Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

A/N: Hello all! Thank you to all who reviewed, you all have my heart. And thanks for answering the poll question! I have another one at the end of this chapter!

Flyteofheart- Thank you so much! That means the world to me! I am so glad you are enjoying the story!

Jordan- I had thought about that as well while watching the show. I haven't decided yet if I am going to address the signs in the story or not but it is definitely some food for thought.

Abitterkitten- Thank you! That's what I want them to be. We saw the beginnings of a great duo in the show and I love that in this forum, we are free to explore where that dynamic could have gone. I want Daryl and Beth to be the freaking Mr. and Mrs. Smith of the zombie apocalypse! They have a ways to go before they get there, but I have faith!

As to the poll, lots of votes for Rick. I get it. It's the ultimate bromance. Did anybody else freak last night when Rick called Daryl his brother? A few votes for Glenn. Mainly everybody wants to see Daryl and Beth hook up with somebody that would lend them an advantage with Joe. I LOVE that! Not so many votes for Carol. I honestly expected more if for nothing more than how uncomfortable it has the potential of being. Anyway, feel free to continue to cast your vote on the matter, but do check out my latest inquiry after the chapter! Thanks again to everyone for reviewing! Keep it up!

Hunted

Chapter Seven

Their camp on night two wasn't nearly as cozy as the house had been. In fact, it felt strangely similar to the first few nights that they had spent together after losing the shelter of the prison. The main difference, and it was a big one, was that they were no longer staying together out of some weird obligation to do so. There was no one out there that Beth would rather be with. She would love to find her sister or Glenn—and little Judith—but when it came down to nuts and bolts, the person she wanted by her side was Daryl.

He wouldn't light a fire. He didn't want to take the chance of them being spotted. He didn't feel they had covered enough distance. They were moving too slow. Beth was weak and tired and probably going through a mild case of shock, though she didn't seem to notice it. Hell, who would in this day and age. The dead were walking around eating people. Didn't get much more shocking than that. Regardless, he needed to get her back to one hundred percent so that they could cover more ground in less time. But for now, no fire. So when he managed to snag a fish from a nearby stream, he cleaned it and fed it to Beth raw. It was hardly sushi grade but with a little coaxing, she managed to choke it down. It was a good source of protein and he needed to get her strength up. He couldn't ease up on her. Not yet. Didn't know if he'd ever be able to. But she needed to mend and unfortunately she would have to do it on the run.

Things would probably be better if he just killed Joe. Maybe set a trap and just take him out. He didn't want to put Beth in any situation where she could get caught again though. Risk his own life, sure thing, no problem. Risk hers, no way in hell.

Best for now to just keep moving.

He let her take the first watch. She was still awake and alert and he could wake up a lot faster than she did. It made sense. He'd take the second, longer watch and be able to get her up and going before dawn. So, he handed her his crossbow, leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes.

That night, he dreamt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a dream. Especially that particular kind of dream.

It had been about Beth.

He didn't remember it in its entirety, only random images, pictures. Her eyes, her smile, her skin—her bare, smooth skin. He had touched her in the dream, ran his hands along her body as she had smiled that enticing smile at him.

He had awoken in feverish frustration, drenched in cold sweat and harder than a thirteen year old boy in a girls' locker room. On top of that, he was pissed off at himself for letting his thoughts even go there when he had other, much more important things to be worrying about.

Get your mind out of the damn gutter, Dixon¸ he chided himself, Focus!

Blinking himself into a full state of consciousness, he looked over at the object of his current frustration. Who the hell could blame him, really? She was beautiful and pure and good right down to her bones. He'd be insane not to want to touch a bit of that goodness, right? Even now, filthy and grimy with her back against a tree, his crossbow resting in her lap and staring into the night with nothing but her profile visible to him, she radiated some kind of—light. He didn't know any other word for it. Beautiful.

He pushed to his feet and walked over to where she sat. Those baby blues turned toward him, reflecting light from the moon or stars or God himself and Daryl ached inside. "My watch," he said simply, "Get some sleep."

She smiled in that innocent almost loopy way of hers and then blinked those eyes in that slow, languid way that only women seemed to possess the ability to do. Then, she yawned behind her hand and offered him his crossbow. He relieved her of the weapon and made his speedy retreat back to his own tree. He turned his body away as he sank down to sit, but out of the corner of his eye, he kept his gaze locked on her. He watched as she dragged the pretty blanket that he had given her from her bag and draped it over her body. He watched her close her eyes and try to get comfortable. She turned on one side, then the other, then back again and finally onto her back.

Okay, that's enough, he told himself before forcing all of his attention to the distance and the task of standing guard.

It was maybe half an hour later that Beth sat up and blew out a discouraged breath. She just couldn't seem to find a position against that damned tree that would let her sleep and she was so tired. Rubbing a hand against the back of her neck, she looked over at Daryl. She couldn't help but grin at his vigilance as he stared out into the darkness, wary of any threat that might approach. Tucking her lovely blanket around her shoulders, she got to her knees and crawled over to where he sat.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I'm cold," she responded and, without waiting for any hint of permission, she leaned against him. She felt his whole body stiffen at the sudden contact but that wasn't nearly enough to deter her. She snuggled right into his side and laid her against his shoulder, just as she had done the night before. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her as he had done before. He didn't but neither did he push her away. She let herself take encouragement from that. Finally content, she closed her eyes and basked in the comfort that came with his presence. His scent was so familiar to her now. He smelled of those things that everyone smelled of this day and age; sweat, blood, dirt. But there was something else in his scent that was uniquely and individually Daryl. It was wonderfully masculine; trees and leather and just—him. Just Daryl. She loved it.

