A/N: Per usual, all of the reviews were excellent. I'm so glad everyone is appreciating the slow burn, even though it's agonizing at times. I just started this story promising myself that they wouldn't get together by chapter two; it always seemed unrealistic that they'd fall for each other so quickly. They're both from very different walks of life, and Daryl has a hard time appreciating himself, let alone anyone else. In the show, they spent months together at the prison and didn't form a stronger bond until they were thrust together by circumstance while they were on the run. So, I wanted to keep that going within my realm; an eventual appreciation for one another, overcoming internal and external obstacles. Yadda yadda.

Anyway, since chapter 16 was pretty short and terribly distressing, I went ahead and completed chapter 17- the one I'd been looking forward to writing.

Winner, winner; chicken dinner.

Chapter 17

It had been a few days since he'd visited her, and Daryl knew he needed to go back. He tried to go see her at weird hours so that he didn't run into her friends or family, but there had been so many people in and out of the hospital that it had been tough. The last time, he had driven all the way there, only to be in her room for all of 5 minutes before someone else showed up. Then he'd left in his awkwardness.

He'd been trying to pull double-shifts at the shop whenever he could, to make up for the week he'd lost. Between working, driving to the hospital, and his damned nightmares, he hardly got any sleep and he went through most days like a zombie. That night, they were scheduled to do inventory, but Daryl had been so dead on his feet that Ron sent him home to get some sleep. Normally, Daryl would have argued and insisted to stay, but he'd wanted to check in on a certain blonde.

As soon as he'd gotten home from the shop that evening, he'd changed out of his work clothes, antsy at the prospect of visiting Beth. He was worried about her since the doctors kept pushing the date back on when they planned to take her out of the coma. Although he wanted her to wake up and get on with her life, he was cheerless at the prospect that his time spent being so close to her was near an end. He needed just one more night spent next to her before he could finally let go.

After getting dressed, though, he stumbled over his own feet and decided it was best to just sit down and rest for a minute before he started the long drive to the hospital. He plopped down on his bare mattress since he hadn't been able to go shopping for furniture during the days he'd taken off of work for that purpose, and thus, still had no couch.

He awoke to knocking at his front door. As he sat up, he cursed himself for falling asleep; it was pitch black outside now. Walking over to his door, he swung it open to see Oscar standing there.

"Hey, man," he greeted groggily.

"Daryl, man," Oscar said, grinning at him, "Your girl called the shop earlier."

"What?" Daryl said. What girl was Oscar on about? Sometimes a chick would come into the shop and one of the guys would get caught staring or flirting; from then on, the man was teased relentlessly about when his 'girl' was coming back in for her car. But Daryl never stared, and he sure as shit never flirted, so he didn't have any of those girls.

"Jeep girl, dude," Oscar said, scoffing at him. "How many pretty blondes you got on rotation? You need more sleep, Holmes."

Suddenly wide awake, Daryl fisted his hand in Oscar's shirt. "Jeep girl? Beth? She called the shop herself? When?"

"Dude, you need ta chill out!" Oscar said, smacking Daryl's hand off of him. "I was busy with customers; I didn't talk to her. Steve told me when I was leaving that I needed to stop over and let you know, since your phone is broke and all."

"Gimme yours," Daryl demanded, holding his hand out.

"No use, Holmes. She told Steve she was getting on a plane tonight. She said for you to call her tomorrow. I just thought, you know, you'd wanna know."

A plane? Daryl put his hand on the door frame, suddenly unsteady. She was leaving?

"Are you alright, man? You don't look so good," Oscar said, holding a hand out like Daryl needed steadying.

"Yeah," he said blankly. "I'm fine. Thanks for lettin' me know…"

Oscar nodded, but looked concerned for his friend. "Yeah, alright, man. Hey, you call me if you need anythin', you hear me? Anythin."

"I'm fine," Daryl repeated.

He shut the door as Oscar left, his head spinning with the idea that Beth was just gone. He'd seen her a few days ago in the hospital, and in that short span of time, she'd apparently just woken up out of a damned coma and walked out of his life.

He realized that during all of the times he'd pushed her away and tried to distance himself from her, he must've never truly believed it would work, because even after she'd been the one to walk away from him at the bar that fateful night, he hadn't felt this desolate.

If he'd have known that the last time he was going to see her would be the very last time, he wouldn't have left her bedside just because all of her friends had been showing up; he'd have stayed longer and soaked her in more. Now it was too late; she was just gone.

