The fire in the woodstove had burned down to ashes by the time they woke the next morning. Not wanting the smoke of a new fire to be seen from their chimney, they had eaten their last can of food cold, passing it back and forth between them until it was empty. After a trip around the side of the building to relieve themselves away from the small stream of water, Daryl and Beth had reassembled and chosen a direction to head in for the day's search.

"I figure the farms would have been spread out all around it," Beth remarked as she shaded her eyes against the early sun, "So there should be a few of them around here in each direction."

One of the directions was clear of trees and gave them a view of a distant stretch of fields that looked promising, so for today they'd headed in that direction. With the morning sunlight shining down on them, the fields they trecked through almost looked as if they were gilded gold and glowing in the light. A rather poetic thought for Daryl, but he couldn't seem to help it. He tried to keep his eyes on their surroundings as they moved side-by-side through the grass, but his gaze kept straying to Beth. The sun worked it's magic on her too, making her blonde hair shine like a crown of gold or perhaps a halo. That same brightness reflected in her eyes each time she looked at him; the blue reminding him of the clear skies above but even prettier thanks to her soft happy smile.

Beth must have seen the same beauty, at least in the fields that surrounded them. As they walked he could hear her singing, her sweet voice just loud enough for him to hear the words of the song: Can I take it to a morning where the fields are painted gold, and the trees are filled with memories, of the feelings never told? Her voice trailed off when she caught him watching her, but the smile on her lips was just as sweet as her voice, at least in his mind.

He was glad to see the improvement in her mood today, so much better than she had been in the last few days from their disagreement to the revelation about her sister. She almost seemed to be in a good mood today, and it seemed to be rubbing off on him, as if just being in the presence of her soft singing and little smiles lifted some of his tension away.

"So what should we look for, you know, besides food?" Beth glanced over at him and flashed him another little smile. "I'm making a mental shopping list. I feel like it's been ages since we've done that. Since the prison, I guess…" When his only reply was a nod and a hum of agreement, Beth went on easily, "We should find some blankets. That mattress wasn't bad but if we're gonna stay for a bit…"

She darted another glance at him, waiting until he gave another 'mm' and a nod in reply. Their conversation from last night stood; if she wanted to stay then that was what they'd do. That was that, and Beth seemed to get it. With a smile, she continued, "And you know what I really want to find? Books." Now her smile was almost shy as she peered over at him and went on, "It was nice, reading with you last night. I don't know how long those three books will last us, but I thought maybe we could find a couple others, I dunno. Did you like the book last night?"

"Weren't bad." His response was short, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips that he knew Beth could see. Each day he thought she got better and better at reading him, more so than any of the people he had lived with since the world had changed. Sometimes he thought despite all their time together, they had looked at him still and saw nothing but a silent, grumpy hunter. Not Beth. Come to think of it, it had been a long time since she had looked at him like that. He wondered if she ever even had, or if those piercing and knowing big blue eyes had always been able to see what other's hadn't.

She was doing it now anyway, smiling over at him through her fringe of hair before she focused her gaze back ahead. When she fell silent for a few moments, Daryl took advantage of the quiet to study her a bit in return. She was walking better than she had been; her limp was far less pronounced and he imagined that in a couple days she would barely feel it. Her wrist on the other hand would take far longer to heal. It was fractured rather than sprained or twisted, and all thanks to those assholes hitting her with their car.

Every time he looked at her wrist he felt guilt and anger like twin beasts clawing at his gut. Anger was a wild thing, growling in his chest and rearing back as if to claw it's way free from his ribs and launch again at those who had dared to hurt her. His guilt was darker and stealthier, coiling up around his heart and reminding him that he'd failed her by letting her get taken in the first place. He'd failed her by sending her away without him and for that he'd very nearly lost her, and the makeshift brace on her wrist was a big glaring reminder of that.

"Daryl? Hey. Daryl."

It took him a moment to register Beth's voice, and even when he did his only response was to blink at her and then ask gruffly, "What?"

