A/N: I'm not altogether sure where this came from, but here we are. Looks like there are some OTPs that you just can't let go of!

The title is from the song 'Farewell to the Fairground' by White Lies. I'm thinking about writing a follow-up, so do let me know if you think I should keep going! Thank you so much for reading!

Beth grabs her pack and slips out the back door, clutching her knife in her hand. She runs, albeit with a hitch due to her ankle, towards the road. Behind her the awful rasps of the walkers fill the funeral home and she prays to the God she wants to still believe in to not let anything happen to Daryl.

The road is just up ahead and she ducks under a tree branch, still hidden in the shadows, hoping it shields her from any walkers that might be straggling behind the group. Her hand is nearly numb her grip on her knife is so tight. She stares at the funeral home, hoping, praying, and wondering if she should just say 'hell with it' and go back to find him.

She stares so hard she thinks she can hear her eyes hum with intensity. Then it dawns on her that she isn't the one humming; it's a car engine she hears.

It all clicks into place and she holds her breath. The cleanliness of the place, the dog, the supplies, all of it. It was a trap and acid rises in her throat.

Slowly, she sidles closer to the tree trunk and listens.

No one leaves the car; it just sits there idling. She can see the exhaust billowing in the cold air and even with them turned off, she sees the moon reflecting off the dark headlights.

A hand covers her mouth and another curls around her stomach.

She immediately kicks back with her foot and hears a grunt when it makes contact, but then he whispers, "Ease up, Greene."

Beth slumps into his grip and her hand grasps onto his arm around her waist, her nails digging into his shirt. His hand drops from her mouth and she hears the familiar sound of his crossbow being adjusted.

They stand there in silence, both staring at the idling car.

Just when Beth starts to think that she can't take the dreadful waiting any longer, the car speeds off down the road.

They wait another minute until the rasp of a nearby walker has them running silently into the woods. Daryl's hand is sure and tight around hers and she ignores the pain in her ankle in favor of keeping up.

Beth has long since given up on knowing what time it is, but the world has that heavy feeling of just past midnight as they slip as fast as they dare through the dark woods. The moon isn't quite full, but it's gibbous enough to provide some light. Daryl slows down and Beth matches his pace. When he stops to look behind them, she just leans against his side, lifting her ankle a bit to ease the pressure off it.

She keeps a look out in the direction they've been running to, and whispers, "Anything following us?"

"Don't think so," he says, his voice a low murmur in the dark. "Can you keep going?"

"Yeah," she says nodding and her cheek rubs against his shirt and she can feel the tense muscle underneath. "I can keep up."

She must sound off, because she feels him turn his head to look at her, however she can't bring herself to look at him.

"Hey," he says nudging her a little. "Where're you in that head of yours?"

"Nowhere, I just." She closes her eyes and realizes that she still feels that sick feeling from seeing the car waiting for them; it's steadily churning in her stomach. "I believed in that place like some naïve kid. I know better than to believe. I knowit."

"Yeah," he says eventually. "Too clean to be real. I shoulda known better." He sighs. "I believed, too, Beth."

Oh.

She finally manages to look at him and he's staring back at her; his expression not quite like it was in the kitchen, but a close cousin to it and it helps ease the tension in her stomach. Managing a small smile, she nods and says, "I'll worry over it later. Let's get going."

He stares at her for a long moment, then turns and, still holding tight to her hand, he pulls her further into the woods.

Two hours later, she's full on limping and biting her lip. Everything aches, especially her head from trying to see in the dim moonlight. Daryl pauses at long last and nods.

"Something up ahead," he says. "Some kinda building."

Exhausted, Beth just nods and musters up enough energy to have her knife at the ready as they approach the small dark shack.

It's smaller than the one they'd found previously, and nothing responds to their knock on the door. Daryl pushes the door open easily and sweeps the interior with his eyes. He nods for her to go in.

"No burning this one down, Greene," he says as they walk inside.

"No promises, Mr. Dixon," she shoots back half-heartedly. Still, he smirks at her and she smiles back. The smile slips from her face as she limps into the small space. There's only one window by the front door and it's really just one room with a patchy ceiling made with wood that's started to rot. There's a small crate on the floor and Beth moves towards it. She sits herself down a few feet away from it and props her leg up, signing in relief when the ache in her ankle eases up some. It's tight inside her boot and she knows it's swelled up after their run through the woods. She should probably ask Daryl to help her get her boot off and re-bandage it, but she's too tired.

"I'll take watch," he says as he drags a rickety folding chair over to the front window.

"Wake me when you're sleepy," she says. He nods without looking at her and she picks up a small twig off the floor and tosses it at him. It falls into his lap and he looks over at her with his eyebrow arched. She arches her own eyebrow and says, "I mean it. Wake me up."

"Yes, ma'am," he says tossing the twig back at her. She snorts and lies flat on the floor.

There are holes in the wood in the ceiling and she starts to count them. She's asleep by the time she gets to twelve.

Daryl shakes her awake after a couple of hours and she winces as she swings her foot off the crate.

"Swollen?" Daryl asks holding out his hand to help her up.

"Not as bad as it was," she says softly, squeezing his hand and walking over to the chair he'd vacated. "Get some sleep."

"Only for a while. It'll be morning soon," he says. "Need to get more space between us and them."

Them.

The word sets off tremors in her stomach and she presses her hand to the mid-section as she sits in the old chair.

He picks up the crate and sets it down in front of her and then he reaches down and props her foot on it himself. Beth can feel the heat of his hand through her jeans and wonders just how he manages to have such warm hands all the time. He hands her the crossbow.

"Only a few bolts left," he warns her.

"I'll make it count if I have to," she says nodding. "Get some rest."

He nods back and lays down on the floor, staying close.

She has the urge to reach down and smooth her fingers through his hair, but isn't sure if it would be welcome; 'you know' and 'oh' notwithstanding.

Now that she's awake and not running, she allows herself to have a couple moments of giddiness and re-play those moments in the kitchen. Alternating between heat curling in her stomach and some shivers of sheer awareness of the fact that he'd actually admitted to feeling something for her, holding her in some kind of esteem, not to mention that he'd held her hand the whole way through the forest and he is right there beside her practically at her feet, she thinks she might go mad with all the emotions and thoughts that bombard her.

The reason for their escape is ever present on the edge of her thoughts. A dark, looming reminder that there are people who would like nothing better than to hurt them and the thought of them threatens to swamp all the good feelings.

Eventually, she takes a deep breath, and then another, and then does her best to clear her mind by trying to remember all of the words to All Along the Watchtower as she stares out into the dark woods.

It doesn't quite work, but she does try.

The next day they leave the shack and head north. Daryl had wanted to bind up her foot, but Beth had refused.

