A/N: I cannot thank everyone enough for the amazing reception I received for 'Relativity'. I'm utterly blown away – Thank you! I find that I can't stay away from these two, so here we go with the sequel. (Huge brownie points to fionafox81 for guessing the title of this one!)

Things are picking up right where we left off and I'm still going AU with Beth and Daryl but I'm hoping to tie them into what's been happening to everyone else. The plan is for this to be another three chapter story unto itself, with another story after that, turning the whole thing into a trilogy. Naturally, this is provided life doesn't get in the way! I do hope you like it!

Full disclosure - I know that there are several versions of Beth and Daryl take a bath, but I just couldn't help myself. So here is my version, thank you for indulging me!

"I want you to keep teaching me," Beth says as they get out of the truck they spent the night in. It's still very early morning and the sun hasn't come up yet. She can see a small star through the tree branches above.

Daryl looks at her. "You sure?"

She nods. "More than ever. Teach me all of it. Everything you can think of."

He looks away before nodding his head once. "How's the ankle?"

"Twingy, but I'm good," she says.

She doesn't want to stop and would like to put more distance between them and the funeral home. Her ankle may be sore, but it's better than it was, so she's happy to keep moving.

"Right. We're going to have to get you something you can sight with, but until we do." He hands her the crossbow. "After you, Ms. Greene."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Dixon," she says sliding past him. He doesn't edge away when she brushes past his side and she wonders if essentially clinging onto him the night before has removed some kind of wall between them.

Either way, it felt good to have him hold her last night.

Better than good.

Real nice, in fact.

If she moves her head slightly, she can still smell the scent of his skin that's soaked into her hair. It smells like oil and man and she likes it. A lot.

Probably too much.

She mentally shrugs her shoulders. Beth never had been one for half measures. When she's in, she's all in and this crush doesn't seem to be going anywhere, so she may as well enjoy what she can of it.

"Where are you taking us?" he asks edging up behind her as they start walking.

"Well, I'm trying to get us to those houses you mentioned," she says. "But I'm also trying to track down some food. We can't live off of grape jelly."

"All right then," he says. He stretches his arm so that it lightly touches her shoulder. "Head that way. The houses are just northeast of here."

Beth glances up at the sky and notices that it's getting lighter, but she can't see the sun.

"How do you know what direction we're going?" she asks as she starts to walk.

"Differences in the light," he says.

"But how?"

"Just do."

She shoots him a glare and he just smirks. "You'll learn," he says. "The more you do it. Keep going."

They head north-east, and only deviate when Beth spots small paw prints on the ground. She quietly tracks a rabbit and when she goes to hand him the crossbow back, he shakes his head.

"All you," he mouths. She frowns and turns back to the small creature a few feet away. She aims and hits the rabbit dead on.

"Ha!" she breathes. "Oh, wow."

"Good shot," he says. "Go get your dinner."

Beth walks over to the rabbit and asks, "Why does that feel better than killing a walker?"

"'Cause killing a walker ain't going to get you anything but messy," he says. He points at the rabbit. "That'll feed you."

"I guess." Beth looks own at the rabbit and pulls the arrow out as carefully as she can. "It feels…cleaner somehow."

He takes the rabbit from her and hangs it from his belt. "It is. It's also the rush you're feeling."

"The rush?" she asks thinking she knows what he's referring to. Her blood's simmering in her veins and she feels like running.

"Yeah," he says starting to grin. "You just spent time tracking something, hunting it, and now you've got it and it's yours. Killing a walker don't mean it's yours. That's just keeping death away from you."

"But that's keeping life with you?" Beth says glancing at the rabbit.

"Something like that, yeah," he says, looking away.

"So, its life that making me want to smile and dance around after getting that?" she asks, grinning.

"Naw," he says grinning back. "That's just you being a crazy girl."

Beth just beams at him and he shakes his head. "Try for a squirrel, now. They're tricky little things."

It takes Beth far too long for her liking to get the arrow in place, but she waves Daryl off when he moves to help her.

"Stubborn," he mutters.

"It's a family trait," she says tightly, her arms straining to pull the bow back. She gets it in place but when she looks up, Daryl looks disgusted.

"Got to get you something easier to use, girl," he says. He shakes his head. "Come on."

It takes her another hour, but she manages to wing a squirrel and she lets herself do a little shimmy. Daryl snorts and she just elbows his side.

They're coming up on the neighbourhood that he spotted the day before and she hands his crossbow back to him as they approach the houses. She goes quiet like he does and she hopes they only run into walkers and not people.

And isn't that a sad commentary on life, she thinks. But watching those walkers descend on the funeral home is still too fresh in her mind.

She keeps close to Daryl as he edges around the first house on the end of the street. They're being stealthy and hardly making a sound and she starts to feel that simmering in her veins again. She bites down on her lip, but can't seem to hold it in.

