Nature, Nurture, Heaven and Home - devils_might_heed_us (2024)

Chapter 1: so you would, so you would say

Chapter Text

Reality returned as a slow thing, like falling into a pool and not knowing which way was up until you saw bubbles rising. Their first few weeks inside Aspen Pointe passed in a blur; Beth mostly slept and nursed her newborns and it wasn't until later that she began to feel like she could think again. Daryl kept to their rooms as well. While he couldn't feed the babies, he did change and soothe them, which gave her time to rest, time for her body to restore the blood she had lost during the delivery.

But he was restless. He paced through the bedroom and he paced through the living room and he paced through both of them at once, which, while helpful in soothing the babies, set Beth's teeth on edge. Like an indoor cat watching the outside world, he stared at the garden beyond their doors, fingers twitching as a baby howled in his arms.

She suspected Daryl felt as if he couldn't leave her alone. Beth wasn't sure she was ready to be left alone, since doing anything more strenuous than lifting one of the twins made her feel faint. But they were on top of each other in a way they hadn't been on the road, inside the other's skin and with two squalling infants there was no time to think, no time to rest; they fell exhausted into bed at strange times and Beth couldn't recall being this sleep-deprived, not even in those awful first days after the prison fell when they ran through terrified, sleepless nights.

The first rising bubble was a knock on the door.

It was morning, and she was in bed, tensing her muscles in isometric exercise because she was still too weak for regular exercise besides walking. Daryl was in the living room with the twins while she was supposed to be resting. When the knock came, Beth decided it was time for her to get out of bed and start moving, so she stood on shaking legs to stump to the door.

Daryl met her halfway, Anne draped over his shoulder, the expression on his face asking her what the hell she was doing.

"I'm tired of feelin' like a bedridden old lady," Beth said.

"Alright," Daryl said and he walked back to the couch, but his eyes followed her.

Beth expected the person at the door to be Celine or Schmidt. At least one of them, but usually both, visited her daily to check in, drop off tea and meals, and see how the newest additions to the world were fairing. She'd developed a casual rapport with the midwife, and the beginnings of a genial intergenerational friendship with the elderly Schmidt. She still hadn't met Norman and Beth didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

But the person was not Celine. Instead, Beth opened the door to find a young woman a little older than she was, with wide-set eyes that made her look like a doll and a short crop of tightly coiled hair.

"Um, hi," she started, then cleared her throat, "I'm Valerie. Schmidt said you probably wouldn't mind meeting us now that you've had some time to settle in. So, I thought I'd come and say hi."

"Oh, I'm sorry… I thought you were Celine. I woulda put on pants…" Beth had been wearing the same rose-sprigged nightgown for a week straight and felt embarrassed by that fact.

"You just had twins, you get a pants pass." Valerie smiled.

"Would you like to come in?" Even now, Beth couldn't let hospitality fall by the wayside.

"Thank you! I won't stay long, just wanted to meet y'all."

Beth stepped aside and gestured Valerie in.

"That's Daryl," Beth said. "And Clara and Anne."

"I mean this in the most caring way, but you both look exhausted," Valerie said, keeping pace with Beth on the way to the living room. "Please come out and start getting to know us. There's fifty-some people out there who'd be more than happy to fuss over some babies for a while."

"Thank you," Beth said without really meaning it.

The thought of letting either of her girls out of her sight made her chest go all funny.

"I'm down in 24B, if you ever need me, by the way. Me and my sister," Valerie said.

Beth nodded her thanks and gestured for Valerie to sit in the armchair while she lowered herself next to Daryl on the couch, her arms shaking. Clara grunted, starting to fuss, and Beth picked up the baby from her wicker basket to rock, hoping to quiet the baby before she broke into a full-throated crying jag.

"I think… you're very brave," Valerie said.

Her gaze lingered on Clara.

"I wouldn't say that," Beth said.

"Yeah." Valerie cleared her throat again. "I know. But I'm glad you're here. Glad there's people here who get it."

Daryl shifted beside her and Beth looked over at him. She watched his eyes rise to lock on Valerie's. The woman offered up a crooked smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling. While the baby settled, Beth adjusted the sleeve of her nightgown, which had slipped dangerously low off her shoulder. What had just passed between Daryl and Valerie?

"We get it," Daryl said.

Valerie leaned back in the chair and her fingers tapped in succession along the arm. She briefly turned her head to look out the sliding door at the newly leafed trees.

"Spring's a beautiful season, isn't it? Good time for new beginnings. Well, like I said, I'm just down the hall, 24B. Stop by anytime, you hear?"

"Of course," Beth said.

Valerie insisted on seeing herself out. When the door had shut, Beth turned to Daryl, who'd since gotten up to stare out the sliding door. His fingers tapped against his pants in that anxious way, tiny pits sounding with each tap. After settling the now quiet Clara back in her basket next to Anne, she pushed herself up from the couch, coming up to Daryl's tense back.

"What was that?"

"It's not important," Daryl said.

"Is it?"

"Leave it," Daryl said.

"If it's important, I need to know! I don't wanna be left in the dark—"

"You'll know. Later. Jesus." Daryl stepped away from her to begin pacing. "Almost lost you; just rest. Lemme worry about things. Just for a while."

Taken aback, Beth said, "We're stronger together, you know that. Whatever this is, just tell me, please?"

"Beth, you near died! For a second I thought you had and my f*ckin' gut fell outta my ass, alright? I got this—for now—and you'll know once you're good… when I don't have to serve as your goddamn guide dog to the sh*tter."

Her heart stuttered as Daryl spoke; Beth knew the delivery had been harrowing and dangerous, but she hadn't considered how witnessing it affected him until that moment. She had been in a haze between her recovery and taking care of her newborn daughters, putting her slip into death's embrace out of her mind because she didn't have the capacity to confront it. Even so, she wasn't going to let a misguided attempt at protection make her vulnerable again, though she didn't think that's what Daryl was doing, exactly.

"I'm holdin' you to that. I'm done bein' kept in the dark because I'm too weak. It's never done me a lick of good, so I'm done."

Coming back from the far side of the postage-stamp living room, Daryl clapped his hand on her shoulder, saying, "Ain't gonna be like that, trust me."

"I do," Beth said, dipping her head slightly to brush her cheek against the back of Daryl's hand.

He looked down at her, eyes hard to see under an overgrown fringe, but he lifted his hand to cup her cheek in his warm palm, thumb brushing along her flushed skin. Beth lifted her head, parting her lips, her eyes wide as Daryl drew closer. The set of his face made her heart race.

A sharp cry rang out and they both jerked back, heads snapping towards the wicker baskets. Daryl's hand slipped from her face and Beth fiddled with a loose bit of hair before going over and checking on the girls. Anne needed a fresh diaper and Clara cried because her sister cried. And so, the moment having slipped away, Beth took care of Anne while Daryl soothed Clara.

That night, in the wee hours of the morning when Beth nursed Anne, and Daryl, having woken up when she did, stared at the ceiling, Beth said, "Tomorrow I think I will take the babies and visit Valerie. Been holed up in here. A change'll do me good."

"Alright," Daryl said. "Think she's good people."

After pulling up the front of her nightgown, Beth settled Anne again in her dresser drawer bassinet. She sunk into the mattress, feeling as if it were pulling her in towards the center of the earth. Valerie had seemed friendly enough, if rather mysterious.

She suddenly sank to the left when Daryl pulled himself up on his elbow to look down at her. While the room was dark, with barely any light filtering through a cloudy predawn sky, Beth didn't need to see to notice the tension cording Daryl's arm; she felt it. Reaching out, Beth put her hand over his forearm, fingers brushing along the bandages covering his still-healing burns.

"You were gone kiss me earlier, weren't you?" he said in a very quiet voice.

"I wanted to," Beth admitted. "But I'm glad I didn't."

In the heavy silence, Beth realized she misspoke.

"Not because I thought I'd regret it… I… I don't want to push anything on you that you don't want."

"Thought you got it. Back in the mountains."

"I thought so too… but I—"

The brush of a scraggly beard came tickling across her skin and then his lips were on hers, a hand coming up to cup her face like it had hours ago. Heat flooded across her skin and Beth was so surprised it took her a moment to return the kiss. Her heart pounded because she'd never had a kiss like this, a kiss with someone she'd raze the earth for—because she would. She'd rip the very stones of mountains apart if it meant Daryl would be with her always. It was like her soul opened, taking something inside it she could never give back and maybe she gave up something of herself as well.

He pulled back, leaving his hand where it rested against her skin, but she pulled it away, curling the thick fingers up and pressing them to her lips.

"Whatever Aspen Pointe turns out to be," she murmured into his fingers, "it'll be you an' me, back to back against the world, right?"

The hand turned in hers, a thumb coming up to brush across her lips.

"As long as you want it," Daryl said.

Later, when Beth woke again and checked the sky, she decided she might as well get up. While the twins weren't in their bassinets, she heard the sounds of them in the living room and knew they were with Daryl. That knowledge settled her heartbeat a little; why was she panicking? The girls were only a few weeks old and were barely starting to unfurl; where could they have gone under their own power?

Ducking her head down, Beth’s thoughts changed track and she allowed herself a small smile, thinking back on what happened a few hours before. It was exhilarating and thrilling, but terrifying, reminding her of those slingshot rides at carnivals. She had more reason than ever to be scared for her family, but she placed her feet firmly on the ground and carved something out of nothing. The world took everything from her, yet she fought back and turned her world on its head, inverting it so where she once had zero, she now had three. Perhaps the burgeoning feeling in her chest was hope, long dormant in the garden of her heart but now stirring with the first warm rays of sun.

She thought again about what Valerie said, how spring was a time for new beginnings, and it could be the woman was right.

At the dresser, Beth dressed in something other than the sprigged nightgown, which was dirty in a way that would have once disgusted her, before the world changed. While she wasn't sure where the clothes she came in wearing had gone (probably burned, she thought ruefully), she had been provided a small selection of clothing and, from this, chose a loose button-up, a cardigan, and a peasant skirt to wear. Beth didn't like the idea of wearing a skirt these days—too easy to get tangled up or trip over—but the thought of wearing jeans seemed akin to torture. None of the items fit quite right, but they were comfortable, so she didn’t mind.

When she came into the living room, Beth found Celine had come early today and was currently engrossed in doting over the twins while Daryl, sat at the kitchen table, morosely shoved the breakfast brought for them down his throat. His opinion over the food had not improved during their time here. Neither had hers, of course, but she was more circ*mspect about it.

Daryl's head popped up when she entered and the look he gave her seemed charged, like electricity jumped between them. Beth gave him a large smile and this relaxed him enough that he could return to the mysterious round foodstuffs on his plate. They looked like pancakes, but experience lent Beth the knowledge they were not pancakes.

"Good mornin'," she said to Celine.

"You're all dressed up! Why don't you sit? Then I can give you a quick look over," Celine said.

"Sure," Beth said.

She crossed the room to give Clara and Anne kisses good morning. They were in their wicker baskets, getting a bit of sun near the sliding door; Beth jerked to pull them away from such an open, exposed hazard until she stopped herself. Their little faces scrunched up from her tickling hair and Beth knew she didn't have long before they would need to eat. She took a steadying breath and walked to the couch, where Celine helped her sit.

Beth said, "I was plannin' on visitin' Valerie today. She stopped by yesterday to introduce herself."

"Were you really?" Celine asked absently while taking Beth's pulse. "She's usually busy in the mornings, in the gardens and such."

"Oh, well, thank you for lettin' me know," Beth said.

"You seem like you're up for a little light exercise, which is good! We could walk around the grounds with the babies… show those sweeties off a little, hmm?"

"That sounds really nice," Beth said, and it did, but she had rather hoped to visit with Valerie. "I'd like to finally see this place."

"It's settled! Daryl, you can come if you'd like," Celine said and something in her tone made Beth look again at the woman who saved her life.

The note wasn't quite disdain or distrust, no, it was something else harder to place, making Beth wonder if something had happened between the two just now, before she woke.

"Gonna f*ckin' sleep," Daryl muttered.

With a little snort, Celine got to her feet and said to Beth, "I'll come back in an hour, okay?"

"Sure, I'll be ready," Beth said.

Once Celine left, Beth pulled herself up on shaking legs and stumped to the kitchen table, looking to scarf down one of the pancakes before giving the twins their breakfast; Beth was hungrier than ever these days and her stomach growled at the sight of the pancakes, not caring much how “questionable” they were.

After taking her seat, she let her hand brush against Daryl's and said, "Good mornin'."

"Mornin'," he said and then he gave her a little smile that made her knees go a bit weak.

"So what's on the menu today?"

"Drywall… mixed with slime," Daryl said, spearing a rubbery pancake with his fork and holding it up, where it flopped around very much like rubber.

"Sounds delicious," Beth said.

After the first bite, Beth agreed with Daryl's description of drywall mixed with slime. There were strange crunchy bits interspersed within slimy, wet pockets and Beth was honestly surprised the food had the structural integrity to maintain a pancake shape. It became clear early on that whoever cooked for the group at large, while not a bad cook when working within the bounds of normalcy, frequently tried to experiment with replicating foods that required ingredients unavailable these days, like flour or milk, using whatever was available and held the promise of working.

She spat a particularly goopy mouthful into her napkin.

"I miss squirrel," Beth said.

"You can eat it again?"

She thought about eating squirrel and her mouth watered instead of her stomach flipping. The pregnancy-induced squirrel meat ban was over.

"I think so," Beth said.

The table creaked when Daryl shifted in his seat to look out the window, his face tight and guarded. It was painfully obvious he itched to be outside the walls of Aspen Pointe and Beth, at that moment, wished he would go despite the danger; she knew he needed the open sky and dirt beneath his feet, as a tree needed them, to thrive.

"Are you really gonna sleep while I'm gone?" Beth asked.

Leaning back in his chair so it balanced on two legs, Daryl turned back to face her as he rested his hands on his belt. He considered.

"Nah. Gonna walk the walls."

"Not sure I'll get any real sense of what this place is like with Celine hangin' over my shoulder, but if I find anything, I'll let you know," Beth said.

"You'll be good at it. No one's gonna suspect you of nothin'," Daryl said.

Beth pulled her hair free from the quick ponytail she'd put it up in, combing her fingers through the greasy strands. Hair washing had moved far down on the list of priorities sometime around when they came out of the mountains and had yet to return to its former place between a clean shirt and utensils to eat with. She turned her head when one of the babies whimpered, but the sound dropped off as quickly as it came on and the baby fell asleep again.

"What are you afraid they're gonna suspect us of?"

"What d’you think? We’re new; we’re strangers…" Daryl let out a long sigh. "Norman outright said he didn't trust me. You… he's withholdin' judgment."

"Well, I won't have to act too hard to play innocent. I want this place to work… it has to work," Beth said as another cry came, this one more plaintive and insistent.

Daryl followed Beth to the living room. She unbuttoned her shirt as she walked; there was no awkwardness in baring herself in this way, not after he’d witnessed her give birth and not after struggling with newborns together. So she picked up Clara, who was gearing up for a crying fit, and brought her to the couch. Daryl stood in front of her, but he looked towards Anne, tucked up and glowing in the morning sun.

His scarred hand clenched into a fist and he spoke in a low, hard voice, "I'll make this place work."

Beth settled Clara in for her feeding and looked up at Daryl, her eyes burning, to say, "We'll make it work."

By the time Celine returned, Daryl had already left out the sliding door to prowl along the walls. Beth welcomed Celine inside and asked about the bundle of cloth draped over Celine’s arm. The lengths were of a sturdy weave, cut from bolts and not hemmed as evidenced by the loose threads spilling from the cut edges.

"They’re for slings!" Celine said.

After Beth picked up Anne, Celine showed her the correct position for the baby to be in, emphasizing how important it was to make sure Anne’s head was up so her airway was clear. Celine wound one of the lengths of fabric around Beth’s chest, then crossed the trailing ends over her back to pass them over her shoulder. Anne was then secured in the pocket created on Beth’s front, the fabric ends tugged and subsequently crisscrossed underneath Anne’s bottom, where they were again brought around to Beth’s back and double-knotted. Beth was surprised at how secure Anne was and the usefulness of the idea was further cemented when Anne sighed softly and seemed to melt against her mother; Beth was overwhelmed for a moment by how small and perfect Anne was. While she marveled over her daughter, Celine used another length of fabric to do the same on herself, carrying Clara against her.

"There are so many different carries. Once you get used to this one and can do it comfortably," Celine said as she and Beth left the apartment, "I'll show you the other types of holds."

"It's more comfortable than I imagined… Judith, the… the baby I cared for before, she just got toted around like a sack of potatoes until someone found a baby bjorn."

"Women have been carrying their babies like this for thousands of years… it's very natural and better for the babies too. It helps foster a strong bond between mother and child… and they cry less!" Celine said.

As they walked, Beth glanced up and down the hallway, but without windows the area was dimly lit, relying on a few lanterns hung from the ceiling to light the way. Dust motes danced in the diffuse beams, thick as pollen. From what she could make out, the hall looked very much like those in any apartment complex, with nothing of interest to observe besides the doors to other residences.

"We want to knock out the walls to one apartment, to let light in, you know? But we don't know if that's structurally sound. So people come in using the sliding doors, rather than use the hallway. We don’t always have the lights on. Anyways, fourteen other people live here in this wing, thirty in the other, and the rest are in the cottages. I'll show you those later. That's where I am, and Schmidt as well."

Celine brought Beth to a central, open room with vast windows overlooking the grounds, offering a lovely view. Beth's hand rose to rest over Anne. All she could think was how easily those windows would break under a horde of walkers. The room boasted a large fireplace with a fire crackling in the grate, warming the room somewhat—the days were still cool enough that the heat was appreciated. A small number of round tables were set about the room, and the rest of the floor space was taken up by clusters of armchairs and a few couches near the fire. Beth thought she remembered passing by this room when she and Daryl first arrived, but her memories of that night were hazy, blurred things, pale in comparison to the first sight of her daughters.

"This is the common room. We eat here, have meetings here, it's where people meet up and hang out," Celine said. "We serve communal breakfast for about two hours in the morning, but you're welcome to make your own. Oh, there's Belinda and her daughter!"

Two women who'd been reading by the fire had stood and now made their way towards Beth and Celine. Beth tried to keep her face easy; neither of them carried weapons (Beth saw their eyes flick to her hips where her own empty gun and dull knife were visible, hanging off her belt) and she was sure they were perfectly friendly, even as something base inside her shouted to run, to protect her baby.

"The new additions!" Belinda said with a touch of frost in her voice, even as she held up her hands and offered Beth a wide smile. "We were wondering when we'd get to meet you!"

"Hello," Beth said, inclining her head.

"May we see the babies?" Belinda's daughter was about Carl's age, or a little older, and Beth recognized in her eyes the same kind of excitement she once expressed over Judith, over a precious, innocent baby.

"Sure." Beth turned to the side so the girl could have a good look at Anne’s sleeping face. "This is Anne."

The girl, who was introduced as Tabitha, cooed over Anne and Clara while her mother looked on.

"Aspen Pointe is very safe. My husband and I wouldn't have our daughter here if it wasn't," Belinda said to Beth.

"I'm glad to hear," Beth smiled a tight smile. "How long have y'all lived here?"

"Since the beginning of it. Have you met Dayvon yet? No? He's my nephew… he was in one of Norman's classes. He found us and brought us here."

"Oh, Norman was a teacher?"

"Tennessee State," Celine answered. "He taught… I can't remember exactly. Communications or something like that."

Celine extricated Beth from the conversation shortly after, once Belinda asked how the delivery went and Beth found herself only able to stare blankly. She took Beth away from the common room, down the adjoining hallway between the building's two residential wings. Here Beth was shown a small exercise area, the former kitchens which were now Aspen Pointe's larder, and the communal baths, located in the former swimming pool. There were several empty rooms open for free use; some were filled with tools and projects in various stages of completion. After she'd seen all there was to see, Celine brought Beth outside.

She stood still for a moment in the strong sunlight, taking in deep lungfuls of the thin, damp spring air. The feel of it made her think she'd been asleep inside the apartment, wrapped up like a caterpillar inside its cocoon.

Leading her along a walkway close to the building, Celine now took Beth to the outdoor kitchen. Located some ways away from the building under a rough wooden awning, picnic benches surrounded a large construction of brick that formed the outdoor hearth, behind which was one of the largest men Beth had ever seen. He towered over the hearth and had forearms like hams with thick, meaty hands attached to the ends. The hands pounded into a large ball of dough that seemed to melt under the force of his blows.

"Celine!" the man called out in a rumbling baritone. "And is that Beth with her little girls I see?"

Laughing, Celine said, "Harley, put on your glasses!"

The man delicately picked up a pair of glasses which were strung on a sparkling, beaded chain around his neck, and perched them on his nose.

"It is! Come up here and give us a hug!"

Beth had no time to protest, but Harley was surprisingly gentle, despite the fact his arms could wrap twice around her. He laid two smacking kisses on her, one on each cheek, then pulled back to look Beth up and down.

"You need feeding up. Are you hungry? I'll fix you a plate," Harley said.

"That's very kind, thank you, but I'm not hungry," Beth said.

"Harley is our master chef," Celine said. "He does all our cooking and baking. Is Franny around?"

"She's going through the stores," Harley said. "Franny's my assistant. She handles the pantry, so she's who you wanna talk to if you want to cook your own meals. Did you like the pancakes?"

"They… were very unique," Beth said diplomatically.

"Walnut flour, applesauce, and flaxseeds!" Harley said, a wide, stretching grin lighting up his face.

They said goodbye to Harley and started for the gardens, but Beth needed to lean on Celine after only a few steps, and she was surprised at how she couldn’t catch her breath—it seemed to slip away into her chest from her lungs. Celine marched Beth back to the kitchen, setting her down on one of the picnic benches, then left to exchange quick words with Harley. He whipped up a bowl of jam and crackers for her to eat. Although she wasn't hungry, the jam's sugar perked her up considerably.

"You're still recovering," Celine said. "You can't jump back into things. You should've let me know you were getting tired. Let's get you back to your room. I can show you the gardens another time."

Beth stared down at her empty plate, streaked with smears of seedy jam, before looking out past the kitchen towards the brick walls stretching in every direction around Aspen Pointe. She wanted to see them for herself, but they weren't going anywhere if they were worth anything. So Beth consented to let Celine help her back to the empty apartment. The woman went to the bedroom and settled the twins. She paused at the sliding door, turning to look back at Beth.

“I thought Daryl was going to nap?” Celine asked.

“He was,” Beth lied. “Reckon he wanted some fresh air, same as me.”

Celine crossed her arms, fingers tapping on her arms as she glanced out the glass.

“Well, if he’s not back soon and you need help with something, you best promise you’ll go across the hall and send Wanda to fetch me.”

“Thank you,” Beth said.

It was a struggle to keep her heavy eyelids open. Sighing, Celine said her goodbyes and slipped out the sliding door. Once the woman was out of sight, Beth stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes and was asleep within minutes.

However, she didn't get much of a chance to rest. The twins woke her up a half-hour later and she paced the room feeling a little like her hair might fall out as she tried to get Clara to stop howling. Her legs ached and her head swam, and, as she wavered from here to there, another wet clot fell onto the pad, making her shiver from the disgusting feel of it. The shrill screeching rang in her ears and Judith hadn't cried like this; these cries pierced her heart as well as her ears. Finally, she tried strapping Clara up in the sling so she could hold Anne in her arms and maybe one of them would stop—

The sliding door opened and Beth whipped around, jostling Clara in her attempt to grab her knife, which sent the baby into a further tailspin.

"Just me," Daryl said, holding up his hands. "Brought a friend."

He stepped aside to reveal Valerie, dressed in muddy jeans and a men's shirt. She gave Beth a nervous smile.

"Do you mind?" She held her arms open.

Beth passed Anne to the woman, who immediately began making shushing noises, rubbing at Anne's back after letting the baby curl up on her chest. Daryl came to help Beth remove the still squalling Clara from the sling.

"How were the—"

"Later," Daryl said lowly. "Go, sleep. Valerie said she'd help this afternoon."

"Are you sure? I need to make sure Clara—"

“Go.”

So, even though the babies cried, Beth needed to sleep; she needed to rest for more than half an hour at a time. She trudged to the bedroom, her heart tight at the thought of not having been able to calm her children, and dropped onto the bed like a corpse. In seconds she was asleep.

Chapter 2: the devil's right here, doing very well

Chapter Text

The kids were up but weren't crying, which Daryl figured was a good thing; he'd lately seen Beth wandering around looking like she was two seconds from walking away from those kids if she could have actually walked that far. She'd handled Judith alright, but that was only one baby, and she could pawn the kid off to anyone else in the prison if she needed. Here she was trapped by her body and by the mistrust he saw rimming her eyes like hookers wore eyeliner. He felt like walking away himself, because every goddamn second he spent in their stupid apartment (like it was supposed to be their home) felt like drowning, and maybe he was drowning. He still couldn't breathe right.

Daryl trapped his cough in his throat and lifted up Clara, who always watched him like she expected something from him and he thought he should f*cking get over himself already; kid just wanted people to take care of her. God, babies were so damn floppy; Daryl cursed as the baby did her best impression of slime and attempted to ooze out of his hands.

"You tryna die?" he said to the baby as he brought her to the living room. "I get I ain't your ma, but damn, 's no reason to throw yourself outta my arms. Stay still, now."

He retrieved Anne from the bedroom without waking Beth. At least this one had the good sense to stay still when being held. Daryl deposited her next to her sister and then coughed into his shoulder, dragging his mouth across his shirt to wipe off the gunk it brought up. Whatever burnt up in that fire f*cked his lungs good. His fingers twitched and he thought it was the kind of morning where he could really use a f*cking cigarette.

Instead of a cigarette, he settled for chewing on one of the toothbrushes the old man, the dentist, dropped off for them. He apparently had boxes of the things hanging around his house. The fact half Daryl's teeth were fake did nothing to deter Schmidt, as the old fart spent near twenty minutes lecturing Daryl on the importance of maintaining his teeth, both real and fake.

Had been about the only nice thing Merle had ever done for him, paying for his teeth, even if Daryl had walked around looking like a real mountain hillbilly for forever while his gums healed up, to Merle's unending delight. Daryl didn't question where the money came from and Merle never said.

Daryl dragged his hand over his face, wiping the crap from the corners of his eyes and brushing down the bristling corners of his beard. If Merle saw him now, the f*cking bastard wouldn't shut his face. He'd be crowing about how goddamn soft his baby brother turned, fussing over two babies like a nursemaid, as if he hadn't turned into some sissy sh*t holding his son, making mad noise over what a tough guy he'd be when he grew up.

sh*t, Daryl hadn't thought about that kid in a long while. Was probably dead along with his ma; Daryl hadn't heard anything about those two in years, not since they moved to Florida after Merle showed up cranked out his mind at their trailer one too many times. He chewed on the toothbrush harder, teeth clacking against plastic. He'd thought Merle had it all back then, a big-ass house on base, a wife like an angel, a brand-new truck, and a kid that Daryl got paid two bucks an hour to watch (though really it hadn't been watching, so much as taking the kid to Heather whenever he cried because Daryl hadn't been much older than the kid himself).

One time Heather came and picked him up from school, back when he still went on the regular, and took him with her to the commissary. She just put whatever in the buggy, didn't even check the price, didn't have to look at what stamps she had left, paid for it all in cash. Daryl solemnly concluded Merle was rich; he knew now his brother hadn't been rich at all. He asked Heather to buy him some kind of cereal—saw ads for it on TV all the time—and she tossed the box into the buggy. Hadn't yelled at him or given him a smack, just smiled and grabbed it. It had taken him a long time to understand why someone would give that kind of security up.

He went to the porch and started mounding tinder in the fire pit.

The house hadn't been big, and base housing was still a crap-shack, just in a different way than the crap-shack he had been stuck in with their old man. Heather made damn sure to squeeze every penny of child support from Merle, kept him from seeing his son even when Merle had his act together, and then it turned out the kid wasn't even Merle's after all but because his name was on the birth certificate, he was on the hook for ponying up. And Merle didn't have that truck five months before it got repo'd. But Daryl didn't know this until later, because no one told him and why would they? Hadn't been nothing but a snot-nosed little sh*t stealing hubcaps and pissing in the woods; he didn't know jacksh*t about life besides the fact Merle left him all alone with the old man, all for a shiny new family.

Didn't last, because Merle was some kind of sh*t-Midas, wrecking everything he put his damn hands on. But God, Daryl thought, he still wished to hell that Merle had taken him with.

"Need help making a fire?"

Daryl got out of his head and realized the tinder burnt to ash and he still held the kindling in his hands. Celine stood in the grass in front of him, holding their breakfast in a woven basket. He repressed a shudder. Whoever was cooking their meals needed to go back to Cordon f*cking Bleu. So he ragged on Beth for not fixing a meal worth a second glance, but neither could he and that's why it was funny. The sh*t they'd been served here didn't count as food in his opinion.

"Beth's asleep," Daryl grunted.

"I've got time. I'll wait," Celine said and walked past him, striding into the apartment like it was her own.

A deep wave of exhaustion came over him. He didn't even want things to be good, or nice, because he didn't get that in life, he just wanted things to be okay; like the feeling of having rent and most of the utilities paid up, sure he got his water shut off but he still could cook and got daytime TV; like the feeling of going on runs with Glenn and Michonne when she was around, going on runs was a pain in his ass but at least he had good people next to him; like the feeling of seeing Rick out in the garden with Hershel, where Rick needed to be fixing problems at the prison but out there he at least wasn't hallucinating sh*t. Was okay too much to ask for?

And he had no idea if Aspen Pointe was okay because he'd been getting up at all hours to coddle those babies and he wouldn't admit to himself it was because he couldn't stand hearing them cry; it was f*cking pitiful the way they went on and God, maybe he was soft. Beth couldn't stand up without getting lightheaded. The least he could do was pick them up. But it was time to put the question to rest. It couldn't wait any longer.

He stood and returned to the apartment and those suffocating walls.

"It's pancakes this morning," Celine said.

She stood at the kitchen table, unpacking the meal for them like Daryl couldn't do it himself; he recognized that fake kindness, the kind which ended up a weapon sooner or later. Daryl stood near the twins, crossing his arms so Celine wouldn't see his fingers tapping. Showing anything to this woman felt like a concession.

"She is getting enough rest, isn't she?"

"Don't know how much you think she's sleepin'. I don't got tit*," Daryl said.

"No," Celine snorted, her eyes narrowing.

"You'd be over here for more 'n five minutes, if you were really so concerned," Daryl said.

"Yeah? Where do you get off? You don't even know half of what I do for this place."

Who did this bitch think she was, the queen of Sheba? Going on about not having enough time when she had time to sit around and wait for Beth to wake up. What the f*ck did she want from him? There was only so much he could do and honestly, he shouldn't have been doing it in the first place; they weren't his kids (but hadn't Beth asked?) and if Rick, Rick, hadn't been able to keep Carl and Judith safe, what hope did he have?

Celine crossed the room as Daryl approached, skirting by him in the way people did when they wanted to be sneaky because they thought he wouldn't notice them avoiding him for some reason. He sat his ass down at the table, situating himself so he could see both Celine and the bedroom, and told himself to nut up already and eat the "pancakes."

He tore the pancakes up with his fingers and found they leaked a gooey substance that resembled frog spawn. Jesus Christ. But food was food and if he was trying to stay on these f*cks' good side, he needed to eat whatever they gave him. People got real touchy about food and it was the easiest way he knew to keep the peace; learned that early enough in life: eat what's put on your plate and be grateful for it.

Celine kept cooing and babbling at the kids and Daryl shoved another pancake piece in his mouth because she wasn't anything to those girls. Acting like their aunt or something. Should have been Maggie right there, but it wasn't.

A sound from the bedroom caught his attention but he kept his head down, watching Beth move around through his hair. He hadn't cut it since Beth offered and he was about to take his knife and hack it off because goddammit, it was f*cking everywhere. But maybe Beth wanted to cut it again. He'd wait for her to ask.

His stomach twisted when she started coming out; what would she think of him in the daylight? Had that happen damn near every time he'd ever been with a woman. Things changed in the daylight. He used to lie there feeling like an empty shell on his comedown, thinking maybe the sh*t he said to some anonymous tweaker while he was balls deep and spun meant something and then her lip would sneer and the only thing she'd do would be begging him for more crystal because he was Merle's brother and he had to be in on that, right?

But Beth wasn't like that. She wasn't a junkie scratching an itch; she looked at him and he saw a still pond in her, morning mist rising golden in the sunlight, his favorite time to fish. He'd walk into the waters, go underneath them and let the stillness silence his ears; he'd stay there for a blessed eternity if she let him because Beth gave him two f*cking seconds of peace.

He'd come up on her making up the fire, peeling bark off some wood, hanging up socks to dry out, and just for that moment, the world would be okay. Daryl never thought for a second she'd feel the same way because what did he have to offer her? Nothing but his broken self, his asshole self. He was no good for nobody that way; she didn't deserve that. But she knew what she wanted, made her own choices, and maybe he was weak for saying yes, but it could be this wasn't a matter of what she deserved but what she wanted.

And if she wanted him, he didn't think he had it in himself to say no, not when she was offering what he wanted so badly.

Beth made him weak. She and the kids, offering him a dream of a life he never thought about having, except when he was sh*t-face drunk and staring up at the sky through the trees and had spent way too much time thinking about all the things life hadn't given him. Daryl thought he was too much of a puss* to take hold of that small, secret dream because what would it f*cking do to him when it was taken away? How did Rick stand it?

Watching Rick collapse, break down and lose himself over Lori, seeing Carol too grief-stricken to attend her own daughter's funeral, told Daryl what he knew all along: it wasn't worth it. That pain wasn't worth it. Never letting anyone in hurt, because he was always left wanting, but at least he wasn't going through that.

But now, now, he was putting himself on the line because how could he not? He had to. And he was f*cking terrified.

Then Beth's footsteps grew louder and he looked up at her and she smiled. f*ck. What was he supposed to do when she looked at him like that?

Look like a dumb idiot, he guessed.

Plans were put in place for Beth to walk with Celine, which was good, because she needed to see the sun. That gave him a chance to finally get a look at the place, figure out if it was any good. He wasn't going to complain, even if Celine had twisted the situation around so Beth went with her rather than Valerie. Daryl would find the woman himself.

He wanted to say something to Beth before he left, thought he should, but his mind went blank and his throat stopped up like he'd smoked a whole pack and all he could do was give her a nod. She didn't seem to think anything of it, just looked at him with those deceptively disarming eyes and nodded back.

So he left through the sliding door and stepped away from the building for the first time in weeks. Seeing the trees beyond the wall only made his skin itch, reminded him of that bug-feeling he'd get; he'd rather be out there than trapped in here, but what kind of jackass would he be if he left Beth alone for a whole day or worse? Daryl stuffed his hands in his pockets and continued on, keeping a casual pace as he went.

Place reminded him of the prison, if only in that the motions of life were the same between them. He saw people scrubbing and wringing laundry before hanging it on lines to dry. Nothing grew in the garden yet, but things would; people moved along the rows putting down seedlings from trays of the tiny plants. It was the kind of pace he'd grown used to, like being in an anthill. Everyone moved around in organized chaos, knowing where they needed to be and what they needed to do. And he was the invader, the enemy ant. No one came near him. He liked it that way.

Circling around to the front, Daryl examined the front gate as he went. Two people inside and two people outside, with the outside wearing those gut-coated coats. He turned his head away as one of the inside guards put her eyes on him. It was the blonde lady, the same one who'd been on guard the night he and Beth arrived.

From the corner of his eye, Daryl saw her speak with the other guard, some weedy-looking black guy. The woman hunched her shoulders up and shrank down before exploding to her full height; damn, Daryl thought, she was probably taller than he was. She left the gate and beelined towards him; he noticed she walked with a limp but she had the confident step you saw in anyone who'd spent time outside walls, real gritty and proud, but skittish, like a wild horse.

"You want somethin'?" he asked when she got close enough for him to not shout.

The woman nodded, shrinking down again at his tone and Daryl sucked in a breath. Right. Needed to play nice.

"Valerie wanted to talk with you. She was going to stop by this afternoon." The woman spoke with a nasally accent—Midwestern, Daryl guessed—which immediately marked her as out of place.

"She say what about?"

"Wants to give you a rundown of everything," the woman said and her eyes jerked back to the gate. "Let you know how this place operates."

"Yeah? She got anything to tell me I didn't hear from Norman?"

"Plenty," the woman said.

"Can find her in the garden, right?"

Daryl tried to remember the woman's name. Emily? Erin? Whatever.

Whatever nodded and limped back to the gate, speaking with the other guard. The cool wind carried over her words to Daryl.

"—tell him I needed to meet those babies, that's all! Honestly, Dayvon…"

Daryl's thumbnail came up to his mouth before he even knew it was there. sh*t, how long had he been trying to kill that habit? Monumentally bad idea to gnaw on your nails when the dead walked the earth and got their guts all over—blood was a bitch to get out from under your nails. He bit down, figuring he was cleaner than he'd been since before the prison fell.

Time to go meet Valerie and get some answers out of her after her spy-level harbinger of doom routine from the day before, answers to questions like why the hell no one at the gate was armed.

He found Valerie standing in a trench ankle-deep in mud; Whatever said she’d be in the gardens, but he figured that meant planting peonies or some sh*t. Instead, she violently beat a PVC pipe against the ground, swearing a blue streak.

“—tear you a new asshole, you four-flushing, grease-pit pile of sh*t; I f*cking know you got twinkies hidden under your bed, yeah—”

“You always this angry at plumbin’?”

Valerie straightened up, not looking the least bit embarrassed about her foul mouth. She tugged down her long shirt and Daryl caught the shape of a pistol handle when the fabric tightened over her hips. And then she chucked the pipe on the ground and climbed out of the trench. Daryl offered her his hand, but she waved it off.

“I’m narrowing in on the asshole who keeps clogging the irrigation line with his greasy-ass greywater. Put it through the filter first, numb-nuts! Oh, he is going to be in for a f*cking chewing out when I find him; if the Army teaches you anything, it’s how to chew people out. Was planning on coming and seeing you later, no need to come find me,” Valerie said as she wiped her hands on her shirt.

“Was already out,” Daryl said.

“Ah… okay. Let’s walk. I’ll show you around, give you a real tour instead of whatever Norman gave you,” Valerie said.

Daryl stood there and Valerie shifted her weight from one foot to the other and then smiled a crooked smile.

“No tour? Just got yelled at?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Daryl said.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

So he stepped out beside her and let the woman lead him away from the gardens and the crowd of people; Daryl had been keeping count and estimated Aspen Pointe to be around fifty-five people, a pretty decent size. Seemed like most of those people were congregated in the garden, working the dirt. Then again the flat grounds of the place worked better as fields than at the prison; the property offered at least a couple acres altogether, ready to plant. More people working, more time for other sh*t.

Valerie took a meandering path along the property’s edge and Daryl quickly realized she showed him the main features he’d wanted to search for: entrances and exits for the building and for the property, lookout sites, gathering places, and possible choke-points. He appreciated she wasn’t inclined to fill the silence with mindless chatter, in fact, she didn’t speak much at all, instead spouting off short statements like:

“I should bring my sister by. I think she and Beth would get along.”

“I’ve been here six months and it’s not often people stay.”

“Once you find your group here, you’ll find Aspen Pointe very welcoming.”

She was on about something. His fingers fiddled with the snap of his knife; Valerie’s eyes darted to his hand and then they were passing behind a groundskeeper’s shed and Valerie stopped, spinning to face him, suddenly looking like a different person. Reminded him of a dog turning on you, all raised hackles and bared teeth.

“I’d hide those if I were you,” Valerie said with a toss of her hand towards his knife.

“What the hell’s this place's deal, huh?”

“Look, we might not get another chance to speak freely for a while. I’m sure someone noticed us together, so after this, it’s gonna be different. If Norman wants you gone, he’ll find a way to make you leave. Most anyone who can get out is gone in a few days. He doesn’t want anyone here that he can’t control; you and me, Beth, others I’ll introduce you to, he’d rather have us gone because we’re a threat.”

“A threat?”

“Aspen Pointe doesn’t kill zombis,” Valerie said, fixing her dark stare on him.

His breath froze in his throat, sticking like he might choke.

“What?”

“I don’t know what the f*ck is wrong with these people, but they don’t kill them. Found a way to make some kind of deterrent, lets them move through the herds; I guess it makes sense. Smell dead, the dead think you’re one of them. It’s some fool collection of bleeding hearts and people who’ve never seen what it’s like out there; Norman’s convinced them the zombis are sick—not dead—and help will come. He didn’t try that carrot on you, because you know. Aspen Pointe could be a real place—a safe place—if it were run by folks like you and me. But it's not."

"Why bother tellin' me this sh*t?"

"Because I know you can't leave. You've got those kids to think of. Look, my sister and I stumbled on this place. It was raining buckets, couldn't see sh*t, we were starved and Lettie had just…" Daryl watched a shudder ripple through Valerie. "We were almost as bad as the zombis. Thought this place might be worth a night and started clearing the crowd until we were getting screamed at. They almost didn't let us in until they saw Lettie was young, still fifteen—Norman worked the gate back then—and brought us inside."

The more she spoke, the further his fingers tightened against his palms until he was left with balled fists and lined knuckles, ready to let loose.

"I better go… that clogged pipe isn't going to fix itself. But, hey," Valerie said, making Daryl turn back to look at her, "I'm guessing you haven't had a lot of help with those babies. Give me an hour and I can come over so you both can get some sleep."

More than Celine offered to do for them.

"Alright."

That night Daryl couldn't sleep despite the grittiness of his eyelids. Beth slept passed out next to him, limp and spread out in the way people did when they were dead to the world. He got up from the bed to look out the window at the moon. Sometimes he thought he had a wolf heart, that he needed the bright moonlight and the wilds to feel whole. Christ, he missed his crossbow. Being without it felt like he was suddenly missing his dick.

One of the babies stirred, so he came away from the longing moonlight and put his hand to Anne. She kicked her feet but didn't open her eyes and he took his hand away. He didn't like seeing how big his hand was against either of them, just another reminder of how helpless they were, just another weight on his back on top of what Valerie dumped on him.

Aspen Pointe was a death trap. And he and Beth were trapped alright.

He glanced over at Beth again. She hadn't moved. Best let her sleep. Instead of getting back in bed, Daryl grabbed a towel from the dresser and slung it over his shoulder. He'd head to the baths, get clean, clear his head. Showers had always been good for thinking and the baths were the best he'd get here. Daryl banked on the fact it was full late, so no one would be in the room. He didn't think he could stomach talking with any kumbaya dipsh*t tonight.

After easing the front door shut behind himself, he started down for the baths, passing by the common room on the way. A group of people sat clustered by the fire: Norman, the gate man from earlier, and some co*cky college-type wearing a backwards flat-bill. Daryl felt their eyes on him like he felt the sun burn his skin, so he slung the towel over his other shoulder, where they'd be able to see it. Gate and College went back to whatever they were poring over, but, without looking to check, Daryl knew Norman's gaze tailed him.

If not for Beth, Daryl would have walked away from Aspen Pointe after speaking with Norman. The man reminded him of the asshole principal he'd dealt with in grade school. Daryl wanted to spit. That f*cker had him in his office every week, saw the way he couldn't sit after a good belting, and never thought anything of calling up ol' Mr. Dixon to tell him his brat of a son had been acting up again. Daryl couldn't stand people like that, the ones who had power but never over something which made them powerful.

He'd slouched into Norman's office still reeling from watching Beth near die, his guts all messed up from the food, only to get told Norman would be with him shortly by some ass with co*ke-bottle glasses. So he'd thrown himself into a chair to wait. He knew the tactic, knew it was a power play to remind him how unimportant he was and what a favor was being done for him, taking time out of the schedule to meet with him.

Norman had breezed in some time later, all apologies.

Daryl's first thought had been the man looked like a gnat fart, without substance and unnoticeable. His second thought wasn't really a thought, more a tightening of his gut as Norman took measure of him; he saw how the man's posture changed. Being an asshole, Daryl knew when people didn't like him. It didn't stop him from carrying on, but he always knew.

"You did a great thing, getting Beth here safely," Norman had said.

Yeah, he had got Beth to Aspen Pointe mostly intact. Got himself there, too.

"Sounds like you had a hell of a time out there."

"Ain't a cakewalk."

"So I've heard… been in here since the beginning myself. Most people here showed up for their parents, grandparents, but by the time we got organized, it wasn't safe to leave."

Norman had paced behind his desk, hands folded behind his back.

"What are your plans now?"

Daryl had shrugged.

"Beth will be well taken care of here, and your daughters will be safe behind the walls. We haven't had a breach in months because we have very strict operating procedures in place."

"Ain't my kids."

"Really? You are a kind soul."

Norman had walked out from behind the desk, finally unfolding his hands from his back. And even though he felt like hell, like he'd spent rounds going with some asshole in a bar fight, Daryl tensed up and moved his legs, getting ready to jump to his feet. He'd thought, whoever this bastard was, he'd get him down in a blow or two. Man looked like he never threw a punch in his life.

"What you're thinking… feel free to try," Norman had said as he moved to a bookshelf, pulling a binder down. "You're thinking I'm weak, that you'd do better, aren't you? Go ahead and try. Aspen Pointe has a certain way of life that I don't think you have the capacity to adapt to… do you understand?"

Daryl had understood just fine.

"Would be a shame, wouldn't it, you having to leave your kids, having to leave your… a little young for you, don't you think? Fun for a romp, but really, girls that age are exhausting to deal with. Everything's a crisis."

"Ain't my kids," Daryl had repeated himself.

"Of course… but you want them to be." Norman had laughed and the veins in Daryl's neck tightened from the hard pump of blood. "Men like you always want what they never had. Think you can magic emotional stability out of nothing, simply by possessing something which resembles what you saw everyone else enjoy. I'll break it down for you, just to be sure you understand.

"You are not in a position to argue anything with me. You will play nice with how we operate, or you're out there without your weapons and without your family. I only have to give the word."

It had taken everything in him to remain silent, to keep looking up at that smug bastard's face. Norman wore the smart-ass smirk of someone with a bit of brains thinking they had everything all figured out, everyone packaged up in neat, organized boxes, real black and white.

But Norman had him in a corner and Daryl knew it. Leave Beth here alone with two kids, in this co*cked-up commune that wouldn't kill walkers? No, he'd come too far to walk away from her now; he'd come too far. Leave her to the wolves? No. He'd need to be rotting before that happened. He loved her.

He shoved the baths' door open and stomped inside, going down to the end for the men's half. He'd already ripped his shirt off when he realized he wasn't alone; another man sat on the hastily constructed bench built inside the pool, washcloth poised over his shoulder.

With a muttered curse Daryl threw his shirt back on. He wanted five minutes to himself, that's all. Five f*cking minutes.

"You don't have to go. I'm done," the man called, each word coming out slow and thick as if it were constructed from grease.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and climbed out of the pool, pointing unhelpfully towards the empty depression. Daryl's teeth worked on his tongue and then he nodded at the man. The guy was maybe his age or a little younger and a f*cking tank—Jesus, what did they feed people in Tennessee? And then Daryl saw the long, ripping scar traveling down the man's leg, ragged and dug deep into the muscle.

"Daryl, right?"

"What's it to you?"

"Nothin' to me at all… Valerie mentioned you."

Daryl's hands stilled over his shirt front.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm Richard. Not the best place for a long talk, here, but a friend of Valerie's is a friend of mine. I've got a, uh, a secret coffee stash… welcome to join me for a cup any time. I'm in 15C," Richard said.

Damn, Daryl thought, this was turning into some La Resistance sh*t. But he'd do it. He'd see what these f*cks were about because hadn't Beth said she wanted to be normal, happy? She just wanted to live her life and see her kids grown. And this place wasn't going to give her that chance, not the way it was now.

"Coffee? Be there tomorrow," Daryl said.

Chapter 3: I wish to know nothing here, save the blood of the cross

Chapter Text

The next morning when Schmidt came by with their breakfast, he let them know this would be their last day of room service and they were free to start cooking their own meals or to join the community for breakfast or dinner.

"Unfortunately, Aspen Pointe is not a five-star ski resort," Schmidt deadpanned.

Beth thanked the old man for his kindness and he departed with a wave. She then sat down to share the meal with Daryl. Her hand reached out to grab his wrist, thumb running along the inside of it, against the tendon. He hadn't yet kissed her again. She used to get pissed at Jimmy for not showing her enough affection, for stupid things like not sitting with her during lunch or for not holding hands when they walked the halls between classes, like showing off she had a boyfriend was half the point of having one. But, Beth thought, she could live off the memory of the kiss she shared with Daryl for the rest of her life. She knew that wasn't true—she needed more than that—but she was willing to wait in the spaces between while they both trod through this new and unfamiliar territory.

"Should walk the walls together this mornin’," Daryl said.

"So you can show me what you found?"

"Mm-hmm," Daryl said.

His hand drew away from hers and they dug into blessedly normal oatmeal. After breakfast, Beth situated Anne in the sling using the method Celine showed her the day before, already appreciating having her arms free, but Daryl scoffed at the idea of his using one. Instead, he tucked Clara, thoroughly swaddled in her little blanket, up in his arms and they started off.

People working the gardens waved at them and Beth waved back, doing her best to look every inch the pretty young mother enjoying a walk with her children; she couldn’t help feeling uneasy about the quietness of this place. The residents of Aspen Pointe were all clean, well-dressed, and well-fed. There were no suspicious looks thrown their way; no wary, squinting, radar eyes; no cautious hands drifting to hips and holstered weapons. There were only smiles and waves. It made Beth want to scale the walls and run. No one came up to talk to them during their slow meander, perhaps because they were too busy with their tasks, or perhaps because… Beth shook her head. She caught sight of Valerie knelt down in the damp dirt, laughing with a younger woman who looked much like her, as they dropped seeds into the clinging soil and mounded earth over top.

"Area past here is real open. Parkland, leads to a house and a few more after on a dead-end road," Daryl said to her through the corner of his mouth.

"Good view?"

"Some trees, not great."

"And the front gate's the street, south-facin', with the church, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh. Clear shot down the street. Not many cars."

Clara spit up on Daryl's arm and he wiped it away with his red rag. While he did so, he pointed out the location of a smaller back gate at the property’s rear.

"Employee entrance," he said. "Only has two guards, day and night. Front has two durin' the day, four at night."

Beth bent over Clara, fussing over her, and said, "Did you spit up? Yes, you did. Oh, you're so messy. What about patrols?"

"One inside, one outside. Both pairs. Four hour shifts."

"What d'you think?" Beth asked, looking up at him.

She didn't know much about the minute details which were needed to keep a community secure. But Daryl did. He worked extensively at the prison with the others, developing the system that worked for them (her stomach clenched when her mind added not well enough) and before that, at the farm and even before that, before she knew him. Beth knew there needed to be adequate lookouts, adequate sightlines, but she didn't know much beyond that, such as the frequency of patrols or the number of people needed; she’d never been asked to take watch on the lonely guard towers or check the fences for breaches. All she had done was clear the fences of the mounding dead. So she trusted Daryl to tell her if Aspen Pointe’s measures were enough.

"No one carries weapons," Daryl finally said, his words sounding as if they were gravel pulled from his gut.

"What? Even the patrols?"

"No," Daryl said.

He shifted Clara around, looking down at the small face while he fixed the blankets to make sure her face remained uncovered. Beth rested her hand against Anne's warm back. Were they the only ones who could defend this place? No, that couldn't be true. No, it couldn’t be. Aspen Pointe was here when so many others had failed; they must know what they were doing. She decided it was so.

They walked a little further before Beth’s head started swimming, so they turned around and headed back for the apartment. She wasn't sure how long it took to recover from blood loss, but Beth was sick of feeling like an invalid. She wanted to be out there, learning more about this place, about what they had done to keep it going against all odds.

Daryl stayed with Beth for the rest of the morning, mostly spending it stood by the sliding door watching Aspen Pointe's residents move about, until midafternoon when Valerie came by again with the same young woman from that morning in tow. She waved vigorously as she approached and came through after Daryl slid the door open.

"Hi, me again, with my sister! This is Leticia—"

"You can call me Lettie," the sister interjected.

" —And we wanted to stop by and see if you wanted another break."

"That would be so helpful, thank you," Beth said.

To Beth's surprise, Daryl left for the bedroom to lie down, but she didn't blame him for wanting to catch some sleep while he could; he got marginally more than her, but not much, as he usually woke each time she shifted out of bed to grab a baby. After asking if it was okay to pick up the twins, Lettie gathered up Clara in her arms with the ease of experience, cooing at the baby while the infant squinted up at her. Beth dropped onto the couch, trying to keep a deep sigh inside. Beside her Valerie sat down with Anne in her arms.

"It really is very kind of you to be so generous with your time, coming to help and all…" Beth said.

"It's nothing," Valerie said. "It's a lot to deal with… after being on the road… two babies to take care of…"

"Were you out there?" Beth asked.

Valerie glanced over at Lettie, who bent over Clara and scrolled through a series of silly faces for her, then brought her gaze back to Beth. Hers was a face welded from steel, the same kind of look Rick wore so often. Valerie nodded.

"You chose to stay," Beth said.

"We did," Valerie said. "This place, Aspen Pointe… it really is different. Different than other places."

"Different enough no one carries weapons?"

"So you noticed?" A smile twisted the corners of Valerie's lips and she lifted the hem of her long shirt to show the handle of a pistol tucked into her waistband. "They don't ‘stop’ you, but they don't like it, so you should stop flaunting it. There's a whole room of guns and sh*t no one uses. I can show you where it is."

"It's locked up?"

"Mm-hmm."

"So why have it at all, if no one's gonna use them?"

"So people out there don't have them," Lettie chimed in.

Beth frowned as she tried to make sense of that argument.

"Don't make waves," Valerie said. "And things will go a lot smoother."

"I'm gonna have t' make waves. Daryl needs a bow or a rifle; he's gonna go crazy if he can't get out of here to hunt," Beth said.

"That's making waves," Lettie said. "Haven't you noticed? No meat. Everyone's vegetarian."

"Unfortunately, I have noticed," Beth said ruefully and the women shared a laugh.

"I don't mean to make you worry, really. We've been here six months and it's been quiet… peaceful. No other people nearby and they do a decent job of keeping the zombis away," Valerie said.

Beth stifled a yawn and opened her mouth to respond when Lettie said, "You can lay down, if you'd like.”

While she would have otherwise tried to stay up while having guests over, Beth was too exhausted to stand on hospitality. She thanked the two and closed her eyes, falling into a restless doze. Each time one of the babies cried, Beth roused slightly, until falling more deeply asleep again when they quieted, soothed by Valerie’s gentle voice or Lettie’s lyrical one. She couldn’t make out what they talked about; it reminded her of being in the car at night, as her parents talked quietly up front.

Beth sighed and sunk further into the couch’s squashy cushions.

When Valerie and Lettie left near supper, Beth brought Clara and Anne to the bedroom to lie down in their bassinets. She wondered why Valerie and Lettie were being so kind, helping out a virtual stranger with something as demanding as childcare. Beth settled Clara down, checking the blanket serving as her mattress was well secured, and watched her daughter wave a tiny fist around. The baby’s eyes were still unfocused, unclear, and she remembered Celine explaining newborns couldn’t see very well, just blurs, until they learned to focus their eyes. Her daughters only knew her as a touch, as a voice. It was a strange thought. And then she thought about how well Valerie and Lettie handled the twins and she said to herself, perhaps one of them had lost a small child and that wasn’t a pain she’d wish on anyone.

The bed creaked. Beth looked away from Clara to see Daryl sitting up, rubbing at his lower back. Knuckles dug into muscle on either side of his spine and he grunted when his finger hit a particularly tender spot.

“f*ckin’ bed’s too soft,” he said.

“Could get rid of it an’ sleep on the floor instead,” Beth said.

“Should do that,” Daryl said with all seriousness.

“I like sleepin’ on a mattress. I’ll put a buncha rocks under your side instead,” Beth said. She took her hand from Clara’s chest, the girl now well on her way to sleep. “Valerie’s very nice to help out like she has.”

Daryl nodded at her, his elbows resting on his knees and his back rounded. Beth gained the sense they were balanced on a tightrope, treading a fine line between being paranoid and being cautious. Valerie was only one woman, Beth told herself. But she was a woman who’d been out there the same as them.

“She tell you ‘bout the weapons?” Daryl asked.

Coming over to him, Beth sat beside Daryl on the bed, her legs shaking as she lowered herself the last few inches. She plopped down harder than she meant to and the mattress let out a little whumf, like an exclamation mark to remind her she wasn’t anywhere close to her old self yet. Daryl’s hand reached out to rest on her thigh, and Beth thought it might have been to steady her, but he left his hand where it was, his thumb resting on top and his ring and pinky fingers curling over the inside curve.

“You mean the mean looks we’ll get for carryin’ them? Or the giant stash this place has hidden away?”

“You really are somethin’. f*ckin’ ‘mean looks,’” Daryl snorted. “Good. She told you. Gonna find you some wire, so you can get in.”

She leaned into his shoulder and they both resolutely didn’t look at each other, instead staring out the window at the darkening grounds. He was warm against her, solid and comforting in a way she hadn’t experienced before, as if she were a roof and he a pillar supporting her.

“You can get me wire, but I don’t think I should be breakin’ in just yet. We know it’s there and we know I can get into it.”

“Think that’s how it should be?” Daryl’s voice made something in her flip, like she’d disappointed him somehow.