"I think it needs something cold on it," she told him. "Let's wait until we find a stream or something."

It's turning out to be another cloudy day and Beth is sure they've entered into November. Only in November do you get those gray days with hints of lingering green and gold leaves even as the sun weakens in the sky.

Daryl stops and looks at her. She stares back at him, frowning. He arches an eyebrow and that's when she hears it.

"A stream?" she offers.

"Could be," he answers, already turning in the direction of the sound of flowing water and Beth follows closely.

It is a stream, but barely, as it measures hardly a foot across. Still the water's clear enough and cool and that's all that matters.

She spares a thought, like she usually does, to the water filter her brother had always taken with him on his camping trips and wonders if she should worry about parasites. With a grimace as she eases herself down to sit by the stream, she reminds herself that there are more pressing concerns than an upset stomach.

It's a struggle to get her boot off and in the end, Daryl has to help her ease it off her foot. He sits back on his haunches as she pulls her sock off and he takes it back to unwrap the bandage he'd put on back at the funeral home. As the last of the bandage falls away he winces sympathetically.

"How colorful is it today?" she asks holding it up in the air and twisting to look at it.

"More blue than purple," he says. "Edging towards yellow."

"Gross," she says under her breath and then holding her breath, she sticks her entire foot into the stream. A hiss escapes between her lips as the cold water stings on her skin, but she holds her foot submerged to just above her ankle in the stream.

"Keep it there for a few minutes," Daryl says as he sits down beside her, his crossbow beside him. "Then we'll wrap it back up."

"Yeah," she breathes moving her foot back and forth slowly in the stream. The chill of the water has lessened and now it just feels something close to nice; the flow of the stream massaging her aching ankle. It brings to mind going for those late summer swims at the lake on the edge of town, back when she could float for a spell in the water, running her hands through her hair as it fanned out above her head.

A blush actually comes to her cheeks as she remembers the one time she went skinny-dipping. She'd been mad at her parents for something or another and she'd gotten on Nelly and just went riding. When she'd come across the lake, she'd slid off her horse and just went for it. Thinking about it now, it seems so ridiculous, that she had actually considered skinny-dipping as some kind of rebellious act against her parents. And honestly, it had felt so daring at the time. So…illicit and exciting. After the initial shock of the water against all of her skin, she'd discovered she quite liked swimming around in the water with nothing between her and the sky.

"I miss getting naked," Beth says, halfway lost in her memories.

Daryl chokes on air and he stares at her in amused surprise. She bits her lip and cannot believe she said that out loud.

"Jesus, girl," he says chuckling a little and looking away. "Warn a fella next time you want to say something like that."

"Sorry," Beth says holding back a smile and shaking her head. "I don't mean… I didn't mean… I just meant, taking your time, you know. When you get out of the shower. Or going for a swim. I miss having the time to really get clean, you know?" She rolls her eyes. "Sorry."

He doesn't reply, stares off into the woods, his fingers tapping arrhythmically on his crossbow and she feel ridiculous for saying anything.

"Spoiled thing to say, wasn't it?" she says softly, lifting her foot out of the water, shaking it slightly to dislodge drops of water.

"Little," he says shrugging and getting to his knees, pulling her foot to him. "But I get you. Miss not having to be so fuckin' on all the time."

Beth nods, watching him carefully, but quickly bind up her foot. "Like being able to take a moment and not have to rush anywhere. I used to be able to just read for hours at a time if I wanted to. Or go for a walk with nowhere in particular in mind."

"Watching the Braves play on TV," he says. "Hours spent doing nothing but cursing at the umpires."

"You like baseball?" she asks, picturing him in a baseball jersey, a worn mitt on his hand and his eyes sharp under the brim of a baseball cap.

"Played one year when I was a kid," he says shortly. "Was okay at it. Liked the pace of it."

"Shortstop," she says smiling. "You were shortstop, weren't you?"

He looks up at her. "How'd you know?"

"Shortstop's gotta have his eyes on the whole game, on everyone," she says. "Gotta be quick, too. Bet you were quick."

"I was all right," he says looking down and knotting her bandage. "You ever play anything?"

"Softball, a little," she says. "Until I got a black eye from a softball hitting my face. Knocked me flat on my back and it swelled up so I could hardly see. That was kinda it for my softball career."

He snorts and pats the bottom of her foot. "Softball. Ain't nothing soft about those damn things."

"Tell me about it," she says. She tries out the bandage on her ankle and shakes her head. "Sarah Finley. Man, that girl could throw." She snickers. "She just couldn't aim."

The smile he gives her is small, but sweet and a memory of candlelight and 'you know' flashes in her mind and she wonders what, if anything, she should do about that. But he's getting to his feet and as he holds out a hand to her after she pulls her sock and boot back on she decides to think on it later.

"We need to find some place where you can rest that a bit longer," he says.

"I can keep up," she says, lifting her chin.

He shakes his head. "Ain't saying you can't. Just saying you shouldn't have to."

"Oh," she says and he freezes, his eyes going dark and still as they look at her.

Oh. Maybe she needs to think on things a bit sooner, 'cause her hand is still in his and she feels every line and callus and she has this irrational urge to lift his hand to her mouth and press her lips to his knuckles and oh, God, what if he doesn't want her to do that, but idear/i God, what if he does…?

She's ripped out of her thoughts when a walker stumbles around a tree on the other side of the stream and Daryl's hand is out of hers as he casually steps over the running water to bash his crossbow against the walker's head. It falls to the ground and doesn't get back up.

Her eyes meet Daryl's and he looks at her for a long moment before he jerks his head upstream.

Nodding, she follows him, curling her fingers into a palm in an attempt to hold onto the lingering warmth and tingles his hand transferred to hers.

After a couple of hours of walking with Daryl managing to shoot two rabbits, they see a small brown building and a clearing just beyond it.

It takes them by surprise, to just come across it without any warning and Beth can't help taking a few steps back and gripping her knife.

They stare at the building for several silent minutes, until he says, "We don't have to check it out. We can head back into the woods."

Beth thinks it over and appreciates him saying that, but she says, "We need supplies. And you're right about my ankle. I should probably rest it some."

"'kay," he says moving ahead of her. "Stay close."

"Nowhere else I'd rather be," she says lightly enough, but she still sees her words make an impact as his shoulders hunch a bit and he ducks his head as he walks silently forward.

They edge around the small square-shaped building, and Beth notices how the wood paneling looks new, or at least as new as anything does these days. The simple windows on the sides still have some kind of paper taped to them. Daryl pauses by a window and squints through a small tear in the paper.

"Nothing," he says quietly. "Just some armchairs and a table." He squints again. "Think it's a ping-pong table."

"Seriously?" Beth asks.

