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I'm sorry this took forever and a day for me to post. x.x I've been so busy that I legitimately forgot this story even existed. And then season five aired and I was like, "I'm gonna read some Bethyl fanfiction!" and then I remembered I had my own story to write. xD So anyways, here's chapter four. I hope you guys like it.

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The dull sound of metal striking metal woke Beth that morning.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was her proximity to Daryl. She hadn't gone to sleep curled up against the man's chest, but now she was laying practically on top of him, with one ear pressed to his chest; the distant thrumming of his heartbeat was like a drum in the background. Very carefully, she tilted her head back; Daryl was sound asleep, with his head tipped to the side away from her and his mouth open in a small 'o', which almost made her laugh. One of his muscular arms was slung over her, as though he had gone to sleep holding her there; but of course that was a silly thought.

She had almost begun to drift back to sleep when the sound returned yet again; a persistant sound, almost like knocking. Quietly, Beth slipped out from beneath Daryl's arm, scooting to her edge of the bed and pulling the blankets back. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled on her boots before clipping her sheathed knife to her hip; with one hand resting on the hilt of the weapon, she crept towards the large window that looked out onto the trampoline in the side yard. From this place, she could see that the torn net was flapping in a fierce wind that had struck up overnight; and the metal ties that would have clipped the net in place were repeatedly striking against one of the metal poles.

Her stomach rumbled noisily and Beth hastily pressed her hand over it; of course, it was ridiculous to think that it could wake Daryl. Shaking her head at herself, she made her way to the doorway of the living room, and had to take great care to clamber over the television stand without making any noise; she had quite a bit of difficulty in getting over it, since she wasn't all that tall really.

The cupboards in the kitchen proved to be untouched, just as they had suspected, just like everything else in this strange house. She found a box of Shredded Wheat cereal and moved over to the table, settling down in one of the chairs and popping the box open. The cereal was stale, but she hadn't expected it not to be; it had clearly been up there for awhile now.

The quiet shifting of springs caught her attention, and she rose slowly from her chair to move over to the doorway; peering through, she saw that Daryl had rolled over in his sleep, laying now with his back to her. She could see a small part of his back near the bottom, and remembered last night when she had spotted what could have been a scar; she hadn't gotten much chance to look at it, because he'd gotten quite angry. Whatever it was, he really didn't want her to see it. She frowned at the thought; what was he hiding? Of course, it wasn't really any of her business, and obviously he didn't want to tell her; but nevertheless, she couldn't help but be a bit concerned. It was clearly a sensitive subject though, and she wasn't about to press him over it. He would tell her if he felt comfortable in doing so.

Beth sighed, turning away from the man and moving back over to the cupboards; though this time, she crouched down to look through the ones located under the counter. Most of the objects held within were pots and pans and such; as well as plastic wrap and aluminum foil. But she did manage to find a few bottles of pop, long since gone flat; still, it was something. There was also a bottle of what she guessed might be whiskey, but having avoided liquor for a large span of her lifetime, she couldn't really be sure. She took it out and set it on the counter anyways, figuring Daryl might be interested in it; small motes of dust clung to the glass, but she didn't bother to brush it off. There was also what appeared to be a small camping stove, though she wasn't sure how it operated; she would have to ask Daryl to look at it when he woke.

Next, she investigated the drawers. There were only four, and the first one proved to be filled with various eating utensils, such as forks, spoons, and knives. They were relatively clean and dust-free, having been closed up in the drawer for all this time, so she slid it closed again and made a mental note to remember where they were. The next drawer held cleaning supplies and garbage ties and even a small box of plastic bags; she couldn't really find anything that might be of much use to them, so she closed that one as well. The third was filled with a strange mix of objects: a small box made of clear plastic, holding several spools of thread, a patch of fabric holding several thin needles, and a couple odd buttons; a pencil case containing a few black permanent markers, several pens and pencils, and a small bottle of white-out; and a small box that held a multitude of safety pins and tacks. She closed this drawer as well, moving to the last one. This was packed full of envelopes; many of them turned out to be bills, and she tucked them back into their spots neatly, as though someone would be angry with her for disturbing them. How silly.

