Daryl stood in front of the farmhouse. He could hear the bustle of people moving, their conversations - their laughter. Off to the left, by the porch, Beth stood with Maggie. She looked younger - happier. Her blonde hair shone in the afternoon sun. Maggie was telling her a story, hands moving wildly, lips tugging up in a wry smirk. Beth chuckled.

"Seems an awful lot like home, huh?" Rick asked as he ambled up next to him.

"It ain't gonna last," Daryl said in a hard voice.

"Well, not with that attitude," Lori chimed in from behind Rick, squeezing her husband's shoulder.

"We need to move," Daryl responded.

"We have the children to think about," Lori said, patting a hand on her still-flat stomach.

"We need to go, Rick," Daryl repeated. "We can't stay here."

"You think we should just leave these people?" Rick questioned. "They're good folks, Daryl. They've helped -"

"No," Daryl protested. "Hell no, we ain't leavin' 'em. Somethin' bad is gonna happen."

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, Dale appeared in front of them, blocking Daryl's view of Beth. His neck was torn out, blood gurgling and soaking his shirt. He grabbed Daryl's shoulders with his hands, fingers digging into the bone and muscle. All at once, there was nothing - just Dale and Daryl and the sum of everyone's fears.

"You've got promises to keep," Dale said wetly, blood pushing out from between his teeth with every word, "and miles to go before you sleep..."

"And miles to go..." Daryl found himself echoing.

Daryl shot up from the couch gasping, heart thundering in his chest. He could still smell the blood - the sharp, metallic fumes that seemed to linger and stick to everything - to everyone. Without warning Beth rushed in from the kitchen, hair spilling around her shoulders, elastic in hand.

"Y'alright?" she questioned. "I heard you..."

"Just a dream," he said. "Weird fuckin' dream."

"What happened?" Beth asked, sitting down on the couch next to him.

"We were back at the farm. All of us. You and Maggie were talkin' and I was watchin' ya thinkin' how happy y'looked. Then Rick and Lori came up, talkin' 'bout how we were all home now. I knew something bad was gonna happen, but no one would listen. Then Dale..."

"Oh," Beth said sadly, remembering the kind older man who had reminded her so much of her father dying out in the field.

"He grabbed me by the shoulders... only he was all torn up by the walkers. And he said... somethin' 'bout miles to go..."

"Before you sleep?" Beth asked.

"Yes!" Daryl said, snapping his fingers. "How'd you know that?"

"It's a poem by Robert Frost," Beth said. "They made us memorize it in English class. You prob'bly heard Dale readin' it to Carl or somethin'."

"You still know it?" Daryl asked her. "The poem?"

"Yeah," Beth said. "I always kind of liked it anyway, so it was easy to learn."

"Can I hear it?' Daryl asked. At Beth's nod he added, "Hold on, let me get comfortable first."

Beth laughed as he dramatically shoved the pillow back and leaned against it. He looked at her sitting there across from him, head down, wringing her hands slightly. He bumped her gently with his shoulder and she began to recite the poem:

"Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."

Daryl was silent after she finished. He knew nothin' about poetry, but he knew he liked this poem - or at least, he liked the way Beth spoke it. She was right - it was the same thing Dale had said to him in his dream. Maybe she was right, maybe he had heard Dale quoting it to someone - he was always goin' on about his books, after all. But still, there was something eerie about his dream that he couldn't shake.

"Hm," Daryl forced himself to grunt. "Not bad."

"Yeah?" Beth asked, flicking her blue-eyed gaze up to his face.

"Yeah," Daryl confirmed.

Without thinking, he offered her his hand to help her up; it was a habit he needed to break, but he liked touching her. Even if it was only for a second - even if it was only just their fingers. She slid her hand into his and stood.

"More trench diggin' today?" she questioned.

"We ought'ta," Daryl said. "Five or six more and we'll be pretty secure here."

"Oh, is that all?" Beth shot back sarcastically. "Bet you're wishin' you had Tyresse here instead of me."

"Sure, he might be good with a shovel," Daryl said, "but he ain't able to recite poetry at the drop of a dime."

"Well, that's not fair," Beth said. "Did you ever ask him to?"

"Guys don't go 'round askin' other guys to read 'em poems, girl," Daryl snorted.

"That's right, y'all just grunt at each other and spit on the ground."

"Y'got it," Darly said. "Now, go get those gloves we found. I ain't about to have your hands lookin' like mine."

"You've got good hands," Beth said then almost immediately blushed. "I mean, they aren't ugly or anythin'. They're nice. You've got nice hands. You've... ugh. You've got hands."

Daryl waited until she had turned around quickly and walked away before he smirked to himself. So, he had nice hands. He looked down at the wide palms, the long fingers. Good hands. Daryl smiled. He could live with that.

Beth was standing above him on the ground, leaning on her shovel, sweat rolling down the back of her neck. Daryl was in the hole, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans. It was finally their fifth trench, and the sun was just starting to simmer golden in the sky.

"Y'tired?" Daryl asked.

"I was tired three holes ago," she said with laugh.

"Well, you're gonna hate me, but I think we should do one more. But we can leave it 'til tomorrow. I'm pretty beat, too."

"Thank goodness," Beth said, stretching her arms behind her to crack her back. "So, what do you feel like tonight? Squirrel and soup? Squirrel and beans? Squirrel and squirrel?"

"Soup sound okay?" he asked.

"Sounds good," Beth responded. "I could start the fire tonight, if y'wanted. You did most of the diggin'."

"Naw, it's fine," Daryl said. "Could ya run in and get the stuff, though?"

Beth agreed, and after offering him help out of the hole, took off back towards the house. While she was gathering the stuff, and probably cleaning up a little, Daryl thought about the dream again. He wondered if it was supposed to be a warning sign - or, if like Beth, he couldn't trust any place that felt like "home" anymore. They'd been here longer than he had stayed anywhere since after the funeral home - they had a routine now - and the thought filled him with anxiety. He wanted it to stay, so it seemed like with every breath, there was a lingering worry about when it would be taken away.

Daryl gathered the already cut wood and began stacking it. He looked back towards the window and could see Beth's blond hair - her head bouncing with every step. That girl... Daryl huffed out a breath and turned back to his task. There was no use dreamin'.

They cooked and ate quietly. They talked more about going into town - deciding tomorrow, if the weather held, would be the perfect day for it. They were both hungry and tired, eating quickly. Daryl, noticing Beth looking longingly at his soup, offered her half which, to his surprise, she accepted.

Beth got up, knowing Daryl would put out the fire and walked over to where he sat. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Daryl turned, only to find her lips on his own. His breath caught in his throat and for a minute his brain shut down. There was nothing but this one endless second. Her sweet lips, pressed comfortably against his own. He opened his mouth, just slightly, when Beth pulled back so fast she stumbled.

"Oh God," Beth said. "I'm so sorry, Daryl! I just meant to give you a peck on the cheek and..."

"I... I didn't mean to," Daryl stuttered, heat crawling up his neck and into his cheeks. He felt embarrassed and sick to his stomach and lost - like he had been so close to something so good and been told no. "I just, I thought you were tryin' t'get my attention."

"Well, ain't no use in both of us apologizing over an accident, right?" Beth asked, meeting his gaze head on with a look he couldn't quite describe.

"Uh, right," he mumbled.

When she left, Daryl pressed the hard of his knuckles into his eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You're a stupid motherfucker, Dixon. What? Y'think she wanted ya? Why would you even try to kiss her back? What's wrong with you? But despite all his reprimands, he could still feel her mouth on his and knew he couldn't truly ever be sorry.