“You told me Norman’s reservin’ judgement on me. Wouldn’t it be better to try the honest way? Maybe they have bows in there. Could ask to be allowed to hunt, or to keep up our skills if they don’t allow that… bein’ vegetarians and all.”

“All that’ll do is put more eyes on us,” Daryl said.

“An’ if we do get it, we’ll have an excellent reason to be goin’ there often.”

“Gotta start thinkin’ about these things, Beth,” he said as he turned to look at her. “Can’t just rely on some harebrained idea of how thing’s‘ll go.”

“It’s not harebrained!” Beth said, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s as good as your idea and won’t make us look bad!”

“I don’t give a damn about ‘lookin’ bad’ if it means you’re safe,” Daryl snapped.

“I do! If they think we’re untrustworthy, think we’re tryna take over, what d’you think’s gonna happen? If it were just me, I’d say yes to takin’ those guns in a heartbeat, Daryl, but it’s not,” she pleaded. “It’s not just me now.”

His hand tightened on her thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh and Beth thought it was a strange place for him to put his hand, instead of her shoulder or her arm. The moment hung in the air like a water droplet about to fall free, gravity pulling it inexorably downwards.

“Both,” he muttered. “Do both. Take a few boxes of ammo, that’s it. Then we try your way.”

Beth considered. Perhaps that was the best compromise—the empty gun was a burning weight. A box of ammo could be more easily explained away as a desire for personal protection than amassing a whole arsenal, as she initially thought Daryl to be suggesting. It was risky, but what wasn’t these days?

“Alright,” she agreed. “We’ll do both.”

Daryl nodded and Beth saw the change in his eyes, the switch from unsure and anxious to hard and determined. Something about that look started a blaze in her gut, made her want to push him down on the bed and take that cold determination inside herself, to possess it for herself. She was acutely aware of his warm hand on her thigh, of the indentations left by his fingertips, and she felt when his fingers twitched on her skin, covered as it was by the skirt. Pushing forward, Beth angled her head up and pressed her lips to his.

He startled. With a clenching feeling, Beth drew back until his other hand came up, cradling the back of her head, the pressure of it keeping her pinned. Her hand rested now on his bicep, fingers curling into the fabric, and Beth fell into the kiss, even as she noted uselessly how chapped his lips were.

When his hand dropped to rest against the back of her neck, Beth pulled away. He didn’t meet her eyes, instead slanting his gaze towards the fake hardwood tiling the floor.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?”

“Why me?”

Swallowing, Beth uncurled her fingers from his shirt and let them brush along the small checks instead.

“Because… because when I said you needed to treat me different, you listened. Asked me what I thought, taught me what I needed. You treat me like me. Because you’re kind, even if you don’t think so. Because… because I don’t know. Because I think I’d burn this place down if it meant another day with you…” She took in a deep breath, feeling it catch inside her lungs. “…Why me?”

Blue eyes darted up to meet hers briefly before returning to the floor. His fingers curled in her hair, the strands tangling over rough calluses and scars.

“…’Cause I wanna teach ya to hunt,” he finally said.

She almost wanted to laugh, because what kind of answer was that? But what other kind of answer would she have wanted from him?

“I’d really like to learn,” Beth said. “Never thought I would, but I get it now. I wanna be back out there too. Being in here is… is like… I can’t see the sky enough. Like the light in my eyes is gone.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “It is.”

Nodding, Beth leaned into him to tuck her head beneath his. Her arms wrapped around him and for once he didn’t immediately stiffen, unconsciously draw away from her touch; he let his arms cover her and she breathed in the scent of him, just for a moment, before drawing back.

“Been curious about that patio kitchen all this time. Gonna go talk to Franny, see if I can’t get us somethin’ for supper. At least I’m a better cook that Harley, right?”

“Barely,” Daryl said.

“Barely? What are you talkin’ about? I don’t think bean water can be made into mousse,” Beth said and laughed, remembering the disastrous dessert brought to them one evening.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Daryl muttered. “This is how I’m gonna die. Not by some crazy bastard, not by walkers, but ‘cause of bad cookin’.”

“Who wouldn’t want such a borin’ death these days?”

The stare Daryl fixed on her only made her laugh harder.

But Franny wasn't in the pantry when Beth stopped by to get dinner things; the room was cold and dark. So Beth instead went to the communal outdoor kitchen, resigned to another meal roulette courtesy of Harley. She fell in line behind a small family she hadn't been introduced to and shortly after a young man with a wild mop of blond curls joined the line behind her.

"I dead-ass shoulda learned how to cook," he said to Beth with an easy grin. "Then I wouldn't be subjected to Master Chef over there."

Beth snorted and said, "Glad to know it's not just me."

"It's definitely not, not by a long shot. Only most everyone doesn't want the job of cooking for thirty people three times a day, so that's how we're stuck with apple 'sausage,'" the young man said. "Frankie… Frankie Mazur, by the way."

"Beth Greene."

"You're with Wings, right? Daryl?" Beth nodded. "Yeah, Valerie told me about you both. You got a brass pair on you, you know that? Kids in this mess… you Catholic?"

"Uh… Baptist."

"Good enough, ya heretic!" Frankie laughed a boisterous laugh as the line scooched forward. "If you wanna join, there's a Bible study each Wednesday. Schmidt leads it. And we all get together and sing some hymns and sh*t on Sunday, if that's your thing."

"That sounds really nice, actually. I had a Bible for a while, but I lost it."

"Come by room 307 on Wednesday and I'll have one ready for you," Frankie said. "Bibles aren't exactly a high-priority item, so there's, like, six-f*cking-thousand hanging around."

"This is goin' to… when's Wednesday?"

Frankie laughed again and said, "Three days from now."

"Thank you," Beth said, something in her soothed by having an identifiable day in her head once more, and then it was her turn in line.

Harley plopped an unidentifiable substance on her two plates, beaming widely. Whatever it was clung to the spoon, reluctant to leave the sentient hive-mind mass, and dripped off in thick, clinging clumps. Beth watched the substance fall and tried to contain her horror.

"Looks scrumptious," Beth said with a too-wide smile.

"Aren't you a dear," Harley said. "Take an extra helping!"

Frankie rapidly raised his eyebrows several times at Beth and grinned; all Beth could do was stand there with a brittle, polite smile on her face and guilt about wasting food bubbling in her gut. The meal (if it could be called that) now secured, Beth started back for the apartment so the substance had as little time to congeal as possible. A call made her stop.

"Hey," Frankie said, jogging to meet her with his own plate of glop in his hands, "before you go… dunno how much Valerie's talked with you, but keep your head down, yeah? Being in here, it's not like being… how the f*ck should I say this…"

Beth shifted her weight to her other foot as she waited for Frankie to complete his thought. A cool gust of air blew over them, rustling the grass and the tender new shoots poking up from beneath last year's growth. The days were warm enough now, but the night reminded Beth that winter was never far off.

"I dunno how it was where you were before, but we can both say we just want to feel f*cking normal, right? It takes time to adjust because Aspen Pointe is different."

There was that word again. Different.

"I guess I only wanna say you've got a friend in me, okay? And my friends are your friends, too."

Chapter 4: hell is a circle, there ain't no place to hide

Chapter Text

The next several weeks passed by with alarming speed. Beth began to settle into something resembling a routine with the twins, as much as one could have a routine with two infants. She mostly remained in the apartment, but she started taking walks in the morning with the girls, Celine having shown her how to wrap both girls on her chest at once. Both of them had already changed so much, beginning to loosen and unfurl from the cramped positions they held in the womb; every day they were more active, wiggling and waving and making new sounds.

While she walked the grounds, Beth noted the patrols around the walls, the people who often stood guard at the gate, and who went outside the walls on runs. It seemed as if everyone had a designated job, with very few people taking on multiple roles; Valerie was one of the few who worked in the gardens as well as patrolling the walls or going on runs. One thing Beth noticed was everyone who went outside the walls wore coats. They were shiny and dark things and she thought perhaps it was leather, for additional protection against bites. No one had talked to Beth or Daryl about taking on tasks for the community, which Beth understood; they were still outsiders, though nominally she thought the lack of responsibility was their way of respecting the fact she was caretaker to two newborns.

Daryl spent most of his time walking the walls—by himself, instead of taking on one of the patrol shifts—and seemed better for having the time outside the apartment, which Beth couldn't begrudge him, as much as she wanted a moment for herself. While Valerie had shown Beth the location of the armory once, the room sat off to the common room’s side. That room was hardly ever empty, being the heart of the community. People spent hours lingering after breakfast, or gathering before supper, or having late night board games over steaming cups of tea. Despite Daryl seeing patterns in who liked to linger, what days they preferred to do so, and how much attention they paid while in the room, they weren’t any closer in gaining a chance to break into the armory.

Beth continued spending time with Valerie in the afternoons, often taking a second walk with her when she had the energy for it. Along the way Valerie would stop to chat with certain people and Beth got the chance to meet more members of Aspen Pointe, as neither she nor Daryl ventured to seek others out; while Beth wanted to join the Bible study she'd been invited to, the demands of two infants and Daryl being gone kept her from doing so.

One of those people was Erika, a tall, blonde woman who could usually be found staring out the front gate or patrolling inside the walls. She and Valerie seemed on friendly terms, if not close. Beth wondered if Erika also kept a gun hidden away; Valerie seemed careful in who she stopped and talked to while with Beth. Beth couldn’t puzzle out why, because Valerie was warm and friendly. The ease with which she interacted with people made Beth envious, so the reason couldn’t be that Valerie was on bad terms with most of the residents.

Another one of the people Valerie introduced Beth to was Richard, an otherwise unassuming man who had no problem showing Beth the alarming number of knives strapped to his person underneath his clothes. He kindly offered Beth one of his “extras”, but she declined, lifting her long shirt to show the edge of her own knife. Richard nodded sagely upon seeing this, seeming satisfied.

It was during one of her morning walks that she finally met Norman. He came up to her while she stood watching the squash plants being weeded, standing close enough to Beth that she smelled his strong cologne. Norman had pale, wispy hair that seemed insubstantial and colorless, even though it was carefully coiffed in a swooping tower above his head. She thought him to be around fifty, as his temples were shot with silver and the stubble below his thin and pointed nose had that iridescent quality gray lent to facial hair. He stood next to her with his hands clasped behind his back and it made her think of a sergeant watching over his charges as he put them through drills.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Mornin’,” Beth responded.

“I’m…” He cleared his throat. “You know who I am, don't you? Norman Coates?”

“I know,” Beth said.

“It’s good to see you up and about. Celine said things were very difficult for you for a while,” he said.

“They were,” she said.

His foot tapped softly against the damp grass. Glancing down Beth saw he wore loafers. The sight made her want to scream.

“Would you like to work in the gardens?” Norman asked.

“I would. Grew up on a farm. But I don’t think I can manage just yet. I’d be happy to help out with other things, like laundry or in the kitchen,” Beth said.

“Of course.” Norman nodded seriously. “Whatever you’d like to do.”

“Well,” Beth said, “I’d like to hunt. And so would Daryl. He’s good with a bow.”

Norman sucked in a little breath like he was disappointed she brought it up and said, “Oh, no, no, Beth… I’m sorry. We don’t eat meat here. We’re trying to leave as little impact on the earth as possible, and really, it’s the community’s decision.”

“I understand,” Beth said, thinking as she spoke, “but I lost a lot of blood when I gave birth to these two. I need iron.”

Making that thinking, clicking sound with his tongue, Norman looked down at her; his eyes were as colorless as the rest of him.

“I’ll talk to the others and see what they think. Speaking of Daryl… have you been with him long? Did you know him before?”

Beth watched the garden workers industriously move along the rows, their shining blades hacking deep into the soil to pull out unwanted plants attempting to take over the prime space. Clara hiccuped softly in her sleep, soft and warm against Beth’s chest. Celine was right, Beth thought, they do cry less when they’re in the slings.

“I’m only asking,” Norman continued, “because he’s very… hostile. We’re a family here at Aspen Pointe. We support each other, encourage each other, yes? And I’m having a hard time seeing a man like… that meshing with how we choose to do things.”

“He’s a good, loyal, reliable man,” Beth said. “He’s capable.”

“I have your word, but that’s all,” Norman said.

“You have my life as proof. We were in Georgia, originally. Do you think it’s an easy thing to travel so many miles, to travel so many miles pregnant? It’s not.”

“I see…. Yes, I see. Well, I must be moving on, but it was a pleasure meeting you, Beth. Congratulations, by the way…. Your daughters are lovely. I hope they live.”

And he walked away, leaving Beth spluttering, her throat choked tight. He hoped they lived? What was she supposed to understand from that statement? Who said things like that? Clenching her hands up into fists, Beth watched the man as he jauntily stepped across the lawn, heading off towards one of the small cottages lined up in a neat row along the east wall. His figure was small and mean before she turned away from the black, loamy garden.

As Beth strode back towards the apartment, not caring how fast her heart beat or how lightheaded she felt, a voice calling made her slow. She turned to see Celine waving at her from one of the building’s entrances. Taking a deep breath, she changed direction, heading towards the woman instead.

“Shouldn’t push yourself like that,” Celine said when Beth came up panting.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” Beth gasped.

“You’re pale. Here, sit down,” Celine said.

Strong hands forced her to sit on the sun-warmed concrete. The woman dropped down next to Beth, leaning back with her palms flat against the ground. Beth took a few slow breaths and felt her head clear somewhat.

“I saw you talking to Norman,” Celine said. “I warned you, didn’t I?”

“He said he hoped my daughters lived! Who says somethin’ like that?” Beth burst out.

“He’s got no tact,” Celine said.

“You said he was a Communications professor. Shouldn’t he be better at communicatin’?”

“I look at it like how doctors make the worst patients.”

Beth stared hard at the expanse of green before her eyes, surprised at the anger which still sang in her blood. It burned bright in her veins, roiling against the callous statement, so ignorant of what she’d gone through to give her two daughters life. Against her chest Anne stirred, so Beth tore her eyes away from the murky distance, the world beyond the walls, to focus on her child.

“It’s about time for the girls to have their lunch. I should head back,” Beth said.

“I’ll walk you there,” Celine said.

Both women got to their feet and started towards Beth’s apartment. Celine stopped outside the sliding door, twirling a purple-tipped braid around her index finger. Her lips pursed as Beth waited for the woman to voice her thoughts.

"Hey, Norman's not the only one with a voice around here, okay? Schmidt and Harley and I, we have a say in things, too. So don't worry too much," Celine said.

Beth felt Celine's words conveyed a naive sort of optimism, but she smiled anyway and said, "Of course. Who isn't rough around the edges these days?"

That night she lay in bed, turned on her side with Clara and Anne in the middle and Daryl stretched out on the other side, his mouth working as he chewed on a toothbrush. While Aspen Pointe had toothbrushes, they had no toothpaste to Schmidt's eternal lament. Beth didn't think Daryl was even trying to clean his teeth at this point; she figured he just liked having something to do with his mouth, with his hands, like smoking a cigarette.

Anne waved her hands around, her fingers still curled up, and Beth idly tickled her, making the small arms wave faster. Beside her sister Clara kicked, occasionally pummeling Daryl's arm with a socked foot. Daryl would then gently poke the small foot back, as if testing Clara's strength.

"I met Norman today," Beth said between her coos over the girls.

Daryl grunted to show her heard her, his fingers worrying the toothbrush’s handle.

"What happened between you two?"

"First time I met him? Came in hollerin' while Celine were elbow deep in your guts tryin' to stop you from bleedin' to death. Second time? Told me he thought I couldn't play nice, like he sees me as a threat."

"He said as much to me today," Beth said. "But if I understand right, Celine, Schmidt, and Harley are like the council at the prison—"

"Don't matter,” he said. “When it comes down to things like that, it don’t matter.”

As Beth opened her mouth to respond a carrying shout echoed through the hallway:

"GATE BREACH!"

Beth and Daryl leapt upright, their feet on the ground in an instant. Daryl crossed to the window in two strides. When he saw nothing outside the smudged glass, he ran to the living room. Both girls began screaming, their faces going red, but Beth got out her knife instead of comforting them, even as her heart broke. The handle felt heavy in her hand, like the knife was made of stone and not metal.

Daryl jogged back into the room and hissed, "The armory! sh*t goes south, meet me at the back gate."

"Daryl, I can't leave them!"

"I got the kids. If sh*t goes down, we need bullets."

"You're right," Beth murmured. "Will you stay with them?"

He nodded, seeming to understand Beth's mind had spun in all directions at the warning cry, and that she didn't want anything from him but pointless nothings; of course she knew he'd leave with the girls if it came to it. After all, hadn’t he risked his life to make sure Judith would live? Beth hefted the knife once more in her hand to make sure her grip was good and darted for the front door. She trusted him. She trusted him to do what he needed to keep Clara and Anne alive.

The hallway was dark and quiet, the crier moved on to another part of the building. Beth stepped quickly, moving with purpose through the dim hall. She skirted along the edges of the common room and her breath sounded louder in her ears than it actually was. Beyond the walls, she heard the sound of singing and almost went to look—why were these people singing? Was it in celebration of securing the area again?—but she refrained.

Instead she made it to the armory's door, where she pulled out two of the bobby pins she'd kept in her hair since that conversation with Daryl. Her hand slapped on the powder-coated metal of the door and slid over the slick surface, searching for the lock. When she found it, Beth shoved the wire inside, feeling for the pins. Every creak of the building, every shout from outside, sent her heart racing but she kept on. Just one more pin and—

The door clicked open.

She pressed inside and let her eyes roam. There wasn't much light, but she made out the mean contours of assault rifles lining the wall underneath a squat window. Her hands lifted in front of her, nothing but dim shapes in the dark. Beth blindly felt the air until she touched a bin. Pulling it towards the bare, cold light which filtered through the window, she saw handguns sitting inside the plastic tub. Not what she needed.

To the left: another bin of guns. Beth listened as the singing continued and grabbed the next bin over. This one held boxes of ammunition! She held one box up to the light, squinting to see the graphics. No, those cartridges were too large. Trying again, Beth's hand closed around another box. Yes, that was what she needed!

After stuffing two boxes down her shirt, where she secured them under the band of her bra, she put the bin back into place and crept from the room. Beth shut the door behind herself, knowing it was only a matter of time until the door was found to be unlocked, but that couldn’t be helped. Hanging against the edges of the wall again to creep back to her apartment, she froze when shadows loomed long on the drywall, cast into bizarre shapes by flickering firelight. People were gathering in the common room. sh*t.

She stepped confidently forward, knowing her skulking would only arouse suspicion. Beth then caught sight of Valerie, who walked with Lettie into the room, so she sidled past a small group to join up with Valerie. The woman, to her credit, didn’t react to Beth’s sudden appearance from the wrong side of the room.

"Where's Daryl?" Valerie asked, mildly, as if she asked how Clara and Anne fared.

"Reach under my shirt," Beth said sotto voce. "Just do it."

Under the cover of giving Beth a comforting hug, Valerie did so. Her hand closed around one box while a soft gasp escaped her lips.

"Take both of 'em. I'll come back later to get one," Beth said.

Valerie's head nodded against Beth's and she passed the boxes to Lettie, who stood behind them both. The two women broke apart and Beth saw Lettie hide the boxes in the pocket of her sweatshirt. A sigh of relief escaped Beth and she thought she should go back to Daryl, to let him know the danger passed and she had been successful, but she knew leaving now would look suspicious. Daryl would understand.

Norman strode into the room with Celine and Schmidt following behind him. He was gray-faced, skin the sickly blueish color of skimmed milk seen through strong light, but his stride was firm and purposeful. The man held up his hands to silence the motley gathered group.

"All the sick are out the back gate," Norman said. "Everyone, put out your fires and remain inside tonight!"

He started calling out names as the gathered crowd breathed a sigh of relief. While people flocked to Norman, Beth quietly followed Valerie and Lettie towards their rooms. The remaining residents dispersed into smaller clusters to speculate around the common room's low fire. It wasn't until the three were well out of earshot, nearly at their apartments, that Lettie spoke.

"How'd you get in?"

"Picked the lock," Beth said. "I'll come back later to get the other box. Don’t think havin’ too much at one time is a good idea."

“Might as well take it,” Valerie said. “This is the first breach in months. You’d feel better, I’m sure, knowing you have them.”

Beth considered, then nodded at the other woman. Drawing one of the boxes from her sweatshirt pocket, Lettie handed it to Beth, who placed it in her cardigan’s pocket. Voices rang down the hallway causing all three heads to whip towards the head of the corridor; people were making their way back. Valerie gave Beth a brief, tight hug.

“Thank you,” Valerie said to Beth’s ear.

Giving Valerie a meaningful look, Beth returned to her apartment.

She pushed the door open. Shrill, piercing screams came from the bedroom, but Daryl was posted by the sliding door instead of being with the babies. He turned when the door opened, hands coming up to guard his face and his knife in hand, although he dropped the stance when he saw it was only Beth. Straightening, Daryl returned the knife to its sheath then braced himself, holding his arms away from his body. Crossing the room in just a few strides, Beth wrapped her arms around his chest, linking her hands in the space between his shoulder blades. It was like falling into him, even more so when warm arms and wide hands covered her back.

“I got in. No trouble. The walkers are gone.”

Beth drew back and Daryl’s hands ran over her arms, coming to rest on her shoulders. She studied his face, as much as she could in the guttering light of a single stubby candle. Long lines of sweat beaded down into his scraggly beard despite the impassive look he wore. Swallowing down the words she wanted to say, Beth pulled the box of cartridges from her pocket.

“I got two. Gave one to Valerie 'cause she covered me. Where should we hide it?”

“In the sh*t bucket,” Daryl said.

“Oh… gross,” Beth screwed up her face. “I was thinkin’ the baby things.”

“Be the first place people look,” Daryl said.

He was right, when she thought about it. She’d have to think of a more accessible spot than underneath layers of dirt and waste, but if their rooms were searched the toilet wouldn’t be the first spot anyone pawed through. Beth handed the box of cartridges to Daryl, then went to the bedroom to quiet the girls, who'd been moved to their bassinets.

“If you walk the walls, be careful about it. We’re supposed to stay inside the rest of the night,” Beth said to him as she went.

As she settled the girls in to nurse, Daryl came into the bedroom, the box of cartridges now wrapped up in a plastic grocery bag to keep the box clean and dry. Rustling sounds came from the bathroom as he buried the hard-won prize away; this was followed by the sounds of water splashing as he cleaned his hands. Beth adjusted her breast to help Anne latch more securely; the baby still had trouble getting a good latch and was much smaller than her sister, who seemed to grow overnight.

She should talk to Celine, she thought, to make sure nothing was wrong.

Humming softly to the babies, Beth was glad Daryl argued for both courses of action. Now that she knew the gates were breached with some frequency, the idea of having her gun at hand again dropped Beth’s shoulders an inch. In the end, Norman might not allow them to hunt, but her daughters would stay safe if Beth had anything to say about it. The more Beth dwelled on it, the more it felt as if she were in a straightjacket being drawn tighter with every move she made. It could turn out that Aspen Pointe wasn’t the place for them, but with two infants who screamed at the slightest provocation, there wasn’t any possibility they could survive on the road. They were here for better or for worse and the idea set Beth’s teeth on edge, like running your nails accidentally over a chalkboard.

No wonder Dom and Lindsay had left.

But she couldn’t leave.

Footsteps brought her head up from the two precious faces against her chest. Daryl stood there in the dim bedroom, clicking the magazine into his gun. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he checked over the weapon. After putting it back in its holster, he watched her for a moment, watched the girls, and a long breath expanded his chest. His face was a blank thing, something frightening. Daryl reached inside his vest pocket and then held his hand out to Beth, fingers unfolding to show three bullets in his palm.

“What is this?” Beth asked, though she knew immediately.

“Kept two in my vest the whole way here,” Daryl said. “You know why.”

The very idea of having to put a bullet in either Clara or Anne’s head, in her own head, made a cold sweat spring up in the creases of her palms, at the edges of her hairline. But she’d be damned if she ever let those two girls suffer a moment of that kind of pain. She’d be damned if she let that happen to them in the first place. The idea that Daryl had traveled all the way from Georgia with her death in his pocket made something inside her feel funny; was it wrong that she thought the idea sweet in a twisted way? That it meant he wouldn’t let her suffer, let her turn? She thought it must be wrong to feel that way, wrong in the same way Carl seemed morbidly pleased he’d been the one to end his mother’s life, like it was a noble notion and it was right for him to shoulder such a burden. The bullets were pragmatic because her survival had been no guarantee, but she couldn’t quite feel pleased about the fact they needed to plan for contingencies like this, or that he hadn’t told her about the bullets.

The wrongness of the world washed over her with all the intensity of a breaking wave and if she hadn’t held her daughters in her arms, Beth thought she might have tumbled into a place that was nothing but sinking darkness.

“You should've told me,” Beth said, quietly.

“I know,” Daryl said. "Why I'm tellin' you now."

Plucking the bullets from his palm, she closed her own hand around them and nodded at Daryl. He returned the gesture. With the heaviness of the bullets hanging in the air, Daryl left to walk the walls.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Beth found out what happened regarding the gate breach. She and Daryl were called to the common room with the rest of the community as soon as the sun rose. Beth took a seat at one of the round tables, with a man named Chuck who often manned the front gate and an older woman named Eileen who could usually be found weaving or knitting. Daryl chose to remain standing, close enough behind Beth’s chair that she could feel the heat from his body; her skin buzzed from it. Soft chatter filled the room while they waited for Norman.

"Hey," Chuck called, getting Beth's attention.

She looked at him, hearing the rustle above her head from Daryl shifting his weight.

"This kinda stuff hardly happens," Chuck said. He gave Beth a kind of smile which made her eyes narrow. It was a cheeky, too wide smile. Was he trying to flirt with her? "You don't need to worry. Everyone here knows what to do when stuff like that happens. Your kids are safe as houses. Plus, I'm usually on the gates. Never had a breakthrough on my watch!"

"Pleased to hear it," Beth said with one of her practiced, distant smiles.

"I did Brazilian Jiu Jitsu… had a black belt… if you ever want to learn some self defense moves, y'know, I'd be happy to teach you. It's nasty out there these days. Just stop on by 17A."

Daryl coughed somewhere above her head. Chuck wasn't an unattractive man—he had a genial, pleasant face—but Beth wondered if he operated more on charisma than actual looks. It was bold of him to ask her to his room right in front of Daryl, while she had her sleeping daughters strapped to her chest.

"Very kind of you to offer," Beth said, "but I can handle myself."

"Well, the offer's always open. I'd be happy to teach your brother, too," Chuck said.

Daryl dropped his hand onto Beth's shoulder.

"Oh, you mean Daryl? He's not my brother," Beth said. She smiled again and turned to Eileen. "I always see you out in the yard weavin'. Would you mind terribly if I joined you?"

Eileen's eyes darted to Chuck before bouncing back to Beth and she suppressed a smile, saying, "Of course. I'd love having some company… and getting to dote over those darling babies of yours."

While Beth chatted with Eileen regarding the twins, Daryl left his hand on Beth's shoulder. Effectively iced out of the conversation, Chuck got up not too long after to sit at a crowded table next to the fireplace. Out of the corner of her eye Beth saw the whole table talking together, Chuck looking extremely sour as he spoke.

The room hushed when Norman came through one of the corridors, followed by Schmidt, Celine, Harley, and a young man Beth only recognized from seeing him at the gates. Norman took a place on the raised brick of the fireplace to elevate himself above the rest of the milling mass, then gestured for them all to be seated. There was a period of shuffling as those standing found seats where they could. The young man stood beside Norman, keeping his arms crossed as he stared down the residents, as if daring them to speak out.

“Good morning, everyone! It’s so good to see your faces whole and well in front of me. I’d like to thank you all for your cooperation last night, which allowed us to act quickly and swiftly against the threat,” Norman started. “As you might have noticed, the sick’s numbers are beginning to rise as they return from the south. When Dayvon and Will returned from their shift outside the walls, some of the sick came through the gate. With their quick thinking, we were able to lead the sick to the rear gate and back outside the walls, and there were no injuries from the effort. Let’s raise a hand to Dayvon and Will for their bravery!”

Applause rang through the room. The man standing next to Norman ducked his head down and rubbed the back of his neck, as if he were embarrassed by the attention. So that was either Dayvon or Will. Beth idly clapped her hands together, not sure why the two men deserved to be applauded for doing what needed to be done.

“With the numbers increasing, I’d like to ask you all to no longer have fires after dark, and for everyone to remain inside after the sun sets barring those working the walls. The less attention we attract the better, right? Thank you, all. Now let’s have breakfast!”

Beth stood, getting ready to head back to the apartment. She didn’t much feel like trying to get through a noisy communal breakfast, but Norman called out to her. Daryl stopped beside her and they turned to wait for the man, ignoring the stares of everyone in the room. He crossed the common room towards them, coming up with an easy smile on his thin lips, one which didn’t quite extend to his small eyes.

“Glad I caught you. I’ve got a few things I’d like to talk to you about,” Norman said.

Did he know about the missing cartridges? Beth’s heart pounded against her ribcage, but she plastered a smile on her face for Norman, expecting it looked much like his.

“What?” Daryl grunted.

“No need to look like I’m sending you to your executions!” Norman laughed.

Beth bit her tongue.

“Anyways,” Norman continued, “Dayvon and Valerie are planning on a supply run soon, within the next couple of days. Valerie thought you’d make a good third, Daryl. That’s their call, not mine. You in?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. I’ve also had a chance to talk with the others about your hunting. That’s a bit trickier. Aspen Pointe is trying to leave as little impact on the earth as possible. We’re trying to let it heal—I mean, isn’t that what happened? The earth told us to f*ck off?—but I understand you need to heal also, Beth. As much as I don’t like it, it is true you’d get more iron from animal sources and Celine agrees you’re anemic. Well,” Norman sighed, running a hand over his insubstantial hair, “it's been decided the both of you can hunt until Beth’s no longer anemic, or until iron pills are able to be brought back.”

“Thank you,” Beth said.

“Thank Schmidt. It’s because of him you’re both being allowed this.”

Someone else called for Norman’s attention, so he briefly shook both their hands before walking away. Beth looked up at Daryl, watched his eyes follow Norman’s movement through the room, and then they started back for the apartment. There was nothing said between them until the front door swung shut behind them. Beth started for the sliding door, intending to get a fire going for breakfast. Daryl followed behind and from the heaviness of his footsteps she knew he was pissed.

“Who the f*ck does he think he is?” Daryl said. “Like he’s some goddamn king knightin’ us.”

Beth lit the tinder and fanned the small flame until it licked over the kindling. Anne, resting next to her sister on Beth's chest, let out a sigh and worked her lips as if searching for a nipple; Beth would have to feed them soon. Daryl dropped into one of the lawn chairs gathered around the circle of brick which held the fire, his mouth screwed into a tight line.

“Looks like I’ll have t' be ‘anemic’ for quite a while,” Beth said mildly as she placed a few logs on the flames. “And I’m sure there’ll be no iron pills to be found on your run. Medicine is so hard to find these days.”

“Uh-huh,” Daryl said. He stood and added, “What you want me to grab?”

“The fiddleheads and some of the rice,” Beth said.

“Not breakfast, out there,” Daryl said with a little laugh as he jerked his thumb towards the wall, though he did get to his feet to grab the breakfast ingredients from inside.

As Beth steamed the rice, she considered what she really needed for the babies. She didn’t need anything for herself, but Clara and Anne were practically new children every day, and already so much heavier.

“A crib and more clothes,” Beth said. “And a toy or two. They should have toys. A play mat. Bottles. If you find disposable diapers, I’d really, really love to be able to just throw a diaper away an’ be done with it.”

“See what I can do,” Daryl said. “Better be ready for me to bring back sixty squirrels.”

Laughing, Beth said, “Why not seventy and we’ll have a feast?”

Chapter 5: the holy ghost keeps this cold heart warm

Chapter Text

The following morning a man Beth had never spoken to, only seen, stopped by the apartment. She knew his name was Peter, but she didn’t know anything else about him, even what he did during the day; he seemed to flit from here to there, never favoring one particular job over another. Daryl opened the door to the man, looking down at him like he was a speck of dog sh*t.

Peter cleared his throat and said, “I’m here to escort you to the armory.”

Daryl looked back at Beth and she nodded, saying, “Just need a moment.”

By now she’d gotten quite good at getting the girls into their sling, so in a few minutes both of the babies were securely snugged up against her chest and she started off with Daryl and Peter. Daryl snuck a glance at her, so she shrugged; they were about to find out if their theft would cost them anything. There was nothing for it now because it was already done.

Peter led them through the common room and stopped at the armory’s door. The man pulled a ring of keys off his belt, fat fingers rifling through the collection until he found the one he needed. Beth held her breath. Peter stuck the key in the lock.

The lock clicked and Beth wanted to make a sound, but she didn’t. The door was the kind that automatically locked. She let her wide eyes slide to Daryl. He wore an expression that plainly said he thought she was the luckiest bitch alive.

“So, you’ll need to find me every time you want access; I’m the only one with the key,” Peter said, pushing the door open and gesturing them inside. “I’ll need to note what you take, how often you come here, things of that nature.”

“Of course, that’s just good sense,” Beth said, giving Peter a winning smile.

A lantern switched on and Beth finally saw everything she’d missed in the dark of her initial excursion. It was a whole arsenal, more than they’d ever had at the prison and she wondered if that was simply because Aspen Pointe hoarded these weapons instead of using them. It also seemed impossible to have happened upon this much weaponry; they had to have looked specifically for it. But why, why have all this munition sitting around if it wasn’t going to be used? Keeping it away from those on the outside wasn’t a good enough reason when they could have instead destroyed the weapons or hid them in a less accessible location.

For now, Beth decided she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Her scavenger eyes roamed over a stack of assault rifles, over the bins of handguns and cartridges, over the hunting rifles and piles of scopes, and over the military green cases of grenades. She even saw a few mortar launchers in one corner, leaned against each other like tent stakes. Beth also wondered at the sense of keeping this much ordnance next to where people liked to gather. That couldn't be safe.

Daryl was drawn directly to one wall, where his hand closed around a crossbow and he looked like himself again. Beth stopped her hungry cataloging of the armory and joined him. A few compound bows rested against the wall and she wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, that she wouldn’t have to mess around with a crossbow. While the crossbow hit harder and flew farther, Beth much preferred the speed of the recurve bow she’d once used. Daryl pointed to one in the middle, carbon fiber black with mean red and white graphics, and Beth picked it up, testing how it felt in her hand. Different than the recurve bow, but still good. Yes, she liked it.

“Bowmen, huh?” Peter said. “My uncle was one. He tried to teach me, but I never had the patience for it. We cleared out a sporting goods store for those.”

“Ain’t for everyone,” Daryl said.

He slung the new crossbow over his shoulder and the action of it lifted a weight from him; he stood differently, with his shoulders firmer and his eyes harder. Both of them picked up extra bolts and arrows for their weapons. Beth decided she wouldn’t push her luck by asking where the hell all the guns came from, instead giving Peter another smile.

“Maybe you should come huntin’ with us,” she said.

Behind her, Daryl turned a snort into a cough.

“Very kind of you to offer, but I don’t hunt. Haven’t for years. My uncle only hunted for sport… He never ate what he killed. I just got… turned off by the waste of it.”

“Ain’t a waste,” Daryl said.

Peter shrugged and said, “I can accept you need it right now. Anything after that… well. It’s only until you feel better, right?”

Beth blinked but said, “Yeah. Just until then.”

He escorted them out of the armory, switching off the lantern before closing the door behind himself. People had now gathered in the common room to share lunch together and their eyes followed Beth and Daryl, lingering over the crossbow bristling on Daryl’s back. Beth almost wanted to take each and every one of them by the shoulder and give them a solid shake, as if she could rattle some sense into their brains. They didn’t have to hunt, fine! But what were they going to do when the dead broke through their walls again, in such numbers they couldn’t be led away?

Once they were back in the apartment, Daryl moved to help Beth take off the sling, but she shook her head.

“I need to be able to fire wearin’ both of ‘em. Just gotta figure out how.”

Stepping back, Daryl observed her while she held the bow.

“Be like learnin’ all over again,” Daryl said.

“I know. I’ve been thinkin'… if we’re out there with the girls, I wouldn’t want either to be on my back. Too dangerous; they could get grabbed. But if they’re on my front, I don’t think I’ll be able to fire without hurtin’ 'em.”

His fingers tapped against his belt and he said, “We'll figure out a way.”

Beth nodded and sat on the floor to unwind the sling, planning to move Clara to her back; she had stronger neck muscles than her sister. Neither baby was ready to be carried for long periods on Beth's back, but Beth figured a short while would be okay. Both babies cried at being disturbed. Daryl held Clara in place and Beth held Anne steady, using her other hand to wind the length of fabric and tie it in place.

"She looks good back there? Her head's up and everything?" Beth asked.

Daryl nodded, then stood and offered his hand to Beth. Grasping it tightly, Beth pulled herself up and bounced around a bit, making sure both babies were well supported by the sling. Once satisfied in that regard, Beth reached for the compound bow.

She drew back several times with Daryl correcting her stance as she worked. It was awkward with two babies weighing her down and, as Beth mimed the string firing, the sinking sensation of failure started creeping through her veins. There didn't seem to be any way to keep the baby on her chest out of the line of fire; if she wanted to use the bow she'd only be able to carry the babies on her back and the thought of them getting seized by a rotting hand made her gut tighten in abject terror.

Beth blew a stream of air from her mouth, ruffling the stray hairs which escaped her ponytail. She needed to find a way to make this work. It was foolhardy to think she'd always have someone with her to handle the second baby, to think a time wouldn't come where all she had was a bow and knife. Maybe once the babies were older, could hold their heads up better, she could try again carrying both twins on her back—it was clear now if she wanted to use the bow they must be on her back.

"Have t' keep workin' at it," Beth said as she lowered the bow.

Both of Daryl’s hands closed over her shoulders when she dropped out of her stance, fingers curling over and pressing against the bones of her collarbone which strained against her skin. She took in a deep breath and shivered when his beard brushed across the side of her neck; this time she knew it wasn’t a mistake or an accident as his lips ghosted over her skin. While she wasn’t going to question the touch, Beth wondered what compelled him to do it.

“Mhmm, that’s nice,” Beth said softly.

“Hmm,” Daryl said, his breath rushing over her neck. He kissed her there once more before pulling back.

She turned around, setting down the bow on the coffee table, and draped her arms over his shoulders, letting her hands clasp against the back of his neck. Daryl took in a breath and let it out slow. Her thumbs ran along the muscle on either side of his spine and Beth thought about returning the gesture, about leaning up to put her lips to his neck and taste the salt of his skin, but she didn’t; Daryl always had been sensitive about having his neck touched and what she was doing right now appeared to be quite enough.

Warm hands landed on her hips and if she didn’t have Anne strapped to her front, she would have pressed herself to him.

“Want to head out while there’s still daylight,” Daryl said.

“Alright. I’ll be okay here,” she said, even as she longed to be out there with him.

“Take you out sometime. Top class redneck date, sittin’ in a tree blind with beers.”

Beth laughed, letting her hands fall away from him.

“Sounds perfect,” she said.

Beth settled on the floor after removing the slings and putting Clara and Anne on a blanket. When placed on their stomachs, they could each manage to lift their heads and look around for a few seconds before the effort exhausted them. She knew they’d soon be entering the stage where they acted more like babies, cooing and smiling instead of howling at every little thing. While Beth loved both of her daughters with a fierce, fiery intensity, she also couldn’t wait until they started sleeping for longer stretches of time. It was a testament to how much she fervently desired this, that she wished for them to sleep through the night more than she wished to be reunited with Maggie.

Daryl left through the sliding door, giving her a last backwards glance, which she answered with a smile. Then she was alone and he would be out there and Beth knew she didn’t have to worry about him, but she was going to anyway. She wanted to be out there with him, to feel the sun beat down on her face, to hear the wind rustle through the trees, to have the jolt of adrenaline speed her breathing, because she feared she would set down the burden of fighting and never be able to pick it up again. The last thing Beth wanted was to become soft, to lose the honed edge that kept her alive all the way from Georgia into Tennessee. If that happened, Clara and Anne wouldn’t have a chance and that very thought turned the blood in her veins to ice.

While Beth sat next to her girls, she checked over the bow thoroughly, familiarizing herself with its complicated workings. The compound bow was unfamiliar to her, but the essence of all bows was the same, so she hoped it wouldn’t take too long to become as proficient in it as she had been with the recurve bow.

A knock at the door made her look up.

She found Tabitha, the girl Carl’s age, standing there with her hand held up near the glass. Tabitha smiled and waved, so Beth got to her feet and slid the door open.

“Um, hi, ma’am,” Tabitha said, “I… uh, I wanted to see if I could play with your babies. My mom said I should ask if it was okay. I used to babysit, so I know how to do CPR and everything!”

“Of course it’s all right,” Beth said, welcoming Tabitha inside.

While it felt strange to have someone talk to her so politely (Carl had never been polite to her, just smiling nerves and awkward words), Beth thought with the girl keeping an eye on the twins, she could have a chance to do a few things around the apartment. So while Tabitha happily doted on the babies, counting out their fingers and toes for them, Beth gathered up clothes to be taken to the laundry, straightened up the apartment, and then sat on the couch sorting through dried beans to soak for supper. She had never felt more like a housewife and something about it made her want to scream; maybe once she wanted something like this but now, now it only made her feel like pulling her teeth out.

"Why do you have a bow and arrows?" Tabitha asked after a while.

"Because I'm goin' to hunt," Beth answered.

Tabitha frowned, even as she clapped Anne's hands together.

"So you're going to kill deer and stuff?"

"Only a few."

"But you don't need to," Tabitha said. "You don't need to eat animals!"

"I do, actually. I lost a lotta blood givin' birth to these two, and I can't get enough iron from plants. That's why," Beth said, recognizing the assurance of youth, of thinking one had the world all figured out.

"I don't think that's true," Tabitha said.

"Why?"

"Because… because it isn't! Thinking about a deer being shot is really sad. You shouldn't go out there and kill them," Tabitha said.

Beth finished picking over the beans and went outside to put them on the fire. Tabitha remained with the twins, so Beth left the sliding door open.

"What's really sad is how we killed all the predators, drove them away. We need to hunt deer, you know, otherwise they'll eat all the plants up. And what happens then? Even more deer die. They starve to death. Huntin' them's really a kindness," Beth said.

"It's not true. The sick do that now," Tabitha said. "We aren't the top of the food chain."

Beth crouched on her heels, resting her hands on her knees while she watched the fire.

"Why d'you call them 'the sick'? They're not sick," Beth started to say, but she trailed off when she caught sight of Daryl coming up the grounds.

"I better go," Tabitha said. "My mom said… I gotta go home. Thanks for having me over!"

"Oh… well, you're welcome back anytime," Beth said.

She watched the girl bounce to her feet and dart off over the grounds, running past Daryl until she'd rounded a corner and was out of sight. Daryl's head turned to watch her go and then he looked back at Beth, who could only shrug. She returned to the living room to pick up Anne, who started fussing.

Daryl held up three squirrels and Beth grinned. While he sat in one of the chairs on the porch to start cleaning the kills, Beth brought out the girls to sit with him on the porch.

"Who was that?" Daryl asked as he yanked the pelt from one of the squirrels.

"Her name's Tabitha… Belinda's daughter. She wanted to see the babies," Beth said. "She was very upset we wanted to kill deer."

He snorted to let Beth know his opinion on the matter.

"Whole place is ass backwards," Daryl said.

Beth stirred the beans, then moved the pot off the fire so the water died down from a boil.

"What I wanna know is why they have so many guns, but don't use 'em. Why have 'em in the first place?"

Daryl shrugged as he pulled guts from the squirrel. Beth watched him work while she bounced Clara over her shoulder. Having the bows made her feel better, but watching Daryl work made her feel even more so; it reminded her of being on the road with him, of the camaraderie they shared during those days, before Clara and Anne showed up to turn everything upside down by trapping them in a community that felt like a knife's edge.

"Are you gonna shave your beard?" Beth asked after a while of silence.

"Guess I should. Gettin' warmer. sh*t's gone get hot. You gonna shave your armpits?"

Beth laughed and said, "Are you?"

"Hell no."

"Exactly," Beth said.

"Mmm." Daryl held up the skinned squirrel by their slimy feet. "Found these bastards in a park two miles from here. Not sure how far I gotta go to find a deer."

"How does it look out there?"

"You saw it yourself, didn't ya? Same as in Georgia."

"How long will it take to get the lay of the land, you think?"

Daryl shrugged again, now using his knife to quarter up the squirrel, and said, "Long as it took to get the lay 'round the prison."

"These are things I don't know, that's why I'm askin'," Beth said. She adjusted how Clara sat on her shoulder and winced when she felt baby spit slide down her unprotected shoulder. Unable to hold back the sigh that escaped her, Beth spoke again, saying, "Just tell me it's like it was. I miss the air out there."

"It's like it was. That's never gone change, not for a long while," Daryl said.

Later, after supper had been eaten and the dishes washed, Beth put the twins in their sling and made ready to leave for the church service Frankie invited her to. Tonight was the first time she'd felt up to attending.

Daryl, stretched out on the couch after supper, watched her. He seemed relaxed in a way Beth hadn't seen for a long time and she bet having a crossbow again was the reason. Beth didn't quite feel the same having a bow herself, but merely having another weapon shed some of the snow on her shoulders. They were better protected and more secure for having them.

"Are you sure you don't wanna come?" Beth asked.

He nodded. She wasn't surprised and had asked more out of courtesy than an actual expectation he'd agree. Beth tapped her toes on the floor to finish sliding her foot into the ballet flats she changed into; not wearing her boots left her feeling naked, unprotected, but the ingrained admonition from her mother to always dress up for church was too strong to overcome.

Beth heard her mother's voice ringing in her head: "Jesus does everything for us, all you have t' do is show him a little respect by not dressin' like some street urchin!"

Her hands ran over the threadbare cardigan she wore, thin at the elbows and wrists. She looked like a street urchin, but hopefully Jesus would understand she tried, with the shoes and the skirt swishing around her knees. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Beth tucked a last few stray strands of hair behind her ears and crossed the living room to crouch down in front of Daryl.

Turning to look at her, he gave a brusque nod, but Beth wanted something different. She reached out her hand, settling it on his cheek, and leaned in to kiss him. He was warm under her lips. There was grease from the meal lingering in his moustache and she noticed some kind of black sludge underneath his fingernails as his hands wrapped around her forearm, but she didn't care. Her heart didn't pound with a nervous thrill; it beat along as slowly and surely as it ever had and Beth thought that a part of Daryl lived under her skin, moved alongside her muscles, that she had taken it from him and stored it inside herself. She thought maybe he had done the same to her and the feeling she got was from those pieces recognizing themselves, accepting time and fate had inextricably linked them, but they'd come to this, this slow, unhurried expression of love, all on their own.

Pulling away, Beth caught sight of the look on his face just before he leaned up to press another kiss on her. His hand snaked up her arm to curl around the back of her neck, fingers brushing over the curling hairs escaped from her ponytail. And then one of the babies whined, so Beth drew back once more, feeling the pink heat on her cheeks.

"Go on, little church mouse. Jesus don't like it when you're late," Daryl said.

Beth laughed and said, "Jesus is gettin' me in a skirt. That should be enough for Him."

With that Beth took her leave with the girls, making her way through the building to room 307. It was located in the axial hallway off the common room, which housed the baths, kitchen, and former recreation rooms. This hall was opposite the one which comprised the central entrance, the one containing the administration offices and a small waiting room which hadn't been repurposed. Beth could hear laughter and animated talk through the cracked door. She ran a hand over Anne's head and took a deep breath before pushing the door open.

"Beth!" Frankie exclaimed, hopping up from his seat near Richard and Erika.

"Hello," Beth said.

A cross stood at the room's front. Beth couldn't tell if it had been constructed by some resident of Aspen Pointe or taken from one of the numerous churches surrounding the compound. By this cross was Schmidt, a hymnbook in his hands. An older woman Beth didn't know stood by his side to act as his assistant. In the crowd of gathered people, Beth saw Chuck and Eileen, the young man from the other day, Dayvon, near Belinda, her husband, and Tabitha, but she didn't recognize any of the other gathered worshippers by name. So Beth smiled at Schmidt, who looked pleased to see her, and made her way to Frankie.

"You've met these two, right?" Frankie asked.

Beth nodded, saying, "Valerie introduced us."

Frankie co*cked his head, curls bouncing, before his eyes flicked towards Richard.

"Yep," Richard said in his slow way.

"Baller," Frankie said. "Welcome to the cool kid's table."

"Frankie, shut up," Erika said.

"Ah, you hicks are a bunch of losers. I'm brilliant and hilarious and you should be delighted to listen to me," Frankie said.

"No, really, shut up. We're starting," Erika said.

Frankie swiveled his head towards Schmidt to find the man glaring at him, although it was an indulgent, paternal type of glare. Muttering an apology, Frankie sat down and scrambled for his hymnbook. He flipped to the correct song and held the book between him and Beth, as she had no hymnbook of her own to use.

"Savior, like a shepherd lead us. Much we need thy tender care…"

Beth let her voice rise like the breath of spring on winter air. She had missed this, this being with people, all of them raising their voices together for something greater than themselves. She sang without abandon and the act was a balm on her soul that she could still sing for Him, after all her loss, all her suffering.

"Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus, hear, o hear us when we pray—"

"So sorry I'm late," Norman said as he breezed into the room.

"Welcome," Schmidt said. "Let's move on to this week's reading—yes, Norman?"

"I would like to pray, before moving on to the reading," Norman said. "So, let us pray."

Although Frankie bowed his head with everyone else, he whispered, "Asshole."

Richard kicked Frankie's shin. "This is the Lord's house."

"Heavenly Father," Norman began and Beth felt no shame about tuning the man out while she said her own, private prayer, "we gather before you today, a humble collection of sinners… guide us as we go about our week… protect those who move beyond the safety of our walls for the good of the community… may your loving grace embrace… and above all let your will be done through me as I lead these people in these harrowing times, Amen."

"Amen," the group murmured.

"And now we move on to today's reading, from the gospel of John, chapter sixteen, verses sixteen through thirty-three," Schmidt said. "Where Jesus is speaking with his disciples before he is betrayed by Judas."

Norman opened his mouth but Schmidt's assistant came forward with her Bible ready and opened to the particular passage. She began reading before Norman could further disrupt the service. A pen scratched on paper and then the edge of the hymnbook nudged her thigh.

Looking to her side, Beth didn't look at Frankie but instead read what he wrote in the book's margins: That douche does this every time.

Beth took the pen from Frankie and scratched back: Why?

Control, was all Frankie wrote.

The pen scratched again and Beth checked to see if he wrote more, but Frankie was now occupied in filling in the margins, staining the yellowed, empty edges blue to cover up what had been written. Beth looked towards the front again and her eyes met Norman's; had he been watching them? Beth decided then she hated the man's eyes as they were nothing but empty, blank spots on his face. She looked away, glad for Clara's fussing, which gave her a reason to escape Norman's stare.

In the cooler hall, she changed the girls' diapers, putting the soiled ones in a plastic container she'd brought along for such a purpose. Did Norman come to these services simply to exert control over Schmidt, to remind the residents who was in charge? She hadn't seen any sign of dissent, nor any sign that Norman was especially involved in day-to-day decision making; Harley and Franny dictated what food items were to be picked up on runs, the guard duty was well set, and the daily jobs were settled. Why would he need to come to these services as a show of force? He'd been more performative than worshipful, so Beth wasn't inclined to think he genuinely enjoyed them, but perhaps he did and she was simply bad at reading people.

The distasteful task finished, Beth got the girls in the sling again and rejoined the service. The worshippers were now involved in a discussion over the reading, rather than listening to a sermon as Beth had expected. She settled in, content to listen.

"... Never gives us more than we can handle, and that we should have faith," Tabitha was saying.

"That's right, baby, if we have trouble, it's because He wants us to grow, and He knows we can have stronger faith after," Belinda said.

Beth had thought that way once. That all of this was a test, that she was a modern-day Job, that if she had faith enough, all the nightmares would go away. But they hadn't; this was the way the world was. Daryl had said it just a few hours ago: the world was never going to change, not for a long time.

And then she wondered if it was cruelty, rather than kindness, to tell Tabitha if she believed hard enough she would be okay. Hadn't that been what her father had done to her, keeping her sheltered from the truth because of her age? There were many kinds of lies parents told their children, more so than ever these days, and Beth wondered what kind of lies she would tell her daughters.

Chapter 6: and all your wooden eyes cannot see

Chapter Text

Beth met Celine on her way to the baths. They often linked up at odd times like this, with the girls keeping Beth occupied during the morning hours when most of the women chose to bathe, and Celine's work keeping her from maintaining a set schedule. Daryl, back from a hunting trip, had agreed to watch the girls for a half hour so she could bathe. The two women exchanged a few idle pleasantries as they entered the bath room.

While it had taken Beth a while to get used to communal baths, she supposed it made sense given what Aspen Pointe had to work with. The room used to be a swimming pool, for gentle exercise that was easy on elderly joints. It had since been split in half with plastic covered plywood sheeting, to give the men and women separate places to bathe. Rude wooden slats along the pool's bottom formed a crude floor for water to run through, with rough benches along one tiled side of the pool. The gray water was collected at the end of each day and then used in the garden.

Together the two women went to the water barrel, dipping up cupfuls into their own buckets. Small splashes echoed off the walls; looking down into the former pool Beth caught sight of Erika, only bare from the waist up, rinsing her hair. Beth squinted. Was that blood on the woman's hands? She couldn't tell from this distance; it could just as likely be mud. Beth undressed, leaving her clothes in one of the wooden crates set up for such a purpose. Since Celine had been elbow deep inside Beth, she didn't feel much shame in being nude around the woman. They gathered their buckets up again and climbed down into the pool, catching Erika as she left.

"Beth… Celine." Erika nodded at them.

Celine put her bucket on the bench and dipped her hands in the water a few times, as if testing the temperature (cold, it was cold). Her eyes followed Erika until the woman left the room.

"That's her second time in here today," Celine said. "It's wasteful, is what it is."

Saying nothing, Beth dipped her washcloth into her bucket and ran it along her arms and legs. Here she was, back to finding baby spit in the creases of her elbows. She scrubbed a little harder.

"If she wants to be clean so bad, that bitch can start going out and gathering her own water," Celine said.

"Where do you go to get water?" Beth asked, even as she wondered at Celine's strong reaction.

"Little creek about a mile away. Norman's drawn up plans for a well. That'll be the day! Keeps dragging his ass," Celine said. "You should come by before dinner, let me check things over. You're looking better every day; I should be able to clear you completely. You wanted to work in the gardens, right?"

Beth nodded and said, "Yeah. I think I'd like that best. I'm happy to help out anywhere else, of course."

"Do you like working with plants?" Celine asked as she started working up a lather from a sliver of soap.

"I do. The place I was at before…" Beth laughed a little and continued, "I never wanted to. That was Rick's thing. Him and my daddy. I think the garden kept Rick sane… gave him somethin' to focus on. But I understand, now, why he wanted to be there all the time. It's simple."

"Is that what you're looking for? Simple?"

Beth cupped her hands, filling them with chilled water, and opened them over her head, letting the water splash over her scalp and run down her hair. The temperature sent a shiver racing along her spine.

"I don't know. Maybe it is, but I know I shouldn't make the easy choice, as much as I want to."

"You could work with me," Celine said. "Could work with my kind of plants. They're not easy… they're beautiful, and complex… they'll tell you what you need, if you just listen."

"And those are?"

"They're medicine, and they're food. The earth will give you what you need, if you only pay attention. That's what we weren't doing. The earth was screaming and we plugged our ears like fools," Celine said.

"So you think that's the reason? For all of this?"

The splashing of water echoed through the room as Celine rinsed herself off. While she did so, Beth scrubbed at her scalp, working the soap through.

“I don’t know if that’s what I think, but it’s as good an explanation as anything else,” Celine said finally. “Think about it, okay? I could use a good assistant.”

“Of course,” Beth said.

She thought about the offer the rest of that afternoon. What stuck with Beth was Celine’s statement that her kind of plants were food. The last few miserable weeks on the road with nothing growing, barely anything to scavenge, lay in the back of Beth’s mind like a watching predator, poised to pounce. If Beth could prevent that from happening ever again, then the solution was simple. She needed to learn everything she could from Celine.

So when Beth stopped by the infirmary, Clara and Anne in tow, she had her answer ready.

“Let’s get these two seen to first,” Celine said.

Each of the twins were weighed, but Celine clicked her tongue after removing Anne from the scale.

“Hold her still, I’m going to look in her mouth,” Celine said.

Beth kept Anne from turning her head while Celine pried open the baby’s mouth and put her finger in, moving the tiny tongue around. Anne worked up to a shrill screech that set Clara off as well, not very grateful at having something which did not produce food put in her mouth.

“Everything alright?” Beth asked as she rocked Anne.

“She’s got a tongue-tie. I believe that’s the reason she’s not nursing very well,” Celine said, going to get water heating on the camp stove.

“What’s that? Is it bad?”

“No, no, it’s not bad. I can fix it with a simple procedure. Under her tongue, that band of tissue, it’s stiff and is keeping her from being able to latch properly. If untreated she might have a bit of trouble making certain sounds, and I’d say you should switch to a bottle for her, but that’s all.”

“Oh. What’s the procedure?”

“I snip the tissue. Only a little bit. Enough for her to move her tongue easier. There aren’t very many nerve endings in the tissue, so it shouldn’t hurt.”