"See for yourself," he says stepping to the side and looking towards the clearing ahead where three larger houses have come into view.

Beth steps over and peers through the window. The inside looks neat and tidy and there's no clutter at all to speak of and sure enough, there's a ping-pong table in the corner. She makes a face and looks at him, but he just shrugs and motion with his head to 'come on'.

She follows him as he goes through the usual routine of knocking on the door. Nothing stirs inside and when he tries the knob, it doesn't open.

"Locked," he mutters jostling the knob.

"Try under the mat," she suggests.

He glances at her and then toes the mat with his boot. Sure enough, a shiny silver key is revealed.

Beth bends and picks it up, fitting it into the lock and then pushing open the door.

A layer of dust has settled on the furniture and the table in the corner and their steps are silent on the pristine linoleum. The armchairs are actually Lazy-Boys and they face a small table that might have one day held a TV. The corner opposite the ping-pong table has an honest-to-goodness bar situated in front of it.

"Is this some kind of rec room?" Beth asks looking around.

Daryl closes the door behind him and walks towards one of the Lazy Boys and flops down in it, groaning as he settles into the obviously soft cushions.

"More like a man cave," he murmurs. He reaches down the side of the recliner and pulls a lever. The recliner's foot rest shoots out and he groans again and Beth can't help giggling.

"Now all you need is a wide-screen and the Braves," she says grinning at him.

"And a beer," he says waving his hand towards the bar. "Fetch me a longneck, woman."

"Jerk," she says as she walks behind him, flicking the back of his head as she passes.

"Get one for yourself while you're at it," he replies.

Shaking her head, Beth goes over to the bar and looks behind it.

"Well, what do you know," she says pulling out a six-pack of Coors Light. She thunks it on top of the bar, followed by an unopened bag of pretzels.

Daryl lifts his head and stares at her find, frowning. "What the hell?"

Beth looks around the room again and something else behind the bar catches her eye.

"Hardy and Sons' Pre-Fab Homes and Recreational Buildings," she reads off a brochure. She flips through the glossy leaflet. "It's a model 'Community Recreational Hut'. You know, to show you what you could get if you buy their deal." She looks at him. "It's all for show. No one actually ever used it." She pokes at the beer. "They're like props or something."

"Huh," he says pushing the foot rest back and getting up. "Let's check out those houses and see if they've got anything."

"Can we come back here?" she asks. "I don't want to stay in a house."

He nods. "Yeah. Hide the beer."

She rolls her eyes, but puts the beer and the pretzels back behind the bar. They leave the 'hut', Beth locking the door behind them and slipping the key into her pocket.

They make their way to the houses nearby and as they approach, Beth can tell that two of them still have tarps attached to their unfinished exteriors. There's even a double-wide with the builder's logo on the side, the door to it wide open and banging gently against the side of the trailer. It must have been the beginnings of a housing development Before, but abandoned at some point. As it is, the road that leads away from the little cul-de-sac looks unused and Beth can't see anything on it apart from the three houses.

Daryl heads to the double-wide first, knocking on the already open door. A rasping noise precedes the walker that stumbles down the short stairs out of the trailer. It's a male in shirtsleeves and a black tie that's still knotted sharply around his throat.

It falls down the steps landing on the asphalt and Beth takes the opportunity to step down on its neck to hold it still, then she stabs her knife into the back of its head. The rasping stops.

They look around to see if it drew the attention of anything else, but nothing stirs in the small cul-de-sac apart from the tarp rippling in the breeze.

"Wait here," Daryl says before he slips into the trailer. Beth keeps a lookout and takes in the only finished house on the street.

It's a nice house, if she's being honest, two stories with white paneling and dark blue storm shutters. There's even a small porch complete with those large rocking chairs artfully placed on either side of the front door. Her eyes check each window for movement and sees nothing. Quiet steps behind her has her looking up into the trailer and Daryl emerges with a first aid kit in his hands.

"No food," he says. "But this'll be good."

Beth takes it from him and puts it into her backpack thinking she'll look through it later.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home," she says nodding at the house.

"Let's go, then," he says.

Crossing the road feels weird to Beth after all the time spent in the woods. It's too open and she feels exposed. However, nothing feels precisely wrong about the area, just deserted.

Daryl nods at her and she's the one to knock loudly on the door, while Daryl takes aim with his crossbow. She tries the door and unlike the rec room, the door opens easily. Nothing moves inside and they wait a moment before going inside.

She looks around and spots some things out of place; a coffee mug on the mantel above the fireplace, some jackets left on the couch and a suitcase left on its side in the hallway.

"Didn't see no car," Daryl says. "Maybe they got out."

"Here's hoping," Beth says as she heads towards the kitchen, her knife at the ready. The kitchen still has dirty plates sitting in the sink, the remnants of food long hardened and molded over. She wrinkles her nose and taking a deep breath she opens the cupboards. She breathes out in relief when the cupboards reveal the usual odd assortment of cans and boxes. She smiles a little as she pulls out a can of Progresso Black Bean soup.

She holds it up to Daryl. "Progresso. Pretty up market."

He snorts. "Up market, my ass. Don't taste any different from the generic stuff."

Grinning, she turns back to the cupboard and pulls out all the cans she can manage to fit into her pack, including an unopened box of Cream of Wheat packets. She remembers eating them every morning before school for what seemed like forever and she'd begged her mother to please, please, please get cereal instead. Now, the idea of having a hot bowl of soupy porridge sounds ideal.

After they go through the kitchen, they head upstairs. Daryl slips into the master bedroom, while Beth goes into what had to have been a girl's bedroom. She looks around at the unmade bed and the still open chest of drawers and spares a moment to hope whoever lived here is okay or at the very least, whatever end they met was fast.

She goes to the drawers and sifts carefully through what's left, pulling out a navy blue tank-top and some underwear. There's a lone pair of blue jeans in the bottom drawer and they might be a little loose around Beth's waist but they should still fit.

There's a small vanity table near the window and she goes over ostensibly to look out onto the street to see if anyone's around. After confirming the area's still deserted, she turns her attention to the items on the table.

She runs her fingers over the tops of the bottles of nail polish and lotions, stopping over one. Her hand hovers in the air for a moment before she picks up a flat jar. She unscrews the lid and lifts the jar to her nose, inhaling deeply.

"All right?"

Beth jumps and raises her knife as she looks towards the door. Daryl stands there and he lifts his hands.

"I ain't armed," he says.

"We know that's not true," she retorts. "And yeah, I'm fine. Just…looking." She holds the jar up to her nose again. "I had this one once."

"What is it?"

"Vanilla Body Butter from the Body Shop," she says putting the lid back on.

"What the hell is body butter?" he asks. "Some kinda sex thing?"

