The dream started out like plenty of other ones. Soft, throaty laughter that vibrated against his mouth where it was pressed to the side of her neck. The silky skin of her bare back, delicate shoulder blades shifting under his hands as she tangled her fingers in his too-long hair. He could fucking smell her, the rawness of want and desire that laced the air, that made him growl and tug on her hair so her head would fall back farther. He ran his tongue up her neck before biting down on the soft lobe of her ear, probably harder than he should have, but she just gave a soft moan, eyes falling shut and her hands gripping his hair harder.

Daryl dragged his hands down her back, squeezing and stroking, until he reached her ass. Pulled her in closer to him, hands hard and almost bruising, and she pressed herself closer to him, eagerly arching up. Her small hands found the side of his face, pulling his mouth to hers. She bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood, then traced her honey sweet tongue over the wound she'd given him. He whispered her name against her mouth, more of a groan than anything.

Beth.

And then her cool fingers were on his belt, scrabbling against leather and metal, her long hair sliding through his fingers as he gripped her head and took control of the kiss. Swept his tongue into her mouth as she finally got his belt unhooked. Her fingers sliding under the waistband of his jeans, thumb toying with his belt.

The dream shifted, and he was laying on top of her, his hips cradled between her soft thighs. He was propped up on one elbow, using his other hand to skate up her ribs until he found her breast. Shoved her bra up and out of the way, his thumb tracing over her puckered nipple, sweeping over the pale pink nub again and again as he kissed her, hard, tasting her and feeling every hum and shiver that wracked her body. She dug her nails into his back, a sharp sting he felt even through his shirt, and then her hands were sliding down his sides, tracing over his ribs and up his front. Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, slipping them free one by one, baring his chest to her inch by inch.

Daryl pulled his mouth from her, looking down at her dilated eyes. They were dark, darker than he'd ever seen them, and he could swear she was challenging him. Felt fear and desire and the scars on his back, but he didn't want to say no. So he buried his face in her neck, pressing his hot forehead to the place where shoulder met throat. Whispered her name again: Beth. And he let her keep going. Didn't fight her when she started tugging the sleeveless flannel over his shoulders, sitting up a little, bending his arms whichever way she needed him to. Saw the little frown of concentration on her lips, saw the way she ran her eyes down him. Saw the way she bit her swollen lower lip as she studied him. And then his shirt was off, the steamy air suddenly cold on his bare back. And she tossed it to the side.

The shirt fell to the floor, and he saw it fall like seconds were minutes. His ears were ringing and his whole body had gone cold and rigid, his eyes going dim, just grey shapes moving around in front of him, his shirt disappearing into the gloom. He heard the screech of metal, the groaning of concrete and the echoing crash of some huge collapse. When he looked down, Beth was gone. Linoleum, scratched and dingy, rose up to meet him, and he fell hard, almost getting the air knocked out of him. Chin banged up, ribs sore. Struggling to prop himself up on his elbows, crushed by some unseen weight.

And then he felt it. Tearing and burning as his calf was ripped open, air on bone, and he just knew it was a walker, shredding him, skin and muscle. Knew he was done for, but he struggled anyway. How the hell was Daryl Dixon going down like this? Torn to bits on the floor of some fucking grocery store.

He heard screaming. His own, maybe. Saw a familiar shape moving in front of him. Someone he knew. Some impulse had him reaching out, hoping for something like salvation from whoever it was.

Only his hands weren't his own. The skin wasn't as tanned, the nails were blunter, fingers shorter. That drunken tattoo of a heart was gone from just above his thumb.

Daryl knew these hands. Had seen these hands wrapped around a gun, wrapped around a knife. Had seen these hands wrapped around a bird necklace, excited to have found something to get Beth.

Zach.

Suddenly he could see the grey shape moving in front of him. Saw his own crossbow. Saw his own face, shock and anger written there, plain as day. Felt the burning and tearing as more flesh was ripped from his leg. And then he watched himself turn tail and run. Leaving Zach, leaving himself—whoever he was—to get ripped apart by ravenous, decaying teeth. Everything went red, then black. Then nothing, nothing at all.

