She couldn't sleep. The short dreams that came fed her insanity - flashes of things, bright and wild, like fire behind her eyes. She kicked the blankets off until they were on the floor and leaped to her feet. Her body felt alert - ready - strong. Like it wanted to go. Like it needed to fight. She clenched her fists, once, then twice, before she strolled right out of the little house.

Get out, I've got to get out, her brain screamed at her. She took a deep breath, shaking her head. No. Can't go. Morgan. People now... people would look for me. Can't go. Wouldn't get far. Maybe... if I was smart... but I can't leave Morgan.

Her feet hit the ground, each step with her old shoes felt like falling apart. The torn laces. The wrecked heel. She wondered why she hadn't thrown them out - found new ones. No time, maybe. Or just not caring. Comfort - it seemed like such a luxury. The blisters fit this new world she found herself in. Ugly and hard, like everything inside of her.

It took her longer than she'd admit to hear the person behind her. The even steps. The cautious gait. At first she thought, Morgan. But no, Morgan wouldn't have followed her, and had he gotten the best of her, he wouldn't have let it go out of curiosity - just to see where she was going, or what she was doing. She grappled for the knife stuck into the belt of her pants and turned abruptly to find the archer, watching her with sharp eyes.

"Daryl," she breathed out.

He was standing with his crossbow slung over his back. She watched him rub the back of his neck, ears turning red. Busted. He pulled the dying cigarette out of his mouth and stomped it out on the ground. She watched the back and forth of his boot in the dry dirt.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Just saw ya walkin'."

"Why follow?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Wanted to make sure you were alright," he said. "It's late out. Y'should be sleepin'."

She shrugged her shoulders, not saying anything. She turned to walk, expecting him to disappear into the shadows, but instead he fell into step beside her. She didn't mind his company. Daryl was quiet. It was almost like being alone, but not quite. She wondered if he was waiting for her to say something. She peeked up at him, finding him looking at the dark sky.

"I'm not..." she struggled to speak. "Not big talker."

"Ain't complainin'," he said easily. "Just... nice to see ya. Thought I wouldn't again. Was startin' to forget..."

"Forget?"

"Your face," Daryl said. "I remembered how... it felt, bein' with ya, how ya made me... feel. But time... maybe the pain of losin' ya like that... your face just kinda burned up in my memories."

"How... did you feel?" she risked asking. The way he looked at her, the way he was talking... she couldn't help but wonder... "Were we... love?"

"I ain't good with words," Daryl said. "We weren't together back then. Wasn't your boyfriend - wouldn't know a damn thing about bein' someone's boyfriend... ya just... meant a lot to me."

"Not... love?" she asked.

"Don't matter how I felt," he said frustrated with her. "Y'saved me though. After all the shit went down, ya dragged my ass back t'life. I wanted to just stop, and give up, and y'wouldn't let me."

"What was... Beth... like?" she asked him, eyebrows furrowing.

"Strong. Smart. Hopeful."

"Me?" she asked.

"Yeah. Ya sang a lot. Watched after Rick's daughter like she was yer own. Put everyone 'fore yourself. But... there was more t'ya then that. Ya were stubborn. Angry, sometimes, too. Mostly with me. Wild. We burned down a house together," he said with a fond smile. It was the first time she had seen him really smile, and it almost took her breath away.

"Why?" she asked, confused.

"Ya wanted to," he said. "So did I."

"Maybe that's... why..." she said, talking more to herself than to him.

"Why what?"

"I keep... seeing... it," she struggled, breath quickening at the thought.

"Seeing what, girl?" Daryl asked, voice demanding her answer. "Ya seein' things? We got a doc here, he could -"

"No," she said, shaking her head, feeling dizzy. She was quick to cut off his concern, seeing the worry written plainly on her face. Morgan was right, she needed to start talking in full sentences. "Just... dreams. There's always... fire. Smoke... fire. I see it... every night."

"Oh," he said. Daryl shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her. "Am I there, too? In the dreams."

She tried to avoid the way he was looking at her. Daryl's eyes were almost begging her to say yes. To find some thread between her and the girl he spoke so fondly of. For a minute, a dumb, short minute, she even wanted to say yes.

"No," she said. "I... I'm talking in them... to someone. Don't know... who."

"What're you saying?" he asked.

"Change..." she says softly. "I wish I could just... change."

And when Daryl smiles this time, there's no almost about it - there's not a lick of air left in her lungs. It staggers her to knows the archer's been there the whole time, inside of her broken brain somewhere. That through injury and illness and amnesia, she had been holding onto Daryl so tightly that he had survived where she hadn't. Then suddenly, the truth came washing over her like a tidal wave, leaving her cold and shaking:

Beth had loved him.

This girl she used to be, she loved this man, this archer, standing in front of her now, smiling. His rough edges, his angel wings. Beth had loved him, and held onto that one moment - she could see it more clearly now, like a movie playing, only the scenes still jumped a little. Shoulder to shoulder... her and Daryl. Their middle fingers in the air. Setting the world on fire.