AN:

[*Edit: I posted this chapter, and there was a little bit of editing left over, (I had hit enter too many times and forgot to go back and delete the scraps. When I write, it's a hot mess, guys. There are like three different colors I use for pieces I want to keep, pieces I like but that don't fit, and pieces I dislike, but could probably rework a different way.) So I accidentally left some of it in there, and then when I went to go back and edit it, I saved, but half of the chapter was gone! So I apologize for TWO updates… I had to just delete the chapter and then reload it. I guess my long absence on FF has left me incapable of running the controls of my own account. Ridiculous, guys. Ridiculous.]

I'm so excited you guys liked the last chapter! To be honest, I had some more stuff I wanted to put into it, so it would have been longer ,and I think that overall it would have been cute, but then.. I had something else in mind that needed to be from Beth's POV. And sadly, I couldn't really do both and not have it seem… redundant. So hopefully this chapter makes up for the lack of the last one.

I also appreciate all of the well wishes! It's funny how you take little things for granted until you can't do them anymore- like how my routine when writing was to sit up in bed with a pad of paper on my lap… but my mattress is super firm, so sitting on it with an injured tailbone is practically the same as sitting on the floor- which I physically can't do. So my whole habitual writing routine is just thrown off course! All because I can't SIT on my bed! Crazy. Oh well, I'm adjusting. It could have been much worse and I'm just thankful it wasn't. And my chest injury might've left me a little more… weakened, because I got a chest cold [in the middle of summer,] and it turned into pneumonia. So that's been fun trying to recover from…

2015 is not my friend.

Anyway, I apologize for the agonizingly long wait. Hope you all enjoy! =)

[Also? In case anyone notes the similarity from a movie in my second line- yeah. Mad Max rocked my socks off. You should absolutely see it if you haven't.]

Chapter 24

What a week.

What a long, crazy, hectic, stressful, lovely week.

Beth finished tightly wrapping her bruised ankle as she sat perched on the side of her mattress, clad in a soft pink sweater and her most comfortable pair of denim jeans. She inhaled a lungful of warm air that was still crisp with the scent of winter and engine grease. It was like inhaling him.

She'd just seen him the night before, albeit under exhausting, grueling circumstances; but she couldn't help but feel giddy at the thought of her huntsman. Last night now seemed like it had happened years ago, and possibly to another person, as Beth only had bits and fragments floating around in her head of the evening's events. All she had seemed to retain were the highlights- Daryl walking into the melee looking like a dark guardian angel; the frost that had settled into his hair halfway through the night and how pink the tip of his nose had gotten; his blue eyes that seemed to glow in the semi-darkness as he pulled his gloves off with his teeth and glared at her for being ridiculous; how concerned he looked when he knelt down to remove the trap from her ankle; how warm the back of his neck had been when she pressed her face into it as he carried her on his back through the forest; and finally, the sight of him emerging from the woods, bloodied but sure-footed, carrying Carol's little girl wrapped in his jacket. It was at that point that her brain had evidently shut off and converted into auto-pilot. She only had snippets of Daryl driving them through the storm, being in the hospital, and then getting soaked trying to get back into her house.

This morning, though, her head was clear and the thought of seeing Daryl made her heart speed up, giving her the extra burst of energy she'd need to get out of the cabin despite the lack of sleep and strange weather surrounding the day. Sasha had already called to check up on her, and she'd promised to stop in at the diner to prove that she was truly still in one piece after the ordeal. After that, though, Beth knew where her next stop would be.

She limped through her cabin as she pulled her mostly-dried, freshly cleaned hair into a messy ponytail. All of the precipitation and humidity from the night before would turn her hair back to its natural wavy state with or without product in it, so she didn't bother with styling. She pulled on two pairs of long socks, for extra warmth and extra stability for her ankle, and then her boots. On the fridge, she spotted a note with sloppy, familiar handwriting on it.

Thanks again. -D

Smiling, she pulled the paper off and stuffed it in her pocket like a good luck token for the day. As she made her way to the door, she pulled a clean, dry jacket on, but frowned when she didn't see her purse or set of keys. In the entry way sat a lone rock, covered and surrounded in dried mud, and on her stand was a single house key. Then she remembered; her Jeep was still parked at Sasha's, along with her purse and all of her other effects; they'd used her hide-a-key last night to get in. She thought it was strange Sasha had bugged her to stop by the diner knowing her Jeep was still at her house, but then again, maybe Sasha figured Daryl was still around to give her a ride.