…

Woke up to the near-black of his cell, groggy and sick to his stomach. Could only remember a tangle of thoughts—blonde hair, soft skin, a terrible noise, the wrong hands and blinding pain. Rolled onto his belly with a groan and pulled the pillow over his head. Fell into a deep, black sleep. Woke up hours later feeling wrong, like his skin didn't fit, and not really sure why. Tried to push it out of his mind. He had a run to do.

…

"So?"

Daryl looked up from going through a dresser to see Glenn leaning in the doorway of some stranger's bedroom, some bedroom in a house they hadn't ransacked all of the rooms yet. Glenn had a smirk on his face, his arms crossed over his chest. "So what?" Daryl asked, sorting through a stack of jeans, tugging them out of the dresser and tossing them into a garbage bag they'd used for this exact purpose many times before. He avoided looking back at Glenn, but he could still feel the guy's disbelieving eyes boring a hole in the back of his head.

"Oh, come on, Daryl. Beth and Maggie were giggling for hours last night, man. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

"Quit talkin' shit, man." Daryl threw a couple of women's sweaters into the bag, the big wooly kind that Beth liked.

Glenn started rifling through the big closet, dragging out shoes and other random crap. "A secret, you and Beth are not." Glenn tossed a pair of boots Daryl's way, and he caught them, dumping them into the bag. "Everyone knew when you two were fighting. And now everyone knows that she was sitting next to you at breakfast this morning. So?"

Hefting the bag, Daryl ignored Glenn, walking to the next bedroom over. This one was little kid's room, with heaps of brightly colored Legos on the floor and Pokémon cards piled up on the dresser. Blindly chucked some of the toys and shit on top of the clothes in his bag, before rummaging through the dresser. Found some clothes that would work for that little boy with all the curly hair, Luke or whatever his name was. Just grabbed a hold of whatever he could, whatever looked useful. Someone, somewhere in that prison could find a use for whatever he grabbed. Going through kids' rooms was always the hardest, and he'd learned a long time ago to not think about the kid that had lived here, back before. Better to just shut out any of those thoughts. Think of the living, instead.

Regular, steady footsteps on the carpeted hallway alerted him to Glenn coming up behind him. Daryl fought the urge to sucker punch him. "Has Hershel given you 'the talk' yet? I remember my talk, man." Glenn sounded more than a little amused at the prospect.

Daryl gave Glenn one of his customary glares, which had long ago stopped bothering the original prison group. Ignoring the question, he chucked a pair of kids' sneakers at Glenn's head, grinding his teeth when the guy caught them and tossed them in the bag. Sort of just wanted to bean him. He'd felt like shit since he woke up this morning, and this conversation wasn't making him feel any better.

Glenn sighed. "Look. None of us think it's weird, or anything. I think Carol's a little put out because you haven't said anything to her about it, but…" Daryl tossed some more shoes to Glenn, this time a little more gently. "At the end of the day, Beth's like my little sister. I love her. And it's not like we have secrets, living the way we do. We've had a lot of hard times. There's nothing wrong with being with her."

Daryl kept his eyes on the closet in front of him, pulling neatly folded winter clothes off the shelves. Felt that uncomfortable burning in his belly and a tightness in his hands. "I'm more'n thirty-five, man. She's eighteen. Don't that seem wrong to you?"

"Not really," Glenn said, simply.

Taking a breath, Daryl turned a bit, looking at Glenn, really meeting the man's dark eyes for the first time since this conversation began. Still had an armful of little sweaters and shirts in his hands, tension running from the back of his neck down to his knees and calves. Looking at his friend, he was reminded of just how much Glenn had changed since Merle and the Governor had him and Maggie locked up. His eyes were sharper, more unreadable. Stronger. Always smart, but maybe more cunning. Tougher, because he had to be, because he knew just what could happen to Maggie. To his family. To everyone.

