Archive of Our Own ^beta

On her third shift at the Newnan store, Beth makes an enemy.

She's never had an enemy before.

She grew up a bit shy, a well-behaved and studious kid, innocuous enough that she managed to dodge being much of a target for bullies. She wasn't voted prom queen or Miss Congeniality, but she got along all right with everybody. She sang in the church choir and volunteered to babysit all the neighbours’ kids at the school during Friday night football games. She was born without a competitive bone in her body, and hated participating in sports because she couldn’t stomach the thought of somebody having to lose. When her class voted on superlatives senior year, she was voted “most likely to brighten your day.” A friend on the yearbook committee told her later that “most liked by parents” was an extremely close second. 

Beth wasn't sure whether or not she should be a little insulted by that, but truthfully, she wasn't. She's just likable. She's easy to get along with. She doesn't rock the boat.

There’s no drama with you, Bug, her dad used to say, before kissing the top of her head.

Until her junior year of college, when her mom was diagnosed with an aggressive form of ovarian cancer that took her life in less than ten months.

Three days after the funeral, Shawn was driving home from a livestock auction in Reynolds and flipped the truck swerving to avoid a deer, and Beth and Maggie — home from college and work — found themselves helping their dad plan another funeral.

Hershel, for the first time in Beth's whole life, after being sober for twenty-five years, took to drinking again.

It felt like the world was ending.

For Beth, the prospect of facing the rest of her life without her mom and her brother was unthinkable. Knowing it was possible that she'd someday have to bury her dad and Maggie, too, and be the last of their family left alive, was downright unbearable.

One sunny afternoon, the day before Maggie was supposed to drive her back to college in Atlanta, while their dad was off on a bender, Beth locked herself in the bathroom and tried to kill herself.

She screwed it up. She didn't open her veins properly. She should have waited until nighttime and taken a bath and done it in there, for starters. Instead, Maggie busted the door down and called an ambulance, and Beth got to spend the next two weeks in the hospital.

It's the screw-up part of it that really sticks with her, afterwards. That she couldn't even manage to kill herself properly.

Once she was discharged, Beth dropped out of college and stayed home. Dad quit drinking and started going to meetings again. Maggie took a leave from work and stayed home to keep an eye on them, only heading back to Atlanta once she was sure they were okay.

Or as okay as they could be, under the circumstances. 

They all survived the worst year of their lives, and life carried on the way it does, week after week, season after season, Beth and her dad keeping themselves busy with work and chores and church, Maggie coming home to visit every other weekend.

Where before Beth was likable, she then found herself almost invisible. Ladies from church and her high school classmates’ mothers avoided her in the grocery store. Her childhood friend and sometimes boyfriend Jimmy seemed to forget her number completely. 

Maggie swore up and down that nobody knew about her suicide attempt, and Beth believed her. Maggie would never tell anyone, and Beth knows her sister would defend her, besides. Still, it seemed that there was a dark cloud that hung over her head, one that made people want to stay away.

Then Beth got transferred to the Newnan store.

She'd been working at the Outdoor Supply Outfitters in Peachtree City since high school, just as soon as she got her driver's license and could get herself to and from work. She had quit when she went away to college, but when she dropped out, her manager was thrilled to have her back.

“Best cashier we've ever had,” he’d told her on her first day back. “Customers are still always asking where you are!”

But only a few months later, OSO was in financial trouble. Something about market instability, changing consumer habits, and a whole slew of corporate jargon that Beth figured was supposed to make everyone feel positive about potentially losing their jobs. There were a couple of weeks of rumours and uncertainty, and then most of the staff was laid off while a handful were offered a transfer to the OSO location in Newnan.

Beth was the only one of the handful that accepted.

The transfer upped her commute from 20 minutes to closer to 45, but she didn't really care much. Her favourite part of the day was singing in her car, anyway.

Besides — what else was she really going to do?

So Beth took the job at the Newnan store, and she started on a sunny September day, right before the beginning of deer season.

Everyone at the store was friendly and welcoming, and everyone seemed to like their jobs well enough, considering they're still retail jobs, and therefore entail a certain minimum amount of abject suffering.

Best of all, nobody there knew her or her family or anything about her, so Beth got to enjoy a fresh start.

Everyone there was just fine.

Except for one person.

Daryl in the warehouse.

She meets Daryl on her third shift at the store, an open. She arrives early, which is no trouble for her, since she has to be up before 5 every day to help her dad with milking, anyway.

When she arrives, she learns that there have already been three sick calls that morning.

“We'll make it work,” Sasha, the floor supervisor, tells her. “If I put Carol on cash, can you be the gopher and just jump on cash when she needs backup?”

“Of course!” Beth says, though she privately wishes Sasha would just go ahead and put her on cash instead. The stock is the same as her old store, but the layout of the store is different, and she's still learning her coworkers’ names.

But her parents always told her that the thing to do when trying to make a good impression at work is to just say yes to everything. 

So she nods and smiles, and hopes for the best.

The morning starts off quietly enough; not a lot of people are out shopping for fishing tackle and hunting knives at 9AM on a Wednesday. Carol's plenty capable of holding things down as cashier while Beth handles the cart of go-backs left at the front by whoever closed last night.

This is ideal; it gives Beth a chance to learn her way around the store, and it gives her time to pause and chat with Carol occasionally. 

She likes Carol. The other woman is calm and no nonsense, with a dry and subtle sense of humour that Beth warms up to right away. It's only their second shift together, but Beth already appreciates her unflappable demeanour with even the rudest customers.

“I'm happily widowed,” she explains to Beth during a brief lull, after she deals with a particularly grumpy customer making a return. “There's absolutely no asshole customer who can compare to my husband. I'm like a nonstick pan.”

Beth takes the return and goes to re-shelve it. When she's on her way back to the front, another customer — a guy about her dad’s age — stops her, pointing at an empty space on the bottom shelf.

“Y’all got more of these?”

“Let's see,” Beth says, bending down to have a look at the tag on the shelf. “The Northern Flight blind?”

“Yeah, s'just what I said, wasn't it?”

“Sure thing,” Beth says, pasting what she hopes is a convincing smile on her face. “Let me check.”

Beth goes to the digital terminal fixed to the side of the end cap where the aisle intersects with the main thoroughfare. She types in the product information. The field blind this guy's looking for is completely sold out.

She shakes her head.

“Sorry, looks like we're out of stock.”

“Your website said you had some in stock. I checked it myself this morning.”

Bullshit, Beth thinks. Usually the website is very accurate; it pulls its data from the exact same system they use in the stores. Errors and lags happen, but it's rare, in her experience.

But before the guy can so much as raise his voice, Beth nods understandingly, as though his use of the word “website” is a special customer service password.

“Let me go have a look in the back, just in case.”

She turns on her heel and heads towards the back of the store before the guy has a chance to say anything more.

Beth knows perfectly well that there's about zero likelihood that what this guy wants is in the back, a place customers always seem to believe is some magical realm beyond the limitations of inventory management procedures or physics. But she has learned the hard way that some customer tantrums can be softened or avoided altogether by going through the motions of this little game of make believe.

She hurries, in case the customer is still watching her, acting like she's in an episode of Grey's Anatomy and she's rushing a human organ to the OR for transplant.

Anything to make some guy she'll hopefully never see again feel like the most important person in the store.

When she gets to the warehouse, she finds it empty except for one worker, who’s unpacking and logging a pallet of stock with the handheld scanner. 

He's got dark hair that's a little on the unkempt side, and he's wearing dark jeans and the exact same hunter green uniform polo shirt as she is, with a bright hi-vis vest over top. He's looking away from her, focused on his task, so she can't see his face.

As she approaches, though, she gets a good, long look at his body — wide shoulders, thick arms — and her face heats.

She hasn't met this particular coworker yet, though she's seen him pass by a few times. She walks up beside him, stopping a couple of feet away. 

“Morning,” she says. 

He doesn't respond or look up.

“We haven't been introduced yet; I'm Beth.”

The guy grunts something that might possibly be “hey.”

Possibly. If she's generous.

Beth swallows.

“Um, I was wondering if you could check to see if we have any of those layout blinds that were in the flyer last week left back here? The Northern Flight ones?”

The guy looks up at her. Under the too-long fringe of dark hair that hangs in his face, he's got blue eyes and a short nose and scruffy facial hair surrounding a mouth that doesn't look like he uses it for smiling too often.

His name tag reads Daryl.

He stares at her like she just asked if he's hiding a leprechaun and a pot of gold back here.

“The one that was 30% off? What do you think?”

Beth blinks.

“Um.”

He glowers at her.

“Did you check the system?”

“Of course, but –”

“Well?”

“Well, the system says we're out, but –”

“But you thought maybe the system's wrong, and I've got a bunch of damn blinds stashed back here for some reason?”

Beth gapes at him. 

“No, I just… The customer’s kinda pushy? And rude? He says he checked the website and it was in stock, and I know he's wrong, but I just thought I'd come back here and kind of… Fake it.”

“Fake it?”

“Yeah!”

He doesn't respond and just continues to stare at her like she's the stupidest person he's ever met.

“You know,” she continues, smiling, “make a big show of doing what the customer wants instead of getting in a stupid argument with them. You've never done that?”

He scoffs.

“No.”

“Okay, well…”

“Well, next time you can just look at the system and believe what it says and not waste my time.”

He turns away then, a blatant dismissal, leaving her to stare at his back in bewilderment. 

She's so taken aback by his rudeness that she doesn't tell him off. She just stares at his back for several seconds, then turns around, on some kind of auto-pilot, and walks out of the back to find the customer waiting for her by a display of duck decoys.

“I'm so sorry,” Beth says as she comes to a stop in front of him. “We're definitely out of stock. That flyer last week got us cleaned out! If you want, we have other brands –”

“Ugh,” the customer says, rolling his eyes. “Useless.”

He turns away without another word, bumping the decoy display with his shoulder, sending a whole flock of fake plastic mallards clattering to the floor.

He keeps walking like he doesn't even notice the mess he made, and he certainly doesn't bother to do anything so thoughtful as say thank you to her for her trouble.

Beth heaves a deep sigh and starts gathering up the stray ducks and putting the display back together.

So, there's a jerk in the warehouse and his name is Daryl. She wishes someone had bothered to give her a heads up about that.

It takes another three shifts for her to figure out that nobody warned her about Daryl because he doesn't have a problem with anybody else — only her.

Just like that, Beth makes her first enemy.