At some point she'd drifted back to walk beside him and now she looked over with a hesitant and tentative smile. "You were glaring at my arm for a good couple minutes. I don't think that'll make it heal faster, you know."

His 'hum' of acknowledgement belied the thoughts churning within him. All that guilt and anger, fueled by a lifetime of self doubts and the knowledge that bad things seemed to be just about all he was entitled to in life, all he ever seemed to get.

Well, almost.

Because there was Beth, and she was far from a bad thing. She was in so many ways the exact opposite of the majority of his life. Light against the darkness, hope set against bleakness, goodness shining out against a background of endless bad. That night in the funeral home he had seen that so starkly and clearly in the moments when she had asked him what had changed his mind. Thoughts that had been filtering through the back of his mind for days had suddenly broken free of the haze to become clear, like puzzle pieces fitting themselves together with a crisp 'click' by her soft, sweet hand.

She hadn't just changed his mind though. She had changed his life, in more than one way, and she kept doing it. It was like each day that puzzle that was his mind kept expanding beyond what he'd imagined, as if each moment with her pressed another piece into place around the edges, or even right at the center over his heart.

Merle would have never let him hear the end of it for thinking poetic bullshit like that, but then again Merle never would have understood Beth. He probably never would have looked at her as anything but a piece of tail… or maybe not. Maybe that was underestimating Beth and her ability to get under people's skins and into their minds (and hearts).

He'd never know, either way. Because Merle was gone. Everyone was gone, at least for the time being. Right now it was just the two of them.

Just her, looking over at him all sweet and concerned and him, walking along in silence unable to put into words all the things he was feeling- all the things he had been feeling for a good long while now.

"Just thinkin'." His reply was belated, but what was that saying? Better late than never. Maybe it was true sometimes anyway. Though lately he had begun to think about how late could mean never, in a world where the next day could always be your last and you might not make it to see the sun rise again.

Against the thoughts in his mind and the curious look on Beth's face, he pointed ahead with his crossbow to a structure breaking the line of the fields in the distance. "Looks like y'were right. Comin' up on something soon. Little bit longer, we'll be able t' see what it is…"

What it was, unsurprisingly, was a farm house. Daryl hadn't been the only one to come to a stop seeing it for the first time. The white house was simple and small, two stories but with a small front porch rather than a wrap-a-round. Still, he knew without even needing to look at Beth that both their minds had gone back to the same place. To another white farmhouse set in the midst of a series of large fields just like this one, once upon a time. Even the barn was similar, the same shape as the one he remembered but all red instead… and of course, not burned down.

"You okay?" The question came out of his mouth without him even thinking about it, and Daryl dropped his head and scuffed his foot on the ground as soon as the words were free. If it'd been him and someone had asked him that, he'd probably just glare at them for daring to even wonder.

Then again, it was well established that Beth rarely reacted like he might. In fact her reaction seemed to be almost the opposite of that. He caught a glimpse of her upturned lips and even felt her briefly lean towards him so that their arms brushed. For the few seconds of contact he felt acutely aware of the oddest of sensations, like a faint tingle going up his arm that made his breath catch for just a moment. Twined through it all was the same thought he always had when Beth and him were close; that knowledge that if it were anyone else he'd have pulled away sharply but with Beth, the touch never bothered him. If anything he found himself wanting to lean towards her as she drew away, just to prolong it a few seconds more if he could.

"C'mon," he said instead, clearing his throat. "Let's start with the house, then we can check th' barn, just in case."

Beth might have been quiet but if there were memories plaguing her right now they didn't distract her from the job at hand. She was just as focused as ever when they teamed up, moving side-by-side around the perimeter of the house before closing in on the front door. In practiced unison they made it through the front door, their routine knocking on the door summoning no walkers to greet them. Yet, anyway.

He could see Beth's gaze lingering as they made their way through the living room and down the hallway to the kitchen, but to his pride her training held true. She didn't veer off despite what he was sure were numerous temptations. They both knew that properly clearing a house was often the difference between life and death and this home was no different. That became clear as they reached the second floor and were greeted by the sounds of scrabbling hands against a locked door and the familiar scent of death clinging to the air around them.

