Disclaimer: A nod to the genius Robert Kirkman for creating this wonderfully dark, post-apocalyptic world. I do not own or have rights to any of the characters/plot of this series. I'm simply a fan indulging in my post-apocalyptic fantasies.

Thank you Nicole137137 for all the support and editing this chapter for me!

A/N: I just want to thank everyone who messaged me! I appreciate how much you guys love this story! I've had some real life stuff going on and haven't had time to write! Just wanted to let all my guests reviewers know that I read each and every one of your reviews and I wish I could have sent you individual replies! Thank you all for taking time to read and review my story!

...

They had been on the road for a few hours. They hadn't spoken much, focusing more on their surroundings, but Beth felt safer than she had in Terminus. Out on their own, with Daryl beside her, she was more in her element than she had been all week.

The silence was comfortable. It wasn't suffocating, like she had sometimes felt in the past when they had first been thrown together after the fall of the prison. Back then, she had been talking to herself more than Daryl had been listening to her. She smiled at the thought of how far they had come.

"-yer' back?"

"Huh?" Beth had been too lost in her thoughts to realize Daryl had initiated a conversation.

"I asked, how's yer' back?"

"Oh," Beth acknowledged, "Its fine now. Takin' over Terminus had me sore, but I'm okay now."

Daryl grunted a reply and Beth's eyes zeroed in on his leg.

"How's the wound? Botherin' you any?" Beth asked.

"S'fine," Daryl replied.

"Good," Beth responded.

"You need a break?" Daryl inquired.

Beth looked around, but saw nothing to indicate that they were at a safe place to stop. However, she quickly connected the dots. Daryl wasn't asking if she needed a break for her sake, he was asking if she needed a break because he was fatigued.

"Sure. We've been walkin' a while," Beth responded without voicing her realization. She imagined Daryl was already annoyed enough with himself and her commentary would only make matters worse.

Beth had rested a few days, and then drove herself to get up and work out through her soreness. Daryl had been forced to stay off his feet as much as possible or risk wounding his leg further. A week of no activity would catch up with anyone.

They stood in the middle of the road, both looking for a decent place to rest for a few minutes, but the sides of the road were lined with trees. There wasn't anywhere close by that would provide them decent shelter against walkers and so Beth took it upon herself to plop down in the middle of the road. She looked up to find Daryl staring at her perplexedly.

"What? Better to stay out in the open where we have options if we need to run. S'not like there's gonna' be any cars comin' anyway," Beth shrugged her shoulders.

"I swear," Daryl groaned as he lowered himself to the ground.

Beth looked at him and furrowed her brows.

"You Greene girls," was all Daryl elaborated on.

The asphalt was hot, she could feel the heat steadily rising through the thin material of her worn jeans, but it felt good in the cooler weather. They had yet to come across any stores or houses. The direction they had taken had been completely rural. Beth could see fields for miles, but no buildings, no houses, no sign that civilization had touched any of this part of Georgia.

"So what's tha' plan?" Beth pulled a plastic bottle of what used to be a Pepsi product and drank some of the water inside.

"We keep walkin' that a'ways a bit further. Looks like we're comin' to a clearin'," Daryl pointed farther down the road.

"How can ya' tell?" Beth asked, genuinely curious.

"Trees are startin' to thin out," Daryl replied.

Beth looked around them. She wasn't questioning Daryl's statement. She was learning from it. The density of the trees hadn't been something she generally paid attention to. Having gained yet another piece of survival wisdom from Daryl, she smiled.

"What's that look for?" Daryl glanced at her.

"Nothin'," Beth's smile remained.

Daryl's eyes turned to slits as he stared at her. She knew he didn't buy her dismissal, but he didn't pry any further.

"Drink up. We got a long walk ahead'ah us," Daryl grumbled.

"Yes Mr. Dixon," Beth teased, but drank more water in order to appease him nonetheless.

…

They had been walking for another hour or so and they had indeed come to a clearing, just like Daryl had predicted. Instead of finding the edge of a suburb, they found themselves surrounded by pastures of long dead crops, growing shrubbery, and a small cluster of walkers.

