…

Her curtain was pulled aside earlier than usual that morning. The baby was still sleeping, but Beth was up and about, moving around her cell quietly as she tidied up. He probably should've kept moving on, given how much shit he had to do before heading out on the big run, but he stood outside her cell door for a minute all the same. Felt calmer for it.

"Hey," Daryl said quietly when she looked up from making her bed and saw him standing there. Didn't want to wake anyone up.

Beth gave him a small smile, straightening up. "Hey, you," she said, just as quiet. She went over to him, and he couldn't help but run his eyes down her body. She had her usual jeans on, but just a tight tank top above that. It was easy to tell she didn't have a bra on, judging by the thrust of her nipples against the dark blue cotton. Daryl tried not to stare, feeling that familiar heat crawl up the back of his neck, and he shoved his hands into his pockets as he forced his eyes up to hers.

"Up early today," he said.

Beth's eyes scanned his, and he could tell she was trying to figure something out. "Yeah," she said, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. Her ponytail was falling apart, more tangled than usual. Daryl suddenly wondered if she slept with her hair pulled back like that, and he tried to remember the last time he saw it down, if he ever had at all. "Couldn't really sleep too well," she finally admitted, meeting his eyes. A tiny frown crossed her face.

"Lil' Asskicker still keepin' ya up?"

Beth looked over at her shoulder, at the baby still sleeping in her makeshift crib. "No," she said, turning back to Daryl. "She slept good last night, for a change."

Daryl nodded.

"How long are you gonna be out today, you think? On the run?" she asked, abruptly. Beth started tugging on her necklace, her palm of her hand brushing against the soft curve of her breast. The burning feeling got worse, spreading from the back of his neck up his face. His skin started feeling too tight for his body, all the muscles in his arms bunching as he shoved his hands further into his pockets.

Looking down at his muddy boots and frayed laces, Daryl replied. "Prob'ly not too long. Back before sunset." He risked looking at her, squinting a bit as he forced his eyes to stay on her face, on her blue eyes. Beth was looking a little pale again, blue eyes washed out and dark circles still under her eyes. She'd looked better yesterday, the day after she'd slept a few hours in the library, but now she was looking a little like hell again.

"Not so bad," she said.

Daryl shook his head a bit. "Nah, we've got a good group. We'll be fine."

They lapsed into silence, Beth looking tired and Daryl feeling awkward, his hands trapped in his pockets and eyes trying to avoid landing on her chest. "Better head out. Got some shit to do," he finally said.

"Yeah," Beth said, smiling up at him. He felt a little reassured, seeing her smile like that, even if she looked like she should be crawling back into bed and pulling the blankets over her head.

He was turning to go when Daryl felt her hand pressed against his arm, Beth's cool hand pressed against his upper arm and her fingers suddenly digging into his skin. He looked down at that hand for a minute, so white against his tanned skin. He saw he had a big smear of grease across his bicep, just above where her hand was pressing into him. Probably from spending sunup 'til now hunched over the car engine, double checking that everything was all tuned up.

Looking into his eyes, Beth spoke quietly still, but her words felt like they took up more space in the air than usual. "You know I don't say good bye. An' I know I don't have to tell you to be safe. Okay?"

Daryl thought of that night by the fences, when he chucked the bird necklace from Zach over the fence. He thought of her voice that night, low and hard, as she told him she didn't want to be afraid of wanting something good. Beth sounded the same then as she did now, her words felt heavier than he even knew what to do with. Her eyes, all washed out before, had darkened, and her pink lips were slightly parted as she stared at his face.

"I know," he said. And he let himself look back at her, let his eyes stay on hers. Let her look right at him with those blue eyes that were always trying to read him. Daryl felt that part of him, the one that always wanted to run whenever she turned that hard look on him. But he let his shoulders go slack all the same, felt the tightness in his arms unwind and it wasn't a struggle to keep his eyes trained on her. His belly still clenched, and he couldn't tell if it was fear or the way Beth's tank top was stretched over her chest. Maybe both. So Daryl just kept his eyes on her face, his eyes watching hers just as she watched his.

Daryl felt the bite of her fingernails digging into his skin, briefly, before she pulled her hand away. "Alright," Beth said, nodding her head. She still wore that hard look, but she looked a little calmer, and after a moment, she finally gave him a real smile. His arm was on fire where she had touched it, burning and stinging from her touch and the scratch of her nails.