Or was she?

Oscar never mentioned what time she was leaving. If she and her family were leaving only days after her leaving the hospital, then it was possible they'd had to book a red-eye. He looked over at the clock on his stove; it was 11:24.

Before he knew he'd even made up his mind, he snatched his jacket off of the hook by the door, grabbed his keys, and jogged down the steps to his truck.

As he drove, Daryl had to keep his eye on the speedometer, pulling his foot off of the gas every so often because he was gunning it down icy roads. He'd never catch her in time if he slid off the damn road into a ditch.

Daryl's heart sank as he pulled into her empty driveway. He inched his way closer to her dark cabin, finally stopping and turning the truck off. His breath puffed out white from the cold as he sat there, unsure as to what his next move should even be. It's not like he could drive all the way to the airport. There were two larger airports that she had an equal chance of leaving from; both were pretty far away, and resided in opposite directions.

He got out of the truck and trudged up her porch. He knew it was stupid, so fucking stupid, but he knocked anyway. There was no sound, no movement, no light clicking on from inside. He tried the door handle, and sure enough, it was locked.

Pacing around on her porch, he chewed on the inside of his cheek, hating himself for falling asleep. If he'd gotten to the hospital earlier and found out that she had been discharged already, he could have made it back in time, possibly.

He'd planned on staying at his da's trailer as soon as she got home from the hospital, just to keep a safe distance. It was pretty damn cold, but he'd considered camping in the forest near her cabin, at least for the first few days, just to keep an eye on her. His overprotection was probably irrational; he knew Zach was taken care of by the law, but he couldn't help but want to stick close to her.

His stomach felt queasy and he sat down on her top step, leaning his head against the frozen post of her railing. If she'd been trying to call his cellphone again, and he'd missed her, again…

"Fuck," he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face.

The first time he had listened to her voicemail from that fateful Tuesday night, he'd nearly come undone. The second time was worse, though. And after he'd listened to it 3 more times, hating himself more and more each time he lived through it, he finally took the damn thing over to Rick. Zach's voice was clearly his on the short recording; surely, they could use it to keep him behind bars a lot longer. Rick had enthusiastically thanked him, and they copied the file onto Rick's computer at the station.

But then, Daryl had visited Beth in the hospital that night, and his fury had risen up. She looked so small and frail, lying in that damned bed. He'd been happy to see that her oxygen mask and breathing tubes had been removed, but her lip was still swollen and there were a couple of stitches in it from where she'd taken a hard hit to the face. Her nose was bruised and her chin had little healing cuts on it from where she'd been nicked by glass. Every time he saw her, it was like the first time in the hospital all over again. That version of Beth didn't match the one from his memory, and it caused him pain and stress.

After Daryl got home that particular night, the last night he'd actually seen her, he had listened to her message twice more before throwing his phone in a blind rage. It had shattered, to his horror, and his phone company had been taking their sweet-ass time getting him a new one. He'd even driven over to Carol's house and given her his work number, so that she could call him if she had any news about Beth. She hadn't called.

And now, Beth was gone.

She'd left with barely a word, and why should she stay? He didn't have a hold over her. He'd done his best to avoid her and sever their connection. He knew that the letter she'd written to him had been done in a drug-induced haze, and it wasn't like she could know he'd spent so much time at her bedside.

He walked over and climbed back into his truck, staring awhile longer at the cabin, shocked at how it still looked the exact same, even with its very life stripped away from the inside. But then, he realized he should've seen it coming. Why would she want to keep living in that cabin? It would hold nothing but nightmares for her now, just like how his da's trailer had always haunted him. Even as a man, he'd get flashbacks of being whipped, cussed at, kicked, spit on… it was terrible, and the very reason he'd moved.

Beth's cabin was sure to hold the same types of ghosts; how could she sit in her living room and not remember the horrors of being sliced up by broken glass and chased? How could she go to sleep at night in the room where that asshole had broken through her door and assaulted her?

The more Daryl thought about it, the more it made sense that Beth had left. After all, the shit left in the cabin was probably riddled with bad memories for her, and she'd mentioned to Carol once in the grocery store, the day he'd been eavesdropping, that there was someone still living in her apartment back in Chicago. With Zach off her tail, she could go back there and live the better life that she had created for herself. She could go on living, pretending that her stint in Georgia was just a bad nightmare.