Beth swung her crossbow, knocking back an oncoming walker, and using the momentum to kick it to the ground. Another walker reached for her and she lurched back, dropping her crossbow in the process. However, in doing so, the second walker tripped over the first and the two lay in a heap of groaning, rotting flesh.

"Beth," Daryl's voice came from her right.

Whipping her head around, she moved toward Daryl, unsheathing her knife. He was holding two walkers at bay with his crossbow while a third was coming up from behind him. She rushed the third walker, stabbing upward through the base of its skull and quickly yanking her blade out. She then moved behind the two walkers trying to get to Daryl. Pulling on the back of one's shirt in an attempt to aide Daryl so he could take care of the remaining walker, Beth found the walker to be a bit stouter than expected.

She managed to take a few steps back, but she found herself being drug back toward Daryl. However, with her prying the walker off of his crossbow, she allowed him the opportunity to unsheathe his knife and end the walker still snarling at him. Tugging hard once more, Beth attempted to stab her knife through the walker's skull. When she met resistance, she withdrew her knife and struck again, only to have the tip of her knife stop short of penetrating its brain.

"Daryl," Beth's voice trembled as the walker rounded on her.

She fell backwards, her knife slipping from her hand while she wrapped her fingers around the walker's throat. Its rotten teeth snapped at her a mere inch from her face. She could smell the decomposition on its breath.

"Daryl!" She managed to scream as she fought to hold the dead weight above her.

She could feel the dead fingers grabbing at her arms and knew it would only be a few more seconds before they would begin ripping her vulnerable abdominal area apart. A clumsy hand brushed her side and she knew she had to do something. She could hear Daryl yelling at her, but couldn't make out the words over the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.

Glancing to her right, she caught sight of her knife. It was within reach and so long as she could hold the walker up with one hand, she could grab it. Just as she was about to reach for it, the dead weight vanished. Scrambling into a sitting position, she quickly snatched up her knife and got to her feet. Daryl had managed to pull the walker off of her, but had no weapon in hand. Beth moved on instinct, stabbing the walker straight through the forehead; dark, black blood spurting onto her hand and face.

"What the fuck was that?" Daryl hissed.

"I don't know. I tried t'stab it through the head, but the knife wouldn't go in," Beth's entire body was shaking as she spoke.

Daryl was now standing in front of her, examining her from head to toe. His hands moved from her shoulders to cup her face as he tilted it from side to side. His eyes held a wild expression, but he remained silent.

"I'm fine. Didn't get me," Beth lifted her shaking hands to grab his wrists.

They stood there, staring at each other for several moments, taking each other in. The longer she held on to Daryl, the calmer she felt. She felt his hand move as he tentatively brushed his thumb across her cheek. After a few strokes she could no long feel the wet sensation on her cheek.

"Thanks," she tried to smile at him.

"That was too close," Daryl replied.

"I know, but I'm okay. You got to me in time," Beth patted his wrist.

"Almost didn't," Daryl furrowed his brows.

She couldn't imagine exactly what Daryl was thinking, but from the more recent conversations they'd shared and the haunted expression on his face when he first began checking her over, she could take a guess; Dale. She knew he had died in the same position she had just been in, but Daryl hadn't gotten to him in time.

"But you did," Beth reassured him the best she could.

Daryl dropped his hands from her face and Beth felt her head swim. Bending over to brace her hands on her knees, the realization of just how close to death she had been made her feel weak. She closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths. After the initial dizziness subsided, she re-opened her eyes to see Daryl inspecting the walker that had almost ended her.

"Bastard's gotta' metal plate in his head," he explained, prodding the walker's skull with his knife.

"You have got to be kidding me," Beth replied in disbelief.

"Shit you not," Daryl stabbed a few times, harder than necessary, and Beth could hear the soft 'clinking' of metal on metal.

"Well that explains it," Beth stood up straight.

"Somethin' we'll have to make sure an' consider from now on," Daryl said from his crouched position.

"Definitely," Beth breathed.

Standing up, Daryl walked over to the two walkers Beth had left on the ground, and retrieved her crossbow. He must have been taking care of them when she fell as they were now lying lifeless atop one another.