“Alright,” Beth agreed. “I’d like to keep breastfeedin' her, if I can. As long as I can.”

Celine nodded and put a pair of surgical scissors in the water when it began boiling.

“While those sterilize, why don’t you hop up on the bed? You know the drill,” Celine said with a grin.

“Sure do,” Beth said.

After Beth situated herself on the bed, Celine took her pulse and blood pressure, declaring them much improved. Beth then pulled her shirt out of the way, putting her feet flat on the mattress while Celine snapped on a pair of gloves.

“What… what made you decide to become a midwife?” Beth asked to take her mind off Celine poking and prodding.

“My sister,” Celine said as she worked. “While she was pregnant with my nephew. I was a nurse, then… started out as an EMT while I went to nursing school. I’d bounced around for a bit, not really sure where I wanted to be. Did the ER, BICU, oncology… couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t happy where I was. I wanted to be a nurse, right? So why didn’t I like it?

“But my sister was in there thinking she was in labor and I was with her. She was swelled up like she been on steroids, hollering up a storm about her head. No one listened to her, you know? No one listened to women, especially women like us.

“So I started getting loud—I’m real good at that—and finally got a doctor in there to look at her. Confirmed it: preeclampsia. She was that close to seizing, her BP was so high. One emergency c-section later and she and my nephew were fine—thank you, Jesus—but that was it for me. I’d get loud, real loud, for any woman who needed me to, you know? I’d make those doctors listen.”

“I’m glad you did,” Beth said, sincerely.

Celine patted Beth’s knee.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

Nodding, Beth said, “I’d like to learn. Whatever you can teach me.”

“Good. Everything looks good, by the way. You can start having sex again, too,” Celine said with a wink.

“That was never on the table,” Beth said with a small laugh, though to her it seemed rather mirthless. “Daryl and I don’t have that kind of relationship.”

Beth wasn’t sure if she and Daryl would ever reach that point. She wasn’t sure what she’d do with herself if they did—could she have an honest sexual relationship?—because sex had never been a mutual exchange of love for her, only a means of maintaining emotional distance. She did very much so want to have sex with him, but she wasn’t going to do it if it meant she'd be putting him on an emotional picket pin. Besides, Beth thought, she wasn’t even sure if Daryl liked sex—if he wasn’t interested in having girlfriends, who’s to say he was interested in having sex?

“Of course,” Celine said, like she didn’t quite believe Beth.

As Beth sat up and dressed, Celine brought over everything she needed for Anne's procedure. The surgical steel gleamed and Beth's stomach twisted at the idea of those mean, cruel instruments being used on delicate Anne. But Anne needed to be able to breastfeed; if, God forbid, they were put onto the road, bottles would only be a hindrance and a potential source of infection if they couldn't be sterilized properly. So Beth swallowed down her misgivings.

Settling the baby on her lap, Beth cooed and fussed over Anne, watching Celine work at the edge of her vision. Celine stuck a small flashlight in her mouth, then washed her hands and put on gloves. She motioned for Beth to open Anne's mouth. So Beth held open her daughter's tiny jaws while Celine peered inside, using her finger to move Anne's tongue this way and that, with the flashlight illuminating the area. Her small tongue flashed in the harsh light, trying to escape the probing finger. Finally, Celine picked up a pair of tongs and a scalpel. With the tongs locked on Anne's tongue, lifting it from the working area, the scalpel flashed and Anne howled, beating tiny fists against Beth.

"There! All done," Celine said after she'd removed the flashlight from her mouth.

Beth pressed Anne to her chest, whispering nothings to the screaming baby.

"Shh… nothin'll hurt you again, baby. It's alright, Ladybug, it's alright… I promise."

When Beth returned to the apartment she found Daryl on the porch, a cigarette dangling between his lips while he whittled away at a large stick. The leftovers from last night's meal heated over the fire. She sat down on one of the chairs, setting out a blanket on the grass for the girls to lay on.

"Where'd you find cigarettes?" Beth asked as she rubbed Anne's stomach.

Daryl shrugged, carving off a large sliver from the stick. "Upstairs. Like a tomb up there. What's got her so fussy?"

Beth looked down at Anne, all red faced and whimpering.

"She had somethin' wrong with her tongue. Why she wasn't gainin' weight. Celine fixed it."

"Huh." A puff of smoke eked out the corner of his mouth.

"Celine… she offered to teach me. Nursin' and what she knows about plants for medicine. I said yes."

Another flick of the knife. Beth wondered what he was making. It didn't look like a jig.

"Good to learn," Daryl said finally.

"You don't think so."

"Not sure she's a lady you should be gettin' all cozy with."

"That's not what I'm tryin' to do. I don't…" Beth said with a sigh shading her voice. "I'm not sure I want to be close with her. But I want to learn from her. If it means my girls won't starve, I'll learn whatever she has to teach me."

"Hmm…" Daryl brought up the whittling to eye it. "Your girls?"

Her heart almost stopped beating. Beth swallowed and said, "Did you know Zach's last name? I never… never asked."

"Schneider."

Beth looked down at the small forms just below her hands and listened to their gurgles, watched their tiny, perfect limbs wave around, uncoordinated. She thought about the first time Shawn called Hershel "Dad." It'd been his high school graduation and the dress she wore had been itchy, full of lace around a too-tight collar, and the gym sweltered with so many people crammed inside, hundreds of paper programs waving in the crowd as if that would make a difference. But she cried along with everyone when he walked across the stage, looking so grown-up, so handsome.

When they crowded around him after the ceremony, Hershel clapped a hand on his shoulder and told Shawn he was proud of him. And Shawn had said, "Thanks, Dad."

A simple thing. Such a simple thing.

He'd had two men in his life, two men he could call father.

Was that what Daryl was asking? She trusted him implicitly with Clara and Anne and he'd shown himself to be an adequate caretaker by helping out in these first few frantic weeks, but Beth never got the sense he felt about the girls the same way a father did. He didn't pick them up unless they were crying, didn't play with them or cuddle them; the lion's share of childcare still fell to her. If that's what he was asking, then he needed to step up before she even considered it, Beth thought.

Beth hummed and said, "Thank you for tellin' me. I guess it's easier to say they're mine than to talk about Zach in the same breath. Now they can at least have his last name."

Daryl flinched like he'd been struck. She knew she'd hurt him, but it wasn't something she would take back. He put down his whittling and grabbed the crossbow, hauling himself to his feet to stride off towards the front gate. Beth picked up the stick, curious as to what he'd been making and saw the beginnings of what looked like an animal head forming in the wood. Her thumb brushed across a rude muzzle and she thought she should have explained herself better.

Later, as she tangled with yarn out on the porch, trying to remember how to do a double crochet in the light of the moon, Beth heard the grass move with footsteps. She looked up from the impossible knot she'd somehow tied the yarn in to see Daryl had returned. He leaned up against the wall and slipped off his crossbow, resting it at his feet. With the light as it was, she couldn't read the expression on his face.

"When we were at that house," he started, pausing as a match flamed to life, "back in Georgia, you were askin' me to be there for those girls, right?"

"I wasn't askin' you to be their new dad," Beth said, her fingers tangling the yarn further in their attempts to undo the knot. "Takin' care of babies is a lot of work. You've been helpin' and I'm grateful for that, but helpin' doesn't make someone a parent. Changin' a diaper, stoppin' their cryin', that's what a normal person does if they're asked. Like what you did for Judith, but were you her daddy? No."

A harsh drag on the cigarette lit up Daryl's face, cutting dark shadows into his skin.

"You weren't her mom. If that's your measure, then you weren't that girl's mom."

Blood rushed to Beth's face, staining her cheeks red. A cry came from inside the apartment, weak and mewling at first before it grew more shrill and insistent. Beth clenched her hands over the yarn, no longer caring how tangled it got.

"So what if I weren't? It's fine, you know. That's fine, you not actin' like their dad, but don't go askin' to call those girls ours!"

"That how you see it?"

"It is."

He muttered something under his breath and Beth thought maybe it was better she hadn't caught what he said, because the tone wasn't complimentary. Putting down the yarn, Beth went inside, aware of Daryl quickly striding after her. One of the twins squalled in the bedroom, wailing at the top of her lungs.

"Are you walkin' away from me? We ain't done here!"

"I'll walk away if I damn well please! I'm sorry if you thought just bein' in the same room as them gave you the right to call them yours!"

The sliding door slammed shut behind Daryl and she turned to see him silhouetted against the glass. Her daughter needed her; Daryl could wait. Beth continued on her way to the bedroom until she heard him say, "Stop."

So she did. Beth crossed her arms and looked at him again. While she couldn't make out his face, she could see the crumpled way he stood, as if he were trying to make himself smaller, less intimidating after bellowing at her.

"I don't… if they… if I ever… I couldn't," he finally said in a low voice.

"You're scared," Beth whispered.

Daryl didn't answer—maybe he hadn't heard her—but he didn't need to. Closing the space between them, she closed her hand around his, feeling the scars on his palms, the reminder of all he'd already done for her. Beth took him into the bedroom and sat him down on the bed. She picked up the crying twin, Clara, and put her in Daryl's arms before sitting beside him.

"It's okay to be scared. I'm scared, too, of what'll happen to them. How I'll end up raising them. We can't change the world out there… but you know what's wrong, don't you, even if you don't know what's right? You know what hurt you. That's as good a place as any to start, you think?"

He gently lifted the baby, large hand supporting her head, as he brought her up to rest against his shoulder. His head came down, his cheek resting against Clara's head and he took in a reedy breath.

"It's a start," he agreed. "What d'you think, sweetheart? Up for the challenge?"

Clara scrunched up her face, going quite red, then she relaxed and drooled heavily on Daryl's shoulder. Recognizing that look, Beth leaned over to the dresser and pulled out a diaper from the drawer, handing it to him.

"Babies have no sense of appropriate reactions," she said.

Daryl lifted the baby away from his chest and scrutinized her seriously, then said, "Couldn't hold it until I finished havin' my damn moment, huh?"

Chapter 7: yeah, my sh*t's f*cked up

Chapter Text

The next morning Beth was up before the sun. After checking on Clara and Anne—they were beginning to sleep for longer stretches—she quietly started a fire outside from the banked coals of last night's blaze, getting water heating for a hot drink and breakfast. Today was the day Daryl was heading out with Valerie and Dayvon on a supply run, and the start of her training with Celine.

Beth trusted Valerie to have Daryl's back, but Dayvon was an unknown. She'd exchanged polite words with him at the church services, but the man hung around Norman quite a lot, so she usually avoided him. She wasn't sure how long she'd spend with Celine today. Maybe she'd ask Lettie over for a meal, so they could sit together and not be alone, worrying.

The sliding door opened and Daryl came through, crouching next to her as she stoked the fire. His hand came up to stroke along his beard, which he still hadn't bothered shaving. Beth let her knee bump against his and he knocked back.

"What is it that you're whittlin'?" Beth asked.

Daryl reached out and picked up the stick, turning it in his hands.

"Supposed to be a duck," he said. "See, that's the bill and here's the wing. Pfft. 'M not much of an artist. Thought… thought the girls could use some toys."

Beth glanced at the fire for a second, a hot flash running through her; her toes curled against the inside of her boots.

"I thought it might be a dog. Thought it might be Walkerbait. Never did get a chance to do somethin' to remember her."

"No," Daryl said, turning the stick over in his hands. "Damn dog saved our lives. Deserves somethin'."

"If it were before, I'd say you should get a tattoo," Beth said with a small smile.

"Can still do that. Just need ink an' a needle," Daryl said. He pointed to the small star on his hand. "See?"

"Really? Huh."

Beth tossed a handful of chicory and dandelion roots into the boiling water. It was supposed to taste similar to coffee, but she found the roots much too earthy to be passed off as such.

"Ain't a bad idea." Daryl seemed to be seriously considering the possibility of giving himself another tattoo. "So what is this bullsh*t they try an' call coffee?"

"Chicory and dandelion," Beth said.

With a groan, Daryl's hands slid from his beard to the back of his head. "Good Lord. Least these hippie f*cks could do is grow some dope."

"Maybe they do. Maybe they smoked it all over winter," Beth said.

Daryl scoffed, muttering, "Bet they did."

When a thin cry came from inside the apartment, Beth poured out the tea into two mugs and went back inside to feed the girls. Daryl followed along carrying both mugs and put hers on the bedside table, leaning against the wall while Beth lifted up Clara from her bassinet.

"Good mornin', Junebug! Do you want to say good mornin' to"—she almost said "the sun," as she usually did, but changed her mind at the last second—"to Daryl?"

His head came up and he hastily set down the mug to free up his hands. Beth deposited Clara in his arms, leaving her free to see to Anne. For the briefest moment Daryl wore a look of panic on his face, as one gets when a baby is unexpectedly plopped in one's arms, but he laughed a little when Clara let a large dribble of drool fall from the corner of her mouth before blowing a spit bubble.

"That pleased to see me, huh?"

"And a very good mornin' to Ladybug," Beth said as she picked up Anne.

Anne sniffed and whimpered and Beth assured the baby breakfast was on its way. She had been unsettled since the procedure yesterday, so Beth checked inside her mouth quickly and as she didn't see any signs of irritation, she settled on the bed and got Anne situated. The baby latched on with much less difficulty and Beth breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn't put Anne through an uncomfortable procedure for nothing.

Daryl cleared his throat and Beth looked up to find him a little red in the face.

"What… what does that feel like? Havin' 'em on there?"

The question gave Beth pause. It was easy to describe what it felt like to have a man's mouth on her breast. That was like a sparkler in the dark, like hail on a car roof, like sparks on a live wire extending down to her core: short, brief bursts of excitement and pleasure, roadmaps to something more. But with her children it was completely and utterly different. It wasn't purpose, nor was it comfort, even as it had aspects of both. She would still be their mother even if she never breastfed the twins and she would never call chapped nipples comfortable.

Mostly the act made her feel calm and close, the same kind of feeling she got feeding Judith from a bottle, but warmer, because it was her own body doing it.

"It's like… it's different." She cleared her own throat. "Different than havin' a guy do it. Not the same at all. More like… relief… and warmth."

"Huh," he said as he took a seat next to her, "you always… always got this look like it feels good."

"It does, but not a physical kind of good, unless it's been a while since they nursed," Beth said, looking down at Anne. "Then it's kinda like finally gettin' to go after havin' to pee for a long time. It hurt at first… but it doesn't now."

She finished soon after and Beth moved to burp Anne, but stopped when Daryl brought Clara over—tacitly saying he'd handle Anne, which he'd never done before. The hot curl of shame grew in her stomach. There was a shuffling exchange of babies. Beth looked sidelong at Daryl as he put Anne on his shoulder and patted a wide hand over the baby's back. What had prompted him to ask her how breastfeeding felt? She could buy simple curiosity if he were a naturally curious person, but Daryl wasn't inclined to ask questions to only make conversation. Beth looked out the window while she hummed a song for Clara.

When Clara had been burped and lulled back to sleep by a full stomach, Daryl put Anne down as well, brushing a wide hand along the curve of her face as if memorizing it. The sight made something in the garden of Beth's heart spring up from the soil, twining along the vine of guilt already burgeoning. Maybe she'd been too harsh on him; she had two good parents and still fretted over her ability to draw on what Hershel and Annette had taught her. To have nothing but the barest sheds of kindness and parental love as his guide for Clara and Anne couldn't be anything but a terrifying thought. Perhaps it had been too great a burden to ask, him being a father to the girls, but he had asked for it.

She should have just talked to him, but it had seemed so impossible against her desire to not burden him with something she assumed him to not want.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Beth figured she'd have an hour or so to dress and have breakfast before going to Celine's; she wasn't sure when the supply run planned on leaving. As she started to shrug out of the large button-up she wore overnight the back of her neck prickled with the weight of eyes on her. Beth turned to find Daryl watching her with a look that turned her throat dry.

Was that it? Beth thought as she locked eyes with him while pulling the shirt off so she was completely bare besides her underwear. Was he looking at her and wondering what it would be like to put his mouth on her breasts, to feel her nipples under his tongue?

She took a step towards him. His neck corded up like he was bracing himself and the fire in his eyes changed into a blaze.

In a few short strides she was against him, her arms thrown over his shoulders and their lips pressed together. His tongue skated along her lower lip and Beth opened her mouth, letting him inside. Hot, wet breath steamed between them and she could feel the planes of muscle beneath his shirt as heavy hands gripped against her bare waist, callused fingers digging into the softness below. It was a rough, sloppy kiss even as his hands possessed her; his tongue was tentative and probing and she almost wanted to take control, to show him what she liked but she didn't, not just yet, because even the unpracticed movements lit a fire in her gut.

He broke away to lay a wet trail of kisses over her jaw to her ear and then down the column of her throat; she moaned softly at each touch of his lips to her neck. Beth angled her head to give him better access as she carded her fingers in his fine hair. Teeth came down on sensitive skin, leaving behind a sharp aching sting, and she canted her hips to press against his and her mind skittered in all directions when she felt him hard against her—

Daryl stepped back, eyes wide. Panting, Beth blinked and tried to come back to reality.

"I'm… I'm sorry, was that… too far?" she offered up, her words coming out between heartbeats.

He blinked as if he'd had cold water thrown over him, and something in his face shuttered, closing over and hardening.

"You're that scared of bein' with me?"

She suddenly wanted nothing more than to melt through the floor because of course that's what he thought, that she was using sex as she always had. Hadn't she just yesterday promised herself she would hold off until she was sure of her intentions?

"Daryl, I'm sorry. I'm not tryin' to use you like… I mean, I am scared, but…" She wanted to hide her face in her hands, but she resisted the impulse. "Not like that. Because… because you're worth bein' scared for, so I'm learnin' to live with it."

Beth licked her lips, tasting the sour tang of his mouth dried there.

"Ain't good enough," he said, fingers twitching. "You tell me you used the men you were with, what am I supposed to think? That it's different, just 'cause it's me?"

"But it is," Beth insisted. "My words aren't enough to explain, but it is. How can I show you?"

He let out a sigh, eyes dropping down and finally he said, "Time. All I can say to that."

She swallowed but said, "Okay, alright."

Beth figured she looked pretty pathetic, standing there almost naked and shivering, because Daryl closed the space between them to press a short, quick kiss on her. And then, to her shock, one of his wide hands came up to cup over her breast, to settle it in his palm and his touch was like fire to her. Biting her lip to keep silent, Beth closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, just to feel her hardened nipple drag across his palm. Daryl sucked in a breath and drew back, fixing darkened eyes on her.

"Just… just wanted to know how your tit felt in my hand, if we gotta wait," he muttered.

"And it met with your approval?"

"f*ck," he said raggedly. "Course it did."

"Good. But if you're serious about holdin' off, then don't do that kinda thing again. Don't blur the lines," Beth said.

He nodded and looked as if he wanted to say something else, but someone knocked at the sliding door, so Daryl loped from the room, leaving her alone to dress.

Even though she was left feeling bruised, pride wounded, Beth supposed she had one of her questions answered: Daryl certainly wanted to have sex with her. She shrugged into a bra and pulled on a pair of jeans, which she could finally tolerate wearing again, then slipped on a loose tank top, one long enough to cover her weapons. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she turned her head and found several red marks up and down her neck where Daryl's teeth had nipped at her skin. One slim finger then another ghosted across the marks. Beth shivered. She'd never been bitten like that. That kiss of pain, verging on the edge of actually painful, still had her blood thundering even as she knew things wouldn't get like that between her and Daryl again for a while.

Pulling on her cardigan, Beth turned the collar up to hide the worst offenders, though she wouldn't be able to do so once the day warmed.

Low voices drew her to the living room, where she found Daryl sketching out the basic plan for the run with Valerie.

"Good mornin'," Beth said.

"Morning," Valerie said brightly, "so besides that, we're looking for medical supplies, tools, you know, the usual. Norman wants us to stop by city hall also, to see if we can find blueprints of this building. He's got a whole list of things to grab from there."

"Why?"

Valerie laughed. "Damned if I know."

"They want to knock down walls for more light," Beth said, remembering what Celine explained to her.

"Really? That's why?" Valerie rolled her eyes. "That's exactly what this place needs. More light."

"Had breakfast yet?" Beth asked Valerie as she started pulling together items for a quick breakfast, a quick-cooking grain and dried blueberries.

"I have, but thanks for asking," Valerie said.

The two started looking over a map Valerie put on the coffee table. In short order Beth had a bowl in front of Daryl and he ate without thinking, absently spooning the porridge into his mouth as he memorized the map. She ate more slowly and tried to focus on their words, rather than what had just happened between Daryl and her, but the sounds slid over her like the late spring breeze, buffeting her before whirling away. Were she and Daryl too messed up to ever have something resembling normal? Was normal too much to ask for in this world?

"Let's hit it," Daryl said, putting down the bowl.

"Alright. See you later, Beth," Valerie said. "I'll keep my eye on trouble, here, don't worry!"

She started for the door but Daryl lingered, looking back at Beth. Tugging on the ends of her cardigan, Beth saw when his eyes caught on her neck, focusing on the marks he left there. She saw him take in a breath through his open mouth and the look on his face straddled the line between shame and lust. Beth never wanted more in that moment than the ability to get inside his head, to swim along his thoughts, and understand so she could tell him the constellation on her neck wasn't a bad thing, so she could tell him he didn't need to feel ashamed of leaving those marks on her.

"Don't do anything stupid," Beth said, offering up a smile because it was the only thing she had to give.

"Leavin' all the stupid with you," Daryl said, voice flat.

"Good."

And then he was gone, out the door and growing smaller as he walked the grounds behind Valerie. Beth let out a long, wavering breath before straightening her spine. She'd keep busy today. That was the only way to get through.

Once the girls had been put up in their sling, Beth left the apartment. The sun hadn't yet cut through the lingering mist and its light filled the air as she headed for Celine's cottage. People were just beginning to start their day; they moved towards the gardens and drifted to the outdoor kitchen and laughed along paths to the laundry. It reminded her of the prison, how she would walk outside with Judith on mornings just like this to share a meal with Maggie and Glenn, the whole while laughing about old stories and chatting easily about what they planned for the day. But she wasn't an outsider at the prison. Here in Aspen Pointe it felt as if she were a rock in a river, feeling the water rush around her endlessly.

The neat row of cottages loomed up before her. Outside of Norman's cottage sat the man himself, talking with Schmidt over what smelled like real coffee. Beth raised her hand to wave at the old man and made to continue on her way, but Norman called her over.

"Mornin'," Beth said, her smile only for Schmidt.

"Have Daryl and the others left?" Norman asked her.

"Just a few minutes ago," Beth said.

"I've got a few things for you," Schmidt said, cutting over Norman's next question. He put down his coffee mug on the small cafe table between the two men. "In light of your first day of school!"

"That's very kind," Beth said.

Schmidt pulled up an armful of large, heavy textbooks from a third chair around the cafe table, which he passed over to Beth. She glanced at the topmost book in the stack and saw it was an anatomy textbook, old and well read but still in good condition.

"I already lived here, see? These have been gathering dust for years," Schmidt said. "Study hard!"

"Hey!" Celine's head popped out from the door to her house. "Are y'all making my student late?"

"Sorry, Celine," Norman said. "Schmidt is being sentimental."

The old man frowned and Beth's hands tightened on the books.

"Thank you, these are wonderful! I'll take good care of them," Beth said, giving Schmidt a kiss on the cheek.

"You're welcome, my dear," Schmidt said.

He gave her a gentle smile which Beth returned.

After taking her leave, Beth joined Celine inside the cottage, the interior leaving her blinking. Plants of all kinds hung strung from the ceiling, so many she could barely see the decorations on the blue walls—were they Celine's or leftovers from the original residents? —while glass jars, some plain mason jars and others lab beakers, littered every stable surface. Something bubbled away in a cast iron pot near the fire going in the fireplace and Beth thought that if she didn't know better, she'd call this place a witch's cottage.

"That's… that's a lot of plants," Beth said as she stared up at them all.

Some Beth recognized, like the thyme and rosemary, but most were unfamiliar.

"Angelica, goldenrod, thyme, all-heal, wild carrot, lemon balm, basil, yarrow, mullein, peppermint." Celine pointed out bundles as she spoke. "Here, have a seat. I've got a place all set up for the girls."

Beth settled them on a blanket already laid out on the floor before taking a seat on a very floral loveseat. Celine brought over two mugs of peppermint tea, placing them on the coffee table between them. Leaning back in her chair, Celine regarded Beth for a moment before smiling.

"Why don't you tell me what you know? Lots of people come here with a little first aid knowledge," she said.

"I pry know a bit more than that. My daddy was a veterinarian, so I know some things because he acted as our doctor for a while. It's not the same, of course," Beth said.

"No, hmm… here's a common one. Do you know how to set a broken bone?"

"I know how to wrap sprains," Beth said.

"Uh-huh. Alright. What do you do for a person in shock?"

"Keep them warm?"

"What about a cut from a knife?"

"Where is it an' how deep?"

"Let's say… index finger, below the distal bone, and you can see bone."

"Um… I'd irrigate the wound, then stitch it closed."

"What complications can chest trauma result in?"

"I… I don't know. Broken ribs?"

"Do you know how to perform CPR?"

"I do."

Celine took a sip of her tea, blowing away steam collected on the surface. Beth sipped hers too—she'd never had peppermint tea before, but the cooling, minty taste was pleasant—and wondered how she did.

"You've got a very rudimentary grasp of the basics," Celine said.

"I kept Daryl and myself alive the whole way here," Beth said, quietly.

"It's more than most people have. Had a man come through who tried sewing his severed finger back on with jute twine. It didn't work, of course." Celine laughed like that desperate man was an amusing story, and maybe he was, to Celine. "I've got some books for you to study as well, mostly about plant medicine. I usually hold clinic hours in the mornings, then spend the afternoons in my workshop. So why don't you start joining me in the infirmary in the mornings? That way you can start learning by observation."

"I'd like that," Beth said.

"Ready to go there now?"

"Sure," Beth said.

She helped Celine clean up, taking the mugs into the kitchen, which was just as plant-filled as the living room, and giving them a quick rinse. Celine killed the fire, leaving the cast iron and whatever was in it to cool. Once the twins had been bundled up in their sling, and the books gathered up, the two women took off for the main building.

"I'm glad you agreed," Celine said as they walked. "Schmidt's too old to help much; he'd already been retired ten years when all this sh*t broke out. That's a long time since he's been in school!"

"He really wants to look at my teeth," Beth said.

"Oh, let him! It makes him happy," Celine said with a laugh. "Ah, there's Sy, early as always."

They'd reached the infirmary and one of the older members of Aspen Pointe, a man Beth hadn't talked to much, waited outside the door.

"Good morning!" Celine said as she let them all into the infirmary.

Sy was apparently very familiar with the routine, as he settled immediately on one of the beds while Beth set down her burdens. Celine bustled around the room, getting water boiling on the camp stove and pulling out this and that from the cupboards.

"Do you mind if Beth sits in? She's going to be my assistant," Celine asked.

"Don't mind," Sy grunted while tugging off his sweater.

"So, Sy has high blood pressure," Celine said to Beth, "and he's also got rheumatoid arthritis, which is an autoimmune disease."

Celine grabbed her stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, motioning at Beth to follow. Beth watched carefully as Celine explained where to place the stethoscope and then she got to listen to Sy's lungs and hear his amplified breath in her ears. She had the taking of a pulse and blood pressure explained to her as well, though she knew how to do both. After noting the numbers in the man's chart, Celine laid the man's knobby, swollen hand in her own, and offered it up to Beth.

"You can see how stiff the joint is," Celine said as she manipulated the hand to the man's discomfort. "Before the change he was taking a biologic—that is, a drug which stopped his immune system from attacking the joints—but now I have him taking ginger, which is an anti-inflammatory. It won't stop the damage, but it will ease the stiffness, and he gets two doses of aspirin a day for the pain and the inflammation. Both ginger and aspirin thin the blood, so they wouldn't be appropriate in all cases."

"And is he takin' anything for the high blood pressure?"

"Mm-hmm. Motherwort, lemon balm, and dandelion root because we don't have any hypertensives," Celine answered. "I also use pokeweed, the roots, as a poultice on the joints every other day or so."

Beth got the feeling she should be writing all this down. It seemed too much to remember off the top of her head, and not especially useful to her. Ginger was something you put in gingersnaps, not medicine. Beth wasn't sure if anything besides the aspirin did much for Sy.

While Sy pulled his sweater on again, Beth helped Celine get the medicinal tea ready, which involved boiling the ginger and dandelion root for several minutes, then adding the motherwort and lemon balm to steep. Celine handed over the tea and the aspirin, then settled down to chat with Sy while he drank his tea.

"Keep seeing… what's-his-face… the nutjob with the knives," Sy said.

"Richard?"

"Keep seeing that asshole poking around the walls. Him and that redneck, the new one. What's your boy doin' out there, anyway? Ain't his job." Sy fixed his colorless eyes on Beth.

Her fingers closed around the pot handle and she swallowed. Had Daryl been talking with Richard?

"Reckon he's just keepin' an extra eye on things," Beth said. "With the girls… you know…."

"Huh. Yeah, like he thinks we're dumbasses who can't handle ourselves," Sy said.

"You know it's hard for people to adjust after being out there, Sy. Talk to Norman if you're concerned, alright?"

"You know I will. Dumbasses, the pair of them," Sy snorted.

Having finished his medicine, the older man left. Beth finished cleaning out the pot and put it back in place. She ran her hand over Anne's downy head, her fingers trembling. What was Daryl trying to do out there? He still hadn't told her everything, even though she was almost back to her usual strength. Either way, he needed to know that people were noticing.

Beth felt Celine's eyes on her back as she worked.

"Sy's just a crotchety old ass," Celine said, tone deliberately light. "He got here shortly after me. Right at the beginning. He doesn't understand that the people we take in now are traumatized. That they've seen sh*t out there."

"Do you really understand it?" Beth couldn't help but say.

"No. But I hear it from everyone, what they've seen, what they've done. If you… if you ever want to talk…"

Beth's hands gripped the edge of the counter as images flashed through her mind, quick as film running over a projector. Her mother lunging at her, teeth snapping. Patricia's screaming face as her hand gripped so tightly she couldn't be pulled away. Her father's neck arcing blood, blade glinting in the strong sunlight. The shoes, the bodies, on the tracks. Freddy's ruined face, eyeballs blown away to reveal soft brains like nearly-set gelatin. The crack of a gunshot coming within inches of blowing through Daryl's head. The screech of falling debris and crushed walkers as her daughters came within a hair's breadth of slipping from her. A cold so deep inside she thought she would never open her eyes again. The smell of the son's breath on her face, the smell of his sem*n crusting inside his dead wife while an unborn walker moved in her belly. Daryl, silhouetted by flames, acrid smoke burning her eyes. Walkerbait screaming as feet pounded. The cold and the slipping feeling as the world floated away and she closed her eyes for possibly the last time.

"Beth?"

"I'm sorry," she gasped as she flew back into the infirmary with a sucking feeling, as if she'd been floating somewhere miles above. "I'm sorry, I spaced out for a sec… haven't gotten a good night's rest since these ladies came into the world. I'm alright. I'm doin' just fine, but thank you for askin'."

"Okay," Celine said, her eyes narrowing for a brief second. "I've got Larry coming in next—this is fun—he's got a cyst on his ass cheek that keeps coming back. That needs to be excised. But that's not for a while."

"What would you like me to do while we wait for him?"

Celine looked over the textbooks Schmidt had given her and pulled out a thick and dry-looking tome on pathology.

"This and the anatomy book, both are good places to start. Get familiar with the human body."

"Any particular chapters? Or areas?"

Celine shrugged, saying, "Whatever catches your fancy."

Beth accepted Celine wasn't a very structured teacher in that moment. So she settled in one of the chairs in the room with the rolling table pulled up next to her, trying to wrap her mind around the dense, incomprehensible pathology text while nursing Clara and Anne. Celine seemed to be constantly moving around her, grinding some of this and mixing some of that. Bandages were boiled and metal tools sterilized in the same manner, covered with cloth to keep them clean once removed from the water.

At some point her mind managed to fold itself back into studying mode, and she recalled the last test she studied for had been trigonometry, which seemed useless to her now. If she knew the end of the world was coming, she would have bombed the test and spent her time doing something better. But slowly the dense text began to unwind and she sunk into the words.

When Larry came in, Celine presented him with the same spiel about Beth being her assistant, to which Larry nodded grimly.

And so Beth found herself palpating a cyst on Larry's doughy, blindingly-white ass and wondering if this was really what she thought she'd be doing when she considered becoming a nurse. No, she thought, she imagined cuddling newborn babies or holding brave, thin children's hands.

"You can tell it's a cyst and not something else, like a lipoma, because it's hard and the area tender," Celine said. "It's also difficult to manipulate. Do you feel how it's hard?"

"Uh-huh," Beth said.

"I feel that tenderness, too, every time I sit down," Larry added helpfully.

"So, we swab the area like this"—Celine demonstrated—"and use this scalpel, going lightly over the area. You don't need to cut deep because remember, it was very close to the surface. Now pull aside the skin with the… yes. Good, and here, see, I can simply use my fingers to express the contents."

Celine covered the incision with gauze and squeezed what looked like cottage cheese from the incision. She then showed Beth how to pull the cyst's sac out through the incision.

"It came out clean, so let's get him cleaned up and stitched," Celine said.

Larry was sent on his way with wound care instructions and a dose of aspirin. Celine examined the cyst and determined it to likely be a benign kind of cyst after she examined the gauze's contents, poking here and there at the lumpy innards of the sac with the tip of the scalpel.

The next hour or so remained quiet, with no one else coming in to see Celine. Beth was summarily dismissed to have her afternoon while Celine left for her workshop. Taking the books back to the apartment, Beth snatched thirty minutes of sleep while she could before the twins had her up again.

It was then, as she sat in the light-filled living room with her daughters, that she realized she missed Daryl. It wasn't the length of time he'd been gone that bothered her, but the fact he was so far away in some unknown place. She missed knowing exactly where he was, missed seeing him ahead of her pedaling on his bike or at her side as they traded a few words. She missed sighting him out of the corner of her eye while she set up the tent or hearing the ring of the axe just a few feet away while he chopped firewood. She missed hearing his footfalls cracking among trees and knowing exactly where he would try to hunt because she'd walked the woods with him on the way to their campsite.

Maggie had once spent a good hour detailing to Beth why she had broken up with one of her college boyfriends; it had been very messy and Maggie plenty angry over the debacle.

"I couldn't go anywhere, not to class, not to get coffee, not to the bars, not to the grocery store without him needing to know where I was, or wanting to come with. God! He would've come in the bathroom with me if I let him," she'd complained. "Codependent is what he was. I couldn't stand it."

Beth wondered if that's what she was. Codependent, unable to do anything without Daryl, unable to stand on her own two feet. Maybe that had been a good thing on the road, but they weren't on the road now, were they? She wanted to be near him at all times, to take him into her very bones, but she couldn't. And she knew the idea of it would make Daryl chafe, the weight of her affection crushing him; he might fear being alone but that didn't mean he needed to be smothered by her.

Who was she these days? Who was she when everything was stripped away, when her soul was laid bare?

She didn't know.

Was she still quiet, kind, sweet Beth Greene?

Beth tickled Clara's small foot.

No, Beth thought, she was no longer kind, no longer sweet. She could still be quiet because it worked so well in getting people to underestimate her, but she'd been right, the day they met Dom and Lindsay, that if Beth Greene stopped believing people were good, someone else would emerge from the other side. It hadn't happened that day, no, it was a much slower process, like the creep of a poison through her veins which had now reached her heart.

She was a killer, a fighter, a sneak and a thief. When Daryl told her to steal from Aspen Pointe, she agreed without much fight; she spared no thoughts for the father and son nor for the man in the woods outside the campground. Had the Beth Greene who was a singer, a songwriter, a daughter and a sister, died? Or had she been buried alive underneath the layers of grave dirt on Beth's soul? Did that girl deserve to be brought back, to be incorporated into the woman? She'd gone away for a reason, Beth thought, because she couldn't survive, not in this world.

But maybe her daughters deserved that girl as their mother, as much as they deserved the woman.

Beth laid down between her two daughters and pulled them close. She inhaled their sweet, milky baby scent and felt the warmth of them at her side.

"How can I be good for you?" she asked aloud of her daughters. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm like this, that this is who you have to love and raise you. I'm sorry."

Neither girl had an answer.

Chapter 8: drinking's always done when the sun's up in the sky

Chapter Text

Death stank. It was f*cking putrid, is what it was. Daryl was used to the smell—a hell of a thing to say, that the stink of rotting corpses didn't bother you because you were used to it—but he generally preferred having said corpse at arm's length, rather than ground up like some cannibal's version of peanut butter and spread on a coat like he was the goddamn toast.

That was what Lindsay had said, though he didn't think much of it at the time. He stood with Valerie in a smothering office, slapping ground-up geek all over himself and merciful Christ, if that wasn't the most dehumanizing thing he'd ever done, to treat the dead like f*cking suntan oil. He didn't get it, how Aspen Pointe refused to kill walkers because it was undignified, but they were okay with grinding them up and turning them into geek goo. Some straight f*cking double-think.

Once the old man had sent him to the shed to get something—Daryl didn't even remember what he'd wanted—point was, no one had gone into the shed in a good few weeks. He had to have been young, but he didn't remember how young. After prying the door open a smell hit him like a wall; it almost took form in the shed's darkness. Like the idiot he was, he'd gone inside to find out what stank so bad, only to find one of the dogs had crawled under the tool bench, curled up in a bundle of rags, and died.

Daryl didn't know how long the dog had been there, but long enough to bloat in the summer heat into an unrecognizable pile of fur and maggots. He'd cried for that stupid dog, forcing its way into the shed through a busted plank to die alone because the idea was so f*cking sad—like his ma being alone—and then he'd wiped his nose on the back of his hand straight up to his elbow and grabbed a shovel. Mostly the dogs just vanished and he'd see them later on the side of the road, their crusted tongues poking out of broken jaws while crows picked at the eyes. He never gave a second thought to dogs which died that way, getting hit by cars. Was just part of his world.

But he'd thought he should bury the dog, and not only because he'd cried and didn't want his old man asking what he bitched over this time.

His old man came out anyway, to see what kept him. He stood there, looking down at Daryl, who was smudged with dirt and streaked with sweat with the dead dog lying next to the pathetically shallow hole. Took a sip of his beer and Daryl froze, waiting to see how he needed to react.

"Come out here and you're holdin' a damn funeral for a cur? Christ, boy, throw it in the woods and let the coyotes take care of it," his old man had said.

"Stunk up the shed," Daryl had muttered.

"Death smells like sh*t. Best get used to that—ain't nothin' pleasant about it and ne'er will be. Nut up and get rid of the damn thing, then go get my…"

First time he ever saw a walker and every time since, Daryl thought about that stupid, dead dog and his stupid, dead dad and how he hated admitting the bastard was right about anything, but he was. Was just something you needed to be used to.

"This sh*t works?" he asked Valerie, who checked him over for uncovered spots.

"If you keep quiet, it works great, actually. You ready for this? It's strange the first few times, not having to kill them. You're on edge, so keep it together, alright?"

"Course I'm ready, Christ," Daryl muttered. "Ain't stupid."

"Never said you were. But it's hard to change. I used to see explosions in movies and jerk a steering wheel that wasn't there."

Daryl merely shrugged his shoulders and flexed his hands to feel the tight tendons move and stretch—sh*t hadn't been right in there since he beat that bastard who almost killed Beth. He still had his knife, his gun filled with stolen bullets, and he'd use them if he had to, regardless of the warnings he received against doing so. If he ended up dead, what did it matter?

It mattered because Beth would be stuck with a collection of soft-hearted, liberal numb-nuts and left alone and Jesus H., he wasn't going to think about that.

The door clicked open and Dayvon stuck his head through.

"Hey, you having a tea party in there or what? Let's go," he said.

"Yes, we're having a f*cking tea party. Darjeeling or Earl Grey?"

"No sweet tea?" Daryl wondered aloud, just to rile Dayvon because the guy got on his nerves.

"Please!" Valerie rolled her eyes. "Sweet tea at a tea party? I'm guessing you don't have sisters or you'd know that."

"You done? Can we go?" Dayvon asked.

"Yes! Good Lord, get your ass outta the door and we'll go!" Valerie said.

"You wanna watch your attitude with me," Dayvon said, but he moved away from the door to allow Daryl and Valerie to exit. "You want me to tell Norman how disrespectful you are?"

Valerie's mouth snapped open like she had several smart-ass remarks ready to let loose, but she settled on saying, "You think that's disrespect, you got a lot to learn."

"All y'all are givin' me a headache," Daryl said, pushing past them for the building's front entrance.

He took himself to the front gate, where Whatever (sure, he knew her name was Erika, but he also didn't give a sh*t) and some guy Glenn's age named Will (the jackass who'd let walkers in the other night) watched the walkers through the gate's bars. The walkers were all clustered up against the gate, arms waving through the cast iron.

"Hey, Chuck! Run's leaving," Will said.

Chuck. The saggy tit with the flat-bill who'd made eyes at Beth. He didn't blame the guy, and Beth had put him in his place with perfect southern sweetness, that kind which left you scratching your head, wondering if you'd been insulted or not. Once he'd noticed the smile on the guy's face—all wide with his teeth showing like one of those carny games—he'd clamped down on the sudden twist to his gut, because Chuck was the kind of guy she'd probably have gone for, if she was in college like she wanted to be.

Daryl always figured he'd be jealous, in the way Merle had been, in the way his old man had been. In fact, that was one of his earliest memories: riding in the back of the old Marquis that eventually got left to rust in the yard, air all smokey, with Merle and his mom screaming as his old man threatened to run them all off the road and be rid of them. You wanted to f*ck him, didn't you? I saw the way you was lookin' at him! I bet that boy ain't even mine! Daryl wondered if other people had memories as vivid as that one. He could still hear his mom's voice screeching on about how sorry she was, like it would have made a difference.

That memory was probably the reason he didn't get in a relationship, because he didn't want to be the one behind the wheel, screaming at his old lady for making eyes at a waiter while his kid tried reaching around the headrest to strangle him. And maybe that would have been him, before.

But the world had changed and that kinda sh*t didn't seem important these days. If Beth wanted to go for someone else, he wouldn't stop her. He'd gone through hell to keep her alive and he'd go through hell if it meant her being happy. Half the guys in Aspen Pointe were better for her than he was.

That's what always happened. Women realized who they were in bed with and couldn't leave fast enough once they found he wouldn't give them what they wanted. But he could give Beth what she wanted. She wasn't asking for free crank, just him, for whatever godforsaken reason. And she'd have him, as long as she wanted him.

She'd chosen him.

He still wasn't used to that, being held in someone's heart. Acted like a wild horse the first time Carol tried to mother him because the feeling was like getting his teeth pulled—and he knew what that felt like because novocaine didn't last worth jack on him. Hell, for the longest time he'd figured Merle didn't love anyone but himself. And f*ck, Merle was his brother, which was different.

Daryl flexed his fingers again. His hands sweat and it collected in the creases of his palms and he hated this feeling; he was like a dog on a choke chain.

Dayvon and Valerie caught up to him, still sniping back and forth at each other, but Dayvon stopped when he caught sight of Whatever.

"If I find vodka, we're still on for bloody marys, yeah?" Dayvon asked her, his eyes all big like a kid hoping for a treat.

An elbow to his side brought his attention to Valerie, who rolled her eyes again. Daryl thought people needed to stop being so concerned about f*cking.

Christ, he was a hypocrite, wasn't he?

Well, he reasoned, he wasn't used to having someone he wanted to f*ck.

Outside the gates the dead moved away, drawn by a string of firecrackers snapping some ways down the street. Chuck waltzed the dead further down the street, like the conductor of some sick marching band, and away from where the run planned on going. Whatever and Will pulled the gate open, so Daryl stepped past and it was like weights taken from his shoulders. He wasn't trapped.

Daryl kept pace with Dayvon and Valerie, who moved at walker speed down the street until they were well away from Aspen Pointe and the street was clear. One real grotty bastard followed them a while, sticking its nasty-ass face up in Daryl's. His whole body tensed, muscles tightening and his hand near jerking towards his knife, but Daryl held his breath and let the thing grunt at him. The leather skin peeled from the geek's face, looked like fish skin left too long in the sun, and the teeth softly clicked as the geek put its rotten brains to the task of figuring out what the hell was wrong with Daryl.

While Dayvon seemed unconcerned about being trailed by a walker, the tension radiating off Valerie left a bitter taste in Daryl's mouth, like biting into a grape seed.

But the geek eventually satisfied its curiosity and turned its head to watch a pair of crows which hovered in the middle of the street over the remains of some kind of animal, maybe a cat. Daryl couldn't tell because most of it was gone.

Now free of the dead's scrutiny, the three resumed a more natural walk, cutting north for the big box store they planned to hit. It appeared human minds worked similarly no matter how you wanted to play up the differences, because he'd been asked to get the same sh*t for the prison: batteries, garden hoses, fertilizers, tools, nails, nuts, bolts, buckets, the kinda sh*t people spent their life acquiring until they were like his old man, bad knees and a shed full of rusty tools and dirty plastic that couldn't be tossed because they had a purpose.

And he needed to grab baby sh*t for Batman and Robin. Clothes, toys, diapers. Was no way in hell he was lugging back a damn playpen, though; those two could barely hold their heads up. Wasn't like they were going anywhere under their own power.

Daryl's tongue worked his denture's clasp and he wished geeks remembered enough to smoke, because damn if he didn't want one right now.

She'd cut him, Beth had, the other night. Saw through his bullsh*t and he blew up because he knew she was right. Spent the days since she first put his hand on her belly thinking somewhere in the very darkest corner of his mind that he'd be the closest thing those girls would have to a dad and if Beth could step up for Judith he could for them, but then he remembered the pained shout, the way Carol slumped in his arms when her little girl walked out that barn; he remembered the look on Rick's face when he learned what Carl had done to Lori. And he knew having children in this world was inviting pain, was like setting a place for it at the supper table.

And good Lord Jesus, she was cracking his chest open like a deer which needed to be gutted. Is that what it was? Knowing you'd get pain, but doing it anyway?

He felt like an ant before a mountain. He knew f*ckall about being a father, because he knew now how sh*t his had been. For the longest time he never knew any different, and when he finally did, he thumbed his nose at anyone who had "better" parents, dismissing them as a real bleeding heart, the kind of person who looked down their nose at you for daring to spank a kid.

God, he needed to get out of his head.

Beth had been right. He knew what made him feel lower than dirt. That was a place to start, because he was in too damn deep to back out these days. Might as well go the whole nine yards, give those girls what they deserved, since their real dad was dead on account of him. Seemed he had a habit of sending her boyfriends to their deaths. At least he could count on Beth to jam his head on straight when he got too up his own ass, so that was something. She called him on his sh*t and it pissed him off, but it didn't piss him off.

"We're on this road for a good few miles," Valerie said aside to him, bringing him back to reality.

He nodded and set to scanning their surroundings, filing away the lay of the land as he always did, because a man who couldn't find his way home wasn't a man. Place looked like most every suburb he'd ever seen, nothing but ugly stands of strip malls and fast food joints. Nothing worth looking at. Nothing beautiful. Nothing soothing. Nothing like the woods.

A few more geeks joined up with them again and Daryl felt naked despite the fact he had a serious case of swamp ass going on underneath the heavy coat. Two on his left, one ahead near Dayvon, and one behind, close to Valerie. He took in little breaths because they'd notice regular breathing, right? He didn't like being this close to walkers without killing them or having a solid f*cking wall between him and the geeks—it went against every instinct he possessed; Valerie said the deterrent worked and so far it had, but he wasn't used to things just working out all hunky dory with a damn bow on top.

A sudden crash from down a side street made the living and the dead turn to locate the source; the dead peeled off to investigate. Daryl's skin tightened. Had another person caused the noise? Then he heard a screaming yelp which sent chills down his spine; it was the sound of a dog in pain. Huh. Just some poor, dumb dog that got itself mixed up with walkers.

"C'mon, they gone. Let's hustle," Dayvon said as he resumed a quick-paced walk.

Wasn't exactly a reason to hurry; it was still early. And Daryl wasn't exactly inclined to hustle back to Aspen Pointe, even if he was out here without his best weapon. Jesus. He could breathe again. That place was suffocating.

Beth and those kids were the only people he'd hustle for. Certainly not for this dickhe*d.

He let his mind wander again, awareness of the roadsides falling to the edges of his thinking; he'd gotten used to knowing what went on around him without consciously processing it a long time ago, well before the end of the world. f*ck, the coat was hot under the sun. He'd have to hose down before going near Beth. Although he wasn't sure when they appeared, when Beth had thought to get them, the pitcher and bowl on the bedroom dresser made it so he didn't need to go to those god awful baths. So far he hadn't any luck timing it so he was actually alone—yeah, the world ended but that didn't mean washing out your asscrack needed to be a spectator activity again like they were in ancient f*cking Rome—and Daryl didn't think it was selfish to ask for some blessed privacy once in a while.

And then he chewed his tongue, hand almost twitching for the pocket he kept his pack in. When was the last time he'd given Beth a moment away from the kids? A real moment, not just a minute for her to run to the bathroom? Yeah, she'd been right to tell him he'd been a jackass. f*ck.

He'd pick out some real nice baby sh*t for her. Quality. And he'd load himself up like a pack mule with diapers. That'd make her happy. She was always sewing those cloth ones when she had a free minute.

And then he'd go out and shoot those sixty squirrels for her so she could get some real damn food and not that rabbit junk Aspen Pointe insisted on feeding everyone. Every time she stood up she got real pale and he hated seeing it. So he thought he'd find iron pills, if there were any, and keep them hidden away so they could both keep their bows.

She'd gotten handy enough with the recurve bow before it'd burnt up. Compound drew different, shot different, but she'd get it. He didn't mind teaching her because she understood; she wanted to learn in the same way he had wanted to learn. Knowing the bow was security, safety. Life or death. Wasn't something cool, flashy, some damn dick-measuring contest; he'd run across plenty of jackasses who thought he was trying to be some kind of Robin Hood motherf*cker and maybe he had been, later, but never while he was growing up. That’s what the knife throwing was for.

And she'd need that bow when Aspen Pointe got overrun.

No, things would change before that happened. He didn't care if he had to choke that bastard Norman to death with his bare hands.

"And we have arrived!" Dayvon exclaimed.

So they had.

Daryl almost stopped in his tracks. Crude chain-link fencing secured with sandbags had been put up around the parking lot, which sat filled with battered FEMA tents and equally battered walkers. sh*t, this was exactly like the Big Spot—

"We're just gonna walk right in there?"

"Yep," Valerie said with gritted teeth.

"The store's clear," Dayvon said, oblivious to Daryl's discomfort. "No sick in there. But no one else's tried scavenging because, duh."

"You wanna hold my hand?" Valerie asked, smirking at Daryl but he saw the tightness pinching the corners of her eyes.

"Stop f*cking around and let's go," Dayvon said, sparing Daryl the necessity of responding.

Dayvon led them to a busted section of fence and they climbed through. The geeks stared at them but otherwise didn't react as the three of them bumped their way along in the sea of dead bodies. Here he was rubbing shoulders with the dead, pretending he was one of them. Some days he felt like he was one of them. Daryl swore his asshole didn't unclench until they'd shut the store's doors behind themselves. And he thought Dayvon had to be a special brand of stupid to be so nonchalant about doing runs this way—how could he walk among them and not see what they were?

"Daryl needs a woman's touch for picking out baby things," Valerie said. "So why don't you go on ahead and we'll meet up by the checkout?"

While Dayvon eyed them like they were twelve and needed to be chaperoned, he eventually nodded his head and started for the ass-end of the store. Valerie apparently knew where she was going, as she took off immediately for the mass of clothing racks, weaving between them. Daryl suppressed a sigh and followed.

"So the formula, baby food, and diapers got cleared out before the camp got set up, sorry," Valerie said. "But there are still clothes and toys and that kinda thing."

"You guys hit this place often?"

"We're the only ones who can get inside. Here we go."

She stopped in front of a clothing display topped with child mannequins. Even if the mannequins hadn't clued him in, the amount of pastel thrown everywhere would have. While Valerie picked up tiny clothes and set them down again, Daryl kept his ears open for any sign they weren't alone. Who knew what had snuck inside the building between runs.

"Do you know how kids' sizes work?"

No, he didn't. He figured it wasn't small, medium, and large if Valerie was asking. She took his blank stare as affirmation of his cluelessness.

"They're usually by month. Your girls are chunking up, so you'll probably want six months. They'll grow into them at any rate," Valerie said.

Jesus, did everyone assume those kids were his?

"Y'had kids?"

Good one, dumbass. Yeah, that was something appropriate to ask people these days.

"No," Valerie said and her face went all stony. "Two nephews, my younger sister's kids. They were only babies, three and one. They're gone now, of course."

Daryl shut his fool mouth after asking Valerie that gem of a question and instead shucked his coat to pull off the backpack underneath. He wandered through the racks and shoved anything vaguely twin-sized and appropriately girly inside; better to maximize his chances of getting something right by covering all his bases. Valerie flitted here and there, dropping more pastel packages in the backpack. He didn't ask what she was putting in there. Whatever it was, it was probably useful.

Some ways down the aisle he saw a jewellery kiosk. Beth had been so happy when he found that silver chain for her necklace and then just a few days later she'd given it up because he moped around about missing Carol—f*ck, he still missed that woman. But Beth just gave the necklace up like it was nothing, though he knew it wasn't. He couldn't replace it but maybe she'd like another necklace. He thought she might like jewellery. Had those nice silver studs in her ears for the longest time.

That was the first time he thought something might be starting between them, that night in the suburb outside Atlanta, though he'd immediately thrown the thought aside. She had looked like a ghost in the lamp light, all shook up from killing that jackass, but firm and hard at the same time, like a pressed sand mold waiting to be cast. He had thought he should do something to make her happy, and then he thought he was being stupid because her happiness wasn't his responsibility. And then he decided to do it anyway. So he rummaged through some dead soccer mom's jewellery box for the chain.

Beth had plunked herself down in front of him and the room turned a hundred watts brighter when she smiled over the tarnished chain like it was filled with diamonds and rubies. He couldn't stand looking at that smile because it shifted something in his chest, something that hurt, so he had asked her to turn around, thinking it'd be better if he didn't have to look at her face. She'd been surprised, but she still turned around and lifted her hair off her neck. And he'd had the urge to kiss her neck, to come up behind her and put his arms around her and that urge had been strong enough to near stop him in his tracks because he barely felt like touching anybody aside from the occasional pat, let alone feeling like touching a woman when he was stone-cold sober.

But she was already there, waiting, so he'd carefully draped the necklace over her, trying to touch her as little as possible, just in case his brain decided to short circuit and do something idiotic. The skin on her neck had been warm and soft and slightly fuzzy, like a sunned peach on the tree. And then she'd shivered under his hand, sending his thoughts racing. Why had she shivered? Did she not like him touching her? Did she like him touching her? Was she just cold? He'd decided she was cold because the room was cold.

And Christ, if he hadn't felt like some sleaze for liking the way she felt under his hand so much. He'd turned the thought aside. There were only six hundred goddamn issues to unpack there and he didn't have the energy for any of them, not when they raced against the clock to find a place for her to have the twins. But later he had allowed himself to give her a shove on the water bed, mostly because the pissed-off, sour-grapes look she got from being teased was f*cking funny.

Then they'd almost died in that stupid suburb and when she'd come over the roof, face pale as death, and tossed her arms around him, he hadn't the time to hesitate, to second guess. He was so goddamn glad she was okay that he forgot himself, shoved his face in her sweat and walker-guts hair but she was latched on like a burr so he figured Beth hadn't minded. She'd been so real and solid, gripping against him with all her might, and he remembered thinking that they needed to get out of that situation alive, really alive, because never being near her again, never having her next to him as they slogged through the sh*t, depriving the world of her… that would be something worse than dying.

Yeah, Daryl thought, that's when things started changing. He would get Beth a necklace. Or something.

Once the baby sh*t had been taken care of, Valerie thought he could take care of himself again and left for the grocery department. Daryl had been tasked with grabbing several car batteries from the automotive section and kerosene tanks from the outdoor section. He went there first to have a guarantee of the others being occupied. Eyes roved over the smashed cabinets behind the counter; the guns and cartridges had been taken—because why wouldn't that be the first thing people looted?—but there were a few rolling around on the floor, so he brushed broken glass off the counter and hopped over, feet landing heavy in the mess.

From his crouch he noticed a few more cartridges that were kicked underneath cabinetry and then, to his surprise, further down lay two whole boxes behind a crushed decoy duck—lost in the chaos, most likely. He gathered the cartridges up and put them and the boxes inside his shirt pockets, where the vest would hide their shape. Right. Time for the kerosene. There weren't many canisters left on the shelves, but he grabbed what was there before circling around to the jewellery display.

sh*t, he thought, looking in dismay at the shattered displays. Looted too. Daryl scraped through the shards but most everything was gone besides some ugly rings shaped like owls (yeah, he understood why no one wanted to steal those) and a few broken chains and single earrings all bent out of shape. Fine, whatever. Jewellery was only the kind of sh*t that got broken anyway.

"Sucks, don't it? Finally have the chance to give a girl a diamond ring and they're all f*cking gone."

"What the f*ck," Daryl hissed, popping up to find Dayvon casually leaned against the counter's intact section, one elbow resting against the glass with his cheek on his fist. "Maybe I were lookin' for myself, so it hurts more when I punch mouthy bastards."