He started his truck up, beginning to feel the numbness seeping through his body. It wasn't from the cold, though. He was emotionally shutting down, like he did when he was a kid and his da had gone on rampages. Daryl had been reprimanded for showing his feelings, kicked for cowering in fear. He'd learned, early on, the art of survival; the means of shutting down.

Now was one of those times he needed the survival.

He drove through the dark to his da's trailer. He'd only been at his apartment the last few days because he had been bone-tired, and since he couldn't afford two electric bills at once, he'd shut off the electricity to his da's, which made the tin can hardly any warmer than it was outside. He was too weary tonight to head all the way back to his place, so he drove to the trailer, intending to crash there just one more night. After that, he didn't care what the fuck happened to the place, he'd never look back. With Beth gone, there was no reason to, anyhow.

As Daryl pulled into his driveway, something reflected in his truck's beams, and his heart clenched. Beth's Jeep was parked on the side of the trailer. He hadn't stopped to wonder why the Jeep had been missing from her place if she'd planned on flying back home, but apparently she had decided to leave it with him for now. If she intended to keep it, then that meant she'd probably have to come back and claim it. She might send her brother in law to drive it back up north; but in the off-chance that she came in person to obtain it one day, then he might get the last look that he so badly needed, after all.

His mood stayed bleak, even with such a thought floating around in his head, because really, it would only be hard if she came back one last time; he'd probably be almost over her and then she'd come back and tear him open all over again. She'd never be back to stay.

When he parked his truck, he got out and walked over to her Jeep, running his hand across the hood. It was cold; she'd dropped it off an hour ago or longer. He looked it over, foolishly hoping for some kind of a note to be sticking out from somewhere; last words from her so that he'd know what to expect. But there were no letters, and her doors were locked.

Daryl looked back over to the trailer, wary of walking through the door. It was always unlocked and she knew that. He'd probably find the keys lying on his table with the note he so badly sought. The idea should have comforted him, but it made him only feel emptier knowing that she had been right there just hours ago, and he'd missed her yet again.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected or hoped for when she finally recovered. He hadn't decided if he was going to take a chance at being part of her life, or if it would just be better that he parted ways like he'd been trying to all along, especially now since the yearning to touch her had intensified.

Before she was in the hospital, he'd thought about wanting to reach out and lay his hand on her face once or twice. The couple of times his flesh had come into contact with hers, whether by her choice, his, or accidentally, he had burned with her phantom touch for hours. While she was lying in the hospital, though, he'd comforted himself by putting his hand on her hand, to feel her warmth and reassure himself that she was still there; still Beth. But he'd done it over and over again, feeling the soft skin on the inside of her wrist with his calloused fingers, kissing her forehead, running his hands through her blonde hair, stroking her delicate fingers; so much, that he feared he'd become addicted to it.

At first, he had worried that if anyone caught him, or if she'd somehow woken up, that it would come off as him being creepy and he'd be the proverbial monster being chased out of town with torches and pitch forks. He didn't have any right to touch her and fret over her like her friends and family did, and he definitely hadn't gotten her permission. Once he did it, though; once he dropped that barrier and let himself hold her hand in that dark, empty room and admit to himself amid the dull buzz of her machines that she meant so much more to him; then it didn't feel so wrong. Putting his hands on her skin came more and more naturally as the days wore on.

But therein laid the problem; Beth hadn't consented, and after his last round of anger at the bar, and her subsequent reaction to him in the grocery store, he wasn't really sure where they stood in relation to one another. She could have left the hospital and meant to never speak to him again, for all he knew. And she sort of had, hadn't she?

Everything was so fucked up; he was so fucked up… and like most everything else in his life, he had no one else to blame but himself.

"You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."

She'd never understand how true her statement was; he missed her enough when she was actually there.

He climbed the steps to his da's trailer slowly, the exhaustion finally taking hold of him again after the hour of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he'd raced back with the stupid hope that he'd catch Beth before she left; as though he was living in some kind of fucked up fictional chick flick. If Merle had been around to witness his insanity, he'd have kicked Daryl's ass all the way to Sunday.

A sad smile graced his lips as he put his hand on the doorknob and found it locked. Only Beth would be kind enough to lock up a trailer so trashy and ugly. His vision blurred while he looked for the right key on his key ring, and he wiped at his eyes, growling, "Fuckin' stupid."

He knew she'd be the end of him.

He finally got the door open, and he flipped on the light as he let the door swing closed behind him. He did a double-take when he realized there was a color that didn't belong in the room, something that hadn't been there before: White.

