"Tell me your most embarrassing story," she says as she trudges behind him through the shrubby tangle underfoot.

Daryl shoots an incredulous look back over his shoulder at her. "Why?"

"Because," she smiles. "It'll pass the time."

"So, you are bored."

Though he can't see, Beth rolls her eyes at him. "So?" she prompts.

"Ain't got none."

"Bull," she answers back, prompting a wry grin from Daryl. "What about from when you were a kid?" She lengthens her step and catches up with him. Smiling, she's a bit breathless as she walks beside him, overstepping foliage and rocks and burrow holes.

"Never was one."

"Oh," she chuckles. "Right. I'h forgot. Of course not."

Daryl looks at her with a wary look then cracks just a little, a mischievous little, and shoves lightly at her shoulder. He's doing more of that now, just reaching out and touching her. Looking back, Daryl had never withheld physical contact from the group, or emotion (in his own way), her included — nudging her or tapping her, or guiding her or helping her, but there is a difference now in his touch: Beth has long been his, as has all the group — his to love (in his fashion), his to look out for and make a stand for, his to belong to. But now, here in these woods and on these country roads, on the run from death and danger, refugees from their fallen home and dispersed extended family, she really is his, more than anything else ever has been, and the simple touch of camaraderie and fellowship — and love — comes much easier.

"Well," Beth tries again, "what would you be doing now, if you were home, if the turn had never happened?"

Daryl pauses this time when he looks at her, liking this question even less than the last. "M,mm." He continues walking, hitching the bow in his arms a little higher. Beth follows after, mindful of the land mines she unwittingly uncovers from time to time from his past. On they walk, left, right, left, right, stumble, balance, left, right, onward, ever onward. "How about you?" his deep voice unexpectedly breaks the settled silence.

Beth looks up, "Huh?"

"You," Daryl's eyes roll at the explanation he's needing to give to his effort to go along. "Whut would you be doing?"

Beth smiles at the gesture, but as she considers her answer she stops short, as though the reality of it is only just dawning on her. She looks at him, detached bemusement on her face, like it hardly seems real. "I'd be starting college." Her brow furrows in reflection, "I'd have graduated already... I'd be getting a roommate. And takin' classes." She nearly half laughs, "I never even took my SATs. All that studying— All that work— What was it for?" Daryl swallows, his thin eyes steady on her. What is there to say? Revelations like this are the very reason such games are a bad idea. Looking backward is always a bad idea. Beth though is not taken under by it; she only shakes her head, then carries on, brushing her fingers against his as she moves past him on their self-tread path before he too resumes their endless walk.

Daryl's eyes remain watchful, measuring in passive observation Beth's ability to in one moment feel deeply the loss of the only future she'd ever seen for herself, and in the very next to let it go as though it were nothing. He blinks, then clears his throat. "... Whudd'ya miss most?" His words are hooded and raspy as he treads lightly; he does not favor this sort of talk, but still, he wants to know her and means to engage her when she asks to be.

Beth's head shakes again. "Too many things." She doesn't linger long on those kinds of thoughts anymore. Fresh sheets, iced coffee, phone calls, homemade strawberry ice cream, friends, music, full gas tanks, dresses, peace of mind — they're gone. Better to think about what they can still have. Beth pauses, waiting as he slaps and crushes the mosquito on his neck, then keeps on. "I'll bet I'm the only one still left from my class."

Daryl looks back at her, it's not like Beth to detach to such a degree. "Why do'ya say that?"

"Daryl. You saw the other farms. You saw the refugee centers. My high school's overrun. The town's deserted."

"Some could've made it out." Beth only shrugs and walks on. She's keeping her faith for Maggie, and for Glenn. And Judith and Carl and Rick and Michonne and the kids and Tyreese and Sasha, and the rest of the prison group. This Daryl understands; some things you gotta just let go.

They stop for a spell, to drink some water and to take a piss. Sitting with legs stretched out, Beth looks up into the tree branches overhead and at the leaves lightly dancing in the breeze. She's basking in the warm sunlight beaming down on her when Daryl returns and scratches her shoulder as signal to head out. Beth's rise is obligatory, wishing she had a reason just to stay and instead of endlessly ceaselessly walking. Only there is none. This spot in the woods is just like every other, which is as much a reason to move on as it is to stay, and so they move on, looking for something they each privately fear will never be found, or may no longer even exist.