"Does Beth like books?" Dayvon wasn't fazed in the least, which kinda got Daryl's blood up.

He didn't answer the guy and started off for the auto section, leaving Dayvon behind.

"You can't go wrong with massage oil!" The asshole called like there wasn't a whole gaggle of walkers outside.

Daryl swallowed down his anger and the strange feeling sitting heavy in his gut. Getting lectured by some college guy on how to romance a woman—f*ck that. He'd never had to give a gift to a woman before, except for his teachers in grade school and that was simple sh*t, like candy or a flower.

Okay. He just needed to think. Perfume? No, she might get worked up thinking she stank. Makeup? He thought she looked fine—f*cking more than fine—but she could like that. Or she could think he was saying she was ugly, which she wasn't. A book wasn't a half-bad suggestion, if she had the time to read it.

She liked yellow and she liked yellow flowers. He frowned as he pulled a dusty car battery from the shelf. He could pick some for her, but they'd be all wilted and sad by the time he got back. What had her room at the prison looked like? He tried to remember but all he could think of was that damned tongue-in-cheek sign about workplace accidents and her calmly resetting it back to zero, back before she even knew what she'd lost. sh*t, he was overthinking the whole thing.

Daryl hefted up the batteries onto his shoulders and crossed the store to the cash registers to wait for the other two. Yeah, he was definitely overthinking things. If he waited, he'd think of something. The right thing. And not f*cking massage oil, Jesus Christ. Here's a bottle of pink mineral oil, please take off your shirt. Beth deserved better than that .

While he smoked a cigarette and leaned against a cash register, he started thinking about how Beth seemed like the kind of person who would've taken a lot of pictures. And then he thought she was probably pretty sad she couldn't take any pictures of Clara and Anne, to remember them while they were babies. He wasn't really an artist at all—he whittled to give his hands something to do—so he couldn't draw or anything, but didn't babies used to get their footprint taken when they were born? As some kind of memento?

Daryl snubbed his cigarette out on the register belt and put the short back in the pack. He left his crap where it was; he'd be quick as he only needed a few things. First he grabbed a couple blank dog tags, the plain round silver ones, not the stupid ones shaped like a bone or a fire hydrant, and then he hit the craft aisle for an ink pad. He'd find a good chain later. Then it was on to the home improvement section for sealant and he was back at the registers and smoking the rest of his cigarette like he'd never left when Dayvon and Valerie came up, arguing again.

"—make them with vanilla vodka, that's dumb as sh*t—"

"Better than with tequila, that'd be like a tomato margarita which sounds disgusting—well, look who was all successful!" Valerie said, smiling a wide smile and dropping the argument.

Dayvon, however, was not prepared to leave the argument behind.

"Would you make a bloody mary with vanilla vodka?" he demanded of Daryl.

"Hell no," Daryl snorted.

"Would you make one with tequila?" Valerie's eyes sparkled with amusem*nt.

"I'd drink the tequila neat," he responded.

"Erika doesn't like plain liquor!" Dayvon sounded like his guts were coming up through his throat and Daryl wondered how the f*ck could care so much about whether he impressed his wannabe squeeze or not.

"If your only f*ckin' choice is hooch and tomato juice together, I'd go for the tequila," Daryl said.

"Y'all are both gross," Valerie said.

"Thank you," Dayvon said pointedly to Daryl. "We good here? Ready to move on to city hall?"

"Yeah, let's go," Valerie said.

So they slung backpacks on and left the same way they came in. A few puckered minutes later, they'd exited the fence and were on their way to city hall, to look for blueprints or whatever the hell else they were tasked with finding. The backpack bounced uncomfortably on Daryl's back and he wondered what the f*ck Valerie stuffed in there because baby sh*t wasn't that big; it shouldn't be that heavy.

Daryl fiddled with the strap, trying to tighten it. He glanced at his three and the rusted remains of shipping containers rose up, topped with several strings of barbed wire. A ways ahead a bent gate hung askew in its hinges, curled over as if it had been rammed with great force.

"What happened?" Daryl asked Valerie.

Her gaze flicked towards the walls and she shrugged.

"It's been like that since I got here. Honestly, I never asked because I never really cared. You know what happened, Dayvon?"

"Yeah…. Used to be a camp. Real big gang of assholes—rode around on big rigs—blew through. Burned out a lot of the little camps, some big ones too, like that one."

"Yeah? An' they just left Aspen Pointe alone? 'Cause they liked you or summat?" Daryl's eyes narrowed.

"We made them," Dayvon said. "We got together a big crowd of the sick, let them cluster along the walls and kept them from crowding in by being out there in the deterrent. Directed them. Made Aspen Pointe cost more bullets than it was worth. They left us alone."

The backpack's strap drew too tight, pinching his skin underneath the coat. Ballsy move, that. Gambling a whole community's life on men going after the easy prey.

"We don't get groups anymore, not like that. Just people looking for sanctuary or because they heard we have a doctor, like you and Beth. Most people know well enough to stay away from cities and we're pretty damn close to Nashville."

"Heard all the geeks moved on," Daryl grunted, wanting Dayvon's take on Dom and Lindsay's opinion.

"I swear they f*cking spawn or something. Every time a wave comes out the north, there's still as many as there ever f*cking were," Dayvon said, spitting on the ground.

"I think they're the ones that used to be trapped, you know, died—got sick—in their house or at work or something, and they escape when the windows or doors break, from storms and such," Valerie said.

"Yeah, either way, there's always big waves coming out the city. People avoid anywhere too close, unless they've got a reason to."

Well, Daryl thought, at least the area was empty. He didn't have to worry about stepping into some vendetta against another community, just the civil war brewing inside Aspen Pointe. It was a hell of a lot bigger than he thought.

City Hall wasn't far from the store, so Daryl didn't have time to get into his own head again, which was probably a good thing. He always spent too much time in there.

Valerie helped Dayvon prise open the sliding doors and Daryl slipped inside first, holding them open from the other side. City Hall looked like near every government building he'd ever been in: white walls, flat carpet, windows and service counters set up in an endless maze. Except, of course, this was the end of the world and some trigger happy cop shot up the place, if the slumped bodies told Daryl anything, and they did. The cop himself waved feebly at them, intestines all dusty. Daryl shook his head. Was he getting greeted by a walker? More likely the stink was wearing off.

"What sh*t do we gotta find here?" Daryl asked, turning away from the eaten cop.

"Blueprints for the buildings, where the sewer lines are, that kinda stuff," Dayvon said. "Why don't you and Valerie take that wing, and I'll take this one?"

"What a plan!" Valerie said with a smile as her hand fell heavily on Daryl's shoulder.

She turned him right around before he could say anything.

"Hey—"

"Let the dumbass go off by himself," Valerie hissed.

"Get off," Daryl muttered, striding forward so Valerie's hand fell away.

They passed through another set of doors into a dismal, dark hallway full of closet sized offices. There was only a window on each end of the hall to let in light, so both Daryl and Valerie brought out their flashlights.

"He's going off to look for gun permits, like he's gonna f*cking find them here," Valerie said. "Like we're gonna find blueprints in some dead asshole's office."

"sh*t's locked up… what's the point of searchin' for more? Ain't gonna get used."

"I've asked myself that same question and the only reason I can think of is so people like you and me don't come back locked and loaded," Valerie said.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"You, Lettie… you could walk away from this."

"No, we can't. Being out there… it changes you. It changed me. Have you seen what it does to kids still trying to figure out who they are? Who haven't learned how cruel they really are?"

Yeah, he'd seen it. He'd seen Carl change from an eager little kid, curious about everything and seeking approval in his every action to something twisted, unrecognizable: a hardened man in a child's body and feeling a child's emotions. Rick pulled him back from the edge, but only because they had the prison.

"I've seen it."

"Then you know I can't put Lettie back out there."

"Guess not."

Valerie idly kicked doors open here and there, not really trying to search for blueprints. The most interesting thing they found was a dusty glass jar of jellybeans, which Valerie opened and grabbed a handful of. Daryl pulled the desk drawers open, not expecting to find much, while Valerie ate. She drifted along the length of the room, turning a picture face-down on the desk each time she passed.

"How long are you planning on keeping Beth in the dark?"

"I ain't keepin' her in the dark," Daryl said.

"Yes, you are. She's not gonna appreciate being treated like a kid, especially by you."

"It's my f*ckin' business—ain't tryin' to control her, if you're thinkin' that way."

"I don't think that," Valerie said and popped another jellybean in her mouth.

"Already said. Just wanna give her a chance to be a mom. Let her focus on her girls without worryin' about when it's gonna go bad."

"I'm not gonna tell her, but really, you're not doing her a favor—"

A muffled scream caused Valerie to shut up, her mouth snapping shut. The rest of the jellybeans fell to the floor and they were out the door in a flash, pounding away towards the wing Dayvon was in. Thoughts raced through Daryl's mind, mostly centered on what the hell they would do if Dayvon was in trouble. Couldn't exactly knife the walker, since Dayvon would run straight to Norman after.

Valerie kicked the door in front of them open and they burst into an office, larger than the rest with big windows overlooking the parking lot, but Daryl didn't focus on those. His eyes instead locked on Dayvon, his coat hung on the office chair behind the desk and his hands clamped over those of a walker, keeping it at arms length as it gnashed its teeth.

Without thinking, he'd crossed the room and pulled the walker away from Dayvon by its shoulders. Valerie jerked Dayvon backwards; his ass hit the desk and he scrambled backwards over the top, eyes wide and white like a spooked horse's. Mind moving, Daryl saw the windows again, the broken windows, and bodily threw the walker from the room before it could struggle from his grip. The wet splat of a body hitting concrete came, so he stuck his body through the broken window and looked at the ground. A wide halo of blood surrounded the walker's body, which had broken up on the impact. Daryl took in a breath, holding it in his lungs for a second.

He turned to look at Dayvon, who stuffed himself back into the coat he'd so eagerly abandoned. What was the bastard gonna say now?

"Got the jump on me. Came through the conference room," Dayvon whispered, pointing to the attached room Daryl hadn't initially noticed.

And then Dayvon bent over and puked. Valerie pointedly turned her back, looking a little ill herself. Once the thick splattering stopped, Dayvon straightened up and used a bit of paper from the desk to clean his mouth. His eyes flicked from Valerie to Daryl, and Daryl thought Valerie needed to speak up, because he was liable to make the whole situation worse than it already was.

"I'll keep quiet if you will," Dayvon finally said.

"Give me a reason to trust you," Valerie said.

Dayvon closed his eyes like he was in pain and then lifted the hem of his t-shirt to show the grip of a handgun.

"Erika wanted me to carry one," he said.

Valerie's eyes narrowed and Daryl felt the same; he could be luring them in with lies, making them think they could trust him, only to report everything to Norman.

"That's not good enough," Valerie said.

"You know I could get pulled from doing runs for not following the rules, c'mon, don't do me like this," Dayvon said.

Valerie said nothing.

"And I lied to Peter, to get the gun. Told him Norman wanted me to carry it for security."

This was getting nowhere fast. Daryl stepped forward, getting into Dayvon's space; the guy squared up, gearing to throw a punch but Daryl was quicker. He got hold of Dayvon's arm, his hand squelching over the thickly smeared deterrent, and with a twist, Dayvon's arms were behind his back.

"Best hope you're tellin' the truth, there, 'cause I will lay you out if you make any trouble for me, got it?"

"Jesus Christ, get the f*ck off me!"

Daryl let the arms go then shoved Dayvon forward. The guy twisted around and glared at Daryl, face all got up like a dog's after you pinched its ear.

"You got it?" Daryl asked again.

"Yeah, I f*cking got it," Dayvon muttered. "Let's go."

So, after Dayvon fixed up his coat again, they left City Hall for Aspen Pointe, Daryl's breakfast churning in his gut as he hoped his decision to help Dayvon wouldn't come back to haunt him.

Chapter 9: never free, never me

Chapter Text

While Beth had intended to do the laundry while Daryl was out, she'd fallen asleep on the floor besides Clara and Anne. The sliding door opening woke her; she flew upright with her knife in hand to find Daryl smirking down at her. Beth put her knife back in its sheath, her cheeks burning red.

"Welcome home," she said, calling up a smile from she didn't know where.

A tiny string pulled up the corners of Daryl's mouth and he dropped down beside her on the floor, reaching out to lay his hands on the babies' heads. They kicked their feet, squirming under his touch. Daryl let his hands linger a second longer before withdrawing them.

"Went fine," Daryl said before she could ask.

He pulled off a backpack from his shoulders, putting it down beside him. After digging around inside, he removed a stack of baby clothes from the bag's depths, pink and purple and yellow flecking the white folds. Daryl presented the clothes to her in the same manner he'd used in offering her the recurve bow, quietly hopeful, and Beth's heart softened, the constricting wire of her earlier thoughts falling away.

"These are darlin'," Beth said.

"Just… got whatever. Might not fit 'em," Daryl muttered.

"They can grow into the ones that are too big. Thank you," she said sincerely, putting her hand on his thigh.

Daryl nodded, fingers moving lightning quick over the back of her hand like he was afraid his touch would set her off, send her clamoring all over him again, and Beth thought maybe he was right because now that she knew what he felt like pressed against her, the fire in her gut hadn't gone out, only died down. She squeezed his thigh to feel the well-used muscles tense under her touch before removing her hand.

"You're attractin' attention," Beth said as she picked up Clara. "Whatever you're doin' outside with Richard."

His eyes flicked from his knees to her face as he reached down to pick up Anne even though the baby was quiet; she grunted and whined but being settled next to Daryl's heartbeat calmed her quick enough. Beth watched his thumb brush along the baby's shoulder as Anne nuzzled, looking for a nipple and finding none. Anne let out another little whine, then yawned and pushed her head further into Daryl's chest.

"Checkin' the walls for weak spots, blind spots," he said after a pause.

"Find any?"

"Too many," he said.

Beth nodded and said, "Have you thought about joinin' the patrols?"

"I have," Daryl said slowly, as if he were trapping paragraphs between his teeth, "but I reckon it's best I stick to runs. Like bein' outside the walls best."

The weight of what he hadn't said hung between them, like she was on shore and he on a boat, drifting away on the current. For a moment Beth wasn't sure if there was anything else for her to say; while there was nothing wrong with Aspen Pointe at first glance, each new thing Beth learned set her further on edge and Daryl obviously knew more than she did; he was able to more freely move about the compound and observe more. Clara dug a hand into Beth's ponytail and waved her arm.

"Oh, that's a tug, baby girl. Ow! Let go, please," Beth said as she worked her hair free of the baby's surprisingly tight grip.

Using her temporary distraction to extract himself from the conversation, Daryl laid Anne back down, then stood and went to the kitchen to grab a drink of water. The apartment, cleared of the original occupant's possession except in the kitchen, came with a full complement of glasses, cutlery, plates, and cookware. Beth figured it wasn't so strange; most people hadn't prioritized taking their enamel skillets while fleeing for their lives so there was plenty to scavenge.

"I invited Lettie over for dinner… I wasn't sure when you'd be back," Beth said.

Daryl lifted his shirt collar away from his chest and dropped his chin, sniffing.

"sh*t. Gone go clean up, then."

Beth considered making a quip about how Lettie got a freshly-bathed Daryl and she didn't, but Beth wasn't sure how he'd react to the teasing, so she only said, "I'm gonna go grab dinner things while you do that."

"Can leave Dumb and Dumber here with me," Daryl said as he poured another glass of water.

"That'd be a big help… thank you," Beth said.

Daryl nodded. With that settled, Beth gave both her daughters smacking wet kisses on their plump cheeks and stood, grabbing the woven basket she used for trips to the pantry from the sideboard. On her way out the door she stepped into the kitchen, reaching out and taking Daryl's hand. He stood there for a moment, his hand limp in hers, seeming perplexed at her simple gesture of affection, as if he had trouble understanding that their being at odds over sexual relations, their tension over being here in Aspen Pointe, didn't mean she loved him less. Love and frustration were two separate things.

"Anything in particular you're feelin' like havin'?"

He shook his head, saying, "Whatever you wanna make."

"Don't you have a favorite meal?"

"Nah," he said with a shrug, "just eat whatever's there."

"There's really nothin' you like best?"

She remembered when they'd just escaped from the Atlanta suburb and were holed up outside a Waffle House, moping over granola bars when the derelict restaurant was there to remind them what kind of breakfast they could have been eating. Daryl had to have some kind of food he especially preferred; she'd never met anyone who didn't have a favorite food.

"Ain't gonna find it here," he said, slipping his hand from hers. "Reckon it's brisket. That real good sh*t, y'know what kind I'm talkin' 'bout."

"You're gonna make me hungry," Beth said. "You sure there isn't anything special I can make you?"

"Stop," he said. "You don't gotta do that bullsh*t. I don't give a sh*t"—a breath expanded his chest—"because the kind a food ain't important to me. Just somethin' I gotta eat to live, most the time. So… make whatever you like, alright?"

Daryl crossed his arms and Beth knew it was time to drop the conversation.

"Alright. But if I ever make somethin' you really like, you gotta let me know, okay? So I can make it again."

"Pfft, yeah, 'cause you're chef of the year over there," Daryl snorted.

"At least I don't put half a pound a salt in everything I eat!" Beth said with a challenging raise of her eyebrows, daring Daryl to refute her.

"You gone go or what, huh?"

"Tryin' to get rid of me? Yeah, I'm goin'," Beth said.

Leaving through the front door, Beth started on her way to the pantry, housed in the retirement community's defunct kitchen. She felt off kilter, like one of the heels had broken off her boots. During their time together she'd grown comfortable with Daryl, and having this distance between them reminded her of the time just before they found Aspen Pointe, when they didn't know how to move forward with their growing feelings. Maybe this was the same kind of problem, compounded by the uncertainty their lives now presented.

Life on the road had been sure, in a way. While it presented new dangers and hazards at every turn, Beth had felt sure of herself because most days were nominally the same as the one before, but also because she had a goal to work towards. What was the goal now? Live with Daryl and raise her children? It seemed like such a nebulous idea to her these days—like being a millionaire or a famous country star. Yes, she had once thought of raising a family as a perfectly acceptable goal, but that was before the world changed.

Did she need an enemy to fight, a challenge to conquer, to feel like she was accomplishing anything? Her fingers wrapped tighter around the basket edge, reeds crackling at the pressure. She did have a goal, a purpose: learn everything she could from Celine so she could provide and care for her family.

She loved Daryl. But he wasn't the only important thing in her life. Beth skirted the edge of the common room and started down the hallway to the kitchen. Yes, she would work to prove to him that she wasn't using him to pass the time, that her sexual desire was a genuine expression of love, but wanting the issue to be resolved immediately wasn't the best approach. He had asked for time; she would give it to him. She would show him that they could resolve these issues together.

Beth pushed open the door to the pantry, squashing down her swirling thoughts with a deep breath. The pantry looked rather bare, as there wasn't much fresh food available yet—just early vegetables. Franny looked up at Beth's entrance and smiled, but went back to putting dried apple slices into water to soak and rehydrate. Beth shifted the basket on her hip and started perusing through the stores.

There were plenty of cans, which was a given, as well as pastas and dried beans and rice, with some canned fruit, but Beth decided to leave that for the other few small families with children. She picked up some soft potatoes which hadn't been kept back for seed and then grabbed a bundle of wild greens—she'd learn the name of them soon enough once Celine started teaching her about wildcraft. There were some dried mushrooms; they'd add a savory touch to the soup she planned on making.

"Excuse me," Beth said to get Franny's attention.

The woman looked up again and Beth blinked at the wide, searching look opening the woman's face, as if she expected Beth to ask some unanswerable question.

"Do you have bullion? Chicken or beef or somethin'?"

Beth couldn't see how Aspen Pointe could be against a meat product which had already been created long before. Franny shook her head no.

"Not even vegetable?"

"We've been out of that a while, I'm sorry," Franny said, her hands clasping together and running over each other in spinning anxiety.

"Found it!" said a voice from the open walk-in freezer. Dayvon walked out holding a can of tomato juice like a trophy. "I knew I saw a can back there. Thanks for letting me look, Fran. Time for some f*cking bloody marys, hah! Hey, Beth."

"Hi," Beth said as she inclined her head. "Y'alright? How was the run?"

"Your man knows what he's doing out there, I'll give him that." Dayvon snorted and tossed the battered tomato juice can to his other hand. "Wouldn't kill him to be less of an ass, though. Felt like I was working with a brick wall."

"Don't think you would've liked the non-wall version, either," Beth said.

"Hah! Probably not. Never made it a habit to befriend rednecks. See you around… and thanks again, Fran!"

Dayvon strode from the pantry with a dismissive wave. Franny glanced at the empty doorway, letting her anxious hands drop. Her spine straightened and she put both her hands on her hips, blowing a stray bit of hair from her forehead.

"Yeah, I've got bullion. But this's all under the table, right? You didn't get it from me."

Beth laughed and said, "Read you loud and clear. Daryl just… found it outside. He's good at findin' things like that."

Franny winked before turning, heading across the room to a series of stacked baskets resting on a prep table. She picked up half of a stack and pulled out several bullion cubes, replacing the baskets and handing the contraband over to Beth. Her hands curled over Beth's, patting gently in a way which reminded Beth of Annette, how she would hold Beth's hand while Beth recounted anything troubling, offering comfort and support. The feeling made Beth want to draw away, but she didn't.

"Valerie told me you were feeling a little under the weather after having your girls. You need good food to get better."

"Thank you," Beth said, surprised at the way her voice hitched.

"Franny, you don't need to mother every poor soul who crosses your path," someone said.

Both women turned to see Arjun standing in the doorway. His lip curled to the side and he looked amused, even as his arms were crossed.

"You scared the daylights out of me!" Franny snapped, brushing her hair from her face unnecessarily.

"Stop double-dealing," said Arjun with a shrug.

"You want to lose your first choice privileges? This is my domain, my kingdom, dear heart."

Arjun raised his eyebrows and said, "No, ma'am."

"Then shut your yap," Franny said.

"Beth, right? With the twin girls? " Arjun said idly as he measured out a cupful of lentils.

"That's right," Beth said.

She'd seen Valerie and Richard and Erika talking to Arjun on occasion, but had never spoken to the man himself. Her initial impression of him being serious and stiff hadn't changed much on actually meeting him. As far as she could tell, his position in Aspen Pointe consisted of him watching the sky and keeping dates—it was thanks to his work she learned her daughters' birthday was March 6th. She wasn't sure if stargazing had been part of his job or just a hobby.

"Your accent… Georgia?"

"Born and raised," Beth said with a touch of pride.

Arjun's hand came up to stroke his beard, thumb and index finger tugging on his bottom lip, and he considered her with his dark eyes for a moment.

"Next time you see me around… come and say hello. I'd like to get to know you and Daryl better," Arjun said. He spoke in a clipped fashion which made Beth think he'd grown up somewhere around the Great Lakes. "And I'm up most nights, so if you feel like getting a good night's rest, come find me. I'd be happy to watch your kids."

"That's a temptin' offer, thank you," Beth said.

Arjun nodded at her and Beth used the lull in conversation to leave after thanking Franny, heading for Valerie and Lettie's apartment instead of her own. Beth fussily adjusted the potatoes in the basket as she walked. While it had been kind of Arjun to offer watching the girls, she couldn't imagine showing up to his apartment at three in the morning with two howling babies in tow to drop at his doorstep. It was one of those offers like "Let me know what I can do to help," after a death in the family, nothing but societal politeness. She still didn't know what to think of him.

"Lettie?"

When the door of 24B opened, revealing Lettie, Beth smiled and thought Lettie would be able to tell how forced it looked.

"Hey, Beth," Lettie said. "What's up?"

"Nothin', only wanted to extend the dinner invitation to Valerie as well, since she's back earlier 'n I expected."

"Oh… is Daryl back?"

Blinking, Beth nodded, saying, "And Dayvon, too."

"Dammit, Val!" Lettie's hand tightened on the doorframe, her nail beds going white. "I'll let her know. Thanks for the invite."

"Everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah, fine, I just love it when she runs off outside the walls. Ugh. Whatever, you dumb ho. I'll let her know she's welcome to come along… if she makes it back in time. It's still the same time, right?"

"Uh-huh… she does this a lot?"

"Now that it's warmer, yeah. But keep it"—Lettie pushed her flat hand down from her shoulder to her hip—"y'know?"

"Sure," Beth said. "Well, I didn't come here to make you worry… I'm sorry."

"Ah, I would've found out anyway. I'll see you at dinner?"

"Of course," Beth said.

Lettie nodded at her and Beth turned to leave. What was Valerie doing outside the walls after Daryl and Dayvon returned? What was she searching for out there? Beth trusted Valerie more than she trusted anyone in Aspen Pointe, but lately her mind felt as if it were trying to piece together a quilt from worn scraps, where she was unable to fit what she'd been given into an organized, pleasing pattern.

With a frustrated huff, Beth went a few feet down the hall and opened the door to her apartment, surprised to hear the twins screaming at the top of their lungs. Had she been gone longer than she thought? It was so hard to tell time these days, being indoors more often than not.

"For heaven's sake!" Beth said, mostly to her own body when it let down milk in anticipation of the girls' feeding and soaked her shirt.

She dumped the basket in the kitchen and hurried to the bedroom to find Daryl furiously pacing, one twin in each arm. Then she caught sight of the look on his face, like he was a million miles away in another time, another place. Beth rushed over and extracted one twin from his arms, bringing Daryl's attention to her.

"What took you so long?" he hissed as he followed her to the bed.

"I was hardly gone! I'm sorry you had to listen to them holler, but really! Ain't a reason to jump down my throat," Beth snapped as she settled Clara in.

"They're hungry," he said with a tone shading his voice she couldn't interpret.

"Next time I'll leave a bottle! Hand Anne over and stop breathin' down my neck for darin' to have a moment away. At your suggestion, at that!"

Daryl swallowed, taking a step away from the bed once he’d passed over Anne. Electric eyes darted from side to side and he muttered some nonsense about going outside to have a smoke. Beth watched him go, the door swinging shut behind him. The silence in the room was leaden. With a trembling hand, Beth tried to help Anne adjust her latch, so the baby wasn’t painfully gumming on her aerola. While the baby was feeding with more ease after having her tongue tie snipped, she was of the mindset that she needed to work hard to get milk, having spent most of her short life needing to do so.

Maybe she should have fed the girls before she left to get things for dinner, but they weren’t going to go hungry. She wasn’t going to allow that. That’s why she was training with Celine, after all. A half-hour of being hungry wouldn’t negatively affect them, she told herself. It was that soul-deep, aching kind of starving she looked to prevent; Daryl hadn’t needed to act like she was a negligent mother for allowing the girls to get a little hungry.

Thoroughly put out, Beth burped both babies and did them up in their sling, then stalked to the kitchen to grab the basket of dinner things—both babies were fussy and unsettled despite their full stomachs. She stomped to the patio, throwing the door aside, then dropped into one of the lawn chairs and started peeling potatoes with vigor, muttering to herself each time she needed to carve away a brown spot. Daryl leaned against the brick, staring off into the distance as he burned through a cigarette. Although his eyes darted to her hands each time she chucked potato chunks into the pot, he said nothing.

“Why is Valerie outside the walls still?” Beth sniped while ripping leaves away from stalks.

Daryl shrugged.

“Not gonna tell me? Fine. Okay. Don’t tell me nothin’, leave me in the dark,” Beth said.

“Watch your attitude, girl,” Daryl said, flicking his cigarette butt into the hearth. “I don't know why she wanted to stay out there. Didn’t tell me.”

She grabbed a roll of paper and lit it with her lighter, holding the growing flame to the kindling. Beth shoved the cooking pot over the flames and dumped in a measure of water, cursing when some slopped over the sides into the flames; the wood hissed as half the fire was extinguished.

“Jesus, calm down,” Daryl said, peeling himself away from the wall.

“I am calm! I’m tryin’ to make dinner.”

“Look, ‘m sorry I snapped at you—”

“I would never let my daughters starve! That’s why I’m even doin’ what I’m doin’ with Celine; I didn’t forget how it feels to near starve to death. So… so, f*ck off! Them bein’ hungry for a little while is nothin’ like that!”

Daryl stepped away from her and his chest expanded as he took a deep breath, his fingers tapping against his pant leg. His face was a hard line, mouth screwed shut and eyes dark underneath drawn eyebrows. Beth shoved more dry kindling into the hearth, building up the fire again, because she needed to be doing something with her hands, anything, to fight against the growing scream in her mind.

“‘M sorry,” he said again, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Know you wouldn’t let ‘em starve.”

“Damn right,” Beth muttered. “Now let me finish putin’ together dinner.”

She could feel each breath he took as if it were her own. In that same fashion, she felt when he turned and strode off onto the grounds. Beth didn’t watch him go, she only worked at cracking kindling over her knee, listening to crisp snaps as the dry wood broke. She wasn’t used to feeling anger like this, but having her ability as a mother questioned after she’d question herself rankled something deep inside, stringing it up with her tangled, racing thoughts. Was she okay?

One of the twins started squirming in the sling and set off the other; they then began egging each other on with their wails until their shrieks rang in Beth's ears. Leaving the fire for a moment, Beth returned to the apartment to try and calm them down. After a diaper change and some rocking, the girls were calm, but Beth felt more frazzled than ever. What she wouldn't give to have Maggie, her mother, her father…. Many times she had imagined walking away from Daryl to become the last woman on earth. She hadn't thought that way for a while now, but in that moment she felt as if she were the last woman on earth, alone without anyone to turn to.

Clara gummed at Beth's finger and as Beth moved past the window, catching sight of the sun past scudding clouds, a thought as loud and strong as a thunderclap exploded across her mind.

Daryl had been the hungry child.

She pressed Clara to her chest, taking in a deep breath. Daryl hadn't been accusing her, calling her unfit, no, he'd been reacting. Beth rubbed Clara's back as she wished she'd come to this realization earlier. How many times had she not recognized this? How many times had his childhood bled through and she dismissed it as a reaction without reason? Beth closed her eyes and kissed the velvet top of Clara's head.

Neither Daryl or Valerie joined Beth and Lettie for dinner.

It wasn't until the sun almost set that Daryl returned. Beth knelt down next to a plastic bucket, giving Clara a bath. Anne, already fresh and clean, had been put down for the night in the bedroom. Clara burbled, fat arms splashing at the water. Daryl made to pass by Beth without a word.

"Hey." She caught his attention.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," Beth said, looking up from Clara to meet his eyes. "I didn't get it, before, that you weren't actually mad at me. So, I'm sorry for hollerin' at you. I shouldn't have."

Daryl blinked, then nodded, his eyes inscrutable and his mouth slightly open. How much had her apology meant to him?

After a heavy moment he knelt down next to her and picked up the folded towel, unfolding and draping it over his hands. Beth lifted Clara from her bath, placing the baby in Daryl's hands. He wrapped Clara up in the towel, patting her dry while Beth banked the fire and dumped the bathwater into the gray-water container.

Once inside the apartment, Daryl said, "Can start gettin' ready for bed… I can put Samwise down."

So while Daryl dried, diapered, and dressed Clara, Beth took her own quick bath with water from the pitcher kept on the dresser. While she washed, Daryl set Clara in her dresser drawer bassinet, then threw himself without grace onto the bed. Thoroughly exhausted, Beth dressed in her nightshirt, pulled her hair free of its ponytail, then dragged a brush through the tangled strands before beginning to braid it for the night.

Once Beth finished braiding her hair, she padded to the bed, tugging down the covers and slipping underneath them. The bed was already warmed from Daryl's body and her skin soaked up the warmth like she was a lizard. She rolled onto her side, away from Daryl, her thoughts too tangled and messed up and she didn't want to press them on him.

"Hey… you… you wanna c'mere?" he asked, voice stilted and soft.

Looking over her shoulder, Beth could barely make out the shape of him, arm flung out over the mattress to make a space for her. Swallowing, Beth rolled onto her other side and scooted over, tucking herself against him. His arm came up to wrap around her and Beth leaned further into his warmth. As he only wore a ratty-collared tank-top, the smell of him was quite strong and Beth thought back to when she'd thrown herself out the window of a construction trailer for him to catch. While her aversion to certain smells passed with the end of the pregnancy, her attraction to his smell hadn't. He didn't smell pleasant, but her mind associated it with strong, safe arms, arms that would catch her when she fell, and she felt enveloped and protected, like maybe everything bouncing around in her mind could be let out.

And it needed to be let out. Beth loved Daryl like she loved the sear of summer sun, loved the smell of ripening hay baking in that same sun, but if they didn't talk about this sh*t, all the silent, charged glances in the world couldn't keep them together.

"'M sorry… 'bout this whole damn day," Daryl said into her hair.

"I'm not upset at you… dunno if I recognized it until now, what was really botherin’ me…”

"Then what?" Daryl asked, voice rough, like he was waiting for her to beat him down.

"I... I was with Celine and she said people comin' from out there are traumatized. And I'd never thought about it like that because we're all like that these days, right? But she's not. She never saw… then everything just…" Beth held her hands above her eyes and sprang her fingers open like a flashbulb going off. "Right in front of my eyes, like my mind was there again, feelin' those feelings for the first time. This place… this place feels like a paper house and I'm about to tear it down. Out there feels like the only real world, the only place to really exist.

"And then I think—it comes in waves—that I'm gone. That I'm not real. That Beth Greene is dead and there's someone else in my mind, pilotin' my body. And then, then I wonder, who's really raisin' those girls? Can I teach them to be good?"

Daryl's arm tightened around her.

"Know that feelin'," he grunted out.

Digging herself deeper into his side, Beth let out a breathy sigh of relief: he understood. It wasn't just her.

"Place is a paper house. But Beth, Jesus, you ain't dead. You can't say sh*t like—you will. Those girl's 'll be good because of you."

Daryl sucked in a breath, letting it rock his head back on the pillow and Beth pressed her face into the side of his neck.

"Christ, f*ckin' spit it out," he muttered to himself and then continued on. "In the mountains… you wantin' to make a stupid snowman, sayin' a crapload of ice was beautiful… you look at sh*t. You look at it and you see good. See what makes it good. So… so look at yourself like that. It's still there."

Beth bit down on her lip to stifle a sound she wasn't going to let become a sob.

"Thank you," she whispered to his neck.

Without thinking she put her lips to his neck to leave the tiniest kiss there. The salt of his sweat stung her chapped lips and she sighed, turning her head away so he didn't think she was angling for more—she wasn't thinking about that, not right now, not after today.

What she really wanted to say was I love you, but she didn't. She already said it once. He knew.

Wide hands carded through her hair and that was how they fell asleep: tangled up in each other like that would untangle the savage thoughts in their heads. But just before sleep claimed Beth, a thought zipped through her mind, moving faster than a zephyr and vanishing just as quickly, before she had a chance to fully grasp it. Daryl hadn't brought his crossbow on the run.

Chapter 10: guess I'll have to leave some stuff behind

Chapter Text

When the sun broke over the horizon the next morning, Beth opened her eyes to a sound she thought she'd never hear: Daryl singing. It was low and as rough as a newly split log with splinters bristling from its planes, and she wanted to laugh because he couldn't carry a tune to save his life, but she remained still so she could keep listening. The sound of it rang through her head like a bell, strong and pure in its simplicity. If she made noise he'd startle and probably never open his mouth again, staying silent until he died.

"There ain't no use in sheddin' lonely tears, mama; there ain't no use in shoutin' at me, pa; I can't live no longer with your fears, mama; I love you, but that hasn't helped at all…"

She didn't know the song, but it was melancholy and bittersweet. As the light grew stronger she could see Anne bundled in his arms and he was only half-dressed in his pants and the ragged tank-top with his bare feet sticking out from underneath the pants' cuffs, the same way he went to sleep. He moved slowly back and forth before the window, his eyes fixed at the tops of trees beyond the wall. The baby, teary and snuffling, appeared on the edge of crying and completely ignorant of the rare sight she was witnessing.

"Tomorrow I'll be in some other sunrise…"

As Daryl turned away from the window Beth screwed her eyes shut, trying to look as if she were still asleep.

"Know you're awake," he said.

Her eyes sprang open and she sat up asking, "How?"

"Your breathin' changed," Daryl said. "An' you move around before you wake up. Did that then got real still."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hear—"

"Hear what? My sh*t singin'? Like apologizin' for hearin' me sing in the shower."

Beth pulled a pillow under her arms and motioned for Anne. Bringing the baby over, Daryl put her in Beth's arms. While Beth settled the baby in, he got dressed for the day, slipping on socks and his boots and then yanking on a shirt.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Sing in the shower," Beth said with a little smile.

"I did… sometimes." Daryl cleared his throat. "You workin' with Celine again?"

Beth nodded and said, "It's only mornin's right now. Why? Did you wanna do somethin' this afternoon?"

"Thinkin' upstairs would be a good place to practice with your bow. How 'bout it?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Daryl nodded firmly before leaving to get the fire built up. By the time he'd returned, both twins had been fed, changed, and dressed. He brought Beth a mug of pine needle tea, which surprised her. Had he gathered the little needles on his run yesterday? Sipping at the sharp beverage, Beth washed her face and got dressed for the day while Daryl took the girls into the living room.

They shared a quickly-cooked breakfast before they would each go their own ways for the morning.

"That song…" Beth started, her spoon hovering over her bowl, "it's about a son leavin' home?"

Daryl's spoon jerked against the bowl's side, the motion drawing a muted shriek from the metal dragging on the ceramic, and he turned his head to look out the sliding door for a moment before he answered.

"Guess so. Just came to mind," he mumbled. "Sometimes… sometimes think I never left. Gets in my head that I'll open my eyes one mornin' and I'll f*ckin' be six again."

While Beth could understand the idea—some mornings she would open her eyes and be disoriented, missing the white walls of her farmhouse bedroom—she couldn't imagine what it was like for him, to feel as if he was back in such a home, to go back to that place every time he dreamed.

"It sounds like you were sayin' goodbye with that song," Beth said.

The spoon scraped along the edges of the bowl to pick up the last of the dried cherries and Daryl then set the bowl down on the table. With a sigh he leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his belt as he did so.

"Want to. Said we burned down the past, right? But I can't let those ashes go. I look at Anne, look at Clara, and my f*ckin' mind says how could a man do to a baby what had been done to me? They're nothin' yet; they're helpless. Thought the same every time I looked at Carl. He didn't know nothin', just wanted to be good an' make Rick proud."

Beth looked down at her hands, at her stubby nails, and thought she was far out of her depth. She couldn't help Daryl sort through this when her own upbringing had been the exact opposite, full of love, understanding and care. Was the only thing she could do, listen, enough for him? She didn't think so.

"Then leave the ashes where they are," Beth said in a small voice. "You're still standin' above them."

"Am I?"

"You're already thinkin' different. Thinkin' you want to be different. My dad was proof you can break the cycle, that you can be someone better. I know it weren't easy for him and he had demons in his head, but he still raised me right, raised Maggie and Shawn right. He wasn't perfect, but he loved us and we knew it. If you're thinkin' you want to break those chains, then I know you can, Daryl—"

"Don't go tellin' me empty words."

"They ain't empty! I've seen you make the hard choices again and again because they're the right choice. How many people have we seen go bad because of what we've been forced to do? You coulda gone that way, too, but you didn't. You became a better person, someone Rick could depend on, someone my dad could depend on. Someone I depend on."

He got up from the table and strode to the sliding door, left open to catch the warming summer breeze, snorting loudly along the way. The wet smack of phlegm hitting the ground came and Beth got to her feet, following him to the open door.

"Daryl," she said, letting him know she was behind him even though he already knew.

Beth wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek in-between the angel wings of his vest. A wide hand closed around her wrists and she felt the hitch on his breath when he inhaled although she couldn't tell if it was because his lungs were still messed up from the fire or not.

"Sure can f*ckin' pick 'em, Greene," Daryl said with another nose-clearing snort.

"I just want you as you were, as you are, as you will be," Beth said, embellishing his words.

"sh*t," Daryl said. "Think there's somethin' wrong with you."

"There is, but not when it comes to that. You're a good man, Daryl Dixon."

He pulled away from her and said, "Those sixty squirrels ain't gonna kill themselves."

When Daryl turned around his face was dry but his eyes were bright underneath drawn eyebrows. Beth let her hand linger on his before moving away to grab the twins' sling. From the corner of her eye she saw him squat down next to the twins, who both laid kicking away on the floor.

"Be good for your mom, now. She's a workin' lady. No fussin'," he said. "sh*t!"

Beth's head whipped around, her heart pounding. Daryl motioned her over and she frantically tried to think what could be wrong as she joined him in hovering over the babies.

Clara opened a toothless mouth in a wide, gummy smile.

"Oh!"

Beth didn't think her heart could feel so open, so full, but it spread as large as the sky as she looked down at that beautiful, perfect little smile.

"Are you smilin' at me? Yeah? You smilin' at Daryl? What's got you so happy?"

Clara kicked her feet and grunted, then smiled again as if she were proud of herself for figuring out how to do so. Anne watched her sister with solemn eyes, and Beth couldn't wait until she saw a smile on that serious, small face as well.

"Well that made my day," Beth said and she reached out to lay a hand on Daryl's knee.

She laughed a little and Daryl's eyes slid over to her at the sound.

"Told you they liked you. You got her first smile," Beth said.

He cleared his throat and said to Clara, "That true? Did ya smile just for me?"

Clara poked her tongue out, waving her arms around. Her darkening eyes, now a middling color between the dark blue they were at birth and brown, slid from Beth to Daryl and another gummy smile appeared.

"Think you're doin' fine," Beth said quietly.

"Keep smilin'," Daryl said, giving Clara's stomach a little tickle. "Best get goin'."

"Alright," Beth said.

For the briefest second she considered making the girls wave "bye-bye" but decided against it. If she didn't say goodbye, her girls wouldn't either. And besides, Daryl also hated goodbyes. Beth received one last backwards glance from Daryl before he left through the open door, and she was left wondering what he had wanted to say with that look.

Later, when Beth entered the infirmary, Celine asked what had her in such a good mood.

"Clara had her first smile this mornin'," Beth said.

"Right on schedule! They'll be running before you know it."

Celine then brought over a small stack of books, the ones on plant medicine she'd promised to loan to Beth, along with a coil-bound notebook.

"Here," she said, "I know there's a lot to learn so I thought you'd want a way to take notes."

"I was just thinkin' that yesterday, thank you," Beth said.

Most of the morning passed by with Beth carefully studying the books Celine gave her and jotting down questions in the notebook. Beth recognized some of the plants in the photos from simply having grown up on a farm and having been taught what weeds to keep an eye out for in the pastures because they were toxic to cattle.

It was interesting to learn new things about plants she'd previously disregarded; she had no idea how many you could eat, but she despaired at all there was to keep track of: what parts of the plants were safe to use and when, the alarming number of poisonous lookalikes, the myriad of ways in which they were best prepared, what came into season when, and when the plants were best harvested.

A knock on the door brought Beth out of the trance she'd been in.

"Come in!" Celine called.

The door cracked open, then hesitantly opened and Erika came through, looking rather drawn. Her hair was a platinum tangle swept back into a messy bun and there were dark purple smears under her eyes, like she hadn't been sleeping. Celine tsked, making Erika shrink further; Beth hadn't known the woman was actually tall for the longest while because she was perpetually hunched up, as if trying to efface herself.

"Let's have a seat and look at you," Celine said in a honeyed voice, the kind filled with false kindness, which Beth didn't think she had a right to use considering Celine had been trimming bright red wefts to use in her braids before Erika knocked. Wasn't she here to look after people?

Erika jumped up on one of the beds while Celine motioned Beth forward.

"So what's the trouble now?"

"I feel sick all the time. I can't sleep," Erika said, hanging her head down.

Celine snorted and said, "Maybe if you weren't walking that damn wall every day and actually resting, you wouldn't be feeling so poorly."

Shocked at her mentor's sudden callousness, Beth jumped in to ask, "There's no chance you're pregnant, is there?"

Erika blinked, then suddenly laughed, the strain surrounding her eyes easing for the fraction of a second.

"It'd be pretty unlikely, considering I'm on my period right now," Erika said. "That and I haven't had sex since before the end."

"You're only feeling poorly because of your period," Celine said.

"You really think so? It's never made me feel like this."

"Lie back," Celine said, waving her hand vaguely at Erika. To Beth she added, "Start some water boiling."

So while Celine took Erika's temperature, blood pressure, and pulse, Beth started water boiling on the camp stove. Celine's sudden attitude surprised Beth; what had happened between Erika and Celine for Celine to treat Erika in such a dismissive, unprofessional way? Beth clicked the starter and watched flames spring up underneath the pot. She then went to one of the windows and cracked it open for decent airflow while the camp stove was in use.

Celine joined Beth at the camp stove a few moments later, pulling out a jar of dried ginger.

"It's all in her head," Celine said. "She's got herself worked up because she came to us this time last year. Lost everyone in her group. The ginger will help with her nausea, and I'm giving her valerian to take before bed, then a dried blend of lavender, catnip, lemon balm, and passion flower to drink during the day. Valerian induces sleep, while the others have calming, nervine properties, which will relax her."

"Are there any contraindications for those?"

"CNS—central nervous system—depressants, so alcohol, benzos, things like that. Not much of an issue these days. For valerian, it's processed by the liver, so it shouldn't be given to anyone taking other drugs which are metabolized in the liver. These plants are very mild compared to pharmaceutical formulations; it might take several weeks for her to experience a notable improvement."

The question of why Celine only yesterday offered to play therapist for Beth while dismissing Erika's needs died on the tip of Beth's tongue. She wasn't sure she'd get an answer if she did ask.

While Beth prepared several packets of the herbs according to Celine's instruction, as well as boiling a knob of ginger root to give to Erika directly, she listened as Celine explained what the medicine would do and how to take it. Erika nodded soberly, seeming glad to be offered some form of relief.

After Erika had taken the ginger tea and left with her medicine, Celine came over to check Beth cleaned up properly; the woman wanted her infirmary kept as sterile as possible, which made sense considering the lack of simple infection control measures such as gloves and gowns. (Aspen Pointe had some gloves, but they were reserved for when Celine dealt with blood.) Beth stepped aside so Celine could survey the area; her curiosity burned over the interaction, but she didn't give in by asking.

After passing inspection, Celine turned to Beth and said, "Let's talk some more about ginger."

That afternoon, for the first time, Beth took the stairs to the second floor of the building. It had been explained to her that Aspen Pointe used the first floor apartments exclusively because they allowed people to safely light fires for cooking. While the upper floor had been cleared, the possessions of the former residents were left untouched. The reasoning behind this move, however, had not been explained to Beth; she surmised it was a monument of sorts.

The stairs and hallway were dark until Beth flicked her lighter. The tiny flame feebly lit the closing walls of the hallway and Beth saw an answering flick of light from the other end; Daryl himself.

They met in the middle and Daryl pushed open the door before them. Beth shut and locked it behind herself, then looked around the space. In the colorless light filtering through moth-eaten curtains, she saw a place that looked much like her own apartment, with a small joined living room and kitchen and a door leading to a simple bedroom on the left. Beth caught sight of pictures, their glass winking in the light, and turned her head away; she didn't want to see. She had enough of taking up other people's memories as her own.

Daryl was already in the living room, pulling back the curtains to let in more light before he grabbed a dusty crochet blanket from the couch. Dust flew from the blanket as he shook, motes dancing in the light pouring through the window. These days it was warm enough that Daryl switched back to wearing his usual sleeveless shirts and Beth allowed herself a moment to watch the light slant on his shifting biceps; good Lord she'd missed them.

As if he'd known she stared (and he probably did, Beth thought), Daryl's head came up and he seemed amused. Did she have some kind of obvious look on her face?

The blanket was brought into the kitchen and the twins settled on the floor, well out of the range of fire but within sight. They were quick enough to go down after a quick feeding. Beth was glad the girls were at the age where they could be deposited and collected again at a later time with the assurance they'd still be where she left them. Once they started crawling, Beth wasn't sure what she was going to do without a cot to contain them. How did cavemen keep their children from wandering into the jaws of a saber tooth tiger?

Now free of the babies for a little while, Beth stretched out her shoulders as she returned to the living room.

"Think you'll pick this up right quick. Were gettin' handy enough with the recurve," Daryl said as she made a few test draws.

Nodding, Beth nocked an arrow and drew back, inhaling as her hand kissed her cheek. She felt that moment when every part of the bow fought her arm, where its whole being strained to be free, and exhaled. The arrow flew across the room. Glass shattered as it pierced a framed picture.

Daryl walked over to check and said, "What were you aimin' for?"

"Between the photos, the one of the couple and Mount Rushmore," Beth answered him.

He pulled the arrow for her and then removed the picture frame from the wall, holding it out to show her. She caught sight of a hole instead of a head atop the man in the photo's shoulders and she involuntarily shuddered.

"Remind me not to piss you off, huh?" Daryl tossed the photo on the couch. "Try summin different, then."

He pulled out several washcloths which had been folded and tied into round lumps as makeshift skeet. Stepping well out of the way, Daryl whistled to her, a signal to nock another arrow. When he whistled again he tossed one of the skeet in the air. Beth followed the arc and let fly after the skeet fell from its highest point in its parabolic journey through the air. Her shot flew wide, the arrow burying itself in the drywall and she let out a frustrated noise, blowing some hair off her face in the process.

Daryl whistled again and this continued for some time until Beth became too frustrated to even try.

"They're too small," Beth said.

Shaking his head, Daryl signaled for them to change places. He took the compound bow from her while handing over the skeet. Beth knew he was going to show her up, but why wouldn't he? Hunting had never been a game for him and he was deadly serious about his skill with the bow. She whistled, giving Daryl time to prepare and then she tossed the balled-up washcloth in the air. The arrow cut the air and, with a thunk, impaled itself into the wall while the skeet fell with a hole ripped through it.

"Don't aim, point. Don't think, shoot. This has gotta be second nature," Daryl said. "Don't got time to sit there bein' mediocre."

She took in a deep breath and tried to compose herself, shoving her frustration down into the locked box in her head. It creaked open to accept the emotion while dark, creeping tendrils of self-doubt slithered out of the hole. She'd never be good enough to keep herself alive, to keep Clara and Anne alive. All she could do was sing like a single candle against the deep, dark night; all she could do was love children until they were snatched away by the monsters outside the walls.

"Beth," Daryl said.

His hand closed over her shoulder and she turned to find his face close to hers. Another wide hand came up, fingers skimming along her cheeks and Beth pressed her lips to his. He kissed her with an unpracticed intensity that more than made up for the few kisses they did share, as if that kiss were the last one they'd ever share; for all Beth knew it could be, so she drank the feeling down, storing it away in her heart. It gave her courage to know that he felt so deeply for her, because while Daryl hadn't said he loved her she could feel the knowledge he did deep in her bones, the same way she knew her marrow lay honeycombed inside them. She didn't need to hear it from him if he kept kissing her like he did.

Daryl pulled away and said, "Keep goin' until you stop bein' sh*t. Only way to go about it."

Beth screwed up her face and said, "Thanks. I feel so encouraged right now."

"Yeah?"

"No."

Chapter 11: puttin' jack in where it weren't no use

Chapter Text

As the days warmed and new leaves filled out the trees beyond the walls, the garden turned green with spindly crops straining towards the sun. Beth began helping out in the garden when she could, turning down all offers to watch the babies while she worked, instead keeping them in their slings close against her back and chest. Beth wanted to get them used to her doing all manner of things while in the slings, just in case. She made sure to never do anything too strenuous in the garden and took frequent breaks to maintain the illusion she was anemic, as that was the only way she and Daryl could keep their bows.

It became easier to talk to the people of Aspen Pointe, although she expected Daryl would not agree. He didn't mind Valerie, Lettie, Erika, or Richard, and was polite to Schmidt when Beth invited the old man over for tea. She frequently had the dentist over to go over the medical texts he gave her, and he was an invaluable font of knowledge, having gone through a few years of medical school before switching to dentistry. They often shared dinners with Valerie and her sister, or with Erika, who mostly drifted through the compound like a ghost when not on gate duty.

She thought Daryl might start going on runs more frequently, but he spent the majority of his time outside the walls hunting. He would only go on runs with Valerie, never anyone else. Beth didn't ask why but suspected she was the only one in the compound he trusted.

When she wasn't in the gardens, Beth spent time with Eileen, who was teaching her to weave, both cloth and baskets, and how to knit. Beth possessed the same aptitude at knitting as she did at crochet and the first time she dressed Clara and Anne in the misshapen hats she made for them Daryl laughed for five minutes straight. Though she was annoyed at first, Beth couldn't stay in a bad mood for long when she heard Daryl laugh, and in the end she was able to conclude that the babies looked like extras from a low-budget sci-fi movie rather than cute babies in cute hats.

But she didn't mind weaving and liked basket-making, so the apartment slowly began filling up with her efforts. She would also join in on the task of unraveling sweaters brought back from runs to reclaim the yarn. Eileen rather enjoyed making baby clothes and could knit faster than Beth had ever seen, and thus kept the twins thoroughly kitted out in socks, sweaters, and romper suits. Beth was more than happy to leave the knitting to Eileen.

In the mornings Beth dutifully reported to the infirmary and learned how to treat burns, suture cuts, remove splinters, combat infections, constipation and diarrhea, bring down fevers, clear chest congestion, and learned more about other women's menstrual cycles than she ever wanted to know. As Beth grew more confident in her ability to treat minor nuisances, Celine began leaving Beth alone a few times a week while she collected plants outside the compound. So now a few hours after lunch were devoted to Celine showing Beth the harvested plants before they were dried.

"Soon we'll go out together and I'll show you the plants in the wild," Celine said as Beth helped her process and dry the early bounty.

Beth gathered bundles of mallow together, tying them up with scrap yarn to prepare for drying. Harley used the dried leaves to thicken stews and sauces in place of flour.

"Did you start with all this"—Beth gestured at the various stages of dried preparations around them, from roots to leaves to berries and fruits—"after the turn?"

Celine poured a mixture of water and brandy over herbs to make a concentrated tincture.

"No, it was before the change," she said. "I've been working with traditional medicine for a long time. My grandma took care of me and my sister while we were growing up, so my mom could work. She'd take us out and show us both the plants and tell us how to use them. She knew more than I ever will."

"My parents knew a little bit… elderberry for when you were comin' down with a cold… poke salad in the spring, things like that."

"She lived and breathed the plants, my grandma. I loved playing in her garden because it was like a witch's garden," Celine said with a far away smile. "I don't regret losing many things in my life, even now, but I regret leaving her handwritten journal behind. The national guard said we'd be allowed to return… I thought it better to leave it safe at home…"

"You've never gone back for it?"

Celine's head dropped down for a moment, her braids swinging in front of her face.

"My house… it was burnt to the ground when they bombed Nashville. It's gone. I came here instead, only to find she'd…"

"I'm sorry," Beth said softly, reaching out to touch her hand to Celine's.

"There's so much I wanted to ask her…" Celine shook her head but soon straightened. "We don't get second chances. We don't get more time."

"We don't," Beth agreed, trying to keep her hand from tightening around the bundle of mallow and crushing it.

"I think… I think that's enough for today. I'll see you tomorrow," Celine said.

"Okay," Beth said.

Getting up, Beth made her way for the door. She hesitated a second before putting her hand to Celine's shoulder and squeezing. The woman, turned away from her, sniffed lightly, then snaked up a hand to pat Beth's.

Leaving her mentor alone with her thoughts, Beth made her way outside to get a bit of fresh air. Celine's workroom was an olfactory assault, heady and herbaceous and, while not unpleasant, was too strong to deal with for too long. She passed by the open kitchen where Harley stirred a vast pot of something, continuing on to walk through the gardens.

"Beth," someone called.

She turned to find Daryl and Erika standing among the climbing squash vines, dappled by shadow. Erika was spattered with walker guts, her eyes wild and roving. Glancing around to make sure no one was nearby, she made her way to the two.

"Came across her outside," Daryl said real low.

"You can't let them see me," Erika whispered.

"Let who see you?" Beth asked.

"Everyone." Her head dropped and a thick string of viscera slid from her stained blonde hair onto her shoulder. "I just wanted to see him. I know what I should do but… It's his birthday today."

"Here, hold on," Beth said.

She undid Clara's sling and handed the baby over to Daryl. Beth used the long length of fabric to towel off what gore she could from the shaking woman's face and hands. Removing the elastic from her hair, Beth pulled Erika's back into a bun, hiding the worst of the mess.

Daryl stepped forward, shushing Clara, and studied the area beyond their hiding place.

"Let's go," he said.

So, with her hand on Erika's back, they started for the apartment, Beth on one side and Daryl on the other, hiding Erika from view somewhat. Most people were too far away to notice them and the odd way they moved. Daryl set the pace, chivvying them along. He pulled the sliding door open and Beth gently pushed Erika through. Daryl pulled the curtains shut behind the door.

"Here, sit down," Beth said, getting Erika settled on the couch.

While Daryl got the twins situated on a blanket on the floor, Beth got a bowl of fresh water and a dark rag for Erika to clean off with. The woman blankly thanked Beth and patted absently at her face until she bent over, gripping the rag in shaking hands while sobs wracked her body.

"I'm sorry, thank you." Erika straightened up after a minute.

She began wiping at her face again.

"Who were you out there to see?" Beth asked.

Erika took a deep, shaking breath and said, "My dad. He's… out there. Wandering. They saved me but they couldn't save him. I'm not supposed to be out there."

"Always look like you wanna be. Why?" Daryl said.

He'd since come to sit on the couch's arm furthest from Erika while Beth sat closer to the woman. She let out a wry little sound and pulled up her pant leg to reveal a prosthetic leg disappearing into her boot.