"Alright," he agreed softly.

…

Daryl slammed the side of his fist against the car window. Not hard enough to break it, just enough to hear a satisfying thunk, just enough for his skin to sting on impact.

Everything about that run had gone to shit, and he didn't even know how the fuck it had happened. He sat in stony silence as Glenn drove back to the prison with both hands white knuckled on the steering wheel, Michonne in the backseat, her eyes constantly scanning the sides of the road and checking on the car behind them, the one with Sasha and Bob. The one Zach was supposed to be sitting in. Daryl stared out the window, his head pounding and eyes narrowed against the glaring sunlight. Didn't say a goddamn word the whole trip, just sat in silence. Glenn looked like he was still sweating bullets, and Michonne had that wild look in her dark eyes. Daryl had Rick in the back of his mind the whole time he sat in silence. He knew that if Rick were here, he'd say something to keep everyone in the car from suffocating over their failed mission and fallen friend. Also knew damn well that he wasn't Rick. Didn't have shit to say, and wasn't about to start trying.

So the car was silent when they pulled into the prison yard. A few people were waiting for them by the time they had parked and were getting out of the car. Maggie made an immediate beeline for Glenn. Daryl took one look at the small cluster of people gathered in the yard, saw Carl's disappointment and the look of stony disapproval on Carol's face. Saw some faces he didn't really recognize too well, just knew that they were the faces of people that lived here, people that he was supposed to do something for. Didn't see Rick, Beth, or Hershel, and he didn't know if he was mad or relieved about that.

And Daryl took off for his corner of the yard. Nobody came up to him, nobody came after him. He stomped along, an ache in his jaw, roughly digging around in his vest for his lighter and holding an unlit cigarette between his lips. When Daryl finally found his lighter jammed into some inside pocket, he lit up his cigarette real quick, sucking in a lungful of smoke and then breathing it out in one long, frustrated huff. When he finally reached the silent, rusty mess of his little junk yard, he shrugged off his crossbow and set it against the big tool chest, balancing it carefully before blindly throwing his empty bag onto the pavement in the opposite direction.

Daryl surveyed the fences for a minute, taking in the half a dozen or so walkers clawing at the fences like a pack of rabid and riled up raccoons, and his fingers found their way to the knife on this belt, wrapping around the worn handle. Weren't too many walkers yet, though before the end of the week, someone would have to pick them off and burn 'em. Turning his back on the fences, Daryl looked around at his all his gear, the assortment of pilfered shit, some of it rusty, some of it nicer than he'd ever worked with before. He shrugged his shoulders a couple of times, blindly staring at the prison, trying to work out the tightness left behind by too much spent adrenaline.

Turning his back to the prison and looking around, he decided to work on an Oldsmobile he'd found a while back, check all the brake lines and gas lines and inspect the undercarriage for rust or damage. Rick and Tyrese had helped Daryl get it lifted on some shitty but hopefully stable ramps a couple of days ago, but he hadn't had a chance to do anything with it until now. He dug around in his box, finding the small flashlight. He tossed his leather jacket on top of the open chest, the damn thing was making him too warm and made him feel like he was wrapped up too tight. The muscles in his shoulders still buzzed, but he got down on the ground and worked his way under the front of the car, not feeling the bite of the too hot, gravelly pavement through his worn out shirt or even on his bare arms.

He must've been poking around for a good forty-five minutes, getting rusty, oily muck flaking down on him as he tried to go over the gas and brake lines, when he heard the sound of steady, heavy footfalls making their way towards him. He had a pretty good guess who it was, judging by the regular, confident cadence of boots on gravel.

"How's the brake lines look?" asked Rick from somewhere above Daryl's feet.

"Good'nough." He ran one grimy thumb over a rod, trying to clean it off better and squinted when debris fell towards his face, skittering across one cheekbone.

"Lori had a car like this, back when we were first married. Ran real good for a long time, 'til she ran it into a lamp post in a parking lot." Rick sounded almost amused by the memory.

Daryl didn't say anything, just let the silence stretch out. He had the soft sounds of him poking around the dirty undercarriage, Rick scuffing his boots. There was the sound of people out in the yard, talking and working in the distance. And beyond that, the constant sound of walkers, growling and snapping as they clung to the chain link fence like their miserable shithead selves depended on it.

