Both Eyes Open - Daryl Dixon (under editing)

Real Men Cry.

"Okay, I'll start. I've never shot a crossbow. So now you drink." Beth said in an oddly chirpy voice, gesturing her head to the glass that lay in front of Daryl.

"Ain't much of a game." He mused.

Beth shook her head, quickly saying, "That was a warm-up. Now you go."

Daryl sat there on the floor quietly for a moment, his back propped up against the side of an old recliner. He shook his head and grumbled,

" I don't know."

"Just say the first thing that pops into your head." Beth explained.

He gave it a moments thought, before eyeing her, shrugging and saying, "I've never been out of Georgia."

Beth raised her eyebrows, seemingly astonished, "Really? Okay, good one." She took a small drink before speaking again.

"I've never... been drunk and did something I regretted." She said with a ghost of a smirk on her face, knowing she had got him with this one.

Daryl chuckled lifting the glass up to his lips,

"I've done a lot of things." He mumbled before sipping.

She shuffled on her legs, looking at Daryl with a small friendly smile, "Your turn."

His eyes wandered the table, before he suggested, "I've never been on vacation."

"What about camping?" Beth asked, tilting her head.

"No-" he shook his head abruptly, "-that was just something I had to learn to hunt."

"Your dad teach you?" She asked, earning a quiet, "Mm-hmm." For a response.

"Okay. I've never... been in jail. I mean, as a prisoner." She rambled.

Daryl tensed up and squinted at her.

"Is that what you think of me?" He asked in a low, serious tone.

"I didn't mean anything serious. I just thought, you know, like the drunk tank." Beth stumbled over her words carefully, adding, "Even my dad got locked up for that back in the day."

Daryl pointed at her glass,

"Drink up."

"Wait. Prison guard. Were you a prison guard before?" Beth inquired curiously.

Daryl stared blankly at her,

"No."

Beth slumped back, trying to figure out what to say to get past the awkward atmosphere in the room,

"It's your turn again."

Daryl rose to his feet, glass jar in hand,

"I'm gonna take a piss." He said, walking away from her, further into the abandoned shack of a house. He purposefully dropped the jar, ignoring its shatter, as he headed to the back wall.

"You have to be quiet." Beth whispered harshly.

"Can't hear you! I'm taking a piss!" Daryl yelled over his shoulder, unzipping his fly.

"Daryl, don't talk so loud!" She scolded in a frantic panic.

"What, are you my chaperone now?" He asked sarcastically, throwing her a cold glare over his shoulder, before finishing and zipping up again.

"Oh, wait. It's my turn, right?" He said, stepping forward cockily,

"I've never-- never eaten frozen yogurt. Never had a pet pony. Never got nothing from Santa Claus. Never relied on anyone for protection before." He spat at her condescendingly. "Hell, I don't think I've ever relied on anyone for anything."