So I've already written three little drabbles in the past week or so and have decided to give them all a home in one place (will be taking some of my previously posted drabbles and uploading them here as well). This will be a collection of unrelated works of various lengths and ratings, although most will probably be no higher than a T there's a possibility that it could go up...let's not pretend I'm not a smut author after all eh ;) If that happens I'll place a warning before that particular piece.

Enjoy and please review! Thanks! :)

Tumblr prompt: Hi! I really need a fic where Daryl doesn't meet up with Joe and the other guys. Instead he keeps looking for Beth and rescues her leading to a really sweet first kiss. Could you write it?

*note - -this is NOT how I see things going down, I definitely don't think Daryl will play the white knight. If and when Beth escapes I think it'll be on her own or with someone elses help entirely. I don't think we'll get anything close to a kiss anytime soon and I'm completely okay with that. But for the sake of the prompt...I tried*

Disclaimer I don't own The Walking Dead.

Review Please! :)

It takes three days for him to find her.

And when he scoops her up into his arms—the familiar scent of leather, sweat and dirt invading her nose—she can't help the muffled sob that escapes her lips. Her head dropping limply to his chest, and her eyes squeezing shut tight, she tries to calm her breathing as he carries her out of the room, whispering in her ear in a gruff yet surprisingly gentle voice, for her to keep her eyes closed and not to look; his grip shifting a little and holding her closer as he carefully moves down the long staircase towards the front door, intent on leaving her house of horrors behind.

She looks anyway.

And she knows she should be alarmed by the intense thrill of satisfaction she feels as she sees the beaten and mangled bodies of those who had taken her littered across the floor. But tired, and weak, and unbelievably grateful she allows herself the small moment of pure unadulterated relief.

When they get outside the sunlight is harsh and unforgiving, the air cool and welcoming, and she squints and burrows, if possible, even deeper into his hold, her eyes having trouble adjusting after being locked away for days on end in the small and cramped room, her lungs greedily breathing in the fresh and crisp air.

Taking the car that had been used to abduct her, its darkened windows making her cringe a little, her heart racing as memories of the night they had stolen her away from him sneak into her brain, they drive to a cabin not too far away from where she'd been kept, a small little shack in the middle of nowhere, one he tells her he had found the second night into his search for her.

Once inside, he guides her to the small bed that sits in the corner of the main room and helps her clean the bloodied cuts that mar the pale skin of her wrists, the rope burns and deep scratches sending a stinging pain shooting up her arms as he gently wipes away the dirt and grime with what she supposes passes for a clean rag these days—his eyes focused and lips set in a thin and hard line.

Hands shaking, and chest heaving a little at both his close proximity and unwavering attention, she sucks in a sharp breath as the cloth passes over her reddened and sore skin, the small sound bringing his focus back to her and causing his eyes to narrow slightly, something that closely resembles concern flickering in his gaze.

"Hurts a little." she whispers softly, her throat feeling dry, pulse jumping and racing rapidly as he nods and sweeps his thumb across her wrist lightly—the tender gesture coupled with the rough calloused feel of his finger sending a burn and thrill shooting through her body, her eyes widening a little as she watches the steely blue of his gaze darken, his posture stiffening and jaw clenching tightly.

"You hurt anywhere else?"

There's an edge to his tone, something low and almost threatening, the beginnings of fury lighting in his stare, his obvious anger only dimmed by the dark shadows of fear that linger in his gaze.

"I'm alright." Her tone is soft and if her words waver and her breath hitches a little, she tells herself it's from exhaustion; she's not a little girl and she doesn't get to cry over a few nights spent tied up and alone in a cold and dark room, the sounds of her abductors murmured conversations drifting to her ears.

It could've been worse.

Could've been a lot worse.

Something passes over his features, his hardened expression melting away; emotions—concern, fear, relief, and something else she can't quite pinpoint—playing out over his face before he draws his hand away from her wrist completely and motions to the bed.

"Sleep."