Rick finally spoke up again. Without looking, Daryl knew exactly what he'd be doing: squinting up at the sky, hands in his back pockets as he spoke. "Glenn told me what happened on the run. It's a damn shame. About Zach. And about the place."

Damn shame. The words echoed in Daryl's head, and he grunted in reply, left hand tightening around the flashlight and his right forefinger scraping against some jagged bit of metal or something. He swore under his breath, shifting a bit and pulling his hand back and jamming it into his mouth, sucking at the small bit of welling blood.

Was a helicopter falling through a fucking building he'd been counting on using for a long time a damn shame? Watching Zach getting his face chewed off, after wanting to punch the kid for weeks now, a damn shame? Was knowing that he'd led a whole bunch of people into an unstable situation a damn shame? Knowing he had nothing to show for it a damn shame? Whole fucking world was a damn shame, then, wasn't it? Nothing to show for any of it. Just one more goddamn time his plans went to shit. And nothing to say to anybody. Nothing but Rick's words.

"Yeah," Daryl finally bit out. "Damn fuckin' shame."

He heard Rick sigh, probably still squinting into the hazy sky. "I'm about to head in for dinner. You comin'?"

"Nah."

"Alright, man." Rick sounded quiet, maybe a little tired.

Daryl kept on poking around until he was sure Rick was well and gone, though he wasn't even pretending to look at the gas lines anymore. Just angrily jamming his fingers into the little gaps and open spots in the car, breathing in the dirty air trapped under the car, the acrid smell of old oil and rust burning into his lungs. When he was sure the man had cleared out, he slid out from under the car, rubbing his hands off on his pants with short, jerky strokes as he stood and then angrily swiping at the grime sticking to his sweaty face. He stared at the car in front of him, the dented front end and the long scratch running across the passenger side door. Car sort of looked like a piece of shit, but he'd wanted it anyway, because it was an older car, a heavy one, back before everyone got all worked up over emissions and gas prices. All that ecosystem-green-friendly shit didn't mean nothing these days. He'd just wanted a big car, a heavy car that could take a little heat better than one of those tinfoil little cars people had been getting partial to before herds of walkers started taking over the roads. So when he'd found this one a while back, he'd been happy to get it in working order and bring it back to the prison with him. It had sort of reminded Daryl of his old truck in a way. Big old heap of metal. Not so fucking pretty, but reliable. That was the sort of thing they needed around here.

Only now, he didn't give as much of a shit about fixing it up as he used to. He'd been hoping to get to work on it for some time now. Beth loved the damn thing. Thought it was fucking cute or some shit, with its big hood and funny maroon color. Now all he wanted to do was yank out the brake lines and tip the thing on its side. Growling a bit, he settled for kicking the tire. First just once, then again a little harder, and then a few more times.

Didn't take Daryl long to finally give up on that, though, and ended up leaning forward and bracing his hands against the broad hood of the car. He huffed out a breath, feeling all that adrenaline from earlier today running through him all over again. He felt that old pain running across his shoulders and down his spine, the tension in his muscles making his skin ache and pull tight against his bones. Felt old scars, even, the marks across his back, the starburst where his own arrow had gone into his side and the slick scar where Andrea's bullet had grazed his skull. His fingers felt stiff, like if he picked up his crossbow right now he wouldn't even be able to crook his finger to fire off a single goddamn bolt. And what was the fucking use of that?

And just as suddenly as it had burned through his body, moving through his blood, the adrenaline seemed to fall out of him, and he slumped. He turned around and sat his ass and feet flat on the pavement, leaning up against the car, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes. And he tried to blank out, tried to slow the windstorm inside his brain. But he just kept seeing that stupid kid's fucking face, distorted with pain, one bloodstained hand reaching out, like it wasn't too late for him to be saved. And he kept hearing Rick's voice, saying damn shame. And felt Beth's fingernails digging into his arm, heard her saying she didn't have to tell him to be careful. He kept seeing that helicopter crashing through that roof. Glenn's panicked face.

Damn shame. Nothing to show for it. Not even the fucking body of some poor kid. Just his own empty hands.

Daryl didn't know how long he sat there, trying and failing to stomp down on the tangled mess in his head. Just kept his eyes closed, head back and tried to keep his breath coming one steady moment at a time. Forearms corded on his kneecaps, fists clenching and unclenching in some sort of rhythm. Kept it up alright enough, until he heard another set of feet, slow and light, coming towards him. Cowboy boots on pavement. He tensed right back up, but cracked one eye anyways.