"Was born missing it. Never bothered me; I did marathons—God, I miss that leg! But Norman said… said that's why my dad died and God, I know… I know that's not true, but it gets inside your head. I'm not stupid enough to think I can make it alone out there."

"And you've never tried to leave?" Beth said.

"We're all desperate when Aspen Pointe saves us. Most people think… oh, I'll stay for a little while, and then they realize everything's been taken from them, you know? Their friends or family, gone. Ammunition, gone long ago and they can't get more. They all think… just a little while longer and then I'll leave… but it doesn't happen."

"But people have left," Beth said. "That's how we found out about Aspen Pointe in the first place."

Erika's eyes flicked from Beth to Daryl and then back again.

"If you're strong, but weak… I don't know. I don't know how this place is still here. I'm sorry. I know you can't, because you have your babies… there are people here I want to protect, too. That's my reason."

Erika finished washing her face and asked to use their bathroom to rinse her hair; Beth knew by experience how disgusting it was to have drying walker blood swinging around your face. So Beth nodded and Erika stood, heading directly for the bathroom. Before either her or Daryl could say anything, however, a knock sounded on the sliding door.

"Daryl? Beth? It's Dayvon," the person on the other side called.

"The f*ck does he want," Daryl muttered, getting up to answer the door.

He pulled back the curtains and opened the door, standing so it was clear Dayvon would not be invited inside. Beth went to the girls and started cooing over them, playing peek-a-boo to get them to smile, glancing up when she could to watch Dayvon.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, man… so, are you and Beth free tonight?"

"No," Daryl said.

"What d'you got going on? Norman wanted us to do a quick run."

Daryl took in a deep breath like he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders and jerked his head towards Beth, saying, "What d'you think?"

Dayvon let out a little laugh.

"Stuck on babysitting duty?"

The blank stare Daryl gave Dayvon made it clear that had not been the implication Daryl meant for the young man to pick up on, but Beth figured Daryl likely preferred that to Dayvon thinking he wanted time alone with Beth.

"Uh-huh. You ask Valerie? Girl's always down for a run."

"It's not that important of a run." Dayvon shrugged. "But anyways, have you seen Erika around? She offered to take my shift on the wall if I went out."

"Pry in her apartment," Daryl said. At that moment Anne decided to fuss. "That it?"

"If you change your mind, come find me, alright? Don't think we leaving for another hour," Dayvon said.

Daryl nodded and shut the sliding door in Dayvon's face. He made his way to the girls, picking up the whimpering Anne and hushing her.

"No more tears, lady," Daryl said. "Dry 'em up, you hear?"

"He's gone," Beth said.

"That's it," Daryl said softly as Anne went back to smiling. "The f*ck was that? No f*ckin' need for a run."

"Thank you for covering for me," Erika said from the bedroom, where she'd hidden herself. "I'm going to Rich's… should be able to get there before Dayvon comes by to check."

Beth nodded but couldn't keep herself from asking, "Why are they watchin' you so close?"

Fingers fiddled with collar buttons and Erika looked at the floor.

"I should get going," was all Erika said.

With a grateful nod towards the both of them, Erika quietly left through the front door. Beth picked up Clara and gently bounced her, wondering what the hell just happened.

"Found her on my way back," Daryl said. "Screamin' her head off, pile of geeks around her."

"If she's so capable, why hasn't she left? Richard would leave with her, wouldn't he?"

"Whatever it is she wants to protect won't leave," Daryl said. "She's stuck, same as you an' me."

"So you'd leave this place if we didn't have the twins?"

"In a f*ckin' second," Daryl said.

He laid back on the floor, settling Anne on his chest before bringing his hands back behind his head. Anne yawned and closed her eyes, burrowing into Daryl's warm chest. Beth scooted closer to him to touch her knee to his side. She felt trapped, like a bird which had flown in an open window and now couldn't find its way back outside, instead finding only transparent glass over every view of the great, wild beyond.

"I'm sorry," Beth said softly.

A shaggy head turned to look at her and Beth watched a bead of sweat trail across his forehead to disappear into his dark hair. The days were rapidly warming, heat and humidity bearing down with their weighed promise of more to come.

"I took you away from your family… made you abandon them… never gave you a choice unless you wanted to leave me alone, and that's not fair because I knew you wouldn't."

"Shut up," Daryl said. "The f*ck were we supposed to do? Yeah, they might be out there, Carol, Rick…. Maggie. You… We had to put the family we did have first. Sure, was mad at you for gettin' knocked up in the first place, but we've gone too far now. Made our choice."

Beth nodded and stared out the sliding door before she changed the subject to something inconsequential.

Later in the evening Schmidt came by for dinner. The three of them, the twins being asleep in the bedroom, sat on the porch enjoying a meal of roasted squirrel and steamed wild greens, which Daryl had put together. The old man appreciated having a non-vegetarian meal now and then, even if it was over-salted.

"—important to remember when you check for head trauma," Schmidt was saying.

"Right," Beth said, jotting his tip down in her notebook.

"Hey," Daryl broke in, "you think much of Celine and her voodoo sh*t?"

Schmidt leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his silver beard.

"Most of it's hogwash, folk knowledge. Some of what she does has been studied… for example, the burns you came in with. We dressed those with honey, which promotes an environment conducive to wound healing…. She does an admirable job of giving our members false hope that they may still be able to be cured," Schmidt said.

"Does she? She's always seemed upfront about what she can and can't do," Beth said.

Shaking his head, Schmidt said, "She's taking advantage of their trust. One study which may have found possible benefits of a plant in one aspect does not mean all its supposed uses have been proven. Most people lack the scientific literacy to realize this; these plants may act upon the body but they are not standardized, controllable, in their natural state… it's nothing like giving someone a dose of acetaminophen which will have the same action every time. That is my issue and, I believe, why she doesn't ask for my opinion much. And besides, the general consensus seems to be I am an old fogey who doesn't understand the gifts of Mother Earth."

"Have you ever tried goin' into the city, goin' to hospitals?" Daryl asked.

"No, it's too far of a trip for Norman to justify," Schmidt said.

"Has Norman always been the leader here?" Beth wanted to know.

"Since the beginning," Schmidt confirmed.

Daryl brought up his thumbnail to his mouth to worry at the nail. Beth put on water to heat over the fire for more tea and asked a few more questions of Schmidt regarding head injuries, then noted his responses. Beth shut the notebook and rested her hand on the cover, fingers tapping against the cardboard.

"The armory," Beth started saying, trailing off at the look Daryl gave her.

"Why have it?" Schmidt asked.

Beth nodded.

A smile twisted Schmidt's lips.

"Norman claims it's part of his strategy for keeping this area free of other groups. He reasons if they can't gather supplies for themselves, they'll move on and won't settle," Schmidt said.

Daryl bit down hard on his thumbnail and it snapped in his mouth.

"Found a few places around that looked like they used to be communities," he said rather quickly.

"Yes, I'm sure you did. We're the only standing community for thirty miles, give or take. They all fell, some recently, some near the beginning. I think… I am only waiting for the day this place succumbs. It is a place filled with fools, but it is my home, even before. And I am too old to survive out there."

After one last cup of tea, lemon balm and passionflower, Schmidt took his leave. Beth waved him off and started clearing up the dinner things. Daryl brought out a cigarette to smoke while he banked the fire.

"Need to get out there soon, so you can learn the land," he said.

"I know," Beth said. "But I can't leave the girls for longer than a few hours until we find formula."

"I'll keep lookin'," Daryl said.

As the sun set they returned to the apartment and began getting ready for bed. Well, Daryl didn't do much besides a quick once over along his face and neck with a wet washcloth, but Beth pulled off her clothes completely for a more thorough cleansing. She didn't go to the baths more than once a day after Celine complained about Erika doing so, but it was nice to wash off the day's sweat and grime.

She could feel the heat of Daryl's stare on her back, her muscles pricking with the sensation of someone watching her. Beth boldly turned to face him as she ran a rag over her side.

His throat bobbed in a wet swallow and Beth thought maybe she too was guilty of blurring the lines.

Daryl held out his hand.

She took it, then let out a little sound when she was yanked on top of him. His hand skated down her bare back, fingers bumping over the knobs of her spine as if trying to memorize them, while she kissed him fiercely, tongue probing the seam of his lips until they opened. She explored his mouth, tasting him as she stroked her tongue along his. He made a little groan that coiled her tighter and two wide hands clapped onto her ass. While she ran her own hands up and down over his ratty tank-top, Beth could feel his heart jackhammering and she pulled away. Daryl looked at her with a pained, burning gaze.

"We don't have t' do anything besides this," Beth said quietly. "Havin' this… is enough for now."

"Alright," he said in a cut-metal whisper.

He pulled her down further, shoving his face into the crook of her shoulder to breathe heavy against her neck.

"Ain't good at this sh*t," Daryl murmured, like he didn't want her to hear, "never done this sober."

Beth bit back a laugh; she didn't want him to think she laughed at him. If the growing damp between her legs was any indication, he was doing just fine, drunk or sober.

"I got no complaints," she told the top of his head.

And then he bit at her neck and she decided to abandon words for a while.

Chapter 12: helpless stranger looking out to understand

Chapter Text

One morning Beth woke up to find Daryl's side of the bed empty; his crossbow was gone so she knew he was out hunting. She vaguely remembered a hand brushing along her shoulder in dim predawn light. The sun was high enough in the sky that after changing and feeding the girls Beth went to the outdoor kitchen to grab breakfast instead of making it herself.

"Don't see you out here much! Did you oversleep?" Harley teased as he put a slice of toast and a cup of fruit on her plate.

Beth smiled and said, "I'd have t' actually sleep for that to happen."

Harley laughed a big, booming laugh as he handed over a mug of chicory tea. Beth scanned the picnic tables until Macy waved Beth over. After considering for a second, Beth came over to sit next to the woman.

"Good morning!" Macy said brightly.

"Mornin'," Beth said with much less enthusiasm.

"How are the girls?"

Macy was a woman firmly in denial. She'd left her children with their grandparents while she and her husband traveled for a friend's wedding. The two became trapped in Nashville when the turn happened and she often talked to Beth like her children were still alive somehow. While Beth was perfectly happy to let the woman live in her cocooning delusion, she was frequently the target of unsolicited parenting advice from Macy.

"Good as gold," Beth said.

"How old are they now?"

"'Bout five months."

"Have I told you about baby-led weaning? You should start thinking about how you're going to start them on solid foods."

"That sounds really interestin'," Beth said with a false smile.

"I can tell you all about it! So, basically, you start out by—"

Beth tucked into her breakfast now that Macy was occupied explaining whatever "baby-led weaning" was. Chewing thoughtfully at the stone-like hunk of bread made from some wild grain, Beth let her thoughts wander. Daryl had said he wanted to take her out there, past the walls. At the time, she had wanted to so badly it consumed her every waking thought, but now, later, she wondered at the sense in both of them going out together. That could easily lead to… well, it was a moot point. There was no formula to be found, it seemed.

" —so much easier if you've taught them sign language—"

"Wait, sign language? Babies can learn that? An' sign back?"

Macy nodded, sending her ponytail flapping.

"You should start now! Babies can sign back well before they start talking," Macy said. "Here, I'll show you. This is 'milk.'"

Beth copied the sign and mulishly accepted a few corrections. This could be a lifesaving thing; if Clara and Anne could communicate before they learned to talk, if this led to them crying less… while Beth didn't want to think about subjecting either of her daughters to the road, she couldn't discount the possibility Aspen Pointe would fall.

So Beth copied down in her notebook how to perform a few common signs, noting with no small degree of annoyance how pleased Macy seemed to see Beth finally taking her obviously superior parenting advice.

That afternoon, instead of working in the gardens, Beth returned to the empty apartment. Daryl still hadn't returned. Going into the bedroom, Beth set out the girls on a blanket on the floor and wondered if they really could sign before they talked. The girls now squealed and laughed, proof they were well on their way to becoming fully fledged human beings.

"Milk… change… sleep… mom… dad… milk… change…"

Beth went through the signs repeatedly, watching herself in the mirror to make sure wasn't messing anything up.

"The hell you doin'?"

She turned to find Daryl in the doorway, eyebrows raised while he worked his way through a bowl of strawberries. He was sweaty from his jaunt beyond the walls, obviously just returned. Beth flushed, putting her hands down. She wasn't sure why she was embarrassed to be caught in the act, probably for the same reason she was embarrassed when Maggie caught her reciting her speech competition poem in the mirror back in fourth grade.

"It's sign language. Macy told me you can teach babies. Said they can sign back before they talk and it helps them cry less since they can communicate what they want," Beth said.

"Huh," Daryl said and held out the bowl to her.

Taking a few strawberries for herself, Beth ran through the first few signs for Daryl, saying the name of each one as she went.

"She also told me you can train them to go to the bathroom on command, but I don't believe her," Beth said.

Daryl snorted, saying, "Can't even train a dog to crap on command. So what, this is 'milk?'"

"Yeah, you move your hand a bit more like—that's it. She showed me more but said it's best to only introduce a few at a time."

"Show me again?"

"Sure. This is 'change'… This is 'sleep'… This is 'mommy'…" Beth paused. "…And this is 'daddy.'"

Daryl, who had been repeating the signs as she made them, went red in the ears.

"So what, I'm good 'nough now to be their daddy? Like I weren't before?"

The scrape in his voice made Beth's stomach twist into a hard knot.

"Daryl, I'm sorry I hurt you by sayin' it like that. I don't want to hurt you. But you were holdin' back, you know that."

"An' you're the master of my mind, decidin' what's wrong, what's right? Don't be a hypocrite; you've done the same as what I were tryna do. Didn't want to get hurt knowin' they could die. You saw what losin' Sophia did to Carol; think I wanted that pain?"

Hands flew up to card through hair, pushing sweaty strands off his pine-pitch face, his features knotted up like a whorl in wood. While her arms had been crossed at the start of Daryl's speech, Beth let them drop to her sides, limp and useless. She wanted to reach out to him, reach into his heart and dig out the mud covering it; but the hurt of being called a hypocrite stayed her hands and choked her throat.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was a hypocrite—hadn't she kept Zach at arm's length emotionally? Could she really blame Daryl for wanting to keep Clara and Anne at the same distance? Yes, she thought, she could, if he wanted to be considered their father. If he hadn't asked for that responsibility, then Daryl's general indifference wouldn't have bothered her; he would have been playing the same role for them as what he had played for Judith. But Beth knew she couldn't, in good conscience, let her daughters have someone less than completely committed take on the role of father.

Daryl continued speaking.

"You put my damn hand on your belly, let me feel them kick and I f*ckin' loved them from that goddamn moment, same as from the f*ckin' first time I held Lil Asskicker. It ain't for you to say how I feel, what makes me feel like dyin' from the idea of it. If I want to call myself father to Wingus and Dingus, that's my own damn call—not yours alone!"

"I might not control your mind, or dictate how you think," Beth said, "and you could call yourself their daddy in your mind all you wanted, but that wouldn't make it true! I said you needed to change and you're tryin', and that's what makes the difference: that you cared! I'm not tryin' to be contrary—I only want those girls to be able to depend on you."

"You think I wouldn't do anything to keep 'em safe? You an' them, you're all that's left. The only family I got."

"That wasn't my point; I know you'd do that. But keepin' 'em safe isn't the same as raisin' 'em. When they're scared of the monster under the bed, are you gonna tell 'em to go to sleep already or are you gonna check under the bed for the sixteenth time? When they're angry, are you gonna ask them why or send 'em to stand in the corner for throwin' a fit?"

"So that's what you think—'cause of how I were raised, I can't ever do better?"

"That's not how I think at all," Beth said, quietly. "But maybe it's how you think."

Daryl swallowed, his jaw clenching. He was red in the face, having stained to keep his voice level throughout the argument.

"Daryl," Beth said, "if you wanna be Clara's dad, Anne's dad, then you are. But what that means to you, well, that's somethin' you'll have t' decide for yourself. Everyone's got a job to do and askin' you to take up that job, bein' a father to them, wasn't somethin' which was fair for me to assume you'd take on. That's a lifetime… whatever that amounts to these days. I'm sorry for not seein' your pain, but I had no choice. I was lovin' Clara, lovin' Anne no matter what. I'm sorry for not seein' you didn't have a choice either. Maybe I wanted to think you did, because I've taken so many choices from you."

"I ain't some scairt little boy who turns tail when sh*t gets hard," Daryl said, his eyes locked on hers. "We don't get choices no more, just sh*t we gotta walk through. Maybe I am worried I'll turn out like my old man, maybe I am worried I ain't equipped to turn two babies into grown-ass adults—even before the world went to sh*t—but I ain't gonna turn away from it. Maybe I thought I could and found out I can't."

Beth scrubbed at her eyes and nodded. She let out a long breath and stood, coming up to Daryl. His slitted eyes followed her warily, as if he expected her to explode in anger. When she reached her hand out he jerked away from her touch.

"I ain't mad or nothin'. We made our points. I only want a hug," Beth murmured.

"Would rather you holler," Daryl said, even as he took hold of her arm and pulled her against his chest.

She let out a shuddering sigh, feeling much like a towel wrung out to hang on the line, but the quiet between them was no longer smothering. Beth listened to Daryl's heartbeat, heard it sound in time with her own, and pushed herself further into his chest; she remembered a time when physical comfort from him was few and far between and the fact he offered it now after such a contentious conversation set something warm burning in her ribcage. One hand rested on her shoulder and the other tangled in her hair, fingers resting behind the shell of her ear.

"Still can, if you want me to," Beth said wryly.

He shrugged and said, "When somebody's all worked up and screamin' their head off you know they ain't holdin' nothin' back."

"Says the man who's workin' to check his temper," Beth said. "How do I know you're not holdin' somethin' back?"

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest and he said, "'Cause I gave you a whole damn speech."

"True," Beth said.

She extracted herself from the embrace when Clara let out a squeal, bouncing her legs and wiggling. Anne was industriously content with rolling back and forth and chewing on her hands.

"What are you doin', Junebug?" Her gaze danced back to Daryl, leaned against the wall and back to eating the last of the strawberries after picking up the bowl from the dresser. "You wanna go see Daddy?"

Beth made the sign at the same time. The rustle of clothing let her know Daryl was on his way over.

"That's right! Here's Daddy," she said, making the sign again before passing Clara to Daryl.

Clara squealed and kicked her tiny socked feet as Daryl lifted her high into the air. Seeing the world from a different point of view delighted the baby so much she spit up, directly onto Daryl's hair. He blinked as it slid onto his face, wearing a look of displeased shock.

Beth curled her lips inwards, but a bark of laughter escaped anyways as she accepted the baby back from Daryl.

"This kid has it out for me and my goddamn moments," he said.

Someone knocked on the sliding door, so, still laughing, Beth handed Daryl a towel and went to answer the door. It was Valerie, wearing a wide grin, so Beth stepped outside to talk with her.

"Hey, Beth!" Valerie said.

"You're more chipper than usual," Beth said.

"You won't believe what I found on my run today," Valerie said. "But go on, guess!"

"Um… formula? Tampons? An untouched grocery store?"

"Nope, much better! You'll never guess."

"Why don't you tell me, then?" Beth laughed, bouncing Clara on her hip.

"A semi full of beer." Valerie grinned. "Chock full, completely untouched. So, to celebrate I'm having a little party tomorrow afternoon. You and Daryl are invited, and Eileen doesn't drink, so she offered to take care of your girls."

Beth considered. She'd always wanted to try drinking, despite her father's warnings; the idea of it fascinated her and she wondered if it simply was because it had been forbidden. Maybe she could express a little extra milk for the girls and have one or two—Celine did say expressed milk was safe for up to four hours; an hour or two was enough time to enjoy the party.

"I'll let Daryl know. Sounds fun," Beth said.

"Awesome!"

Valerie took her leave after this, heading out for a shift walking the wall. When Daryl came outside with Anne, Beth let him know of Valerie's invitation.

"What d'you think?"

"Gettin' lit off old, skunked-to-sh*t beer? Pfft, I got better things to do than that," Daryl said.

"It could be fun. I've never drank at a party before," Beth said.

Daryl snorted and said, "You played DD? Good Lord, I woulda hated you."

"You like me well enough now," Beth said primly as she set Clara on a blanket in the grass. "Plus, I'm goin'. So you should come."

"Guessin' you were never in forensics neither," Daryl said.

"What's that?"

Daryl shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Valerie say who was gone be there?"

"No, but I would think her friends, right? Us, Erika, Richard, Frankie… those sorts."

"Guess it's only beer… liquor gets me mean. Ain't the kinda sh*t you should have to deal with. Alright. You twisted my arm. I'll go," Daryl said.

So the next day after finishing up in clinic with Celine, Beth hurried back to the apartment to start getting ready. She'd been told to never go to a party empty handed, which meant whipping up some kind of finger food to bring. Daryl hadn't been impressed with her insistence on adhering to etiquette, insisting Valerie wouldn't give a sh*t, but Beth ignored him, because what did he know about manners?

Daryl returned from hunting outside the walls empty-handed, which put a wrench in Beth's plans; she wanted to bring some kind of meat for everyone to enjoy. But one couldn't control how hunting went, so she continued on forming small cups out of a stiff acorn flour dough, which she planned to fill with fresh jam. Daryl crouched down to say hello to the twins, then stuck a finger in the cooling jam for a taste.

"Good?" Beth asked.

"Tastes like hot fruit," Daryl said.

"You're no help! Go shower, you stink." Beth tossed a green strawberry top at him.

His shoulders shook with a little laugh as he went inside.

While the tart shells cooked in the dutch oven, Beth made sure the girls would have something to eat while she was out. She planned to feed them just before leaving, and hopefully everything would line up. Her feet tapped and she hummed under her breath as she worked; the last time she remembered feeling like this was before the turn, when she and Paige sat in her bedroom listening to pop music and putting on too much eyeliner and giggling at every little thing. Although she didn't have a friend to get ready with, her chest felt empty and open, like a freshly cleaned room, her burdens forgotten about for the briefest moment.

After the tart shells had been filled and plated, Daryl had finished washing. He stepped outside, hair dripping and shirt stuck to damp skin, and sat on the grass next to the girls, sending a nod Beth's way. Beth went inside and quickly washed and changed, dressing in a tank-top with a frilly little bib sewn on the yoke. She liked how the shirt looked, but the ruffles collected spit-up and held onto it, so she didn't wear it around the twins much.

Beth considered herself in the mirror, stoutly ignoring her ancient eyes as she tried to decide how to style her hair, the simple pleasure of such an act a delight she hadn't experienced in a long while. In the end she wasn't given much of a choice, however, as Eileen arrived not long after she'd finished dressing. So Beth swept back the hair from her temples and tied it up in a bun, leaving the bottom half loose around her shoulders.

"Aren't you a doll!" Eileen said when she caught sight of Beth.

The woman had a baby on each hip and although Beth didn't see Daryl, she smelled the cigarette smoke wafting in from the patio, so there wasn't a question as to where he was.

"Thank you again for watchin' them," Beth said. "Lemme just feed them quick before we leave… there's bottles for later on the counter."

"It's no trouble! After the birth of my youngest—I had three under three—I was so desperate for a break I dropped them off at my mother's and ran to a hotel for the weekend! Lord, how I slept," Eileen said.

Once the girls finished eating, Beth handed them off to Eileen once more and stood, saying, "I don't think we'll be there more than an hour or two—"

Eileen only waved her hand until Beth realized her words were falling on deaf ears and scuttled out the door. She met Daryl on the patio.

"Ready?" Beth asked him.

"Ready to get this over with," he said.

"You don't have t' come," Beth said.

"I'd get a look from you iffin I said no."

"A look?"

"Big eyes. Real sad. Like some damn kicked dog."

"So that's all it takes…"

"Hey, can tell when that sh*t's fake. Don't go thinkin' you can pull one over on me."

"Does 'The Look' go somethin' like… this?"

"Not even close," Daryl said with a chuckle.

"Dammit." Beth snapped her fingers.

"Hey! Over here! Beth, Daryl!" Valerie called from her patio, jumping in her excitement.

"She's f*ckin' tanked," Daryl said.

Richard and Frankie sat with Valerie on the patio and the slurred rumble of many gathered voices bled through the glass. The sun shone strong overhead and the feeling of it all, like a summer barbeque from before the world changed, stopped up Beth's throat until she swallowed. Beth was handed a bottle the second she came within arm's reach of Valerie.

"It's cold!" Beth exclaimed.

How long had it been since she'd had a cold drink in the summer?

"Put that sh*t in the crick yesterday," Valerie said as she threw an arm over Beth's shoulder. "Because I-am-smart and I-plan-ahead!"

"Thanks, man," Daryl said after accepting a beer from Frankie.

"We've been out here enjoying the show," Richard said, pointing to Valerie.

"I'm doing a one woman show of Wicked!"

"It's off… off, off, off… really off Broadway," Frankie said.

Beth critically watched as Daryl took a sip of his beer, the corners of his mouth tugging down after he swallowed.

"I'm not gonna get the sh*ts from this, am I?"

"I'unno"—Valerie shrugged—"but I gave a case to Dayvon yesterday and he's still alive, so…"

"Were you trying to kill him?" Richard inquired.

"No! Maybe… look, I'm sick of him trailing after Erika like her shadow. sh*t or get off the pot, dude!"

While Valerie was distracted arguing with Richard, Beth took her first sip of beer ever. She couldn't stop her face from scrunching up and her tongue from poking out at the taste—"skunked" was the perfect description!

"Cryin' shame this is your first drink," Daryl said.

"After you've had a few, it's not so bad," Frankie said. "Aka, when you get too buzzed to care."

"No, I never got a chance to drink before all this… even took grape juice at communion," Beth said.

"Then what Robin Hood said, cryin' shame. This wasn't even good beer before the world blew up," Frankie said. "Why no one lifted it!"

Beth took another sip of beer; the taste did not improve but she would keep drinking it because it was cold and that fact pleased her more than anything else. Out of the corner of her eye Beth saw Daryl slug half his beer in one go and wondered if she should do the same, to get over the initial unpleasantness.

"Go inside and say hello already!" Valerie's arms waved wildly as she gestured at the sliding door.

Laughing, Beth followed Valerie's command and went inside the apartment; she could tell from the shiver running up her back that Daryl was just behind her. The crowd of people turned to see who arrived and then a drunken greeting rose up; Beth stiffened for a moment because it was so close to the roar of gathered walkers that her mind sputtered. It had been too long since she'd been in a place where people could be loud.

"You made it," Lettie said, getting off the couch to embrace Beth. "And your hair's down! It looks good like that."

"Thank you," Beth said as she patted Lettie's thin back. "Never get to wear it down these days."

"I dunno if you and Daryl have met everyone, so just in case, this is Greg, Pyle, Jesus, Julia, Wanda, and Will," Lettie said. "Everyone, this is Beth and Daryl. The ones with the babies!"

Daryl tensed besides her and Beth wondered if it was at the implication he fathered the twins—he was barely ready to start calling himself father to them. But Beth thought he'd need to get used to the assumption, because it would be the first thing which crossed people's minds.

Before she had a chance to say anything to Daryl, Beth was whisked away to share girl-talk with Lettie, Julia, and Wanda. Some time later, she found herself on her third beer and detailing the weird-thing-with-his-fingers that Zach used to do, leaving Julia and Wanda howling while Lettie just looked confused and rather disgusted.

"It's not a joystick," Wanda tried to explain.

"Lucky he could find it at all," Julia snorted.

"Right?" Beth finished the last of her beer and stood to get another. "Whoa."

"Hits harder than before, doesn't it?"

"Uh-huh." Beth waited until her head stopped floating near the ceiling. She didn't think she was drunk , but she was definitely feeling something. "I'll be back."

After winding her way to the bathroom, Beth returned to the living room. She heard Daryl's voice carrying and saw him in the kitchen, deep in conversation with Pyle about the motorcycle he used to own.

"—cry if you saw it. Meanest hog on the road, rode better 'n a Cadillac—"

"Only person who'll be cryin' is baby Jesus. You're lyin' if you're tellin' me you got that kinda engine on that frame without—"

Suddenly a terrible thought struck Beth. She'd forgotten the tarts! f*ck, she was a terrible guest. Beth twirled around Greg to get into the kitchen, where she sidled up to Daryl.

"I forgot the tarts," she said.

"Go get 'em, then," Daryl said. He looked down at her and laughed. "You drunk already?"

"No, I'm smooth… like a shaved leg," Beth said.

Pyle snorted into his drink.

"Alright, Leg. You gone go and get the damn things? Fussed over 'em enough."

"Well… what if I wanted you to come with me?"

"Fixin' to get lost on the way?"

Pyle clapped his hand on Daryl's arm and moved back into the crowd, clearly not in the mood to stick around for further tart-talk.

"You will come, won't you? "

"f*ck me, there are those damn eyes," Daryl muttered.

"Let's sneak out real quick and no one will know we've been gone!"

After knocking back the last of his beer, Daryl allowed Beth to drag him out the front door and into the quieter hallway. Beth could still hear Valerie belting out "Defying Gravity" through the door, with Lettie playing Glenda, though off-key in a way that made Beth's singer's ear itch. She grabbed hold of his hand and started winding her way down the hall.

"Goin' the wrong way," Daryl said.

"I know," Beth said.

"You really forget the food?"

"I really did!"

"Then why—unf!"

Pushing open the door to the stairwell, Beth yanked Daryl into the dark space. She had fully intended to go directly to the apartment and pick up the tarts, but the idea that they were alone took over her mind. She put her hands on his shoulders and had his back against the wall before the door swung shut. Daryl's hands clamped down on her hips, fingers digging into the softness, as he understood what she meant to do.

Leaning up on her toes, Beth snaked her arms around his neck, then pressed her lips to his. She ran her tongue along his bottom lip, asking to be let in, even though his mouth was sour from the beer. Beth didn't really care. His hands gripped tighter until they slipped from her hips, skating along the dip of her waist and playing at the edge of her shirt, leaving a tingling trail along where they touched. While her fingers brushed along the back of his neck, along the skin behind his ears, along the very edge of his jaw, Beth pushed her leg in between his, using the seam of her jeans, crushed against his warm thigh, to her advantage.

Breaking away, Beth meant to duck her head and kiss his neck, but Daryl got there first, teeth nipping at the soft skin just above her shoulders.

"Ah… you should do that more!" Her hand tangled in his hair and she wanted so badly to feel more of his body against hers, to feel the heat of him because it sent something in her blood singing.

"Yeah? You like it rough?" His voice was lower than she'd ever heard it, tinged with a note that made her wind up tight.

Suddenly she was against the wall with her wrists pinned above her head; she jerked her wrists but Daryl had her held fast. A ping of danger rippled through her, tightening her throat instead of her gut. With Daryl she didn't panic because she trusted him, but she'd already had a man's strength used against her.

"I might… but gimme my hands, alright? How'm I gonna get my fill if I can't touch you?"

He let go and she dropped her arms to his shoulders, letting them dance down his front until fingers hooked over his belt. Beth didn't unbuckle the belt, but she did jerk his hips forward, removing any space between them. Her hands then wandered, one to his ass and the other up his back as Daryl crashed his lips into hers; their noses bumped as his mouth skidded across wet lips and then Beth let out a little breath which steamed between them because she wanted to laugh but didn't. This moment was messy, awkward, yet it didn't matter in the least. She'd felt desperate, pulsing need before, but this, this burning desire was something new.

Yes, that was it. She'd needed before, in the way one needs to eat, but she'd never desired . And if Beth could have her way, she'd possess Daryl, take him into her whole being; she'd run alongside his veins, she'd fill his lungs, she'd make it so his senses were so full of her that he could down out the world for a moment.

When she bit at his lower lip, a strangled groan escaped from his throat and if that wasn't the sexiest—

"f*ck," he murmured in her ear while she trailed kisses along his jaw, "you don't have the right t' be this goddamn good ."

"Am I gettin' you hot under the collar, Daryl Dixon?"

Beth finally got her chance to bite at his neck and she enjoyed the way his hands tightened on her ass in reaction. One of his hands skidded up her front and then he was palming her breasts and…

"Ow, they're a little full—" Beth said.

As if cold water had been dumped on him, Daryl drew back, his head ducked down so he didn't have to meet her eyes.

"It's fine, you didn't actually hurt me," Beth said, wanting to get back to what they were doing.

"Reckon we should go and get those damn tarts," Daryl said.

He still wasn't looking at her.

"Alright," Beth said, because she didn't know what else to say.

While they walked, Beth made to reach for Daryl's hand but he jerked it away at the last second, shoving it in his pocket instead. Beth blinked, then withdrew her hand. She'd left the tarts on the porch, so they took the long way around again. Eileen caught sight of them through the sliding door, so Beth lifted the plate of tarts and motioned back towards Valerie's apartment. The woman nodded and made Clara, sat on her hip, wave hello. Beth enthusiastically waved back to her daughter. Then, their intentions thus communicated, both started back for the party.

After another minute of silence, Beth spoke up, "I dunno if you were upset you thought you hurt me, or if you thought that was too far—"

"Don't."

"I only wanted—"

"Stop, already told you, 'm no good at that sh*t and f*ck… feels like a foreign f*ckin' language. Like all the sh*t I did with chicks before ain't what's right for you."

"Well… just gives you an excuse to try again… and again… and again until you get it right."

"Christ! I ain't twenty no more," Daryl scoffed.

"I didn't know fingers had a refractory period."

Daryl made a strange choking noise.

Beth skipped on ahead with the tarts. A grating voice carried on the humid air and the sound of it stopped her in her tracks. Norman and Dayvon stood outside Valerie's apartment, Valerie standing with her hands clenched while Norman berated her. Behind her were Lettie and the others, their posture defensive with crossed arms and shifting weight.

"—unauthorized gathering that puts the safety of this community at risk! These people are drunk! How do you expect them to fulfill their duties when they're back there blithering like idiots?"

"No one's talking," Richard said.

"I asked permission and you gave it," Valerie said as her fists tightened further. "If we're being loud, then we'll quiet down."

Daryl shifted beside her and Beth put out her arm to bar him from moving forward; the last thing they needed was the situation devolving because Daryl beat the sh*t out of Norman, despite how satisfying it would be to witness such an event.

"Go home, all of you! Chuck, there you are—help Dayvon confiscate the beer. I said go home, now. I need to meet with the council regarding this… flagrant lack of respect for the community!"

Norman turned on his heel and strode away down the lawn while Chuck and Dayvon fanned through the party-goers, grabbing and dumping out the bottles as they went. Frankie downed his full bottle before handing the empty to Chuck with a wide grin.

When Valerie caught sight of Beth and Daryl, she came up to them, her face twisted in anger.

"Was wondering where you two got off to," Valerie said.

"I forgot these," Beth said lamely, holding up the plate.

"No, it's good you weren't here. Bastard! I asked him, I asked him if this was okay, told him who would be here, he knew I found the beer because he took a case for himself!"

"Weren't being loud. Couldn't hear you till we got close," Daryl said.

Valerie pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a sigh.

"Talk to the council… talk to the council! More like talk sh*t about me. Fine. Fine. Okay. You guys should go. I don't want Norman to—" Valerie shook her head.

Beth opened her mouth to ask what Valerie meant, but Daryl put his hand on her shoulder, turning her around. He steered her across the grounds and each footfall landed heavy on the springy grass. Beth's fingers tightened on the platter's edge, pushing the blood from her digits and leaving them white and waxy.

Instead of taking her back to the apartment, Daryl brought her to the garden, still in the stifling afternoon heat. His hand remained on her shoulder as they walked through waving cornstalks, the kernels just beginning to plump on the cobs underneath sharp leaves. Beth stopped in the middle of a row and turned to face Daryl. His eyes were bright, pupils contracted to nothing but pinpricks in the searing light.

"I know you wanna know what that was," he said before she opened her mouth. "Just let it be on my shoulders for a little longer."

"Why? Why won't you tell me? It's supposed to be us, back to back against the world, isn't it?"

"I ain't tryna protect you, keep sh*t from you. You said you wanted time with your… our girls. I'm tryin' to give you that. Tryin' to give you the sh*t you should've had. You wanted to be a nurse, be a mom. Be those things for a little while longer, before you hafta change again."

Something squeezed Beth's heart, sending a shot of pain through her chest. She dropped the platter of tarts, not caring that it was a waste or that the crumbs would attract vermin. Beth launched herself into Daryl's arms, tucking herself into the space made just for her against his chest. His arms wrapped around her and she pressed her face into his sweaty chest. It was so sweet but so wrong, like the bullets in his vest.

"Thank you… but you don't have t' do that. You don't have t' do this alone. You don't have t' keep the house of cards up all by yourself."

"I know," Daryl said. "There ain't a lot of sh*t these days I can give you, but I can give you this. So, will you let me?"

Beth pulled back and looked into his earnest face. The sun beat down on them, tightening Beth's skin. Just from looking at him, Beth knew he'd tell her if she pressed, but he did want so badly to give her some semblance of the life she could have had; it was an illusion, nothing but smoke and mirrors and wire and the worst part was the longer she lived in this mirror world the more she came to think it could last forever. Her edge was being worn down and maybe, maybe recognizing the truth would be enough to keep it from being ground down further.

Her lips came together in a thin line but she nodded and said, "Okay."

Chapter 13: you have told me i'm a fool

Chapter Text

"You want your puppy? Yeah? Here you go, Ladybug," Beth said, pausing her weaving to push the wooden dog back towards Anne.

She sat with Eileen in the courtyard, enjoying the humid breeze which came in over the walls while her hands worked at creating a long length of cloth. Beth was just beginning to learn how to create patterns while weaving and under Eileen's watchful eye wove a simple striped pattern, grey and green, from some of the reclaimed yarn. By her side lay the twins, content at the moment to gum on their toys.

"Lord, how big they've gotten," Eileen commented.

"Wish I could stop time. Keep them like this," Beth started saying.

"BETH!"

The shout wrenched the air and Beth startled, her hand going for her knife until she stopped herself. Both she and Eileen watched Erika sprinting towards them, glistening with sweat from the effort.

"What? What's going on?" Beth jumped to her feet.

"Celine—she needs you—three people, injured, Dayvon found them—"

"I'll watch the girls, go," Eileen said.

With a nod of thanks Beth was off, leaving Erika and Eileen behind in her mad dash to the infirmary. Beth burst through the door and found she was the first to arrive, so she started water boiling on the camp stove as she began sorting through equipment and herbs. Since Erika made it sound quite urgent, she pulled out trays of the sterilized surgical equipment, getting them ready on the counter. Coagulant powder, yes, and honey and the plantain salve for less serious wounds, and syringes to irrigate. Bandages and towelling as well.

The door flew open and the room became a whirlwind as Celine, Dayvon, and Harley brought in the injured party. Two were ambulatory, but the third, a young man, was screaming his head off, fingers digging tight into his calf. Blood dripped from the soaked fabric, making concrete walls and endless bloody towels whirl past Beth's mind's eye. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the here and now.

The young man was placed on one of the beds and Celine and Beth crowded around him, pulling back the pant leg to reveal a deep bite wound on the ankle, with shredded muscle dangling from the bone. Spurts of blood pumped from the wound, splattering onto the bed, sinking into the blankets.

"sh*t," Celine said under her breath.

"How long ago were you bit? How long?" Beth asked.

"I don't know! I don't know!"

"You can't stop it," Celine said, moving to pull the pant leg down.

"Yes, you can! Get me a tourniquet, Dayvon!"

Dayvon rushed to the counter while Celine eyed Beth seriously.

"You can," Beth said, "if it hasn't been too long! I know because we saved my dad that way. How long since he's been bitten?"

"Minutes," one of the others in the party, an older woman, answered breathlessly.

"Got caught as I brought 'em inside," Dayvon said.

"You don't know how to perform an amputation! You'll kill him," Celine hissed as Beth ripped the fabric up to the thigh.

"Then help me! He's dead anyway!"

"Do you want this?" Celine asked the young man.

"I don't want to die! Jesus… Jesus Christ, save me!"

That was all Beth needed. Dayvon passed the tourniquet to her and she started knotting it around the leg until Celine reached in, moving it lower. Strong hands twisted the tourniquet tight, tighter than Beth would have tied it. The blood pumping from the leg slowed immediately.

Celine dashed to the cabinets, pulling out two trays which she brought over to the bedside. She handed gloves to Beth before snapping on a pair of her own.

"Have you done this before?" Beth asked.

"I assisted with a field amputation once," Celine said grimly. "Dayvon, Harley, hold him down. God, steady my hands... Beth, put your hands here. Do not let up pressure, keep the skin pulled back as much as you can. Keep a tight hold, all of you!"

So Beth laid her hands on the blood-slick leg, heart beating harder with every second wasted. If the leg didn't come off now, the young man had no hope and all this would be for nothing!

Celine picked up a scalpel and made the first cut, drawing an agonized scream from the young man when the blade sunk into his flesh. Beth swallowed hard as her hands slid on top muscle and bone while the skin retracted towards the kneecap. After the upper portion of the leg had been cut, Celine plunged the scalpel deeper into the layers of muscle, leaving Beth to watch in morbid fascination as each layer contracted, inching up towards the knee. Somewhere in the back of her mind Beth registered the older woman sobbing and screaming, but she didn't process the noise; Beth kept waiting for the young man to pass out, yet he didn't. He continued screaming, thrashing against restraining hands. The sound gained a sickening gurgle when the young man bit through his tongue and blood pooled in his mouth.

Tension tightened Beth's shoulders as she watched Celine take the time to shove a surgical implement inside the deep, gaping incision. The effort loosened the muscle further from the bone; Beth’s hand slid up another half-inch. How long had it been? The lower half of the calf was still attached, but would the tourniquet make a difference? Beth blinked away sweat stinging her eyes.

Finally Celine pulled a saw from one of the trays and put it to the bone. The effort brought beads of sweat popping up along Celine's forehead, but the woman gamely continued her work until her arms jerked; the saw had finished working through the bone. She then used the same scalpel to finish cutting through the muscle and skin on the limb’s underside. The severed leg fell heavily onto the bed. Celine’s face was ashen and her hand shook as she replaced the scalpel on the tray, where it clattered against metal.

"You can let go, Beth," Celine said in a perfectly calm voice, as if she asked Beth to let go of a sheet corner.

When Beth lifted her hands away, the skin and muscle slithered into place again. The whole ordeal had been surprisingly bloodless, thanks to the tourniquet; another time and another place of endless bleeding snuck into the back of her mind and Beth shoved it away, watching closely and handing Celine what she needed to tie off the major blood vessels. It was a morbidly fascinating thing, that a leg without blood looked exactly as a medical illustration, blood vessels bulbous tubes and the bloodless muscles like pork. After the ligation was complete, Celine loosened the tourniquet while watching for excessive blood flow. Once satisfied, she packed the wound with wet, boiled gauze. The young man had since devolved from thrashing screams to shuddering whimpers, so Dayvon and Harley took their hands away as the stump was bandaged and elevated. The pair of them stepped from the bedside, walking backwards until their backs hit the wall.

"Is he gonna live? Is my boy gonna live?" the mother asked through sobs.

"I don't know," Celine said, looking at Beth. "Depends on if we got it in time, doesn't it, Beth?"

She swallowed as she looked down at the young man breathing shallowly. Had they gotten it in time? Celine had moved so methodically… Her father had his leg amputated in under five minutes from getting bit; she wasn't sure how long had transpired between the man getting bit and his amputation.

"That's right. That's what it all depends on," Beth said.

"I think young sir could use some pain management. Harley, could you please go find Schmidt and see what we can do?"

"Gladly," Harley said, looking green around the gills.

The amputated leg was wrapped up in several layers of toweling before Beth, tasked with its removal, took the limb to the counter to be disposed of later; it would need to be burned. Celine and Beth then took a moment to remove their gloves and scrub the blood from their arms before attending to the two others, the woman and an older man. After pulling the curtains closed around the young man, Beth took charge of the older man. She forced him into one of the chairs while Celine directed the woman, the mother, to the free bed.

"Can you tell me your name?" Beth asked the man as she took his pulse.

He showed signs of shock; his skin was clammy and his heart rate high. Beth wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. The man didn't grip the blanket closed, he only stared vacantly at Beth, but she knew he wasn't staring at her; he was confused and disoriented.

"My name?" he gasped out, mouth working hard to form the sounds.

Beth decided names weren't important right now and said, "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I… don't… what happened? Nurse, my arm…"

"That's alright. I'm going to take off your shirt, okay?" Beth said.

The man remained quiet and didn't resist when Beth removed his filthy t-shirt, crusted with sweat and walker blood. It was like moving a waxen doll. After checking his breathing (shallow) and his nail beds (blue), she held a flashlight up to his eyes and checked for normal pupil contraction; he was bleeding from a scrape to the right side of his head and seemed highly confused. Sure enough neither of his pupils responded to the light, remaining wide.

Beth found the man had broken his collarbone and shattered his right arm. He had several broken ribs, but no signs of internal bleeding or a pneumothorax. She checked his legs and thought perhaps he'd broken his pelvis, but she couldn't tell. He'd borne the brunt of his fall on his right side.

Celine came at Beth’s call to verify her diagnosis. If the man was in shock they needed to get him lying down.

"No, just bruised," Celine said of the pelvis. "Are you feeling nauseated? Like you need to throw up?"

The man blinked at them before he started nodding, then vomited into his lap at the motion.

"sh*t," Celine muttered, pulling Beth aside.

"What's going on?"

"He doesn't have a concussion, more likely severe brain injury," Celine said. "We're not equipped to treat him if his brain starts swelling or he drops into a coma."

Beth looked back at the man, who stared blankly at the mess in his lap before he slurred out, "Nurse?"

"Take over fixing up Sandra," Celine said. "She needs her ankle splinted and her wounds dressed."

With a nod, Beth took over seeing to Sandra, who didn't want to talk—not that Beth expected her to. The woman sobbed into her hands as Beth cleaned and bandaged a long length of abrasions on the woman's arm and stitched a nasty-looking gash along her thigh.

"Your dad lived? He lived, didn't he, baby?" Sandra lifted her head to fix a red-rimmed stare on Beth.

Beth finished the last suture and tied off the stitch.

"Because we got it in time. He's the only one I've ever seen survive a bite," Beth said, hoping to temper Sandra's expectations.

"Oh, God!" Sandra's face crumpled again. "Please don't take my boy. He's all I got. Please!"

Schmidt came through into the infirmary carrying a dose of codeine for the injured young man and a glass of what looked and smelled like the brandy Celine used to make tinctures. Sandra was given the brandy and she gulped the liquor down without question. Beth helped her to her son's bedside and left Schmidt to tend to them, going now to help Celine with the injured man, now occupying the other bed.

"How is he?"

"Getting worse," Celine said.

She pricked his fingertip with a scalpel edge and the man mumbled, eyes fluttering, though he failed to rouse more than that.

"If he wakes up, there's a good chance he'll never be the same, cognitively," Celine said.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Can you sit with him while I take care of Sandra's son?"

So Beth sat vigil by the man's bedside, keeping an eye on his pulse and breathing while he mumbled in his semi-conscious state. She heard the others moving about the room: Sandra crying and Celine rustling about and Schmidt's low voice speaking. The door opened and Norman's voice cut the air and all she could think about was the young man in the bed a few feet away, thinking if only her father had known then, that bites could be amputated, maybe Shawn could have been saved. Maybe he wouldn't have died.

"Beth, dear," came Schmidt's voice. "Go, take a break. I'll take over here."

Looking up, Beth saw the old man watching her with a heartbreaking look of concern on his face. She nodded her assent before stiffly rising. The hall, dark and still, was a tomb and the door swinging shut behind her the coffin lid closing.

While she knew she needed to get back to her girls, Beth instead found her feet taking her to the gardens. The sun, while not quite set, had disappeared behind the wall and the shadows ran long. Her breasts ached but she couldn't force her feet to move back to the apartment.

She'd seen people ripped apart before her eyes; why did she feel this way?

Because this was the first time she had a vested interest in the outcome, the first time she'd had a hand in the direction someone's life took. She could have written off the young man as dead—most everyone would—but instead she'd put him through the pain of amputation and he might still die. Beth swallowed hard. The injured man could just as easily die; they could try cutting into his head to relieve the pressure of a swelling brain, but that could very well kill him. Beth didn't want these people to die because of choices she'd made for them.

It could be she wasn't cut out to be a nurse, a doctor—whatever she was trying to be—and to take these kinds of decisions upon herself. While the world changed, the medical profession hadn't. Even if it was before she'd still be making these kinds of calls, these kinds of decisions. Do this or do that, the patient lives or dies.

"Thought I'd find you here," Norman said.

Beth stiffened and stood up straight, staring at the shadow of the man through the green leaves.

"The boy died, just now," Norman said in the same tone someone might once have used to describe seeing an out of state license plate. "You needn't go back. Celine and Schmidt have it handled."

Swallowing hard, Beth asked, "And the man?"

"Who?"

"The man who came in with them!"

Norman shrugged.

"Celine has this delusion she can save everyone. Makes her a good doctor… but wastes my time… our resources. I think that's why she picked you as her assistant. You gave that boy false hope, you know, and his mother. She's screaming for your blood."

Beth forced her face to remain still.

"And she should. You failed them, Beth. You failed. You can't save people." The next words he spoke were soft, gentle. "But you don't have to make hard decisions like that. Talk to me, and I can make the decision for you. Then it's on me, not you, and you won't have failed like you did today."

"No," Beth whispered, not knowing if she said it to herself or to Norman or if she even said it aloud.

"Go away!" she blustered, only to realize Norman had already left.

She crouched down, fingers digging into her biceps. Of course she failed… she always failed. She always had… frail, shy, little Beth Greene, too scared, too weak to make a difference. Not made for this world.

Her fingernails nipped against skin and she sucked in a shaking breath at the brief taste of physical pain. Beth forced herself to her feet.

Without really knowing where she was going, she made her way back inside the building and her feet took her to Celine's workroom. Beth wasn't sure she could return to her apartment, if she had the mental fortitude to put herself away enough to take care of the girls without this moment for her spinning thoughts. Dropping onto a stool, Beth let her arms sprawl on the table, her head following. After an interminable amount of time she turned her head, catching sight of the brandy bottle just a few inches away, squat and dark and inviting.

She had beer once and now her thoughts turned to drinking the second she saw a bottle?

Beth straightened again and reached out for the bottle, pulling it towards her. After uncapping the bottle and sniffing the liquor she wondered to herself: was she acting like a brat? Did every nurse experience this same feeling when a patient in their care died, despite their best efforts?

There was no need for a glass. She knocked back a swallow and it nearly came back up. Gagging, Beth choked the liquor down her throat a second time. She'd always heard people talk about the burn of liquor, and wondered if the phrase was literal. Her question was answered when she felt the warmth following the brandy, the almost painful tingle pricking the back of her throat. It settled in her stomach, smoldering, and she wildly turned, half expecting to see Hershel at the door ready to read her the riot act for drinking.

Beth took one more swallow before capping the bottle again. She didn't know how difficult it was to find liquor out there and Celine needed it for the tinctures. Instead she pillowed her arms under her head and closed her eyes.

The door opened some time later. Turning her head, Beth saw Daryl in the doorway, his arms crossed, but his face was calm and without judgement.

"You run off and go drinkin' like your dad?" he said.

"No," she said. "I took two f*ckin' sips."

"Must've been pretty large sips if you're sayin’ f*ck. C'mon." Daryl inclined his head at the hallway. "Come back, now."

Peeling herself from the table, Beth followed him out the door. There was a weight in her limbs that she couldn’t tell apart from the heaviness put there by the liquor. Her footsteps landed loud in the empty space. She watched Daryl's back in the slight light like a beacon, her head pounding and the ache in her breasts coming in time to her heartbeat.

Daryl pushed open the door to the apartment and she went inside without a word. The twins screamed, hungry as all get out, but Beth's heart tightened when she realized she couldn't feed them—after the party she had the luxury of time to wait. Just another way she'd been selfish, her mind told her.

She went with Daryl to the bedroom, where he lifted Clara out of her dresser drawer bassinet, shushing the baby as Beth fell heavily onto the mattress.

"I can't," Beth said when Daryl made to bring the baby to her.

"Won't hurt her none. Only put her to sleep," Daryl said. She must've looked especially distrustful, because he added, "My ma did it for me, for Merle. Won't make 'em stupid."

At Beth's raised eyebrows he added, "Merle was a lot of things, but he weren't stupid."

So, too drained to argue, she opened her shirt and unfastened the cups from her bra to expose her breasts. After Clara was settled and latched Daryl brought over Anne and the baby latched on with just as much enthusiasm. Beth almost cried with relief at the feeling.

Daryl leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, staring out the window at the stars twinkling mercilessly above.

"He died," Beth finally said. "He was bit and he died. I said I could save him."

"You know what bein' bit means," Daryl said.

"He was bit on the leg. Near the same spot as my dad," Beth said.

The twins, their hunger finally sated, were quiet now, though adamant about being held—or maybe she didn't want to let them go—so Beth got to her feet and paced the bedroom, Anne's head lolling on her shoulder.

"I'm so selfish," Beth whispered, "because a mother just lost her son and I'm feelin' sorry for myself."

Coming up to stand beside her, Daryl pressed his warm arm to her clammy one.

"You ain't God. Can't save everyone. Gave that boy a chance he wouldn't've had otherwise and that's all you can give these days. Real question: you gonna let this stop you from workin'? From learnin' how to doctor? 'Cause that's what would really be selfish."

The moonlight streamed in silver ribbons through the open window; humid night air blew across Beth's skin. She put her face to the top of Anne's head to breathe in her baby smell, which mixed with the sweeter scent of night-blooming flowers surrounding the edges of the property.

She never asked what could be done to help, back at the farm, on the road, at the prison. She'd just done it. Beth wanted to feel useful and needed, valued for her utility. Even before the turn she felt so, and it only increased afterwards when she realized how vulnerable and weak she was. Was it selfish to desire to be valued? To want to feel as if your life was needed?

Here she had the opportunity to actually become useful. Medical skills were invaluable these days and it would ensure she and Daryl were welcome wherever they went. If she wanted so badly to feel useful and needed, there was nothing more useful than keeping people healthy and well. Yes, she had to keep on, even if it hurt. Pain was part of this world even more than it ever had been, and she had the opportunity before her to stop some of that pain. People were still going to get sick or hurt themselves. But she could stop that. Perhaps not always, but she could damn well try.

"You're right, it would be selfish," Beth agreed.

She laid down the sleeping Anne, carefully so she didn't wake her, and went to the dresser, where she poured out a measure of water from the pitcher kept there into the waiting bowl. Beth splashed at her face and the back of her neck, savoring the feel of the cool water sliding down her sweaty back. The water turned a pale, rusty color from lingering dried blood on her hands.

She heard Daryl's footsteps before his arms came down over her shoulders, hands coming to rest on the dresser's flat top while he pressed a few scratching kisses against the back of her neck.

Beth hung her head, letting out a slow, shaking breath. Her ponytail swung forward, fanning out before settling over Daryl's arm.

"It's that house of cards feelin'… it's stronger than ever," Beth said.

"Been findin' safehouses… when I'm out there with Val," Daryl said to her neck. "Places we could go for a while if we need to leave. Not leavin' things to chance, Leg."

"You've never… never said exactly what it is about this place that's got you on your guard. It can't be that most people won't carry weapons," Beth said.

Daryl's hands tightened on the dresser, knuckles popping out underneath scarred skin, and she felt air rush across her damp neck when he inhaled sharply.

"It ain't," Daryl said.

"Then what?"

His arms came up, wrapping around her and pulling her to him. Turning slightly, Beth captured his mouth in a slow, reassuring kiss, the kind that started a warmth in your toes that flowed upwards until you were warm all over. She slowly slid her hand from its place on his chest to cup his face, thumb running along his whiskery cheek.

Beth pulled away to speak but a hand on the back of her head brought her back to his lips and Beth thought, perhaps, that he was trying to distract her.

"Be ready for anything," Daryl said, quietly, as they got into bed together.

A shiver raced up her spine and settled in her mind, keeping her up long after the moon rose.

Chapter 14: light my way, come here

Chapter Text

Beth went to the infirmary early, before the sun rose. She left a bottle of expressed milk for Daryl to feed the girls with on the dresser, knowing they'd be up soon, before the milk had a chance to spoil. After stopping briefly to get a cup of tea from Harley, Beth entered the infirmary to find Celine sitting at the man's bedside. Curtains were pulled around the other bed, which Beth guessed held Sandra.

"You're here." Celine started from her seat when Beth came in, having been dozing.

"Any changes?" Beth asked.

Celine shook her head.

"Why don't you sit with him a while? But… you need to stay away from Sandra."

"I know," Beth said. "Norman told me."

"Don't take it personally. Grief… it makes people lash out," Celine said as she hefted herself to her feet. "I'm going to sleep for a few hours. Schmidt will be here soon, okay?"

Nodding, Beth took over Celine's vacated seat. Celine pulled the curtains around the bed, sealing Beth in even dimmer light, and the door clicked shut shortly after. The man in the bed beside her breathed slowly, evenly, but made no other movements, which was rather disconcerting because even in sleep, there were some indications a soul inhabited the body: twitches of the face, a little sigh, the flutter of eyelids in REM. But this man was utterly still, as if sedated. Bruising settled into his skin overnight, mottling the now swollen flesh. Beth closed her eyes and prayed for the man to live.

She heard when Schmidt came into the room and listened to him move about, listened to him speak softly to Sandra, who keened her grief, pouring it out into the old man. Schmidt patiently listened as he always did, ready to take anyone's pain into himself. The man in the bed groaned and Beth looked down, but after his sudden outburst, he remained still and didn't make another sound. Reaching out, Beth took his pulse and found it slowed from earlier.

