A/N: YOU GUYS. You are all so lovely with your supportive comments and favourites. They truly make my day. This is my last pre-written fic fyi, but I'm determined to see the week through. Anyway, as usual, thank-you and enjoy. xx

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She can't drive. It's kind of ridiculous, really, when she thinks about it. Grew up on a farm and never once sat behind the wheel. She thinks about when this all started, the outbreak, how she'd finally got her learners permit, how excited she was to experience this new freedom.

Then learning to drive wasn't a priority anymore.

It is now. She's got Judith. She's got a job to do. And her daddy, missing a leg, tells her one evening that it's time she learnt how.

And Daryl is going to teach her.

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Her daddy trusts Daryl. Believes in Daryl. Knows that, whatever happens, she's safe with Daryl.

Hershel Greene doesn't trust a lot of people with his youngest, sweetest daughter. But Daryl Dixon is one of the few.

However, if her daddy knew how she felt about the hunter, perhaps he wouldn't.

Everything shifted after Zach's death. She became more aware of him, and sometimes it seemed he was more aware of her. She'd catch him looking at her out of the corner of her eye. He'd check on her and Judith, make sure she didn't need anything before he went on runs. Sometimes he'd bring her back trinkets; candies and soaps and scraps of pretty fabric. If she hadn't eaten, he'd make sure she did, in his quiet, subtle way.

And she likes the attention, his quiet courtship. The barely there glances and the soft, lingering brush of hands as he takes Judith from her arms.

It's slow and it's sweet and in the old world, it would have been perfect. He would have shyly swept her off her feet and won her heart. But in this new world, where tomorrow isn't guaranteed, she can't wait forever. She won't wait forever.

She needs now.

And maybe he realises that, as he stands awkwardly besides one of the cars, chewing on his thumb. Maybe he realises that he can't wait any longer because if he does she might be gone.

Tis' better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

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"You got any clue, girl?" he asks gruffly and she sighs, straightening in her seat.

"Adjust your mirrors," she recites, "check your seat, put on your seatbelt, make sure it's in neutral, and start the car."

"Who the hell taught you that?" Daryl smirks.

"It was in the drivers ed handbook," Beth replies, feeling a bit defensive, "is that wrong?"

"When the time comes," Daryl tells her, "and you gotta run, you ain't gonna have time for all those checks, alright?"

She nods seriously.

"You gotta grab Judith and drive."

"What about seatbelts-"

"You get in that car and drive. Ain't no good if you've gone and got yourself bit tryin' to buckle lil' asskicker in her car seat."

"Oh," she breathes, fidgeting with the steering wheel.

"You know how to put it in gear?"

"Yeah," she answers, staring out ahead of her.

"Left food on the clutch, right foot on the brake, release the hand brake." Daryl instructs, "Put it in first, release your foot off the clutch, and ease onto the accelerator."

She starts to move, jolting at first, until they're driving at a slow, even pace.

"Hear that?"

She listens, the engine racing, the pressure increasing. She nods swiftly.

"Move up a gear," he tells her, and she repeats her previous motions, pressing down on the clutch, moving the gearstick up to second. It's less jolty than before, and he hums in approval.

"What now?" she asks, as they make their way across the prison yard, picking up speed and moving up gears.

"Just keep drivin'," Daryl murmurs.

Hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles turning white, she thinks it might be easily said than done.

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By the end of the hour, she can drive and reverse and park, all at ridiculous speeds. She feels like some kind of stuntwoman, like an actress in one of the car movies Shawn used to love so much. Driving in the new world isn't about road rules, but about getting away from a threat. If it's walkers, you want to escape as fast as you can. If it's other people, you want stealth, you want confusion, you want to out drive them so they can't follow.

Her drivers ed handbook never covered any of that.

In the car, hands on the steering wheel, she gives him a triumphant grin. There's no one around, apparently Glenn had told the whole prison that she was learning to drive and to stay indoors, something they'd all taken seriously. It's just her and Daryl in the yard. Just her and Daryl in the car.

And she's suddenly oh so aware of their proximity. Suddenly she's oh so aware of the tiny shorts she wore today and the loose, button-down tank top.

And no bra.

"Ya did good," he says gruffly, as she turns off the engine. He moves to open the door, but she stops him, with a hand on his thigh.

"Wait!"

And he does. His hand is still on the door handle, but his eyes are on her hand. She doesn't know if he's going to stay or run. It could go either way, depending on her next move.

"I, uh, wanted to thank you," she blurts out, blushing furiously, "so, thank you."

In a moment of panic, she reaches over and presses a quick, ungraceful kiss to his lips.

He's still looking at the hand on his leg. Awkwardly, she pulls it away, but he grabs it, holding it in his own.

"Beth," he murmurs, and his eyes float up to meet hers, capturing her gaze, blue meeting blue. She slides across the seat, positioning herself right against the centre console. Her heart is pounding in her chest.

"Daryl," she breathes and this time, when she kisses him, it's slow, it's sensuous, it's a build-up of emotion bubbling to the surface. It's her, pressed against the gear stick, her tongue sliding against his and her hands in his hair.

It's his low, long moan and her breathy little sighs.

Yet, it's still not enough.

She swings her legs over the small divider, kneeling on his seat, legs either side of his. His hands float to the back of her thighs, travelling up the curve of her ass, resting on he hips. She deepens the kiss and it becomes more feverish, her tongue teasing his, and she feels that pressure building deep within.