"Hey," Beth said, quiet and low, arms crossed tight to her chest. The sun had fallen pretty low in the sky, and orangey light and shadows were falling across her face. Eyes hard as ever, watching him carefully.

"Don't have to fuckin' tell me to be careful."

Beth's lips parted, the pink tip of her tongue darting out and brushing against her lips. "Daryl—"

He cut her off, opening up both eyes and holding his head back up, staring her down. "What do you want?"

She exhaled his name on a sigh, making something tangled up inside his ribcage squeeze painfully. Beth got even closer, and then sat herself right down next to him, mimicking him by pulling her knees up to her chest. Her thigh rubbed up against his, her soft arm pressing right up against his bare one. And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she laid her head on his shoulder, nuzzling close. Daryl felt her cheek and chin pressed right to his skin, the barest, tiniest brush of the corner of her mouth against his arm as she got comfortable. The muscles in his shoulders and arms bunched up again, and he sucked in a deep breath. Wanted to say something, but he didn't have a single thought in his mind anymore, so he just exhaled one long, shaky breath. Daryl dropped his head a little, letting his cheek brush against the top of her head.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing. I always come find you, don't I?"

Her voice was soft, sounded a little like a song. He kept his eyes shut, and replied. "Yeah, guess you do."

Daryl felt her fingertips on his forearm, skating up and down and back and forth, nails scraping against his skin. "What happened?" she asked. And the way she asked even felt good to his ears. Something matter of fact in the sound of her words made him feel like there was just something to be talked about, something to be looked at and figured out and put to rest.

"Don't really know how it all happened. Just… one minute, everythin's fine." He paused, cracking his knuckles. "And then some big crash has got Bob trapped. Walkers comin' out of everywhere. Zach gets bit, Bob barely makes it. An' then the whole fuckin' roof's caving in. Barely made it out." Beth's hand stilled on his arm, and she squeezed before letting up and going back to tracing shapes on his skin, a figure-eight pattern that kept getting smaller and smaller. She didn't say anything, but she sort of hummed a bit, just a throaty, uneven melody that he sort of remembered her signing to Judy before. It was a little like a lullaby, but not, because she never really sang those to the girl. Just old country rock or folk music. High, sweet voice like hers, it didn't matter what words she sang. Always sounded good to him, and everybody else.

They sat in silence for a little while. Daryl kept his eyes closed, and he finally managed to drown out and cover up all the nonstop thoughts in his head. Slowly replaced the sounds of rabid walkers with the quiet humming. Didn't think about Zach's face as he screamed for help, just thought of her fingers drifting aimlessly across his skin. And all the pounding blood and adrenaline quieted down with the feel of her face pressed to his shoulder. He felt the air getting cooler, could practically feel the sun setting around them. He still felt warm, though, with Beth pressed up against him, their arms rubbing and knees pressed together. He opened up his eyes when he finally started to really breathe easy. Opened up his eyes in time to watch the last little bit of sunset, purple and blue sky with the red and orange light just melting behind the tree line. The half-full curve of the moon was slowly coming into focus.

"Hey," Beth said. "First star. Gotta make a wish." She pointed to a tiny prick of light just to his left.

Daryl twisted his head a little to look at it. Tiny little thing, just barely peeping out of the purple edge of the sky. "I gotta?"

"Yes," she said. But her firm stance was a little undermined by the laughter in her voice. He felt her lips brushing against his skin again as she talked.

Daryl made a hmm'ing noise. Didn't make a wish, looking up at the star. But he felt grateful. Grateful for the small body tucked next to his, for the sound of her singing and the way she looked at him. Grateful for those blue eyes that fell on his skin like a cold, heavy rain. Might not be a wish, but he figured being thankful was enough of one.

"Make a wish?" he asked.

"Mmhmm," she said, sounding pleased. Beth lifted her head, and he the cool air hit his skin. "I think there might be some dinner left. We could go on in and raid the kitchens. Pauline would let you get away with it. She loves you best."