And Daryl knew just how close all of them were. Maggie, Glenn, Hershel, and Beth. They were like their own little family, looking out for each other, more than just blood. Something like him and Merle, only less violent, less acidic, less bitter, bound together with something other than a shared history of hatred. And there was a part of him that was just as uncomfortable as it was grateful, hearing Glenn say Not really, like seeing a man like Daryl with his little sister was just fine by him. Made him think that the world had fallen to shit in more than one way. And there was also a small part of him that was thinking that maybe Daryl had changed enough, become enough, that maybe Glenn thought he'd do alright by Beth. That Daryl could keep her safe, could get her what she needed in this world.

So Daryl nodded at Glenn. And then they got back to work, clearing out the rest of the house before going back down to the driveway, where the big truck and Daryl's bike was waiting. Loaded up their haul and headed for home.

The two of them had gone out for a quick run, wanting to check the open roads around the prison, the ones that would lead to that big shopping center a ways out. They'd come across a mostly abandoned looking development, and decided to head in and grab what they could. Daryl was just as alert as always, eyes wide open and ears listening for any noises that weren't him or Glenn. And thoughts of Beth, like most times, circulated in the back of his mind, a constant running stream of seeing her and feeling her.

Daryl had been feeling like he couldn't trust his own skin after kissing her in the library the night before. Seemed like nothing could be real, not after the way he'd held onto her, her warm body pulled back into his and melting against him with a sigh, all pliant and soft against his steel. Couldn't be real, having his hand wrapped around her neck, feeling the beat of her delicate and rabbit-quick pulse under the soft skin at her throat. Least real of all was feeling her mouth against and under his, bitten lips and the stroke of his tongue on hers. And then that satisfied smile she gave him, after, making her look older than her eighteen years. Made him want a lot of things he didn't feel right taking.

He'd taken down that book for her, after all that. A beat up copy of White Fang, which she insisted he had to read next. They'd sat next to each other on the couch, Beth slipping off her boots and curling into his side like a kitten that had finally found something warm to sleep on. She just read her book, biting her lip and smiling at him from time to time, while he thumbed through the book of local maps and tried to focus on something besides the feel of Beth right next to him. When it came time for her to go get Judy and put her to bed, she'd just smiled at him again, pressing those lips of hers to his scruffy jaw before wishing him goodnight and leaving him to the quiet of the library.

Daryl sat there on the couch for a while longer, guilt and wanting tangled up inside of him worse than old electrical tape. Went to bed feeling that way, woke up feeling even worse. Kissing her had changed a lot. Made him want her more than he already did. But it also made him want her differently. Sex, the way he'd always done it before, didn't seem right. Beth wasn't the sort of girl you'd fuck when you were so drunk you'd do any dumb skank in a bathroom stall at some shit bar. Wasn't even just the sort of girl you brought home for a weekend. Beth was more than just that dumb drunk shit. A hell of a lot more.

Worst part was realizing he wanted her for more than dumb drunk shit. He'd never been such damn fool as to want more than that from any woman. Daryl liked just sitting on the couch with her, hearing her absentminded humming as she thumbed through old books. Liked listening to her talk while he worked on the cars. Liked watching her with the baby, holding her hand while the baby slept. Liked seeing that necklace hanging from her neck and knowing he put it there. Liked that bruise on her hip, and knowing he put that there, too. And he sure as shit liked pulling her close and putting his mouth on hers, like they were meant to be fused together like that. Like thinking that wasn't something dreamed up by a lonely body and too much time inside his own goddamn head. He liked having all those things in one woman, one pretty little blonde with blue eyes that near about killed him every time he looked at her.

And that was more than Daryl had ever really wanted from a woman. Sure, he'd chased girls before, like that waitress years ago. But it was never just for them. Never because every part of them was something he wanted to see, wanted to touch. Never wanted to keep someone near him so badly. Daryl knew he wanted Beth. Not just for the idea of being inside her. The trouble was wanting everything else. All that everything else, the talking with her and holding her hand, all that was something he'd never learned how to do. Hunting, tracking. Killing. All that was something he'd learned years ago, learned it so well he could do it in his sleep, could do it without blinking. Could cut up a deer or a walker or even a man, if he had to, without a flinch.

