Original Prompt: "I thought it would be cute if Beth found a stray cat outside their building and nurses it back to health and then wants to keep it. Daryl doesn't want to because their apt is so small. But the cat is awesome and cuddles him and he grows to love it too!"

When the first thing Beth said to him as soon as he'd stepped into their apartment was "don't be mad", Daryl should have known to expect trouble. Then again it was Beth; he couldn't remember a time he'd ever actually been mad at her. Mad at himself, sure, that happened all the time. But at her? Never.

So all he did was raise an eyebrow and watch her with a bemused expression until she rose up from the couch and held out her cupped hands in front of her. There, nestled against her palms, was a tiny little black kitten.

"I heard it crying outside when I took out the trash," Beth said quickly, as if somehow still afraid he'd be upset with her somehow. "I almost didn't find it until I realized that the sound was coming from under the dumpster, not inside of it." She looked down at the kitten in her hands, and even if he'd been ready to scold her (which he really hadn't), that urge would have dissipated in the face of the expression she made now, and the thick sorrow in her voice as she went on, "There were three other kittens with it, but… but they were all dead. This was the only one I could save. Daryl-"

He was pretty sure he'd never seen those big blue eyes quite as plaintive as they were looking up at him now, widened and bright with unshed tears as she whispered, "I know we can't keep it here but can we at least take care of it, until we find some place for it to live? Please? It'll die if we don't help it and I know how, I helped my Daddy with kittens plenty of times before… oh please, Daryl."

If he was stunned into silence for a few moments, it wasn't at the request itself. It was at the fact that he thought she had to make it at all, let alone so pleadingly. But he got over that shock within a few seconds, and reassured her the best way he knew how; by crossing the gap between them and pressing a kiss to her forehead as he murmured, "You don't even need t' ask, baby girl. Of course we can help it. But you're right, we can't keep it. You gotta keep that in mind, alright? This apartment is too tiny for us, let alone a cat. Just don't get too attached… you hear me?"

The way she'd looked up at him, eyes all wide and a tremulous smile on her lips as she cradled that little kitten to her chest… he should've known that warning was doomed from the start.

He'd never realized how much work it was to take care of a kitten that young. He'd only just gotten home and already Beth had sent him out to fetch the things she'd needed, including a bottle and kitten formula. (He'd been amused at the look she'd given him when he'd asked innocently if they couldn't just have regular milk. Apparently that was a big no no.)

Kitten formula turned out to be expensive, but it was worth it the moment he came home and saw Beth on the couch with the kitten curled against her chest, visible through a gap in her button-down shirt. She was determined to care for the kitten as best she could, preparing bottles, feeding it, letting it sleep in their room in a box next to the bed so that she could be ready when it woke up in the middle of the night crying from hunger, even keeping a mug warmer plugged in on the nightstand so she could keep a bottle warm on it.

He told himself it was all hers. Her kitten, her decision to foster it, her responsibility. He'd never been one for animals, really; had never had even a goldfish as a kid, since his Pa would never let him.

But he'd underestimated not only how hard the kitten was to resist, but how hard Beth was to resist. It helped of course that their apartment was so impossibly tiny; the very lack of space that had him reminding her they couldn't keep the cat also worked to ensure he was constantly aware of it. If he went into the main room it was to see Beth cradling the kitten in one arm while making a bottle with the other, if he went into the bedroom he found her playing with the kitten in it's box, or cuddling up to it on the bed. And that, of course, was irresistible, a fact evidenced by the 100+ pictures of her and that kitten that took up all the space on his phone.

Daryl had always been the kind of person to avoid forming personal attachments. It hadn't been hard to manage, until Beth. She'd just slipped her way right under his walls as if they weren't even there and burrowed herself right up against his heart before he'd even noticed. It should have prepared him for the same thing happening all over again, but he'd figured Beth was a once-in-a-lifetime kinda deal.

And she was, of course she was. When it came to people, anyway. Scrap, as she called their little black kitten, was an exception of her own.