"Fuck," Daryl curses, and she whimpers, as he takes her lip between his teeth. He tastes like cigarette smoke and squirrel and mint, and she can't get enough. And apparently he can't get enough of her either.

Her hands travel down to her shorts, as she pops the small button, easing down the zipper. He helps her to slide them down her legs, and she straddles him fully, grinding against his hardening cock.

"You sure about this, girl?" he asks gruffly, hips bucking involuntarily and she nods furiously, hands gripping his arms. The same arms that fuelled so many of her fantasies.

"I want this," she murmurs, "you want this. Ain't nothin' to be sure about."

And that's his resolve broken. Any hesitance, any doubt, gone, left in the dust behind them. His hands, his rough, calloused hands, feel so good on her skin, sliding up her hips, covering the expanse of her waist. She feels so small in his arms, so delicate. So safe.

"Soft," he murmurs, dragging his tongue across her collarbone. She shivers, rolls her hips and he finds her pulse point, nipping at it with his teeth.

"All those soaps you gave me," she breathes, his hands trailing up her body, squeezing her breasts, "they're the only thing I use."

His lips found hers once more, tongue sliding against hers, deep strokes sending a wave a pleasure straight to her core. She slowly unbuttons her top, letting it slide down her arms and fall behind her to join her shorts.

Daryl doesn't need any encouragement. Lowers his head, takes her nipple into his mouth while his hand strokes the other. It's a sensation she doesn't think she'll ever get enough of, rough and soft, making her squirm and whimper.

"So good, Daryl," she sighs, "you're just so good."

He bucks his hips against hers, and she gets the message. Uses her free hands to unbuckle his belt, drag it through the loops and throw it behind them. Flicks open the button and eases down his fly. He pauses his ministrations, as if on edge as to what she'll do next.

Maybe he expects her to curl her hand around him. Maybe he expects her to rub his length against her panty-covered heat.

Instead she drags his pants down, slithering down to kneel on the floor. Looks him in the eye and leans forward, licking him from base to tip.

And he groans, head rolling back, a slow fuck escaping in a hiss.

It's not hard to know what he wants. Not when he's so receptive to her touch, to her tongue. She swirls her tongue around the tip, takes him fully in her mouth before pulling away, teeth grazing him slightly. His hands grip the sides of the seat, dark blue eyes watching her intently. He doesn't utter a word, barely breathes, like if he does she might disappear.

She grins, gripping his thighs with her nails, and takes him once against in her hot, warm mouth, bobbing her head up and down the length, sucking and slurping and making noises that would make Maggie blush.

"Jesus Christ," he groans, pulling her back up his body, settling her once more on his lap. She bucks against him, lips devouring his in an earth-shattering kiss. Everything's spinning, she's so dizzy with lust and want and desire. And him.

"So wet," he groans, fingers slipping into her panties, brushing against her folds. She whimpers, hands gripping his shoulders and he slips inside her, fingers finding her clit, pressing against it experimentally.

"Like that," she moans, "please, Daryl, please."

She grinds against his hand, wanting him to increase the pressure, the speed, everything. It's never felt like this, she's never felt like this. Like she wants him to devour her, wants him to consume her, wants him to claim her.

His hand continues to stroke her clit, while his other eases her panties over her ass and down her thighs. It's aching slow, their descent, and her breath hitches as she settles back in his lap, his cock brushing against her cunt.

"You want this?" It's not a question out of concern, but a demand, "you want me to fuck you here, where anyone could see?"

"Yes," she moans, "oh, Daryl yes."

He lifts her like she weighs nothing, rough hands tight around her thighs. Licks a trail from her neck, across her jaw, and lowers her down onto his hard, rigid cock. Inch by inch, she sinks onto him, the slow burn filling her senses, her warmth enveloping him, muscles squeezing to the point that he shudders beneath her. She's the one with the power, and she yields it curiously; the rolls of her hips, the constricting of her walls. Her nails that trail across the hard planes of his stomach. Testing and teasing until he can't take it anymore.

He has no choice but to make her move.

He grips her hips, raising her off his cock and slamming her back down. The force of it sends vibrations coursing through her cunt, sets off a chain reaction within her, shivers travelling up her spine and escaping from her mouth as a loud, wanton moan. She moves on her own accord now, raising and lowering her hips, grinding her clit against his shaft, trying to get herself off on friction alone. But he's right there to guide her, and as his breath quickens, and her rhythm builds, his fingers once again slip between their sweat soaked bodies, stroking, coaxing the orgasm from within. She spasms around him, head thrown back, breasts pushed forward, nails digging into his chest. Long and loud, she cries his name and he steals it away from her with a wet, all-consuming kiss.

He comes against her thigh, hard and fast, but quiet, save his shallow breaths and whispered curses that sound so much like a prayer.

"Fuck, Beth."

After, she curls herself around him, for just the moment, and takes it all in. Breathes him all in. Basks in the afterglow of their union.

It all feels magical, otherworldly. It all feels a long time coming.

When her daddy asks her later, much later, after their clothes are back in place and she's wiped away his cum from her thigh, how her lesson went she'll reply with an innocuous good, real good.

And Daryl will chime in; think she needs another lesson, just to make sure.

And she'll agree wholeheartedly.

(She cannot wait.)

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