Daryl smiled a little at that. "Alright," he said. He pushed himself to his feet, then turned around and gave her his hand. Her hand slid right into his, and she smiled as he yanked her to her feet. Beth pitched forward a bit as she stood, leaning towards him, and he put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. She looked up at him, her lips parted a bit, and her blue eyes didn't have the same hardness as usual. They looked more open than usual, really, like looking at old glass bottles, the light blue tinted kind that caught the sun just right and shone all but clear. His hands started sliding down her arms on their own, and he could feel her shiver under his palms. Her eyes stayed on his, though, even as his fingers brushed her own.

Daryl let his hands drop to his sides, but he couldn't find it in himself to step away from her. Just felt that same burning he'd been feeling for over a damn month. Felt himself getting hard as he thought about pulling her close and running his hands over her. Thought about finally pressing his palm to a breast and feeling what he'd seen this morning. Thought about finally getting to tangle his hands in her hair and pulling her head back so he could see what she'd taste like if he put his mouth on hers. Thought about what it could be like to get one of her legs up and over his hip, getting her pressed up against him right where he wanted her. Her breath hitched beautifully, and he thought about all the ways he could try and make that sound fall from her lips again.

Daryl thought about a ton of shit, but didn't do a goddamn thing. Took a quick step back and looked over at the walkers groaning against the fence. "Better get inside."

Her eyes were still that clear blue glass, and he could read something like confusion in them as he took a quick, sidelong glance at her. Whatever that something was, it made her pull her eyebrows together and lips twist into a frown. "Yeah," she answered.

Daryl brushed past her, making his way towards the prison and slinging his bow over his shoulder. He could hear her cowboy boots tap on the pavement as she took a few quick steps to keep up with him, and he automatically shortened his stride for her. They walked in silence up to the prison, just the sound of their boots on the pavement, the constant moans and rasps of the walkers behind them. The big metal door creaked as he opened it up, angling his head in to usher her inside. And the door clanged shut with finality and they were back inside.

The kitchen and cafeteria was all deserted. Pauline had left a plate on the long counter, covered with a bandana and a little note with his name written in her schoolteacher-cursive on it. Daryl set his crossbow on the counter, angling it away from them, and picked up the plate. Turning back, he braced his hips against the counter, leaning back and holding the plate with one hand. Beth went into the pantry and returned with a handful of slightly stale cookies, handing them all off to him but one. He dug into his lumpy cornbread and cold beans as Beth pulled herself up to sit on the counter next to him, munching on her chocolate chip cookie. Daryl didn't say anything, just watched from the corner of his eye as Beth swung her feet a little bit. He polished off his food and set his plate and fork down on the counter, wiped his hands off on his jeans. Daryl sighed, listening to the quiet sounds of the prison, some folks talking in the distance. It all sounded hushed tonight, like everyone had retreated to talk in quiet. Talk to the people they cared about. It was always like this when someone didn't come back. Quiet, air heavy with discomfort and fear. And he was starting to wish he hadn't come back inside.

"Beth," he said, staring straight ahead at the slightly ajar pantry door.

Must've been something about the empty, tomb-like quality of the empty kitchen, silent pots all hung up on hooks and counters spotless and all wiped down. Must've been something about the weight of the air, both of them staring straight ahead. Something about not seeing her face, not feeling her eyes on him for a change.

"Beth. What are we doin', here?" He stayed staring straight ahead, at the ajar door of the pantry, all the shelves meticulously arranged and labeled.

"Eatin' dinner, I guess," she said, and he could almost see her shrugging.

The big bin of flour. Spare boxes of cornmeal. The creak of a door echoing in from the cafeteria. "That ain't what I meant." His voice was quiet, gravelly sounding, even to him. Daryl finally turned his head to look at her, his arms still crossed over his chest. Beth had her hands wrapped around the edge of the counter, and her feet stilled as she raised her eyes to his. "You followin' me around. You lookin' at me like you do." He took a breath. "What happened with Zach. You lettin' me throw that damn necklace over the fence. Touchin' me the way you do. And me... lettin' you."

Beth's eyes were hard and soft all at once. In the uncertain, dim light of the gloomy kitchen, one minute they were like that pale blue glass, shining clear. And then in another, they were hard blue rock. "I'm doin' all that because I wanted to. Want to. Ain't that the same reason you're lettin' me?"

Daryl looked straight ahead again. Studied the dented stainless steel cabinets in front of him, the clean, colorful rags hanging from them. "Beth, what is it you're askin' of me?"

