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"Beth—" Daryl whispers into her ear. "Beth—" Beth stirs then jolts awake, immediately reaching straight for the pipe, her shorn head screwing left and right, taking a read on any imminent threat. Daryl's face though, when her darting eyes settle on him, is soft and not in fight mode. His eyes lift and he whispers, "Look up." Breathless, Beth does, and there above her in the starry moonless night is a flying flash. Not a plane. There are no more planes. There's another. The word comes to her—

"Meteor..."

Mythic yellowish streaks radiate through the night sky. One— Two— Then a third—

Beth pushes herself all the way up. "God..." Her mouth stays open in an awed and distant smile as she looks up, keeping her wide eyes trained on this natural wonder, a moment of beauty and magic now so rare and so very precious. She holds her breath... Four—

They watch together in silence, straining their eyes, synchronously entranced by the majesty above them, by the haunting otherworldly sublimity. Five-Six— Together they bear witness to the mystic glory of the cosmos, so much greater than this forsaken planet in which they find themselves so utterly alone. Daryl inches closer and at some point Beth is in his arms, tucked snuggly between his raised knees. She sighs deeply, like she's been holding this breath for days, and leans back into him, allowing her head to be pillowed by his chest. Daryl drops his chin to her head and breathes in this closeness, something they've been missing since they left that bedroom, missing as if they'd lost it too, surrendering some part of them back there with those misbegotten things. He misses her. Though she's hardly left his sight, he misses her. He misses the feel of her in his arms, and the way he feels when she's there. And with her there again, tucked within him, his mind drifts back to the vision of her laid out on that bed, beautiful, happy, and his. Safe, irresistible, soft, lovely, and his. Beth. His chest tightens, and he swallows a knot clenching in his throat.

Though he knows it's him most likely and not her that's been keeping up the distance between them, it feels so good to have her back in his arms. What has he been doing? Another broken chunk of the heavens drops through the sky.

"... Do you ever think about it?" she asks dreamily. He can hear her dimples in her words.

"'Bout whut?"

"The sky... It's all that's left that's untouched." Beth blinks as she studies the night, "... It's still the same. Beautiful and blue. Sparkling and dark. The clouds, the stars, the moon, the heavens — all untouched. The birds still sing..."

"Never thought about it," he grunts.

Beth smiles, and leans her head back to his with a twist, kissing the scratchy underside of his neck. His heart swells. "Up there..." she continues, "looking down, the earth 's prob'ly still beautiful. Lihke nuthin' has changed..." She looks on, her long lashes batting as she dreams. "'Course," she snorts, "guess that's always been true — wars, n' famine. ... Guess ehv'rythin' looks beautiful if you're far e'nough away."

"Guess so," he mumbles into the top of her head. He doesn't tell her she's more beautiful the closer he gets to her, but his fingers interlace with hers, and he kisses the crest of her ear. The world fell apart all around them and left them in hell; the sky falls and it's nothing less than magical.

"Make a wish," she whispers.

"Huh?"

"You gotta make a wish on a shooting star."

"I can't wish no more, Beth. Hurts too much."

Held within her small hands he feels her bolstering squeeze. "That's why you gotta do it."

Daryl blinks, looking up into celestial unknown. "You do it for me."

There's no knowing if she does, or if she does what the wish is, but she draws his hand to her lips, and presses her quiet constant love there into his palm, where he can have it to hold onto.

Periodically another blazing meteor darts across the blackness, but they grow more and more infrequent, and Beth and Daryl grow tired. She pulls him down with her, onto their blanket, under the foil sheet, snugging herself up against him, drawing his arms around her, bending her knees over his. There they lay on their sides, tucked warmly within one another, for the first time in days. All sleep has been taken in shifts since their close call and since their alert line was taken. But today they found him shoes, and what's more they found some twine, and although as yet little hangs from it to sound the alarm, it is something, and if Daryl had made a wish, it might very well have been to lie with her this close. Softly she kisses his muscled arm where her head lays pillowed on it. Daryl smells like sweat, and the forest, like campfire smoke and roasted cottontail. He smells safe. He smells like home. She breathes him in, and kisses him again.

Daryl's forearm crosses over her, slipping his hand down the front of her shirt. Softly, as his lips move against her neck and her jawline, he takes her breasts in his hand, holding her close to him. Beth's neck twists back to give his lips better access, and in warm arousal her body arcs and flexes. Daryl inhales sharply as as her back arches her hips press her back tightly into his. She almost cries, there in his arms, wrapped up in friendship, love, comfort and desire. She's missed him, his touch, his scent, his breath on her skin. She misses the sound of his voice and the feel of his chest rising and falling in time with hers. Daryl's mouth finds her ear and as he kisses her, sucking lightly on her lobe, feeling her fit body push up against him, his mind and untapped passions delve deeper into insatiable thoughts of her.

She's been so alone. Not actually, he's been there, but also not. For days Daryl's been somewhere removed, somewhere shut off away from her. This return to closeness, this return to them— she shudders from the intensity. She could weep, but her body seeks another release. Again he delights in the lissome pliancy of her body, relishing every responsive mewing stretch and arch it makes.

There's a pop at her jeans button and Daryl's hand slips into her pants, finding her between her legs. Beth holds her breath, the pleasure his hand produces in her elicits more gentle rolling in her hips, more pushing up against him, compounding his arousal. But it's his hands, strong and so familiar, touching her again, that brings the true reaction. Again her body shudders in deeply felt emotion, and Daryl holds her tighter, cradling her to him. He will love her, in all the ways she'll let him.

Beth's tongue and lips find his forearm and kiss him where the muscles tense. "I love you," she breathes. "Don't disappear."

Fervidly Daryl's teeth grip into the underside of her neck and savagely he pulls her closer, bracing his solid body against hers, his nether hand moving with more fervor between her legs. Beth's arm reaches behind them, clinging to the back of his neck, grasping him to her — Daryl's passion for her builds wildly. His scarred hand pulls out of her shirt, trailing down her torso, circling for a moment over the soft skin below her navel, flat and too thin, but her. His wet mouth bites feverishly at the soft flesh of her neck, and willing to prolong this deference of loving her no longer, he tugs single-mindedly at her jeans, wriggling her waistbands down off her hips, down to her mid-thighs, creamy, trim, and beautiful. Held tightly in his grasp Beth twists backwards to him, at long last catching his lips in hers while he scrambles with his buckle and fly, pulling at his pants so that he can get to her. Their tongues grapple as his arms find their way back to her, taking her pleasure into his hands, rolling, and pressing, and circling, and pulsing. Beth's body contracts in frustrated gratification, thrusting her hips back to find him and her portending satisfaction. When at last he's entered Beth gasps, and he presses hard, rocking his hips, biting down on her exposed collarbone, clutching her breasts — taking her back, his Beth, this girl that he loves, who he will keep close and keep safe as long as he can, and who he will love. Beth stifles a moan and clenches and bucks in an unexpected surge of pleasure, surrendering to him, taking his lead as he pushes her down on him with every thrust; holding her labored breath through the extended insuppressible eruption of sex and feeling, capitulation and reciprocation. The sensation of her, beautiful and young, frenzied and overcome, pushes Daryl over the edge and he succumbs willingly to his love, the girl who is everything he is not and everything he needs. Beth twists round to kiss him. "Dar—" she would breathe his name if she could, but his wet lips are already on hers, tying her mouth up in long deep, satiated kisses.