Yet the last envelope she pulled out had been placed in upside down; not aware of this fact, she picked it up, only to have the contents fall out onto the floor in a haphazard mess. Setting the now-empty envelope on the counter, she knelt down on the cold floor and began scooping up the papers that had scattered around her; only to find that they were not papers, but photographs. Settling more comfortably onto the floor, she stacked them up and began flipping through them out of curiosity; and soon realized that they appeared to be pictures of the family on vacation. Many of them depicted what appeared to be a ranch; it made her miss her old home. The majority of the photos were of a young boy, who she assumed was the child of the family; he was riding horses, feeding cows, patting sheep, and chasing chickens.

The final photograph made her recoil as though she had been struck; indeed, it felt as though she had been punched in the gut. The boy was standing with an older man - likely his grandfather - next to a lake, and they were holding fishing rods. But the man was what had brought stinging tears to her eyes. He bore a striking resemblance to Hershel, with his puffy white beard and white ponytail; dark eyes glittered cheerfully out of his round and slightly flushed face. He was wearing a pair of large rubber boots, beige pants, and a yellow plaid button-up shirt; as well as a large jacket. He had one arm around the boy, hugging him to his side.

A tear rolled down her cheek, surprisingly hot, and she dropped the photo to avoid getting a tear stain on it and ruining the image. Pulling her legs up against her chest, she leaned her head down against her knees; her tears dripped silently onto the rough fabric of her torn jeans, and she lifted her arms to curl them over her head, rocking back and forth ever-so-slightly.

She had just gotten into a full-on sobbing, though she did manage to remain somewhat quiet, when a hand fell on her shoulder. She lurched away without thinking, spinning around until her back hit the cupboards, automatically reaching for her knife; but it was just Daryl, crouching down where she had been sitting with a stunned expression on his face. She burst into a fresh wave of tears, lifting her hands to cover her face; but through her fingers, she could still see him. He reached and picked up the photo she had dropped on the floor, and looked at it for a moment before setting it aside and straightening up. At first she thought he might turn around and just leave her there, and part of her was grateful, but part of her wanted him to stay; he didn't really seem sure of what he was going to do though. Eventually, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his bandana, offering it to her; she hesitated, before swallowing forcefully in an attempt to get rid of her tears, and then reached out to take it from him. He stood there and watched as she wiped her face dry, blinking away the tears that lingered in her eyes and taking deep breaths to calm herself. The bandana was rough and ragged and it smelled sort of funny; but it was about the best show of sympathy she expected to get from him, and she was happy that he had offered it to her.

"Come on." he said quietly, holding his hand out to her; Beth reached up and took it, and his grip was firm as he pulled her to her feet. He helped her back into the living room and brought her back to the futon; she kicked her boots off and laid back down gratefully. Laying on her back, she looked up at Daryl; he stood there awkwardly for a moment or two before he reached and unclipped her knife, laying it next to her pillow before tossing the blanket back up over her. His fingers brushed against her hip as he took away the knife; her skin was typically quite cool, so his fingers felt burning hot against her tender flesh. He grabbed his crossbow then, and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice hoarse; she had to clear her throat and try again for her words to actually make sense.

"Out. Might find some food. I won't go far and I'll be back soon. You...get some rest or somethin'." he said shortly; he almost seemed angry with her, though she couldn't imagine why.

"Okay. Be safe." she murmured. With his back to her, he grunted some form of consent before he headed for the door; it closed with a quiet click behind him, leaving her alone in the house. Snuggling down under the blanket, she clenched her hand around the bandana he had given her, hugging the small scrap of fabric to her chest; and it was not long before she had drifted into an uneasy sleep.

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The sound of footsteps jerked Beth out of her sleep, and she found she was sitting up before she had even consciously decided to. Blinking blearily in the bright light, her gaze found Daryl standing in the doorway of the living room; his crossbow was slung across his back and he was holding a rabbit by its back legs, dangling it at his side. Lifting a hand, she pushed a few pieces of her hair back from her face; her cheeks were damp and she thought maybe she had been crying in her sleep recently.