He heard her sigh. Heard the rustle of her jeans as she slid down from the countertop, the sound of her boots hitting the tile. And the she was in front of him, looking up at him with baby blue eyes and something earnest written across her face. One hand reaching out to curl into the fabric of his shirt, her fist pressed up to his abdomen.

"I'm askin' you to give this a chance." Beth's voice was quiet, but there was something strong in her voice. Something stark. Something asking him for things he didn't have in him.

So he did what was safe and forced a bark of laughter, leaning back away from her because the sight of her pretty face, his necklace around her neck, the warm, clean scent of her, all of it was killing him. "Give what a chance?"

Beth's eyes went hard and cold, colder than he could remember seeing since the day out by the fences, picking off walkers. She dropped her hand from his shirt. "I'm not stupid, Daryl. And I know I'm not makin' this up in my head. I know that we—"

"You don' know shit." He didn't raise his voice, because he didn't have to. Just let that junk-yard-dog bite into it. A warning.

"Why are you tryin' to keep me at arm's length?"

Daryl thought about the awful sound of that helicopter falling through the roof, crashing into everything around him. Thought about how fucking close death always was. And he heard Merle's growling in the back his head. Shuttered his mind to thoughts of stabbing his brother in the face until nothing but pink-grey mush was left. Shut out thoughts of Sophia, shot through the skull and decaying body resting with all of the walkers Beth's daddy had tried to save.

So Daryl met her eyes straight on, cold blue on cold blue. "Can't give somethin' a chance if there's nothin' there." And he pushed away from the counter, grabbing his crossbow and pushed past her, his shoulder knocking into hers. His hand moved on its own, his hand skating low across her belly as he gently moved her aside, showing the lie to the way he'd barreled into her. Daryl felt the hot burn of her eyes on his back as he walked away, and he growled one last thing before walking out of the kitchen. "Just leave well enough alone, Beth."

…

A handful of hours had passed since he'd left Beth behind in the kitchen, time he'd first spent walking the fences and avoiding any of the few people walking around the prison. Carol had seen him and they'd had a few tense words, but she'd seemed distracted and didn't press him too much about his black mood. Which was fine with him.

Daryl spent a little while in his cell, cleaning and inspecting his bolts and crossbow, as well as sharpening up his knives. The repetitive tasks kept his hands busy. Meant he was doing something useful, which didn't make him feel any worse. Tried to keep his eyes on his hands, on the steel edge of his knife or the fletching of his bolts. But it was all shit he'd done the night before. And it wasn't something that really calmed the burning in his belly, didn't stop him from thinking about sliding his hands down Beth's arms as she shivered in the cold night air out by the cars. Wiping down bolts didn't stop him from seeing the challenge in her eyes when she got right in front of him in the kitchen. And sorting through bullets didn't stop him from hearing her voice, asking him to give her a chance. None of it stopped him from knowing she was offering something more than just passing time for a few hours after dinner. Daryl knew damn well what she wanted, just as he knew he wanted to take her up on her offer right there in the empty kitchen. He could've just set her right back up on that counter, pushed himself between her legs. Could've put one hand on the back of her neck and in her hair and let the other slide up her shirt and feel all that soft skin underneath.

And none of his imaginings about what he could've done stopped him from thinking that he knew she wanted more from him than that. He'd already been giving into her more than he should. Cared more about her than he should. Wanted her more than he should. But Daryl knew, the way you could feel a storm coming, that he couldn't even fucking put into words what it was that she really wanted from him. Beth wanted things from him he didn't understand. She bewildered him, with all the things she'd say and the way she looked at him. And how was he supposed to do a damn thing for her if he could untangle any of what she even wanted in the first place? It was fucking asinine to entertain thoughts of being around her. Tonight was just the start of all the ways he could disappoint her. If he'd let himself get any closer to her, he only would've made it worse. Made it harder for him to leave all that blonde sunshine and heat behind. Because sooner or later, shit would hit the fan in one way or another. Wasn't that what today was all about? Daryl knew he was good for a few things: taking out walkers, stealing what he and his people needed to survive. Wasn't really any good at leading people, not like Rick. Wasn't good at talking with anyone, either, or sharing space. Yeah, he and Beth had stolen a few nice minutes here and there. But this was a shit world, and he was a shit excuse for a good man. And, sooner or later, all that shit would hit the fucking fan.