***

Beth settles into the new store. Everyone else really is very kind and welcoming. At first, she's a little intimidated by Michonne, the manager, but Beth quickly realises that for all that Michonne doesn't suffer fools, she's also a kind and understanding leader who isn't afraid to buck corporate on behalf of the store staff whenever she can.

Beth gets to know the store and the idiosyncracies of its staff. She gets to know the regular customers — good and bad. She gets mostly decent shifts. Her initial nerves fade away and she settles into a pleasant enough rhythm of work, enjoying her job as much as is reasonably possible.

The transfer would be a success, as far as she's concerned, if it wasn't for one thing. Or, to be specific, one person.

Daryl Dixon.

At first, Beth thinks that maybe she just caught him at a bad moment, that first time. That he was having a crappy morning and took it out on her. Nothing personal, really, just the wrong place at the wrong time.

But whenever she goes into the break room to eat her lunch and scroll on her phone and he happens to be there doing the same — usually sitting with Carol — he stands up and says he's going for a smoke, and he hightails it out of the room.

Whenever she goes into the warehouse to look for an item, another one of the warehouse staff helps her, and Daryl is nowhere to be found.

Whenever their shifts match up and they're both clocking out and heading to the parking lot at the same time, he acts like she's invisible, even if she's gone ahead and said goodnight to him.

Every time there's a staff meeting, Daryl covers workplace safety issues for Michonne. Beth listens as attentively as everyone else. Maybe even more so, since she figures her awareness of him is higher than others’ might be; if it's a morning meeting, some of her coworkers are usually on the verge of falling asleep regardless of who's talking.

Beth tries to smile at him one time, not long after meeting him. When he looks up from his clipboard at the staff, he makes eye contact with her and she automatically smiles.

But he doesn't smile back. He looks back down and clears his throat, and then the next time he looks up, he seems to look everywhere but at her. It's like he looks right through her.

“What's his deal?” Beth asks Carol one evening, when they're both on cash.

Carol had called back to the warehouse for a specific brand of lantern fuel, and Daryl had brought it right up for her himself.

When Beth said hi to him, he just grunted without really even looking at her, then headed back to the warehouse without another word.

“Who?” Carol replies. “Daryl?”

“Yeah, Daryl. What's his deal?”

Carol takes a long sip from the blue plastic water bottle that she has stashed beside the cash register. She shrugs.

“Daryl's a little rough around the edges. He's had a rough life, but he's got a heart of gold underneath.”

Beth considers that while looking at Carol. She and Daryl hang out a lot; they take their breaks together whenever they have shifts at the same time, she's noticed.

Carol has mentioned her shitty late husband to Beth a few times. Maybe she's one of those women cursed with extremely bad taste in men.

“How long have you guys been dating?”

Carol's mouth drops open and she just stares at Beth in silence for several long beats. Then she laughs, shaking her head.

“What?”

“Daryl and I aren’t dating,” Carol says, sounding extremely amused. She raises her eyebrows and wrinkles her nose for a moment. “I mean, I can see why you'd ask. But that would be like… Hm, I don’t know. Kind of like dating my cousin or something.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you ask?” Carol says, smiling at Beth like there's something terribly funny to her about this conversation. “You wanna know if he's single?”

“Ugh, no,” Beth replies, embarrassed, as she thinks suddenly of how flustered she was by the sight of his broad shoulders and his muscular arms, before he went ahead and spoiled it by being a jackass. “I was just being nosy. I'm sorry.”

“It's all right,” Carol says, still smiling. “I'm sure he wouldn't mind me telling you he's single.”

Beth’s about to ask her what that's supposed to mean, but a customer comes to the register, then, followed by another and another, and a steady stream of customers has both of them busy enough for the rest of the shift that Beth forgets about it altogether.

But she doesn't forget what Carol said. That Daryl has a heart of gold.

There is a powerful urge inside of her to win him over. To go above and beyond. To make him see that she's good at her job, that their coworkers like her, that she's not whatever impression he got of her that first morning in the warehouse. 

But she resists.

After all, why should she?

Why should she have to prove herself? She didn't do anything wrong. He's the one who acted like he'd never heard of appeasing a rude customer before.

He's the one who’s treated her like she's invisible ever since.

So she stops saying hi and good morning to him. Whenever she passes him, she doesn't try to make eye contact or smile. She avoids the warehouse as much as she can, and when she can't, she pointedly talks to any other person there except Daryl.

Thankfully, everyone else who works at the store is great, and overall it's still a decent place to work. One grumpy jerk in the warehouse is hardly worth quitting over.

Besides, even the grumpy jerk in the warehouse has got absolutely nothing on the average customer.

Beth worries sometimes that working retail is going to turn her into a complete misanthrope. 

There’s something about walking into a store that transforms people who — Beth hopes — are otherwise decent human beings into petty, demanding, unreasonable tyrants.

Perhaps worse, there's something about her ugly uniform polo shirt that encourages men of all ages to hit on her in ways that vary from the pathetic to the repulsive.

One afternoon she's working at the ammo counter when she's subjected to the latter.

She's standing with her back turned to the counter, shelving boxes of buckshot, when she hears a long, low whistle followed by a laugh as rusty as an old screen door.

“Whew, honey,” says a man's voice from behind her. “Daryl said there was fresh meat at the store, but it looks like somebody ordered all thighs, no breasts.”

Beth's jaw just about hits the floor.

She turns around to find a bald, middle-aged guy leaning over the counter, leering at her without making even the slightest attempt to hide it.

“Excuse me?”

“Aw, c’mon now, princess. Don't tell me a pretty little thing like you's one of them stuck-up women's libbers.”

She blinks at him.

“‘Women's libbers'? Where did you just come from, 1985?”

That makes him laugh, obnoxiously so, throwing his head back and slapping his palm on the counter.

“No wonder you got my baby brother all tied up in knots. You're a real nice girl. Bet you’re used to fellas who'll come over after church to have dinner with the family, huh? Bet you make ‘em butter your mama up before you'll put out.”

Beth’s shock at this jerk's raunchy rudeness and misogyny wears off, and anger takes its place.

“Hey,” she says, in the biggest voice she can muster. “It's not okay to talk to me that way.”

The man cocks his head, still smirking, looking her up and down.

“Whew, all right,” he says, cheerful and leering. He laughs. “Man, here I thought you'd be some wilting little thing, but you almost got a spine. Fancy that.”

Beth stares at him, confused, then remembers this guy mentioned Daryl. They must know each other.

She scowls at him.

Of course this guy is friends with Daryl.

“I seen the kinda guys you young things gotta deal with,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Soft goddamn boys ‘n their video games ‘n hairless balls. Bet you wouldn't even know what to do with a real man, would ya? You'd have to use two hands, for starters.”

Beth grimaces.

“Gross. Knock it off.”

“Real men are mighty thin on the ground these days. Too bad that ain't my brother,” he continues, absolutely unbothered. He shakes his head in apparent dismay. “No way, missy. Tail like you needs a man who actually has a pair of balls.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah. He's the queer dumbass in the warehouse. Daryl. I know you know him.”

Beth stares at him, feeling almost disoriented.

This guy is Daryl’s brother.

Seems like Daryl's got absolutely nothing on his brother as far as being an asshole goes.

“Merle!”

Beth looks up to see Michonne and Sasha approaching. Both of them already look annoyed, and Beth immediately gets the impression that this isn't the first time he's shown up at the store and made a nuisance of himself.

Merle, meanwhile, seemingly without any sense of self-preservation whatsoever, gives another long, low whistle, and grins.

“Must be my lucky day,” he crows. “I got Princess Rapunzel, here, and now here's you two Black beauties comin’ to join us. Cookies ‘n cream, know what I mean?”

Michonne levels him with an ice cold look.

“I thought we were crystal clear on how welcome you are in this store, Merle.”

Merle laughs.

“Don't get hysterical. I'm just here to pick up my baby brother for lunch, free him from the gynocracy for a while.”

“Seems to me you can wait in the parking lot, Merle.”

“C'mon, now, Michonne. The parking lot?”

“I'm happy to throw you out myself,” Michonne continues mildly. “But I can also call the sheriff's department. See if Rick's free. I know there's nothing he'd enjoy more than an excuse to come down here and take you on a fun little field trip to the county lock-up.”

Suddenly, Merle's smirk disappears. He stands up straight and glowers at Michonne.

“You're a real bitch, you know that?”

He turns then and stalks away, heading off towards the front of the store.

“Ugh,” Sasha says with a shake of her head as they watch him leave. “I can't stand that guy.”

“Does he show up here a lot?” Beth asks.

“No, not so much anymore,” Sasha replies. Her look of disgust disappears and she grins. “He's afraid of Michonne.”

“Oh, Merle Dixon’s not afraid of me or anything or anybody,” Michonne says dryly. “That's half his problem.”

“You sure know how to handle him,” Beth says.

Michonne rolls her eyes.

“Guys like him don't scare me anymore. If they did, I'd never leave the house.” She gives Beth a close, thoughtful look. “You okay?”

“Yeah. He didn't hurt me or anything, he's just… Well. I guess you know.”

“A loud-mouthed bigoted asshole?” Sasha offers.

Beth laughs.

“That's what my sister would call him. I think you'd like her.”

Sasha smiles.

“I think you're right.”

With that, Sasha departs, heading off towards the front of the store, probably to ensure Merle has actually exited the building.

“You sure you’re okay?” Michonne asks.

“Oh yeah,” Beth says, hoping her voice doesn’t sound as high and shaky as it feels. She doesn't want to look like she can't handle herself in front of Michonne, and she starts to feel a little embarrassed that the other women had to come over and kick him out at all. She swallows. “He was being a creep, but it’s not like he touched me.”

Michonne nods.

“Merle's bark is worse than his bite, mostly.”

“His bark is pretty disgusting.”

Michonne gives her a knowing glance. Beth figures she doesn't have to spell any of it out for Michonne, who has no doubt experienced much worse.

Beth shakes it off and shrugs.

“It makes sense, I guess.”

“What does?”

“Oh, just that he's Daryl’s brother. Two peas in a pod.”

Michonne gives her a lengthy, skeptical look through narrowed eyes.

“Does it seem that way?”

“Well, yeah, I mean… They're both pretty rude.” 

Michonne’s expression hasn't changed; she's still looking at Beth like she can't quite believe what she's hearing. Panicking a little, Beth shakes her head.

“I mean, not that Daryl has ever acted, like, inappropriately or anything. Not at all.”

“But he's rude to you?”