Upon closer inspection she noticed the blue around his lips and the pale, waxy look to his skin, hard to see underneath the bruising. He was dying.

The curtains rustled as Schmidt came through.

"It won't be long now, will it?" Beth asked, looking up at the old man.

Schmidt shook his head.

"Celine would like you to hold clinic hours in the common room today."

"Are you sure you'll be okay here by yourself? If he turns?"

"I've got it handled, my dear. But if you wanted to send Richard and Frankie this way, it would be appreciated. They're husky young lads," Schmidt said.

"Okay. I'm… I'm glad he'll have someone with him when he passes," Beth said softly. "No one should die alone."

"You've a kind heart, Beth. Make sure you keep it," Schmidt said with a sad looking smile.

Beth felt strangely like crying at that moment, because she hadn't felt kind in a very long time. But she didn't. Instead she stood and went to the cabinets to gather up a few items to take with her to clinic, then made her way to the common room.

Along the way Beth stopped by Richard and Frankie's apartments, letting them know the situation. Frankie appeared shirtless and rumpled, clearly woken up by her knock, but his eyes brightened when she appraised him of what was going on, and he agreed quickly to the request. Her knock on Richard’s door was answered immediately, and she was invited in for coffee, which she declined, although it sounded lovely. She hadn’t had coffee in ages, not since she was on the road with Daryl.

“That’s okay, I understand,” Richard said, his wide, serious face nothing but understanding. “And he’s very close?”

“Yes,” Beth said. “A few more hours, at most.”

“And it’s just Schmidt there, now?”

“Yeah, just him.”

Richard nodded his agreement and went to dress.

With that somber task taken care of, Beth decided to swing by her own apartment to check in before going to the common room. She expected Daryl to be up, so it would be nice to see him and the girls before sitting and doing nothing but pretending to study during clinic. Her mind felt like a deflated balloon, something withered and shrunken, and she knew all her efforts at studying would fall short.

Quietly, Beth opened the front door with care just in case the girls were still asleep and stopped in her tracks when she heard Norman's voice.

"… Trying to change what things are," Norman was saying.

She froze.

"You could at least say something. I don't like it when I don't get a response… it's disrespectful, don't you think? Let me see your gun."

"No."

"Because it won't be empty, will it? You think I'm stupid, don't you? You think I don't keep a tight rein on the inventory?"

Beth's heart stopped when she heard the click of an empty gun.

"It's f*ckin' empty, little man. Go breathe down someone else's neck."

Norman laughed like he hadn't just had a gun pointed at him.

"I don't know what co*ckamamie plan you and that hooah grunt are cooking up, but it's doomed to fail. No one in this place will follow you. These people look to me because I inspire them. If they want to know how to shake-n-bake, they can ask for your expertise."

"Keep thinkin' that's what I'm doin', you smug sonuvabitch." One of the twins started crying. "You got anything else to flap your gums about? Or can I go take care of my girl?"

"No, no… I've got nothing else to say." Norman's voice was all oily obsequiousness.

"Good. f*ckin' go."

The sliding door slammed. Beth pushed the front door open fully and stepped inside. Daryl stood staring out the glass at Norman's retreating back until he heard Beth and turned. His face was darkened, eyes narrow and electric in the way the sky is before a lightning strike.

"Y'heard?"

"Not all of it," Beth said.

"co*cksucking little sh*t," Daryl muttered.

"Is this about you walkin' the walls with Richard?"

Daryl stepped away from the door and made his way to the bedroom. Following behind, Beth waited for him to answer. She hung in the bedroom's doorway while Daryl picked up Anne and popped the waiting bottle into her wailing mouth.

"Valerie," Daryl said simply when he could be heard again.

"She was a soldier?"

"Uh-huh. Doesn't really talk about it."

"So, what, Norman thinks you're tryin' to… take over?"

Daryl shrugged.

"Are you?"

"Just want this place safe."

Beth came up to him and put her hand on his arm, fingertips registering the shiver which ran through his muscles. She stroked her other hand along Anne's cheek and watched the baby's eyes travel to her. Anne was still smaller than her sister, quieter, but she was plump and pink-cheeked and looked so pretty in Daryl's strong arms.

"If you were… well…" Beth co*cked her head, lifting her shoulders a little. "I gotta go do clinic hours for Celine. The man that came in yesterday… he's dyin'."

"You'll be okay?"

"I'll be okay," Beth said because she would be and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Soon after, Beth settled herself in the common room, commandeering one of the smaller round tables. She pulled out the books Celine gave her to study and spent an hour or so tracing the photos and drawings among the pages into her notebook because it was mindless and time consuming. While she now had plenty of the plants and their uses memorized, she didn't feel confident enough to reliably identify the plants in the wild, and that failing could potentially kill her. She usually did well enough with the whole plants Celine brought back, but still, she wasn't going to take that chance.

"Um, Mrs. Dixon?"

Mrs. Dixon?

A chair rattled and Beth looked up to see Tabitha sitting across from her.

"You can just call me Beth, sweetie," Beth said. "I ain't that old."

Tabitha nodded jerkily and her hands knotted together, fingers pressing on joints. Beth shut her books then sat up straight in her chair.

"What can I do you for?"

"Um… my mom said I needed to go see Miss Vickers and she's busy… So…"

"Why don't we go to Celine's workroom? It's quieter in there," Beth said, standing up and offering Tabitha her hand.

The girl took it, quietly following Beth into the strong-smelling room. Beth directed the girl to sit on one of the stools before she pulled up a seat of her own.

"So what's the problem, Tabitha?"

"Um," Tabitha hedged, "my… my periods. I throw up when I get them. My mom says I'm faking… to get out of chores and stuff."

"Because they hurt so bad?"

Tabitha nodded.

"And you're bleedin' a lot?

"Yeah."

"How regular are you? Every month… every other…? When you're young your periods aren't usually regular for a while."

"I get them every month," Tabitha said. "I can't sleep without ruining my sheets! It's so embarrassing. I hate it."

"Well, gettin' your period shouldn't make you throw up. You shouldn't be in that much pain. You tell your mom I say you're not fakin' it. And Celine will agree. I'm goin' to give you some tea to drink every day and some ibuprofen."

"Thank you, Mrs… Beth."

After unlocking the medicine cabinet and pulling out a few doses of ibuprofen, Beth gathered up a month's supply of dried raspberry leaves for Tabitha to make into tea and noted the dispensing of the pain medicine in the log. She guessed the poor girl had some kind of menstrual disorder and felt for her. Beth herself hadn't been regular as she was breastfeeding, but she'd gotten one period and lamented the lack of tampons, even as the cramps had been surprisingly minimal. One of her high school friends used to have periods bad enough to keep her from school three days a month, so Beth had some idea of how awful the upper end of the gamut was. Finally, Jenna’s mother put her on birth control which kept her in school, and Beth felt for Tabitha, having to live with the pain and the heavy bleeding without much modern medicine to ease the symptoms.

"So, boil some water and use a tablespoon of leaves per cup. Let the leaves sit in the hot water for about five, ten minutes. Just once a day is enough, but you can have more if you like. I want you to come back and talk to Celine, because she knows more than I do, alright? By the end of the week, okay?"

Tabitha nodded and slipped out the door clutching her packets of tea and ibuprofen, clearly mortified to have been forced to talk about her period to an older woman.

Mrs. Dixon indeed!

Beth glanced out the window to check the position of the sun and two lumpy figures moving a gurney along the far wall caught her attention. One of the lumps bore Frankie's wild, curly mop of hair, so she supposed the other was Richard, both taking the body of the now dead man to be disposed of. They stopped behind the groundskeeper's shed, but Beth could still see them from her vantage point, though they'd be hidden from most of the grounds.

Her suspicions of the other figure being Richard were proved correct when the man pulled out a knife from his boot and plunged it into the sheet. The gurney was then rolled back out from behind the shed and they continued on their way to the back gate. Who was on back gate duty today? Greg and Pyle, Beth thought, if she had her schedule correct.

There was something strange about the fact they knifed the body outside, out of view. Couldn't they have done it inside, in the infirmary with the curtains pulled, if they hadn't wanted to upset Sandra? Why take the chance of the man turning by not injuring the brain right away?

When the men and their somber burden disappeared out the back gate, Beth left the workroom to return to the common room, still mulling over what she'd seen.

Daryl came by just before lunch to bring the girls to Beth. He wore his crossbow and Beth wondered if it was some show of force, or if he was going hunting, or both. So far Daryl had only brought back small game, having no luck finding a deer within a distance he could reasonably carry one back alone. The deer had the sense to avoid areas populated by walkers. And despite the fact she hadn't stepped foot outside the walls once, Beth still had her bow. She wasn't going to rock the boat and get it taken away.

"Be back before dark," Daryl said.

"Don't do anything stupid," Beth said.

He huffed a small laugh and said, "I'm leavin' all the stupid with you. Should know that by now."

Beth smiled a tiny smile, weak and fragile, saying, "Well, I think it's best to remind you to hand it over. 'Cause stupid's liable to forget."

"Alright there?"

"Mm-hmm. Think we have a bit to discuss when you get back."

"Figured so." Daryl knelt down and tickled Clara and Anne's tummies. "Be good. Mind your manners."

And then he was gone. Beth pressed her lips together, but started gathering up her books and such before putting up the twins in their slings. Something was coming. She couldn't tell what, exactly, made her feel so certain. Maybe it was a tremor low in her gut, maybe it was a feeling on the back of her tongue. Maybe it was the way the light looked or a scent in the air. But something was going to change.

"Beth!" Celine called, getting her attention.

Her mentor, although still careworn, looked less tired as she jogged over to greet Beth.

"Great news! Dayvon and Chuck came back with formula. Tomorrow… let's go out together!"

That afternoon Beth invited Valerie and Lettie over for an early supper, as she wasn't sure when Daryl would return. So she sat on the porch with the two women, laughing and talking. Each of them held a twin on their lap and doted over their respective baby, occasionally getting a pure peal of laughter out of the girls.

" —Near falling asleep because this guy's like a damn sleeping pill," Valerie said as she recounted a story from her one year of college, "and the doors burst open. I'm on high alert, ready to face the worst. Everyone goes silent; you could hear a pin drop in that lecture hall. And then… a guy in a banana costume runs screaming down the aisle: 'He's gonna eat me!' Immediately, a gorilla came charging in behind the banana. They're out of there before anyone knew what the hell happened. The professor let us go early because we were all laughing too hard!"

"This was on Halloween, right?" Beth asked laughingly.

"Nope! It happened in April," Valerie said with a flashing grin.

"Ah, nothin' like that happened in my high school… Though some seniors did leave a cow in the gym. I think they wanted to get it upstairs, but it wouldn't go, so they left it in the gym instead," Beth said.

"The swim team dressed up as Rockettes for the holiday show once," Lettie said. "With the heels and everything. They had nice legs."

Leaning back in her chair, Beth stirred the simmering new potatoes as she checked their doneness. She'd really missed moments like this, of easy companionship that didn't revolve around survival or the walkers. Maybe this was what she'd been missing from Aspen Pointe. Maybe this was what she needed, why she felt so out of place, because she still operated as if she were out there on the edge of existence, with each new breath a miracle.

"Need a few more minutes," Beth said.

She was going to try making fried potato patties with the leftover rabbit meat from last night's dinner inside. Beth wasn't sure how it would turn out as there was very little oil around to cook with. Harley tried pressing oil from walnuts, but the venture only left him with a large mess of crumbly walnut bits and no oil.

Lettie bounced Anne on her knee and looked into the setting sun, obscured by the trees and the walls.

"You're going out there tomorrow, aren't you?" she said to Beth.

"I am," Beth said.

"Be careful," Lettie said.

"I will. I've got my family to come back to."

Lettie stared at Beth like she'd missed some painfully obvious point and Beth looked away, the feeling that had been bothering her all afternoon intensifying. She missed something about this place, what everyone but her knew. It flowed in an undercurrent to every conversation she shared these days. Daryl skirted and danced around the subject, unwilling to divulge the truth to give her a chance at peace, but it ate at the corners of her mind, keeping her from truly finding peace.

"The potatoes are done," Beth said blandly.

"Have you tried feeding them solid food yet?" Valerie asked, glossing over the awkward moment.

"They get a bit here and there… haven't tried potatoes yet," Beth said.

"Oh, your first taste of taters! Aren't you excited, baby?" Lettie clapped Anne's hands together.

Anne squeaked and kicked her legs, offering up a smile to her mother. All of them turned their heads as a figure approached, just a shadow at the corner of their eyes at first; the twins' hands waved in the air when they realized it was Daryl crossing the lawn. He came back empty handed, nothing to show for his afternoon of hunting, and he seemed tense, wound up, when he usually came back from his jaunts outside the walls more relaxed than he left.

"Havin' a party and I wasn't invited?" he commented, dropping down into the grass.

"Sure weren't," Valerie said. "Girl's night."

"Gonna paint our nails, do our hair, and giggle over boys we like," Beth teased. "You hungry?"

Daryl nodded, then glanced over at Lettie. The young woman handed over Anne and Daryl sat the baby in his lap, who immediately set to tugging on his vest button.

"No," he said and signed, prying the tiny hand away.

So Beth and Lettie set to mashing the potatoes and forming the cakes while the skillet heated over the fire. Valerie scooped up a spoonful of mashed potatoes, holding them up to Clara to try. The baby gummed at the spoon, eyes popping wide while she rolled the vegetable around in her mouth. She leaned in for another taste and everyone laughed at her simple excitement.

Daryl simply wiped off his finger on his red rag and used the digit to deliver mashed potatoes straight to Anne's mouth. Anne pursed her lips and furrowed her eyebrows, thinking hard about if she liked the taste.

"Well?" he asked her.

The baby grabbed at his hand with both of hers, and stuck his finger in her mouth again.

"Guess that's a yes," Valerie said.

When they'd had supper and Valerie and Lettie left for their own apartment, Beth cleaned up the dishes while Daryl played with the girls. He mimed animal sounds, a duck's quack and a dog's bark, as he waved the whittled toys over the girls' heads. Clara babbled and Anne squeaked, fat arms reaching out for the wooden animals. The evening was quiet, the air heavy with humidity, making the fine hairs on Beth's neck curl up. It was a choking feeling, as if one couldn't draw breath. The easy pleasure of time with friends only underscored the feeling of wrongness, of coming change. Beth tossed the dishwater in the grey water bucket and banked the fire.

"I'm goin' out with Celine tomorrow," Beth said.

Daryl nodded to show her heard her.

"Do you feel it?" Beth asked.

"Feel what?"

"Like the house of cards is about to come tumblin' down."

"It's been too quiet," Daryl agreed. "But all you're doin' tomorrow is pickin' flowers. Ain't nothin' to worry about."

"What if Norman tries somethin' while I'm gone? Was that the first time he's gotten on your case?"

"No."

"So he's been harassin' you for months?"

Daryl looked away from the twins to fix his eyes on her.

"He's a weak little bitch. Wouldn't call it harassin'. It's Valerie he's got the problem with."

"I've never even seen her talkin' to him, besides the party," Beth said, struggling to comprehend.

"Because she keeps her head down. But she gets it, about this place, and wants to change it. Norman's got his panties in a wad because his communist vision can't live up to reality," Daryl said.

"She's right, though. No one carryin' weapons? That's insane," Beth said.

"You heard Schmidt. Man's been here since the start. He's got no goddamn clue."

"So that's what you've been doin' with her? With Richard? Tryin' to figure out how to make this place change?"

"Yeah."

"You should've told me… asked me! I could've helped…" Beth felt as she had on the farm, out of the loop and worse off for it.

"You tol' me you didn't want that, remember? You said you wanted to enjoy what you had while you had it. I could give you that and you let me."

She had agreed, hadn't she?

It was time to face reality.

"I was talkin' nonsense." Beth said with steel lacing her words. "I don't want that anymore. It's time to fight. It's time to tell me."

Daryl nodded again, mouth sharp and grim. "Tomorrow, then. When you get back. It's gonna be long."

As more stars winked into existence above them, Daryl picked up Clara while Beth took Anne into her arms. They went inside the apartment and put the girls to bed, Beth singing softly to encourage the tired babies to sleep.

Although he'd already stretched out on top of the covers, Daryl sat up when Beth dropped onto the mattress and brought up her feet to unlace her boots. Rough fingers slid the straps of her tank-top from her sticky, sunburnt shoulders and she felt the heat from Daryl's body as he came closer. The mattress sunk and his legs slotted beside hers while his mouth pressed against her exposed shoulder.

Beth shivered as she pulled off her socks, leaning back to feel his chest against her.

"I love you," she said suddenly, the words loud in the night air.

His hands came up, gripping over her biceps and he let out a long breath, not quite a sigh and not quite a groan. Beth didn't expect him to say it back; she wouldn't ask for the moon on a string from him. She would just sit here, enveloped in him, enjoying his touch, because it was rare, and precious.

"Didn't see much good… 'til you shoved my face in it… made me see it were still there. You can still see it, right? Still see the good things?"

Beth ran her hands along his thighs, resting next to hers, and said, "I think… I think I'm gettin' there again. In Clara and Anne, in you, in the sunrise and the sunset… every day I get. In the new things I'm learnin'… in Valerie's laugh and in Lettie's joy… I'm seein' it again."

"Good," Daryl said.

His hands traveled down her arms and skimmed the edges of her tank-top until his fingers curled around the hem. Daryl lifted the shirt, peeling it away from her sweaty back. Beth tried to take a calm breath but her heart pounded in her chest, so loud she wouldn't be surprised if Daryl heard it. She felt a ticklish brush of whiskers on her shoulder blade, but she couldn't feel the kiss itself on the numb scar.

There was a muttered swear from Daryl as he fumbled with the hooks of her bra. Beth kept in a laugh and shimmied out of the undergarment when it came free, letting it fall to the floor.

With a rustle they moved away from the edge of the bed, now facing each other in the middle of the mattress. Daryl's chest rose and fell, sweat catching the weak candlelight. His eyes raked over her naked front and Beth trembled as a trickle of sweat wound its way from the base of her throat down between the valley of her breasts; she knew he watched its progress. There was change in the air even here, even between them.

"May I?" Beth asked, brushing her thumbs over the loose collar of his shirt.

He nodded.

So Beth slowly pushed the fake mother-of-pearl buttons through the holes, feeling Daryl's shoulders tighten with every inch of skin revealed. She blinked up at him as her hands worked, trying to puzzle out the knotty expression clouding his features, all the while wondering if he was ashamed of his scars, or if he didn't like being reminded of his past. Maybe she should have let him leave his shirt on.

But she peeled the sweat-damp shirt from his shoulders anyways after undoing the last button. Instead of taking a good eyeful for herself, Beth picked up his hand and put it to one of her breasts, closing her eyes when his hand immediately curled over the sensitive flesh, fingers brushing over her tightening nipple as if it were a rare coin to be examined. In a way his touch reminded her of Jimmy's, awed and reverential.

"If you want it… I want to have you," Beth said quietly. "It's different now. Not a distraction. I feel like… like it's more than words, that those aren't enough. Maybe that's what I was missin' in the first place. Is that okay?"

He nodded once.

She leaned into him, sighing when their lips met. This kiss was quiet, slow, in no hurry to change into something else. Beth ran her hand up one of Daryl's strong arms to rest on his bare shoulder. One of her fingers rubbed circles over a small mole she could barely feel and the others brushed over the raised skin of the tattoo covering his shoulder blade. Were all tattoos like that, or was it some fault in the process, or simply a reaction his body had to the tattoo itself? Daryl's hand came away from her chest to tangle in her ponytail and she stopped thinking so much about how his tattoo felt, because his tongue stroked hers and when her nipples brushed against his chest, Daryl swallowed down her sigh, the hand on her hip tightening until Beth felt the crescent edges of his fingernails in her skin.

It was a slow thing, their moving closer together until chest pressed against chest, arms wrapped around bodies, and then they were lying together on the bed, hands fumbling with belt buckles.

Daryl got her pants undone first and Beth rucked them from her legs, kicking them to the end of the mattress. He finished unbuttoning his pants himself and removed them with little ceremony. With tentative, brushing fingers, Beth slid her hand from his chest, bumping over scars she hadn't even known were there, trailing through the sparse, coarse hair until she reached the waistband of his boxers.

He'd been softly mouthing at her neck and froze when she cupped him, something ragged catching in his throat. Beth drew her hand back but he caught her wrist and replaced her hand, tacitly letting her know it was okay. Moving his mouth down her neck, Daryl left a trail of wet kisses along her collarbone before dropping lower and his breath cooled the damp streaks left behind on her skin from the gathered spit in his goatee.

"Um…" Beth couldn't help going red. "You don't have to do anything with my…my boobs… I don't want you to accidentally get…"

Daryl's mouth hovered just above her nipple and he looked up at her through scraggly bangs, humor curving his mouth.

"Had goddamn walker guts in my mouth 'fore."

"Yeah, okay, that's true," Beth said in a panting little laugh.

His lips closed over her nipple, hot and wet, but he didn't suck. Beth moaned, arching up when he swirled his tongue over the point, flicking up at the end. She palmed his hardening co*ck with more purpose, scraping a groan from him that vibrated through her chest. Beads of sweat popped up on her forehead, collected in the small of her back, and Beth dug her hand into Daryl's sweaty hair. Wide hands gripped her ribs, fingers digging in. The unwashed smell of him swirled around her and she was lost in it, drinking it down because she shouldn't like it so much, but she did. He lightly bit down on her nipple. Her first reaction was to shove her finger in his mouth, the same as she did for the twins when they bit, but she stopped herself and ran her thumb over his whiskery cheek instead, until her muzzy brain caught up with her instincts. Then she was able to let the live wire connect, arching up again until his other hand closed over her unattended tit and a rough thumb circled over her nipple.

This was different, so different, from what she'd shared with Jimmy or with Zach. It had been nothing but short, awkward fumbles with Jimmy, hurried and mildly painful, leaving her unsatisfied and aching. With Zach it had been nothing but pleasure-seeking, without attention to the emotional impact. While Daryl's movements were unpracticed, even a little rough for her tastes, there was something about having a man touch her with care, with feeling, that negated those shortcomings.

His other hand slid down her side, thumb skating underneath the edge of her underwear, and then he pressed two fingers against her cl*t, bringing a gasp to her lips. She'd never felt so empty and aching, had never felt such an intense desire to take a man inside herself as she did just then. She'd take him inside her, Beth thought; she'd know him, possess him in a way no one else had, because she'd killed for him, because they'd faced death together and held their middle fingers to the reaper, because he saw her, saw the good she could barely dig up and it made her want to be as good as he believed her to be. Thick fingers rubbed a circle over her swelling cl*t, but lightly, as if he were afraid of hurting her. Carefully, Beth pulled off his boxers, lifting the elastic over his erection, and sliding them down his thighs.

She glanced down to see what she could see in the dim light. Beth knew what he looked like; they'd both seen each other naked, but she'd never seen him aroused before. The sight of it sent a shot of heat straight through her and she canted her hips so his fingers pressed heavy on her fat cl*t. Daryl lifted his hand away and his eyes burned into hers; Beth's lips parted because being looked at in that way made her heart skip a beat, made her c*nt ache.

Beth wrapped her hand around him, curling her fingers over the smooth shaft and running her thumb over his slick head leaking precum. She moved with slow, strong strokes, memorizing what elicited a grunt, what tore a groan from him, what sent a shudder through his body. He was astonishingly responsive under her touch when she'd expected him to be mostly silent and still as he was in general. It embarrassed her now that she had thought most men didn't make noise during sex, but maybe her previous partners had just been exceptionally quiet; the sounds Daryl made spurred her on to experiment until his arms trembled. Her tongue darted out to skate along her lips and Beth breathed deeply: his co*ck looked so good in her fine hand, her fingers hardly brushing her thumb.

After he'd removed her underwear, Daryl pushed his fingers through her wiry thatch of hair, searching, and his touch left fire in its wake. A finger circled her entrance and then slipped inside, gliding along her innermost folds. Heat flushed along her chest and she moaned into Daryl's shoulder, moving her hips so the finger pressed deeper and his knuckles knocked along her folds, coming away slick.

"Jesus," Daryl bit out.

"He ain't in there," Beth said.

With a throaty chuckle, Daryl used his thumb to work her cl*t while the finger inside her crooked. Her nerves were awake and singing, electricity thrumming through her body. Maybe it was like when she stepped outside the apartment, when she took that first breath of spring air and came alive. Maybe that's what it was like to have an experience like this with someone you felt so much for.

Muscles flexed and moved and she arched into his soft touch, bucking her hips, wordlessly begging him for more because it was almost enough. He burned in her hand; Beth could feel every tremble and every swallowed groan, could feel him winding tighter and tighter until he sunk his teeth into her shoulder to muffle his ragged moan when he spilled hot over her hand.

The pain sent a spark of pleasure through her, winding that coil deep inside ever tighter, and she cried out, louder than she meant to.

"Are you gonna cum?" Daryl whispered.

Beth blinked and pressed her lips together to hold back a laugh.

"If you just—" She put her hand on top of his and pressed his thumb in harder, moved it faster, before encouraging him to put another finger inside her. "Yes!"

"Huh," Daryl said, like he was making a scientific observation instead of getting her off.

With two thick fingers stretching and working her c*nt, Beth dug her face into Daryl's chest, let her cheek slide across his sweaty skin, and her breath came quicker while her hands scrabbled over his back. She didn't even think about how he might not like her touching him there, along those scars, and then she broke through, the waves cresting and washing over her. She went limp in his arms, hazily blinking up at the ceiling while her org*sm settled in, working around the fingers still inside her.

"Now ya came, right?"

Beth gave him a lazy grin and said, "Right."

A gust of wind came through the window and snuffed the candle, plunging them into darkness. There was some awkward bumping around to clean up and then they lay next to each other in bed, too warm to get under the covers.

"You liked it?" Daryl asked with a shake in his voice, after a while of silence.

"Uh-huh." Beth rolled onto her side to see his silhouette in the darkness. "I did."

He seemed pleased, but she couldn't exactly see his face to be sure. Beth inched forward, feeling for his face with her hand before bringing her head in to kiss him softly.

It had felt incredible, sharing something so intimate with him, in the same way every one of his touches, his laughs, his smiles, his words about himself or his past, felt like a view of the sun behind the clouds. She'd never opened herself emotionally to a man in this way before, and she thought maybe she finally understood what the Bible meant when it talked of becoming one flesh. But it was terrifying, giving so much of oneself to another person. Was it this intimacy she'd been afraid of? That Daryl hadn't felt the need to share with other women? Or was he like her: afraid?

When they broke apart she said, "Thank you… for sharin' that with me."

"That good you have t' thank me?" He kissed her thumb.

She laughed. Brushing her thumb along his lower lip, Beth turned again and settled against his chest, enjoying the breeze coming in through the open window which cooled the sweat on her skin. She closed her eyes, feeling sleep calling out to her, until she remembered something she had wanted to tell him.

"I got called Mrs. Dixon today," she said quietly, laughingly.

"What?" His hand tightened on her elbow.

"Tabitha came to see me durin' clinic. Think she was raised to be polite," Beth said, "but she didn't know what to call me."

"That… that somethin' you'd want?" He sounded nervous.

"I dunno. I'm happy… happy to let this be. Before I don't think I would've been, but a name doesn't seem important now…. Why? Is it somethin' you'd want?"

"I'unno. Never figured on it happenin'. Huh. Guess it's funny what assumptions folks'll make."

Beth nodded as she took up one of his hands in both of hers. She felt the scars crisscrossing his palms, felt them rub against the matching ones on hers, and thought, those would do for now. They were just as real a symbol for the bond between them as a ring would be. So she brought his hand to her chest, cradling it against her heart, and closed her eyes. Beth fell asleep to the easy breathing of Daryl beside her.

Chapter 15: we are the ones who kept quiet

Chapter Text

Celine came for Beth early next morning.

Beth woke up before first light eagerly anticipating her first foray out into the world again. Her eyes popped open and she sat up, pushing her fists to the ceiling as her spine lengthened. Daryl lay stretched out beside her, his limbs loose and strewn over the bed, instead of being held stiff and close to his body. His bare chest rose and fell evenly. Neither of them had bothered to put clothes on again, but one of them had half-heartedly yanked up the bedsheets during the night and they each had a leg covered.

Beth got out of bed with care. Daryl looked peaceful, relaxed, and she didn't want to disturb that.

Clara and Anne were up with their mother, so after grabbing and shrugging into Daryl's shirt from yesterday, Beth brought them both to the living room to nurse them, giving Daryl the chance to sleep in. He often woke up before she did and after all this time, Beth still didn't know if it was because he was naturally a morning person or if the world conditioned him to it—his prickly demeanor made it hard to tell.

She put the girls on their play mat and went onto the porch to stoke the fire back to life and get water boiling for tea. The morning was bright and misty, the air still cool and wet in her throat. Chicory root tea wasn't bad, per se, but it certainly wasn't coffee and while Beth tossed a measure of the chopped root into the pot, she regretted not drinking more coffee before the world ended.

While she waited for tea, Beth went back inside and sat on the floor with the girls, trying to encourage them to sit up unsupported, which they were getting better at managing before falling sideways.

"You'll get there soon, Ladybug," Beth said to Anne, who had tried to reach for her whittled puppy and fallen over in the process. Her face crumpled up like she was about to cry. Beth made goofy faces at Anne, saying, "Oh, did you fall over? You fell down? You're so silly!"

"Mornin', Leg," Daryl said, coming into the living room. "Heard you get up."

His eyes caught on her wearing his shirt and Beth saw the muscles in his arms flex as he briefly formed his hands into fists.

“Hope you don't mind I stole your shirt… Was tryin' to be quiet,” Beth said with a grin. "I've got the fire goin' an' tea'll be ready soon. Sleep well?"

"Don't mind. Can keep wearin' it if you want," Daryl said.

"Don't think this is proper safari attire," Beth said saucily, pulling up the hem to show him the bare crease between her thigh and hip.

"It ain't," he said seriously, even as his throat bobbed in a wet swallow.

He had already dressed for the day, unlike Beth. So she stood and went to the bedroom to change, briefly touching her hand to his shoulder as she passed by. His muscles rippled under her hand and she wondered if he recalled the night before.

Once her morning ablutions were complete, Beth returned to the living room, where Daryl had a cup of tea waiting for her. She sat next to him on the couch, touching her thigh to his while he draped his arm over her shoulder, and they sipped their tea together in the quiet morning. The girls were now employed in whacking each other with their respective carved toys, Clara and her duck and Anne and her puppy. Beth didn't think they were actively hitting each other, more so it was that they were in each other's line of fire.

"I got a can of the formula from Harley yesterday, along with some more bottles. They're on the counter," Beth said after a while.

"Good," Daryl said.

"Just fed the girls, so they shouldn't need to eat again for a bit… don't think Celine is plannin' on goin' too far today."

"Stop fussin'. We'll be just fine for a day," Daryl said.

Before she could respond that this hardly counted as fussing, the knock came at the front door. Beth jumped up and hurried to answer it. Celine, kitted out for the excursion in sturdy boots and a scarf to keep her braids swept back, and wearing a woven basket strapped to her shoulders, offered Beth a smile.

"We just made tea, if you wanna have a cup an' say hi to the girls," Beth said.

"That'd be wonderful, thank you," Celine said.

Beth stepped aside to let her in. Celine set down her basket and greeted Daryl, who merely nodded at her, before taking a seat on the floor next to the twins. Picking up Clara, Celine settled the baby in her lap and accepted a cup of chicory tea from Beth.

Daryl seemed to feel for Anne left by herself on the blanket, as he scooped the girl up and took her to the sliding door to stand her in front of it, her fat baby feet on top of his boots. Anne squeaked and bounced, eyes following the birds pecking at the bits of food scattered in the grass.

"Nothin' but sparrows this mornin', lady," Daryl said to Anne. "Not even a finch or a wren, huh?"

Beth's heart always skipped a beat at the sight of Daryl with the girls, even though she knew Daryl likely picked up Anne to avoid talking to Celine.

"Oh, you're getting nice and chunky, yes, yes you are," Celine cooed over Clara. "They're growing well."

"Good, 'cause they eat like farmhands," Beth laughed. "What are we goin' to gather today?"

"I've got marching orders from Harley to get as much fruit as we can carry. What's in season?" Celine asked to test Beth's knowledge.

"The last of the berries, blueberry, raspberry, blackberry…"

"Of course."

"Elderberry… wild plums and grapes…"

"Don't go for the low hanging fruit, if you'll pardon my pun."

Beth laughed and continued, "Um, black cherries and hawthorn."

"Can we gather anything else from these plants?"

"The leaves from the raspberries, which are good for women," Beth said, thinking of Tabitha.

"That's right." Celine nodded. "That's what I gave to you during your labor. It helps the uterus contract more effectively and eases the pain and it's one of the safest preparations to give a laboring woman. But the leaves are best in spring, before the flowers come. We can collect the roots, which are a good antidiarrheal. Anything else?"

"The bark from the black cherry tree? Or is that only in spring?"

"Midsummer," Celine corrected. "We're past the best time to collect it. You don't want to take the bark when the sap's up."

"You gonna go or are you gonna chat about voodoo magic all day?" Daryl interrupted.

Celine snorted and said, "Call it voodoo all you like, but this 'magic' is what treated those infected burns you came to us with. Like it or not, it's all we've got for now."

"I'm ready to go if you are," Beth cut in to say.

Celine gave Daryl one last withering look, but placed Clara down on the play mat and got to her feet. Beth took the mug from her and brought it to the kitchen. While Celine waited, Beth said goodbye to the girls; they were the only ones she would say those words to. She wanted to kiss Daryl, but wouldn't while Celine watched, so instead she ghosted her fingers along the scars on his palm.

"Don't do anything stupid," Daryl said.

"Don't worry, I'm leavin' all the stupid with you," Beth said with a smile.

And then she walked to the front door and left with Celine. Instead of leaving directly as she expected, Celine took her to one of the building's offices, ushering Beth inside. The whole room stank like the dead and Beth wrinkled her nose at the smell, even as she tried to ignore the way her heart started pounding like she was in danger, the way her hands shook.

Along the wall a wooden rack served as a clothes hanger, with several stained and greasy overcoats hung from it. Celine selected two coats, one sized for Beth and one sized for herself. The woman hummed as she worked, seemingly unaware of Beth's distress.

Beth took the proffered coat and followed Celine's lead in putting on the garment. Next, Celine took gloves from a basket on the desk. Finally, she opened up a large glass jar which sat next to the basket and the rotten smell which rose up from it made Beth struggle to keep her tea down.

"Yeah, it's pretty nasty, isn't it?" Celine said.

She scooped up a handful of the jar's contents, a murky brown salve, and spread it over the coat, completely coating the arms, front, and back. Beth reluctantly did the same.

"The sick still have their senses," Celine said while checking Beth properly slathered enough of the salve on. "People think it's only hearing and sight, but they smell too, which is why disguising your scent is important. You can walk through a whole herd safely when you smell like them."

Celine then handed Beth a basket similar to hers, woven with attached fabric straps so it could be worn like a backpack, so Beth slipped it on over her shoulders. It was heavier than an empty backpack, but nothing like a fully loaded pack, so Beth was soon able to forget the weight.

"The people I was with before—this was before I met them—said they tried using the guts, but it wore off too quickly to be effective. Too much trouble."

"That's why I've prepared it as a salve. The fat prevents it from washing off," Celine said. "We haven't lost anyone to the sick who've worn the deterrent."

"How do you make it?" Beth asked.

The two women left the room, going out through the lobby and making their way for the gates in the steamy morning.

"Take two parts oil to one part beeswax or plain paraffin, and melt them together over a low fire. It must be beeswax because it's lightly scented, or otherwise plain. You can't melt down old scented candles or anything strong-smelling. Once they're evenly mixed, take the mixture off the fire and let it cool until it begins to set up, then add four parts macerated flesh of the sick. I use dropped limbs because they smell the strongest, and you don't have to put yourself in any danger to get them."

Chuck and Erika were on gate duty this morning. Chuck waved enthusiastically, but Erika merely nodded at the pair, her eyes lingering on Beth.

"Ugh, the good ole stink-paste," Chuck commented while he worked to crack open the gate. "Good luck out there, guys! Bring back plenty of raspberries! That's the only way I can eat Harley's latest bread experiment: a f*ck-load of jam."

"What kind of bread is it this week?" Beth asked Erika while the gates closed back up.

"Potato bread." Erika grimaced.

"Like eating a goddamn baked potato," Chuck said.

"I'll see what I can bring back to help the bread situation," Celine said.

"You're the best, Celine!" Chuck said, blowing her a kiss.

Celine waved him off with a grin. She and Beth started down the driveway, the sun-warmed breeze pushing them along. Beth scrutinized every landmark around them as they walked; she'd been out of her mind with pain and worry when Daryl carried her up to the gates months ago and so she wanted to familiarize herself with the area. She didn't think she'd be going out without Celine in the near future, but knowing one's surroundings was half the battle in survival.

The land around Aspen Pointe was filled with derelict buildings: strip malls and apartment complexes showing differing levels of decay. Beth noted the street names when she saw them, though many of the signs had since fallen down or faded and cracked. Celine stopped here and there to point out plants in various stages of development that they would collect later in the year, like amaranth for its seeds and burdock for its root.

They walked slowly, with Beth imitating Celine—who dropped into a slow shamble every time they came across walkers—but their trek was mostly unimpeded. The first stop of the morning was an overgrown playground, the plant life having taken over the field surrounding the area and the sandpit underneath the faded plastic equipment.

Celine took her to the edge of the field, delineated by a small patch of mixed trees, poplar and beech with several oaks. As the oaks and beech were worth returning to in autumn to gather the nuts, Beth noted the location of the park in her mind. The low growing, toothed leaves of the raspberry plant jumped out at her, the foliage dotted with jewel-bright berries, the last of the season. After removing their gloves, Celine brought out plastic containers from her basket and they set to filling them with the fruit. Beth also dug up multiple roots for their medicinal properties.

Once the containers were filled, Celine moved on to other areas of the field, pointing out the showy white sprays of Queen Anne's Lace along the way. Beth correctly identified hawthorn trees planted near what once was a covered picnic shelter, for ornamental purposes, and the women collected the berries.

"Hawthorn is excellent for the heart," Celine said as she worked. "Do you remember why?"

"It dilates blood vessels and eases the burden on the heart," Beth answered. She pursed her lips as she thought. "The fruit's best prepared as a syrup, or a decoction. It also can be used to help thicken jams."

"I have several people taking hawthorn. It's safer than other plant medicines for the heart; even I don't use those."

While Beth, like Daryl, initially disapproved of herbalism, thinking it nothing more than a weird form of spiritualism, Celine astutely argued in favor of it. She was right in that most of the conventional medicines had been taken. Pharmacies stood empty since near the beginning and even hospitals, long the realm of the dead, were being scavenged by enterprising groups. Compounding this was the complete lack of scientists to synthesize new medicines and the facilities to do so, as well as the supply chain to deliver the raw materials. Plants grew with a new fervor, retaking their former habitats from the sprawling human annihilator. These intrepid voyagers were often the inspirations for the controlled and reliable synthetic medicinal formulations—as was the case with foxglove, wild yam, and willow—and although their lore was often contradictory or completely fanciful, with few studies performed to confirm folk knowledge, creating medicine from them was within the reach of humanity in its current state, requiring comparatively minimal tools for its creation.

Treating cancer, neurological conditions, serious infections, and autoimmune conditions were far outside the scope of what plant medicine could do, Celine acknowledged, but they could ease coughs, assist the body in fighting infection, remedy constipation caused by a lack of roughage, or treat diarrhea to prevent dehydration, and soothe minor skin irritations. An ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure these days.

Most importantly to Beth, these plants were a source of food. She wanted to believe her family found a home here at Aspen Pointe, but Beth's motive in learning from Celine wasn't the altruistic pursuit of knowledge or the desire to increase the larder, but the future security of her daughters if, or when—she didn't know—Aspen Pointe fell. Being able to provide for them and teach them how to provide for themselves in turn motivated Beth to learn all she could from Celine and the others. Clara and Anne would never know the same hunger she had known if Beth had any say in things.

Once the park had given up all it could, Celine took Beth through a housing tract to gather day lily buds from front gardens and fruits from back gardens. They filled their baskets with the little green buds, early apples and crabapples (which Beth now knew were edible), as well as some blueberries from a small stand framing a porch. One of the houses had an ornamental elderberry tree in the front yard and Celine and Beth gathered all the berries they could reach, leaving those up top for the birds.

Through the whole excursion, Beth was surprised by the efficiency of the walker deterrent. Although they needed to remain quiet and adjust their movement to remain undetected, the deterrent allowed them to move easily through crowds of walkers without a second glance from the dead. Beth sweat underneath the smelly coat, but she was pleased to know another way to safely navigate the world.

As they walked back to the estate, Celine stopped Beth in front of a parking lot with cracked pavement in the process of being reclaimed by weeds.

"What do you see?" Celine asked.

"Plantain… and mullein," Beth said. "Plantain is a good general healing herb and makes a good salve for wounds. Mullein can help with coughs and other respiratory tract infections. Plantain can be eaten as a green as well."

"Excellent, but the young leaves are most tender. These leaves are older and tougher, and will need to be stewed," Celine said, striding forward with her shears. "You can also collect the seeds from plantain. These are the last plants I want to collect today."

She knelt down and started cutting leaves away from the plantain. Beth chose to work on removing the first year growths of mullein, roots and all, wondering if she could convince Daryl to take some for his lingering cough; his smoke-damaged lungs hadn't recovered from the fire which destroyed all their worldly possessions before their arrival at Aspen Pointe.

Beth, though she felt guilty over doing so, tuned Celine out while the woman rhapsodised at length over the properties of plantain. It was a weed. You could eat it, and it helped cuts heal faster, but still, it was a weed. Beth worked with a brittle smile pasted to her face. She'd developed the look years ago to maintain a facade of polite interest while thinking of other things, because to her teenage mind changing the subject constituted the worst offense against someone kind enough to deign to talk to her.

She refused to let her mind dwell on what Daryl and she would talk about this afternoon, instead mentally reviewing the different presentations of heart attacks in men and women.

A scream broke Beth from her musings. Across the lot a walker had come up behind Celine, attracted by her chatter, and now leaned in to bite her exposed neck. Beth, her reflexes little dulled, sprang to her feet to cross the distance with furious strides. She ripped her coat open, sending buttons flying, in her effort to grab her knife. The blade plunged into the walker's eye and congealed blood sprayed, coating Celine's face. A limp body fell away from Celine, hitting the ground with a dull thud as grasping hands lost their death grip.

Stepping back, Beth gave her mentor room to stand. The woman, her breath coming in quick little pants, struggled to her feet. She looked down at the walker, then at Beth. Beth watched Celine's face tighten into a screw, eyes narrowing and mouth scrunching up.

"How could you do that?" Celine demanded.

Beth couldn't answer. Her mouth hung open, still and useless.

"That's a person, a human being! That woman deserved to be treated with more dignity than being slaughtered like an animal!"

"What?" Beth couldn't believe what she heard. "I saved your life, Celine! It ain't anything anymore; that woman died a long time ago."

"The soul is eternal and you just silenced hers!"

"You should know better 'n anyone that a person has to die to become a walker—their souls left the moment that happened," Beth said.

It was a personal truth she'd been forced to accept when her mother's body had been struck down before her eyes. These people had died, their bodies rotted, and there was no way to bring someone back from death, back in all the ways that mattered. Beth knew in her heart that walkers were soulless husks, bodies piloted by some unknown force, and, despite their animation, retained nothing of their former life.

If this wasn't true, it meant Beth watched her mother get murdered. And having lived through the experience of seeing a parent murdered in cold blood, a piece of her, the pragmatic part of her mind that insulated her from the worst damage, knew she couldn't live with that knowledge, so Beth firmly believed as she did to save herself. She couldn't have come out the other side thinking otherwise.

"I'm going to have to tell Norman what's happened," Celine said. "You know what we at Aspen Pointe stand for."

"Fine, tell him. Tell him how I saved you," Beth said, jutting her chin out.

Celine stared at Beth for a long moment, then started back for the estate, leaving Beth to follow. The day no longer brought Beth any joy and she plodded along behind Celine, wondering how someone she respected as much as Celine could think that putting down a walker was wrong, a fundamental sin on par with murder. While she knew the people at Aspen Pointe were committed to non-violence, she assumed that commitment didn't extend to walkers, who mindlessly consumed anything in their path. Walkers weren't on the level of a feeling, breathing animal; they were a virus. And viruses were eradicated.

A lump formed in the pit of her gut.

They sat on a ticking bomb, only waiting for the right moment to explode. This was the truth she hadn't seen (or had she willfully ignored it?), what Daryl was likely planning on telling her today. Aspen Pointe would fall. Beth only knew she and her family wouldn't work to save it; someplace so hopelessly naive didn't deserve her compassion.

No further words passed between Celine and Beth. The pall hovering over them was apparent to Chuck and Erika, who silently opened the gates to let them pass without a single quip. Celine looked defiantly at Beth, then went in the direction of the gardens to presumably find Norman. The expression made something in Beth's heart contract. While she knew Celine could be callous towards people she didn't like, Beth never thought the woman to be vindictive.

When Celine was out of sight, Beth entered the building with a black feeling clouding her sight. She dropped her basket in the workroom and replaced her coat and gloves in the storage room. Before going to her apartment, Beth scrubbed down in the baths, not wanting Clara or Anne to smell the death on her. They didn't need to be exposed to that, not yet, not ever.

The walk to the apartment took little time yet seemed to go on forever. Beth looked at each person she passed in a different light, her mind asking her if they'd react the same way, if they'd turn against her for doing what needed to be done.

Beth opened the apartment's door with a heavy hand.

The pale yellow walls felt oppressive, more than they had ever felt as such, like traps closing in on her. Though nothing looked different from this morning, every object shifted to become something else, something impermanent and inflammable, a reminder of the inevitable fall.

However, one thing remained the same.

Daryl sat on the couch cleaning his crossbow and he looked up at Beth's entrance.

"Welcome home," he said, giving her the tiniest, most fragile smile.

"Daryl," Beth breathed.

He saw the look on her face, the defeated set of her shoulders and his demeanor immediately changed. In a few steps he'd crossed the room and took both her hands in his. Rough fingers wrapped over her scarred palms and tightly encircled her hands.

"Everything's okay, I'm okay," Beth said.

"What happened?"

Before answering, Beth threw her arms around him and pressed her face into his chest, breathing in the smell of him, the scent of home. Her home was wherever her family was, not where she chose to rest her head. Yes, that was the truth of it.

Fingers ghosted up her back to rest on the back of her neck. Beth pulled away from Daryl and took a deep breath.

"Celine was attacked by a walker. I saved her, but she… started screamin' at me that I killed—she thinks—it's like I murdered someone. Daryl, she implied everyone here thinks like that and, and… if this place won't do what needs to be done, we're not safe. We're not safe here."

Daryl looked down at her with darkened eyes.

"Been thinkin' that since we got here," he admitted. "These idiots think they can live in some bullsh*t peace 'n' harmony with walkers," Daryl said. "Didn't think you'd run into any trouble while wearin' the gut coat…"

"That's what you were goin' to tell me, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"You were all wrecked up from having the girls, couldn't go anywhere. Second you found out you'd want to leave, huh? Didn't want to risk the road. Still can't go anywhere. They're too little," Daryl said.

"Daryl," Beth said desperately, "Celine's talkin' to Norman right now. I dunno what's gonna happen…"

His fingers tightened around her hair.

"f*ckin' soft bastards," he spit. "Messin' with the wrong people if they think we'll go without a fight."

Beth let out a watery chuckle, still shaken by the realization she wasn't safe. Hadn't Daryl told her that? That thinking she was safe when she wasn't was going to get her killed? Now it wasn't she who would suffer, but her months-old daughters.

She tightened her shoulders, the lesson branded into her with a painful burn.

"C'mere," Daryl said, dropping his hand from her neck, "I wanna show you somethin'."

He led her to the bedroom, where Clara and Anne napped peacefully on the bed—she didn't have it in her to say a word about the girls being left unattended on the bed. Beth stood by the dresser while he got down on his knees to pull a box from beneath the frame. Daryl brought it up, setting it next to Beth on the dresser, and removed the lid. Beth looked inside.

It was a cache, just the beginning of one, but a cache nonetheless. Daryl had gathered dried foods, fishing line and hooks, tarp, water bottles, and even a small amount of ammunition for their handguns, separate from the armory. Beth combed through the box, glad of his forethought and exceptional gut instinct, then looked up at Daryl.

"You're amazin'," Beth said.

"Or paranoid," Daryl countered.

"Maybe a little of both," Beth said.

Soft cries came from the bed and snatched the focus away from their uncertain future. Beth picked up Anne, rocking and shushing the baby in hopes she wouldn't wake Clara. All new parents' hopes for quiet are in vain, however, and Clara woke, howling with displeasure.

"No rest for the wicked," Beth said.

Daryl snorted as he gathered Clara in his arms. While he gently bounced Clara, though failing to calm her, Beth set up on the bed, unbuttoning her shirt and unclasping her bra, then placing pillows under her arms so she could hold both girls at once. After Anne got settled, Daryl popped Clara into the crook of space between Beth's body and the pillow. Peace returned to the bedroom, at least for a short while.

Now that Beth had seen the cache, Daryl closed up the box and returned it to its spot underneath the bed. He took a seat at the edge of the bed, just past Beth's outstretched feet.

"Clara and Anne," he started and the fact he wasn't using nicknames for them underscored the seriousness of the situation.

"I know, they're too little. They can't be out there yet," Beth said. "Maybe Norman won't care."

Daryl raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, that's wishful thinkin', but it'd be… it’d be insane for people who claim to care for everything, even walkers, to send us away to die," Beth said.

"You're thinkin' like a good person again," Daryl muttered.

"What? What d'you think will happen?"

"Don't think it'll happen, but everyone loves those kids." Daryl gestured to the two babies in Beth's arms. "Wouldn't be a stretch to say they try and steal 'em away and put us out there alone."

"No!"

"These people are weak. Might think they're doin' the babies a favor, might think they're keepin' 'em safe," Daryl said. "If there were a shred of common sense between these fairies, wouldn't be a bad argument. But you didn’t do nothin’ wrong. You saved that bitch's life."

Clara finished nursing, so Daryl took her to burp. He paced the room as he patted her small back, leaving Beth to stare into the mirror above the dresser. A young woman with ancient eyes stared back at her, a young mother trying to do right by her children, a young lover trying to keep her paramour safe. She closed her eyes so she didn't have to look. Her own reflection exhausted her.

"Maybe we're workin' ourselves up over nothin'," Beth said. "They haven't been cruel and they took us in at our lowest. Maybe we're the wrong ones, to expect this place to change for us, to become somethin' hard and cruel, and we're puttin' that cruelty on them because it's what we would do."

Daryl's narrow, depthless eyes searched her own ancient ones and he opened his mouth to respond, but a knock interrupted him. He set Clara on the bed, then left to answer the door, looking over his shoulder at Beth before vanishing.

"Hey, Daryl," Norman's voice said, "you and Beth busy?"

"Why?"

"We're having a community discussion," Celine's voice said.

"Now?"

"Now," Norman said.

"Fine. Give us a minute," Daryl said.

Beth unlatched Anne and burped her, then did her clothes up again. The front door shut. Getting out the sling, Beth strapped Anne and Clara both to her back and took a deep breath. Anne rested her head against Beth's shoulder and sighed, making soft little noises in Beth's ear.

"You agreed," she said to Daryl when he came back into the bedroom.

He snorted and said, "Couldn't say no, could I?"

"Guess not," Beth said. "I'm ready."

"Need one more thing," Daryl said.

She almost asked what that was, but her curiosity was answered when Daryl put his hand to her cheek. Beth closed her eyes and leaned in, waiting for the scratch of his beard. When Daryl's lips pressed to hers, the familiar warmth started up in her chest, the feeling which made her think she could take on the world if only she had this man at her side. Bringing her hand up to press on his chest, Beth drank in the kiss like it was water and she'd been stranded in the desert.

"Got it," Daryl said when he pulled back.

"Cheeky," Beth gently teased, but it lacked her usual playfulness.

They'd lingered long enough. Daryl shouldered his crossbow, though there wasn't precisely a reason for him to bring it, and Beth didn't bother to cover her knife with her shirt, as she usually did. The pair left their apartment to make their way to the common room and found most of the community already there, their choppy, stilted conversations stirring up the air.

"Beth!" Norman pushed his way through the milling crowd.

She turned to look at him.

"We need you up front. This meeting's about you and your actions."

"Bullsh*t," Daryl spat.

"You'll get a turn to speak. Everyone has a voice here," Norman said.

"Where should I sit?" Beth cut in, looking to diffuse the tension building between the two men.

"Come on," Norman said.

Beth shot Daryl a look, but followed Norman to the front of the room, where one of the tables had been moved in front of the fireplace. A smaller table was set off to the side and it was here where Beth was directed to sit. Norman took his place at the larger table, calling over Celine, Schmidt, and Harley. The gathered crowd followed suit, finding their own places at the other tables. Daryl remained in back, leaned against a pillar, in Beth's direct line of sight.

"Everyone, everyone, let's lower our voices!" Norman called.

A hush came over the room.

"We're having this meeting today because one of our members, Beth Greene, killed one of the sick," Celine said, projecting her voice so everyone could hear.

"To save you!" Beth said against the rising tide of murmurs.

"I know how to get out of situations like that! If you had let me be, I would have been fine and a sacred body would still be walking this earth!"

Beth sat motionless in her chair, schooling her features still, unbelieving of how quickly things changed.

"Beth, please tell us all what happened," Norman said.

She balled her hands into fists. Norman's schoolteacher tone made her feel fifteen again, like she'd been caught passing notes during class.

"I was out with Celine gatherin' plants. We were on our way back and stopped at an empty lot, catty-corner from the Marathon." People nodded, knowing the place she spoke of. "I went to one end to gather mullein, and Celine gathered plantain on the other end. I was keepin' my head down, listenin' to her while she talked. Then she screamed.

"When I looked up I saw a walker with its hands on her shoulders, lowerin' its mouth to bite her neck. So I got out my knife and ran and put d—ended the walker's life."

"Celine, is that how it happened?" Norman asked.

"No," Celine said. "Beth had the basics, but she's confused by her time on the road, by the group she was with before, and doesn't understand how we work here at Aspen Pointe. We were gathering plants there, yes, but I was aware of the sickened behind me, and was getting ready to throw her off. If that had happened, I could resume acting like one of the sick, and she would have left me alone. We wore the deterrent."

"Why'd you scream, then, huh?" Daryl called from the back.

"Excuse me?" Celine crossed her arms.

"If you knew that geek were behind you," Daryl said, "why'd you scream when it got ya?"

"I didn't scream," Celine said.

"Yes, you did," Beth said.

"Everyone, let's stay on track," Norman said. "Beth believes she acted in Celine's defense. Now, let's have a civil discussion: is killing one of the sick in defense okay, even if the victim wasn't actually in danger? Schmidt, you may speak first."

The old dentist steepled his fingers and sat back in his chair, mulling over his words.

"We don't know definitively that Celine was safe," Schmidt started. "The deterrent has so far proved effective if one is willing to adopt the mannerisms of the dead, but would it be enough after revealing oneself to be very much human by screaming? We don't know. Beth could have saved Celine's life. Celine, in your panic, you could easily be misremembering your actions, and I think you would do well to remember that we are a collective, not a monolith, and we don't all share the same views on the dead. That's my opinion."

"Thank you," Norman said in a pinched voice as the corners of his mouth tugged down. "Harley, what is your opinion?"

"Well… I don't want killing the sick to become normal. It's too easy to see them as monsters and we've fought hard against that idea. I don't want that to happen, but I don't believe Beth should be punished for doing what she thought best in the situation; Schmidt's right, we don't know if Celine could've safely gone on her way. I think everyone going outside should get more training on how to use the deterrent, but I don't think Beth should be punished."

"Celine?"

"Okay, so I don't remember if I screamed, but I've been going out there since this place was founded, and I know what I'm doing. If we here at Aspen Pointe stand for respect, then we have to respect the world around us. Going into nature and killing as we please, taking what we please, is what got us here in the first place. Mother Earth said 'No more!' to our destruction. That attitude must change! The sick are as much a part of nature now as the birds, the bees, the snakes and the trees. This planet will heal with or without us, and it'll be without us if we don't learn how to respect what we've been given."

"Thank you," Norman said and cleared his throat. "I'm in agreement with Celine. We are the human organism, a small cog in the complex machine of life on earth. Respect for the planet starts with the animals we choose not to eat or exploit, continues with our choice to live sustainably in a way that won't further damage the environment, and extends to treating the sick with the dignity they're due. They are human beings. If we put them down like animals"—Norman looked askance at Beth to let her know he caught her slip of the tongue—"then we are no better than those who came before us. Aspen Pointe is here to be better, to prove we have the capacity to be better.

"I know many of you saw the violence in the early days: The National Guard slaughtering people in firing squads, careless of whether those they shot were infected or not; people killing their fellow man over food or water or fear; the bombing of this city—our city!—taking thousands of innocent lives as they did so. You, all of you, came here for refuge from the violent men who pulled together cabals of other men like themselves, who ruled with an iron fist and let their bloodlust run wild, for sanctuary from the marauders roaming the roads and preying on those who had the slightest thing they desired."