Wasn't that what today was all about? Today was all about the helicopter crashing through the roof of an abandoned grocery store. Today was watching some kid that had only ever wanted to be good to Beth get ripped apart by walkers, just for trying to help out. Today was pushing away one of the few people that had ever looked at him like he might have something to give her apart from some tough squirrel meat, dead walkers at the gate and a whole hell of a lot of aggravation. Daryl was just looking at the world around him. Looking at himself, looking at Beth, pretty even in the gloom of the prison. He was looking at all that, and doing the right thing and walking away.

It probably well past midnight when he finally set aside his knives and the spare bolts he'd been collecting, judging by the dark sky outside. The whole place was always like a fucking tomb after someone died or got left behind, just echoes of noises that didn't really sound like people moving around or talking or sleeping. It was nights like this when he wasn't sure which was any better: wandering the corridors for ages or staring up at his cracked ceiling and hoping for sleep. Daryl always ended up walking the cellblock, but he never felt any better for it, just knew it was something that had to be done. So he swung his crossbow over his shoulder and checked to be sure he had a knife or two in his pockets, and headed off to walk around the block.

C-block was quieter than usual, like he expected it to be. Just heavy, sighing snores and whispery murmurs, cutting through the heavy grey air. No laughter from Carl's cell, no psalms from Hershel's. No squeaking springs from Maggie and Glenn. And no hushed singing from Beth's.

Seemed strange that, just this morning, Daryl had been standing right outside Beth's cell, talking to her and looking at the sight her body made, all soft curves and warm skin. Strange she'd looked at him with those cool blue eyes just a few hours ago, daring him to take a chance. And it was strange that, for once, he'd told a lie for some good, and told her he didn't feel any of it. Told her he didn't feel any of the heaviness in her eyes, pulling him towards her. Told her to drop it.

Daryl leaned against the wall just outside Beth's cell. Crossed his arms. And he looked out at the big windows across the way, filtering in some faint starlight and a slight beam of moonlight through the thick glass. He felt like shit. Head throbbed, legs and arms ached. But he still felt thankful, the way he had looking up at the first star coming into the night sky. Thankful he was alive. Thankful she was alive. Daryl let his eyes slide shut, let himself remember how Beth felt, curled up against him out by that car. Let himself remember how she felt when he ran his hands down her arms, when his fingers almost curled around hers.

The whole place was quiet around him. Daryl knew he should walk on, recheck the doors and locks and go on to bed. But he stayed, letting the throb in his head overpower the silence all around him. Stayed outside her cell with his eyes shut, one hand curled around the strap of his crossbow, the other fist curling and uncurling against his thigh. He'd go on, do what he had to do in just a little while. But for the moment, for just a few goddamn seconds, he was going to pretend he'd made a wish on that tiny star. Pretend he had given in and given his time with Beth a chance. Just a few goddamn seconds before everything went back to normal. Back to the way it had been, back before he'd given her that book and she'd told him how pissed she was that he'd left. Back before fixing up her necklace and throwing Zach's over the fence. Back before they laid out on the pavement together, and back before she'd wrapped her arms around him. Just a few goddamn seconds to pretend he hadn't fucked everything up.

Just a few goddamn seconds to pretend that he'd kissed Beth Greene.

…

A/N: Oh, man, you guys. This chapter took forever. I spent the past week in front of the computer, getting all blood-shot and baggy-eyed. It was one of those cases where I had an idea of where the chapter was going, and when I started writing, Daryl and Beth were both like, "Pfft. I'm not doing that!" So the three of us had to negotiate where this was going. A lot. My boyfriend began fearing I'd replaced fanfiction with crack. It wasn't a pretty sight. But it's done now, and I'm rather fond of it :D

I just want to give a big, big thank you to you all. I've gotten so much incredible support, and getting all your kind words really helped me when this chapter was being a super pain in the butt. I also owe a debt of thanks to the0ctobercountry on tumblr, who said the word "dinner," and sparked the last bit of this chapter into new life! But so many of you have been so kind to me, and I'm so beyond grateful to you all! I cannot put into words how wonderful you all are. This one is for you folks.

Please come find me on tumblr (search corarochester, or click the link in my profile!) and we can all talk out all the crazy emotions of Episode 13 together. I do try to post insightful things from time to time, along with status updates for Heavy. So, that's it for me for this week, folks!