"No!" Beth says laughing. "What?"

He shrugs, and she can see the upturned corners of his mouth. "Figured it was like that edible under… know what? Never mind."

"Right, anyways, it's just lotion," she says still smirking a little. "You put it on after a shower. Keeps your skin all soft."

"Not really something I'd ever prioritized," he says looking in the closet. He shifts through the clothes, making faces at the amount of sweatshirts with Disney characters on them. "Like god damn Disney exploded in here. Hold up. Damn thing still has the tags on it."

Beth watches him pull out a thick dark green sweater and holds it up. She nods her approval, it should fit her pretty well. He drops the sweater on the bed and Beth stares at it wondering what happened to the person who never got the chance to wear her sweater. Or was it a gift that she never wanted to wear.

"Is this who we are now?" she asks softly not really anticipating an answer. "Not having anything that was given to us freely? We're like ghosts, wandering the earth, peeking in on old lives that don't exist anymore. Moving so fast so that we don't stop to miss what we had."

She sets the lotion back on the vanity and is surprised when Daryl speaks.

"We ain't ghosts," he says, his voice rough. "It's the world that's turned into ghosts. Some kinda weird haunted mansion ride." He lifts his eyes to hers and she can't look away. "We're alive and breathing and we're just passing through big damn ghost towns; one right after the other." Her breath stutters in her chest as he takes a step toward her and she tilts her head back to keep her eyes on his. He stops a few inches away from her and says, "We ain't the ghosts here, Beth."

And then he's gone, out the bedroom door into the next room and Beth sways on her feet as the intensity of his presence leaves her reeling. She presses a hand to her breastbone and feels her heart thrumming under her palm.

"Hey, Greene, can we eat that butter stuff?" he calls from the next room.

A laugh is startled out of her and she says, "Not unless you want me to try to pump your stomach afterwards."

He mutters something as she scoops up the sweater off the bed and moves into the hallway and he comes out of a small bathroom holding up an unused bar of soap.

"For later. If you, ah, wanted to get clean some time. It ain't smelly, which is good for, uh, trackin'," he says gruffly. "Don't want anything smelling you."

He practically shoves the soap into her hands as he passes her. Beth smiles down at the simple bar of Ivory soap. It's true, that it doesn't have a strong odor, but, and he'd have no way of knowing this, but it was her mom's favorite brand. She lifts it to her nose and inhales the simple, clean scent of it before she heads down the stairs.

They head downstairs and into the garage, Daryl leading the way. There's nothing living or dead in the garage, just an old oil spot on the concrete where the house's vehicle once stood. There's a toolbox that Daryl sifts through quickly, pocketing a screwdriver and tossing a large box cutter at Beth who slips it into her own pocket opposite her knife.

He makes a face and mutters something about 'god damn suburbanites' and 'not even one useful weapon' before looking at the mostly empty shelves. Beth squints and points, "Is that a camp stove?"

Daryl looks where she's pointing and says, "Looks like it. One of those small ones. They even got some Sterno fuel here."

"Might be handy?" Beth suggests.

"Especially when it's wet," he says grabbing the small stove that's really only big enough to hold one can of soup on the top, but it's something. He hands it to Beth as they head back inside.

They leave the house after Beth a lighter and some candles from the kitchen while Daryl pauses to grab an old book of road maps. By some kind of silent agreement, they head back to the smaller building on the edge of the forest. It's not easily visible from the road and there's safety in being close to the woods.

"Only got the one entrance," Daryl mutters as they walk up to it.

"We can fit through the windows," Beth says. "And we don't have to stay here longer than tonight."

"Nah, give that ankle of yours another day to rest," he says. "Then we'll see."

They walk a little ways away from the hut to set up a fire. Daryl cooks up the two rabbits he caught while Beth heats up one of the cans of soup on the same fire, deciding to hold off on using the camp stove until morning. When the food's ready, they stomp out the fire and take their food back with them to the small building.

After locking up tight and checking the windows, they settle in for the night. The sun's just gone past the horizon by the time Beth is sinking her teeth into the rabbit. They eat quickly and polish off the rabbits and the soup, both licking their fingers clean.

Daryl settles into the recliner again and Beth sits in the other one.

"Oh, sweet merciful heavens," she groans when she feels how soft and plush the cushions are. "That's just wrong. Nothing should be this soft."

"Try the foot rest," he mumbles from where he's laying back, his arm draped over his eyes.

Beth does as he suggests and laughs in disbelief at how weird it feels to lie in a Lazy Boy with her feet up.

"So wrong," she sighs. She curls on her side, propping her injured ankle on top of her other ankle. Daryl doesn't stir although Beth can tell he isn't asleep. She takes the time to just stare at him; at his long legs as they sprawl in the recliner, then up to his worn, brown hands and finally to his face where his lips are the only visible feature due to his arm hiding his eyes. A rush of something fills her veins and abdomen and she curls up into a fetal position and lets herself feel something like happiness as she watches him.

"Find what you're looking for?"

His voice breaks into her study of him and she blinks. Her eyes shift from his lips to his eyes as they peek at her from under his arm.

"Do you know, I think I might have," she says quietly not looking away from his eyes. "Found what I'm looking for, I mean."

She can see the moment he realizes what she's saying. His eyes widen and he goes incredibly still; stiller than even right before he fires that crossbow of his. Some of her giddiness spills out of her mid-section and she smiles at him, before turning away and sitting up.

"You get some rest," she says still not looking at him. "I'll take first watch."

He says nothing, but she feels his eyes on her as she maneuvers the chair to face the door, and pulling her uninjured leg up so that she can rest her arms on her knee, her knife clutched lightly in her hand.

Because she can't help herself, she sneaks a glance at him and isn't surprised to see him looking at her. What does surprise her is the fact that in between her comment and her looking away, he's relaxed completely. There's not a trace of tension in his face and while she's looking at him, he adjusts himself so that he's curled on his side facing her. His eyes slide shut and in moments, he's asleep and starting to snore.

She has to cover her mouth to hold in her giggles and it takes some serious recitation of Joni Mitchell songs to calm herself down and focus on keeping watch.

Beth wakes the next day feeling rested and her ankle feeling much better.

It's one of those days where the sun comes out and the air is crisp and clean making everything shine and when Beth breathes in deep, by the time she exhales she's feeling refreshed.

She gets some water heated up in a soup can using the small camp stove and then mixes up some Cream of Wheat. After serving it up to herself and Daryl, she takes a big bite.

The fact that it's hot goes a fair way, but still…

She hums. "Wow. Still gross and not even close to filling you up. Yum."

Daryl snorts and downs his own can of porridge in one go.

Beth grins at him and finishes up her own portion, and when she thinks about her mom, it's with a tinge of sadness, of course, but it doesn't wrench at her insides and she supposes that she's healing a little.