Norman put his oratory ability to work, setting out the case for why someone as unpleasant as he was leader.

"Aspen Pointe is different! We are not those people. And if we compromise on our values, we are on our way to becoming those people. We have taken the harder road, but it is the more rewarding road. We are not trampling upon other people, upon the earth. No! We are struggling, but it is a righteous struggle! We cannot give up our fight now, because it is an eternal fight, and we must not tire or become complacent.

"If you believed in our cause, Beth, you would have trusted Celine to handle the situation. If Celine became infected, we would have cared for her with dignity, celebrated her life with us, and helped her pass comfortably into the next stage of existence. And we would have learned. Each new piece of knowledge about the sick helps us to continue living peacefully among them, with greater safety for ourselves. But you see them as a threat, something to be destroyed, and that is why I believe you were wrong. You and Daryl don't belong here. You are one of the others, the people we wanted to get away from.

"Because you have young children, I can't recommend you to leave, but I ask you, very strongly, to consider if this is the place for you. Now, I open up the floor to comments," Norman finished his speech.

"May I speak?" Beth said.

Norman's eyebrows drew down and he tapped his fingers in succession along the tabletop, but he said, "You may."

"Thank you. Look, I'm a Christian. I still believe in God and His goodness, even now. And I know the way the world is today makes it easy to change into someone you don't know, but sometimes a life must be taken; God knows that. It's not done lightly, and it's not done with joy. I take no joy in killin' walkers. But I believe there's nothin' left of the soul; the person dies and what comes back is not them, it's nothin' but the basest desires: eat and reproduce. Everything that person was has gone on to God. It's more respectful to the person that body once was to let it rest, return to dust as we all must. That's dignity. I don't apologize for savin' Celine's life and I know the way you think about walkers is wrong. I know because my dad thought the same way. We lost our home, our safe haven, and our family because of it.

"If you claim to have respect, are so proud of havin' it, then you can respect me, a real, livin' person by allowin' me to stay here until my children are old enough to face this world."

"Well, Beth's said her piece," Norman said.

The room erupted at once.

"I'm not sending my son out there until I know the deterrent's safe!"

"She broke one of our core principles; she can't stay here!"

"We let her husband hunt, that's bad enough!"

"She did what she could with the situation! If that was my friend I would have done the same thing, did the same thing!"

"You can't survive out there without killing those freaks!"

"Are we really talking about throwing out a mom and her kids?"

"People!" shouted Norman. "One at a time, one at a time!"

"I've got some sh*t to say," Daryl called from the back, cutting through the chatter. "And all y'all are gonna listen."

His tone brokered no arguments. Daryl stalked through the silent room, large and terrible in his anger, a dark and dangerous presence. He stood behind Beth when he reached the front of the room, resting his hands on his belt while he looked over the gathered community. Beth got the impression he was taking his time to bore into the eyes of each person in the room.

"You will fall," Daryl said.

Fifty some voices rang out at once, echoing off the expansive ceiling; they bounced around the room like the roiling chaos below.

"The walking dead out there don't care what y'all think. They will eat you and they'll break down walls to do it. Thinkin' you're some clever sons-a-bitches because you stink won't stop it. What're you gonna do when the walkers take down your walls, huh? When they're walkin' among you, eatin' your wife, your husband?

"You f*cks have nothin'. No plan, no place to go, not even the goddamn belief to fight back to save your own life. There ain't no courtesy check—the walkers don't ask if you think they're still human.

"What are you gonna do when some asshole who got a tank and thinks he deserves what you got comes knockin' at your door? Run an' turn tail? All them pretty words Norman told you aren't sh*t when you're starin' down the barrel of a gun. If you ain't fightin' for what you got, then you don't f*ckin' deserve it."

Beth got to her feet and stared out at the people who had taken them in and healed them, fed them, taught her skills to survive.

"That's how we feel. I know you don't agree, so all we want is time. Time to let Clara and Anne grow a little older."

"Quiet!" Norman bellowed as he jumped to his feet. "You are making this an impossible choice! We were only discussing the morality of your decision today, Beth."

"Shut the f*ck up," Daryl snarled. "It was never about that. If it were, you wouldn't have brought up Beth leavin'."

"I brought those babies into the world. Without me, you would have died and so would Anne! You trusted me with your life, your daughters' lives, Beth, and it's breaking my heart you think so little of us," Celine said. "I took you under my wing and taught you!"

"Daryl, you forced my hand," Norman said.

"Bullsh*t."

"We are having a vote! Who agrees with our founding principles, that we must make a concerted effort to live peacefully among the 'walkers'?"

The crowd exchanged nervous glances with their neighbors, muttering and hand wringing. One hand rose, and then another. They came up slowly, reluctantly, as if fighting against some greater force. But in the end, over half of the residents of Aspen Pointe agreed with their leader.

"Who agrees with Daryl, that we must do what needs to be done to survive and become like the people we decry?"

"f*cker," Daryl said lowly.

A sizable number of people raised their hands, Schmidt and Valerie and Eileen among them. However, those who agreed were still fewer than those who supported Norman's position. Beth's fingers clenched around her knife handle and she fought against the burning, searing anger coursing through her blood. In the crowd she saw Valerie on her feet, face hard as steel as she opened her mouth.

"Enough!" Schmidt, raising his old bones from his chair, quieted the room with a single word.

"We are trying to be a civilized people, and no group who calls themselves so would send a mother to her certain death. Norman, you are being needlessly divisive. Yes, these folks don't believe the same thing as you, but our differences are what give us strength. Daryl is right; we do not have an evacuation plan or safe places to meet if we must scatter, and that hubris will kill us more surely than the dangers outside our walls. Even empires fall and we're fools to think we will be different. So, I say to you, who think yourselves such an exemplary segment of humanity: are you going to be no different than the monsters outside our walls and have the blood of children on your hands?"

Shamefaced looks spread across the gathered group. While Schmidt surveyed the effects of his words, Beth's heart warmed further to the old man, who had always been kind to her. He effectively cut through to the heart of the issue, forcing the people to look past Norman's inflammatory words and at the crux of the argument. It was now fully apparent that Norman gave no credit to differing lines of thought, allowed no leeway for other opinions, and this meant he and Daryl were diametrically opposed, unable to compromise. Because of this, Beth better understood Norman's intense dislike of Daryl. This moment had been a long time coming, starting from the moment Norman first knew of them, based on the fact they knew how the world operated these days and compounded by their association with Valerie—they were a threat to the spurious reality Norman painted for the original residents of Aspen Pointe.

"Thank you," Beth said to the old man.

Schmidt gave her his gentle smile.

"Very well. We'll vote again. Who thinks we should grant Beth's request and allow her to stay here?"

"Her and Daryl," Schmidt added.

A muscle in Norman's jaw worked as he amended his statement, "Allow Beth and Daryl to stay."

The vote was unanimous. Everyone raised their hands, some reluctantly and some emphatically, but no one chose to send Beth and Daryl away. As Beth took the sight in, weight rolled off her shoulders and she felt them drop. Behind her, Daryl placed one of his hands on her shoulder then squeezed. She knew what he meant. Don't drop her guard.

"Well, it seems we've reached a consensus. Beth, Daryl, you may stay here at Aspen Pointe. But be advised, any further actions against us won't be treated so magnanimously. We are not a dictatorship, we're a democracy. You've made your points and it's up to the people to accept them." Norman spoke to the crowd, "Please talk to me or any other of the community leaders about your concerns. This meeting's adjourned."

The collected people broke apart, with some drifting away to their own apartments, some remaining in small clusters to discuss, and yet others making their way to the leadership to speak with them.

"Celine," Beth called to get the woman's attention before she could begin talking to Chuck and Dayvon.

Beth went to her, ignoring Norman's burning glare, and tried to reach out for her mentor's hands, but Celine jerked them away at the last second.

"I don't know what you could possibly have to say to me. You called my beliefs stupid and said I deserved to die," Celine said. "I did so much for you and this is how you repay me."

"You didn't speak against Norman when he wanted to send me away to die," Beth said. "I'm not sorry for what I did and I don't think you deserve to die, not at all, I only think you need to accept that with walkers, sometimes there ain't no peaceful solution!"

"Please give my books back to me. I have nothing else to say to you," Celine said and she turned her back on Beth.

The only thing Beth was able to do for a moment was stand there, shoulders shaking. Then she turned on her heel and strode back to Daryl, who talked lowly with Schmidt, Lettie, and Valerie.

"Hey, Daryl said you know how to shoot as well. Could you teach Lettie?" Valerie asked.

"Guns? I thought you knew—"

"No, not a gun, bows. You could teach me, couldn't you?" Lettie looked at Beth with earnest eyes.

"I don't know," Beth began.

"Be careful. You've got Norman on the back foot and that man will be out for blood," Schmidt said.

"Man, I would've hated having him as a professor," Lettie said. "Bet he was the kind of guy who gave you a D because you didn't agree with him."

"You got the basics. I trust you to teach her," Daryl said to Beth.

"Things are different now. I thought being quiet and taking my time to change people's opinions would be enough," Valerie said. "But wanting to send a mom out there for killing a zombi, a walker? That's unforgivable. Things need to change right now."

"What're you sayin'?" Beth asked, nerves quieting her voice.

Valerie's eyes darted between the gathered group before fixing on Beth's.

"We take over Aspen Pointe."

Chapter 16: dignity, sanctuary

Chapter Text

Beth's breath caught in her chest and she knew Valerie was right. Aspen Pointe balanced on a knife point, about to topple at any time. Nothing but prayer and breath kept it aloft.

"The Graveyard," Schmidt said. "Take Lettie up there to 'practice shooting' with Valerie. You can talk there."

The gathered group nodded and dispersed before they attracted any further attention, with Valerie and Lettie moving through the crowd to speak with Erika and Richard while Beth and Daryl left for their apartment.

On the way back, a laser-bright flash illuminated the hallway for the space of a second and a low, rumbling thunderclap followed, shuddering through the building. Beth reached her hand behind herself to touch it against the babies, who woke at the sudden crash. She hadn't noticed the gathering clouds or the change in temperature with the chaos of the day, but the late summer rainstorm was much needed to keep the creek they used for water filled. Norman wasn't any closer to digging the well than he was when Beth and Daryl first arrived.

She inched closer to Daryl and brushed her arm against his, close enough that her ponytail caught on the crossbow's cam. Daryl worked her tangled hair free without comment, but Beth felt the annoyance in how he moved, in the way he yanked at the strands.

"Sorry," Beth said.

"It don't matter," Daryl said.

And she supposed it didn't.

Once back inside the apartment, Beth lit a candle for light before taking the girls into the bedroom to put them down for the night. Rain lashed against the window, furious and angry. It matched the feeling Beth had been fighting since she first plunged her knife into the walker. Everything had shifted, like stepping off the end of the sidewalk.

After putting Clara in her bassinet, Beth went to the bedroom window and placed her hand on the glass, watching the raindrops splatter on the other side. She thought perhaps she should stand outside in that rain, should feel it pour down her face, should feel it plaster her hair to her skin. But she remained where she was, staring out into the torrent.

The storm ended as quickly as it came on, with the clouds rolling eastwards to dump rain elsewhere. While Daryl washed his face, Beth opened the windows to let in the cool air. The room was quiet. The only sound came from the splash of water in the bowl and the trees dripping outside. Beth sat on the bed and watched Daryl, feeling put-out by his silence without being fully able to articulate why.

When he sat on the bed, face beaded with water and hair stuck to his forehead, Beth mimicked his move from the night before when she slid herself across the mattress. She slotted her legs along the outside of his and rested her chin on his shoulder while his fingers worked at the knot in his bootlaces. Daryl put his hand on her knee.

"Aren't you gonna say somethin'?"

"What the hell is there t' say?"

"You could say anything! I don't care what… even call me stupid for shuttin' my ears and eyes. Just say somethin'," Beth said.

Pressing her cheek to his neck, Beth closed her eyes to take in the smell of home, to have some small form of comfort.

He sighed as his boots hit the ground.

"I shoulda told you," he said. "Shouldn't a lied, made you think you could be safe here."

She buried her face further, wet eyes leaking teardrops into Daryl's hair, where they wouldn't be noticed. No, he shouldn't have lied by omission to her. But she let him. Something red and smoldering burned in her gut, only needing a breath of oxygen to burst into a blaze. Anger at Daryl, anger and disappointment in herself, a growing hatred for Norman and the ignorant living behind Aspen Pointe's walls, all of them simmered together inside her, but that was all they would do… for now.

"I want to be. I want to be safe. Because Clara and Anne… and you… deserve that. Is that weak? Is that pathetic?"

"No. 'S what Rick wanted for Carl, for little Jude. You gone call him pathetic?"

Beth shook her head. Disentangling herself from Daryl, she laid back in bed without undressing or changing; it was as if she were back on the road again and needed to be ready to flee at a moment's notice. The mattress sank as Daryl joined her. His hands came up to cradle behind his head while his mouth worked on his tongue. Without prompting, he brought down one of his hands, reaching across the space between them to lace his fingers through hers.

"I'm so tired, sometimes," Beth said in a little voice, as if what she admitted was shameful.

"Me too," Daryl said.

She nodded and made to lean in to kiss him, but a sharp cry from Anne stilled them. The bedframe creaked. Daryl crossed the dimly lit room to lift the baby from her bassinet. Little arms waved until the baby was cosseted against Daryl's chest, dark eyes observing the shadowed trees rustling in the wind. Daryl patted Anne's back, pressing his lips to her head as he murmured something for the baby's ears only. Anne wasn't hungry, so Beth settled the baby in the space between her and Daryl, squishing Anne's fat cheeks to make her smile.

But even as she did so, Beth thought about Anne and her sister growing up in a world where the wolf perpetually knocked at your door, slavering and champing, and her eyes stung. Had it been cruel of her to bring them into such a world in the first place? The only consolation she had was that neither lacked for love; if that was truly the only requirement for a life well lived, then the twins were on their way.

Taking a deep, settling breath, Beth kissed Anne's cheek to say goodnight before glancing across the mattress to catch Daryl's eye. He gave her a minuscule nod which Beth returned. She closed her eyes and prayed for sleep to come.

When morning did come, as all mornings must, Beth and Daryl opened their eyes as the first rays came over the treetops; neither of them slept well as evidenced by the rumpled sheets. Anne blinked her eyes open when her parents woke, fists coming up to frame her face as she yawned widely, showing off her small milk tooth. She gummed at her fist while Beth brought over Clara and began the morning routine, as if this were any other morning instead of one following a day such as the one previous.

Before Daryl went out to start the fire, Beth said, "I'm goin' to work in the gardens this mornin'… seein' as Celine doesn't want my help anymore. I'll talk with Valerie; set a time for us to meet in The Graveyard."

He nodded, mouth set in a thin line under his moustache.

So after a quick cup of tea and some tart, early apples, Beth strapped the twins to her back and headed for the gardens. She was prepared for the looks thrown her way, but she wasn't prepared to have outright hostile remarks directed at her.

"Murderer," Macy hissed as Beth gathered ripe tomatoes.

Macy didn't know how right she was, Beth thought. But not for the reasons Macy imagined. God forgive me, Beth said to herself.

"You got something to say?" Valerie's voice came from the end of the row. "You can say it to her face, can't you?"

Macy stiffened, the edges of her mouth drawing down as her chest rose. The woman hastily got to her feet when Valerie started down the row and she vanished, unwilling to face a confrontation with Valerie. Beth dusted off her gloves before rising, her eyes trained on the spot where Macy disappeared.

"Alright?" Valerie asked.

"Yeah… thank you," Beth said.

"You get any sleep last night?"

"No, I couldn't sleep at all. Kept worryin' I'd get hauled away in the middle of the night," Beth said.

Valerie snorted and said, "If Norman managed to get the jump on you, I'd be surprised."

Beth glanced around, looking for other pairs of eyes which might be trained on her and Valerie. Although she didn't see any, Beth still kept her voice low when she spoke next.

"Let's meet tonight, late. After the second watch change," Beth said.

"Okay," Valerie said, the set of her mouth tightening.

After agreeing on which apartment to meet in, Valerie moved on to another section of the garden. Beth continued on picking tomatoes, stopping here and there to tend to the twins when they needed attention. So far no one but Macy and Valerie had spoken to her and the rest of the morning passed with people avoiding her when they could and ignoring her when they couldn't.

The day passed by painfully, slowly, with minutes stretching out like a spool of thread unwinding. Like she used to check clocks, Beth found herself checking the sun's position, expecting it to have moved significantly but finding it hadn't budged an inch. When the sun finally stood directly overhead, Beth left the gardens for the pantry, which occupied the former kitchen. The room was mercifully empty besides Franny, who was busy counting out a bushel of winter squash just delivered.

"What's for lunch today?" Franny asked with a smile.

Beth paused, her hand hovering over a basket of leaf lettuce, and offered a tentative smile back at Franny. The woman had always been fond of Beth and she was glad to see that hadn't changed.

"Just a salad, I think," Beth said.

Franny paused in her cataloging of squash to bring up a small basket. "Here, we're not actually out of walnuts. I just don't want any more walnut flour creations."

With a polite laugh, Beth gratefully scooped up a handful to use in the salad.

"Thank you," she said.

"Of course," Franny said. "You can ask for anything you like, you know."

"That's very kind," Beth said as she put a cucumber into her basket.

"I mean it. Anything," Franny said, her voice gaining a desperate note which made Beth look at the woman again.

Franny had a worn face, with kind eyes that nevertheless had a distance to them, the look of which was all too familiar to Beth from having seen it in her own reflection. And Beth wondered: what had Franny seen and done out there? What had made her eyes like that, so removed and so closed?

"Thank you," Beth said again with a look she hoped communicated more.

Franny's face slackened as her shoulders dropped, some of the tension melting away.

"Let's keep the walnuts between us."

"Our little secret," Beth agreed.

As Beth walked back to the apartment a chain around her heart loosened, even though it didn't fall away completely. There was one more person on their side, one more person who understood what really needed to be done. Most of the people of Aspen Pointe lived in a fantasy world, but there were those who stood behind her, Daryl, and Valerie.

The rest of the day still dragged on, however, and Beth grew more restless as night fell. She found herself jumping up from the couch to frequently check if the patrol shift changed, knowing full well it hadn't and wouldn't for an hour yet. Daryl remained sat on the couch and seemed to have no problem waiting for the shift change. While his eyes followed her every time she moved about the room, he passed the time shaving his face and trimming his nails, then reading through a pulpy crime novel he'd picked up on one of his runs with Valerie. The girls slept in the bedroom and Beth fought the urge to check on them every five minutes.

"Christ," Daryl muttered, after the seventh time Beth got up to check the patrol.

He put down the book, got to his feet, and clapped both his hands on Beth's shoulders, steering her back to the couch. He sat Beth down, then dropped down beside her and swung his legs around to lay them over Beth's lap. Effectively pinned down and unable to get up, Beth settled for tapping out a nervous rhythm on Daryl's knees. While Daryl picked the book up again, he turned far fewer pages than he did before.

"I ain't a drumset," he said as he pressed her hands flat with one of his.

"Sorry," Beth said.

"So quiddit," Daryl said.

Beth raised her eyebrows at him and let off one more sarcastic volley of taps on his knees before working at keeping her hands still. She wasn't sure why she was so keyed up over this meeting; it could be that if they were found out the meeting would simply be another strike for Beth, another reason to force her from the compound. Did they have tails keeping an eye on them? Erika acted as if she had one that day Daryl found her outside the walls. But if she had been able to escape, then they obviously weren't doing a good job.

Finally, after what felt like years, Daryl lifted his legs off her, freeing Beth from her leg-prison. He nodded at her and she sprang to her feet, going to the bedroom to wake the girls with a feed. They wouldn't be happy about being woken up early, but Beth hoped an extra snack would keep them quiet.

Sure enough, Clara and Anne howled their displeasure until they'd been fed and bundled up in their slings. Then they were perfectly content to observe the world over her shoulders; with any luck they'd be asleep again soon. Beth joined Daryl by the front door. He pulled out a small flashlight and clicked it on; the small beam gave off just enough light for them to hurry along the edge of the walls before slipping inside the stairwell to make for the second floor.

Beth and Daryl were the first to arrive. He pushed open the door to the agreed upon apartment and Beth followed him inside. They'd used this apartment before for target practice while Beth got used to the compound bow, so the place didn't look as forlorn as some of the other apartments on the second floor. Daryl turned towards the front door and a moment later the handle jiggled. The door opened, admitting Valerie and Lettie.

"Hey," Valerie said. "It'll just be us for now. I told Erika about the meeting but she's on gate duty."

"Best keep it small for now," Daryl said.

"How many would be with us?" Beth asked.

Taking a seat on the dusty couch, Valerie ran her hand along her head, tight curls bouncing back up in her palm's wake. Lettie sat beside her sister and her dark eyes darted between Beth and Daryl.

"Fifteen?" Valerie ventured. "Richard, Erika, Frankie, Greg, Pyle, Arjun, Bert, and Will for sure. Eileen, Michel, Jesus, Franny, Larry, Julia, and Wanda… maybe. I think most everyone wants to be safe; they don't care how."

"Would it be easier to leave? To start a new place?" Lettie ventured.

"Ain't nothin' around here," Daryl said.

"We've looked," Valerie said.

"And the armory," Daryl added. "Too valuable to walk away from."

"Are we goin' to kill Norman?" Beth asked.

All eyes focused on her.

"Is he goin' to go quietly into the night? We best get our expectations straight for how this is gonna go," Beth said.

"Have you killed someone? Either of you?" Valerie stood, putting her hands on her hips.

"Yes," Daryl said.

"Wait!" Lettie interjected. "Killing him won't be the answer… you know what everyone's like… do you really think they'll follow you after you kill him in cold blood? Fear… fear isn't the answer. It won't make Aspen Pointe any better."

"Guy like that won't just step down. Flappin' his gums about democracy—f*cks like that are the people who believe in it least," Daryl said.

"I don't… I don't want to kill anyone else," Lettie said in a very small voice.

Beth looked at Lettie, really looked at her, and saw that they couldn't be very far apart in age. If Beth stopped to count the years, she was almost twenty or maybe twenty already. Lettie couldn't be older than her, seventeen at most. How many lives had she taken on the road with Valerie? Beth hadn't had that responsibility thrust upon her until there was no one but Daryl there with her, no one who could take up that burden but herself.

"How many?" Daryl's eyes flashed between Valerie and Lettie.

"Does it matter?" Valerie's face cracked into a cold smile. "After you've taken one life… does it really matter how many more?"

The air hung heavy and Beth thought she might choke, that they were considering murdering Norman; then Anne let out a soft, little, happy coo and Beth knew she could kill the man if it came down to it. If he put her daughters in harm's way, she thought she could find the strength to rip his throat open with her bare hands like a walker. She could feel the weight of Daryl's eyes on her. Would that change how he felt, knowing she would turn herself inside out, become someone so far removed from the woman he loved, all to protect those two little babies?

It didn't matter.

If he no longer loved her for changing, it didn't matter. She would become whoever she needed to be for those girls. Just as it hadn't mattered back in the tent when she bared herself in front of him, it didn't matter now. He could take it or leave it, as he chose. Their lives had been bound together by fate but who she was or was not did not depend on him.

Just as she thought she could murder Norman to ensure the safety of Clara and Anne, Daryl said, "I never cared for talkin'. Think it's useless. Words are words and don't mean sh*t against what people do… but killin' him ain't the solution here. Lettie's right. Fear won't keep this place together."

"So that's it, then? We make people see things need to change?" Beth said.

"Or we make our own way. We make our own place," Lettie said. "I know you said there's nothin' out there, and I know your babies are little, but we can't just kill Norman and expect things to be roses after."

"Alright," Valerie said as her eyes drifted to the sky beyond the dusty window. "So that's what happens if we can't make this place change?"

Daryl's fingers tapped on his crossed arms.

"Yeah, we leave. Take the armory and take what we need and leave." He made a bitter scoff. "They can't stop us. Nineteen's a good size. Twelve's near as good."

Clearing her throat, Beth said, "I have an idea. We'll need Erika's permission, and two others to help, but I've got a plan."

Beth slept poorly that night. She tossed and turned until Daryl, annoyed by her jostling, got up to smoke a cigarette on the porch. After checking on the girls—still sound asleep—Beth joined him out there, sitting on one of the chairs with her knees pulled up to her chest as she watched the mist burn off. Daryl's leg bounced atop the other and he fiddled with the cigarette more than he smoked it.

A crescent of gold eclipsed the trees beyond the walls, illuminating the clouds a brilliant pink. Now that a plan had been set, Beth wasn't as restless as she expected herself to be, although she still felt somewhat like a live wire, ready to electrocute anything which came too close. Her chest was cracked open, her heart ready to beat past grasping bones into the new sky.

"I like sunsets better than sunrises," Beth said as the sun lifted above the treeline, vanishing behind a few clouds.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. They're prettier, I think."

"That's the only reason? They're prettier?"

"I think you like sunsets better, too," Beth said.

Daryl scoffed before exhaling, smoke pouring from his mouth and hovering around him in a cloud.

"Sure. Sunrises are crap."

"There's Erika," Beth said as she heard the front door open.

Beth got up and met Erika in the living room, exchanging a brief hug with her. Erika's arms trembled under Beth's and when they drew back, Beth noted the bags underneath Erika's eyes, as if she hadn't slept since they knocked at her door in the middle of the night. Daryl remained on the porch to keep watch while the two women went into the bedroom. The twins in their bassinets neared waking, but Beth let them be for the moment to pull out the duffel bag of guns from the closet. A sharp whistle of breath from Erika sounded as she took in what Beth and Lettie had removed from the armory last night.

"You don't do anything by halves, do you?" Erika asked as she picked up an assault rifle to check its condition.

"Nope. Have Frankie and Arjun left?"

"Yeah. Is this all of it?"

Shaking her head, Beth brought out the other duffel bag filled with medical supplies from the infirmary and Celine's workroom, as well as a supply of food courtesy of Franny. With a grunt, Erika hefted both bags over her shoulders, her fingers tightening over one strap as she took a deep breath.

"Are you okay with this?" Beth asked.

"Yes," Erika said, though she kept her head down, "I don't want my dad existing like that. He deserved better… better than a 'life' as a… what'd you call them? A walker. Than a life as a walker."

Beth thought perhaps she should say something else because the silence was a half-healed scab, infection festering below tender new skin, but there wasn't anything which should have been said. So she exchanged a nod with Erika as the woman left and returned to the porch, this time bringing along the girls.

"She's on her way," Beth said.

"Shane might've been nuttier 'n squirrel sh*t, but the more time passes, the more I think he were right… about everything," Daryl said.

He snuffed his cigarette on the brick and took Clara from Beth, settling the baby on his lap. While she unbuttoned her shirt, Beth's fingers jerked a little too hard, popping off one of the buttons. It pinged against the concrete before rolling into the grass.

"He was right," she said in a tight voice, "but he didn't have to be an asshole about it."

"But it was bein' an ass that finally got through to your—gotta be cruel sometimes, to save people's lives."

Looking over at him, Beth watched Clara gnaw on his fingers, her hazel eyes darting between her mother and the birds flapping around the grounds. If anyone hurt Clara on purpose, even if that purpose was to save her life… but that person could very well be Beth herself, couldn't it? How was she going to make sure Clara and Anne understood the dangers of walkers when they didn't understand the world? It wasn't like letting them touch a hot stove after telling them not to touch it. She closed her eyes briefly. That was a question for another time.

Things remained quiet while Beth finished nursing the girls; she didn't have anything else to say. Once the twins had been changed and dressed, Beth left for Valerie's apartment, just a few quick steps down the hall. Lettie must've been waiting for her, because the door opened after the first knock.

"Come in, quick," Lettie said.

Beth slipped past the door and shut it behind her. Valerie nodded at her from the couch, where she was in the middle of disassembling a rifle, the parts spread out like puzzle pieces on the coffee table. There was a place laid out for the girls near the sliding door, so Beth settled them on it, kissing their fat cheeks repeatedly.

"Be good, bugs," she said.

When Beth straightened up, Lettie offered Beth a cup of tea.

"Thank you… but I'm alright. I'm all… I dunno." Beth struggled to articulate her feelings.

"It's the waiting. It's always the waiting," Valerie said.

The gut-churning feeling came back to Beth, how she felt watching Rick stride down the slope towards The Governor with her father knelt on the grass. It wasn't the same, exactly. More like how she felt screaming at walkers when they first found the prison, useless with her crap shot while her family fired shots which bit into walker heads near every time. She was on the sidelines while others were out there executing change because she hadn't been good enough. But this time, at least, she'd had a hand in the plan, a say in how things went, and that made all the difference.

Maybe it really was the waiting after all.

"You could take advantage of me watching your girls," Lettie said with waggling eyebrows and a wink. "That's a good way to pass the time!"

"Leticia Delmas!"

"C'mon, Val, it was a joke!" Lettie rubbed at her cheeks and ducked her head down.

Valerie very pointedly began shoving her rifle back together.

"You are my darling baby sister and I am forever going to think of you that way!"

"I should get back. I'll see you in a little bit," Beth said with a tight smile. "Thank you, again, for watchin' the girls."

As the door closed behind her, Valerie called, "Don't forget a condom. You know what happens without one!"

"Hypocrite!" Lettie shrieked.

Beth had to laugh as she walked down the dark hallway towards her own apartment. The spurt of mirth, however, was short-lived. Once she was back, Beth felt adrift without Clara and Anne there, filling the space with their sounds. She wasn't used to being apart from them; she was used to her daughters occupying the back of her mind with every thought or breathing against her chest or laughing beside her while she worked. It was strange how vastly her life changed the second she heard Clara's cry, how her priorities shifted in an instant.

But it was better for them to be out of the way, just as it was better for Lettie to not be associated with what they were about to perpetrate. So Beth decided to follow suit with Valerie, disassembling and cleaning her pistol while Daryl checked over his crossbow, instead of taking their lewd advice regarding how she should spend her time with Daryl.

This was the first time she'd reloaded the gun since arriving at Aspen Pointe.

"Are we doin' the right thing?" Beth asked as she used a bit of cloth on the end of a stick to clean inside the barrel. "Maybe we should've just left."

"Said it a million times. Those girls are too little."

"If this goes wrong, then they'll be out there anyway," Beth said.

"Yeah. But we can say we tried. That we didn't roll over."

The gun rattled as it fit back together. Beth popped out the magazine and slotted in the bullets, then snapped it back in place. Beside her Daryl drew back the bowstring, clicking it in the receiving mechanism. He checked the safety and, satisfied, leaned the weapon against the couch.

Once her gun had been safely placed in its holster, Beth inched closer to Daryl, touching her thigh to his. He lifted his heavy arm to drape it over her shoulder, pulling her into him. She wasn't looking for anything but wordless comfort; she didn't need reassurance it would go well or all would turn out fine in the end, because nothing could be guaranteed. Beth breathed deep the smell of home even as her fingers itched, even as she thought, I should shoot Norman the very second I see him and end this.

Daryl's arm tensed before he jumped up from the couch, startling Beth. She glanced at him and then out the sliding door after catching sight of the pine-pitch look he wore.

"They're back," he said.

She heard the screams drifting through the glass ahead of the chaos before she saw the walker pushed forward by Frankie and Arjun. Though the walker rotted and disintegrated during its time wandering, it still bore the same distinct platinum blond hair as Erika, an unmistakable sign of their relation. Beth stood and shouldered her compound bow while Daryl slipped on his crossbow. Determination burned through Beth's veins as she strode next to Daryl out the door, the both of them joining up alongside the macabre parade.

People fled before the walker; a crowd gathered outside Norman's house, their hands pounding as they shouted for the man to do something . Erika's father had been silenced with duct tape over his mouth and his hands bound up the same, so while he fought and struggled against the gripping hands, he was—for the moment—contained.

"We got their attention, that's for sure," Frankie commented. "For the record, I think this is nuts."

"Frankie, shut the hell up," Arjun muttered.

Norman sprinted towards their procession, open shirt flapping around him as his loafered feet slapped the dewey grass.

He bellowed, "What in God's name are you doing?!"

They ignored him. Beth pulled the door open and the walker was shoved inside, where Frankie and Arjun would take it to the common room. Daryl gave Norman, more than halfway across the grounds, a long stare before he entered the building, bringing up the rear while Beth jogged ahead to clear the way.

By now most people registered the commotion happening, so Beth drove them ahead to the common room, where Valerie waited. She stood on top of the brick surrounding the fireplace, holding her rifle straight up against her shoulder. Her bearing had changed; she looked every inch the soldier as her eyes raked the room, taking in the confused and panicked crowd.

As Beth fought her way through the crowd, Schmidt came up alongside her. His face was a grim line.

"This is your plan?" Schmidt asked.

"Yes," Beth said.

"Then, for all our sakes, I hope it works, because we will not survive if it does not."

And then he melted into the roaring crowd, leaving Beth with a twisting knot in her stomach.

Mothers clutched at children as the walker stumbled into the room. It practically vibrated with desire at the sheer amount of flesh presented to it, but Frankie and Arjun kept a tight hold of the thing. They marched it up to the fireplace, where Valerie stepped aside slightly so it could be tied in place before its mouth and hands were unbound.

"This is a zombi. It is not a sick person!" Valerie barked as the men worked.

Beth took her place beside the fireplace while Daryl hung back, near the entryway, his crossbow now in his hands and loaded with a bolt. His hands were steady and his eye steely behind the sight.

"What the f*ck are you doing? Get that man out of here!" Norman had caught up to them. "Dayvon, Chuck, get in gear right now and get him out of here! Larry, Schmidt, Celine, get everyone to their rooms!"

"No! It's time for you to see what they really are." Valerie's neck strained as she shouted.

"This was Erika's father," Beth said as she drew her knife. "Was!"

Arjun ripped off the duct tape from the walker's mouth and the skin came with it, tearing from the champing mouth with a wet, sticking sound, like bacon slabs being pulled apart. The loose, leering teeth of a skull grinned back at the crowd. Beth's fingers tightened on the knife handle and she drove it deep into the walker's gut, sliding the blade across to open up the belly; she shivered when the blood flowed over her hand because the walker was warmed from being outside in the sun and for a moment it felt as if she'd gutted a living man. Fetid intestines spilled onto the brick with lewd, wet plops.

"No pain, no reaction! No one can come back from this!" Valerie said.

"We know they can't be cured," Celine shouted from her place beside Norman. "But treating them this way, slaughtering them, isn't right. They're still alive in some way and it's not our right to take their lives!"

Daryl loosed his bolt and it landed directly in the walker's heart. It jerked back from the impact but otherwise continued growling and snarling as it fought against its restraints. The crowd gagged at the smell of the thing and Beth wondered how many of them had ever smelled a dead body.

"That would kill anything alive, if the guts everywhere hadn't!"

"This isn't your decision to make," Norman growled, fighting his way through the crowd to the front. "If we choose not to kill them, that's our choice! We know the dangers."

"No, you don't," Arjun said. "Half of these people have been here since the beginning. They came for their family and never left. You've downplayed the reality of the world at every turn! I've been with three—three—communities stronger than this one and they've all fallen."

"You're a f*cking lucky son-of-a-bitch is what you are," Frankie spit. "You thought Nashville was bad? It was nothing compared to New York. Bodies packed the Hudson, islands of bodies floating—hundreds of thousands dead! Most of you haven't a goddamn sh*t-f*cking clue."

"And the deterrent keeps you safe, yes, but it keeps you ignorant! You're being lied to, every day, that the way this place works will keep you safe!" Valerie said.

"And now," came Erika's voice, clearly projected despite how quiet the woman normally was, "I'm going to prove that these things do not remember! Everything they were… is gone."

Erika stood in the doorway, gristly bits of flesh sliding down her slick shirt. Her eyes burned blue underneath the red which coated her face like some unholy version of pictish woad. The hands on the rifle trembled, but so slightly that the movement hardly registered, compared to her shocking appearance. The crowd parted for Erika as she came upon what had once been her father. Beth saw the woman's face crumple and tears streak tracks through the rusty blood on her face.

"Dad… Daddy…" Her voice was heartbreakingly small. "Do you remember me? Your Snicklefritz?"

The walker wildly rolled its eyes and lunged, teeth snapping, for Erika's outstretched hand. She drew it back, fingers clenching into a fist while the animated corpse of her father struggled to break free of its bonds.

"That could be any of the sick—"

"It's not!" Erika whirled around, pointing her rifle at Norman. "You think I don't know what my own dad looks like? Even like this?"

"Stop this bullsh*t!" Dayvon jumped between Norman and Erika's raised rifle. "Erika, don't do this!"

"I will not stop until that bastard accepts he's wrong! Until he steps down and lets people who know what they're doing run things, we will not leave nor will we back down."

"This is my community, my home. I built it from nothing and I will not let you… interlopers change what it is! It's hope, hope that we're not too far gone. You can't take that away from these people!" Norman pushed Dayvon out of the way.

"It's nothing but lies!" Richard broke through the crowd. "When you die, you turn. It doesn't matter if you've been bit or not. This is what all of you will become, no matter what you do, and Norman will turn your body out there to rot, to kill other survivors!"

A shriek rent the air and for a moment Beth stupidly thought it was in reaction to Richard's statement. But while shocking—Beth remembered the lightning strike which ran through her when Rick revealed this truth to the group—Richard's words weren't the cause. The walker had broken its wrist against the restraints, tearing through the skin and muscle and tendon until the bones snapped and the hand fell free. With sharp, jagged bone splinters on the stump waving, Beth jerked out of the way and Valerie leapt backwards.

A sudden report left Beth's ears ringing. The walker dropped. Erika lowered her rifle and stared at the mutilated body of her father for a long moment.

The crowd's murmuring grew louder, words rushing in like the tide to fill empty spaces with swirling, roiling foam. Beth's fingers tensed on her knife and she returned it to its sheath, searching for Daryl's face over the heads of the anxious mass. He had his crossbow co*cked again, only needing a bolt on the deck. Beth slid her eyes to Valerie, who'd adjusted the way she held her rifle; she no longer had it pointed straight up in a carry, instead she'd shifted it into a ready position. Yanking on the strap to spin the compound bow around, Beth slid it from her shoulder.

"We could have talked about this," Norman stuttered out. His fingers twitched like a dying spider's legs as his head dropped down, thin hair covering his face. "We're different. We could have talked about this! Not like them—we could have talked about this!"

Norman's hand jutted out, shoving Dayvon's arm to the side as his pale fingers reached underneath Dayvon's loose sweatshirt. Beth barely saw it, but she did see it. A handgun in Norman's hands, pulled from a holster hidden under Dayvon's clothes and aimed towards Valerie. She shifted her rifle to fire as the shot rang out, finger depressing the trigger a second too late.

But instead of Valerie dropping, Richard stumbled back, hands coming to grip over his stomach. Vaguely Beth was aware of Valerie's shot missing also, biting into drywall somewhere behind Norman, but she rushed to Richard at the same time as Celine.

For that moment their differences were forgotten.

"Lie down," Celine commanded Richard.

Beth pulled away the man's shirt to see dark blood spilling from a gaping, raw hole. From the position of the wound, Beth didn't need to be a doctor to know the shot had perforated Richard's bowel. Celine examined the man anyway, her eyes narrowing as she felt along his stomach. At a gesture from the woman, Beth gently lifted Richard's shoulders onto her knees so Celine could feel the man's back for an exit wound.

"It's bad?" Richard gasped.

"It is," Celine said. "It put a hole in your intestines. That's going to make you go septic, which will kill you. There's nothing we can do; we don't have the tools to help."

Erika scrambled over and fell to her knees at Richard's side.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I know you wanted to leave and I made you stay." Erika grabbed Richard's hand and held it to her lips.

"It'll be okay. You'll make it okay. I know," Richard said.

"Do you want to go back to your room? Be more comfortable?" Celine asked.

"No," Richard grunted.

He struggled to sit up and Beth helped him while Celine attempted to force him back down. From her peripheral vision Beth could see most of the crowd clumped up around them, but she didn't see Norman or Chuck—had they run? Beth put the thought out of her head because right now Richard was the priority.

"Beth, may I see your gun?"

She nodded and passed over the weapon, then moved out of the way, shouting at the horrified faces surrounding them to move back.

"You can't!" Celine eyes were wide and shining. "You can't do that!"

"I never took an oath to do no harm. What can we give him? Aspirin?" Beth said.

"See you on the other side, Erika."

Richard put the gun to his temple. A cold sweat slicked his skin and then he closed his eyes.

With the ring of gunfire in her ears again, Beth saw Richard's body slump down while the crowd's noise rose to a fever pitch. Erika's jaw tightened even as it shook, but she gamely helped Beth lay the body down on the carpet. Tight, shaking breaths struggled to fill Celine's lungs and Beth wondered if this was the first time she'd seen someone take their life. It was the first time Beth had seen someone beside herself do so, but when the alternative was becoming a monster, Beth found it didn't bother her. Or maybe, she thought, she simply didn't process things like that anymore.

Beth realized Valerie was speaking again.

"—Has brought you! If you stand with me, come forward now," Valerie barked.

No one moved.

"Cowards! f*cking cowards, all of you," Erika screamed as her fingers tightened on Richard's shirt.

A man struggled through the crowd, breaking free and standing in front of the slaughtered walker. Beth recognized the man as Pyle, who often guarded the back gate. His decision broke the dam, giving others the courage to come forward. Murmurs flowed through the crowd as people moved, landing on one side or the other.

Sides were still being chosen even as someone shouted out, "Oh, f*ck!"

There were walkers at the windows.

Chapter 17: i just need it, to breathe, to feel, to know i'm alive

Chapter Text

It was as if a bomb had gone off. People scattered in all directions. Wrecked hands clawed the glass, pressing, searching, seeking. Beth grabbed an arrow, slotting the notch into the loop as she fought through warm, flailing bodies to reach Daryl. Valerie barked orders above the din, but Beth paid no attention; she needed to get to Clara and Anne!

"Shut up!" Valerie fired a shot into the ceiling.

Beth stopped dead in her tracks, eyes flashing to the windows. A long, streaking crack ran the length of the central window, where the walkers clustered five-deep. She wasn't going to call Valerie stupid, but she had to wonder at the sense in letting off a shot at a time like this, even in such a panic.

"Beth, get Lettie! Greg, Pyle, Daryl, Will, outside! Lead them off and seal up the breach. Erika, here with me. Everyone else, do not move! Do not go for your rooms! Frankie, Arjun—"

Valerie continued barking out orders as Beth took off, feet pounding, for 24B and her helpless daughters. Rounding a corner with too much speed, Beth bumped into a wall, a deep ache starting in her upper arm from the impact. She rubbed at the coming bruise until she stopped, her heart stuttering out a staccato rhythm on her ribs. That stench! At the last second Beth ducked under grabbing, rotting hands, the walker a shock to her system. They were already inside—she needed to reach Lettie now! Dropping her bow, Beth pulled her knife to plunge it through the soft tissue at the junction of the neck and jaw. Rancid blood gushed and Beth flicked it off her blade before sliding it back in its sheath. Her heart pounded, her blood sang, and it was like a thin film peeled from her eyes; she was real; she was alive. Aspen Pointe was a dream and that dream finally ended in a splatter of long-dead brains.

Low growls echoing off the walls spurred her into action again; four more walkers stumbled down the dark hall. Slick hands scrambled for the bow and arrows until her hand slid across her cheek and the bowstring snapped at her inner wrist, leaving a welting, red mark behind. Beth adjusted her stance before firing again; that was two walkers down, but the others were too close and she didn't have enough time to nock and fire another arrow. With a kick she slammed one against the wall, where its head knocked back against the drywall, leaving a dent behind, and shoved the other with enough force to send it stumbling, which gave her time to draw her knife again (how did Daryl make it look so easy, switching from crossbow to knife? The bow was unwieldy in her hands and impossible to shoulder smoothly).

By the time the two walkers slumped dead on the floor her breath thundered into her lungs, each expansion searing in her chest. But she didn't stop to catch her breath. Beth sprinted the last length until she reached Valerie and Lettie's apartment. Her hands grappled on the doorknob, sliding wet over the brass. It took Beth several tries to realize the door was locked.

She slapped her open hand against the door as she cried out, "Lettie! It's Beth, open up, please!"

Cries sounded from inside the space; Beth strained her ears to tease apart the shrill refrains into two separate stands. But then she heard the sickening groan of walkers followed by dull thuds.

Beth threw her weight against the door.

The door didn't budge. Swearing, Beth slammed open the neighboring apartment's door, dashing through then yanking open the sliding doors. She nocked an arrow, loosing it at one of the dead bottlenecked at the outside entrance to 24B. It dropped gracelessly to the ground. Beth let more arrows fly, grabbing back the ones she could reclaim before she was forced to pull her handgun. Gunfire from inside the apartment answered her shots.

When the last walker dropped, Beth picked her way over the bodies. She found Lettie, chest heaving, with a gun in her hands while the twins screamed in the bedroom. Beth rushed to Lettie, hugging her tight.

"Thank you, thank you…" Beth breathed.

"Is Val okay? What happened?" Lettie asked when they drew back.

"She was in the common room," Beth said. "I dunno how the walkers got in."

"I've gotta go find her—Beth, I'm sorry, I gotta go," Lettie babbled before she ran out the door.

Beth went into the bedroom, falling to her knees in front of the bed as shaking hands hovered over her howling daughters.

"Mommy's here… don't cry, little bugs, Mommy's here," she whispered.

Her eyes darted around the room until they settled on a light blanket decorating the wall. Beth ripped it down and used it to secure the girls to her back; she didn't want either of them in the line of fire from the bow—which she hooked over her arm. She needed to get back to the common room; she needed to find Valerie. Was Daryl still out there, fighting against this horde? Her mind whirled in a hundred different directions.

A heavy, sick smell sent her wheeling around and the bow cracked against a soft head.

The walker stumbled back and Beth grabbed the first thing her hands closed around: a thick, weighty statue of two embracing women. The ceramic figure was sturdy enough that it finished the job the bow started, one blow splitting the forehead and smashing the brains within. Although she tried to set the statue down gently, it slipped from her hands and tumbled from the dresser, shattering on contact with the floor.

But Beth was already out the door, jogging down the thankfully empty hallway. A shrill scream from one of the apartments stopped her; she hesitated for the space of a heartbeat and then tried the door. It was unlocked! Beth flung the door aside and fired her handgun twice, killing two walkers about to sink their teeth into Tabitha.

"Are you okay?" Beth demanded of the girl as she grabbed the clammy hand.

Tabitha only sobbed, fat tears leaking from swimming eyes.

"C'mon," Beth said, trying to pull the girl along.

Tabitha couldn't move. The girl's legs refused to support her weight, so Beth was forced to sling one slight arm over her shoulder and drag the girl along, out of the apartment. Beth started for the common room again, hoping the windows held, hoping they hadn't shattered.

Ten walkers blocked the hallway entrance to the common room and she didn't have enough bullets or arrows. Beth jerked her head to check the end of the hall. It was still clear, so she turned and pulled Tabitha along as the walkers, drawn by the twins' screaming, lumbered towards them. Pushing the door open, Beth exited to pure chaos.

A horde of walkers filled the grounds, some streaming into the building through broken doors. It was impossible to tell if more joined them from the outside; endless milling feet trampled the garden and Beth caught sight of a walker shuffling through a lit cooking fire. The walker's long skirt caught and flames licked up the fabric until the whole body burned.

Beth turned her head away, trying to catch sight of the others, but she only saw a sea of the dead.

Tabitha had stopped crying and now stood stiff at Beth's side.

"Tabitha, listen to me," Beth said, "we need to find the others, find your mom, okay?"

The girl nodded with a blank face, leaving Beth unsure of how much she comprehended.

"Stay close to me. Do not let a walker grab you!"

Hoping the girl grasped the seriousness of her warning, Beth started creeping along the building's perimeter, intending to circle around and reach the common room through the other wing and, barring that, the front entrance. She felt the heavy weight of the twins on her back as her eyes raked her surroundings: their squalls caught the attention of every walker in the area. Her hand itched, wanting to head for her bow or gun, but there were too many walkers; she'd run out of ammunition long before making a dent. A rotting hand thrust out, brittle fingers clenching. Beth jumped back, shoving Tabitha behind her as she reached to grapple her gun's grip. There wasn't time to circle around.

"sh*t," Beth muttered. "We gotta run!"

Beth grabbed Tabitha's hand and took off, her feet slapping against grass until they broke around a corner. Shoving a back door open, Beth darted inside as she listened for sounds which meant Tabitha followed behind.

They found themselves in the defunct indoor kitchen, the pantry, and Beth stared over countless walker heads to see Lettie, Valerie, Daryl, and Franny weaving through the horde: Lettie's knife flashed, Valerie bashed heads with her rifle, Daryl switched between using his crossbow as a blunt-force weapon and smashing his knife through skulls, and Franny frantically smacked back the dead with a large skillet. All heads, dead and alive, turned towards Beth when she stepped through the door, drawn by the sound of screaming babies.

"Beth, run!" Daryl's voice ripped from his throat and Beth felt it like an arrow to her heart.

"Get out of here, go!" Lettie screamed.

But Beth pulled out her knife instead because Daryl was there, on the other side of a sea of death, fighting for his life. She shoved Tabitha into a corner—there wasn't time to undo the sling, so all she could do was pray—and pushed forward, taking a page from Franny's book by grabbing a frying pan. Her foot kicked out, her off hand swung the pan, and her knife plunged. Beth did everything she could to keep the walkers at her front, never letting them get near her back.

The twins drew the dead's malicious attention her way and she saw the others surge forward, making use of the walker's distraction. But they were tiring and so was she. Beth's arms quivered and a dead hand almost clamped on her shoulder until she kneed the mushy chest, giving herself precious inches. She couldn't keep this up; her lungs burned and sweat saturated her shirt.

With a thunderous clang, the advancing walkers knocked over prep tables, spilling squash and tomatoes and green beans over the floor. The sound echoed off the walls, bouncing into Beth's head, and she let out a strangled gasp as she saw more walkers pour in from the open interior entrance. There was no way out for Daryl, for Valerie!

"Just go!" Valerie shouted over the din.

Gunfire stuttered just outside and the stream of walkers slowed.

"Get down!" Someone yelled.

They dropped. A spray of automatic fire flashed from the muzzle of a rifle and walkers fell to the ground, crumpling under the weight of their own bodies.

Beth scrambled to her feet when the gunfire ceased, slipping over slick limbs until she crashed into Daryl. Dirty hands gripped either side of her face as he yanked her head towards his, his mouth crushing hers in a searing kiss.

"You are so f*ckin' stupid!" he said when he pulled away.

"I know, I know!" she cried.

He let go of her face and dropped his hands to the twins' heads, fingers running over their fine hair to reassure himself they were alright. Beth pressed her forehead to his chest as she sucked in deep, gasping breaths.

"Arjun, you saved our sh*t," Valerie said, reaching out for the man's hand.

Nodding, Arjun grasped Valerie's forearm while she wrapped her hand around his. He pulled Valerie up as Beth broke away from Daryl to help up Franny. From the far end of the room she heard Tabitha crying. The girl crouched down in the corner with her hands covering her head.

"We need to get her somewhere safe," Lettie said.

"The freezer," Franny suggested in a trembling voice.

Beth looked at the walk-in freezer's entrance and knew it was the best they could do; there was no guarantee anywhere else in the compound was safe. Her heart leapt into her chest as she and Franny guided Tabitha into the dark space. Kneeling down next to Tabitha, Beth handed over her handgun, knowing there were only a few bullets left, but it was all she could give the girl. Carefully unwinding the sling, Beth hugged her squirming, squalling daughters to her chest, peppering their faces with kisses.

"I love you, Clara. I love you, Anne. Mommy loves you. Daddy loves you."

And she handed her daughters to Tabitha.

"We'll come back when it's safe, I promise," Franny said.

Tabitha swallowed, her lips pressing into a thin line as tears slid down her round cheeks. And then the door shut, sealing them in darkness. Franny latched the deadbolt over the door before reaching out to lay a hand on Beth's shoulder. Blinking back tears, Beth forced down her fear, shoving it into the locked box in her mind. If she didn't act now to secure Aspen Pointe, then her daughters were dead no matter what.

When Beth joined the group again, Daryl grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly. He made no promises of the twins' safety because it couldn't be made; the both of them had jobs to do.

Valerie led them out of the kitchen through the back entrance Beth used, squinting in the strong sunlight. Walkers swathed the grounds and Beth smelled something burning, likely from more walkers which had caught on fire. Muscle memory kicked in and the group naturally fell into a loose circle, weapons ready

"Did you close the gate? Was it a breach?" Arjun asked.

"Uh-huh, but I dunno if it'll hold," Daryl said. "sh*t were just open, like someone threw out the damn welcome mat."

"What?" Beth's mind flashed in several directions and she blurted, "Was it Norman?"

"I think so," Valerie said.

"Beth, we need to get to the common room and the armory," Lettie said.

"Erika's still there. The rest should be too, if they've kept their heads," Valerie said.

They made for the front entrance, as Beth had originally tried to do. It was the shortest indoor route to the common room. As they moved, Beth shaded her eyes to check the front gate. She heard the shrieking metal before her eyes comprehended the size of the horde just beyond, pressing at the barrier. Daryl swore beside her; if they didn't redirected the swarm there would be no saving Aspen Pointe; it would be completely overrun.

Something caused the herd surrounding them to shift; the gap they'd been working through began closing, cutting off Lettie, Beth, and Arjun from the others. Beth's knife plunged and Arjun's rifle fired as they tried to fight back to the rest, but the herd surged and they were pushed forward while Daryl, Valerie, and Franny were forced away from the building.

"Go, just go! We need the armory," Valerie shouted.

"I'm not leaving you again," Lettie cried.

"Go!"

Beth grabbed Lettie's shoulder, yanking her back; her mouth moved but she didn't know what she was saying to the young woman. Arjun's rifle clicked empty and they were down to knives, doing anything they could to keep distance between them and the pressing herd, which was angling them away from the front entrance, sending them back the way they came. The unearthly groan of endless walkers drowned out any thought Beth had for her daughters, for Daryl; she was left with nothing but breathless movement.

"Ah!"

Lettie vanished before her eyes, a dead hand grasped like a vice over her ankle. The walker, trampled by its fellows, tripped Lettie and dragged her closer towards its fetid mouth as she screamed and kicked, working to free herself. Arjun shouted and Valerie's scream sliced through the moans of the dead. He lunged forward, clamping his hands on Lettie's arm to drag her back but before he could pull Lettie free, an opportunistic walker dropped to its knees and latched its mouth to Lettie's thigh. A soundless scream opened Beth's mouth as she watched clinging muscle lift from the wound, blood spurting from the gaping tear. Frenzied by the smell of fresh blood, more walkers converged on Lettie.

"Let go!" Beth pulled Arjun back with a grunt of effort.

His hand slipped from Lettie's seizing arm and he fell back onto his ass, leaving them helpless to do anything but watch as Lettie was torn apart, her chest opened and intestines ribboning into countless dead hands. It was a grim thing, when one was glad that someone had their throat torn out so one didn't have to listen to their dying shrieks.

A terrible sound filled Beth's ears; it was Valerie lost in the roiling sea of devastation. It was all Beth could do to force herself to her feet. She had to trust the others to make it through, she had to! Beside her Arjun did the same, rising on shaking legs. They turned away.

With the walkers drawn to the grisly feast, Beth and Arjun created a break large enough to allow them to sprint to the front entrance. Together she and Arjun shoved the doors open along their tracks. They burst through and started for the common room, not stopping to kill walkers—instead Beth beat them back with her bow and Arjun used his rifle similarly. She could see the common room up ahead and then a bullet zinged past her head.

"We're alive!" Arjun shouted, holding up his hands. "Don't shoot, let us in!"

Frankie stepped aside and they collapsed on the floor, breath coming in harsh pants.

"Where's everyone else?"

"Got… got cut off… Lettie's…" Beth screwed up her face and sat up.

"f*ck," Frankie said.

He offered her his hand, which she accepted. Blood rushed from her head, sending her wheeling, but Beth shrugged off the supporting gesture from Frankie when she saw the common room's state.

People clustered in small groups, at least the uninjured ones did. The sparkling glass littering the room from shattered windows, surrounded by a pile of crumpled walkers, proclaimed the means of injury. Celine moved from patient to patient like an automaton, unable to do anything besides make the bitten more comfortable. Above all this Erika stood watch like a sentinel, occasionally letting off a shot at walkers which wandered too close to the windows.

And sat on the fireplace beside her, shaking like an alcoholic without a drink, was Norman.

Beth's vision whited out for a moment and when she could see again, she was halfway across the room, her blood-stained knife raised. Instead of continuing on her warpath, she turned on her heel and strode over to Celine, joining her in helping move a convulsing Macy into a recovery position; the woman bled heavily from a gaping neck. Her breath gurgled wet in her ruined throat.

"This is what it's like?" Celine's voice was a sad, tiny thing, like the cry of a beaten dog.

"Yes," Beth said, locking eyes with her former mentor.

"God," Celine breathed.

Her head dropped.

And then, placed away from the others, Beth saw Schmidt, still as death on the ground. His hands were folded on his chest as if he were already dead, but Beth caught enough movement that she knew he breathed.

"No, no, oh, no," Beth whimpered, scrambling to her feet.

She ran to the old man, falling down beside him. His breath barely rose in his chest and his skin was ashen; Beth's knees squelched on the carpet as she moved the sheet covering his lower body aside. Beth jerked the sheet back in place.

His lower body had been devoured.