It was a fucking blanket. Beth's giant white goosedown comforter was heaped on his da's ugly orange couch in a heap, looking like a pile of pure snow in a landfill. Was he so fucking hopeless that she'd left him her blanket to comfort him at night? Maybe she'd noticed that he didn't have any covers on his da's bed and that his pillow and a ratty throw blanket had been lying on the couch from when he'd been sleeping there. Suddenly, he greedily wondered what else she might have left there for him; what other mementoes of her she'd left him to remember her by.

He dropped his keys in the bowl and jumped back against the door as the blanket moved.

Suddenly, there was a grumpy grumbling, and someone sat up on the couch, blonde hair askew, and a small hand covering a bruised face against the brightness of the lights he'd switched on.

So many strange emotions flooded through him that he tensed up; relief that she was there, shock that she was asleep in his da's cold empty trailer, anger that she'd put him through so much worry, elation that he might finally get a chance to not be such an asshole to her. He clenched his jaw, locking down on all of the impulses running through him.

"Daryl," she breathed, once her eyes had apparently adjusted to the brightness, "I thought you moved."

"I though' you left," he responded, immediately regretting his clipped tone. Her question had sounded awestruck, his sounded like an accusation. But no one had ever been able to charge a Dixon with handling feelings real well, and Daryl was no exception. Over the past 3 weeks, Beth had managed to run him through the wringer, up one end of the spectrum of emotions and down the other; and he finally felt like he was coming unraveled.

"I was going to…" she said, looking down at her hands as her sentence drifted off, unfinished.

He'd imagined lots of ways seeing her again would go, and this wasn't it. He shifted uncomfortably, sticking his hands in his pockets. He wanted to smooth down her unruly hair or rub his thumbs on her cheek. But now that she was awake, he didn't know where she stood with everything, and he was too much of a fucking coward to just put himself out there and see what happened.

"Why didn' you?" he whispered. He genuinely wanted to know; he needed her to tell him that she had stayed because of him, or their friendship; something. His question had seemed to come out more menacing than he meant it, though, and he was frustrated that he wasn't better at talking to her. She deserved more than what he was capable giving her.

She frowned and then pulled something out from under the blanket, holding it up for him to see. Laughing a little, he watched as her big blue eyes overflowed with tears. "I was packing, and I thought I'd take a few of the stuffed animals with me from the hospital, since I was going to have to leave all of my beautiful flowers. I dumped them all out on my bed, and this cranky mutt was staring up at me. It looked just like the dog in the woods that chased me down the day that I met you. I felt like… like it was a sign. A sign that I shouldn't leave. "

She looked at him then, staring, with something unsaid left hanging in the air, but he wasn't sure what. He did know that while he'd been panicking, stressing, racing over to her place, and battling his own self-conscience, that stupid fucking stuffed dog had done all of the damned work and saved the day for him. He was both mildly irritated at it, and unbelievably thankful.

"I'm sorry I'm in your space," she said quietly, looking down at the dog gripped in her hands. "I just… I chose to stay at the last second, so my family had to fly back home. I thought I would be fine in the cabin by myself," her voice hitched and he stepped forward, but she never looked up at him. "I wasn't, though, not in the dark. I didn't want to wake anyone up, and Steve told me you'd moved out and into an apartment, so…" she shrugged, leaving the rest of her story unspoken. There she was. The end.

"You shouldn' be here," Daryl said softly.

"I know, Daryl. I'm sorry," she responded.

"No, I mean… 's too cold. I hadta shut off the electricity las' week. You're gonna get sick, sleepin' in here."

"All the shit we've been through, and you're worried about a cold taking me out?" she asked, looking up at him with humor alight in her eyes.

"I can't beat a cold outta ya," Daryl said, not thinking. He clenched his jaw as soon as the comment left his mouth; he'd meant it as a joke, but with all of the shit that had just happened with Zach, it was a stupid fucking thing to say to her.

Instead of being dragged into some dark recess of her memories by his statement, though, Beth just grinned at him. "You're damn sure stubborn enough to try it, though, Daryl Dixon." She threw her head back and laughed. He'd never heard anything sound sweeter.

"Get your stuff," he told her, grabbing his keys back out of the bowl.

Sobering up, she shook her head at him. "I can't go back to the cabin right now, Daryl. I'd rather freeze to death in this trailer than sleep in that cabin tonight."

"Nah, I'm gonna take you to my new place," he said, watching her face for any signs of discomfort. Instead, she smiled at him.