"Leave it? Or clear it?" Beth's gaze sought his out as she added, "Might be something good inside there."

"Might not be." Daryl's gaze drifted over her, following a now well-worn map that lead from the bruised scar on her cheek to the bandage on her wrist and the ankle that she was trying not to put too much weight on. "Let's not risk it. They're secure in there. Prob'ly a bedroom or somethin', ain't much we need in there anyway."

"Daryl…" He turned and started to head down the hallway, but her voice followed him. "Daryl." Soft as it was, he heard the slapping of rotted hands against the door grow louder, and worry furrowed his brow even as a hint of annoyance flashed into his eyes as he turned towards her.

But as soon as he turned he saw that look in her eyes, a hint of worry and self doubt and he swiped his hand roughly through his hair as he growled out, "It ain't that, okay?"

"Ain't what? I didn't even get to say-"

He shook his head as if to shake away her words. "Don't need to." He exhaled in a sigh and crossed the distance between them. His fingers curled hesitantly around her arm and through the faint electricity of that touch he looked into her eyes and gruffly went on, "It ain't that I think you can't handle it. I know y' can. Ain't I told you that before?" His tongue felt thick in his mouth the way it always did when he tried to say more than just one or two words. It was like his damn mouth knew how dense his brain was, knew he weren't the kinda man that could speak at all half the time, let alone eloquently. Maybe his mouth knew it, and the thickening of his throat and the heaviness of his tongue was it's way of telling him to stop trying.

(Or maybe it was self-doubt, that tight ball of it in his chest that had grown heavier with each passing year of his life.)

Whatever it was, this time he pushed past it, fueled by the look in her eyes and the feeling of her slender but muscled arm beneath his fingers. "Neither of us should risk it. S'only the two of us now. Ain't gonna risk it becoming one, let alone zero. Us… living… s'more important than anythin' we could find in that room. Okay?"

A quiet fell between them. It only lasted a moment but to him it seemed to stretch, to hang in the air between them, strung up between the rhythm of their breaths as they inhaled and exhaled almost together.

But then Beth smiled, soft and simple as her nod, and her hand came up to curl around his opposite arm and squeeze. "Okay."

The heaviness in the air vanished as soon as she lowered her arm and moved past him down the hallway, setting her gaze on another open door as she casually remarked, "But I do wanna check out some of these bedrooms. Maybe we'll get lucky, and they'll have clothes that fit…"

Gone was the thickness in his throat and tongue, too, but something else remained. A hint of that electricity still fizzled just faintly in his veins, baffling him even as he followed behind the sway of her ponytail against her back.

(Almost like a horse might follow after a carrot, dangling by a string.)

Beth had gotten her wish when it came to the clothing, at least. The room that had been locked looked like it had been the master bedroom, and if the others had once been the rooms of the owner's children, they had moved out long before the world had ended. No clothes in sight, though they had found a blanket on the bed and a stack of paperbacks on the small bookshelf. After slipping a couple books into his bag it had been Beth who had suggested they check the small attic, and up under the eaves of the roof she'd found several boxes packed away, each filled with old clothes all tightly sealed in plastic.

Neither of them cared that the clothes were old or the slightest bit musky; hell, anything was preferable to the layer of grime and dirt they wore these days. Daryl was fine not changing till later, but Beth had wanted to put new clothes on right away and he didn't begrudge her that. He had kept his back to her while she pulled off her cardigan and yellow polo shirt to tug on a brown tank top and a green-and-brown flannel over, the buttons left un-done for now. It wasn't the sunshine yellow he was used to- the bright color he associated with her- but when she'd held it up for approval and softly murmured about how maybe it would blend in better in the woods, he hadn't been able to protest. All he could do was nod in proud agreement. She was learning fast, and well.