Daryl had always been outside of all of the other parts of being with someone. He could take getting the skin on his back getting torn apart. But he didn't know how to be anything more than what he was. Felt it, like the scars on his back and the anger that slipped in and out of mind so easily, that he was never going to be good enough for a girl like Beth Greene. He was too old, too beaten up and broken down, to ever be what someone like her needed.

He remembered what she'd said earlier that day, with her fingers wrapped up in the hem of his shirt, telling him about watching the fence almost give way to the herd of walkers pressed up against it. Carol an' I were watching through the windows. Tried to keep the kids from looking, but we were staring the whole time. Thought maybe he finally understood what she was feeling, even a little, as she tugged in the shirt of the man standing in front of her. That fear of watching the few remaining people that meant everything to you, watching them inches away from what would kill them, what would make them burn to death with fever before bringing them back, worse than dead. Fear of watching all that and wasting what time you had with them. Daryl could maybe understand how Beth would let herself get attached to a man like him. In some ways, he was all she had. So many had died. T-Dog. Andrea. Zach, even.

Beth had told him not to waste her time by lying to her. Had told him that she didn't have time for that. That they were always going to come down to a moment like that, in the library, with their bodies pressed together and his wanting her burning a hole in his mind.

He could still hear her words echoing in his mind, the hardness of her voice and the softness of her skin under his hands. We don't have time for that. I don't have time for that. You can walk away, or you can stay right here. But don't you dare waste my time by lyin' to me. And he wasn't sure what he was really doing, by letting himself hold onto her, letting his fingers dig into her skin while his tongue licked into that pretty mouth of hers.

Glenn's words didn't begin to balance out the knowledge that he'd just waste Beth's time after all. Daryl knew, knew himself, he'd just fuck it up eventually. He could keep her alive, keep her fed and keep going on runs for her and the rest of them. But everything else: the talking, her hand in his and the way their bodies ran together. He'd just fuck it up, sooner or later, with Merle's dark laughter in the back of his mind and the same old burning in his decades old collection of scars.

Daryl felt all the burning and tangling inside of him get worse the closer they got to the prison. He knew he had some water and some food in the saddle bags of his bike. Knew he had some hunting to do. Pauline had told him this morning they were down to just a couple of good size steaks left, and she wanted to get a start on making some jerky.

He pulled up to the side of the truck, revving to get Glenn's attention.

"Goin' hunting," he yelled when the truck window was rolled down. "Tell'm I'll be back tonight."

And, ignoring Glenn's exasperated look, he pulled ahead, roaring off across the crumbling road in front of him, shaking loose all his thoughts as the cold wind hit his face faster than before.

…

The thing about dirt, about being out in the woods, was the way it smelled. Wasn't church-clean, or anything like that. But it was clean, all the same. Didn't have the smell of people living on top of each other in a humid cinderblock prison. Didn't have that itching stickiness, the kind that made his skin tight, of being too close to near-strangers. And any death smell in the woods was of the natural sort. Moldy leaves, fungus and moss. Scraps of rabbit fur and bloody coyote prints. Most of the time, he was quiet enough to not even run into that many walkers. Just a couple he could easily kill by sneaking up on them, then carry on his way, the wind in the trees carrying away the smell of human decay. Yeah, most of the time, being in the woods was the cleanest he felt, even with animal blood and dirt mixing together on his hands, sticking to the grooves in his skin and getting under his nails. All that was natural. And with the wind and trees washing the stench of the walkers away, the world as a whole felt maybe more natural, too.

Daryl didn't let himself think about Beth the whole time he was out in the woods. Tugged down that tarp in his mind, the one he used to blank out any of the thoughts that would drive him crazy. Just concentrated on tracking a little doe, getting within a few feet without it hearing him, and letting the bolt fly, breathing easy when the animal dropped without leading him on a crashing chase through the brush. Hauled the deer back to where he'd hidden his bike and tied it up.