He glances back and her and stops to ask, "What?"

"What what?" she asks softly.

"You're grinning."

"I am?"

He nods.

"Oh." She turns the corners of her mouth down. "That better?"

"No," he says. "You're still grinning."

"I can't help it."

"Try," he says fiercely. "This ain't no party."

"I know!" she says, clenching her hands into fist to hold in her shivers. "I know that! I don't know why I'm all het up. Maybe it's all the sugar from the jelly?"

"It's 'cause you've gotten a taste for hunting and you're liking the thrill." He makes a face. "Shoulda known you'd be a junkie for this stuff."

"Me?" she asks, eyes going wide. "Why me?"

"Who was it that wanted to burn down a house?" he counters.

Beth pauses. "I see your point." She tries to be serious, but another grin comes through.

"Jesus," he says though without any heat. "Come on and stay quiet."

It's addictive, this 'on edge' feeling and she reckons this is why some people jump out of planes. She's not used to enjoying this kind of anticipation of something happening but she kind of likes it.

She questions whether or not she ought to worry about liking it.

He eyes the street they've come across and Beth wonders who'd lived in these houses. They're fairly big and have nice wraparound porches with large trees dotted about. Daryl steps up onto the porch of one of the closest house, Beth right behind him.

The door is closed, but unlocked. He slips inside and Beth follows. They both pause to listen and he nods at her. She pulls her knife from her belt and they go through the house, room by room. They don't find a single person inside, but things are thrown about so it must have been looted at some point.

"It'll do for tonight," he says when they stop in what must be the master bedroom. "But I don't want to stay here too long."

"What are we going to do?" Beth asks looking through the chest of drawers for another set of clothes. Her jeans are sticking to her in the worst way and she really want another pair of underwear. "I still don't think we're the only ones who made it, you know."

"I know," he says looking through the closet and grabbing a pair of pants and a flannel shirt. "I don't know where to start, though."

Beth pauses and looks out the window. "We need a map. I want to know where we are. There was a study downstairs?"

"Yeah," he mutters.

Beth grabs the clothes she's found, knowing they may be looser than she'd like and heads downstairs to the study.

It's the one room that looks like it hasn't been completely tossed. She stares at the bookcase, noting all the shiny hardback covers and wonders if the owners ever actually read the books or just bought them because they look nice. The desk is a mess of papers and old checkbooks, but in one of the drawers, she finds a Rand McNally road map of Georgia with nary a crease on it.

"Ha!" she says. "Knew it."

"Find one?" Daryl asks coming into the room.

"Yep." She opens it and spreads it on the desk. Her eyes immediately find her hometown and she presses a finger on it. Then she moves her finger across the map in the direction they'd headed after leaving the farm. She frowns when she can't quite make out where the prison was located.

"Where was the prison?" she asks Daryl who's come up right behind her.

He jabs at a spot on a county road. "Thereabouts. We've been going north, northeast since we left it."

"Okay," she says. She studies the map, then points. "Looks like there's a railroad track nearby. Do you think folks might have gone towards that?"

"I wouldn't've."

She gives him a look. "Pretend for a second that you aren't Daryl Dixon, Tracker and Wildman Extraordinaire – where would you go?"

He sighs. "Probably towards the tracks. They'll lead somewhere, but keep you on the edge of towns."

"Maybe that's where we should start?" she asks.

"Maybe." He's frowning and studying the map intently.

"We need a highlighter," she says rifling in the desk. "To mark where we're going."

She can't find one and decides to try the kitchen. After finding one in a drawer that held mostly junk, Beth peeks through the back door. She sucks in a breath when she spots something.

"No way," she says under her breath.

She opens the door and looks around before stepping onto the deck. Then she eyes the covered hot tub in front of her.

The stiff plastic cover looks like it hasn't been moved in some time, but she's hesitant to just lift it off. She turns to go get Daryl and runs right into him.

"Jesus!" she gasps, her hands grabbing at his vest to keep herself upright.

"Looks like your next tracking lesson is going be on hearing better," he says, his hands cupping her elbows. He nods at the hot tub. "You want a bath?"

"Thinking about it," she says, taking a step back. "My hair needs washing." She smirks at him. "Your hair needs washing."

He runs a hand over his head and says, "What're you talking about? This is redneck chic, right here."

Beth snickers. "Don't mean it couldn't stand a rinse. Or five."

She turns back to the hot tub and feels him take point just by her shoulder as she starts to lift up the cover. It's heavy, but there's nothing in the tub except water and she breathes a sigh of relief as she moves the cover as silently as she can.

After staring at the clean water for a second, she dips her hand in. "Not bad. Kinda cool."

"Well, go on, if you're gonna," he says turning his back and looking out over the backyard.

"Awesome," she says happily. "I'll be right back."

