been some sort of spooky campfire story. What was wrong with him? She needed someone better with their words, someone to help her. And here he was, just letting any ol' thing fly out of his trap.

Real fucking smooth, he thought.

Daryl sat there for a while, until he knew Beth would be curled back up in the bed and hopefully sleeping. He didn't want her to have to deal with him again. Maybe he'd apologize tomorrow. Maybe she'd look at him in that way she had after he messed up, and Daryl wouldn't have to - he'd know all was forgiven and forgotten.

Daryl thought about her as he fell asleep on the couch. Wishing he knew what to say. Or at least, that the things he did say weren't always so terribly wrong.

"Ugh, damn it," a voice roused him from his sleep.

Daryl blinked, surprised to see that it was light out. Beth stood just inside the open door. He squinted at her. She was covered in blood. Dark blood. Some of it was matted into her hair - chunks of flesh and dirt. She was wiping the door knob handle with the clean underneath of her shirt.

"Oh, did I wake you?" she asked. "Sorry, I was tryin' to be quiet, but Maggie always said I need to learn to pick up m'feet."

"The hell?" he questioned. "What happened to you?"

"The more accurate question is what happened to that walker that was out front. And the answer is my knife. I was a little out of practice though."

"What? There was a walker? Why the hell didn't you wake me up?"

"Well, y'see, first I was trying to re-direct it by hiding and throwin' stones. Used to work real well, but guess I'm rusty with the hiding part and, well, once it saw me I didn't really have a choice."

"Damn it, girl!" Darly shouted. "You crazy goin' out there without backup? What if somethin' had happened?"

"Daryl, relax! It was one walker," she protested. "Jeez, try to do somethin' nice for a man..."

"Y'think it woulda been nice if you had gotten bit, girl?"

"What is with you, Daryl Dixon?" she demanded. "You're being more over-protective than my father!"

"If we're gon' be shouting at each other could y'least shut the damn door, girl?"

Beth, despite her anger, shut the door quietly. She moved to stand in front of him, hands on her hips, chin pushed out stubbornly. Daryl ground his teeth together, noting the scrapes on her knuckles and the dirty bandage on her arm.

"Got some water out back to clean off with," he suggested. "Then we oughta change the bandage again."

"And now you're my mom," she muttered.

"Ain't no one's damn mother, girl!" he spat. "But someone's gotta look out for ya!"

"Well, maybe I was tryin' to look out for you for once!" she said poking her finger in his chest. "You ever think of that, you big idiot?"

He captured her hand in his and held it. Beth froze, eyes looking up at him with fire. Daryl ran his thumb across the small bone of her wrist while she breathed heavily.

"We ain't fightin' bout this," he muttered. "Either one of us goes out, we go together. We need the cover. Okay?"

"Okay," Beth agreed. "Can I have my hand back now?"

"I reckon so," he said, lowering her hand to her side and then letting go. "About yester -"

"I know," Beth cut him off. "Me too."

"Holler when you come back in," he said, thinking better of hovering over her while she cleaned up. "I'll help you wrap your arm again."

Daryl watched her leave, thinking he might hate it when she was angry with him, but he loved the way it made her shine.