Daryl reached up behind him to feel the damage that the rusted barbed wire fence had done. His shirt was torn straight through and his fingers came back bloody. He cursed himself for not wearing his leather vest and made his way empty handed back to the prison and asked for someone to send Hershel to his cell.

He used his still clean hunting knife to cut off what was left of his tattered shirt and stood watching for the old vet to come into his cell. The sight of blond hair instead of white threw him. Daryl couldn't stop his body from tensing and taking the few steps back that his small room would allow.

"Where's Hershel?" He cleared his throat immediately after, it did nothing to mask the nervousness in his low voice.

"He's teaching a first aid class, I didn't think you would want to be the class project." Beth smiled softly up at him. "Come sit."

"Uh, no. That's a'right. I'll just wait for him." Daryl's eyes met hers for a second before dropping back down to lock on his still muddy boots.

"Daryl, I know what I'm doing. You gotta let me clean those cuts, can't have you getting laid up for being stubborn. Come on now." She patted the bed in front of her.

He shifted back and forth between his toes and heels a few times before sucking in a sharp breath and nearly flinging himself on the edge of his bed. His body was tense and straight, his hands sat white knuckled in on themselves and his chin dropped down to his heaving chest as he tried to slow his breathing. He knew the instant Beth looked up from her first aid kit. He heard the gasp she took in and clenched his jaw even tighter in response. He was instantly brought back to that time, Before, when he had dropped his bike. It was July and he hadn't been wearing his leather because of the heat wave. The road tore up his shoulder, not awful, but just enough where he couldn't patch it up with just booze and band aids. The nurse was cute, she seemed to like his smile. They flirted while she prepped the room. The sultry look she was giving to the banged up biker disappeared when she saw his back. He turned around to see only pity on her face. It was even worse when she came back from checking his records. He knew what was in them. He didn't want to see that look from Beth.

He felt Beth reach for something and then place a hand just above where he was cut. "This is going to sting, ready?"

"Mmhmm." It was the only reply he could force out of his clenched teeth.

She worked quietly for a minute, listening to the slight grunt of pain he made while she dabbed clean the open cuts. "It's not as bad as I thought. You don't need any stitches. Shouldn't even scar up." Her hand froze in the middle of smoothing down the last piece of tape. "I… sorry… I didn't…"

"I'm pretty banged up as it is." He let out a cough, "Dropped my bike a lot when I was younger." He kept his voice quiet, not liking the way the lie felt coming off his tongue.

He heard her close up the kit, nearly flew off the bed when he felt her hand on his shoulder. He turned his body toward her but kept his eyes trained on his lap. The tension in his body leaving his muscles strung tighter than his crossbow.

She sighed as she reached out to touch his hand. Her voice was so gentle when she spoke, "When I was eleven, Daddy brought home a horse. He was so jumpy, scared of anyone getting to close. His back looked just like yours."

Daryl looked up, her eyes were soft, full of concern, understanding. He didn't see the pitiful stare he had expected. After clearing his throat he turned his head away.

"Some drunk had kept him penned up, trapped. Just to take his nastiness out on him. He was half starved. They were scars from being whipped, Daryl.

"Mmhmm." His chest was tightening up. Hershel would've just cleaned him up and left. He could feel his eyes welling up. There was a pit in his stomach and a lump in his throat.

Beth's soft voice kept going, "Daddy fixed him up, fed him, got him healthy. He would stand in the paddock, against the fence, just watching everyone. Never really bonded with any of the other horses." Beth reached out for his other hand and pulled them both into her lap.

Daryl's breath hitched as he watched her small hands touch his rough ones. Her thumbs rubbed softly on the outside of his wrists while her fingertips kept a gentle pressure on his palms. "Can't blame him," he whispered roughly.

"No, couldn't blame him. He never knew anything else. Just harsh words and pain."

"S'no way to live." He ignored the emotion in his voice.

"No, it wasn't. Hurt, scared, never knowing what he did wrong…"

"And hungry. But…Alone. Alone was the worst, worse than yelled at, worse than beat." He focused on her rubbing his hands. "Waking up on the dirty floor or the pissed stained couch, him passed out, Merle gone. No one there." He pulled in a deep shaking breath, "Hurtin' so bad and no one there." Daryl started to pull his had away to rub his eyes. It was too much. Beth beat him to it though, and instead of him rubbing the offending tears away, she gently brushed them off his cheeks.

"But then there was someone there."

Daryl sniffled and coughed a bit to clear his throat, "Couldn't just forget though. Always gonna be there."

Beth stood, rearranged her things on the bed. "Yeah, he never did forget." Daryl saw a small smile ghost over her face.

He cleared his throat again and reached out to take her hand. "So what happened?"

"With Pheonix?"

"The horse? S'that his name?"

Beth smiled and squeezed Daryl's hand. "Yeah. I went everyday and sat next to his stall, talking to him. Then feeding him. Then brushing him. Then he decided he was mine." Beth raked his fingers through Daryl's hair. "He never threw me, always knew what I was asking him to do. He just knew."

Daryl's voice came out softer than he had ever heard before, "Knew what?"

She bent down and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "That even though he was mine, I was his too."