That was the thought meandering through her head as she finally lulled off to sleep.

He couldn't believe how small she felt curled up against his side the way that she was. He had always known that she was a tiny thing, but seeing her at his side with her knees pulled to her chest and her face tucked against his arm just hit him like a kick to the stomach. Looking at her now, peaceful in her sleep, he would never have been able to guess at how strong she was.

He had an almost uncontrollable urge to rest his own head against the top of hers and just close his eyes. From the moment of his birth, he had been fighting. It seemed that he had spent the vast majority of his existence with his back with his back against a wall trying to fight his way free. He was damned good at it by this point. But when he was with Beth, something happened inside of him that had never happened before; he felt at ease. All the violence, all the mayhem, all the pain and suffering and sacrifice and grief; it all faded into the background when she was near.

All those feelings were still present; they had both been through too much for them to simply vanish. But when he was with her, the feeling that came to forefront of all those others was—hope.

A noise not too far in the distance drew his attention causing him to lean forward and shoulder the crossbow. When nothing materialized, he chalked it up to a fallen branch or something along those lines. Nothing to get all het up about. But his sudden movement had caused Beth's head to slide from her place on his shoulder down into his lap.

His entire body stilled as he looked down at her. His vision went hazy and there was his damned thundering heartbeat again. The sight of those silky, golden tresses spread across his upper thighs sent a flash of fire through his belly—and lower. When he felt that uncomfortable, aching throb just below his belt, alarm sirens started sounding in his somewhat addled brain.

It was okay, though. It was fine. She was asleep and therefore unaware of his sin. No harm, no foul. It did, however, bring him to the conclusion that it was time to get on the move. The more often they traveled under a dark sky, the more distance they put between themselves and their pursuers.

Maybe it was time for a little distance between himself and Beth, as well. Metaphorically speaking.

He set his crossbow to the side and wrapped his hands around her shoulders, marveling again at the slightness of her stature. He eased her up and away from where his pants had grown noticeably snugger before giving her a soft shake.

"Beth," he said, getting his lips as close to her ear without actually touching her as possible, "Beth. Wake up, lil girl."

Her response to his gentle urging was to throw one arm around his neck, tuck her head under his chin and pull her body even tighter against his own. Daryl had to pause and take a deep steadying breath before making his next effort to rouse her.

"Beth, wake up."

She burrowed even deeper against him. "Jus' fi'e more minu's, Daryl. Promise." She slurred, her lips and breaths like fire against the skin of his neck.

Irritated with her behavior, and more so with his response to her, Daryl yanked her away from his body and gave her a not-so-soft shake, "Time to wake up."

She sat up then, struggling to open her heavy lidded, slightly puffy eyes. As soon as she was no longer resting against him, Daryl was on his feet, putting some much needed space between them. The last thing she needed was for him to freak her out with his momentary lapse in control over his hormones. Best she never know the direction that his thoughts had ventured in those stolen moments. He couldn't bear the idea of having her be uncomfortable around him for any reason. He turned toward his gear but his attention stayed centered on Beth.

She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back in a very feline-like move and Daryl had to bite back a groan. Then, she scratched her fingers over her scalp and climbed to her feet.

"It's still dark," Beth said, carefully folding the blanket that had in a blink become her most prized possession.

"I know," Daryl said from a few feet away, his voice gruff and low, "I don't like it but movin' at night is the smartest move for now."

He seemed to struggle with himself for a heartbeat before reaching a hand out toward her. Beth grabbed onto it without hesitation. Daryl pulled her to her feet and then released her hand as though it had burned him. He clasped both hands to his crossbow and said, "Stay close."

No worries there, Beth thought to herself. She had no intentions of ever letting herself get separated from him again. It was a thought that seemed to keep repeating itself in her mind; that she couldn't be apart from him. He had become essential to her in every way. Her well-being, her very existence now seemed to depend on her proximity to Daryl Dixon. So, when her mind conjured up the mantra of not allowing their separation, the idea was prefaced by a feeling that was almost frightening in its finality. It was prefaced by the realization that she'd die first.

As dawn arrived, Joe let himself out of the house before any of his boys had woken up. He knew that Daryl and his tasty little piece had been there. He held the tangible evidence of that fact in his hand. It seemed that his redneck friend had paused long enough to get Blondie on of her clothes and on her back on a mattress.

At least the boy had his priorities straight.

The certainty that he was on the right trail spurned Joe's ego and with it, his desire to move forward. But, he needed to be smart about it and find his next steps. He walked down the stairs of the front porch and around the corner of the house, keeping an eye out for any recent disturbances. When he found what he was searching for, he took a moment to bask in the glory of it all. As sure as the dead were rising from the ground, Daryl and his little bitch had crawled through one of those little basement windows.

The ground was scuffed up and the miniscule window hadn't closed all the way shut. Two discernable sets of footprints trailed from the side of the house and veered off into the Georgia woods. He grinned to himself, staring off into the direction that the tracks lead.

"Almost."

A/N: Okay. That's it for now. I like the idea of Daryl fighting against what he is obviously feeling for Beth. I think that he would so that's what I tried to capture in this chapter. I hope that came across. In light of what happened on last night's TWD (GO RICK!) I have a new poll question! Again, this will most likely not affect the outcome of the story as I have it pretty much mapped out already, but I am curious as to what you are thinking. The question: Who should kill Joe? Daryl, Beth, Carl, Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, his own men, a walker, a stray cat named Eye in the Dark? Or should he die at all?

Once again, I look forward to hearing your thoughts (hint, hint, hint, hint.) Sorry. Subtlety is not my strong suit. THANKS!