Daryl tells her to stay put and rest up while he goes to check out the building site to see if there's anything they can use.

She frowns and doesn't like the idea of him going off by himself, but she nods and watches him go. Her knife at her side, she settles in the door frame and keeps watch while sorting out her pack.

She's in the midst of deciding if she should do a wash of some kind when a familiar rasp comes from behind the small building. Taking her knife in hand, she silently gets to her feet and carefully looks around the corner of the house.

It's just one walker stumbling from the woods and it looks awful, like it turned ages ago. Beth pulls back and waits. The moment it's close enough, Beth darts out and jams her knife in its head and pulls it out. The walker drops to the ground and Beth wrinkles her nose. It's so old, there's hardly any gore, just dust.

Daryl's right, she thinks as she stares down at the crumpled figure on the ground. We aren't the ghosts here.

"All right?"

Beth whirls around to see Daryl a few feet away, his crossbow at the ready.

"Fine," Beth says. "Just the one." She nudges it with her foot. "Been out here a while, too. Do you think they'll ever just…stop?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. Doubt we have that kinda luck."

She smirks a little and nods. "Yeah. Find anything?"

"Some pieces of metal I might be able to turn into something I can use," he says. He looks down. "And uh, something you might like."

"Yeah?" she asks smiling. "What?"

"Come on and see," he says heading back towards the houses. "Grab those new clothes."

Beth quickly shuts the door to the hut after grabbing her pack and hurries to catch up with him. She has a feeling she knows what he's found, but she's going to let him be the one to tell her.

He's got his crossbow up, but he looks fairly relaxed as he heads up to the house furthest from them, the one with the least amount of walls set up. As they round the corner, Beth spots a walker in a dusty polo shirt on its side a few feet from the house's foundation.

"All right?" she asks nodding at the walker.

"Just the one," he replies and she can hear the smirk in his voice as he throws her own words back at her.

They walk around the property and Daryl stops gesturing to a black bag with a spigot shaped like a showerhead hanging from a wooden frame above the house's concrete foundation. Beth stares at it for a while before she figures out what it is.

"Is that really a shower?" she asks stepping forward. "An outdoors one?"

"Yeah," he says. "Remember hearing about them, before. But never thought it was worth it to get one. They probably set this up when they were building. Should be warm for you already."

"Warm?" she asks turning towards him. "How?"

He nods at the bag. "Bag's black, it'll soak up the heat from the sun. It's in an exposed area. May not be hot, but it should be better than freezing."

Beth just stares at him, unable to believe that she's less than a foot away from an actual shower.

"Go on, if you're gonna," he mutters waving his hand at the bag. "I won't look. Keep watch, though."

Beth finally blinks and beams at him. "Thank you! Daryl, really, thank you."

He shrugs and says, "Didn't make the damn thing; just found it."

"Still," she says dropping her pack. "This is awesome." She starts to take her boots off. "You get it after I do."

"Don't need it," he says turning his back on her but not before she sees a hint of pink on his cheeks.

"Yeah, well, I beg to differ," she says peeling off her cardigan and dropping it on the ground. "Come on. The world won't end if Daryl Dixon takes a shower."

He snorts, but doesn't argue.

She stands in just her bra and underwear and wonders if she should go for it and take all of it off. But she's spent too long out here and the idea of being completely naked out in the open like they are is just too unsettling, no matter how much she wants to be. And she really does want to be.

She stands on her tiptoes to turn the little red knob and takes hold of the small hose. She gasps as the water spills over her, so loudly that Daryl turns around.

"It's warm! It's actually warm! Oh, my God!" She grins at him under the small, weak spray. He smirks back at her despite the color she can see creeping into his cheeks and he turns away again.

"Get washin', Greene," he says over his shoulder. "I ain't gonna stand here all day."

Beth hurries. She only lets so much water out and then turns it off to scrub at her skin as well as use the soap Daryl had given her the day before. She gets all the grime loose and her hair all soaped up then turns the water on once more to rinse off. Even though she hasn't washed all of the soap out of her hair, she can tell that there are at least half the contents of the bag left so she shuts it off again. Wrapping her hands around her long hair, she squeezes out the excess water.

"Done," she says a bit breathlessly, the fall air quickly chilling the water on her skin.

He turns and freezes, staring at her with eyes wider than she's ever seen before and it dawns on her that her underwear has most likely gone see through.

The Beth Greene of a year ago, perhaps even a month ago, would have crossed her arms over her over her chest or ducked her head. The Beth Greene of right now is tired of 'you knows' and 'oh's' and is very aware that time on this earth is incredibly limited and she just doesn't want to waste any more of it. Not to mention they still have a conversation to finish and if it takes her getting half-naked to even start the proceedings, well, that's a sacrifice she's willing to make.

"You said it yourself," she says as she walks over to her pack to pull out her borrowed clothes. "We aren't ghosts." She straightens and he's still watching her although his expression is now thoughtful. "And it's your turn, Dixon."

He stares at her for a good long moment, then he walks toward her and despite her recent bravery, she still holds her breath when he bends down to set his crossbow beside her pack, his head inches away from her bare legs. She imagines him reaching out and touching her, his large hand wrapping around her calf and sliding up, up, up... Her breath stutters out when he walks away, dropping his vest beside his crossbow.

She keeps her eyes forward as he takes off the rest of his clothes, his boots making dull thumps on the concrete. Soon, she hears the water spilling out of the bag and Daryl groans like she did when the warm water hits him. A breeze sweeps over her and she shivers. Remembering that it's still fall, she slips off her wet underwear and pulls on the pair she took from the house. She pauses trying to decide if she should leave her wet bra on or take it off so that it could dry.

She takes it off.

The moment it hits the ground, she can tell Daryl has just turned around because the splashing stops. Choosing to ignore him because it's just her bare back for heaven's sake, she continues to get dressed. The jeans are a bit loose, but she cinches them in with her belt. The tank top and sweater fit well, though and despite being a bit musty, she can still smell the remnants of fabric softener on the tank top.

The splashing behind her starts up again.

Doing her best to finger comb through her hair she has a vision of Maggie brushing her hair as they sat on their old porch.

"You've got princess hair, Bethy," Maggie'd always said. "Wish I had the patience to grow mine out."

"Just let it grow," Beth would reply. "It'll be down to your waist before you know it."

Maggie never had let it grow, always too impatient and not wanting to deal with brushing it like Beth did and Beth misses her sister with a pain that makes her chest hurt.

"Think they're looking for us?" she asks out loud. "The others."

There's a short pause in the sound behind her before he replies, "Dunno. Maybe. If they're out there."