Beth’s stomach sinks.

“No, I mean, he hasn't done anything wrong, exactly, he's just…” Beth flails, feeling foolish for even bringing it up. “He's been kinda rude to me, I guess. He acts like I'm invisible.”

“Huh,” Michonne says, still eyeing Beth with a measuring sort of look that makes Beth feel like there's something about this that Michonne might find slightly amusing. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No, no, I'm sorry I said anything. I didn't mean to be a tattletale. It's not like it's gotten in the way of work or anything like that. He's professional. He's just not very friendly to me. Which isn't a crime, I guess I'm just… Just not really used to, um –”

“To not being liked?”

Beth can feel her face turning pink and she laughs, feeling silly.

“Gosh, well, when you put it like that, maybe I'm the jerk.”

Michonne laughs quietly and raises her eyebrows.

“I doubt that,” she says. She tilts her head. “For what it's worth, in my experience, it's better for coworkers to just nip it in the bud and talk it out when you have a conflict. But that said, we have a strict no bullying policy, and if you need me to step in, I absolutely will.”

“Thanks, Michonne. I appreciate it.”

“Any time,” Michonne says, then heads off towards the customer service desk, probably to talk to Abraham, the security guard.

It isn't until much later that day, when Beth's home and getting ready for bed that she remembers what that horrible jerk Merle said Daryl had called her.

Fresh meat.

The surge of aggravation the words trigger keeps her awake long after she turns out her light.

***

The holiday season barrels towards the store staff like a freight train.

Thankfully, it's not Beth's first time. She's done the mad dash from Halloween to Christmas before, and work makes for a welcome distraction from the stress of trying to plan her family’s first Thanksgiving since Mom and Shawn died.

Besides, Michonne managed to talk corporate into hiring plenty of seasonal staff, so the biggest hurdle is just training all the temp workers so that they don't make more work for everybody else.

It’s the crop of newbies that prompts the transition — one that Beth can feel even if it goes unspoken — from her being the new girl to her being one of the crew.

It’s also the crop of newbies that provides her first date in a long time.

Zach is a few years older than Beth, and takes care, the first shift that she trains him, to explain that he’s actually a web developer, and he’s only working temp retail because his buddy’s start-up folded, forcing Zach to move home from Atlanta to stay with his folks in Newnan while he looks for a real job.

Beth chooses not to take that personally; Zach is nice enough, and funny, and he has good manners. Best of all, he makes it very clear that he likes her — a lot.

He eats with her whenever their lunch breaks align. He walks her to her car when they’re off at the same time. She finds herself training him almost every shift that they share, to the extent that she finally asks Sasha whether he asked for that specifically.

“All it cost him was me taking his Charger for a test drive on the freeway,” Sasha says, grinning. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Beth is a bit baffled, but no, she doesn’t really mind. He’s nice. And it’s nice to be flattered.

That’s all it is — nice — but still. Nice is better than nothing.

Nice is better than sitting by herself during the crowded pre-open staff meetings, especially when, one gloomy morning in early November, nice comes along with a caramel macchiato just for her.

“Wow, thanks,” she says, when Zach slides into the plastic chair beside her and hands her the white paper cup. It’s piping hot, almost too hot to hold, and it gives her a little thrill to think he took time out of his morning to grab her a coffee. He shrugs, smiling.

“No big deal,” he says. “I was going through the drive-thru anyway. The break room coffee sucks and I have an addiction to feed.”

Beth snickers and is about to reply when Michonne walks into the breakroom with her clipboard and clears her throat, bringing the crowded room immediately to attention.

Michonne goes through the agenda items quickly — she summarizes the previous day’s memos from corporate and recent policy changes, reminds everyone to clock in using the electronic system every shift, and then lets everybody know that pre-Black Friday overnight stocking is upcoming, and the shifts will be assigned this year by luck of the draw.

“Good luck or bad, depending on how you look at it,” she says, making a quick mark on her clipboard before clicking her pen and holding the clipboard to her chest. “Now Daryl’s going to give you the health and safety rundown.”

Daryl gets up in front of everyone and clears his throat.

“Third quarter stats are out and corporate is pretty pissed about rates of workplace accidents across OSO nationally, so listen up.”

“OSO — more like S.O.S.,” Zach says under his breath.

Beth snickers.

Nobody’s been injured at work the whole time she’s been at the Newnan store, but there certainly seemed to be some minor accident every other week at her old store, so Beth knows their solid numbers are at least partly due to Michonne and Daryl both taking worker safety seriously.

She tries to pay attention to what Daryl’s saying about rush times corresponding to increased accident rates, but Zach keeps leaning over and whispering to her.

“I've been trying to figure out what he did before this,” Zach says quietly. “What do you think? My last guess was that he used to be a cop, like maybe he got fired for beating somebody up.”

Beth smiles and shrugs her shoulders without looking at Zach.

“I don't think they fire cops for that, actually,” she whispers.

“Good point,” Zach says. “If he really screwed up, he'd be a security guard at the outlet mall.”

Beth tries to direct her attention back to Daryl and whatever he's talking about, but Zach is thoroughly distracted and equally determined to drag her down with him.

“So what do you figure?” he asks quietly.

“About what?”

“What do you think he did before he worked here?”

“Maybe he's always worked here.”

Zach snorts.

“Yeah, could be. C’mon, what's your best guess?”

Daryl glances over at them, and Beth's stomach lurches. There's no way Zach is being anywhere near quiet enough, but she doesn't know how to tell him to be quiet without being rude.

“C'mon,” he whispers again, cajoling and insistent. “Guess.”

“I don't know,” Beth replies, as quietly as she can. “Motorcycle mechanic?”

Daryl looks over at them again, and he looks annoyed now. He can definitely hear that they're talking; Beth just hopes he can't hear what they're talking about . 

Unfortunately, Zach seems completely oblivious. 

“Nah, if he was a mechanic, he'd still be doing it. It's good money. Guess again.”

“Um,” she whispers. “Maybe he was a prison guard?”

Zach snorts out a loud laugh and Daryl's head snaps up.

“Greene!”

Beth jolts in her chair at the sound of Daryl's raised voice. He's glaring right at her.

“Knock it off. This ain't a damn school assembly. Flirt with the temps on your own time.”

Mortified, Beth looks down at the cup in her hands. She doesn't dare look at Zach, who has finally gotten the extremely blatant message and shut up. She doesn't look at anybody else, either, embarrassed as she is to be called out in front of everybody.

Thankfully, the rest of the meeting passes quickly, and soon everybody is getting up and heading off to get to work, except for Michonne and Daryl, who stand across the breakroom, discussing something on Michonne's clipboard.

Beth tries to beat a hasty exit, but she's stopped when Zach steps into her path.

“Sorry about that,” he says, looking contrite.

“Oh, no big deal,” Beth replies, waving a hand. She lowers her voice. “Daryl already hates me, anyway.”

Zach laughs quietly, as if she's just told a joke.

“So, listen,” he says, “I was wondering if, you know, since it's kinda hard to hang out at work and everything, you wanna catch a movie with me sometime?”

Beth stares, caught by surprise.

She can't tell whether Zach is proposing a friendly hang-out or a date date, and she can't think of a polite way to ask which he means and turn down the latter, so she finds herself nodding and smiling and agreeing to go out after their shift on Friday.

“Awesome,” Zach says, looking thrilled. He grins and leans in, giving her cheek a quick kiss before turning and heading off in the direction of the sales floor.

Oh. The latter, then.

Beth stands there, frozen in place, completely thrown, and she's only shaken out of her stupor by the sound of a derisive scoff.

She turns her head to see Daryl still standing on the far side of the room, looking down at the clipboard in his hands.

Did Zach seriously ask her out with Daryl standing right over there? Her stomach hollows out.

Then again, it's their breakroom as much as it's his, and Zach didn't do anything wrong by being enthusiastic. Maybe Daryl should learn how to give people some privacy.

“Something funny?” she asks.

Daryl looks up at her.

“Nope,” he says, shrugging. “It's real cute. Like a romance novel.”

Flustered and annoyed, Beth just rolls her eyes and walks quickly out of the breakroom, leaving Daryl behind. 

Jerk.

Beth spends the next few days trying to figure out how to let Zach know she just wants to be friends without hurting his feelings or embarrassing him. She's unsuccessful, and on Friday, she finds herself in Zach's Charger, making awkward small talk while he tries to find a parking spot at the movie theatre. 

The movie is fine. Zach tries to hold her hand a couple of times, and Beth has to pretend to be cold, sticking her hands into the pocket of her hoodie.

She feels awful. 

Zach is a perfectly nice guy. He's cute enough and he makes her laugh. There are certainly worse guys out there; what's wrong with her?

Why is she completely, totally, absolutely disinterested in dating him?

After the credits roll and they're leaving the theatre, Zach grabs her hand and she lets him hold it as they walk back to his car.

“So,” Zach says, once they're in the car. “Where to next?”

“Next?”

“Yeah, I thought we could go grab something to eat.”

Right. 

Something to eat after the movie. That's what people do. People on dates. People who know how to give a nice guy a real chance and who don’t just want to go home and curl up in bed with their playlists and their journal, people who aren’t still recovering from a suicide attempt.

Normal people.

Not her.

Suddenly she's glad she lives at home with her dad and that he lives with his parents, too, because if he tried to invite himself over to her place, or her to his, she's not actually sure what she'd do to get out of it.

Zach's nice enough, but she wishes they'd just kept their friendship at work and she'd never accepted his invitation at all.

“Um,” she says.

Zach looks at her and she watches his expression dim. After a moment, he smiles wanly and nods.

“Got it,” he says, keeping any bitterness he might feel out of his voice. “I'll drive you back to your car, okay?”

Beth mutters her thanks, feeling awful and self-conscious. The ride back to the store is an awkward torment, but fortunately quick enough.

They say goodnight, and he leaves her by her car in the empty parking lot.

Beth looks up at the dark autumn sky and heaves a massive sigh.

What's wrong with me?

That was her first date since Jimmy ghosted her. Shouldn’t she have been more excited? Shouldn’t she be grateful to be asked out at all? So what if Zach doesn’t exactly give her butterflies? She’s a college dropout with mental health problems working retail — what if another Zach never comes along?

Sighing again, Beth gets into her car and heads home to her dad.

The following morning, on her way to clock in, she stops by her locker, and when she opens it, a piece of canary yellow paper flutters out and lands at her feet. Beth bends down to pick it up and read it.