He'd learned to take care of the kitten sort of, though he (the gender had finally been determined by Beth's Pa) seemed to prefer Beth. He got that. Who wouldn't prefer being cared for by sweet, nurturing Beth over him?

Beth was in love with the kitten, he'd known that pretty much since the first day she'd brought the little scrap of black fur home. He, on the other hand, tried to keep his distance. Not just because that was how he was, but because he knew (or kept telling himself, anyway), that they couldn't keep him.

He told himself again and again that their apartment was too small, that Scrap deserved more space to play in, that they still had trouble meeting the bills each month and couldn't afford to pay for his bills if anything went wrong. He repeated those things over and over each time he saw Beth cuddled up with the little kitten, or the first time he caught Scrap trying to hunt a bug and found himself thinking about what a good little hunter he'd become, or when he developed the habit of only bringing his toy mouse to Daryl and not Beth.

We can't keep him, he told himself for the hundredth time as the tiny furball dropped his bright pink mouse right in front of them, and he forcefully tried to harden his walls to stop Scrap from getting under them.

But of course it was already too late, though he didn't realize it. Not until the Saturday where Beth had to go into work all day and into the evening for the daycare center's yearly big cleaning, meaning that he was the only one there when Scrap began to throw up and wouldn't stop. He didn't even think twice about money or expenses, not in the face of that little ball of fur shivering on the carpet and barely able to walk.

Daryl had just scooped him right up without even bothering to get his carrier, nestling the kitten into his shirt and keeping him there the entirety of the drive to Beth's family farm, whispering 'it'll be alright, Scrap, you'll be alright' every few seconds, right up until he could hand him over to Beth's dad. Even then he refused to leave Scrap's side, hovering through the entire examination and interjecting his worried questions ("Will he be okay? Is he sick?") and then listening raptly and with relief as Hershel explained the problem was just that he'd eaten something that disagreed with him and he'd be fine as long as they made sure the kitten was getting his milk and liquids and resting.

Hershel might have promised that Scrap would be fine, but Daryl took extra care with him the whole way home, keeping him tucked up against his chest despite Annette offering to let him borrow a cat carrier. When Scrap seemed worn out, more inclined to nap than to run around like he usually did, Daryl made sure he could keep an eye on him in the way that seemed most logical; by letting the little ball of black fur sleep right on him, where he knew he'd be safe.

So when Beth came home that evening, frantically rushing into the door to check on her 'sick baby', it was to find Daryl stretched out on the couch with the kitten curled beneath his chin, right against his neck. She didn't even hesitate to fit herself right into place with them, stretching between Daryl's legs and laying on top of his chest to nuzzle her nose against his chin with a sigh.

"He's okay?"

He nodded and hummed. "He'll be alright. Your Dad says to make sure he takes it easy for a couple days and watch to make sure he don't eat nothin' he shouldn't."

Beth sighed and trailed off into relieved silence, but as he ran one hand lightly through her hair Daryl found himself saying after a moment, "I was thinking, though… maybe we should take a trip to the pet store tomorrow."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. He's gonna need a bed soon instead of just that box, and your Dad says once he's feelin' better we can start trying him on some wet kitten food with the milk, and he keeps losing them mouse toys he like so much, so maybe we could get him more…"

"Huh." Beth's hummed surprise had Daryl tilting his head to look down at her, careful not to dislodge the kitten curled beneath his chin. At his silent question, she just gave him a smile. "Nothing, it's just… I thought we weren't getting him all that stuff because we were gonna find him a family to live with once he was big enough…"

Daryl just settled his head back and looked up at the ceiling, but his other hand came up to stroke gently along the soft black fur of Scrap's back as he murmured after a moment, "Nah. I reckon he's already got one of those."

Yeah. That damn cat had gone and made herself his family without him even noticing. It figured, though. He was Beth's cat, after all, and if there was anyone who knew how to worm her way into his heart, it was his baby girl.

He'd never stood a chance, in the end. He should have known that from the start.

(I'M SO EXCITED YOU GUYS FINALLY GET TO MEET SCRAP! Haha.)