"I'd love to see where you live now," she responded.

"I got it a few weeks ago," he told her. He wasn't sure why it was important to him that she knew, but it was. "I was on my way t' tell ya the night that…"

"Oh," she said, pausing from folding her comforter to look at him. "So you never got my call? You were just near the cabin and heard everything?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his face whiskers anxiously. He did not want to discuss her voicemail or the terrible sounds that still haunted him in his sleep; not at all.

Beth smiled at a thought as she went back to folding her blanket.

"What…?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just thinking that those angel wings sewn into the back of your leather vest are pretty fitting."

He felt his face begin to burn at the compliment; he wasn't used to compliments.

"You done, yet?" he deflected gruffly. "You've got so damn much stuff lyin' aroun', it looks like you were ready t' just move on in."

"There isn't that much," Beth scoffed, stuffing everything of hers into a pretty small duffel bag to prove her point.

Once she'd put her shoes and jacket on, flung the bag over her shoulder, and gathered the giant comforter in her arms, Daryl opened the door and stepped aside to hold it for her. She smiled at him as she walked past, and he inhaled her coconut scent. He almost steadied her as she walked down the steps, concerned that she couldn't see in front of her with such a large blanket. She could take care of herself, though, he reminded himself, resisting the urge to be a douche.

He walked past her once they were in the yard, and opened his truck door for her since her hands were full. She threw her blanket and bag in first, and then grabbed the roof handle to pull herself up with. Unable to help himself this time, Daryl laid a hand on the small of her back to give her a boost. Once she was sat in the seat, she smiled at him like she knew something he didn't. The smile was too mischievous; it made him uneasy.

"Fucken' squatter," he muttered at her, shaking his head as he slammed the door and went around the truck to climb into the driver's seat.

As he pulled out of his da's yard, Beth had rearranged herself so that her bag was by the door, and she was sitting more in the middle, spreading out her comforter to wrap up in it. He finally reached over and turned the heater on, hoping the truck would warm up before they made it back to his place.

He'd gotten back on the highway and was driving when he felt part of the blanket land on his legs. He looked over to see her staring forward out of the windshield with a small smile on her face. He felt the déjà vu from when their roles were reversed after he'd fallen into the river, and he'd been the one to cover her lap when she'd been driving the truck.

It seemed like years ago.

Finally, he pulled into his parking lot and shut the truck off. Beth was curled in a ball in the seat with the top of her head pressed against his thigh. Staring down at her sleeping form, he couldn't help but notice the difference in the way she looked now compared to how she'd looked back in the hospital. Her cheeks were full of rosy coloring, instead of white and pale, and even her features seemed more defined and dynamic. There had been so much life missing from her back in the hospital, and that had been the hardest part of visiting her; mourning her as she laid right in front of him.

He shook her shoulder gently, trying not to jostle her too much; he didn't know what the limitations of her healing neck were. "Beth, we're here…"

She woke up, looking around at their surroundings. "These are nice apartments," she said softly, stifling a yawn.

"Thanks," he said, feeling awkward.

They climbed out of the truck, Daryl taking on her mountain of a blanket. She followed him quietly up three flights of stairs until they got to his apartment. He unlocked the door, since it automatically locked as soon as it swung closed as a security measure, and they stepped inside.

He suddenly felt really embarrassed to have her in there. He'd gotten the place weeks ago, and there still wasn't a stitch of furniture in the place. All of his worldly possessions were in a pile on the floor of his closet.

"I love what you've done with the place," she quipped, turning to shoot a teasing smile his way. Even faintly bruised with a gash on her bottom lip, she looked beautiful.

"I jus' haven't had th' time, alrigh'?" he grumped back at her.

She nodded, seeming to have shifted into a more somber mood.

"I've been doin' a lotta overtime," he felt the need to explain.

"I suppose that makes sense, since you lost a few days of work sitting around in jail," she said with a bitterness that surprised him.

"Wasn' no big deal," he lied.

She tightened her lips in disagreement, but didn't argue with him.

"So, I guess we're going shopping for furniture for you in the near future," she said, changing the subject.

He snorted, "Looks like a week o' firsts. Firs' time buyin' furniture, firs' time in jail…" first time buying a girl a stuffed animal, first time shooting another human with his crossbow, first time kissing Beth even if it was just on the cheek.

"Really?" she asked, "that was your first time in jail?"

Her question sounded innocent enough, but it made him mad that she seemed so surprised. "Is tha' wha' you think o' me?" he growled at her.