"This would have been so much easier if we had bolts," Beth accepted her crossbow from Daryl.

"We find us a suburb, there's ah' chance we can find some," Daryl concurred.

"Ready to loop around now?" Beth asked.

It was clear that the direction they were heading was not into a populated area. The sun was getting lower in the sky and they would need to set up some sort of camp or find a nice tree to hide out in until morning.

"Yeah. Looks like a county road up ahead. We'll take it and see where it leads," Daryl pointed further up the dirt road.

"Sounds good," Beth replied, following behind Daryl and taking one last glance at the metal-headed walker.

Never in a million years had she entertained the thought of a walker having a metal plate. They would definitely have to consider a few more factors when it came to killing walkers.

…

"You've seriously never played twenty questions?" Beth asked as she walked beside him.

"What is it with you an' your dumb games?" Daryl glared at her.

"I tried playing one drinkin' game with you," Beth gave him a flat look.

"Whadn't much of a game," Daryl scoffed.

"Only because you took ah' question personally and then threw a fit," it was Beth's turn to glare.

They had been walking down the county road Daryl had suggested in silence until Beth couldn't take it anymore. Daryl seemed content to give her one word answers, but Beth needed a distraction. When she didn't have anything to keep her brain occupied, she started thinking, thinking then led to remembering, and remembering recent events didn't do her mental health any good.

"This one is simple and doesn't involve alcohol," Beth continued, "Think you can handle it?"

Daryl grunted, but didn't refuse.

"So…" Beth paused, trying to conjure a decent first question, "Favorite color?"

Daryl didn't immediately reply. Beth could see him working out whether he was going to appease her or continue to be stubborn. He must have realized that Beth's obstinacy rivaled his own because he sighed and reluctantly answered her.

"Blue," he replied.

"Really?" Beth tried not to sound surprised by his answer.

"Really," Daryl repeated.

"I woulda' guessed black or gray or something," Beth admitted, "There like a particular shade of blue?"

Daryl glanced at her and Beth could see his jaw tighten.

"That how this game works?" Daryl asked instead of answering.

"Oh. Well...we take turns askin' questions, so you get t'ask me a question now," Beth smiled, kicking a rock further down the road.

"Favorite color?" Daryl mirrored her question.

"Yellow," Beth answered immediately.

"Figured you'd say pink or some other prissy girl color," Daryl mumbled sarcastically.

Beth gave Daryl a look. She knew the jab was because of her comment to his favorite color. She would admit that she had been a bit stereotypical, but the fact that he didn't shut down completely and instead turned the remark back on her was improvement.

"Any particular shade of blue?" Beth used her turn to restate her previous question.

"Yeah," Daryl murmured.

"Not going to elaborate?" Beth probed.

"What's yer' reason for likin' yellow?" Daryl countered.

Beth huffed, "My momma had this beautiful, Sunday dress. It was yellow. So yellow always makes me think of her."

Beth kicked the rock again, having caught up to where it landed, and tried to think of another non-personal question.

"You have a favorite number?" She looked up at him.

"I do," he nodded his head.

Beth was getting slightly frustrated with Daryl's answers. She knew he wasn't the forth coming type, but these questions were meaningless. She would gain nothing over him by knowing the answers, except maybe more about him. Maybe that was the problem? He didn't want her to know more about him?

"What's your favorite number?" His voice broke her thoughts.

"Eighty-two," Beth settled on answering.

"Eighty-two?" Daryl's look portrayed his disbelief.

"It was Shawn's football number. He played wide receiver," Beth explained, "Least favorite food?"

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip in thought, "Peanut butter."

"Ah. So that's why you only ate the jelly back at the mortuary," Beth spoke her realization.

She had always wondered why Daryl hadn't eaten any of the peanut butter when he was spooning the jelly out of the jar. Granted the combination still wouldn't be the same without bread, but it was the closest they'd ever be to having a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"Wait, why'd you answer that one and not the others?" Beth's frustration finally getting the best of her.

"We still playin'?" Daryl asked with a smirk.

"No," Beth glared at him, "How come you wouldn't answer my other questions?"

"I did answer 'em," Daryl was obviously enjoying Beth's annoyance.

