After a good night's sleep, I can't help but think some progress has been made. I know he didn't have to mention his mother just because I did, but I'm glad he did. Maybe he will realize we aren't so different after all.

No matter his distance, my hand still burns from his reluctant grip - I feel it the moment my eyes open. I roll around in bed until I accept I'm awake for good. I replay the night over and over until I can't stop myself from pulling my notebook out, empty pages beckoning me. I pull out a pen and let it write for me:

No I've never seen the sky,

as vanilla as tonight,

and it's here I hold you close,

when I finally close my eyes.

And it never fails:

the sun comes up, the story dies,

and I don't know why.

By the time I leave The Songbird the following day without a text from the elusive Daryl Dixon, I try not to acknowledge the pang of disappointment in my chest.

I head home without turning the radio on. In the cool midnight air, I miss Daryl's unnatural radiating heat. Who would have thought? I shouldn't be missing anything about him at all. It doesn't stop me from feeling cold the whole way home.

I open the door to darkness. My dad must be sleeping. I forgot how empty my real life is...and when did I start feeling like a stranger in my own home?

I strip out of my clothes the second my bedroom door closes. I pull on an old hoodie and leggings, yawning as I turn on my small TV. From my pocket on the floor I hear the buzz of my cell phone. The buzz is relentless, and I dive for the floor realizing it's a call.

My stomach flips at Daryl's name.

"Hello?"

"You sleepin'?" I bite my tongue from making a smart remark.

"No, I just got home from work." There is a pause at the end of the line.

"I'm outside. You got a second?" The rush of adrenaline at his words spills through me.

"Yeah. I'll be right out." I take a deep breath before I head back downstairs, careful not to disrupt the quiet layer that has settled around me. My purse catches on the stair banister, and I swear softly at the loud creak it causes.

When I step outside, it's pitch black, save for the stars. I hop into his truck, rubbing my hands together.

"Hi." I greet him.

"Hi." He returns, with pointedly less enthusiasm. I pause, giving him a chance to explain our midnight meeting. Slowly, he backs onto the road, finally turning on his headlights after we pass the line of my father's farm.

"Rick. How did ya say you know him?" Daryl asks, eying me from the drivers seat.

Oh. I guess it's a business meeting, then. "He has a young daughter, and I used to babysit for him and his ex-wife. He's called me a few times to help out since he's been on his own."

"Ex?"

"Yeah...he's been divorced for a year."

"Just got the daughter?"

"No, he has a son...young teen."

"He a dirty cop?" I do a double take at his brashness.

"No. Not Rick. Not ever." I watch him nod slowly to himself as my vision narrows on him.

"Want to let me in on what's happening?" I ask.

"I spoke to him today; just figured I would run a record check on him. Keep things even." He keeps a smooth outline to his mouth, but it seems pinched.

After a beat I feel my eyes squint, "What did he want to talk to you about?"

He looks over at me, weighing the air between us.

"He's got a job for me," he starts, "it ain't totally a choice." For some reason, I can't get my head around the thought of Rick offering Daryl a job.

"Doing what?" I ask.

Daryl sucks the air in between his tight-set teeth.

"Your boss is a real piece of work, ya know that?" I feel my face scrunch at his transition.

"Joe? What does he have to do with this?"

"He's in the process of shipping heroin - a lot of it - and Rick knows. I don't know how, but he knows." It's possible his answer confuses me more. I'm grateful when he takes a deep breath and continues.

"Thanks to some petty shit I did a few months back, Rick pulled me in. Wants me to be his eyes and ears or the like."

"Some petty shit?" I ask. A shadow falls on his face.

"I had an outstanding warrant. Now I don't. If I want to save Merle from going down, I do what the sheriff says. No questions asked." I desperately want to ask him what exactly the warrant was for, but I decide not to press my luck.

I let the information settle around me as I realize we are pulling into a motel. He parks, and jumps out, cigarette at the ready. I join him outside, shivering in the cold air.

As he sucks against the cigarette, his eyes narrow on me. I rub my arms self-consciously under his gaze. I feel underdressed in my hoodie.