There was one other thing he didn't fail to notice though, and that was the way she'd balled up the yellow polo and the grey cardigan after she was done. Sometimes they saved their clothes to wash later if they could, because it was always good to have spares. Even here, with Beth grabbing a couple shirts for both of them and folding them into his bag, he might have suggested she keep it just in case. At least the cardigan, thick and warm as it was.

But then he saw her standing there with them balled up in her hands, looking distantly down at them until he realized that her hands were trembling. That her whole body in fact was faintly shivering and that the distance in her eyes was more than just memory. His stomach clenched and for a moment he could see her back in that police car as a cop- a man once sworn to protect- had run his hands down over her hip and leg; more a hungry beast than a hero in a uniform.

He could understand her not wanting anything to do with those clothes. Of course he could.

So he cautiously crossed the creaking floorboards of the attic towards her, and gently took them from her hands as if by holding them he could protect her from the memories. Or maybe there was a better way. It popped into his mind in a sizzle and a flash and without hesitating he breathed out, "We can burn 'em, if you want."

(We should go inside.
We should burn it down.)

The sound of his voice pulled her eyes up to him as she drew her trembling empty hands to her chest instead. Once, twice she blinked before the haze cleared from her eyes and she focused back on him. "No…" Her voice sounded dry and she broke off to lick her lips and clear her throat before she went on, "No… stupid to risk it. They're just clothes, right?"

"Nothing is just anything, these days." He said it without thinking about it, not even realizing the depth of his words let alone the poetry in them. He was far too focused on the poetry of Beth's soft little smile in response and the way it made the lines of tension fade almost instantly from her face. "There's a fireplace downstairs. Ain't nothin' so dramatic, but we ain't been drinkin' so maybe we're not on our game."

She held his gaze for a long moment and he felt it again, the moment stretched heavy and important between them, rising and falling with their shared breaths. And then just as he was about to ask 'well?', she looked right into his eyes and breathed out bravely, "We should burn them."

His low chuckle loosened the weight of the air even as the memory of his words- (we're gonna need more booze)- echoed between them. He gave a slow nod of agreement, and if their eyes held a few beats longer or she seemed to lean into the space between them and part her lips in a way that drew his eyes down, well… It was just the moment or something, at least in Daryl's mind.

A moment he didn't know what else to do with but clear his throat and nod back to the door. "C'mon. We'll check th' kitchen first, just in case th' smoke draws anyone here. By the time they come, we'll be out at the barn an' then gone."

They made relatively quick work on the kitchen. It wasn't a huge find, but like many farmers the owners of this house must have grown and canned their own food, so there was a small supply they could take back to the mill for the night. He even found a backpack tucked away in one of the closets, small and black but perfect for Beth to start carrying her stuff in again since her old one had been left back on the road at that godforsaken funeral home.

With the mason jars shared out in the bags between them and wrapped in the clothes they'd found so they wouldn't clink too much, Daryl held her clothes in his hands as he made his way back to the living room. "Stay here," he murmured, dropping his bag down beside her as he headed to the door. "Saw some firewood on the porch, I'll grab one."

He was only gone a few seconds but when he came back she was standing by the mantle of the fireplace, holding a picture in her hands. When he spotted her running her thumb lightly over the glass he came up quietly behind her and peered down at the photo encased within. He didn't have to ask. The truth was she didn't even need to speak. They both saw the same thing when they looked at the photograph within, the family caught forever in that happy moment, trapped beneath the glass. Husband, wife, two daughters, standing on the porch of their little white farmhouse.

Not the same, but close enough to tug at the strings of her heart and send up an echo of a deeply rooted ache. His too, though the strings were far less deeply connected than hers, he was sure.

"C'mere." His voice was low and rough as he gently tugged the frame from her hands and set it onto the mantle. With she turned to look at him he dropped to his knees in front of the fire and she followed, watching as he set tinder into the fireplace and lit a flame, letting it grow until he could place the log on top of it. They sat in silence broken only by the crackling of the fire until he reached slowly for the balled up polo and cardigan and pressed them gently back into her hands.