Daryl took a roundabout way of getting back to the prison, ignoring any thoughts about wasting gas as he sped down the road, watching the speedometer move up towards seventy-five miles per hour. He'd been down this back road before. Knew it was cleared out. Knew just what bends in the road to look out for, mindful of the dead weight on the back of his bike. Missed back roads like this. Back roads, like the crumbling, narrow one leading up to the prison, was where Daryl had grown up, where he'd driven he truck up and down, chain smoking and listening to the radio, letting off steam when he was too pissed off to fight. He'd been with a girl for the first time on a road like this, pulled off to the side and laying in the back of his brother's truck, too young and drunk for any of it. Back roads like this, he'd run up and down as a kid, raising hell with the other kids around, shooting off BB guns at empty bottles and cans, whooping the whole time as they smoked cigarettes stolen off their pops when they were passed out drunk.

But all that shit was back then, and shit had been a hell of a lot simpler in those days. Riding the way he was now wasn't something he should've risked. But he did it anyway, only slowing down when he was finally pulling into the prison gates.

Nodded at Rick when he saw him heading in from the gardens, shovel in hand and looking disheveled, Carl trailing after him, probably heading into dinner. Didn't see too many others, just some Woodbury folks wandering around. Wondered, and not for the first time, if he'd ever think of them as anything other than Woodbury people, strangers in his home. Sure, he cared about doing right by them. But they weren't family. Not like Rick and the rest of them.

Dragging the deer over to that corner of the yard, far away from most everyone, where he could dress and quarter the deer without being bothered, without kids gawking. Wasn't too close to the fence, either, which was good, given how the blood and guts would rile the walkers up. He'd gotten enough stuff on runs, going into the garages and rich-asshole hunting lodges to lift good knives and other shit. Made his own hoist, too, which was a hell of a lot easier than skinning the deer on its side. Cleaner that way, too, kept all the bad shit from running into the meat. He even had found a big old cooler, for storing the quartered meat. Having a regular set up like this again was something Daryl had hated going without, back when they were on the road.

Daryl laid the deer out on its side, and got focused on cutting it up. Used to be able to field dress a deer out in the woods and leave the guts wherever they spilled out, leave it all for the coyotes to chew up. These days, he had to wait and drag the heavy thing into the prison. Wasn't worth the risk, to open up a bloody animal out in the woods and hope walkers wouldn't stumble onto his path, drawn in by the scent. And it wasn't so bad, bringing it back here. Just meant he had to haul all the guts, skin, and whatever was left of the carcass back outside the fence and dump it a safe distance away.

He was just about to start cutting into the belly of the deer when he heard someone approaching, uneven steps and the hollow aluminum ting on the rough ground. Daryl ground his teeth as he stood on the back legs of the deer, focusing on the shine of his blade where he laid it just against the bottom of the breastbone, dirty white fur spread under his blade. Just a quick nick, and he flipped his blade, dragging the gut hook down the belly in careful, even strokes. Kept his eyes on the gut sack already bubbling through the slit, but he could hear when Hershel came to a halt a few feet away, panting a little as he leaned against his crutch.

"Mighty fine catch you got there," Hershel said, amiably.

Crouching over the animal, he began let the legs fall together, intestines and stomach spilling out a little with the motion. "Small one," Daryl replied. Started working on getting the organs out, being careful around the entrails. If any of that shit got nicked or burst somehow, it'd make the whole fucking thing stink and all that would get into the meat and spoil it.

He knew Hershel had figured out long ago that Daryl wasn't much for talking just to fill the air. And he also knew the man usually had something to say, especially if he'd hopped all the way on over here. So, he kept quiet as he worked on cutting loose the innards, turning the deer carefully from one side to the other as he worked the heart and lungs free from the muscle.

"Your father taught you how to do this?" Hershel asked.

Daryl tugged on the large intestine a little harder than he had to, freeing from the deer with a slimy snap. "Yeah."