"What?" I ask.

After a beat he shifts his gaze, "You look better without all that shit on your face." I feel my jaw slack.

"Thanks." I snap, without a hint of gratitude. Guess he didn't like the red lips as much as I did.

I look around, the empty parking lot is lit just enough by a struggling lamppost. Daryl snuffs his cigarette into the pavement and heads to a door, unlocking it with click that echoes in the still midnight air.

I follow him inside, and pause on the welcome mat. Unlike his last room, this place has a single bed.

"Your brother isn't staying with you?" I ask conversationally as I slip out of my shoes. He tilts his head towards me, watching me, before he answers.

"He ain't." He confirms, hair falling back in front of his eyes. I look around the room as Daryl pulls a beer out of a box by the foot of his bed.

"Thirsty?" He asks.

"Sure." He tosses me a bottle opener, and I help myself to his self-made mini bar. As I take a sip, I watch him. He toes himself out of his boots, and settles back into the lone chair of the room.

A question suddenly breaks into my thoughts; why did he bring me here? I look around for a second, and then at the beers in our hands before I realize the answer; Daryl wants someone to hang out with.

A smile forms on my lips as the thought solidifies in my mind. Daryl wants someone to talk to, and he chose me. I clear my throat to break the smug look I've surely adopted.

"Did Rick tell you what you'll have to do?"

"Enough, I suppose." Daryl shrugs.

"This mean you're undercover?" I ask, my smile returning.

"No more than I have been since you came along." He takes a long drink and his honesty stalls me.

"You and me both." I remind him, my tone lighter than I think it will be.

He sits back further in his seat.

"He didn't waste too much time asking why you were slummin' it with the likes of me, either." He says, as if we were in the middle of a very different conversation.

I feel my eyes widen. There is a hint of indignation in his voice.

"What did you say?" I ask, curious to know.

"The truth. The real truth," he shifts, "that I thought I was helpin' when I told Joe you were with me." He pauses.

"That I didn't realize what I was signing us up for."

I don't know what shocks me more. The fact that he's thought this much about it, or the fact that he's telling me. I push myself back on the bed, so that I can lean against the wall.

He eyes his bottle, and I see his face settle into a line.

"It hasn't been all bad, has it?" I ask, and I hate how small my voice sounds despite my forced smile.

Daryl affords me a glance through a shift in his eyes.

For a second I think he might ignore me.

"Nah." He shaves the ice off his answer with a half-smile, downing the rest of his beer. I feel a tight pull of heat in my chest, and I shift against the wall.

"Gotta piss." He announces, heading for the bathroom. I stare at the empty space he leaves behind.

My mind wanders in the silence to our last night together. The imprint from his hand in mine feels like a ghost.

I fight a yawn as Daryl comes out of the bathroom, grabbing a new beer from the ghetto mini bar.

He falls back into the chair, and glances at my deflating form.

"You ain't falling asleep, are ya?" I feel my eyes snap to him.

"Some of us need our beauty sleep." I smile sweetly in his direction and his eyes flicker over me, but he doesn't speak.

I reach over to grab the remote, and with the press of a button the electricity snaps through the air.

"Any good channels here?" I ask.

"I ain't much for T.V." I stifle a sigh of exasperation, and start flipping through the channels despite his lack of enthusiasm.

After a few news channels a familiar sight fills the screen. "Ooh, this is a good one." He is sitting beside the television, and has to lean forward to see.

"What the hell is this?" He asks, immediately lounging back in his seat.

"Grease! Haven't you ever seen it?" I can't keep the surprise out of my voice, despite my rapidly fading energy.

"Nah, must'a missed that one." His tone dips, but I make myself comfortable by leaning on my arm.

Beauty school drop out begins, and Daryl fingers the edge on the chair arm.

"You work tomorrow?" He asks.

"Yeah," I fight another yawn, "it's a day shift." He nods silently and my eyes float back to the screen.

