"Beth?" There was no reply. There never was. In his feverish dreams, he could hear her shouting for him, and he would find her. You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon. His breaths came out ragged, uneven. They were too loud in the darkness, the silence amplifying every sound, every heartbeat as if it were a clap of thunder. Still no sound but Daryl's own lungs betraying the silence. He thought if he was quiet enough, she might answer his call.

"Daryl. I-is that you?" His dirty mind teasing him with her voice. "Daryl? You in there? Hello?" Her words were slightly muffled, as if she were right in front of him speaking but with her hand over her mouth. Her perfect, plump lips. Daryl pricked his ears, cocking his head to the side mimicking the animals he had once hunted. Now they were as hopeless as those animals. But he had heard something. Perhaps it was those scumbags out there shouting to each other. Could be just wishful thinking. It couldn't all be hallucinations could it? It was true they hadn't eaten in two days since the last time…

Daryl slammed his fist down on the corrugated wall. "You filthy goddamn bastards! When I get outta here, I'm gonna rip your heart out your pathetic chests! Then y'all be sorry y' messed with a Dixon!" Rick had a good grip on one of the redneck's arms, Carl with his still lean arms tight around Daryl's waist. Both were trying to hold back the crazed man. The termites just laughed. They had merely locked the door and not been back since. Daryl mentally scolded himself for that. He knew the others didn't blame him though.

"If somebody's in there, I'm out here." She was real. The sound of her voice was so real he could almost reach out and touch it. Daryl turned in his spot on the rusty metal floor of the container, pressing his forehead against the corrugated iron walls.

His own words came out in his usual husky way, but more gravelly, as he hadn't had a drink in hours. His throat was bone dry. "Beth, ya there?" Daryl hesistated in that painful moment with his heart constricting in his chest.

"Daryl! It is you! I knew it, I just knew it!" She was excited; she had waited weeks without seeing his face, hearing his curses. He was like returning home.

Daryl was pressing so had against the wall, willing his head to push through the metal. But flesh and bone cannot break metal, it just makes you bleed. He felt the trickle race down his nose. "Beth, girl. Y' gotta get us outta here. What weapons y' got?" The pause was too long.

"Um, well you see, I only got ma knife. For stabbin' walkers." She spoke quietly, the same timidity that Daryl had been certain she had lost the weeks she was with him, alone with him, but now it had returned. He sighed inwardly, not wanting to scare her away or hurt her feeling. They were so precious to him now.

"I-it's 'right Beth. Y' don't be worryin' y'self now." Daryl made sure to keep his voice calm, he wanted to reassure her, remind her of her strength.

She breathed out slowly, and then said, "I'm okay. I'm gonna go round to the front when the guard ain't lookin' an' I'll open the door for y'all." There it was. His Beth was back.

"Great, you be careful now Beth. Don't risk it if y' think he's gonna see y'." He worried. The others were starting to stir from their coma-like sleep of fatigue.

Beth drew her knife, Daryl could hear it slide from it's sheath. "I'll be fine." And then she was gone. He sat back up fast, and looked straight into the face of Rick. Rick's face was plastered in blood, sweat and grime. Rick Grimes is all grimey, thought Daryl. There was obvious effort in the way Rick moved himself, but he hid it well enough that when Carl approached them, he didn't look to his father with his usual concern. Like Daryl, the group leader hadn't had a drink for a while and his throat had swollen almost shut.

"What's goin' on Daryl?" His eyes locked gazes with Daryl. Daryl grunted.

"It's Beth." Rick sighed and looked away. "Nah, wait Rick. She's here, an' she's lettin' us out." Rick's hair fell into his face, as he looked at his worn, cracked boots, then back into Daryl's face. They were brothers. They trusted each other without question. Didn't they?

His voice was darker this time, "I know you miss her. We all do, Daryl. But Beth isn't out there, and I wont let you go raisin' nobody's hopes while we're all stuck in here." This was the leader in Rick stepping out of the weary man's body. "Get some rest brother. We all ne-" There was a large click, as the door latch was lifted out of it's resting place. All eyes, as everyone had now awoken to find out what was going on, went to the door. Then it was opening, and a small, beautiful face looked into the pitch black squinting.

"BETH!" Maggie lurched forwards so quickly that Glenn only got a handful of the stagnant air. She skidded her knees across the last meter and clawed Beth into her chest. Both girls reached and grabbed for each other's body, trying to get a better hold to pull each other closer. Maggie's fingers dug so hard into the other girl that Daryl could see scratch marks on Beth's bare shoulders. He sat back, watching their embrace with jealousy ebbing in his heart. They were crying into each other, and then Beth pulled away. Glenn, who folded his wife into his chest and let her sob happily into the material of his shirt, had pulled Maggie back. Her eyes were now on him though, her warm sweet eyes on his face. She was on her knees, but sitting up straight, like an animal that had become aware of a predator nearby. There was muck on her face – smudges of what was most likely blood and earth and sweat. But he didn't care. Those things just brought out the delicate curve of her mouth, the subtle bones of her cheeks and those dark luxurious lashes, beating like tiny wings on her cheek. Beth shuffled across the darkness to kneel before Daryl. He was sitting with his back against the wall, one knee up and his bad leg was resting. Darn thing achin' again. Joe's guys had got him pretty bad, but her didn't complain. It didn't take his attention for very long. The whole container was holding their breath; the small blonde girl, no woman, threw herself into Daryl's arms. He tightly locked the around her as she awkwardly fell into his lap. His hands were lost in her hair, feeling her face, wiping away her tears. She was home. She was with him. His chest screamed. And then they were looking into each other's eyes, the way that would have made Daryl Dixon sick to his stomach, but this time it didn't matter. She inched her face forwards, daring him to close the gap. So he did, with all the might in his limbs he crashed into her, their mouths washing against each other and their limbs a tangling frenzy. His hands feeling up her arms, tracing each curve and soft inch of her up to cup her face like it was worth a million dollars. It was worth more than that. Beth's fingers hooked into the belt loops of Daryl's jeans and she tugged him forwards so their bodies were now so close together neither of them could tell where one of them started and the other ended. The static in the air was too much; everything was alive. Just as Beth's fingers began to slip a little lower, Daryl ran his tongue the length of her inside lip and she moaned. It wasn't the sound of a walker, but only a human sound of pure and untamable pleasure.

There was a short cough. Their faces held but the width of a hair apart. Daryl's voice was gruff, not much more than a mumble, "Damn, Rick. Coulda given' us a moment or somethin'." But there was a smile playing on the edge of his lips, his face curling as he spoke to the leader who was standing at the open door of their prison.

Rick laughed, a sound that was in this life unusual, and especially from a man who'd been through hell and back. "After we get outta here, you guys can err, have all the time you need. But can we please get out first?" He drawled. Carl, Michonne and a few others lightly laughed, and everyone was smiling. Daryl stood, pulling Beth up with him and then coiling an arm around her thin waist. He looked at her; she was beaming back at him, her face shining. Then he looked at Rick, straight in the eye.

"Let's go get ma fuckin' crossbow back."