Hershel gave a sigh, hopping over to the cooler on Daryl's left and sitting down on it. Daryl watched out of the corner of his eye, still carefully tugging all the entrails out of the deer, dumping them onto the tarp, as Hershel stretched out his one leg then carefully rubbed his hands over his thigh, just above where his other leg had been amputated, massaging the surely sore skin and muscles. Hershel caught Daryl looking at him and his leg, and smiled. "Never much thought about 'em until I lost one." Looking away and nodding, Daryl began working on clearing up the guts and lungs and heart, so he could string the deer up, saving only the liver. Focused on the animal in front of him, on the blood smeared on his arms, up past his gloves, and what he had to get done to get the meat inside to Pauline.

Daryl fiddled with the metal spreader, hooking it through the deer's hind legs carefully, a little more slowly than usual, waiting for the rest of what Hershel had to say. He hoisted the deer up, using the cables and come along he'd pulled out of somebody's garage and hung up out here with a stand he'd made out wood, rebar and cinderblocks. The deer was still swaying and Daryl was cleaning off his knives, getting ready to cut through the skin, when Hershel spoke again, his voice serious.

"I don't think Beth would much approve of me coming to talk to you. Doesn't want me bothering you on account of her. But I think I ought to, all the same."

Looked up from sharpening his knife to see Hershel watching him, his face impassive, eyes squinting a bit. The man looked awfully different from the southern gentleman of before, eating peaches at his farm and thinking the world hadn't ended yet. The man in front of him had cut up pant legs and his white hair pulled back in a ponytail. Had on a threadbare shirt but still wore his suspenders. Looked more worn down, but maybe a little more at peace than the angry man with his dead wife and stepson locked in the barn with a bunch of walkers. Wasn't angry at all, now that those squatters from Atlanta were off his damn lawn, shooting shit up and stealing his horses.

"I know you and Beth have something of an understanding. And I don't need you asking my permission, or anything of that sort. We've all been living together for some time now, and I know what sort of a man you are."

Daryl looked down at the big knife in his hand, his dirty hand wrapped around the handle, the gloves stretched tight over his bulging knuckles and the blood smeared just about everywhere from having his hands up inside of the deer. Turning back towards the animal, he just got down to work, slipping his blade under the skin, making cuts down the inside of the back legs. And while he peeled the skin down off the legs towards the haunches, he waited for Hershel to start talking again. To tell him that a hunter, a redneck like him might be good for keeping order in a prison, keeping them alive when the dead clawed at the fence, he was no good for the sweetest, prettiest thing to walk around those grey prison walls. Too old, too dangerous. Too wrong, in every way, for his little girl. Tugging hard, he began pulling the skin away from the meat, white lines of fat ripping from the muscle. A sight he'd been seeing his whole life, sounds and bloody scent he'd known since he was a kid, helping his glassy-eyed old man gut a deer out in the shed. His father would drink the whole time, one hand like stone on Daryl's thin, bony shoulder and hot liquor fumes coming out of his mouth as he blindly jabbed a knife into the deer's emptied out belly, trying to teach his weak little boy how to be a man.

"You don't have to be afraid of being with her, Daryl. Shouldn't try keeping away from her, shouldn't try avoiding it. The worst thing you can do is try to stay away from Beth. You'll still have all the same pain, and none of the joy that letting people in can bring."

He hacked off the tail, tossing it to the side, and shot a quick glance at Hershel, who was watching him with an open look on his face, blue eyes soft, almost like his youngest daughter's, but older, wearier. Daryl made a few more cuts, slicing through some the thick fat built up on the deer's back. Worked on pulling the skin down, fingers locked up hard around the slick skin and thick fat, the gloves giving him only a little traction. Most of it was pure force. Remembered his father telling him that it was not getting the skin off properly that made the meat taste wild, same as cutting through too much bone. Remembered a lot of shit his old man had said. Tried to remember the useful parts of his lessons, not the delivery.

Is that how I shown ya to skin a critter like this? Damn fool boy. Wastin' everythin' I brung home for your pansy ass. You wanna eat, yer gonna do it righ'.

"I know about men like your father, like your brother. Know all about drinking, too." Hershel shook his head a little when he said the last part, shaking his head.