"Someone told me once," Daryl began, his eyes on hers as he once again pushed back the thickness of his throat to put into words the things he thought she needed to hear, "Some things you just gotta put away. You gotta, or it'll kill you."

His gaze followed the pink of her tongue as it swept across her dry lips and the shift of her throat as she swallowed hard, before murmuring, "Pretty smart, whoever they were."

"Smartest girl I know." There was no hesitation in saying that, and not even the faintest hint of thickness in his throat. She was and always would be the cleverest, most clear-eyed person he knew, especially when it came to things like this. Daryl reached out and guided her hands towards the fire but didn't push her anymore, knowing it was something she had to do herself. "Gotta put it away, girl. Leave it behind."

And with one slow shaky nod, Beth did just that. She reached out her hands and dropped the blood-stained and memory-laden clothes into the hot, hungry flames. With eyes that could sometimes be just as observant as her own, Daryl saw the change go over her as the fire consumed not only fabric and thread but so much more; the pain of a car slamming into her side, the hazy knowledge that she'd almost been taken by black-hearted men who wanted to do unspeakable things to her. (The not-so-hazy knowledge that her own sister hadn't hesitated to believe her dead, to put more hope in finding her husband then the only family she had left.)

As the fire devoured all of that and more, Daryl saw the tension ease from the lines of her body as she exhaled in a slow sigh and relaxed back until the tight lines in her face disappeared.

When she turned to him again there was a smile on her lips that didn't falter even when he reached up without thinking to tuck a stray bit of hair behind her ears. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Oh yes."

He suddenly wasn't sure if she was talking about the flames, or the touch of his fingers across her cheek.

Maybe both. Because they both felt good to him, and again that feeling lingered even after the clothing had been burnt to a crisp and the fire extinguished.

They hadn't had the fire burning for long but Daryl was still cautious as they slipped out of the farmhouse and crossed the long grass to the red barn. Walkers wouldn't get drawn by the smoke but humans might, and these days he was more worried about walkers than humans, most of the time anyway. He saw no one for now but that caution remained as Beth helped him slide off the plank of wood holding the barn doors shut and slowly pull them open.

This barn held no death inside, at least, though the sight of those opening doors had made both of them hesitate for a few moments, teetering on the brink of memories like the edge of a sharp piece of shattered glass. (I remember. When that little girl came out of the barn after my mom. You were like me.) But this time the doors didn't release the sickening smell of the long-dead. Only sun-warmed hay and the lingering scent of old manure. If there had been horses in here once- and the smell that lingered in the air implied there had been- they had long since been taken, or perhaps escaped. They saw no bones in the few stalls they checked, although Beth did find a bucket she decided would be good for bringing water into the mill from the creek outside.

She had attached it to the back of her new backpack where it clanged just faintly as she moved around the barn, exploring more but always staying within a few feet of him. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet and as he watched her he could see a weight upon her shoulders; not from the heat in the sun-warmed barn but from the memories he was sure it conjured up for her again.

"I had my first kiss in a barn just like this." Beth's voice broke into the stillness unexpectedly and when he looked over at her she was twirling a bit of hay in her fingers with a shy little smile. "With Jimmy." The dart of her glance up at him and then away reminded him of that hint of electricity he'd felt again and again today, lingering each time he was close to her and never quite fading. For the first time he wondered if maybe she felt it too, though he was quick to discard it. Just as quick as he was to attribute the blush on her cheeks to the warmth of the barn as she added, "It was kinda nice. He just kissed me quick and then got all flustered and ran off. Came up to me later and apologized and said his Ma would've been ashamed of him for not being a gentlemen with me."

She was quiet for a moment, still twisting the hay beneath her fingers until she looked up at him again. "What was your first kiss like?"

The moment she asked the question, he chuckled all low and raspy. "Weren't nothin' like yours, that's for sure." He scuffed his foot on the ground and let his crossbow hand low from the strap he'd twisted between his fingers. "Was 16 or so. At some dive bar with Merle. Got me in because his friend owned it. Some girl there with her friend, hanging all over Merle. Think he dared her to do it or somethin', I dunno." He shrugged, his back all hunched up. "Don't remember much of it."