"You did not! I asked what shade of blue and your favorite number and you just said you had them," Beth replayed the conversation in her head.

"You asked if I had a particular shade ah' blue or a favorite number," Daryl reiterated her questions.

"Exactly!" Beth's voice an octave higher than usual.

"I said I did," Daryl's calm tone irritated Beth.

"That's not answerin' the question," Beth sighed.

"If ya' didn't get the answer you wanted, you didn't ask the question right," Daryl elaborated.

"Are you kidding me?" Beth groaned, finally realizing Daryl's point, "My questions weren't specific enough? Is that what you're sayin'?"

"I had an older brother who liked to get himself in heaps ah' trouble with feds and drug dealers alike. Learned it's all about what they're askin'," Daryl enlightened her.

"You're no fun," Beth sighed, utterly defeated.

Beth walked past the rock she had been entertaining herself with, no longer having the energy to propel it down the road. She knew Daryl could be a clever man, but she'd never thought about the reasons behind it. She just assumed it was a natural personality trait, something he'd been born with, not something he'd had to learn. The idea of him being questioned by police or hounded by drug dealers made the protective nature in her rise. Even though the world had changed, she never wanted Daryl to have to go through anything like the horrendous scenarios her imagination was creating.

"Three," Daryl's voice pulled her from her reverie.

"Pardon?" Beth wasn't sure she'd heard him right.

"My favorite number is three," Daryl stated, glancing at her.

Beth smiled, pacified that he'd at least shared a little something. She'd be more careful with her questions in the future. In a way, she had probably learned more about Daryl by what he didn't say, than any of the silly questions she could have asked him. He had also explained why he was the way he was in regards to her questions. That too spoke volumes to Beth.

She could continue their silly game later. For the moment, she was content with walking in silence, pondering over other traits that Daryl possessed and what the reasons behind them could be.

…

Backtracking down a random dirt road had brought them to the end of a driveway that lead to an old farm house. It was a two story, white house with a wraparound porch. The shape wasn't quite the same with the roof black instead of green. It only had two chimneys rather than three. The windows had been boarded up, but overall, it was strikingly similar to the house she had grown up in on her father's farm.

"Daryl…" Beth's voice was strained.

"I see it," Daryl replied.

Beth continued to stare, taking in the scene in front of her. She couldn't see a single walker. There was a barn, although it was painted red unlike the natural wood barn she had grown up with, was placed in almost exactly the same spot theirs had been on the farm.

"We should keep goin'," Daryl's voice somber.

"No," Beth straightened her shoulders, "this is the first place we've come across. We should check it out."

Daryl hummed a response, but made no move toward the residence.

Beth took a deep breath, reminding herself that although the house, the barn, and even the land itself looked so much like the farm she had adored, they were not one in the same. Her home had been overrun by walkers. Her barn had been burned to the ground. She had never gone back to see what had become of their place. It now only existed in her memories from before everything went south.

"Come on," Beth reached over and took Daryl's hand, "Let's see what we can scrounge up."

She didn't wait for Daryl and began the trek up the driveway, the crunching of gravel and the evening crickets the only sounds she could hear. It was calm, peaceful, like she had remembered her home being before everything had changed. She soon heard another set of footsteps behind her and slowed her pace so that Daryl could catch up to her.

"Think the inside'll look the same?" Beth asked solemnly.

"Doubt it. Less they got that same god awful pink couch in their livin' room," Daryl smirked.

"Hey," Beth swatted his arm, "That was a Victorian style sofa. It was not pink. It was more of a rose quartz color and it happened to be one of my mother's favorite pieces of furniture."

"Sounds 'bout right," Daryl held his smirk.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Beth stopped at the edge of the wooden stairs and looked up at him.

"Means your dad was a tough son of'ah bitch. No way he'd have some pink-"

"Rose quartz," Beth interrupted.

"-couch in his livin' room of his own accord," Daryl finished.

"You're an ass," Beth tried to hide a smile as she took two steps to stand eye level with him.

"I've never claimed otherwise," Daryl's eyes shined in a way Beth hadn't seen in a long time.