This notice is to advise that you have been scheduled for special overnight stocking on November 26, starting at 8:45 PM –

Beth groans.

Just her luck.

***

Looking back, November 26th turns out to be a pretty important day in her life.

While it’s happening, however, it doesn't seem like anything special at all.

She doesn’t have to work during the day, so she gets as many chores done as she can in the morning before taking an afternoon nap and a shower. She eats dinner with her dad, then packs a lunch and snacks and a couple of energy drinks before kissing his cheek and heading out the door.

Right as she’s leaving, her dad pipes up.

“Oh, Bethy, your sister called about Thursday,” he says, as he takes his dinner plate to the sink.

“She’d better not be backing out on making the pumpkin pie, because I’ve already gotta figure out how to do a whole turkey on my own –”

“She and Glenn can’t make it, after all. They’re both sick.”

Beth goes silent.

“Oh.”

Her dad’s expression is soft.

“I’m sorry, honey. I know you were looking forward to it. Maggie’s very sorry.”

Beth swallows the hard lump that rises in her throat. She blinks a couple of times and forces a smile.

“I know she is,” she says. “I know she wouldn’t miss it unless they couldn’t help it.”

It’s true; Beth knows Maggie would be there if she could. She knows it can’t be helped.

Still. It hurts.

“I’d better get goin’,” she says.

“All right,” her dad says. “Maggie said she'll Facetime you tomorrow once you've had a chance to get home and sleep. You drive safe now.”

“I will.”

Beth manages to make it to her car and most of the way down the driveway before she starts to cry.

She’s grateful, right then, for the length of her drive to work, because it gives her just enough time to have a good, long cry and feel a little sorry for herself, then pull herself together and try to shake it off.

When she gets to work, she makes a beeline for the restroom, where she splashes cold water on her face to hopefully take some of the puffiness out from under her eyes. She’s glad she didn’t wear make-up for her overnight shift; if crying hadn't wrecked it, the water certainly would have.

Sucking in a deep breath and blowing it out hard, Beth leaves the restroom and goes to the break room, where she stashes her lunch and her jacket and bag. She hurries to the time clock in the hallway, where she finds Daryl clocking out. She stands behind him, waiting without speaking, while he punches numbers into the keypad. When the computer gives its clock-in confirmation chime, she frowns.

“I think you clocked in by accident,” she says.

Daryl looks over his shoulder and shakes his head, then steps aside.

“Nah, I’m s'posed to.”

Beth’s frown deepens, a pit of apprehension immediately forming in her stomach.

“Why?”

“Overnight,” he says, in a tone of voice that implies that she’s even stupider than he previously believed. “Same as you. Drew the short straw.”

Beth scoffs and shakes her head. Usually she wouldn't even bother, but she's sad and angry and already exhausted, and she’s staring down the barrel of one long damn night.

A long damn night she’ll apparently be spending in the charming company of Daryl Dixon.

“Wow,” she says, punching her code into the machine and waiting for the confirmation chime. “I know you don't like me, but I'm the short straw? You could have been stuck stocking with Eugene, but I'm the worst case scenario? Seriously?”

Daryl freezes and glances at her, seemingly caught off guard.

“Uh,” he says.

“Whatever,” she grumbles, before heading to the warehouse to grab a stocking bin.

Jerk.

She’s glad right then that she’d paid her dues at her old store and this isn’t her first time doing overnight stocking. If she’d had to ask Daryl even one question about how it works, she’s pretty sure she would have quit instead.

Instead, she grabs a ScanSKU and a bin, pops her AirPods into her ears, and pretends she’s all by herself as the store empties out and the closing staff all wish her a good night as they leave.

Stocking is monotonous and a little boring, but it’s not difficult or even all that physically taxing; all she has to do is pull the stock bin down the aisles with her, find the product spaces, double check the SKU number on each item, then shelve them. Any overstock that doesn’t fit on the shelves, she puts back in the bin, hoping she won’t be forced to ask Daryl what she's supposed to do with overstock that needs to go back to the warehouse. 

She’s not even going to bother asking, she decides. She’s just going to figure it out herself; it will probably be obvious enough. At her old store, Black Friday overstock usually got placed in clearance bins in the middle of the sales floor regardless of whether it was marked down.

The stocking playlist she made herself hits just right and she gets into a good flow, singing along to the music when the spirit moves her, grinding out shelf after shelf.

The time passes quickly enough. It would have been nice to do this shift with somebody more fun, somebody she could chat and laugh with, like Carol, or maybe Tara, but the work itself is its own distraction.

She’s nearly emptied her second bin, and is armpit deep in a shelf tidying up the rows, when she suddenly has that eerie feeling that she’s no longer alone, and there’s somebody watching her.

Turning her head, she finds Daryl standing over her shoulder.

She yanks her AirPods out, her heart racing.

“You scared me!”

Daryl talks a big step backwards, holding his hands up.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he grumbles. His cheeks are flushed and he looks at her askance.

“It’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting you to be right there.”

“Well, who the hell else would it be?”

He's got her there, but still.

“I don’t know… The Killer?”

“The what ?”

“You know. The Killer. The anonymous murderer we’re all raised to be afraid of. The reason why women carry pepper spray.”

He scoffs.

“Gee, thanks,” he says.

“I didn’t mean that you , specifically, are an actual murderer, I just meant that you startled — oh, forget it. What is it?”

“Corporate wants all electronics spider-wrapped now. Trail cams, GPS, all of it.”

Beth stops herself from rolling her eyes at him, but barely.

“I know,” she says. “I get the same memos you do.”

Daryl just stares at her for several seconds, unsmiling, then exhales shortly and turns and walks away.

Jerk.

Beth allows herself a massive eye roll at his back and puts her AirPods back in. She continues tidying the shelf she’s stocking, then pauses.

Did she shelve something that was supposed to be spider-wrapped but wasn’t?

She leaves her spot and goes back to the aisles she’s already completed and double checks each shelf; everything that should be spider-wrapped definitely is. None of it is getting shoplifted without a truly extraordinary effort by some determined thief, so she’s not sure why Daryl took the time to come bother her about it.

Aggravated, she returns to her work and finishes up her bin. As she rolls it back to the warehouse, she passes Daryl on the sales floor, where he’s setting up space for bins of overstock, just like she figured.

For a moment, she considers going over to him and making up some bullshit reason to correct him or tell him something he already knows, but she lets the urge pass her by. There’s no sense making an annoying situation worse just because she's feeling petty.

Daryl hasn’t noticed her standing there watching him; he’s facing away from her. He bends down and grabs a box of cast iron cookware, lifting the heavy box up and setting it on a cart at waist height to unpack it. His biceps muscles flex, and her stomach gives a hard little swoop that ends in a flutter.

Whoa.

Okay, so Daryl's sort of hot, in a muscular, grumpy biker kind of way. She's not blind. It’s just that his deeply off-putting personality leaves so much to be desired that it offsets any interest she might have in the fact that he looks like he could pick her up and pin her against a wall without breaking a sweat.

Beth's face goes hot and she gulps.

Well, that was certainly vivid.

She pushes the stocking bin and sails past him as fast as she can go without jogging, heading to the back to load up on more stock.

Unwrapping a pallet of game processing tool sets and other knives, she starts filling the stocking bin, humming along to the next song on her playlist.

She hits a good flow again by the time she's wheeled the bin back out front, and she gets back to stocking shelves at a quick pace. She gets lost in the music flowing into her ears, humming along to the bittersweet melody, then singing along.

“Bone breaks and heals, oh, but heartaches can kill from the inside, so it seems; oh I'm telling you, it's all a dream – ”

“Hey!”

“Oh my god!”

Daryl's standing right beside her, again, and Beth's heart is in her throat. This time, she's so startled, she doesn't hold back.

“Quit sneakin’ up on me!”

Daryl just glowers at her as she pulls her AirPods out of her ears.

“Excuse the hell out of me for callin’ your name about six times before comin’ over here ‘cause you got them damn things in your ears.”

Beth groans, exasperated.

“Okay, well, you don't have to be such a creep about it.”

He visibly bristles. 

“Typical,” he says. “Lemme guess, everywhere you go, you can't hardly turn around without some knuckle-draggin’ asshole tryin’ to get with you, and you figure I'm no different, is that right? Poor, pretty college girl.”

“Excuse me?”

Daryl scoffs. 

“You heard me.”

“That’s pretty rich, comin’ from a guy who calls the new girl at work ‘fresh meat.’”

Daryl stares at her, brow furrowed.

“Huh?”

“Oh, come on. When I started here, you told your brother there was ‘fresh meat’ at work. Meaning me.”

Daryl gapes at her a moment, then shakes his head.

“No, ma'am,” he says. “I sure as hell didn't. If Merle said that to you, that was him. He's a dick.”

“Yeah, I kinda picked up on that when he went straight to sexually harassing me at work. Guess you're two of a kind!”

Daryl glares at her.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh please. What was it he said — ‘somebody ordered all thighs, no breasts’? Real classy, both of you.”

Daryl blanches and just stares at her for a moment. His cheeks rapidly turn a deep pink, and when he finally speaks up again, his voice is hushed.

“Merle said that?”

“Yes.”

“He said I said that?”

Beth blinks. 

He did — right? He implied it at least. 

She nods.

“Yeah, well, that’s Merle,” Daryl says, sounding disgruntled. “He ain't even supposed to come into the store and the dumbass knows it. But I never said none of that shit about you. Merle ain't never met a pretty girl he didn't wanna rattle.”

That's the second time in as many minutes that Daryl’s called her pretty.

Huh.

Beth stares at him, her temper cooling as she takes in the genuinely mortified expression on his face. 

Daryl's been dismissive and unfriendly, certainly, but he's never been even remotely creepy to her. He really hasn't. And now that she thinks about it, really thinks about it, she's not all that sure Merle did anything except speak for himself. Her stomach drops.

“Um,” she says, trying to find the right words. But he cuts her off.

“Ain’t for me to apologise for him, but still,” he says, his voice soft, softer than she’s ever heard him be. “I'm real sorry he came in here and said that shit to you. There’s no excuse for it. He’s an asshole. Always has been.”

Beth stares, at a loss.

His cheeks are red and he looks terribly uncomfortable, watching her almost like he's afraid of her.

He’s completely sincere.

A heart of gold underneath, is what Carol said.

Oh.

Suddenly, Beth feels terrible. She took everything Merle said at face value and didn't consider it any further. She swallows and shakes her head.