Then, as though she'd thought about him so much that he'd materialized, there Daryl was. She heard the familiar roar of her Jeep's engine as it crunched its way down her gravel driveway. Lori, Sasha's brother Tyreese, or even Sheriff Grimes could have all been the ones to politely return her Jeep to her; but through a wisdom Beth couldn't describe, she knew it was Daryl before she even bothered to look.

Smiling from ear to ear, she locked the door up behind her as she went out onto the porch to wait for her green monster and the hunter undoubtedly driving it.

Daryl parked, and she watched as he dug around in the passenger seat for something. Then he climbed down from the cab with a white cardboard box in his hand; yet he still hadn't even glanced her way. She was surprised to see him so uncharacteristically unobservant. Curious, she stood still and quiet where she was and watched him approach. His gaze remained on the ground in front of his feet, with that strange box in one hand, and the other dug deep into his jacket pocket. His mind was obviously a million miles away.

As he began jogging up her porch stairs, Beth felt butterflies erupt in her chest and she blurted cheerfully, "Good morning!"

Daryl's head shot up, his face lit up with surprise. It was then that his boot caught the very edge of the top step, he faltered…

The next thing she knew, Daryl's lean body was crashing into her. She stood no chance under the sheer weight of him, and her weak ankle betrayed her by giving out as soon as she took a step back to brace herself against his fall. The porch rushed up under her, and she landed hard, pain reverberating through her butt, her elbows, and the back of her head as she hit the solid wood.

On top of her, Daryl pressed down like a boulder. Briefly, with her wits scrambled about, Beth thought this was pretty close to the phrase "between a rock and a hard place."

Daryl managed to get his free hand out of his pocket, while the other was crushed between them; the box smashed. He sat up off of her as quickly as he could. Despite the pain, Beth was amused when she looked up and realized that his face was beet red.

"Fuck… Are you a'right?" He asked, before catching the look on her face. Daryl glared down at her as he sat back on his heels to get himself completely off of her body. "What th' hell are you smilin' for?"

"I'm okay, it just rattled m…" Beth began, but paused as she saw the red smeared all over his hand and covering the front of her shirt. "Oh my goodness, Daryl, you're bleeding! You must have ripped your stitches out of your arm! Here, let me see it…" She sat up, reaching for him.

"Nah, I ain't hurt," he said, gently disengaging her hand from his sleeve.

"Like hell you aren't. Look at all of this blood! Damnit, Daryl Dixon, for ONCE in your life, you need to just let go of that pig-headed stubbornness of yours and just admit you're injured! You don't have to act so damned manly and macho all of the time, like you don't feel pain like the rest of…"

Looking annoyed and even redder in the face than before, Daryl snatched up the crumpled white box and opened it up to show her. Coating the inside of the box was globs of the same red stuff that was covering her sweater.

She glanced at his face questioningly, and he said, "Pie. Okay?"

Beth looked down at her hands and realized that the stuff all over her was too thick to be blood, and it smelled like…

"It's cherry pie," she said stupidly.

"Didn' I jus' tell you that?" Daryl grumbled something else that sounded like 'lunatic', tossing the box to the side. He then noticed a huge chunk of pie with a little bit of crust still mingled in with it, hanging from his bangs. As he crossed his eyes and glared at it, Beth began laughing.

"An' now yer laughin' at me," he said, exasperated, as he wiped the chunk of pie out of his hair and flung it toward the yard.

Beth wanted to tell him that she wasn't laughing at him, but she would have been lying, and anyway, she didn't have the air in her lungs for it. She shook her head, while still laughing so hard that tears were beginning to fall out of her eyes. All she could picture over and over again was the look of surprise on his face as he tumbled into her, as well as the pie in his hair, swinging in front of his serious, handsome face.

Finally, Beth recovered enough to begin breathing again, and she looked up to see a stern-looking Daryl leaned back against her railing with his arms crossed, waiting for her to finish her fit of hysteria.

"I'm sorry," she said breathlessly, still chuckling. "The look on your face was just…"

His lips were set in a tight, irritated line, but he still stepped forward and offered her a hand as soon as she began trying to get up. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. Once standing, she tightened her hold on his hand and looked up into his face, still smiling at their ridiculous situation.

His icy blue eyes held hers for moments, but instead of amusement in them, she could only see a war raging behind them. Something was wearing on his mind.

"Why did you have a box of pie?" she finally asked, although she already suspected what the answer was.