"I was gonna ask if you wanted to come build a fire with me to cook this." Daryl said; the way he spoke to her was almost awkward, as though he wasn't sure if he might say something that would launch her into another breakdown. Wiping her hand across her face to dry her cheeks, she laughed softly; the sound came out a little oddly.

"Um, actually, there's a little campin' stove under the cupboard there. I wasn't sure how it worked." she told him, her gaze moving past him; all the photographs and the envelope were missing, and she couldn't help but wonder how long he had been in the house while she slept. How long had she slept, anyways? A quick glance out the window told her it must've been about noon.

Daryl set the limp rabbit and his crossbow down on the turned-over television stand, before heading over to the cupboards; he hesitated, pointing at various doors until she had nodded her head to indicate he had found the proper one. After a few moments of rummaging, he pulled out the small black metal camping stove and a large metal green container; turning the latter over in his hands for a moment.

"It's propane-fueled. There's a bunch of these things under here. Should last awhile." he muttered; clearly talking to himself, but Beth could hear him anyways. Pushing the blankets back, she clambered awkwardly out of bed; she was still holding his bandana, but didn't bother to set it down, or pause to pull her boots on, either.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing at the cylindrical container as she struggled to climb over the barricade-type thing he had built the night before; taking care to avoid bumping the rabbit or his crossbow. He looked up at her with an expression of mild confusion, before returning his gaze to the weird cylinder clutched in one of his large hands.

"It's a canister of propane. 16.4 ounces, apparently. There's a bunch of them under here, so we're all set. See, you hook 'em up to this thing here." Daryl explained, tapping a weird-looking metal arm that extended from the side of the camping stove. Beth nodded thoughtfully; whenever she had gone camping as a kid, they had usually just cooked on the open fire. It sounded more appealing than using a small, portable stove.

"Well...maybe we should use the fire while we've got it. We can take the stove and stuff with us." she suggested; his brow furrowed as he considered this. She wondered if maybe he had been considering staying here. She had certainly given it some thought. Yet something about this place creeped her out; it seemed almost...too perfect. Something must have happened, and she had a feeling that he was hiding something from her; maybe something concerning the bedroom at the end of the hall.

"Sure. C'mon." he said gruffly. Beth looked at him in surprise as he suddenly set down the stove and propane canister, striding towards the door; he stopped with one hand on the doorknob, looking at her like she was a bit slow. She hastily climbed back over the barricade and pulled on her boots, clipping her knife to her belt before heading back out to the kitchen.

"Here." she murmured, holding out his bandana. He looked at it for a moment, before those blue eyes lifted to study her face, and he pushed it back towards her with a small grumbling noise. She was a bit surprised, but tucked it away into her back pocket for safe-keeping.

The next small span of time they spent gathering up wood for the barbeque; they had no coals, so it would have to do. Daryl had instructed her to stay within his line of sight, and she was secretly glad to listen to this; she didn't think she had the energy to ward off any potential attacks. Crying had always exhausted her, even as a child; besides, it gave her an excuse to keep casting glances at him over her shoulder. He didn't pay her much attention; he definitely had something on his mind. She could see it in the way he moved, in each shuffling step he took; occasionally, his lips would move soundlessly, as though he was scolding himself privately or something of the sort.

They stood side-by-side as he lit the barbeque with a small lighter he took from the pocket of his vest, and it took a moment to get the wood to light; but it did not take long for the flames to spread once they had caught. After this, he went and sat off on his own with the rabbit; his back to a tree, he took out a knife and began to patiently skin and clean the rabbit he had caught. Beth found this hard to watch, so she made her way back over to the driveway, and when she had reached the car, she hoisted herself up onto the hood and sat swinging her legs idly.

She couldn't help but let her thoughts wander to Maggie. Really, she wasn't all that upset that Maggie had apparently left without her; she was more concerned that Maggie and Glenn hadn't made it out safely. Glenn had still been fairly ill when the Governor had attacked. Would he have been able to make it out on time? Surely, with Maggie's help, he would be alright in no time. But what about the others? Rick, Carl, Judith, Michonne, Bob, Sasha, Tyreese, Mika, Lizzie...all of those people...they couldn't all be dead. They just couldn't. And what had become of the Governor? She'd lost track of him after...well, just after.