She appreciated the way he was trying to make light of the obvious unease she felt in regards to how similar this place was to her home, but there was something else. Something more. Daryl, like herself, seemed more relaxed outside of the walls and fences. However, this was something new. Daryl wasn't charismatic. He was surly, blunt, and rough around the edges. Hard to approach, but once someone earned his respect, his loyalty; Daryl would do everything in his power to protect them. These were all qualities that she knew and appreciated. Daryl having the closest she'd ever seen to a smile on his face and playfully bantering with her was something foreign.

Then another thought hit her. They knew everyone was alive. Everyone was safe. Everyone was together. They were out on a supply run because Rick trusted them to handle everything. The world, as messed up as it had become, was okay at the moment. Daryl seemed….happy.

Overwhelmed, she leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders, and brushed her lips against his. Unlike last time, she felt his reciprocation almost immediately. His lips subtly moved against hers. The act, small as it may have been, gave her a boost of encouragement. She gently pushed herself onto her toes, further into Daryl, and her fingers tightened on his shoulders. Cautiously tilting her head, the scruff of his facial hair tickled her nose and she couldn't stop herself from giggling.

"Sorry," she said while pulling back and wiggling her nose.

Daryl cleared his throat, stepping up onto the porch beside her and scratching the back of his head, "Yeah. It's alright. We should, uh, check tha' house."

Beth nodded, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. She then unsheathed her knife and reached for the screen door handle. The door groaned in protest as she pulled it open and she glanced over her shoulder at Daryl. He took ahold of the door and opened it further, jerking his head up in a gesture for her to keep going.

Beth took a deep breath and twisted the doorknob of the front door. She wasn't sure if she expected it to be locked or not, but was relieved to be able to turn the knob and open the door. Taking one step inside, she tightened her grip on the knife in her hand, ready to strike out at the first sign of a threat.

The house wasn't anything like Beth's had been on the inside. Being able to breathe a bit easier, Beth carefully crept further into the house. Daryl veered off to the left, checking the hallway and first floor rooms, and Beth moved into the kitchen area. She didn't waste any time in checking the cupboards and in doing so; a sickening feeling of déjà vu took hold.

"First floor's clear," Daryl glanced at her as he made his way toward the staircase, "What wrong?"

The look on her face must have expressed her concern.

"Beth," Daryl was beside her in an instant.

"This is someone's stockpile," Beth gestured towards the open cabinets filled with an assortment of canned goods.

Daryl pulled a few cans from the shelf and examined them. He carefully put them back, exactly as they had been sitting, and closed the cabinet door.

"Shit," Daryl cursed.

"This was a bad idea. We should've just done like you said an' kept goin'," Beth said in a rush.

"I saw a few blankets in the bedroom down the hallway. Let's grab them and get out of here," Daryl sighed, turning to Beth.

"'Kay," Beth nodded in agreement.

She followed Daryl out of the kitchen and into the living area when Daryl abruptly stopped in front of her, causing her to run into his back. His arm shot out behind him to catch her and she balanced herself by gripping both her hands around his forearm.

"What is it?" Beth felt her unease growing.

"You hear that?" Daryl asked over his shoulder.

Beth let go of his arm, allowing Daryl to walk back to the front door, and focused all of her attention on listening to their surroundings. It was quiet at first, but she slowly began picking up on the low grumble off in the distance. It was a sound she wouldn't have found too uncommon before, but hearing it now sent her stomach to her feet. Beth retraced her steps and stood next to Daryl who was still holding open the screen door.

"That a truck?" Beth whispered.

She knew whoever was coming their way wouldn't be able to hear her, but it was an automatic response to the situation.

"Sounds that way," Daryl's voice coming out only a bit louder than hers as he peered through the crack he had made opening the solid, oak door.

"What do we do?" Beth looked up at him.

"We'll hide out in here 'til they pass. Don't want t'attract any attention," Daryl wrapped his hand around her forearm and pulled her further into the house, shutting the door behind him.

Beth quickly scanned the house, looking at every available exit. It had become a habit to always have an escape plan.

"There's a back door through the kitchen. I don't know if we can pry the windows open with the boards on there or not," Beth whispered, griping Daryl's hand that still held her arm.