"Are you sure you're a'right?" he asked for the second time, ignoring her question and breaking eye contact as he looked her over, searching as though he could see any scrapes or lacerations through her sweater and jacket.

"Daryl," she said, attempting to get his attention back.

He stepped away from her, and her hand felt cold as his slipped away from her grasp. He knelt down and began scooping clumps of pie off of her deck, flinging them into the yard. She didn't bother to point out that it might attract animals. If there were bears around, Daryl would know, and raccoons were common visitors anyway.

"Daryl," she said again, but he still didn't quite meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry f' knockin' you over like tha'. I didn' see you standin' there an' you just… surprised me, tha's all." he said, his cheeks still tinted in pink. She doubted he was that ungraceful very often in his life.

Except whenever she was around, apparently.

"It's fine. I'm alright," she said, smiling at him. "Besides, it kind of ties in with our theme of the week, doesn't it?" She laughed at that, allowing her exuberant mood to soak into the memories of the past month and color them in a new, positive light. Some of the memories weren't good ones, but having him around made them better.

Daryl's lips quirked slightly as he grunted in acknowledgement of her high spirits, but his long, choppy bangs kept her from being able to read the top half of his expression. He pulled out the greasy red shop rag he always seemed to carry in his back pocket, and began wiping leftover pie off of his hands.

"Would you like to come inside and wash up?" Beth offered. He'd gotten most of the red filling off, but she rather liked having him inside her cabin. He seemed to fit there, somehow.

"No," he blurted rather quickly. "I'm a'right out here."

"I have to go change my sweater anyway," she said, indicating the big red smudges coating one of her favorite outfits.

Daryl glanced down at her sweater, too, and she almost laughed at how quickly he jerked his attention away again.

She had never before seen her huntsman so damn skittish!

"Suit yourself," she responded, shrugging and smiling at him before unlocking her door and re-entering the cabin.

As soon as she shut the door behind her, Beth pressed her eye up to the peephole and watched Daryl as he dropped his calm façade. He shook his head, muttering to himself grumpily, and then raked both hands roughly over his face. He pulled his jacket off, which was peculiar for such a chilly day, and tossed it onto her porch railing, where he also planted his hands. She watched the muscles in his back and shoulders ripple as he strained against the railing and then lowered his head down between his shoulder blades, until his chin was tucked into his chest. He became very still at that point, arm muscles bunched and fingers white.

Frowning, Beth turned away from the door and wandered into her room, mulling over how flustered Daryl seemed to be. She threw her pie-drenched clothing into the sink and filled it up to let them soak; it was one of her favorite outfits, after all. Although, she found it hard to be upset about having her clothes stained, given the circumstances surrounding it.

She dug through her closet, contemplating what exactly it was that had Daryl so distracted and tightly wound all of a sudden.

Beth certainly had her theories; some fit, others didn't. The big one that she'd been toying with for awhile was the idea that Daryl could in fact be into her, in spite of the possibility that he didn't want to be attracted to her. He seemed to fight his impulses pretty regularly and prevent himself from letting her in by shielding his feelings using frustration, anger, and sarcasm. She saw the pattern, and she could also see the man behind the armor.

She knew that she caught the attention of men occasionally, and she generally just didn't pay it any mind. Most men in her experience were simple men, with simple brains, and likewise simple desires. But from the first moment she met Daryl Dixon, she just knew that he was different. Even covered in blood in the woods that day, and fuming after he almost stuck an arrow between her eyes, she could tell that he wasn't a simple creature at all. He hid it well, that was certain. His exterior was so bristly that it seemed like not many had bothered to dig any deeper into the loner. But Beth was determined to do just that.

The only two people she could think of that were more mismatched than Beth and the huntsman would be her assertive older sister, Maggie, and her gentle husband, Glen. Yet, somehow, they worked, and that gave Beth hope. She knew it was possible that she wouldn't be the type of woman who could keep Daryl's attention; but she was willing to try anyway.

He'd insisted with his words that he'd wanted her to leave him alone at one point, but his actions had always told a different story. She could tell that he'd resisted liking her at all in the beginning. She was probably everything he loathed in a woman; annoyingly upbeat and probably a little too soft around the edges. He didn't even trust her to be in the woods alone, while he spent the majority of his time there.

Once he began getting more comfortable around her, though, Beth felt their friendship blossom and chalked any chemistry or communication up to that simple fact: Daryl didn't have many friends, and Beth was one of the few that he did have. It was natural that he'd begin to treat her a little differently.