Daryl dropped the skin for a minute, letting it hang down, inside out, against the lower half of the carcass. "Then why the hell are you out here, tellin' me not to stay away from her?" Picked up his knife, hacking at rough spots where the skin wasn't pulling away from the meat so easily.

Hershel sighed. "I thought about telling her to give up on you. Thought about telling you to stay clear of my little girl. You're plenty older than her, and you haven't had an easy life. I saw your back, son, fixing you up at the farm. I saw those scars. And I've seen how men can hurt those around him, just because his father didn't treat him right growing up. I've been that man, Daryl." Moving his hand, Daryl shifted his grip and hefted the knife around, not really pressing the blade between skin and meat anymore, just listening. "I could see that you might never be able to do more than watch her, always looking at her from outside the rest of the world. That girl has a good heart. She wants to be yours, and I could see that you might break her heart by never being able to let her have that. I thought you might spend all the rest of your days dancing around her, making her hope and letting her down because you could never do anything more than that."

Daryl dropped his hands, bloody gloves brushing against his pants and hand still fisted around the knife. Finally looked up, meeting Hershel's eyes.

"But I don't really believe that. I've seen you with her, seen you taking on more trouble than anybody at this prison to do right by us. I know you're good enough for her, and so does everybody else, even if you don't want to believe that. I know you don't think you have the slightest notion of how to be good to a woman like my Beth. But let me tell you something I learned the hard way. A woman like that will show you what she wants you to be. She knows her own mind, and she'll know you better than you know yourself. She's like her momma that way." Hershel smiled, a broken smile that reminded Daryl just how much the old man had lost. Remembered that day out by the barn, when everything at the farm really started falling apart at the seams. Beth screaming as her mother tried to rip her apart.

"Here's what I think, Daryl. I don't think I've ever hated myself so much as I did the day I stitched her wrist back up, wondering the whole time why I'd gone out in search of a drink instead of being there for her. Wondering why the hell I wasn't there for her when both my girls needed me. I've tried hard, since then, to do right by my daughters. But I'm not going to be around forever. She needs a man like you. You're loyal, Daryl. A man like you never would have left her that day. Not when she needed you. You'll look out for her, even if she's not yours. But she is yours, Daryl. She can be. I know all about walking away to live alone at the bottom of the bottle. Just like you know all about walking away to be alone with yourself. And I'm telling you all this because I don't want you to break her heart by walking away from her. That's the only way you ever wouldn't be good enough for my little girl."

Hershel slowly got to his feet, leaning against his crutch but managing well all by himself. Daryl stayed rooted to where he stood, next to the strung up deer with the knife in his hand and his mind blank but his body twisted up on the inside, fingers frozen and feet numb.

"You're a good man, Daryl. And you'll be good to my little girl." And then, giving Daryl a nod, the old man turned back to the prison, hobbling and hopping along easily. But no matter how much he leaned on that crutch, his kept his back straight and kept moving, finally disappearing into those big double doors.

And as Daryl got back to work, Hershel's words moved around in his head, rustling around with the quiet sounds of finishing up that doe. And behind all that, a quiet whisper he heard in the darker corner of his mind, he heard Beth's voice.

We can talk it to death later. We can never talk about it, if that's what you have to do. But right now, don't pretend with me.

It was always going to come down to this.

…

Beth was in her cell, working on that scrapbook for Judy, chair pulled up to her desk and papers and markers and other shit like that spread out, covering every corner of the surface. She had some sort of brightly-colored special marker in her hand, and as he peered over her shoulder, Daryl could see she was drawing some sort of flowery border around the edges of the page. She had one of those big sweaters she usually wore, hanging off one thin shoulder to show off the colorful straps of her tank top. He studied the thin, fine bones of her shoulder, like a bird's, as they moved under her pale skin, only a little sun-kissed from being out with the kids the other day. There were a couple of freckles, just peeking out from under the edge of her shirt, dancing close to where her pale pink bra strap stretched across her back before disappearing back under her shirt.

"Hey," he said, leaning against the edge of her cell, keeping his voice quiet.