Daryl didn't reply. She could tell he was listening intently to the sound of the approaching vehicle.

"They're getting closer," Beth hissed.

Daryl remained mute.

"Daryl," Beth looked up at him.

"Beth, go check the back door," Daryl insisted calmly.

Beth moved quickly to the back door. She turned the knob, opening the door, only to find neatly placed boards blocking the doorway. She beat her fists against the thick, wooden planks, but they didn't budge. Shutting the door, she walked back into the living room, and shook her head.

"Upstairs," Daryl moved to the stairs and flicked his wrist for Beth to come to him.

She crossed the room and her blood ran cold when she recognized the eerily familiar sound of rubber on gravel. She had heard the same sound every day of her life for sixteen years. She scrambled up the stairs, Daryl right behind her, and she threw caution to the wind as she opened doors trying to find a suitable room for them to hide in.

Daryl was at the end of the hallway, peeking through the curtains covering a window, as the slamming of doors could be heard followed by several voices. Not satisfied with any of the rooms, Beth frantically looked around for another option.

"Attic?" Beth pointed to the string hanging down from the ceiling.

Daryl nodded, stepping away from the window and reaching for the chord. He wasn't tall enough and Beth could feel herself beginning to panic. The voices were still outside, but they would eventually come into the house.

She jumped when she felt Daryl's hands on her waist. He then pulled her closer, hoisting her up in his arms, and she understood what he was doing. Reaching up, she pulled the white string that lowered the stairs to the attic. Daryl lowered her back down to the ground and pulled the fold out ladder down, motioning for Beth to climb up.

The attic was dusty and smelled stale, but Beth could have cared less. She nearly collapsed in relief the moment Daryl had the stairs pulled back up. It was only a few minutes later that the echoing of footsteps could be heard on the porch followed by the creaking of the screen door.

"How many?" Beth whispered, pulling her crossbow off of her back, setting it down gently, and rubbing her shoulder.

"Counted three in the bed of tha' truck. Gonna' guess three or four in the cab. Single cab pick-up truck," Daryl stood over the attic stairwell, still listening below them, while his words were clipped.

There wasn't much in the attic. A few cardboard boxes marked 'misc.' and some other odds and ends, but pretty barren for the most part.

"So now we just wait?" Beth inquired softly.

"Yeah. We'll sneak out when they go t'sleep," Daryl answered, taking off and setting his crossbow on the floor next to Beth's before moving back to stand guard at the entryway.

"They'll have someone on guard duty," Beth voiced what she knew Daryl was already aware of.

"I'll handle 'em," Daryl's tone took a serious edge.

Beth eased herself into a sitting position, getting comfortable for however long their wait would be, and lamented on their predicament. It never failed that when any small bit of happiness shined down on them, something had to happen to snuff it out.

She knew that whatever happened, they had each others backs, and they would get out of their situation together. They just had to wait for the opportune moment and then they could make a break for it. It was sad that they automatically assumed that everyone they came across were bad people, but people who weren't careful, people who didn't presume the worst of others; those people didn't survive. She still had faith that there were good people in the world. She just based a person's values more on their actions than blind optimism.

Daryl shuffled around across from her, quietly sitting on the ground while his knees brushed against hers, and Beth reminisced on the last time they had been 'trapped.' She had gotten to know Daryl on a much more intimate level, with the help of some alcohol, and it had been one of the major turning points in their relationship.

Reaching out, she took his hand in silent comfort, and intertwined her fingers with his. He glanced up at her, the shadows of the setting sun dancing across his features from the small attic window, and she gave him a reassuring smile.

"Might as well make the best of it," she said quietly, repeating her words to him from the moonshiner's shack.

He didn't respond, but he gave her hand a firm squeeze.

As they sat in silence, waiting for time to pass by, Beth tried to calm her nerves. She had only been drunk once, but she remembered the blissful feeling it had given her. She was acutely aware of how stupid it would be to drink, given their circumstances, but only one thought crossed her mind as she held tightly onto Daryl's hand.

Too bad there isn't any moonshine.

...

A/N: So...this is The Walking Dead. Can't have too much happiness! Lol! Let me know what you guys thought of the chapter! XOXO