That explanation had lent a little credit to the reason Daryl did certain things, like putting gravel in her driveway or insisting she bring her Jeep into the shop if it had troubles. But her other, more recent, theory accounted for the other puzzling things Daryl did. Like the time he accosted Ian at the shop for asking her out, or the time outside the bar that he had bared his soul to her in an attempt to make her run and save herself from him and his inner demons. He was more protective and self-sacrificing than any normal friend, and she knew there was something deeper going on behind those icy eyes of his.

Not to mention, little day-to-day things she did seemed to unnerve him more and more as time went on. Today, though, she felt a bit of a mean streak gnawing at the base of her brain, and she made a decision for better or for worse.

With an extra bounce in her step and a giddy, devilish grin on her face, Beth pulled Phase One of her plan out of her closet.

Today was the day that she was going to see how far Daryl could be pushed.

Beth turned in her mirror, admiring her reflection and her decision. This was definitely the outfit to seize the day in.

She wasn't an irrational creature, even if she was trying to please a man, so she had worn a pair of skin-tight black leggings to help ward off the cold. She'd replaced her dual layer of socks to help keep her ankle warm and stabilized, and pulled on a soft pair of knee-high grey boots sporting straps with silver buckles around ankle and calf. Her hair had been pulled out of the previous ponytail, and she'd used a little mousse and combed her fingers through her hair to give her wild ringlet curls a bit of order. The pièce de résistance of her entire outfit, though, was the white, long-sleeved dress. While it was thick enough to retain body heat and keep the winter chill at bay, it was thin and heavy enough to cling to every curve of her frame. The hem of the dress only reached halfway down her thighs, making her legs look miles longer than she felt they normally did. The neckline was wide, cut at each shoulder and reaching across her collarbone, allowing for a pretty, simple, dangly silver necklace. She reapplied a little chapstick to combat the crisp, dry air, and then grabbed her jacket with Daryl's lucky note in it.

In all, her wardrobe change had only taken her six or seven minutes, but when she pulled her door open, she was surprised to see Daryl in the same position he'd been in when she last left the peephole. He slowly straightened when he heard her exit the house, and began putting his jacket back on without so much as a glance in her direction.

Out of the corner of her eye, as she was locking up the cabin and trying to hide her eager grin, she could tell the exact moment that Daryl actually looked at her.

He'd started for the stairs, but faltered mid-step as he took in her entire appearance. As the lock clicked into place, she turned to face him, only to find his expression closed-off and foreboding. The muscles in his jaw bunched as he clenched his teeth, and he visibly swallowed before narrowing his eyes.

"That's got to be the dumbest winter outfit I've ever seen on a woman," he scolded. She was amused to find that although his words were harsh, his voice had come out a little huskier than normal. "You don' even have your damn brace on your ankle."

As always, Daryl and his cankerous ways, trying to deflect feelings using anger or annoyance; she was already getting to him and he hadn't even seen anything yet.

"So where are you taking me?" she asked, smiling sweetly at him as though he hadn't just rudely remarked on her attire.

"Where am I…?" he echoed faintly.

"Yeah, for my birthday," she said, as though it was obvious. "You owe me one, Dixon, seeing as how you demolished my pie and all."

Beth paused in front of him on her way to the steps as she noticed a small blob of red cherry goop still clinging to his slack, chagrined, handsome jaw. She wiped it off, his day-old stubble scraping enjoyably against her bare hand. Then, she stuck her entire thumb in her mouth to suck off the pie filling. As the sugary sweetness hit her tongue, so did the salty tang of Daryl's unusually flushed skin, and the combination made her determined to taste him again before it was all over.

"Such a waste," she said, pretending not to be affected whatsoever by the fact that Daryl looked, for all intents and purposes, like a deer staring into headlights baring down on him in the dead of night. "That was a damn good pie."

With that, she trotted down the steps and sauntered toward the Jeep. After a few seconds, she heard him follow her. Instead of heading for the passenger seat, though, she abruptly turned and held out her hand for her set of keys. She caught Daryl jerking his eyes from her ass to her face, and the notion that he had been appreciating the skirt he'd just ridiculed caused her to grin.

He anticipated what she was about to ask for, and dropped her keys into her open palm at arm's length before making his way to the passenger side. He huffed and tore his jacket back off of himself before climbing in and slamming the door a little harder than necessary. Beth smirked to herself as she hopped in behind the wheel and buckled her seat belt.

Her birthday was going to be so much fun.