I feel his eyes on me, another question on his lips, but he's silent. The pull of sleep begins to weigh on me and I try to fight against it.

I nod off almost immediately.

I think I make it a few more minutes before a blur of poodle skirts and leather sends me into darkness.

When my eyes open, I recognize nothing. I sit upright, fear throttling through my spine.

Daryl is asleep in his chair. He has moved it more directly in front of the door, and I can see daylight streaming through the window.

Dread fills me, and I reach for my cell. It's dead, naturally.

I get off of the bed and look for Daryl's phone. It's plugged into the wall, and I open it quickly - 8:23 a.m. Eight missed calls from Merle. I put the phone down and clear my throat loudly.

Daryl wakes, and looks over.

"My dad is going to kill me." I blurt. Daryl's face is expressionless as he shrugs.

"You're safe, ain't ya?" He grumbles, his voice a throaty bass.

What does safe have to do with it? Suddenly Daryl's chair seems more like a guard at the door, his tone just a bit too nonchalant, and I feel the hair rise on the back of my neck.

"Why wouldn't I be safe?" I half expect him to brush it off, but his eyes flicker darkly over me. There is a silence that settles around us.

Finally, he shifts and his voice fills the room.

"Meant what I said 'bout Joe. Something ain't right about him."

"Yeah, I know. He's this awful crime lord, I was there when he threatened me, remember? What does that have to do with you kidnapping me for the night?" He stands out of his chair at that.

"What did ya' just say to me?" He moves in my direction.

"Isn't that what this is?" I ask motioning to his chair. "Did you just think you could bring me here every night?"

"You're damn fucking right. Tonight, tomorrow night, and every other night until Joe and his sick crew are behind bars." He tries to keep the volume out of his voice, but I step back just the same.

"It ain't up to you to decide when I'm safe." The concern leaves Daryl's face at my words.

"You made it up to me! Hiding from your crooked boss and his fucking goons made it up to me." He grabs my arm, and I suddenly feel my size.

"You didn't have to lie for me! I didn't ask for your help. Why did you bother saying anything at all?" I shout back. He looks away from me, and I pull my arm out of his grip.

"Why?" I ask again. His eyes are burning on me, and I think I might actually burst into flames.

He takes a breath, about to answer, and I know he won't. He always seems to filter out the very thing that needs to come through. I think I know why. With a surge of confidence, I close the space between us and press my lips against his.

Oh boy.

Oh no.

At first he is frozen against me. Actually, I might be the one who is frozen. I can feel the electric weight and pressure of his lips against mine for a split second before I'm pushed away with incredible force.

Stumbling back, my fingers snap to my mouth - as if they can put out the fire that has erupted.

Daryl looks me dead in the eyes. Furious? Excited? Conflicted? Maybe all of the above? I am frozen in place, wide eyed and shaking - he doesn't break his cemented outline.

"I'm sorry." I blurt out, and his hands are running through his hair.

"Sorry?" He echoes. "You make a habit of coming on to guys twice your age?" I sense the question is rhetorical, and my eyes fall to the floor, mouth falling into a straight line.

"What are you thinking, girl?" My eyes find his, but I am unable to answer.

"I ain't the person you think I am." He answers, to an argument I didn't make. I feel my blood boil.

"Who do you think you are? Who is it that you think I see?" I say, breaking my silence and stepping towards him. I don't give him a chance to answer.

"Because I think someone who risks everything for me, who protects me, lies for me, who is willing to kidnap me," I continue, gesturing around the room, "that person can only be one thing." I stand as tall as I can in front of him.

"Yeah, what's that?" He spits back.

"Good."

As I answer, I take his hand in mine. He nearly flinches out of my grasp, but I hold my own.

"Why are you so determined to hide it?" I ask. He doesn't try to avoid my eye line, and I beg the universe to make him understand.

He takes a breath and begins to answer, "Listen, you -" and we are interrupted by the buzzing of his cell phone.

AN: Beth's poem is I Believe in You by Tyler Hilton.

Like/ Dislike? Finally starting to unravel into the sexual tension…let me know what you think 3