The word hangs somewhere between a gruff command and a softly spoken request, and closing her eyes for a moment she allows herself a tiny smile at the raspy and familiar tone; the warm feeling of his presence at her side making her feel safe, protected, and oddly cherished.

She had known he'd come.

Hadn't given up hope for a second that he was out there. Somewhere. Searching for her.

Opening her eyes again, she looks at him closely, watching as his gaze lingers a little on her hands, staring at the torn skin and purple bruises, his spine still ramrod straight, one hand clenching into a tight fist at his side.

And feeling something foreign and terrifying and yet strangely beautiful seep its way into her veins at the sight, coursing through her and sparking something low in her belly, she doesn't give herself a chance to think—too tired and sore and grateful to allow herself to truly consider her actions. Leaning forward slowly, tilting her head up ever so slightly, she places a hand on either side of his face, the scruff of his beard tickling her palms as she watches with a touch of wry amusement as his eyes flit up to hers—alarm, confusion, and something slightly darker and somewhat thrilling flashing in his stare.

"What are you—"

"Thank you." She whispers it softly, before closing the already small distance between them and brushing her lips over his, once, twice, the gentle nearly chaste contact sending a jolt of almost shocking heat straight through her, a part of her appreciating the rough and chapped feel of his lips against hers even as a voice in her head questions her actions; another smaller somewhat calmer tone whispering to her knowingly, acknowledging that this feels right, that this is right, before she pulls back slowly, eyes fluttering open to find him staring at her curiously, rigid disbelief stamped across his rugged features.

"Beth…"

His tone is strained, slightly broken and just a fraction lower than normal, and knowing that he's probably on the verge of hollerin' at her—people don't just go around planting kisses on Daryl Dixon—she pulls further away from him, her body protesting the loss of his warmth as she settles back on the bed slowly, the tension coiled up inside of her fading gradually as she lays down on the springy and creaking mattress, her tongue sneaking out of its own accord to trace her lips.

And there's not even a small part of her that regrets it—the brief kiss, the enticing heat, and the earthy taste of him—everything implanted in her brain and permanently committed to memory.

"Don't go." she murmurs it quietly, closing her eyes as she feels rather than sees him move further from her on the bed, her slight high beginning to fade as numbing and unyielding exhaustion starts to sink in once again. Reaching out a hand, eyes still closed, impending sleep slowing her movements, she touches his arm, feeling him stiffen a little beneath her fingertips, the sound of his sharp intake of breath drifting to her slightly buzzing ears.

"Stay." Her voice is small and bordering on weak, but too tired to care, she disregards the pathetic sound completely, selfishly too concerned with her own wants and needs to let it really bother her. Cracking open an eye, she swallows over the sudden lump that has formed in her throat, forcing back the wave of almost worrying nervousness that's threatening to roll over her. "I mean…can you just sit here for a little while…just—just until I fall asleep?"

He doesn't say anything at first; the silence between them loud and deafening as she holds her breath and waits for him to push her away, for him to roll his eyes and berate her for being naive and weak and helpless and all the things she knows she's not but silently fears he thinks of her anyway.

It takes only a moment before he moves again; the bed creaking and dipping once more as she feels him shifting a little beside her, drawing closer to her ever so slightly, his legs brushing against hers as he pushes himself further up on the mattress so that he's sitting against the wall and facing the bolted up windows and rotting front door—a shock of relief and gratitude spiking through her and a small smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth as he settles in next to her.

"Okay." He mutters, gaze focused on the door, one hand resting on the crossbow that lays at the edge of the bed, the other tapping out some random beat on his upper thigh. "Okay."

Closing her eyes again, she sighs softly and allows herself to pretend, for just a moment, that the last few days of fear and worry and dread and despair hadn't happened, chasing the dark thoughts and memories away—the distant sounds of her own hopeless screams echoing in her ears and fading away as her breathing evens out and she finally allows herself to relax.

And if she feels the barest hint of a touch ghost its way across her battered wrists, lingering for only a moment as she hovers on the cusp of unconsciousness, she doesn't even flinch, too afraid to show it, terrified she'll scare him away.

Instead she sleeps.

And he stays…

Review?!