"Should we look for them?" she asks still combing out her hair. "I know it's been some time, but they could still be out there."

"It's a big state," is all he says.

"Yeah," she says on a sigh before trying to French braid her hair as best she can with the tangles still in sections of it.

She thinks he's either forgotten or ignored her question about the others, but when the water shuts off, he says, "Look at those maps tonight. Figure out where we are. Then maybe figure out where to go next."

"Okay," she says as she smiles to herself. All of a sudden, drops of water splatter her back and she turns around wrinkling her nose. "Daryl!"

He stands still from where he'd clearly been shaking his head like a dog to get the water out. He's frozen and shirtless and Beth can see his tattoos and the edges of his scars and she's waiting for him to duck his head and hurriedly pull his shirt back on.

Instead, he just smirks at her and shakes his head again. Laughing in surprise and not a little delight, Beth holds up her hands. "Stop that!"

He's still smirking when he pulls his pants on and Beth doesn't take her eyes off of him. She watches him get dressed and pull his boots on.

She holds up his vest to him and he pulls it on. As he bends to pick up his crossbow, he tugs at her freshly braided hair.

"Pretty," he says.

"And practical," she counters cheerfully.

"Even better," he says tugging her braid again. "Get on back to the house. I'm gonna go see if I can find dinner."

"Yes, sir," she says.

They walk back to the house, Beth going inside while he heads into the woods.

Later, after a dinner of squirrel and black bean soup and the sun starts to set, Beth lights a few of the candles she'd found and Daryl opens the map book on the ping-pong table.

He looks it over before pointing. "Prison was there. We crossed the tracks somewhere around here." He paused. "Funeral home could've been a bit north of there."

Beth leaned down and looked at the roads. "We're close to Fayetteville?"

"Looks like," he says. "Give or take thirty miles."

"Don't know much about it, apart from it used to have a decent Applebee's," she says thinking of the time she'd stopped there on a holiday with a friend's family. Daryl glances at her and she shrugs. "I liked their chicken fingers."

He shakes his head and jabs at the map again. "Figure we're about here."

Beth squints looking at the city names and the highway numbers and the railroad tracks.

"We, uh, we can't stay here," he tells her quietly.

"I know," she replies reaching out with a finger to trace the railroad tracks up, seeing where they curve around Atlanta.

"Do you?" he asks, his voice going just this side of harsh like it does when he's expecting her to recall some information he's taught her.

"There's no source of water close by," she elaborates. "And since this is obviously some kind of development, we're probably close to a major road of some sort and I don't like that." She takes a deep breath. "Not anymore."

He grunts in what she now knows to be approval and they both study the map a bit more. Her eyes catch on Senoia and without meaning to, her fingers travels down the page, stopping over the place name.

"Could head back. If you wanted," Daryl says after several silent moments.

"Don't even know what's still there. Fire could've gotten to the house," she says softly, but there's a moment where she lets herself imagine the two of them back at the farm; she's hanging clothes up on the line and he's just coming back with a deer he's killed for supper… She shakes her head. "No. It wasn't that off the beaten track, it's too open, and the well's contaminated. We're better off trying someplace else."

"Or…" He falls silent.

"Or," she repeats looking up at him and she realizes just how close he is to her. If she stepped back just an inch, she'd be pressed up against his chest. He looks down at her and she blinks up at him.

"Or we try to find the rest of them," he says.

She blinks again at him. "Really? You think they're alive?"

"I dunno," he says. "But, if you wanted to. We could."

Beth actually doesn't know what to say. There's a part of her that's jumping up and down saying 'Yes! Of course we try to find them! They're family!' But there's another part of her that remembers the tiny shoe by the side of the tracks along with the ominous idling car outside the funeral home and she knows that whatever it is they do, they have to be smart and they have to stick together.

"It feels like November," is what she actually says out loud.

He nods slowly. "That's what I was thinking. Winter's coming on."

"I don't want to have another winter like the one before the prison," she says.

"Me neither."

"I also want to know if they made it out," she continues. "I… What do you think? And be honest, Daryl."

He'd been poised to say something, but hesitates after her request to be honest. Crossing one arm over his chest and bringing his other hand up to chew at the thumbnail, he stares at the map and Beth waits patiently.

"I think." He clears his throat. "I think that if they made it this long, they'll make it through the winter. We gotta stay safe and we gotta find something that'll keep us safe." He pauses, then goes on. "I don't wanna lose either of us on a 'maybe'."

He doesn't look at her, just goes back to chewing on his nail. Beth reaches up, wrapping her hand around his wrist and he stops to look at her. She squeezes his wrist, feeling the thrum of his pulse under her fingers.

"I agree," she says softly. "I want to believe that Maggie's out there. Glenn, Michonne, Rick, Carl, and," her voice hitches some, "Judith. And I hope and pray that they are. But I don't want to pin my life on a hope. It doesn't feel right to do that anymore."

He drops his hand from his mouth, catching her hand as it slides off his wrist. Enveloped in the warmth that is Daryl Dixon's hand, Beth feels both grounded and ready to float up to the heavens.

"All right," he says, his voice scratchy. "We head northeast, then."

Beth smiles. "Northeast? How do you figure that?"

"We wanna avoid Atlanta and the other big cities, but," he says pointing to the map and still holding tight to her hand with his. "We head northeast, and we should hit more state parks. Better hunting, fewer people." His finger traces a line in between the towns on the map, a way that takes them out of their reach. "This might be the direction the others would have headed, too. So, you know. Could run into them."

Beth clutches at his hand with both of hers and bounces a little on her feet. "Wow. A plan. I'm kind of excited now."

"Yeah, well, it's a long way to anywhere these days," he says. "And we may make terrible time. But…"

"But…?" she repeats again.

He shrugs. "But it's worth a shot. It's what I was gonna do when this whole thing started up. Head to the woods. Stay outta sight."

"I'm glad you didn't," she says. "I'm glad you're here with me."

Instantly, she knows she's overstepped some kind of mark because he freezes, and then, not ungently, pulls his hand from hers.

"Yeah," he says going back to the map and folding the book so that their map is the one showing. "Better get some rest. If that ankle of yours can handle it, we'll head out first thing."

Beth sighs and turns, but spotting the beer on the bar, she bypasses the recliner for the cans.

"Aw, hell, girl," he says behind her. "Didn't you get enough of that with the moonshine?"

"You gonna tell me that this stuff has the same kick as moonshine?" she asks as she pulls a can free of the pack. "Besides, we're about to go on a journey, you've gotta have a proper send off. Like when the Queen cracks a bottle of champagne on a new ship."

Daryl just shakes his head. "That stuff sure as hell ain't champagne."

"I'm only going to have the one," she says. "We'll take the others with us."

