Author's Note: So I thought this was going to turn out a little bit darker than my usual, but it actually turned out a little bit sweeter. Huh. Clearly I am completely ignoring the "Beth Kidnapped" storyline here, because I can't handle the hiatus if I think on it too much. I love making up a back story for Beth, and I was totally a little girl who was sweet on the outside but a little preoccupied with the creepy on the inside - which is what inspired this idea. PLEASE REVIEW it means the world to me!

Anatomically Correct

The world has made her a little morbid. Well, maybe she always was. She could never smother that darker part of her mind – the one that urged her to visit the graveyard at night, the one that that pushed her to peer inside the coffin at every funeral she attended as a kid. Death had fascinated her, but Death had always kept its distance. Like it could sense that if it got too close, she would lose her innocence entirely.

She had been blessed with sunshine and loveliness and a mother who brushed her hair every night before bed. She could handle blood because her daddy could, and she liked to help him with the animals he cared for. Sometimes, after losing a furry patient, Beth would sit on the porch of her home with him, a small hand on his forearm. They didn't talk, but that's when she learned a simple lesson – blood and death and ghosts weren't interesting. They were hard and sad. They made her daddy stare out at the fields for too long; they made Sean and Maggie miss their momma sometimes. And she grew to hate the voice in her head, whispering from the darkness – but isn't this fun, Beth?

And then, after a decade of laughter and iced tea, Death once again noticed Beth Greene. It saw how pretty she was, how kind she was, and got envious. She had grown up too good. So it took everything from her, choking her life in its grip. She lost everything. And that little girl staring out into the night, sitting in a rocking chair next to a kind-hearted old man, was nothing but a memory.

...

Things were different now. She had shot through living flesh; she had stabbed through enough half-rotted skulls that the shock of it had diminished. Death walked alongside her daily, like a child eager for attention – Beth, I'm right here! Beth, come and play! She had indulged it once, slicing through the fragile skin of her wrist, answering the voice for the first time in her young life –

Hello there.

But the darkness hadn't been as welcoming as she had anticipated. Death was greedy and terrible, and with blood covering her hands she could see that now.

She didn't want to die.

...

And with that knowledge, she had tried to ignore the voices of her demons. She was sweet and she was good and she wasn't afraid to hope anymore. She would stare down the horrid faces of the dead every day and she would survive. Even with the death of her beloved father, she refused to let the ugliness swallow her. She would cry, but she would keep on moving.

She hadn't counted on a shadow tugging her along on her journey – a man drenched in the darkness she had done everything she could to stay away from. She couldn't help but be a little angry at him. How could Daryl Dixon threaten to drag her down again? But she knew she couldn't blame him. The clouds would part briefly and she would lace her fingers with his and quite suddenly she would see the goodness of his soul. And it made her determined to save him – to wrap her arms around him and will him the forgiveness he so desperately needed. It made her determined to remind him of good people and beautiful things.

When her efforts pay off, she notices it slowly. He's staring too long during their meager supper, she's waking up to an arm slung across her waist, and he's laughing under his breath at something silly she said. She'd only confronted it head on once – with a simple "oh" and a smile, but inside she had been joyous. Beth Greene, expert on darkness and light, knew what side was winning. And she was determined to stand on the front lines, brandishing the best weapon she had – love, how cheesy – in defense of Daryl Dixon's soul for as long as she was breathing.

...

It's hard to be in love when you've got Death hiding around every corner, Beth thinks. The loving words come out twisted, maybe strange if you didn't know the girl saying them. She comforts herself by thinking "Well, at least I'm better at talking than Daryl."He was all silence and gestures that she had long since learned to translate. A hand on her hip when he was feeling protective. A kiss on her neck always stood for apologies and gratitude. And Beth said just right could mean any number of positive things.

But Beth Greene liked words, and she was always trying to tell him just how much she loved him. They had been together two years now – reunited with their family, finally finding a safe haven – and she still couldn't get it right.

...

They are lying in their cozy bedroom, her cheek pressed to his bare chest, his hand dancing along her spine.

"You know that phrase 'You're beautiful inside and out'?"

She can feel him nod his head slightly, the muscles in his neck moving against her hairline.

"Well, I was just thinking that I never found that to be true, as a rule. I mean, literally true. But," she bites her lip, trying her best to phrase this in a way that he will accept. "I think that you must be."

Her heads tilting up, eyes finding his in the darkness, and she can tell he's wondering where the hell she's going with this.

"I have a theory that your tendons and bones are probably just as great as the rest of you. Like you are the exception to my rule. You know? Not that I ever want to know what your bones look like, obviously...because that would be very sad…I don't mean that I want you to die or anything… Oh god, I'm completely ruining this again, aren't I?"

She's got her hands covering both her eyes, too afraid to see another very Daryl reaction to the strange, slightly creepy things coming out of her mouth. But he's silent and her curiosity is dangerous, so Beth pries her fingers open just slightly.

Daryl is staring at her intently, trying very hard not to laugh. She can feel the blush rising in her cheeks because who on earth is this incapable of expressing a basic emotion in words.

"You weren't the kinda girl who drew cutesy little hearts on her papers, were ya?" He asks, still smothering a grin.

For once, she doesn't know where he's going, so she nods her head in agreement.

"Nah, you were drawin' 'em the way they really looked, like from one of your daddy's medical books. All blood and guts, huh?"

"Anatomically correct," she can't help but supply as he laughs, her face burning even more.

"Anatomically correct," he repeats, still chuckling as he brings his mouth to hers. And she's swallowing his laughter, hand curling around the base of his neck, tugging on his long hair. As his lips make their way down to her collar bone, she can't help but grin.

Yeah, the world has made them a little morbid.