“You don't have to apologise for him,” she says quietly. “You really don't. And I'm sorry I said you're two of a kind. That was unfair.”

Daryl's relief is palpable; his shoulders dropping and he blinks at her, then looks down at the floor, almost like he's embarrassed.

“You may be rude and unfriendly as hell, but you're not like that,” she continues.

Daryl eyes her in silence for a moment, looking like he doesn't quite know how to take that. Eventually he makes an odd, grumbly sound in his chest that might almost be a laugh. He nods.

“Fair ‘nough,” he says. 

They stand there looking at one another in awkward silence for several moments before Beth reaches into the bin to grab a pack of leather knife sheaths and starts scanning them and hanging them on the long metal straight hook.

Daryl holds out a hand.

“Here,” he says, “I'll scan ‘em and you hang ‘em.”

Beth glances over to find him still looking at her, his hand outstretched. There's an uncertain kind of look on his face, and Beth sees his suggestion for what it is: a peace offering.

She hands him the ScanSKU, and soon the two of them are shelving the remainder of the stock in the bin at a brisk pace.

They work without speaking, and at first it's a little awkward. She hasn't worked closely with Daryl, after all; whenever they've shared a shift, he's made an obvious effort to stay away from her completely.

But they silently find a comfortable enough groove together, and soon they've cleared the bin and shelved every item.

Once the bin is empty, Daryl steps back and looks at her.

“All right, well… I'ma go finish up the clearance bins, then maybe take a break. You good?”

“Yep,” she says, nodding.

Daryl nods back and turns away, headed back to the middle of the sales floor.

Beth watches him go, her eyes trailing down the back of his body.

She blushes.

Well, that sure was something.

Beth pulls her phone out of her back pocket to check the time.

It's almost midnight.

She pops her AirPods back in and grabs hold of the stock bin, wheeling it back to the warehouse. She leaves it there and then heads to the staff room.

When she opens the fridge, her bagged lunch is sitting right where she left it earlier, slumped and unimpressive, between several abandoned plastic take-along containers and an old margarine tub that almost certainly doesn't contain margarine.

The thought of sitting alone in the staff room eating her sandwich and trying not to fall asleep is so unappealing that she closes the fridge door and falls forward to lean up against it.

Forget it.

She shouldn't waste money or gas on a trip to the nearest McDonald's, but to hell with should — she has to survive this stupid night somehow.

Beth goes to her locker and grabs her bag, shrugging her jacket on as she heads for the exit.

As she goes, she sees Daryl still setting up clearance bins in the middle of the sales floor.

She hesitates, watching him.

Anybody else, absolutely any other coworker, and she'd ask if they wanted to come along. She chews her bottom lip.

Heart of gold, right?

She walks over and stops at the end of one aisle, a couple yards from him.

“Hey, Daryl?”

“What?”

His tone is short, like he's annoyed with her for interrupting him. Back to rude grumpiness, it seems.

Maybe Carol is actually just a terrible judge of character. 

Beth inhales and keeps her tone light.

“I'm gonna take my break and go to McDonald's. Want anything?”

Daryl looks at her for a beat, his brow knit, then he shakes his head.

“Nah, I'm good.”

“Okay,” Beth says, relieved, then turns on her heel and hurries out the front of the store before he can change his mind.

Outside, it's dark except for the parking lot floodlights and the street lights. It's overcast, no moon or stars, and it's been raining. The temperature has dropped since Beth got to the store, and the empty lot is blurry with fog.

It's quiet out, too — the usually busy road on the far edge of the parking lot is empty. The traffic light at the intersection down the road has switched to blinking red.

Beth can't decide whether standing there all alone in the dark night is creepy, or kind of peaceful.

She goes to her car, parked over at the far edge of the lot, where corporate insists the employees park their cars, keeping the spots closest to the store free for customers.

There's a familiar, older pickup truck parked a couple of spots away from hers that she figures must be Daryl's.

It's still raining slightly, a cool mist that lands on her face and her hair as she crosses the lot and gets into her car.

She turns her key in the ignition. The starter struggles for a second, so she stops turning the key. She tries again, and the engine sounds even worse this time, like it's moaning in agony at the very prospect of starting up. She lets go and waits for a moment, then tries again. This time the engine doesn't even respond. 

Beth collapses forward, resting her arms and her head on the steering wheel.

Figures.

What a crappy night.

Overnight stocking duty with her least favourite coworker, cold rain, and now her damn car won't even start.

Worst of all, Maggie and Glenn aren't coming for Thanksgiving, and she's staring down the prospect of making a whole turkey dinner for two people, just her and Dad, because everyone else in their family is dead, and they'll never have another holiday together ever again.

A hard, painful little sob breaks free and comes out of her mouth, and before she can stop herself, she's crying into her arms where they rest on the steering wheel.

It's more than crying. It's weeping, really, full-tilt ugly sobs that strangle her chest and rock her body.

She doesn't know how long she cries like that, all alone in her cold, dead car, before a tapping on her window startles her.

Beth sits up, and looks up to find Daryl standing beside her door.

Mortified, she wipes at her wet face with her jacket sleeves before reaching down and turning the crank to roll the window down.

Daryl stares down at her, his expression troubled as he takes in what she can only guess is the complete mess of her tear-streaked face. She sniffles, feeling pathetic and embarrassed beyond words.

“Thought you were goin’ to McDonald's,” he says after a moment.

Beth heaves a shaky sigh and swallows before answering.

“Did you change your mind?”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “I was just comin’ out to my truck to grab my smokes.” He squints at her. “You okay?”

“My car's dead,” she replies. She reaches over and turns the key in the ignition again. The starter ticks loudly, but the car has absolutely no other response than that.

“Ah, shit,” Daryl says. “You got somebody to call? Like your boyfriend?”

Beth shakes her head.

“I don't have a boyfriend.”

Daryl narrows his eyes at her, like he thinks she's messing with him.

“Thought you and that Zach guy…”

“We went on a date, but I wouldn't exactly call him my boyfriend.”

“Does he know that?”

“Yes,” she says, exasperated and exhausted and wanting very much to not be having this conversation, or any conversation, with Daryl Dixon.

But he doesn't leave. He stands there beside her car, the misty rain collecting on his hair and the dark denim jacket he's wearing.

“Uh,” he says, scuffing the toe of his boot against the pavement.

Beth looks at him askance.

“What is it?”

Daryl cracks his knuckles and then gives his neck a scratch and tilts his head at her.

He reminds her of an awkward little kid trying to ask someone to come play.

Huh.

“You know the McDonald's in town is closed by now, anyway, right?”

Beth closes her eyes and groans quietly.

No, she did not know that.

“Duh,” she says quietly, wobbling her head and tapping her temple for emphasis.

Daryl clears his throat.

“Ain't much open ‘cept bars and Waffle House,” he says. He gestures back at his truck with his thumb. “You wanna? I'll drive.”

Beth blinks at him.

Isn't this the guy who's been nothing but rude to her since they met? Isn't this the guy who seems to dislike her so much that he talked shit about her to his gross brother?

Except he didn’t do that. Merle is an asshole, but that has nothing to do with Daryl. Not really. And he doesn't deserve to be punished for it.

Besides, he's offering. She didn't even ask — he's just offering. Surely he wouldn't do that if he didn't really want to.

“Okay,” Beth says. “I could go for a plate of smothered and covered.”

“Huh,” Daryl replies, giving her a thorough look over. “Figured you were a chocolate chip waffle kinda girl.”

“Let me guess — hashbrowns all-the-way?”

“You bet,” Daryl says. 

He turns and goes to the passenger side of his truck, unlocking the door and opening it for her. He stands there, just waiting.

Beth rolls her window back up, then takes her keys out of the ignition and shoves them in her bag. As she gets out of the car and shuts the door behind her, Daryl's still standing there in the rain, holding the truck door open.

Beth climbs into the cab, but when she reaches for the door, Daryl closes it for her, then heads around to the driver's side.

As he gets in, Beth buckles her seatbelt and looks around her, curious.

The dash is a bit dusty and there are gas station receipts and a couple of empty packs of cigarettes on the floor. It smells like stale cigarette smoke and dog and the damp, rainy smell of the outdoors, but somehow, none of it smells remotely bad or gross to her. It's just a lived-in smell, not a dirty one.

It's a Daryl smell, apparently.

“Kind of a dump in here, sorry,” Daryl mutters as he starts the truck. It roars to life, the headlights flooding the empty parking lot ahead of them with light. “Don't usually have passengers, ‘cept my dog, and he's kinda… Sorry about the hair.”

Beth shakes her head.

“You don't have to apologise,” she says. “What's your dog's name?”

“Dog.”

“...Dog? Just Dog?”

“Yep.”

“Okay,” she says, trying not to laugh because it's clear he's not joking.

Daryl puts the truck in gear and pulls out of his spot, driving out of the lot and up to the intersection. He stops and looks both ways at the blinking red, then carries on, headed in the direction of the Waffle House on the west side of town. He reaches out and turns the heater on, and a blast of hot air hits Beth in the face.

She holds her cold hands up to the vents and murmurs her thanks.

They ride in silence for a few minutes, until Daryl clears his throat.

“Any idea what's wrong with your car?”

“Nope, none. I mean, it's old, so there's always somethin’. I'm not very handy with it. I know where to add oil or windshield washer fluid, and that's about it. My brother –” Beth cuts herself off.

Daryl's eyes leave the road and he glances at her for just a moment before looking back out the windshield.

“Um,” she says. “My brother was handy? He usually did that stuff. My car, it's the one he learned to drive on. So did my sister. He had his own truck, but he looked after all our vehicles. But, um… He died eight months ago, so…”

Daryl nods and doesn't reply right away. He glances at her again, then back at the road.

“Sorry to hear that,” he says quietly.

Beth shrugs, scrambling to come up with the right thing to say to let him off the hook. People need that, she's found. They need her to relieve them of the discomfort they feel over what's happened to her.

“It's okay,” she says, waving a hand. “It was a while ago now.”

Daryl makes a short tsk sound, like he's annoyed, but when he speaks, his voice is gentle.

“Wouldn't matter if it was twenty years ago, I'd still be sorry to hear that happened to you.”

Beth looks at the side of his face.

She doesn't know what to say to that, so she says nothing, and settles back in her seat.

For some reason, the way he says it — sorry to hear that happened to you — makes her think of it that way, as something bad that happened to her.