She pops the top and only a little air escapes meaning it's gone fairly flat, but she takes a hefty sip anyway.

"Oh, God," she says wrinkling her nose. "That's funky-tasting."

"Yeah well, after moonshine, everything else is gonna be tame," he says chuckling and leaning against the ping-pong table watching her.

She takes another sip and while it's not exactly good, it's nice to drink something that isn't stream water. Truth be told, it's also because she wants to drink it because she remembers how she actually had those moments of giddiness the last time. It felt nice to have seconds of time where she felt light and floaty. She doubts Coors is up to the task of being a decent substitute for moonshine, but she's going to go for it anyway.

Taking another sip, this one long enough for the beer to fill her mouth and spill down her chin. She giggles and covers her mouth with her hand.

"There she is," he says smirking. "Happy Drunk Greene."

She narrows her eyes at him and spins on her heel, pulling another can from the pack.

"Come on. Your turn," she says as she holds out the can.

"Nah," he says still smirking a little. "I'm good. Just gonna watch you get lit."

"Oh, come on, please? I don't mind that you're a dick when you're drunk," she says giggling a little. "I can handle it. You." She giggles again. "Shut up."

"Oh, you can handle me, can you?" he asks, his smirk slipping off his face.

"You bet," she says as she grins. "Come on. I double-dog dare you, Daryl Dixon." She blinks. "Ooh, say ithat/i three times fast."

"Crazy girl," he mutters, but he crosses the room and takes the can from her. He holds it up and stares at it. "Merle always said Coors was for pussies."

It occurs to her that she should stop him from drinking, but he quickly pops the top and downs the entire can in one go. When he's done he crushes the can in one hand and drops it on the floor, then just stares into space. She's reminded that she's not the only one who has dark places in their heads that overwhelm a body. Stepping into his space, she peers up at him and he slowly looks down at her.

"Hey, where are you in that head of yours?" she asks quietly, using the backs of her fingers to nudge his chest, her beer loosely held in her other hand.

He shakes his head. "I miss Merle. I miss that son of a bitch. Ain't that dumb?" His voice goes low and scratchy. "Dumbass never did anything for me but get me into trouble. But I got his voice in my head. Telling me all sorts of things. A fuckin' running commentary on everything I do." His eyes flicker up to her face and then away. "Telling me this is no good. Me 'n you. Only ever gonna end in a bad way. You'd best be rid of me, girl."

"I disagree," she says. "I think us together is a good thing. Maybe even a great thing."

He snorts. "Ain't nothing great about me."

"I'm gonna disagree with you on that one," she says smiling a little as she feels the alcohol start to go to work and a kind of mellow, lighter than the moonshine created, slips over her. "There's lots that's good about you. And a few things that are great."

"Stop," he says still looking at the floor.

"You stop," she retorts, her palm now flat on his chest, her fingers wedged just beneath his vest. "You're a decent man, Daryl Dixon. Get used to it."

"Don't know what you're asking of me, girl," he says, his voice still harsh and low, but his eyes are no longer fixed on the floor, they're staring at her hand where it rests on his chest.

Swallowing hard, Beth slowly slides her hand up the placket of his shirt, feeling the bumps of his buttons as the edge of his vest scrapes against the top of her hand. She watches her own hand as though it belongs to a stranger as it moves up his chest not even pausing when she runs out of shirt and the tips of her fingers touch the flesh of his throat.

Quick as anything, his hand comes up to cover hers and she sways a little, looking up at him. He's staring at her with what can only be described as a wounded expression on his face. His grip on her hand is tight, but begins to ease and he rubs the rough pad of his thumb against the web of flesh between her thumb and index finger.

Back and forth. Back. And forth. Her heartbeat slows to match the rhythm of his movements.

"Don't know what you'd ever need lotion for," he whispers as they both watch his hand on hers. "End of the world and your skin's the fuckin' smoothest thing I ever touched."

His grip has loosened on her hand and she slides her fingers up the expanse of his neck and along the line of his jaw. His stubble is rough and welcome on the soft of her palm and she wants to see what it feels against her lips and finds herself lifting up on her toes… And then he's gone, striding to stand on the other side of the room, staring out the tear in the paper-covered window. Beth stumbles a bit staring after him.

"Sorry," he bites out, turning his head to the side. "Shouldn't be saying shit like that to you."

"Why not?" she asks, pressing her hand to her stomach in an effort to contain the whirling mix of iwant/i inside.

"'Cause," is the only reply as he turns back to face the window.

"That's not good enough," she says her hands balling into fists.

"Yeah, exactly," he says shaking his head. "I ain't good enough."

She frowns. "Daryl."

"I ain't."

"You are."

"Ain't."

"You are," she says laughing a little.

He glances over his shoulder and she can see the upward curve of his mouth. "Ain't."

"Are," she says setting her forgotten can of beer down with a thump on the ping-pong table. Some sloshes out onto her hand and she licks it off. She sees that Daryl's turned sideways and is just staring at her.

It's full dark at this point and the candles let off only the dimmest flickers of light. His face is mostly in shadow apart from the orange shapes that dance across his features; she can only imagine what her own face looks like. She stares at him, filled with feelings that edge dangerously close to being good so she smiles.

"Come here," she says quietly.

"Why?" he asks, his guard coming back up.

"Because I like it when you're nearby," she says. "Because it's getting cold. Because we're not ghosts."

"You keep saying that," he says furrowing his brow.

"You said it first," she reminds him. "I'm done with feeling like one. Aren't you? Aren't you tired of being afraid?"

"Being afraid keeps you alive," he says as he faces her. "Keeps you on edge. Being afraid keeps you knowing that it could all just..."

"Be gone?" she says quietly as he trails off and knows he's thinking of that idling car outside the funeral home. "It also keeps you from going after something that's right in front of you."

"Beth," he breathes.

"You're good," she says over him. "You're good to me. You take care of me and you let me take care of you." She smiles a little. "And you're sweet."

"I ain't sweet," he says frowning in earnest now.

"You do sweet things," she says taking a step towards him. "A serious piggyback? A redneck brunch?"

"Yeah, but…I only did it 'cause…" He seems to struggle and looks so anguished, Beth is tempted to tell him to forget it, but she can't bring herself to do it. She needs to know what he's thinking. She needs to hear it. "'Cause you deserve it. But I'll only fuck it all up, Beth. It's what I do."

"That isn't what you do and you know it, or you should know it," she says as she takes another step towards him.

He watches her and asks, "What are we doing, Beth? What the hell are we doing? Talking like this? Thinkin' we can just walk across the state to something safe? Picking up family along the way? I mean…what the hell, Beth?"

"We're surviving," she says shrugging. "And holding on as best we can to the good things that come along. And Daryl? You're the best thing that's out here."