That wasn't entirely true. He remembered some of it.

He remembered that her hair had been blonde but not like Beth's. Brassy, like a bad dye job or one gone all faded, cause her eyebrows had been brown instead. He remembered she'd swayed on the way over to him and that her breath had smelled like gin, so strong it had reminded him of his Mama on her bad nights, when she drank the strong stuff so she'd forget the way his Pa had beaten her. He remembered that her lips were all wet and that after she'd pushed him away and laughed and Merle had called him Darylina all night for not seeming to want more.

(He remembered nothing of that feeling he got sometimes now, like heat or electricity fizzling under his skin.)

And the truth was that most of his memories were like that. All tinged with Merle and hazy with liquor or something even stronger, and very rarely with a glimpse of any emotions beyond anger or sorrow or frustration. He didn't have many like hers, many he could remember fondly or laugh over in a good sort of way. Not before this, anyway. Not before her.

Daryl didn't realize how long he'd been staring at the ground until he looked up and realized Beth was only a couple feet away from him now, studying him with those big damn eyes like she could see right into him. He reckoned if anyone could, it was her. When it came to Beth it was like his skin was glass and she could see right through it to what he kept hidden away inside.

"Would you have liked your first kiss to be like mine? In a barn like this, with a girl you liked?" There was something in her voice he couldn't pinpoint, something soft and… almost breathy. Almost hopeful, in a way.

Confused, he furrowed his brow and peered down at her. "But it weren't. An' anyway, weren't ever no girl I liked would've done that."

She took a step closer and tipped her head back to peer up at him, still all soft and sweet. "But what if it could have been? What if you could have a first kiss with a girl you liked, in a barn like this?"

"Told you," Daryl said roughly, "Ain't possible…"

"Daryl." This time when she looked up at him she reached out slowly and rested her hand lightly on his chest, and there it was back again, the fizzle beneath his skin just itching to be named or freed. Or perhaps the freedom came in the naming of it, in the understanding. Her eyes held his as if willing to understand as she breathed out slowly, "But what if it could be?" She paused just a beat and a shy little smile curved up her lips. "What if it can be?"

And then finally, it clicked.

Oh.

"Beth…" He didn't know what else to say. He didn't know what else to do, except she was right there looking up at him with her cheeks flushed and her eyes all big and shiny and her soft pink lips parted and it hit him that this was real. That Beth Greene really was looking at him like that (again), really was suggesting, well… that.

"I swear," she breathed out as she leaned up ever-so-slowly onto her toes. "If you call me kid again right now Daryl Dixon, I will push you into the hay, so help me God…"

It was so unexpected but so very Beth that all he could do was laugh and to his surprise the laughter eased some knot in his chest, and suddenly, it didn't seem quite so impossible. "You ain't a kid," he murmured, closing the gap between them in one small step and lifting his hand to carefully cup the side of her face. "You ain't even close to a kid, Beth. You're…"

(Perfect, beautiful, smart, clever, funny, sweet, too good for me, the prettiest girl I've ever seen… Everything.)

It was all right and yet at the same time, not enough. So instead of finishing the sentence, Daryl just leaned in and pressed his lips softly to Beth's.

And the fizzling under his skin was released, but instead of bursting free it sunk deeper instead, racing through his veins and into his lungs and heart, and finally it had a name that echoed through every inch of him as his lips stayed pressed to hers:

Beth.

**A/N: I really, really enjoyed writing this update so I hope it showed. I had the end part written for about a week, but doing the rest today was just really easy and good and I love that. I've noticed I tend to do better when I focus on one fic for a bit, so I may try focusing on and updating this one only for at least this week, we'll see!

I recently posted a fanmix inspired by this story, it's what I listened to while writing this. I hope you'll check it out! You can find it on 8tracks at /burnedupasun/chasing-cars.

Hope you all liked it as much as I did. Please comment, if you feel like it. Comments are love. 3