Beth walks beside him, listening to the sounds of crunching leaves and brush under their feet. They haven't seen many walkers today. The three they killed tangled up in a thicket, and the one she'd killed in the morning when Daryl'd been beyond camp in the trees. They'd passed a pack of four or five of them several miles back, but they were far off, and upwind, and hadn't caught their scent. Their day has been quiet. Except for the chirping of birds, and the constant humming of summer insects.

Beth breaks the silence, "We should do something."

Daryl glances back at her. "This again?"

"No," she says. "But we should do something."

Darlyl's lip curls up, "Hmph— You are bored." He waves her on and on they trudge. Daryl uses his crossbow to break open a path through the brush. Holding back some branches, waiting for her to pass through, Daryl nods stoically at his girl, "Whut'chya got in mind?"

Beth looks at him, pleased and mildly surprised, then swallows her smile and continues ahead of him, satisfied he'd indulge her this much. "Something nice," she smiles. "Something different." She looks back at Daryl," Aren't you tired of walking?"

"Tired 'f a lot 'f things. Don't think it'll change nothin' anytime soon."

"All right," she concedes, "maybe not. But even so. One day," she says. "We can have one good day."

Daryl's brow arches at her, "Like?"

Beth Greene shrugs. She'd spoken as the thought struck her — she didn't have a plan. Now as she walks alongside Daryl she rummages in her thoughts for something 'good'. "We could climb a tree?" she offers after a bit, remembering the thrill of watching the world shrink and fade beneath while climbing ever higher into a universe of leaves, and sky, and breeze. It's simple, sure, but it isn't as though there's a cinema, or a featherbed they can make their way to. The backwoods of Georgia don't offer much in the way of diversion.

Not expecting that one Daryl guffaws. "A tree?" It is at once improbable and implausible. Daryl can't think of the last time he was in a tree for the pleasure of climbing; he had not anticipated the absurdity of such a simple proposition. He points around them, "See any around big enough?"

"Okay," she admits. "We could… Go swimmin'."

"River's runnin' low; no swimming holes."

"We could at least take a bath," she posits. "Get clean. Wash our hair," she's getting wistful just at the thought of it. "Or just sit down, even; stop walking, find somewhere pretty to sit in the sun. Find some flowers, look up to the sky and find the shapes in the clouds." She looks at him, "You ever do that?"

Daryl shakes his head. He's never done that. He reaches out and tugs her closer by her hip belt loop, "Nuthin's gonna change," his low voice rumbles. "— Out here I mean."

Beth's large blue eyes blink up at him and then she lays a small kiss on his lips. "I'h know."

Looking fondly at her, nearly to the point of distraction, Daryl struggles to reclaim his point, "— Just 'cuz we wanna have a nice day."

"'We'," she echoes in a tease, beaming at his succumbing. "Anyway, I'h know that, but we c'n be different. Com'on," her smile widens and entices. "Let's have a good day. We can eat the last of the canned peaches and salt crackers."

"'d be smarter t' save 'em," he grunts.

"'It'd be smarter to save 'em,'" she mocks winningly with her best Daryl Dixon face.

Daryl looks at her soberly, but her desire to do this is so charming he has to give in. His stern incredulity and pragmatism give way and yield to her perennial optimism. He smiles, then grants her enterprise with an understated nod, and ushers her on with the end of his crossbow. "Alright," he allows with a leeway of patience, "find you some flowers an' a climbin' tree n' river." He pushes lightly on her back, "And some pretty clouds." Beth laughs as she walks on through the woods, keeping her eyes out for a clearing or a meadow. Anything distinctive and different from the endless woods will do. "Got any more stupid games t' play?" he asks dryly, shouldering his bow again and following behind her.

Ahead of him by several paces, Beth smiles guilefully, "What do I g't if I win?"

"Y' already won."

"If you win…" she deliberates, "you get the wool socks, the next ten pieces of chewing gum we find, and… I'll carry the tent in my pack for the next three days."

Daryl's jaw juts out and his brows raise dubiously. "Those 're high stakes."

"Hell yeah." Behind her, Daryl smiles at the charm of her bravado. "So what do I get?" she asks, without ever turning round to see him.

Daryl considers. "Next two nights in a bed. Three indoors if we can't find a bed."

Beth spins round in a whirl of smiles. "Really?" Daryl squints his affirmation. "Wull," she hesitates before getting too invested in the prospects of sleeping with a mattress, and a pillow, again, "what about others? What about the risk?"

Daryl shrugs. "M'ybe two nights won't do no harm. We'll be al'right." Beth beams and turns forward, continuing to cut their path to their self-declared 'nice day', and hopefully two well-earned night's sleep in an actual bed.