Mom and Shawn's deaths have felt this whole time like something terrible that happened to them, and to Dad, and even to Maggie — but somehow, not her. She's told herself she just lost her mind and her hope and will to live because she was weak, not because she had actually suffered something.

But she did. She has. She's lost two of the most important people in her life forever. That's real and it happened to her. It's still happening to her.

Beth swallows the lump in her throat and blinks a few times, taking a shaky inhale.

“Thanks,” she says. “That's kind of you.”

Daryl just nods in acknowledgement and keeps his eyes on the road.

The silence that falls between them is still awkward, but maybe slightly less so than before.

They drive through the silent, sleeping town, past the dark houses and buildings. The streets are slick with rain, and the streetlights and occasional set of car lights send a shimmering rainbow of reflected light shining into her eyes.

“I love being in town at night after it rains,” Beth says. “It makes everything seem magical.”

The light at the intersection ahead of them changes from amber to red, and Daryl slows the truck to a stop.

He looks away from the road to peer at her, his eyebrows furrowed.

“‘Magical’?” he repeats.

Beth laughs.

“Either you see it or you don't,” she says. She gestures out the windshield. “Look at how all the lights reflect off the road. Don't you think that's beautiful?”

When she looks back at him, he's not looking outside at all. He's looking at her.

“Hm,” is all he says, before turning his eyes back to the road ahead.

The light turns green and the truck's engine purrs as Daryl presses on the gas and pulls through the intersection. 

Around the next curve in the road, the distinctive black and yellow Waffle House sign appears, and Daryl turns into the lot.

When Daryl parks the truck, Beth unbuckles her seatbelt and goes to let herself out of the truck, but Daryl beats her to it, hopping out and opening the door for her. She looks at him askance, but his face is impossible for her to read at all, so she just mumbles her thanks and follows him across the cool, damp lot to the doors of the restaurant, which he opens for her, too.

Heart of gold. Right.

Inside, they find what must be the only other people awake in Newnan at one in the morning on a weekday.

Most of the booths are occupied by groups of noisy drunks. There are two Sheriff's deputies drinking coffee at the counter, along with several guys who appear to be lone truckers, Beth figures. At the end of the counter, a crying man and an agitated-looking woman are so very obviously in the midst of a break-up that all the other patrons have given them a wide berth.

She and Daryl get a booth by the windows that look out on the parking lot.

They settle in, shrugging off their damp jackets.

On the other side of the restaurant, a group of a half-dozen disheveled college-aged kids come in, and they're greeted by noisy cheers from an already full booth.

Their waitress, a haggard older woman with a limp grey ponytail, comes and takes their orders, then quickly returns with hot coffee for both of them.

Beth accepts the steaming mug with thanks, wrapping her hands around it. Hot coffee beats the too-sweet energy drinks she brought to work with her.

She's about to take a sip when a big yawn takes her by surprise. She covers her mouth.

“Pardon me,” she says. “The time's catching up with me.”

“Ain't that late,” Daryl says. “Think most bars are still open.”

Beth shrugs.

“I'm not much of a night owl.”

“No?”

“Nope. Grew up on a dairy farm. I usually have to be up milking cows in a few hours.”

Daryl gives her a puzzled look.

“Don't they have machines for that kinda shit? You Amish or somethin’?”

Beth laughs and shakes her head.

“No, but even with the milking equipment, the cows don't walk themselves in there. A person still has to manage it.”

“Guess I never really thought about it much.”

Beth takes a sip of her hot coffee and then sighs out loud.

“That hits the spot.”

“So you're a coffee drinker, huh?”

Beth looks up to see Daryl watching her over the rim of his own cup.

“Yep,” she says. “I started drinkin’ it when I was a teenager, when my dad used to take me to his AA meetings to help set up the coffee and donuts.”

Daryl makes a hm sound, raising his eyebrows. He sets his mug down and leans back in his seat.

“So your house was dry, then?”

“You bet,” she replies. “Nothin’ stronger than coffee, long as I can remember. At least not until… Well. My dad fell off the wagon not long ago.”

Daryl nods.

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, that, and my mom. She died a week before my brother.”

Daryl raises his eyebrows.

“Shit,” he says. He gives his head a shake. “Sorry.”

Beth shrugs, uncomfortable at having brought up her own bereavement twice in the last half hour, like maybe it's self-centred of her to do so. But before she can change the subject, Daryl speaks.

“My mom died when I was a kid,” he says quietly. “House fire.”

“That's awful,” she says. “I'm sorry that happened to you, and to her.”

Their eyes meet, and for a moment they just sit there looking at each other. There's something hesitant in his expression, something uncertain, and she gets the feeling that this is difficult for him, sitting across from her, telling her about his mom. He's not at all comfortable with the vulnerability of it.

But she's glad, because it's like she's seeing him properly for the very first time.

Daryl breaks eye contact first, looking down at the table for a moment before taking a long sip of his coffee.

Beth just watches him, curious. This is, after all, the longest he's ever voluntarily remained in her presence. 

After swallowing, Daryl clears his throat.

“Got any big plans for later?”

Beth accepts the shift to lighter, safer territory, and she shakes her head.

“After an overnight? No way. I'll probably just go home to bed. How about you?”

“Same. Gonna go home and try to get some sleep.”

Beth nods.

“When do you work next?”

“I close day after tomorrow,” Daryl replies. “Or tomorrow, by now, I guess.”

“Ugh, same. Doesn't really seem fair, but I guess it's better than an overnight followed by a close in the same 24 hours.”

“No kiddin’,” he replies. “Done a few of those in my time.”

“Same. The manager at my old store was terrible at scheduling.”

“Corporate sure doesn't give a shit one way or the other.”

“Nope,” she replies. “Michonne is great, though.”

“Had worse bosses for damn sure,” Daryl agrees with a nod. “You workin’ Friday?”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” she says. “I don’t mind comin’ in extra early, but the crowds? Ugh.”

“Same,” he replies. “Ain’t so bad for me, though; I can hide in the warehouse for most of the shit show.”

Their conversation lulls, and Beth taps her fingernails against her coffee cup. She tries to think of something to say, some safe topic to ask him about, but she's so unsure of him. Up until an hour ago, they'd never had a pleasant interaction.

Daryl doesn't seem to be in any great hurry to smooth over the awkward silence himself; every time he accidentally meets her eyes, he quickly looks away, out the window or around at the growing crowd of post-bar diners coming into the restaurant.

He clears his throat, seeming like he's about to say something, but he's interrupted by the arrival of their waitress, who tops up their coffees before carrying on to another table.

Beth opens a packet of cream and pours it into her cup.

“Have you worked at OSO for a long time?”

Daryl nods.

“Yeah, ‘bout eight years now? Nine?” He shakes his head. “Time flies whether you're havin’ fun or not, I guess.”

Beth stares at his downturned head as he stirs some sugar into his black coffee, and she wonders how old he is.

He's older than her, for sure, and not just a little. There's a strange quality to him, though — something oddly youthful, maybe. Immature, she thinks, though that word feels needlessly unkind, and doesn't exactly cover it.

“It's my first job,” Beth says. “Other than babysitting, I mean. I worked at the Senoia store for two years before I went away to college. Thankfully they took me back just in time to close and transfer me over here.”

Daryl's looking at her closely, his expression hard for her to parse. 

“The hell're you doin’ workin’ at OSS with a degree?”

“Oh, I didn't finish,” she replies. She looks down at the milky surface of her coffee for a moment, then shakes herself, shrugging. “I had a breakdown after my mom and my brother died. I guess you could call it that. Anyway, I dropped out.”

The waitress returns to their table, then, their plates in hand. She drops them off and leaves their table without a word.

Beth didn't even notice she’s hungry until the plate of hot hashbrowns and her scrambled eggs are under her nose, but suddenly, she's ravenous. She reaches for the pepper at the same instant as Daryl, their fingers bumping into each other. Daryl yanks his hand back.

“All yours,” he says.

Beth shakes pepper over her plate as quickly as she can, glancing up to find Daryl watching her, his cheeks flushed. 

She holds the shaker out to him, their fingers touching again, briefly, as he takes it.

A sharp little bolt of sensation runs from her fingertips up her arm to her heart, pinging her in the chest, spreading warmth in its wake.

Beth swallows, feeling her own cheeks heat.

Whoa.

She looks down at her plate and starts eating, trying to shake off the odd hypersensitivity that’s making every nerve in her body sit up and take notice.

The silence as they eat is only somewhat awkward. Beth glances up at Daryl a few times, but whenever she does, he's doggedly eating, all his attention focused on the plate in front of him.

“So, do you and your brother have other family you see at Thanksgiving?”

Daryl raises his eyebrows and gives his head a shake, but he doesn't look up from his food.

“Nope,” he says. “We don't got family.”

Beth watches him eat for a moment. He doesn't seem irritated by the question or by sharing that with her. She remembers what else Carol said about him, that he's had a rough life.

“So it's just gonna be you two for Thanksgiving, then?”

“Actually, Merle got arrested a couple of weeks ago,” Daryl says, flat and matter-of-fact. He lifts a forkful of hashbrowns to his mouth and holds it there for a moment, glancing up at her. “Broke his release conditions.”

“Oh,” Beth replies, taken aback. She searches his face, but he's looking down at his plate again, still eating methodically. His expression gives nothing away. “Are you okay?”

He doesn't reply right away, he just stares down at his food, his brow furrowed, like he doesn't know what to make of the question.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, glancing up at her. He shrugs. “Didn't give the cops much of a choice, really. You seen what he's like. Dumbass never did know when to say when.”

He shovels hashbrowns in his mouth, his eyes fixed on his plate.

Daryl's so matter-of-fact about it that it almost puts her off asking more, except there’s something about the way he says it that tells her he’s said it to himself an awful lot.

“It'd be okay, you know,” she says, tentatively. “If you weren't okay.”

He pauses in the midst of spearing a Jimmy Dean and looks up at her.

Beth tenses, worried it was the wrong thing to say.

“I'm not tryin’ to pry into your business,” she says, shaking her head. “I'm just… I'm just sayin’, is all.”

Daryl takes a bite and nods, chewing, and Beth thinks he might leave it at that except after several seconds, he speaks again.

“It's kind of a relief,” he says quietly. “Merle is… I dunno. He's a handful. He's got a real chip on his shoulder and it's hard for him to… When he's locked up, I get to… I get to breathe for a minute.”

Beth examines his face in silence, thinking over his words, and her own interaction with Merle Dixon, brief as it was.

He's the queer dumbass in the warehouse.

Her heart damn near sinks through the floor.