Beth's blonde head snapped up, ponytail flicking to the side as she turned her head towards him. Her blue eyes locked on him, a bit of a smile appearing on her mouth. She stood, walking over to stand close to him. She pulled her sweater closed, folding her arms across her chest. "Missed you at dinner," she said, her eyes light colored tonight as they rested on him. Gentle. "Did you eat yet?"

"I'm fine. Ate some while I was out huntin'. Lil' Asskicker sleepin'?" he asked. He nodded at the crib, seeing the baby's usual pink onesie and that soft brown hair through the white netting.

Beth nodded, glancing over at the crib, eyes softening a bit as she studied the sleeping little girl. "Yeah. Just put her down a couple of minutes ago."

Daryl studied her in silence for a moment, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I gotta go check the fences. Can you get someone to watch her?"

"Yeah," she said. "I can go ask Maggie."

He nodded, standing upright with a push of his shoulder against the wall, digging his hands deep into his pockets. "Alrigh'. I'll meet you out by the big doors," he answered, turning to go.

"Oh, wait," Beth murmured absently, her hand catching his shoulder. He turned back, catching the way her eyebrows came together and the way her tongue swiped at her lower lip before she bit down near the corner of her mouth. "You've got somethin' on your face." And tugging the sleeve of her sweater down over her hand, she reached up, pushing his hair away from his temple. She swiped at the skin there a couple times, the worn-soft knit of her sweater warm on his temple. "Just a little bit of blood," she said, dropping her hand a couple of inches, the sweater falling back from her hand and wrist. Beth's fingertips skated a bit along his jaw, and he wanted to close his eyes, lean into her touch. But Daryl kept his eyes open, watching the way her lips parted a little, her glass-blue eyes following the path her fingers traced down from his cheekbone. Her fingers were soft and cool, her nails scratched lightly at the hair growing along his jaw, and he might've shivered if he hadn't been holding his breath.

"Beth."

She looked up from where her fingers had come to rest, a red haze spreading across her cheeks as her blue eyes darted up to his. Beth pulled her hand away, using the same fingers that had just been on his face a second ago to tuck a bit of hair behind her ear. For once, Daryl had the feeling that she was just as unsettled as him.

Daryl pulled his hand out of his pocket, reaching out. Snagged a bit of her hair between his fingers, smooth and tangled all at once as his fingers slid over that one long lock. Pressed his fingers together hard, one last time, before letting go. Tucked his hand back into his pocket.

"I'll be just outside the doors." And she nodded, and he made himself turn away without a second look. Without looking at her, letting the sight of her cloud his thoughts, he had the stupid thought that he might be able to sort out a least a single minute of his day.

…

A/N: I'm sorry! It had to end this way! I promise, next chapter will be more Bethyl-centric. Not just a Daryl's feelings-fest (good lord do I love the angst!). But, honestly, when I was thinking about last chapter, after their kiss, my thought process kept coming back to the same thing: What would Daryl do if Beth kissed him? Well, I'm pretty damn sure his heart and stomach would fall out of his asshole. And, I know I had to finally get some more Hershel in here; this just felt like the right timing. So, hence this chapter, folks. Also, the Zach dream pulled together after Mr. CoraRochester (who's only read chapter 1, btw) asked if I'd killed off Zach yet. He suggested the dream, and the switch where Daryl was Zach and so I claimed (!) the idea and ran with it. Anyway, his dream idea felt right to me, and, of course, it was the perfect place to add a bit of smut. Because that's really all I've wanted to write lately, and Daryl is not exactly accommodating. Obviously.

Again, y'all: thanks for the continued support. I know I've been a little slow with the updates, but I had a term paper due Friday, and I've got another due soon (7,000 words on Barthes due on the 18th!), so… The next two weeks will be a little slow, too, unfortunately, most likely continuing the trend of 9 days or so between updates. Although, my chapters have been getting longer, so maybe this wait is okay? Ugh, I don't know. School got me fried, frazzled, and this is my escape. I'm trying! Haha.

As always, leave me some love in the review box. I'd love to hear what you think is going to happen next chapter when they're out walking the fence. And! Come find me on tumblr: corarochester.