She goes into the house and back up to the master bath. She grabs towels, bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and a brush. She feels a pang of wrongness at using someone else's brush. It feels terribly intimate and she can only hope that the owner would understand.

Beth practically pulls her boots off before she's back on the deck and the rest of her clothes follow. Daryl makes some kind of noise, but he's not looking her way.

"You're next," she says stripping down to her bra and underwear.

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters. "Get on with your bath."

She steps into the tub and cringes. "Cooler than I thought."

"Stop whining and get on with it," is the reply.

Beth takes a deep breath and sinks below the surface of the water. It feels glorious. She emerges and immediately starts scrubbing at her arms with the bar of soap. She checks her ankle and while it's still bruised, it doesn't feel too bad. She soaps up and rinses off twice. Then she goes to take her hair down. But when she pulls on her hair band, it barely moves.

"Oh, crap," she mutters, tugging at the band, but it's firmly entangled in her wet, knotty hair.

"Problem?" Daryl asks, from where he's standing watch.

"Sort of," she says, still trying to get her hair out of the elastic. She drops her hands when she realizes it's not budging. She eyes Daryl's back and knows she doesn't really have a choice. Not unless she wants to walk around with a rat's nest for hair for the rest of her life. "Don't suppose you could do me a favor?"

"I ain't doing your nails," he says not looking over at her.

"Funny. Could you come here and cut this elastic out of my hair?" she asks.

She watches his shoulders tense and regrets asking. The last thing she wants to do to Daryl is make him uncomfortable and that's precisely what she's done.

"Or, just hand me my knife and I can do it. Probably," she adds, feeling the knots around the hairband.

"Nah, I got it," he says turning around.

She catches sight of his eyes, blue and clear, before she turns her back and points at the band. "Just cut it. I can find another one."

His footsteps seem loud on the deck as he approaches her and she breaks out into goosebumps that are only partially a result of the cool water. She hears him crouch down behind her and take out his knife, the rasp of the metal against the leather case sending shivers down her spine. Shivers of something she's not sure she wants to really name even in her own head.

"Lean back a bit," he murmurs and she leans against the side of the tub.

His hand settles just under her ponytail, his palm cradling the back of her head perfectly. Too perfectly. Like it's meant to be there or something and Beth finds she's lost the capacity to breathe.

There's a sharp tug and then her hair's falling in waves onto her shoulders. She sighs at the familiar feel of it and gets her breath back.

She turns to thank him, but he's already back at his spot on the edge of the deck, his back to her.

"Thank you," she calls to him anyway, as she pushes into the water and wets her hair.

"Yeah," he mutters. "Sure."

She washes her hair three times and then loads it with nearly half the bottle of conditioner. She rinses as best she can and then gets out of the tub. She dries off, quickly changes her old underwear for the new pair, and pulls on the jeans and the shirt.

"Your turn," she says cheerfully, trying real hard to cover up the fact that her blood's started to simmer again, but it's not because of adrenaline. Or well, it is because of adrenaline, but not the hunting kind of adrenaline. It's Daryl Dixon-induced adrenaline and its making life very complicated in her opinion.

He turns and doesn't quite meet her eyes; just shoves the crossbow at her and starts to unbutton his shirt.

Beth sits down on the steps to the deck and sets the crossbow down next to her. She starts to brush out her hair, beginning at the tips and working up like her mama taught her.

She hears a curse behind her as he gets into the tub.

"Going to smell like a garden," he says grumpily.

"Produce section," Beth calls over her shoulder as she works on a particularly tricky knot of hair.

"What?" he says, voice muffled as he washes his face.

"You're going to smell like the produce section," she repeats. "The shampoo has cucumber and pear in it."

"Jesus," he mutters. It goes quiet behind her and she figures he's slipped below the surface.

There's a rustle in the bushes a few feet away and Beth drops her brush and pulls up the crossbow. Two walkers stagger out and Beth takes aim. She drops one of them with an arrow to the eye. She grabs her knife and is down the stairs so fast she doesn't even remember going down them and grips the walker's neck, and then she rams the knife up and into the brain.

The walker crumbles to the ground and Beth stands over it, her knife still in her hand. She grimaces at the gore on her once clean skin and turns to say something to Daryl.

She freezes.

He's standing straight up, still in the tub, naked with only a pair of clinging boxers on. He's tan and his stomach is flat and his arms are just…God.

His hair is swept off his face and she's not sure if she's ever had such a clear view of his eyes before. Said eyes are just staring at her, all intense and steady. And the look is back in his eyes. The one from the night before. The one that says he sees her. All of her. And that he likes what he sees.

Good God, almighty, she thinks absently looking back at him, feeling a mixture of pride in her kills, lust (oh, looks like she's naming that feeling after all), and like she's some kind of prey in his sights. This is no crush and I'm in so much trouble here.