“That makes sense,” she says eventually. “It must be really hard to deal with all that.”

Daryl's eyes meet hers for a beat, and then he shrugs.

“Sorry to complain,” he says. “Sure you don't need to hear me bitch about my dumbass brother.”

Beth shrugs.

“You're allowed to feel what you feel,” she says. “Just because my brother happens to be dead doesn't mean you have to pretend yours is a saint or something.”

Daryl gives a quiet snort, and his eyes meet hers as something almost like a smile crosses his face.

He's cute when he smiles, she thinks. Too bad he doesn't seem to want to do it much around her. Her heart sinks again, but she manages to smile back at him, anyway.

As she finishes her last few bites of food, he just sits there, watching her.

When she puts down her fork, he reaches up and scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking unsure of himself. 

“Listen, I ain’t always… Ah, hell. I dunno how to say it. I’m sorry for bein’ a dick at work. I didn’t mean to be, I just… You’re real nice and real good to work with, and you didn’t deserve it.”

It’s an apology and an unprompted one at that. Whatever lingering irritation she felt towards him lifts, then, and she tilts her head.

“Okay,” she says. “Why don’t we start over?”

He narrows his eyes at her.

“Huh?”

“Let’s start over,” she says again. “Just wipe the slate clean and start fresh.”

She sticks her hand out across the table, over their empty plates.

“Beth Greene,” she says. “Pleased to meet you.”

He looks down at her hand, then up at her face again, and she thinks he might be about to brush her off or laugh at her, but he doesn’t, and she’s delighted to see that small half-smile she likes pulling at the corner of his mouth again.

He shifts in his seat and takes her hand in his, shaking it. His hand is warm and dry, and his handshake is strong; she can feel his callouses pressing into her palm.

It feels good.

“Daryl Dixon,” he says. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

He lets go.

She’s a little sad about that, but she pulls her hand back, anyway.

“We should get back,” he says. “You're pretty damn efficient at stocking shelves, but we still got a ton of shit to get through.”

When the waitress brings the check and Daryl takes it, Beth tries to argue, but Daryl just pulls out his wallet and shakes his head.

“Don't sweat it,” he says. “It ain't even me treatin’ you or nothin’. Michonne left me some cash so we could get food.”

Beth laughs at that and lets him go ahead, and a few minutes later, Daryl’s holding the passenger door open for her again before ducking around the front of the truck and getting into the driver's side.

He starts the engine and gets the heater going right away, and soon they're driving through the silent, sleeping town, heading back to the empty store.

At first, neither of them talks.

The truck is warm and the hum of the engine is soothing, and she feels like she could just lean her head against the window and go to sleep.

“You mind if I smoke?” Daryl asks, his rough voice breaking the silence.

“No, go ahead, it's your truck.”

Daryl nods and grabs a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and expertly lights one and rolls down his window without taking his hand off the wheel.

The cool air from Daryl's window perks Beth up. She shifts in her seat and tucks her hands under her thighs to keep them warm.

“So, you’re just gonna be on your own for Thanksgiving?”

“Yep,” he says. He looks like he wants to say something more, so she waits. After a moment, he shrugs. “Don't really got family, ‘cept for Merle, so…”

He doesn't elaborate, but he doesn't have to. Dead or gone — sometimes there isn't much difference. Absence is still absence.

Still, she stares at the side of his face, watching as he takes another drag, considering what she wants to ask him. She clears her throat.

“Um, well… It's just my dad and me; my sister and my brother-in-law can't make it. I'm doin’ the whole nine yards, turkey and all the trimmings, pumpkin pie… Did you want to come to our place?”

Daryl doesn't reply. He doesn't show any reaction whatsoever to her words, except he knits his brow and then clears his throat.

“Uh,” he says eventually, “I don't wanna — I mean, I shouldn't intrude, or whatever —”

“You wouldn't be,” Beth insists. “Honest, you'd be no trouble. I'm makin’ all the food, as it is. Heck, I'll be thrilled to have somebody come help us eat it all so we're not stuck havin’ leftovers for two straight weeks.”

The truck passes under a streetlight and the shaft of light passes briefly over Daryl’s face, just long enough for Beth to see that he’s freaked right out.

Her heart sinks, and suddenly, she feels silly. 

An invite to Thanksgiving dinner with her dad? What was she thinking?

“You'd probably rather do your own thing,” Beth says, trying to give him an out. “I'm sorry, never mind, it's totally okay. You don't have to –”

“No, no, I just… I'm supposed to go to Carol’s to have Chinese with her and her daughter. They don't got family, either.”

“Oh! Well…” Beth wavers, unsure whether he's really got plans with Carol or if he's just trying to politely turn her down. “I mean. They can come too, if you want? Like I said, we're gonna have plenty of food.”

Daryl shoots her a skeptical look.

“You sure your dad won't mind three extra people outta nowhere? Three strangers?”

“No, he won't mind. My parents used to always make a point of asking friends to Thanksgiving. Like people they knew who didn't have family or anywhere to go. It's fine, honest!”

Daryl glances at her again, his expression deeply skeptical. His gaze drops to her lap, where she's still got her hands tucked under her thighs for warmth.

He looks back out at the road and flicks his half-smoked cigarette out the open window before rolling it up.

“All right,” he says. “Lemme talk to Carol and I'll see if they wanna come along… I'll be there, though.”

“Okay,” Beth replies, surprised by how happy it makes her to think of Daryl joining them for Thanksgiving. New friends and a full table might even be almost enough to take her mind off everyone who won’t be there.

Back at the store, they split up and get back to work, and Beth quickly realises that the mid-shift meal was a mistake, because, in spite of the coffee, she's now so drowsy that she feels like she could fall asleep standing up.

She switches playlists on her phone to a pop mix, appreciating the brief but effective burst of energy that Carly Rae Jepsen and Katy Perry give her.

After about another hour and a half of hustling, she's pushing her cart back to the stockroom when Daryl emerges from the back, clipboard in hand.

“Good news,” he says. “Everything is shelved except the overstock. We gotta organize it in clearance bins in the back, and then floor staff can just wheel ‘em out before open on Friday.”

“Great!” Beth replies, wondering if they can leave a couple hours early if they finish everything. Then she remembers her dead car and her spirit sinks again. She'll just have to text her dad and then wait for him to wake up and come get her. She could try Uber, she supposes, but it will cost her an arm and a leg, and that's if anybody is even up driving in the middle of the night in Newnan.

Beth pushes her cart the rest of the way back to the warehouse and puts it away before popping her AirPods back in and getting started on dealing with all the overstock items waiting to be organized.

Daryl must be busy elsewhere, as Beth finds herself working alone for a little while, making some decent headway with the overstock, singing along to her playlist.

“Warm blood feels good, I can't control it anymore; sweet one, you should stop me there, but I keep on talkin’ –”

Daryl steps into her peripheral view a good ten feet away from her and waves to get her attention.

She smiles at that and pulls her AirPods out.

“What's up?”

Daryl points up at the ceiling. 

“You know we got a sound system back here, right?”

Beth shrugs and tilts her head at him, doing her best wide-eyed, innocent face that has always driven her siblings nuts, but which has gotten all three of them out of trouble enough times that they never dimed her out.

“Actually, no, I didn't know that,” she says, cheerful as anything. “See, I haven't spent much time back here, on account of how I've been made to feel pretty unwelcome…”

Daryl looks at her askance for a moment before he clocks the smile on her face. His expression flattens.

“Funny,” he grumbles, though she can tell now that he's not annoyed, at least. She grins at him and he gives an aggravated sigh. “I'm just sayin’ you can put your music on the speakers if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why, you listenin’ to Slayer songs backwards or somethin’?”

“What?”

“You know, bands puttin’ Satanic messages in their music to convert people? You can only hear it if you play it backwards?”

Beth guffaws.

“Nope, sorry, I think that kind of thing was a little before my time…” she says, thoroughly enjoying herself as Daryl's face reddens. “Nope, it's all Katy Perry and other pop on this playlist.”

“So?” Daryl says. He shrugs as he starts moving boxes of fish batter mix into the wire bin a few feet away. “I don't mind Katy Perry.”

“Really?” she asks, skeptical.

“Yeah, sure. Was that, uh — was that who you were singin’ just now?”

Beth smiles at his cluelessness.

“Nope, that was Carly Rae Jepsen.”

“Oh. Well. It's nice. You got a nice voice, so… Probably anything would be all right if it's you singin’ it.”

Beth stops and stares at him for a moment as he bends down to grab another box of fish batter mix.

It strikes her that it's been a while since she even sang out loud in front of anybody, never mind somebody complimenting her voice.

Eight months, actually. It's been eight months since she's sung out loud in front of anybody.

“Thanks,” she says softly. “That's nice of you to say.”

Daryl looks at her for a moment and offers a half-smile. His cheeks are still flushed.

“No big deal,” he says quietly. “Just the truth, is all.”

Beth tucks her AirPods into the pocket of her jeans, and they work in silence together for a little while before Daryl starts searching around for something and then curses under his breath.

“Ugh, left that damn list of Michonne’s in her office. Be right back.”

“Okay.”

Daryl leaves and Beth carries on, finishing up what she's working on before moving on to a bin of plastic vacuum sealing kits for meat processing. She gets them all into the bin with the doorcrasher special sign, but the stock system says there should be more. 

Frowning, Beth heads down to the space in the warehouse where they should be, and after a minute or two of searching, she finally sees the boxes way up overhead on the huge metal shelf.

Sighing, she goes to grab the moveable staircase, but remembers immediately that she's been using it as extra space to sort stock.

Whatever. It's not that high.

Beth goes and finds one of the aluminum step ladders instead, and leans it up against the shelf.

She's halfway up the ladder before she realises it's going to be a bit of a stretch to reach that one last box up on the shelf, and that she probably shouldn't have leaned the ladder up against the shelf at all.

Determined, she keeps climbing until she can reach the box. She gropes at the edge of it, nudging it so she can get a firm hold on it, even as it dawns on her that she has no way of getting it down and holding onto the ladder, which is why the moveable staircase exists.

The ladder also chooses that exact moment to slide down the shelf just a half inch.

She startles, the ladder wobbling underneath her.

“Greene!”

Daryl appears down at her side in an instant, and she feels the ladder stabilize the moment he grabs hold of it and braces it with his shins.

“The hell you doin’?” he snaps at her. “Use the staircase for shit like this, damn.”