"Shut up," he says, looking pained but moving towards her nonetheless as though he might feel the same pull she does.

"You're a good man, Daryl," she says looking at him. "You told me to keep singing."

"Shut up," he says moving so fast that he's right there and his hands are cupping her face. "Just shut up, girl."

His mouth covers hers and she immediately grips his wrists as she presses up to him.

It's awkward and clumsy and there's no grace to speak of, but it's real and Beth reciprocates as best she can. Their kiss like this world now – urgent and desperate. His lips are unpracticed and there's nothing smooth about the kiss at all, but she's hardly any better. It feels like the most important kiss she's ever had in her life and her hands grab on to whatever she can to hold him close.

Her body's pressing against his trying to find the best place to get as close as she can. Her leg hitches up on his hip without her say so and his arm comes down under her butt and he just lifts her up. Her legs wind around his hips and it's a struggle to keep kissing him and hold on, so her head falls back. His mouth moves down the length of her throat and dimly she's aware that he moving them. He sets her down on the ping-pong table and it creaks and one of the candles is snuffed out when its own wax smothers the flame, but she can't be bothered to care, not while Daryl Dixon is kissing her.

She moves her mouth from his to kiss along his jaw finding out just how deliciously tickly his stubble feels against her lips. Her mouth curves into a smile as she kisses her way to his pulse point and she flicks her tongue out to taste him. His groan vibrates under her tongue, sparking an ache deep between her thighs and she tightens her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

His hand comes up to tangle in her hair at the base of her neck and he tugs, she follows the pull, letting her head fall back and she stares unseeing, her eyes wide open, at the ceiling as he mouths along her neck, finding the matching pulse point below her ear.

Their kisses eventually slow and become heady, deep things that cause her mind to empty of all thoughts except ones of more and yes, and finally. She should have known that once they started this, Daryl would kiss and touch her with the same intensity and thoroughness he applies to everything. They pause to take a breath and Daryl cups her face once more.

"Can't be," he says, his forehead pressed to hers, his eyes shining in the remaining candlelight. "Can't be."

"What?" she says running her hands through his hair and the sides of his face. "What can't be?"

"Can't be all fucked," he says. "Not all of it. Not if you're here, letting me touch you."

Beth has no answer for him, well, no coherent answer, so she just presses her mouth to his again.

Eventually, the creaking of the ping-pong table gets to be too loud and ominous sounding and it's with serious regret that she pushes him back a little and hops off. He stares down at her, his hands still on her hips, his fingers flexing every now and then. They stare at one another and Beth wants to grin wildly at him, but settles for just wrapping her arms around him and tucking her head under his chin, reversing her hug from all those weeks ago before they set the shack alight.

"Wasn't gonna do it like this," he says, speaking into her hair. "Wasn't gonna just… Was gonna be gentle about it."

Beth's confused for a second and then she realizes what he's trying to say. She starts to smile and hugs him tighter. "You been thinking about kissing me all gentle-like, Daryl Dixon?"

He hums a bit and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Maybe. If you were nice to me."

"Oh, I see how it is," she says lifting her head and looking up at him. "I think I can manage being nice to you."

"Do you, girl?" he says running a hand along the side of her face and she nuzzles her nose against his hand.

"I might," she says pressing a kiss to the fleshy part of his palm. "I'll even let you have first crack at those pretzels over yonder."

"Mmm, stale pretzels," he says chuckling. "Sure know how to tempt a man."

She lifts her eyes to his and smiles before kissing his palm again, even going so far as to taste his skin.

"Don't be starting something we can't finish," he says, his voice low and rough as his other hand tightens on her hip, while the other stays gentle as anything on her face.

"Who says we can't finish it?" she asks.

"Beth."

She shakes her head. "I know. I just…" She goes back to running her hand along his shirt. "This happened, right? You aren't going to just go 'I unno' and then-"

Her ramble is interrupted by his hand angling her face up for him to press his lips to hers. Her eyes flutter shut and she sighs into his mouth. After a moment, he pulls back and she looks at him.

"It happened," he says quietly. "Gonna take a hell of a lot to keep it from happening again. All right?"

"All right," she says nodding. She surprises herself with a yawn and she blinks at him. "Oh, my gosh! I'm so sorry!"

He chuckles and kisses her forehead. "Don't be. We gotta head out in the morning, if your ankle's up to it."

"Think it is," she says. Leaning up to press a quick kiss to his mouth, she turns away towards the recliners. Working quickly, she lines them beside one another, pressing them as close together as they'll go.

She curls up in one of them and looks at him. "Come here."

Because he's Daryl, despite how close they were a few moments ago, he still hesitates, then he moves towards the recliner, easing himself down. He sighs and Beth curls as close as she can to him keeping her head level with his. He mimics her position on his recliner and they stare at one another until Beth feels her eyelids getting heavy.

"Sleep, Greene," he says.

"Wake me up for my turn," she mumbles as her eyes close. He replies, but she's already drifting off and just before sleep takes her over, she feels his finger trace the curve of her cheek.

The next morning dawns like the day before, crisp and cool. Beth can feel the edge of winter creeping in on the breeze as she shoulders her pack and locks the hut behind her. She slips the key back under the mat and turns to meet Daryl's gaze. He looks her over and she lifts her chin, letting him look his fill.

"Pack too heavy?" he asks.

"It's fine," she says. They've left the beer behind the bar, but have taken the pretzels and Beth had padded everything out so that nothing rattles.

"Ankle?"

"A little achy, but not bad."

He nods. "This ain't going to be easy."

"Right, because it's been a walk in the park so far," she says, but she grins a little as she says it.

"Girl."

"What?" she says stepping towards him. "I know this is going to be hard going, but I'm ready. You've taught me so much already and I want to learn more. I'm not going to slow you down." She presses her hand to his chest. "We can do this, Dixon. Now, come on. Day's a'wasting."

He snorts and presses a quick kiss to her cheek, before sliding past her as he heads east, skirting along the edge of the woods.

Beth takes a moment to look back at the unfinished houses and the house with pretty dark blue shutters. She spares a moment to hope the people who lived there made it and on the heels of that hope, spares another moment to be thankful that she still has the capacity to hope. She has no illusions that this winter will be anything but difficult and that danger lurks in so many different forms behind every corner, but she can still hope and that's something to treasure.

"Shake a tailfeather, Greene, I ain't waitin' on your skinny butt all morning," Daryl calls from woods behind her.

And speaking of something to treasure… Beth just smiles as she turns her back on the cul-de-sac and then walks steadily to catch up to him.

"Hold your horses, Mr. Dixon. I'm coming," she says as she walks. When she spots him a few feet away, looking right at home amongst the pines, she says, "I'm right behind you."