Beth lowered her head into her hands, propping her elbows on her knees. How could all of this have happened in such a short amount of time? Everything had been going great! Apart from the illness, but even that had been dying out. They were fine. She was grateful, at least, for Daryl; she would've been dead by now if it wasn't for him. She had been lucky to end up with him.

"Beth?" Daryl asked; his voice made her jump, and she looked up quickly, one hand already reaching for her knife. She knew it was him; she knew it was silly to reach for the blade. But some strange sort of instinct had taken over, and made it hard to relax; once her gaze fell on his familiar, rugged features, she let her hand fall back to her side. He was watching her closely; he looked as though he had thought she was crying again, and it didn't seem an appealing thought to him.

"Sorry. What?" she said quickly, worried he had been standing there awhile. She had a bad habit of getting caught up in her own thoughts and ignoring what was going on around her.

"I finished skinnin' the rabbit. Come on, I'll show ya how to cook it right." he said gruffly; he didn't wait for her response, or to see if she was following him. He simply turned around and left. Beth didn't hesitate though. She was actually quite curious to see this; besides, since when was Daryl so chatty?

Turns out, he wasn't. He was a silent worker, and therefore a silent teacher. He had already disposed of the skin and the innards, for which she was grateful. Maybe it was silly, for animal insides to gross her out...especially after everything they saw and did on a regular basis, but she just couldn't help it. She stood quietly at his side as he showed her how to cut up the meat in the most efficient way, so that he disposed of most of the unnecessary fat and got as much of the actual meat as he could. It wasn't exactly a pretty process, and that, accompanied with being out in the open, set her teeth on edge; however, once the meat was actually on the grill and cooking, she couldn't help the way her mouth watered at the delicious aromas wafting upwards.

"How'd you learn to do all of this stuff? I mean, ever since I met you, you've been good at things like this, but...when did you learn?" she asked, suddenly curious; there must have been some point in his life when he had learned these things. It wasn't just something you knew automatically. But had he learned before the Turn, or after?

The look he gave her suggested he wasn't about to answer anytime soon.

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Beth twisted the knob for cold water, watching the tap, a hopeful gleam lighting up her bright eyes. It was, however, the one thing the house apparently did not have; no running water. She sighed and turned it back, as though it was even necessary anymore. Places like this usually had a private well, didn't they? Not one of those ones that you could pump water out of, like the ones back home, but these funny looking metal things in the ground. Oh well...clearly she had been wrong about that.

She glanced over her shoulder, into the living room. Daryl was sitting on the coffee table with his back to her, looking out the window that faced towards the trampoline. He had found a few rags and she could see, from here, his arms moving methodically as he cleaned the bolts for his crossbow. He sat hunched slightly, the muscles in his arms bunched up as though he was doing something strenuous; something must've been on his mind, but did she dare ask what? He wasn't exactly the type to go around sharing his feelings. Beth's teeth found her bottom lip, and she had to stop herself from gnawing the skin there. She was grateful and all, that she had Daryl to keep her company, to keep her safe...but sometimes she wished maybe he'd open up a little bit.

"Hey, Daryl?" she said suddenly, before having really decided what she was going to say. She pulled the sleeves of her borrowed shirt down over her hands, where she could fidget with the fabric without being too obvious - at least, she hoped that would be the case. Daryl stopped and set aside his weapon, standing up before stooping to gather up the pile of rabbit bones from the table, bones he had picked clean.

"Mhmm?" he grumbled, clambering over the makeshift barricade to dump the bones in the trash can. He stood there and didn't come any closer to her, wiping his hands off on his jeans as though it really made a difference. She'd hoped for water so they could take turns bathing. It would've been nice, but apparently they weren't so lucky this time around.

"Um...I was just wondering'...if maybe you wanna talk about...anythin'?" she offered hesitantly. He had asked her something similar a few nights ago, hadn't he? So that meant she could do the same. There was no harm in it, right?