“I know, I know,” she grumbles, still holding on tightly to the ladder. “Just hold it still so I can get down, okay?”

“I'm ain't gonna stand here and watch the damn ladder take you out just so I can get the pleasure of signing a get well soon card when you end up in traction, Greene. Get the hell down, already!”

Beth rolls her eyes, mortified at her own sleep-deprived poor judgement, and she climbs down the ladder, which does not budge even a fraction of an inch with Daryl holding it firmly.

When she's nearly at the bottom, just a couple of rungs away from the floor, she goes to step down onto the next rung, and instead misplaces her foot and slips. 

Beth yelps and grabs onto the rung in front of her face as tightly as she can.

There's no chance of her falling, though, because before she can even find the rung with her foot, Daryl's hands grab her hips.

“I got you,” he says, his voice low.

Beth freezes, holding tightly to the ladder.

His grip on her is firm and strong, and the feel of his fingers digging into the meat of her hips stops her breath in her throat.

Whoa.

“You good?”

“Um,” Beth squeaks, setting her foot firmly. She swallows. “Yep, I'm good, thank you.”

Daryl lets go of her and goes back to holding the ladder as she climbs the last rungs.

When she reaches the bottom and goes to turn around, he hasn’t moved an inch; he's standing close to her, but he's let go of the ladder, his arms hanging at his sides.

He’s looking down at her.

His expression is impossible for her to get a handle on. He looks serious and troubled and anxious, all at once.

He just looks at her like that in silence for several long beats, and Beth is about to say something to break the strange tension drawing out between them, when he does something that shocks her.

He kisses her.

It's just a little kiss, a gentle, tentative one, just his lips pressed impulsively to hers, but then he exhales a short breath out his nose, one that touches her face, and she realises his whole body is tight with tension.

She’s so stunned, so completely taken by surprise that, for a moment, she goes absolutely still, not reacting at all.

It’s too long of a pause, though, because he breaks the kiss almost right away, and looks down into her face, looking nearly as shocked as she feels.

“Shit,” he says.

Beth furrows her brow.

“‘Shit’?”

Daryl’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head.

“No, not shit, not like — god damn it, I just mean — I shouldn’t have done that.”

Beth almost takes offense. She almost calls him out for kissing her and immediately saying “shit.”

She almost screws it all up completely.

But she doesn't. 

Instead, she stands up on her toes, grabs hold of his shirt, and hauls his face back down to hers.

When their lips touch, Daryl makes a surprised kind of sound in his throat, but he recovers quickly, grabbing hold of her elbows and tilting his head to kiss her back.

Beth holds on tightly to his shirt, baffled by him kissing her, baffled by kissing him back, baffled completely by whatever the hell is going on between them.

She takes his bottom lip between her teeth and bites ever so gently, and he groans, sliding his hands up her biceps to grip her. He pushes into her space ever so slightly so that she has to lean back against the ladder while he kisses her breathless.

He slides an arm around her back and practically bends her in half, he's kissing her with such enthusiasm. She slides her hands up his broad collarbones to the back of his neck and cards her fingers through his hair.

Daryl groans into her mouth and she shivers as one of his hands comes up to cup the back of her head, tangling in her messy ponytail.

He kisses her with a kind of single-minded focus she's never experienced before. It's like everything around them has faded away, and she's the only thing left, the only thing he cares about.

It's disorienting and confusing and bizarre, but also, somehow, the absolute best kiss she's ever had in her whole life.

As suddenly as she kissed him, he stops, pulling back just a bit, still close enough that she can feel his hot, ragged breaths on her skin.

Beth opens her eyes, peering up into his flushed face. His eyes are squeezed shut.

“We can't,” he says.

“Why not?”

“The cameras.”

Beth blinks.

“Huh?”

“Cameras,” he repeats, breathless. He leans his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed. “There's CCTV cameras back here.”

Oh.

“Dang it,” she mutters.

They stand there for a moment, forehead to forehead, just breathing and holding onto one another.

Daryl opens his eyes and their gazes meet. What she finds there sends a shock of arousal up her spine to tighten her chest.

He is hungry for her.

She closes the scant distance between them and kisses him again.

He responds immediately, kissing her back, his hands tightening where they grip her shirt. She closes her eyes, swooning in the strong, unmoving band of his arms.

But only moments later, he pulls away again, breaking the kiss. 

Beth opens her eyes to look at him again.

For several seconds, he just stands there, his breathing harsh and loud. He gives his head a shake and opens his eyes.

“I shouldn't…” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “I mean, I ain't your supervisor, or whatever, but I run the warehouse and I been here a long time, and I know you’re kinda young, and I don't want you to think you can't — that you have to –”

He's flustered, kind of adorably so, and she lets him flail for another few seconds before she leans up on her toes and kisses him again, just once.

When she pulls away, he's staring down at her, his brow furrowed.

“Daryl, I'm not worried about you takin’ advantage of me.”

“You're not?”

“Nope.”

“How come?”

“Well, I figure if you were going to do that, you'd have been doing that, instead of what you've actually been doing. Whatever that was.”

Daryl just looks at her for a long moment, then gives a gentle scoff.

“That was me tryin’ not to make it too obvious that I was into you.”

Beth is speechless for several moments, and then she laughs.

“Well, it definitely wasn't obvious, I'll give you that.”

“Great,” he says ruefully, shaking his head, his hands tightening on her like he doesn't want to let her go. 

“This whole time, I thought you were, like, my work nemesis,” Beth says, laughing again.

Daryl's face screws up like what she's said has caused him physical pain.

“Nemesis? It’s that bad?”

“Yes! I thought you hated me!”

He makes a tsk sound under his breath and shakes his head.

“I didn't hate you, I just –”

“Couldn't stand bein’ anywhere near me?”

“Yeah,” he says ruefully, embarrassment all over his face. “Yeah, pretty much.”

He goes still and quiet, and she searches his face, or at least what she can see of it — furrowed brow, unsmiling mouth, narrowed eyes watching her almost warily.

He seems nervous.

“What is it?” she whispers.

“I just… I don't… I mean, you said it yourself. I've been a real dick to you. You usually go around kissin’ jackasses?”

Beth laughs softly.

“No, I don't make a habit of kissing jackasses.”

“All right. Then what gives?”

It's a valid question. Only a few hours ago, she was miserable at the thought of having to spend this shift with him. Now she can't think of anything she'd rather do than keep making out with him.

She shrugs and smiles up at him.

“Well… We started over, right?”

“Right,” he says, his voice a warm rasp as he looks down at her.

Beth leans in and kisses his stubbly cheek, then his mouth, and she doesn't pull away from him. She doesn't close her eyes, watching him watch her, watching his cheeks redden again, watching his nostrils flare.

Daryl is staying so still that it surprises her when he moves abruptly, kissing her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her in close to him again.

Beth lets her hands skate up his chest to cup them at the back of his neck.

Stepping between his feet, she shifts her weight towards him, her hip bumping into his and grazing the front of his jeans.

Daryl breaks their kiss, exhaling harshly.

“Stop,” he says, his voice taking on an almost pleading tone. 

“The cameras?”

Daryl scoffs.

“Unless you want Abraham to get a free show when he checks them tomorrow…”

Beth laughs softly.

“Yeah, no thanks.”

Daryl rubs his hands up and down her biceps like he's trying to warm her up.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Work ain't the place for what I wanna do with you.”

Oh.

She doesn't know how to respond to that, so she just stares up into his eyes as she blushes so hard it feels like her face is sunburned.

They stand there just looking at each other for a long, heavy moment, and then Daryl clears his throat.

“Listen,” he says, “can I take you out sometime? For… I dunno. Coffee, or somethin’? Hashbrowns again?”

He looks uncomfortable — uncertain — like he's never asked a girl on a date before. 

Maybe he hasn't. 

“I swear I won't be a jackass,” he continues. “I can be nice.”

Beth laughs softly.

“I don't care all that much about nice, actually,” she replies. “But I do care about kind. Will you be kind to me?”

Daryl's eyes are warm as they track over her face. He nods.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says softly.

She thinks about the way he offered his condolences, and how he apologized for Merle, and for his own behaviour.

The way he responded when she told him about her brother and her mom.

Something inside of her melts.

“Then, I'd like that,” she says. “I'd like that a lot.”

The uncertainty in his expression eases, and he offers her that awkward half-smile of his that she's discovered she likes so much. He reaches up and tucks a loose strand of her hair up behind her ear.

“For now… you want a ride home, when we clock out?”

She eyes him.

“Are you serious?”

“‘Course. I'll be headin’ out, too.”

“Yeah, but you don't even know where I live.”

“Well, where do you live?”

“Ten miles outside Senoia.”

If he tries to suppress his wince, it doesn't work. Beth laughs.

“You don't have to give me a ride,” she says, shaking her head. “I'll just… I don't know. Sleep in my car until my dad wakes up and he can come get me.”

Daryl just eyes her for a minute, then clears his throat.

“I'll drive you home,” he says. “And I'll take a look at your car on my next shift, see if I can't figure out what's up.”

When she opens her mouth to argue, he interrupts her.

“Let me,” he says. “All right? Got some shit to make up for. So let me. Yeah?”

Beth just looks at him for a moment, unable to reply. He's watching her with a determined kind of set to his jaw, his gaze warm with affection.

It's plain as day, so obvious to her now that she suddenly finds it hard to believe she ever could have missed it: Daryl likes her. Likes her likes her. 

Heart of gold.

“Okay,” she says. “Thanks.”

She leans up and kisses his warm, flushed cheek.

It's impossible to pull away.

They're at work, there are cameras, it's the middle of the night, she's exhausted, and she only just decided that she even likes the guy.

Yet she finds it’s completely and totally impossible to pull away.

Instead, she slides her hands up to hold onto the back of his neck again, pulling him in close to kiss his lips. His arms go up around her back, and he pulls his face back enough to look at her properly, his brow knit.

“What about the cameras?”

Beth shrugs.

“Michonne did say that if I've got a problem with you, I should deal with you directly. I'll just tell her I was following her instructions.”

Daryl guffaws.

“Well, if Michonne said…”

He kisses her again, holding her close to him, one hand sliding up her spine to clasp the back of her neck. His hands are gentle wherever on her body they touch her, like he's holding something precious to him.

Maybe he is.

They kiss again, still shy and new to each other, but becoming more sure with every moment, all alone in the warehouse in the middle of the night.

And her first enemy turns into her boyfriend, who turns into her best friend, who turns into her first love.

Who, one day, turns into her husband.