"Well, no, I just… You know, I figured there might've been something. Not even the drunk tank…?"

He glared at her from under his bangs by way of answering, back to feeling like a redneck asshole in her eyes. Then, she shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Well, my daddy's even been in there for that once or twice. I just didn't know. I'm sorry."

Her excuse did its trick, as Daryl felt the tension drain from his shoulders. He could tell by the way she talked about him that Beth's dad meant a lot to her. He'd never known what that felt like.

"It's fine," he said, grabbing her bag off of the floor for her and making his way back to his bedroom. "C'mon."

As they entered the room, he heard her walk out from behind him and do a slow circuit around the perimeter. "Where on earth are your sheets? Blankets? A pillow, perhaps?"

"I tol' you," he said, feeling his cheeks heat up again, "I haven' had the time…"

A small, affectionate smile played at the edges of her lips, and she laughed a little. "I can't even be surprised. This is so you. Too manly for silly things like blankets and pillows. It's almost like comfort makes you uncomfortable."

"You're one t' talk," he responded, "squattin' in an abandoned trailer w' no electricity an' shit."

She smiled at him again, and he stared at her for longer than a heartbeat. Finally, she was the first to break eye contact as she waded out onto his floor mattress. "Jeez, this thing is so hard; it's like sleeping on concrete." She bounced a little on it, walking in circles. "So, which side do you prefer?"

"I'm takin' the floor," he said, unable to wrap his mind around sharing a mattress with her; even a shitty one.

"You don't have to do that, Daryl, it's big enough for both of us. I don't mind."

"You jus' said it was practically the same as sleepin' on the floor," he pointed out, satisfied with the shade of pink that her cheeks turned upon being called out.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes. Go t' sleep," he said, turning to leave and give her privacy.

"Wait," she said, "where are you going?"

"The floor in th' livin' room's no different than the floor in here," he said, turning back to her.

"Then, there's no reason you can't sleep on the floor in here…" she answered, nervously biting the uninjured side of her bottom lip.

He was about to refuse her, until he realized that this would be the first night that she'd actually be sleeping of her own free will, rather than in a forced coma. She had fled her warm, cozy cabin to escape nightmares of Zach, and being in a strange place devoid of anything comforting was probably unnerving to her.

He felt strange about the idea of sleeping in the same room, but finally, he nodded his head. The worry on her face dissolved into a smile, and she flung herself forward and hugged him around the waist.

Daryl was taken aback at her sudden display of affection, and found that he was slightly uncomfortable with it; he could probably count the number of hugs he'd ever gotten in his lifetime on both hands. But it was Beth, so he did what he promised himself he was going to do for her; he tried. He laid one hand on her upper arm, and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders. The motion felt awkward and clunky, like he was the Tin Man in need of a heart.

She pulled back, her hair tickling his nose and sticking to the fuzz on his face. He chewed on the inside of his cheek awkwardly. What the fuck do people say to each other after they hug? Thanks, that was a good one?

She saved him from his squirming by sitting on the mattress and arranging her duffel bag on the floor, near the head of the bed like a makeshift pillow.

"Here you go," she said, patting it for him.

"I don' need one," he replied.

"Just take it. It'll make me feel better about having the mattress all to myself."

He grunted at her, but acquiesced as he kicked his boots into the closet, flipped off the bedroom light and settled down on the floor, pillowing his head on her duffel bag. Even the duffel bag smelled like Beth.

He could see her smiling in the dark from the street lamp dimly shining through the blinds on the window. She fluffed her giant comforter in the air a few times to straighten it out, and then let it flutter down over both of them, half on her and half on him.

"I don' need a blanket, neither," he grouched at her. He didn't know how to handle her attention. He imagined it's what being coddled probably felt like.

"Quit your bitchin'," she told him, but he could hear the smile in her words.

They settled down into a comfortable silence, and Daryl rolled onto his back, putting one arm behind his head.

"I bough' you th' stuffed dog," he told her thickly, staring up at the ceiling, thankful that it was too dark to see her eyes or her expression.

"I know," she whispered.

"How?" he asked.

"There was something that drew me to him; he's special, just like you."

"I'm nothin' special," Daryl corrected her.

"You are to me," Beth said simply, reaching down beneath the blanket to twine her fingers with his.

He swallowed nervously, feeling like an epic shift had just taken place; something that couldn't be undone.

Something that would change him for the course of the rest of his life.