The way Daryl's expression hardened, she supposed she had guessed wrong. He shook his head mutely and turned to leave, to head back into the living room to continue with God knows what; but she didn't want to play games anymore. Before she had the time to realize that she wasn't making the smartest decision - before she even knew she had made a decision - she took three quick steps forwards and seized him by the wrist. He turned to look at her in disbelief; she had never seen his eyes wide like that, but anger soon clouded his expression and he wrenched his arm away from her.

"What the hell are ya doin'?" he growled, the gravel in his voice more noticeable than ever. He stepped towards her, invading her space, but she held her ground; if a bit shakily. He was much taller than her; she had to tilt her head back uncomfortably to meet his narrowed eyes.

"You...You can't just keep shuttin' me out! You don't get to do that, okay? Something's wrong, I know it! You've been actin' funny ever since we left the...ever since we've been on the move. What is it?" she demanded, her voice rising a few octaves in her distress; though she was careful to soften her voice near the end. He leaned down a bit closer to her, and she took an uncertain step back; his breath was hot on her face.

"That ain't none of your business, girl!" he snarled. His use of the word girl, in this situation and in this context, brought a heated flush to her cheeks; she stepped back towards him, regaining the space she had lost when she had faltered. There was the briefest flicker of surprise in his eyes; she saw it, if only for a moment. Lifting one hand, she prodded him in the chest.

"Except it is my business! You and me, we're a team now, whether you like it or not. And that means tellin' each other when there's somethin' wrong." she told him, poking him in the chest again for emphasis. One of his hands lifted from his side and caught her hand, squeezing it as though he wanted to crush it. It didn't hurt though; she didn't think he could actually hurt her. He wouldn't.

"Is that right, blondie? Huh? What about your leg, then? You never told me 'bout that! Don't you go lecturin' me like you know everythin'!" he shouted. His voice was louder than hers by a wide margin; her eardrums throbbed in protest but she resisted the urge to put her hands over her ears, like some little kid trying not to hear her parents getting after her. Only her parents weren't here, and she wasn't in the wrong. Well...not entirely.

"Fine! You wanna know about my stupid leg? I hit my knee on the damn shower curtain when that Walker attacked me! At least it doesn't have me goin' around talkin' to myself." she shrieked. She could hear an almost hysterical sound creeping into her voice, but she didn't care.

"What the hell do you want from me? Huh?" he yelled, moving closer. She lifted her hands to shove him away, but she couldn't budge him an inch if her life had depended on it. In fact, all she succeeded in doing was pushing herself back a few inches, her boots finding little traction on the hardwood. She yanked her hands away from him, glaring upwards.

"I want you to stop actin' like you don't give a crap about anythin'! Like nothin' we went through matters! Like none of the people we lost meant anythin' to you! It's bullshit!" she said, struggling to keep her voice under control; as a result, it broke in a few different places, but she didn't care. Maybe he'd think he had upset her. He had. She hoped it upset him, knowing that.

"Is that what you think?" he hissed. His voice had dropped lower too.

"That's what I know." she replied crisply, taking another small step back from him.

"You don't know nothin'!" he yelled; she flinched at the sudden increase in volume, and didn't bother trying to hide it. Let him see.

"I know you look at me and you just see another dead girl. I'm not Michonne, I'm not Carol, I'm not Maggie! I survive and you don't get it because I'm not like you, or them, but I made it, and you don't get to treat me like crap just because you're...afraid." she told him, her voice faltering at the end. Talking about the others hurt, and she hoped it showed in her face. She hoped he saw it. She hoped he hurt just like she did.

"I ain't afraid of nothin'." he muttered, but his gaze had finally darted away from hers. She wasn't used to him meeting anyone's eyes for so long; it left her feeling a bit shaken, just like the fighting did, but it felt like this could be blamed on something else.

"I remember. When that little girl came outta the barn, after my mom, you were like me. And now God forbid you ever let anybody get too close!" she shouted. Maybe she should've let it go, but by this point, she really just didn't care anymore. She could practically feel his anger renewing itself; the way his hands balled into fists at his sides, his shoulders straightening, his eyes moving back up to her face. The expression on his face was one of disdain now; his eyes narrowed practically to slits.

"Too close, huh? You know all about that, don't you? You lost two boyfriends and you can't even shed a tear! Your whole family's gone!" he yelled, advancing towards her, closing the distance she had placed between them in two easy strides. She took a step away from him, and her back bumped into the counter.

"You don't get it." she said softly. She was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, but it wasn't because she was afraid of him; she couldn't explain it.

"No, you don't get it! Everyone we know is dead!" he snapped. His voice was brittle, his fists shaking at his sides like he wanted to hit something; but he didn't, and he wouldn't. She knew Daryl; he was always so much more contained than this. Maybe she should've left it alone...but no. What he had just said...he had answered her question, and he didn't even seem to realize it.

"We don't know that." she told him.

"Might as well be, 'cause you ain't never gonna see them again! Rick...you ain't never gonna see Maggie again." he shouted; he was close enough now that she could feel the heat of his body, and she had nowhere to go anymore.

"Daryl, just stop!" she exclaimed; she reached out to touch his arm, as though that would help - as though it wasn't what had started this whole mess in the first place. He jerked away from her, stepping back and turning away from her. Her gaze landed upon the once white wings on his grubby vest; she clasped her hands together and pressed them to her chest to resist the temptation to reach out and comfort him.

"No! ...The Governor rode right up to our gates. Maybe if I wouldn'ta stopped lookin'...Maybe 'cause I gave up. That's on me!" he said. His voice was quieter now, and there was a tremor in it she had never heard before. She was stunned. Was that the full answer then? He thought that the fall of the prison, their missing family...was all on him? She felt her stomach lurch sickeningly at the thought of such a weight pressing on someone's shoulders. It was wrongfully placed, of course; it was in no way his fault! But clearly he had convinced himself it was.

"Daryl." she managed; she didn't even know if he heard her or not, but when she stepped forwards to touch his arm again, he shook her off once more.

"And your dad. Maybe...Maybe I coulda done somethin'." he continued; his voice almost a whisper now, breaking in places she had never thought possible for him. His shoulders slumped slightly, his hands going limp at his sides; Beth felt a rush run through her, and stepped forwards before she could push it away. Her arms encircled his torso from behind and she felt him sag into her arms, his body shaking with tears he tried to keep quiet.

"That ain't true." she whispered, but he didn't seem to hear that, either. Or maybe he was just past caring by then. She let her head rest against his back, closing her eyes as she held him.

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Beth sat on the edge of the coffee table, scuffing the toe of her boot along the seam between two floorboards, her gaze focused out the window; it was dark, but she could still hear the sound of metal striking metal as the persistent wind caused the torn netting to flap about. The window was open the tiniest of cracks; the air outside was cold, but she wanted the fresh air, so she didn't mind.

Behind her, Daryl made a funny sort of snuffling sound in his sleep; she glanced over her shoulder at him. He was on his side, facing away from her; one hand under his pillow on his knife's hilt, his other hand resting a few inches from his crossbow. She resented it. The way they had to even sleep while being armed. Of course, it was necessary...but that didn't mean she had to like it.

What they needed was somewhere they could be safe. There was no going back to the prison, and they didn't have safety in numbers anymore either. It was just her and Daryl now, and maybe he didn't like it, but they needed each other to survive. Well...maybe he didn't need her. But she sure as hell needed him. She had to find some way to convince him that what had happened...it hadn't been his fault. But how?

Beth lifted her hands to rub at her eyes, stifling a yawn. There was no good in staying up all night worrying herself to pieces over this. They'd gotten somewhere today, even if it had been while screaming at each other. That was something. In fact, so far, it was all she had, and she would gladly take it. She pushed herself to her feet and made her way over to the bed, kicking off her boots and unhooking her knife from her belt. Like Daryl, she tucked the sheathed blade under her pillow before climbing into bed.

That night, she slept on her side too, facing away from Daryl.

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End Author's Note: You guys may have noticed that some lines in this sounded familiar. I sort of borrowed the fight between Beth and Daryl from one of season four's episodes - only a small section of it, but still. I wanted them to fight in this chapter - I'm a bad person like that - and that scene was just so perfect that I couldn't think of a way to change it up. So, it wasn't very original of me, and for that I apologize, but I hope you guys liked it anyways.

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