"Erika," Beth called and then again, louder, "Erika!"

The woman turned, saw where Beth was, then shook her head. So Beth drew her knife and lifted Schmidt's head with one hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Beth said.

The knife blade resisted going in and Beth pressed harder until finally something gave way and Schmidt's breathing stilled. Beth couldn't say if the tears wetting her eyes were for Schmidt alone.

But there were other people to tend to.

When Beth saw Daryl and Valerie emerge from the hallway she leapt to her feet, leaving Wanda struggling to breathe on the ground; there was nothing she could do for the woman now besides putting a bullet in her brain. Daryl, streaked with gore and sweat, vibrated in his rage while Valerie cowed anyone who looked her way with the barrel of her rifle; no one needed to know it was actually empty. Behind them came Franny, limping along until she fell into Eileen's arms. Beth unshouldered her bow, joining the pair as they strode up to Norman.

The man turned; Daryl drew his fist back and launched it into Norman's face. Erika and Beth raised their weapons, keeping them trained on Norman, ready to intervene if needed. The man's head knocked back from the blow, even as his hands came up, grappling against Daryl's vest. With a shout ripped from his throat, Daryl threw the man up against the brick of the fireplace.

"Daryl! Stop, stop right now!" Celine shrieked, dashing up to join the fray.

"Back the f*ck off!" Valerie spun on her heel and drove the barrel of the rifle into Celine's chest. "I'll f*cking kill you!"

"You cost lives today!" Daryl roared. "Lettie's dead 'cause of you! My goddamn daughters came this close to—you sunuvabitch!"

His ragged hands closed around Norman's neck.

"You're killing him!" Celine screamed.

And he was. Norman's face purpled, his tongue poking out from between bloodied lips. Beth impassively watched as the man's eyes bulged from their sockets, as he gagged on his own crushed windpipe, while Daryl's fingers wrenched tighter. Good, she thought.

Norman's knee came up, driving deep into Daryl's gut. When Daryl doubled over, gasping for breath, Norman pried the choking hands away and brought two clenched fists down onto Daryl's head, sending him sprawling on the floor. A rib-cracking kick followed until Beth wheeled back and struck Norman with her bow. She then raised it and let fly, the arrow burying itself in Norman's shoulder, missing his heart by a few inches.

She'd been aiming for his heart. Maybe it was better this way, she thought, as Norman dropped to his knees sputtering; twitching spider hands hovered around the protruding arrow. Celine glared at Valerie, lifting her chin as if daring Valerie to shoot her before she moved and knelt next to Norman, hands reaching out for him.

"If anyone has a problem, f*cking leave!" Valerie shouted.

Pairs of frightened, glassy eyes stared back at them. Daryl, having now pulled himself back to his feet, stormed his way through the crowd to the armory, grabbing Peter by the collar and dragging the man along like a reluctant dog.

"Open it," he rasped. "Open it!"

Peter's hands shook so hard he could barely unlock the door.

"Frankie, Greg, Bert," Valerie jerked her head towards the open armory.

"We just wanted to be good," Celine said in a cracked voice as she worked to stem the bleeding from Norman's chest.

"You can't be. If you want to live, you can't be," Erika said as she brought her rifle to a ready position now the immediate threat had passed.

Daryl emerged first from the armory, two rifles on his back, one of which he handed to Beth. The rest of the men came out, holding as many weapons as they could carry.

"We need to clear the grounds and secure the gate! If you know how to use a gun, come forward now!" Valerie barked.

No one moved.

"Move your asses!" Daryl raised his rifle and the crowd jerked to their feet.

An orange flicker from the left wing stopped everyone in their tracks.

"Fire!" someone screeched.

"f*ck." Beth's wild eyes found Daryl's. "The girls!"

And she was off, feet pounding as she ran for the pantry, hoping beyond hope that Daryl was behind her because they needed to leave! Sweat streaked down her face as smoke filled the air, bringing back all the sucking feelings of her survival going up in flames. The rifle popped up and she fired on a clump of walkers stuck in the doorway. Jumping over the bodies, Beth ran towards the freezer—her heart leapt into her throat—with its intact door, even as it was surrounded by geeks. A spray of fire dropped the walkers. Hands scrabbled on the deadbolt and then she was ripping open the door to find Tabitha, Clara in her arms and Anne on the floor and Beth's gun lying forgotten beside her, staring up at Beth's wild appearance with her face frozen in a rictus of a scream.

"We need to go!"

Beth yanked Tabitha to her feet, grabbed the screeching Anne and her gun from the floor, and she ran, heading for her apartment. Aspen Pointe was falling. It could not be saved. Tabitha, desperate for direction, ran beside Beth until they reached the door, dodging the dead instead of engaging them. Beth shoved the door open, making straight for the bedroom and the supplies for the twins stashed underneath the bed.

Crackling flames sounded from the hall and she knew they couldn't go back the way they came. Beth shouldered the pack as she headed for the sliding door, twirling around while drawing her knife and plunging it into a soft walker head. A spray of dark blood coated her hand and splattered Anne's head; yet more walkers streamed through the broken glass of the sliding door. Her knife plunged again as she adjusted her grip on Anne. There were too many outside!

With a crack part of the ceiling fell in, flames dancing from the broken pieces. Beth bodily kicked Tabitha forward as she attempted to fumble her rifle from her shoulder with one hand to shoot down the walkers blocking the way.

"Move, get down!"

Daryl's voice stopped Beth and she ducked, dragging Tabitha down with her. A sharp, ear-crushing bang sounded and then the milling mass of flaming walkers outside the apartment exploded. On her feet once again, Beth saw Daryl with one of the armory's rocket launchers on his shoulder, with Valerie behind him spraying fire into the melee.

"C'mon, c'mon!"

They ran forward, out of the flames and into the humid evening, Beth struggling to keep hold of the thrashing Anne. Tabitha, surrounded by their bodies, was pushed along whether she wanted to move or not. With deadly precision Valerie cut down walkers and Daryl, having abandoned the rocket launcher, let out a more restrained barrage of fire, hitting the walkers further ahead to clear the way.

Beth followed the narrow path to the cottages, breaking through the door to one of the residences. Valerie slammed the door shut behind them and helped Daryl pull a table in front of the door.

Pulling a spare sling from the pack, Beth strapped Anne to her chest while Daryl wasted no time plucking Clara from Tabitha's trembling hands. He tied the baby to his chest then took stock of the main building from the window. The whole structure, now engulfed in flames, started collapsing from the roof. A steady, unending crowd of walkers stumbled towards the incandescent blaze, only to be blown back when the munition inside the armory exploded. The shockwave shattered the windows even at this distance and left Beth's ears ringing.

"Mom!" Tabitha gasped out.

"She's gone," Valerie snapped as she put a semi-auto in the girl's hands.

"We need to go, now! It's over, Tabitha," Beth said.

Quickly Beth situated herself, the pack and her bow on her back, Anne secured on her front, and the rifle in her hands. Daryl dumped several boxes of ammunition into the pack from a bag flung over Valerie's shoulder. Exiting the house through the back door, the motley group sneaked towards the wall, too high to climb over but which provided cover on one side.

Tabitha's hand shook on the handgun and she kept letting out tiny whimpers, like the kind a child would make. She hadn't fired yet and when a walker lunged towards her, the girl threw the gun itself at the thing before darting back towards the fray.

"Dumbass!" Daryl hissed.

"Tabitha! Get back, come back here!" Beth pleaded.

Daryl fired and dropped the walker but there was nothing they could do for Tabitha, who tried to juke past a thick clump of the dead. Hands grabbed at her, pulling the screaming girl into the mass, and blood sprayed until the scream was cut short. Beth blinked at the spot where Tabitha had been and her eyes slid to the wet grass where she now lay, unrecognizable and twisted.

They couldn't linger. The wails of the twins drew more and more walkers towards them and they needed to reach the back gate!

At the gate Valerie and Beth fired into the growing crowd drawing ever closer as Daryl alternately fired into the gathered walkers between the bars while working it open. When there was enough room to push through, they broke into the mass, firing until their guns clicked empty. Beth grabbed her knife and wrapped an arm around Anne while she kicked walkers back, stomping her heel into skulls; Valerie shoved in her knife or beat in heads with the butt of her rifle. They were drenched in sweat, breathing hard, eyes roving and wild, looking for a way out.

"Go, go!" Daryl flung his arm out, illuminating a break they could fight their way past, if they stayed smart.

When the three burst through they didn't stop, they kept going for the bank, for the thick-walled vault which would damp the babies' cries.

It wasn't until they'd ensconced themselves inside the vault, until they'd fallen to the floor panting, that Valerie curled up into a ball and sobbed.

"She's gone… She's gone…"

Chapter 18: i'm a cigarette rolling down an empty road

Chapter Text

All through the long night people trickled into the bank from Aspen Pointe. First was Arjun, dragging along a bitten Eileen. Then came Erika and Dayvon, the young man wearing a shell-shocked expression. Franny came next, and finally Frankie appeared near dawn, wild and blood-splattered and too agitated to do anything but pace and mutter. Beth slid her knife through Eileen's open, staring eye shortly after the sun broke past the horizon.

No one spoke, only taking drinks of water or coughing occasionally to clear smoke from their lungs. Clara and Anne screamed, unable to be consoled, until they passed out right before Frankie's arrival, their small faces bright red and strained. Beth spent most of her time with her arm pressed against Daryl's tense one; if she didn't have his touch she thought she would be something else, a zombi, what Valerie called the walkers. A body made to do someone else's bidding, her soul captured and trapped by this evil world. She wondered if Daryl felt the same. Instead of speaking, he held Clara against his chest, hand rhythmically patting her back, as if he could reassure himself she was alive and well in that fashion alone.

Valerie hadn't unfurled from her huddled, crumpled crouch, meaning the people turned to Daryl with expectant faces. He swallowed, looking back out at the soot-streaked visages while Valerie's sobbing echoed through the vault. Beth brushed her hand against his.

"Goin' back to the mountains, Beth an' me," he said, voice rough and low. "Were always my plan if sh*t went south. You can come. Or not. I don't care."

"You killed Norman just to take over! Now you're going to abandon us?" Dayvon demanded.

"No one owes you anything, bootlicker," Frankie muttered.

"Never wanted to lead you dipsh*ts," Daryl said. "You ain't my family. It ain't my job."

An uncomfortable ripple ran through the group, the eyes of the survivors sliding to meet others as they came to understand the precarious position they occupied. None of them were a cohesive unit, as the prison group had been; most of them hardly knew one another beyond a casual rapport. They had all looked to Valerie for leadership as she pursued common interests, but now that consensus had been unwittingly transferred to Daryl, as much as he wasn't looking for such a burden.

"This is all your fault! All of it!" Dayvon stepped towards Daryl, his fist coming back until Erika grabbed it and the fight went out of him.

"Don't, baby," Erika said. "Just don't."

Beth blinked. It had been Dayvon all this time? That was who Erika needed to protect?

"The mountains are safer. There's fewer walkers," Beth said.

"Let's get outta here. I don't care where," Frankie said.

Daryl nodded and Beth began directing people to gather up the stashed items from around the vault. While they pulled together water and food, Beth knelt down next to Valerie, reaching out her hand. The woman flinched back, her eyes blazing.

"Don't touch me!"

"Alright," Beth said, holding up her hands, "but we're leavin'. Have a little bit of water before we go, okay?"

Going back towards Daryl, Beth brushed her hand against his before kneeling down to sort through the pack. Enough food for the both of them for a few days, the rolled up tarp for a quick tent, a wool blanket made by Eileen, spare diapers and a spare outfit each for the twins, a couple hundred rounds of ammunition, a hatchet, and a bottle of whiskey. The rest of the supplies were mostly weapons, which Beth felt was a vast oversight on their part now that she was faced with walking away from Aspen Pointe.

Rifles and guns clicked as they were checked over and loaded, clothing rustled as people shouldered packs, and soft sniffles echoed as Eileen's body was wrapped up by Franny.

Everyone's eyes landed on Daryl. He nodded sharply and put his back to them, then pushed the vault's heavy door open. Beth fell into line beside him, checking to make sure Valerie was with them. And she was with them, leaning heavily against Erika's good side, her eyes puffy and red. Frankie brought up the rear with Eileen's body cradled in his arms.

After scouting the area outside the bank's front, they started east in the early dawn. Eileen was laid to rest under a spreading oak tree; not buried as they had no shovels, but arranged carefully and her name carved into the bark by Arjun to mark her final resting place. As the sun rose higher in the sky the ragged group continued on, making their way to another safehouse Daryl scouted a while back, an old but sturdy brick elementary school.

The school was around half a day's walk away, if conditions were good, from what Daryl had told her. Beth expected to reach the school by sunset, considering there was now an exhausted group of mixed ages heading for the building, rather than two unladen, fit people. Indeed, by the time the flagging group circled around the front entrance, the sun hung low in the sky and Beth's feet, softened after a few months of relative rest, ached.

While the school as a whole hadn't been cleared, the kitchen could easily be secured yet offered multiple exits, and it was directly next to the front entrance of the school, as well as the cafeteria. The cafeteria itself boasted a wall full of windows, barely above walker reach but low enough a person could jump from them without too great a risk. Daryl singled out Frankie and Erika to follow him inside, passing off Clara to Franny. Beth took her bow from her shoulder, making ready to fire in case any walkers appeared.

When the doors opened again it was Frankie who emerged, dragging out two walkers by the ankle.

"Got a few more dead ones coming out, but it's clear," he said to them.

So the remainder of the group filed inside, making their way to the school's kitchen. Once the last of the walkers had been removed, Arjun and Daryl secured the doors into the cafeteria while the rest of them cleared what they could from the kitchen to make enough floor room for the group. Erika pulled some of the beans and pickled vegetables from their supplies, making up a poor version of three-bean salad for their meal.

In a corner of the kitchen, Beth bathed Clara and Anne with Franny's assistance, drying their bottoms thoroughly. In yesterday's confusion neither of them had been changed when they needed to be and today showed the beginnings of diaper rash. Beth applied a little bit of the salve she'd brought along to help protect the sensitive areas from further irritation.

At some point soon she would need to boil the cloth diapers she'd brought, or search and hope they found disposable diapers along the way.

As the group settled in for the night, Valerie volunteered to take first watch in the cafeteria. No one objected. Beth expected Daryl to join the woman before too long; his shoulders were tense and she could tell he needed to get away, but for now he sat next to her while she nursed the girls, his fingers tapping on his knees.

Across the room Erika talked quietly to Dayvon. Daryl's eyes focused on the young man, Norman's second, and Beth knew exactly how Daryl felt. She was still surprised herself that Erika cared so much for the man.

"Doin' alright?" Daryl asked her, real low.

"Well as I can be," she said. "Are you? With everyone lookin' to you?"

The fingers tapped faster.

"Hopin' Val will get it together soon. She's better at this sh*t," he said.

"You're just as good as her," Beth said.

"Don't care if I am. Don't want that responsibility, for makin' calls what could get folks killed," Daryl muttered.

Beth thought maybe he was right, because if someone died under his watch again, following his orders, it might break him.

"They chose you. Chose followin' you. Whatever happens, you'll do what you can to get us where we're goin'. I know it."

"Got too much faith in me," Daryl said.

"I got exactly the right amount," Beth said. She handed over Anne to him to be coddled, signing "daddy" to the baby, more determined than ever to have the babies learn the signs.

The baby was unsettled by the change in routine and by life outside the quiet walls, so she fussed and cried, unwilling to allow herself to sleep. Being held by Daryl often lulled Anne to sleep, but tonight she only gummed on his finger while wearing a mopey expression. Beth had better luck with Clara, who dropped right off to sleep in Beth's arms after eating.

"Lady, you gotta close those eyes," Daryl said low after fifteen or so minutes of getting slobbered on.

"You need to sleep, bug," Beth said. "Are you cuttin' a tooth?"

"Feels like it," Daryl scoffed when Anne gave his finger a particularly vengeful chomp.

"Let's just lay you down. It's time to sleep, Ladybug. Say night-night." Beth picked up Anne to lay her down beside her sister.

Anne continued fussing and Daryl moved to pick her up again until Beth put her hand over his.

"She'll be fine, we're right here next to her," Beth said quietly. "She's gotta cry it out."

Daryl looked down at Anne, flailing her fists around as she hiccuped through sobs, then returned his gaze to Beth and nodded, though there was a tense set to his jaw.

Like the baby, even though everyone in the group was exhausted, no one fell easily into sleep. They were all unused to the road after so long off it and the rustle of turning bodies filled the kitchen. Beth softened during her time at Aspen Pointe, coddled by her comfy mattress, and she paid for it now. True to her prediction Daryl joined Valerie in the cafeteria not too long after, so Beth only had her daughters next to her to cuddle. Luckily once they slept, they slept well, so after feeding them in the middle of the night, Beth volunteered to take over watch from Valerie, while Dayvon offered to relieve Daryl.

"Frankie," Daryl said simply, shooting down Dayvon's offer.

So Beth and Frankie left the kitchen to patrol along the edges of the cafeteria. Beth didn't mind Frankie; she hoped his strange brand of levity would do her some good.

"How the f*ck is it still this hot with the sun down?" he asked Beth as they peered through overgrown bushes. "sh*t, I guess I can't be bitching. Only difference between here and New York is it don't smell like hot garbage."

Beth let out a little laugh and crossed the room to watch the street. Frankie wiped at his forehead and rested his rifle against the wall. Lifting his hair off the back of his neck, he fanned at his face as if that would help him cool off.

"I miss the trash smell. Miss my closet of an apartment. I miss f*cking kebabs."

"I don't miss much. Not anymore. Hurts too bad to miss it all," Beth said.

Frankie sighed and picked up his rifle again.

"Always thought you were a dumb broad, having kids," Frankie said. "But I don't, now. You were something else back there."

"Bless your heart," Beth said, rather wryly.

"Did you just Southern-insult me?"

"Maybe."

Frankie chuckled.

"Hey… been wanting to ask this for a while… are they Daryl's? Because, man, I gotta say—"

He jerked back, a grunt escaping his lips as a bullet ripped through his shoulder.

"sh*t!" Beth dropped to the floor, crawling to Frankie and pressing her hand over his mouth to stifle his scream.

Beth pulled him up to check for an exit wound and, once she found one, pressed Frankie's hand onto the bleeding hole. She peeked her head over the windowsill, catching sight of three figures making their way towards the cafeteria. Gunfire stuttered. Another bullet pinged off the metal frame and Beth, shielding herself with the cinder block, returned fire.

"Beth!" Daryl's voice hissed.

"I count three, can't make out anything else," Beth whispered.

Turning, she found Arjun, Valerie, and Daryl crouched beside her, having crawled over from the kitchen. Daryl chanced a glance over the edge and dropped back when a spray of bullets shattered the glass above him.

"I know you're in there, you son of a bitch!" Norman shouted. "I should've turned you out the second I laid eyes on your jacked-up face!"

"You shot him; I saw you shoot him!" Arjun's finger slipped over the trigger of his rifle as he made ready to spring up from behind cover.

"Guess I didn't finish the job!" Beth snapped.

"Then I'm going to f*cking end it!" Valerie said, eyes cold as the heart of a glacier.

Valerie jolted up, rifle pointing lightning quick. The muzzle flashed and one of the people beside Norman dropped. She was behind cover again before Norman could retaliate. Another tat-tat-tat of automatic fire broke more windows, sending glass raining down on their heads. Frankie groaned on the ground and Beth shouldered her rifle to check on him.

"Frankie, you need to put more pressure on it! I know it hurts," Beth said.

"Arjun, the table! Help me push it up. Beth, Val—" Daryl started.

"Got it," Valerie said.

So Daryl and Arjun turned a lunch table on its side, pushing it up against the window. The movement drew fire from Norman and his companion, while Beth and Valerie popped up, taking advantage of the distraction to fire on their assailants. Both dropped to the ground. Getting behind cover again, Daryl pushed himself up against the table, checking to make sure neither Norman or his companion rose.

"Clear," he said.

"Arjun, help me get Frankie back to the kitchen," Beth said.

With Arjun's help, Beth got Frankie to the safety of the kitchen. Quickly Beth grabbed one of the clean diapers from her pack, pressing it into the hole in Frankie's shoulder. While the bullet appeared to have missed anything vital, the wound still needed to be disinfected and dressed once the bleeding was staunched.

"What's going on out there?" Franny demanded.

She had Clara bundled up in her arms while Erika held Anne, both of them ready to run if they needed to.

"Norman followed us here," Beth said.

"How? The whole goddamn place blew up!" Dayvon said.

"Break camp, we might need to cut an' run," Beth said as she used a strip of fabric cut from Frankie's shirt to tie the diaper in place.

"But you got him, right?" Franny said.

"We got him, but there's still walkers to deal with," Beth said.

She sat Frankie up and told him to not move his arm now that the bleeding had been staunched. More gunfire came from the cafeteria and Dayvon ran out the door, finger on the trigger of his handgun, the same one which was used to shoot Richard.

Arjun came striding into the kitchen shortly after and said, "The cannibals are building up on the walls. Beth, Daryl needs you and your bow. Erika, you've got a knife, come on. No more guns."

"Franny, will you..?"

"Yes, of course," Franny said, getting onto the floor so Erika could hand over Anne.

In the dark, echoing cafeteria Beth joined Daryl in firing on the collected geeks through the windows until she was out of arrows. Then she moved in with the others, plunging her knife into heads, reclaiming what arrows she could, but the dead were too many and their groaning only drew more from the shadows. Beth's hand tightened on her knife as she saw the furthest walkers climb over the backs of their fellows on the ground, a ramp of putrid, decaying flesh paving the way for them.

"sh*t!" Arjun shouted, jumping back from a walker crawling through the window, its face catching on glass and tearing flesh.

"We gotta go!" Valerie said.

Walkers dropped through the broken glass, falling on each other, breaking limbs and rolling forward in a growling tangle of dead flesh.

Everyone turned, each person scattering in different directions: Beth and Erika for the kitchen, Daryl and Arjun and Dayvon for the barricaded door while Valerie covered their retreat. Erika yelped as dead hands grabbed at her ankle and Beth watched in horror as loose, deadly teeth crunched into her leg. Swearing, Erika drew her knife and plunged it into the walker's head, then jerked her leg free.

"Got my prosthesis," she panted. "Go, I'll hold them back!"

While Erika fired off shots to keep the horde at bay, Beth ran to the kitchen, where she grabbed bags and pulled Frankie to his feet. Then they were out the door, Frankie breathing hard as he let off a few shots, grunting each time the rifle recoiled against his injured shoulder.

Daryl chivvied everyone through the door, eyes locking with Beth's as she passed—her breath caught in her chest at the look they shared—and then they were making for the front entrance and skirting behind the school. Valerie took point, her military training coming through in how she moved, how she held her rifle. Franny, carrying both the twins, was protected in the middle of their loose circle.

"Make north for the firehouse," Valerie snapped out. "Two blocks north and one block east!"

Their course now set, they made their way to the firehouse, trying to keep their gunfire at a minimum. Beth brought up the rear while Daryl cleared the way ahead, and Dayvon and Erika broke to reach out with their knives while Frankie leaned on Arjun. The twins cried but there was nothing Beth or Franny could do at the moment to soothe them; they would need to get used to gunfire and chaos because that was the real world they’d been brought into.

At the firehouse, the group pressed themselves against the brick wall, drenched in sweat and breathing hard as they kept their eyes ahead. Daryl and Valerie had secured the firehouse some time back and now entered to check that it was still so, Arjun and Dayvon lifting up the rolling door a few feet which gave the two enough room to duck underneath. Beth’s shoulders tensed when she heard grunts of effort coming from the echoing, empty space.

But Daryl banged on the metal twice, saying, “Clear.”

Once the rest of the members had crawled underneath the door and it was pulled shut again, Beth helped lug the corpses of a few walkers into the farthest corner of the desolate enclosure. The garage, clear of firetrucks, sent back every sound made; so much so that Beth feared the crying of the twins was amplified enough to draw every walker for miles.

“You gotta shut those babies up!” Arjun hissed as he moved a metal cupboard in front of the rolling door.

But the babies were too unsettled, too frantic, to even want to nurse when Franny handed them over.

“Junebug, you gotta hush up!” Beth whispered desperately to Clara. “Hush!”

“Zombis on the door,” Valerie said, stretching to see through the rounded windows at the top of the door. “Daryl, can you get them from here?”

The clanging echo of the walkers against the light doors seemed like a shriek from a devil. As Daryl crossed the echoing space to see if he could shoot the walkers from the safety of their supposed haven, the doors bulged with the weight of the walkers against them, fiberglass panels cracking. The moaning of death beyond the walls grew louder, sneaking viciously into Beth's veins. She continued, in vain, her attempts to quiet the twins.

"Brace!" Arjun shouted. "It's gonna come down!"

A discarded cardboard box became a temporary crib for the twins; leaving them alone, howling and red-faced, inside the container felt like tying a noose around her neck. Beth yanked Frankie to his feet, ignoring the way blood drained from his face. As one the group shoved against the door, shoulders pressing and legs straining against the horde. Daryl's neck corded as he strained besides Beth; her arms shook while her fingernails scraped a path through the gel coat. The fiberglass cracked again, the sound low and desperate in the same way Frankie prayed on Beth's other side.

"... Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death… Hail Mary, full of grace…"

"Hold the line!" Valerie ran from the door, vanishing into the depths of darkness in the space's recesses.

Gunfire stuttered, growing softer and then louder, as Valerie, now outside, fought her way to the clump breaking down the door. Muzzle flashes dazzled through the rounded windows inset in the door and the press lessened. Arjun spun his rifle on its strap and dashed to join Valerie outside. Sweat slid down Beth's face, stinging her eyes. Her arms shook more violently now, wobbling like a newborn colt's all while the desperate cries of the twins pierced her chest.

Slowly the door creaked back into place. While Dayvon, Frankie, and Daryl continued bracing, Beth helped Erika and Franny drag the rest of the furniture into place, including several long benches and a row of lockers. The gunfire came more erratically now in short bursts directed away from the doors.

Beth raised her burning eyes to Daryl's and something hard and aching constricted her chest. She thought he must feel it too with the way his chest hitched. She wanted to run with him like they had after the prison's fall, until her lungs burned and her legs wouldn't hold her. She wanted to push him to the floor and have him, ride his co*ck until she couldn't tell where she ended and he began. She wanted to curl into his chest and sob like a broken child, sob like her daughters sobbed. But she did none of these things. Instead, she took his hand in hers, fingers tightening like a vice until the scars on his palm laced with hers.

As adrenaline ebbed from their bodies, Erika slid bonelessly onto the floor, covered her face with her hands, and screamed.

Beth was glad someone did it.

Sunrise fell upon a small collection of stiff, sore, and exhausted people. Beth blinked into awareness, forced awake by the bright light stinging her eyes. Daryl’s head had dropped into her lap at some point during the night, while the twins slept safely in the wide, low cardboard box scrounged up to become their bed, their faces crusted with dried tears. One of Daryl’s legs was bent and the crossbow rested against it; on his other leg lay Erika and Dayvon’s heads, the two having commandeered his thigh as a pillow. Frankie slept propped up beside Beth because his shoulder pained him too much to lay down. Franny used his gut as her pillow, her thin body curled up against his side.

Beth looked up when shadows crossed her face and saw Valerie and Arjun pacing in front of the doors, rifles within easy reach on their shoulders. Valerie’s sharp ears caught something and she turned, looking over to Beth.

“Have you slept?” Beth asked softly.

Valerie shook her head.

Daryl stirred, blinking open gummy eyes. He looked down at himself, confused as to why his leg had become a bed. He gave his trapped leg a little shake, waking Erika and Dayvon, who groggily pulled themselves up and stretched, wide yawns splitting their faces. Reaching her hand over, Beth checked Frankie’s forehead, but she couldn’t tell if he was warm from fever or because of the heat already pouring into the empty garage.

“I need to go out and find some medicine for Frankie,” Beth said, low, to Daryl.

He sat up and cracked his neck, then nodded, fishing a bottle out of the bag. After grabbing the bottle and letting her fingers linger over his, Beth found a secluded, out of the way spot behind some dusty equipment. Sitting cross legged on the floor, Beth took off her shirt and bra and set to expressing milk into the bottle. It wouldn’t be very long until the twins woke up with everyone futzing around the garage, but now was the best time for her to look for plants which would help Frankie heal, before they started on the road again.

“Hey, Beth?” Erika started saying. “Oh, God, your boobs are out—I'm sorry!”

“What d’you need?” Beth asked, shifting around slightly so her back was to Erika.

“Just… just wanted to see what we should do for breakfast, but you’re busy, so… I can figure it out. Sorry.”

“I’m sure you’ve got it,” Beth said.

Left alone once again, Beth quickly finished up and capped the bottle with a nipple. She came out to the main area and handed the bottle over to Daryl, then grabbed her bow and rifle. Beth put her hand to his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. It felt as if they were still running, feet pounding to take them away from a coming storm, because none of them had a chance to sit and process the fall of Aspen Pointe, to come to terms with the losses they’d suffered, to comprehend that Norman had abandoned his lofty ideals to come and murder Daryl and Valerie and Beth for their roles in the community's fall. It would come in time, and it would be devastating.

Daryl’s hand came up, covering hers, his fingers circling around her palm.

“I’ll be back in fifteen,” Beth said.

He nodded.

Crossing the room, Beth sidled up to Valerie. The woman looked sidelong at her and Beth wished there was something, anything, she could say to ease her pain. Valerie’s eyes were hollow, dead things in her normally lively face.

“I’m goin' out to get some things for Frankie. Would you like to come with?”

“Okay,” Valerie agreed.

So Arjun lifted one of the rolling doors enough for Beth and Valerie to army crawl underneath. They stood up and breathed in the humid, late summer air, hovering as mist on the streets. The road before them stood empty besides the slain walkers from the night. Beth retrieved the arrows she couldn’t gather the night before and started off, eyes open for any plants which purportedly possessed healing properties.

“Are these really going to work? To keep him from getting an infection?” Valerie asked as Beth searched overgrown lawns and medians.

“Maybe,” Beth said. She spotted a creeping cluster of purslane inching its way across the parking lot of a post office building and gathered several large handfuls for them to have with whatever Erika concocted for breakfast. “It’s better than nothin'.”

“I guess,” Valerie said.

“Are you okay… with headin' into the mountains?”

Valerie shrugged.

“I’m going wherever you’re going.”

“You didn’t have anywhere else in mind?”

“No. Now that Lettie’s…” Valerie took in a tight breath against her crumpling face and shook her head. “Those places don’t seem right. Not without her by my side.”

Kneeling down, Beth gathered up the broad plantain leaves clustered by the sidewalk.

“You… always think, ‘My sister’s so annoyin'. I wish she’d stop bein' so stupid. Why can't she leave me alone?’ But that's a luxury, thinkin' that way—somethin' from the world before. Because when you realize what you've lost… it's like part of you died with her," Beth said.

"I never would've stayed there…" Valerie's hands tightened on her rifle. "I stayed for her, because that's what she needed! Other people, connections, a chance at something real. Seeing her, how she was out here, compared to how she was before… I couldn't stand it.

"The damage had already been done for me. I'd already changed like that. But seeing it in her… that's an older sister's job, right? To protect her baby sister from pain? I took that pain for her because I thought it was right. I thought I needed to protect America from the threat out there. God. So stupid! I could have had so many more years with her if I hadn't gone to that sandbox slaughterhouse!

"She became me, as I was. It killed me, Beth, it f*cking killed me. And because I didn't like seeing who she was becoming, I kept us at Aspen Pointe, even though I knew it was dangerous, that they wouldn't…"

Valerie bent over her knees and moaned, tears darkening the knees of her jeans as they fell.

Beth knelt down next to Valerie, putting her hand on her shaking shoulder.

"There's no right or wrong anymore. Things just… happen. Lettie's loss wasn't because of you. You tried so hard… and she knew that. Knew you loved her enough to not want her to become somethin' hard… cold. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you lost her. I lost my sister, too."

Beth wrapped her arms around Valerie, knowing her words meant nothing, because in the devastation of loss everything was meaningless. All which existed was her arms, her touch, letting Valerie know that she was there in this moment.

When Valerie pulled away she offered Beth a watery smile which was blown off her face by a bullet ripping across her cheek.

The gunshot echoed between empty buildings and the two women dropped to the ground, Beth's heart in her throat until Valerie began crawling to the metal post office box for concealment. Beth followed, several more bullets biting into the concrete by her feet. She pulled herself up behind the box and drew her rifle, laying down a spray of suppressing fire in the direction the shots came from.

Valerie cried out beside her and then Beth saw stars from a blow to the head, her gun falling from her hands.

Coming to her senses again, Beth saw Valerie slumped against the post office box, face slick with blood issuing freely from a new gash along her forehead. Beth became aware of someone trying to tie her hands, their breath coming loud in her ear, as if they were crouched behind her. Gritting her teeth, Beth knocked her head back. Though the resulting collision did nothing for the pain in her head, she heard the satisfying clunk of her captor's skull smacking into sheet metal.

"f*ck," a voice said and Beth knew it was Norman.

Norman crept out from behind Beth and shoved her against the post office box with the flat of his hand, fingers clawing her face, and the impact sent her teeth rattling while her thoughts scattered. The man looked absolutely wild; his hair was thoroughly streaked with blood, which stained the front of his shirt from the arrow wound Beth had given him. His clothes hung like tattered grave cloth, thick with smeared, congealed deterrent. The next breath Beth took burned in her lungs. Norman was going to kill them.

"C'mon, Chuck, hold her down. I want this bitch to watch," Norman spat, making an imperious gesture with his hands.

Out of the bushes emerged Chuck, though if Norman hadn't said his name Beth wouldn't have recognized him. He'd been seriously burned, his hair a sparse, sticky mat plastered to weeping skin bubbling over the skull. How was the man up and about and not prostrate on the ground, screaming in pain? As Chuck lumbered closer, Beth got her answer. He moved turgidly, as if his muscles had turned to taffy, and he scarcely seemed to breathe. From the one eye she could see, Beth noted the pupil blown wide; Chuck teetered on the cliff's edge of an opioid overdose.

Norman's hand closed around Valerie's collar and he threw her to the ground. Beth tried to scramble to her feet, her thick fingers fumbled at her holster's snap, but searing arms closed around her and even drugged to hell, on the verge of going into shock, Chuck was stronger than her. Beth tried with all her might to remember what Daryl said about escaping this kind of hold, but her thoughts drained from her mind when Norman's sweaty hands clamped to either side of Valerie's head, lifting it before slamming it into the ground. The crack of her skull against the concrete seemed to echo.

"Next time I won't miss." Beth's voice came out as a snake's hiss.

Struggling in vain against Chuck's hold, Beth was forced to watch as Norman continued his assault, Valerie's limp head snapping from side to side from the blows. The only hope Beth had was Daryl coming to look for them; could he find them in time? It was the only thing she had to hold on to!

"I've always prided myself on being feminist," Norman said as if he were talking to an academic colleague. "Woman… man… you destroyed everything I had left! Destroyed it; it's ash! Ash! I'm nothing; I'm a dead man! I—won't—die—because—of—you!"

Someone shrieking with day-glo pink hair emerged from the bushes and cracked a rifle stock against Norman's head. Chuck's grip loosened just enough for Beth to twist free; she pulled her handgun and sighted, her finger depressing the trigger until she'd unloaded a neat cluster into Chuck's chest. The wretched man dropped to the ground and she added another shot to his skull.

Whipping around, Beth came face to face with Celine.

They stared at each other, blue eyes meeting brown like the convergence of two rivers. And then Celine dropped to her knees by Valerie's side. Beth shook hard, like a leaf in the wind. Her eyes darted from bush to tree to building corner as she checked for walkers. Clear, for now.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Beth asked through a thick mouth and she realized she'd bitten through her tongue at some point.

"She's coming around," Celine said. "Can you follow my finger, Valerie? Good. That's good."

"Where is he? Where's that f*cking bitch?" Valerie vaulted to her feet and tore the rifle from Celine's shoulder.

Without ceremony Valerie pulled the trigger, the report of automatic fire rising like mercury in a thermometer. The first shot killed Norman, who laid crumpled on the ground, still senseless from Celine's blow. The subsequent shots tore through his face until his head was nothing but a pile of bone fragments and mingled skin, brains, and muscle. Beth watched blood seep from the mess as she heard Celine vomit behind her.

"Better death than you deserve." Valerie spat blood and spittle on the body.

The two women turned and helped Celine to her feet. Wiping at her mouth, Celine stared at them with words caught behind her trembling lips.

"I'm sorry," she finally gasped. "I was wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong…"

"It's not a world where you get to make choices," Beth said. "Bein' moral, takin' the high ground… that's gone. It's somethin' new. Somethin' else."

"You can accept that and come with us. If you can't…" Valerie crossed her arms. "You were Norman's agent; you helped him maintain his fantasy, his lie. Lettie's death is your fault too."

"I can't," Celine said, steel entering her spine and straightening it. "But I won't stop you. It's your world out here, not mine."

Valerie's swelling eyes locked with Beth's. She could decide Celine's fate; if she shook her head Celine would be left to confront the grinding, wrenching world alone and would die because of it, but if she nodded then Celine had a sliver of a chance. Beth breathed in. Schmidt had told her she had a kind heart, hadn't he? No, she wouldn't forgive Celine, but she wouldn't be the woman's executioner.

Beth nodded.

A carrying shout made all three women turn; Daryl ran down the street accompanied by Arjun, both ready with their rifles. Beth felt her face and realized how she looked wouldn't reassure Daryl she was okay; maybe she wasn't, but her bruises would heal in time.

"It's okay!" Beth raised her hands as the men skidded to a stop in front of her.

"They're dead and this time we know," Valerie said.

"The f*ck happened—"

"Val, your f*cking face!"

"Enough!" Valerie snapped. She strode to pick up her rifle and slung it over her shoulder alongside Celine's. "I'm going back to the firehouse to sleep. Celine is coming with me."

A blinking Celine followed Valerie's wavering, drunken footsteps until Valerie stumbled and almost fell. Arjun shared a look with Daryl, then jogged to accompany them.

Beth was left alone with Daryl. She looked up through her lashes at him, waiting for his nod. When she got it, after he had shouldered the rifle, Beth ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, pressing her aching face into the junction of his shoulder and neck. His arms wrapped around her as his lips pressed against the top of her head, his nose digging through her hair.

"He wasn't dead. Now he is," Beth said. "Celine saved our lives."

"Beth," Daryl started.

"You gonna lecture me about not puttin' myself in danger for the girls' sake?" she asked, pulling away to bore her eyes into his. "We had no reason to expect this. I shot Norman twice; he was swarmed by walkers! He shoulda—"

"Weren't gonna tell you none of that," Daryl said, real quiet.

He swallowed and his eyes darted away, fixating on the two fallen, mutilated bodies left to the walkers. Beth waited, her head throbbing in time to her heartbeat. Finally, Daryl looked back at her again, steel in the planes of his face, despite the red flush creeping up his neck.

The most fragile smile tugged up the corners of her mouth, against the pain, against the heartache and loss, against the wispy future shimmering before them like a mirage.

"Oh. I love you, too."

Chapter 19: pack up your tents to travel

Chapter Text

There was no way around it. It was hot.

The sun beat down on a lonely road, surrounded by fields stretching for miles in either direction. Some distance away was a small farmhouse, just a triangle peeking above the rise, undulating in the heat waves coming off the road. A blue streak floated on the still air. It emanated from under the hood of a dusty truck, where black leather and embroidered angel wings were visible. Beside the truck lay several desiccated bodies. After a clang, a muffled "f*ck!" and another bang, Daryl straightened up, wiping off his hands on his red rag.

"Try it now," he said to Arjun, who sat in the driver's seat.

Some ways down the road stood Erika and Dayvon and in the opposite direction, Valerie. Beth currently sat in the truck's shadow with Franny, Celine, Frankie, and the twins, trying to keep the babies content and comfortable in the heat. At least, Beth thought, the upside of stopping was she had a chance to wash and sun-dry the diapers. And Frankie needed the break.

His head rested against the truck's side, his eyes closed as sweat trickled sluggishly down his flushed face. The man's normally buoyant curls hung limp and damp while his good hand pressed against his wounded shoulder. Celine continued forcing water down Frankie's throat, seeing as they didn't have antibiotics and none of the plant remedies tried so far by Celine and Beth made a difference.

The truck wheezed a feeble cough and failed to turn over.

"co*cksuckin' piece a sh*t!" Daryl kicked the fender.

"Give the solenoid a good whack instead of the bumper," Arjun suggested dryly.

"You wanna get under the hood, Hoss? Be my f*ckin' guest."

"Fine," Arjun said.

Beth picked up Clara, who had, within the last few days, figured out how to scoot along on her butt by pulling herself with her hands, and brought her back to the shade.

"No, Junebug, stay where it's cooler," Beth said.

She shaded her eyes, looking out into the fields, and figured they'd be here a while, so she might as well make herself useful.

"Let's see if we can find dinner," Beth said to Celine.

Celine nodded. Franny was more than happy to continue resting in the shade with the twins, so Beth grabbed her bag, her rifle, and her bow, then stood. She went to the truck's front to inspect the progress before leaving. Daryl now sat in the driver's seat, feet propped up on the steering wheel and his hands clasped behind his head.

"I'm goin' to forage, see if I can't rustle up somethin' to eat," Beth said. "Maybe scout ahead for water."

"Ain't goin' anywhere," Daryl said, inclining his head towards the hood, from which issued an angry stream of Hindi as Arjun worked.

Beth touched her hand to his knee, giving it a small squeeze. The group was making better progress towards the mountains than Beth and Daryl's first journey out of them, but if the truck didn't start, they'd be stuck on this awful road until Frankie was well again, and without anything in sight to offer hope, things didn't look good.

Celine passed by and Daryl's eyes narrowed as she went. Pursing her lips, Beth gave his knee a shake then jogged to join the woman.

They walked past Valerie, who's shoulders stiffened, but she remained silent. The bruising on her face had subsided except along the healing gashes streaked across her forehead and cheek. Beth's own face was now a camouflage of green and yellow, the marks left on her by Norman fading with her memory of the man. As they walked, Celine kept her head down until they were well past Valerie.

"I'm thinkin' we should go as far as the house," Beth said, pointing to the building. "Likely where we'll stay for the night."

The house was surrounded by a decently sized windbreak, so Beth hoped they'd get lucky and find something good in-between the trees. Maybe they'd even find the remains of a garden in the house's yard. The food brought with from Aspen Pointe was nearly gone, despite careful management and supplementation with wild foods.

The women diverted off the road into the ditch, where a large patch of chickweed crept along the ground. Knives flashed and the plants were so numerous it was easy to grab enough to feed the whole group. Celine, who normally would have expounded at length about chickweed, remained quiet as they worked, which Beth found she didn't mind. Celine's presence kept her on edge and she didn't feel much like talking with the woman who enabled Norman and his delusions.

Once enough chickweed had been gathered, they moved on down the road. Celine pointed out a stand of tall plants with wide, yellow flowers and large leaves.

"Jerusalem artichokes," Celine said. "They'll be a bitch to dig up and make us fart like howitzers, but you get a lot from each plant."

So Beth pulled out the hatchet and began hacking away at the ground, breaking the earth into clumps which Celine pushed aside. Sweat pooled in the small of her back and slid down her chest, but she didn't stop to drink as often as she should have; water was low and Beth didn't know when they'd find more. Without a map of the region they were going blind, completely dependent on Daryl's knowledge of what indicated a creek or river might be present. She knew she doubly needed to stay hydrated to keep the twins hydrated, but another couple hours of mostly adequate water were better than having those hours without.

"C'mere, you little f*cks," Celine muttered as she sawed at the roots.

A sweaty half-hour later they had a few pounds of the tubers and decided to move on into the field. Most of it was dried, parched grasses and inedible weeds, but closer to the windbreak Celine pointed out a low bush Beth had seen in front of houses, heavy with small, oblong red berries.

"This is barberry and the berries are what we want…" Celine explained how to identify the plant as they pulled the small fruits from the shrub and deposited them in an empty water bottle.

Though the berries were numerous, they were so small that Beth and Celine didn't have more than a few handfuls each when they finished. Beth picked a few more, popping them into her mouth. The tart flavor burst over her tongue and only whet her appetite; her stomach growled as she swallowed.

They continued towards the house, passing into the windbreak and the cooler shade. Beth twisted her hair up into a bun to keep it off her neck, but there wasn't a breeze so the act didn't give her much relief. Some sumac was picked to add flavor to their water, but they didn't find much else of use in the windbreak; it was put there by man and as such, lacked the diversity found in natural ecosystems.

At the house Beth gave the structure a cursory glance, checking for signs humans, dead or alive, had been near recently. She also checked for a well, but while she found one, it operated with an electric pump. While she did this, Celine dug up day lily roots from the landscaping surrounding the house. There was a walnut tree near the driveway which had begun to drop nuts, so the remaining space in Beth's pack was filled with the fat-dense nut.

"We got a pretty good haul," Celine commented as they started back for the group.

Beth supposed it was a decent amount of food, enough for two meals if they supplemented with the supplies they already had. If this was going to be the standard going forward, with them relying on foraged food rather than scavenged, Beth thought they needed to start teaching the others what to look for—she and Celine couldn't manage to bring back enough for nine people alone. There wasn't time. But the subject couldn't be brought up now; no one talked to Celine besides Beth.

"It felt good to get away… I'm used to being the 'other,' but never for what I've done," Celine said with a bitter chuckle.

"That's not goin' to change,'' Beth said. "Richard, Schmidt, Lettie, Eileen… two weeks of being on the road is, forgive my language, bullsh*t. You're gonna have to earn your place, show 'em you've changed, because out here your life's in the hands of who you're with."

"I know! I know… Jesus. I just…" she sighed. "I wasn't ready. I'll never be ready. I had no f*cking clue."

"Welcome to the brave new world," Beth said.

Turning her head, Beth caught sight of two walkers wandering through the field, but she ignored them. They were too far away to be a problem. And then Beth became acutely aware Celine was no longer by her side. Beth pivoted on her heel to see Celine with the handgun she'd been given in her hands. The barrel quaked, moving so frantically that she'd never make the shot.

"Don't," Beth said. "We'll deal with them when they get closer. Even Rick couldn't hit those guys from this distance."

Celine gratefully sagged and clicked the safety on again before stowing the gun in her waistband.

Watch had changed while she and Celine were out. Beth handed off her bag to Celine and stayed with Daryl, who'd taken over Valerie's watch. Reaching up, she brushed a few long strands of hair out the way before pressing a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Got enough for one meal, maybe two." Beth settled back on her heels. "No luck?"

He shook his head no, eyes narrowing.

"Don't think we should bother tryin' cars no more. Waste a time."

"Okay. Went up to the house. Saw a few walker tracks, but they were pretty old. Should be okay for a night. No well, though."

"Have t' send someone on ahead to look," Daryl said, his hands tightening on the crossbow.

Beth laid her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. His muscles were tense underneath her touch, feeling more like granite than flesh. A glance towards the truck revealed Valerie's boots sticking out from the cool shadow and Beth wondered if she'd have anything to say later tonight, when Beth brought up staying for a few days to let Frankie recover (although that's what Beth planned to say, both she and Celine would know Beth meant until he died). Beth didn't think she would.

"Gonna go pack the girls up," Beth said.

Giving his shoulder one last squeeze, she trailed her fingers from Daryl's shoulder and stepped away. After gathering the dry diapers from the grass, Beth crouched in the shadow to say hello to Clara and Anne, sleepy in Franny's lap. Anne waved something that possibly resembled the sign for "mommy," so Beth correctly signed back to her and then picked Anne up, settling her on her hip.

"Were you good, bug?"

"Perfect dears, the both of them," Franny said.

"Y'all should get ready to move out. Think we're gonna stop for the day in the house up there," Beth said.

"Why?" Dayvon asked. "We still have half a day's worth of light!"

"Because Frankie can't keep going! We need water, and he needs rest. That's why." Erika jumped in before Beth could respond.

"Okay! Okay, I get it, babe," Dayvon muttered.

Shuffling feet sounded as people stood and packed up their supplies. Beth, with Franny's help, got the twins situated in their sling, resting on her back. One shoulder held her rifle and the other held her bow, which she fitted with a repurposed rifle strap to allow her to carry it similar to the rifle. Celine picked up Beth's pack, filled with the foraged food, and Arjun was recalled from some yards down the road.

The muggy air grew more stifling as the group trudged to the house. Their feet plodded, slapping the pavement. As they moved along, Arjun diverted from the group to bludgeon the walkers Beth and Celine spotted earlier, coming back coated in their foul blood.

Once they reached the house, Daryl signaled to Erika and Arjun. Beth hung back in the walnut tree's shade as she watched them creep up the steps; Daryl tried the door and found it locked. Seeing this, Beth got to her feet again and pulled out the bobby pins from her hair while crossing through the dead grass. The stems, bent over with heavy seed heads, brushed against her jeans.

Kneeling down, Beth slid the pins into the deadbolt lock, working until she felt the deadbolt slide into its housing. She moved on to the knob, stepping back once she'd unlocked it. Daryl nodded his thanks, while Arjun, who hadn't been aware of Beth's skill, mouthed "Thank you," to her. Beth gave them a ghost of a smile before jogging down the stairs and returning to the shade.

The girls stirred on her back and Beth knew she needed to feed them soon.

Arjun turned the doorknob, but the door was either stuck or had something barricading it. He gave the door a heave with his shoulder, but the barricade inside didn't shift.

"sh*t," he muttered.

"Should we try the back door?" Erika asked.

"Might as well, though that sh*t's pry blocked too," Daryl said.

So they vanished around the house's corner. Some time later, after some crashing from inside, the front door opened and Arjun beckoned the waiting inside.

The interior was blessedly cooler than the ambient temperature outside. Beth's eyes roved over dusty walls and furniture, noting the disturbed pile of chairs off to the side, the blockage which had stopped them from entering through the front. The group streamed in besides Beth, fanning out to rifle through the house for anything worthwhile.

"Don't go in the first bedroom on the left, upstairs," Arjun warned.

"Are there sick in there?" Celine asked, her shoulders drawing up.

"No," Arjun said. "Just a murder-suicide."

Celine swallowed and followed Beth to the kitchen instead, which turned out to be a treasure trove. The house hadn't been entered since the family which inhabited it came home for the last time, so the kitchen was undisturbed aside from the infiltration of vermin. Beth pulled out all the cans she could find. Most were still good and she even found a few large cans of mixed vegetable juice. On the counter sat sealed canisters full of flour, rice, and sugar.

After poking at the rock-hard sugar a few times, Celine said, "We might be able to treat Frankie with this."

"With sugar?"

"Mm-hmm. It's real ditch medicine, but sugar draws water to itself, which will draw the water right out of the bacteria. Only downside… we'd need more fresh water, because you have to flush the wound each time you apply more."

"Someone's goin' to look ahead for water, once we're settled in," Beth said.

Celine left with the sugar jar as Erika came into the kitchen to see what had been found. She took over sorting through the find, picking out everything too heavy for them to bother carrying while Beth fed the twins. The purple bags under Erika's eyes hadn't faded since the night they came to her, asking for her help in changing Aspen Pointe.

Joining Beth at the kitchen table, Erika sat down heavily, sticking her leg out and rubbing over her knee.

"I'm alright," Erika said before Beth could ask. "All this walking… well, let's just say I was really looking forward to that truck working. And I call dibs on half that dish soap."

"I'm hoping they found detergent, then you can have all of it," Beth said.

Once the twins finished eating, Beth situated one on each hip and followed Erika outside, where Dayvon worked on starting a fire. Beth knelt down, then deposited the twins in the grass. They immediately set to employing themselves in pulling up fistfuls of blades and shoving them in their mouths.

"No, don't eat that!" Beth imperatively signed "no" as she pulled dirt clods from their hands.

Dayvon laughed and removed two rubber bracelets from his wrist, "How 'bout these instead?"

The bracelets were grabbed and gummed on with relish, their texture apparently pleasing, which gave Beth the chance to start working open some of the cans. Dayvon's face took on a far-away cast, his eyes reaching into the distance as he added more wood to the fire.

"They remind me of Tabitha when she was little. I was second youngest, so I always had to watch her. She ate everything," he said. He made a little choking sound and turned his head away. "f*ck, goddamn…"

As Erika reached out a hand, Beth shifted, putting her back to them to give a moment of privacy. Wretched sobs sounded and Beth wanted to shut her ears; she didn't want to hear his pain and be reminded. He hadn't seen Tabitha die before his eyes—she was simply gone. He didn't have to see her guts spill onto the soil when he closed his eyes at night.

When things quieted, Beth grabbed the sling from inside the house and put up the girls in it before returning to the fire. With it now a full blaze, she didn't want to worry over the girls burning themselves while she worked. She also brought out her pack, dumping the contents near the fire. So she and Erika cleaned the tubers while Dayvon peeled and cracked the walnuts.

"How long you think we'll be here?" Dayvon asked.

He cracked the last walnut with more force than necessary and turned now to a fabric covered lawn chair.

"As long as we can manage," Beth said. "Depends on if we find water nearby, if it stays quiet, how quickly Frankie heals…"

"You really think he's gonna get better?" Dayvon asked as he cut the fabric from the frame.

"We're doin' everything we can," Beth said.

"He can't even stand up… what are we gonna do if we gotta run? We need to leave dead weight behind," Dayvon said. "Should leave now and keep on while we still have light."

He shoved the lawn chair into the ground over the fire, then set the cooking pot to rest on the naked frame.

"Dead weight? You want to talk about dead weight being left behind? Beth's girls are dead weight, I'm dead weight, you're dead weight, Franny's dead weight! All of us could have been left behind, but we weren't!" Erika rounded on Dayvon. "Stop trying to make decisions for us when you don't know a damn thing about being out here."

Beth's hand tightened on the day lily root she was scrubbing dirt from. She had very much considered leaving Frankie behind. He was weak, disoriented, and getting worse by the hour. But Daryl could have left her behind so many times during their journey to Aspen Pointe, yet he hadn't. She'd given him permission to leave her and he hadn't. Had her pragmatism finally eclipsed her "kind heart"? Was she too far gone, as she had feared for so long?

Maybe she worried over things that wouldn't come to pass. Her hand tightened further, fingers turning pale. One of the twins babbled in her ear and Beth turned her head, letting Clara pat at her face.

"Well?"

She looked back at Dayvon and Erika to find them staring expectantly at her.

"Sorry, what were you askin'?"

"What are you gonna say to Daryl about Frankie?"

"You want me to, what, exactly? Say we need to leave a sick man behind to fend for himself? On your orders, 'cause Daryl won't listen to you? Erika's right, stop tryin' to make decisions for us 'fore they need to be made," Beth said.

"f*ck both of you," Dayvon snapped, rocketing to his feet and storming off.

Later, after the meal, the group gathered in the house's living room, passing around a can of the vegetable juice to stretch the scant water further. Daryl paced in front of the bay window, eyes firmly planted on Valerie's diminishing figure as she set out east, looking for water. Arjun checked over his rifle while Erika washed the socket of her prosthesis in preparation for their shifts on watch.

"His pulse is up," Beth said to Celine as they hovered over Frankie. "It's one-oh-five."

A half-used course of antibiotics had been found in the fridge, a place Beth had never checked before, mostly because the appliances were disgusting after mouldering for years, but she would now. It was unclear how much good they would do for Frankie at this point, although it was the best chance he had.

"Noted," Celine said.

She'd created a solution out of salt and the sugar and had Frankie's head in her lap as she helped him drink the unpalatable liquid down. Despite the excellent meal, the room felt like a death-bed vigil, with Franny shifting restlessly as she tried to catch a few moment's sleep. Dayvon hadn't returned, though Erika kept back a plate for him.

"Taylor?" Frankie's eyes opened without seeing. "C'mere… I told you, I told you…"

Beth laid down Frankie's wrist and stood, crossing the room to stand in front of the bay window besides Daryl. Past the grimy glass the sun lowered, beginning to tint the clouds pink and gold. She moved her hand an inch. Her fingers brushed over the back of Daryl's hand before passing over his palm and curling against the scarred edge. While Daryl didn't look down at her, his fingers closed over hers, squeezing for a brief moment.

"Those drugs gonna work?" He asked.

"Dunno," Beth said. "Celine thinks it's staph, so there's a chance… but not much of one. She wants to debride the wound again once we have more water."

"Jesus," Daryl muttered.

Leaning against him, Beth said, "We found food today. Medicine." One of the twins whimpered, making Beth turn her head around, but the cry subsided. "Go an' rest for a while, please? You don't have t' martyr yourself… even Rick slept."

"Jus'… jus' feel more in control when I'm facin' out there. When I can see what's comin'."

She swung their entwined hands forward, then back, before letting go and stepping between Daryl and the window.

"I'll warn you what's comin'... 'cause it's you an' me against the world, right? Go, rest."

Daryl's fingers tapped across his belt and he inclined his head towards her. She gave him a small smile that felt tight on her face, as if her muscles didn't want to obey. And then he turned and made his way across the room, picking over Frankie's feet on his way to the twins. They napped on top of their sling, which protected them from the filthy floor. Franny had one hand resting near Anne, ready to reach out and soothe the baby if needed. Daryl lay down close enough to the babies he could easily pick them up if they woke, or if the group needed to flee.

Beth leaned herself against the wall, turned so she could watch both the room and the window easily. While the light was still good, Beth held her hands up and examined them critically, taking note of the pale, raised scars bisecting her palms, the ones which mirrored the scars on Daryl's palms, though his were more numerous. She turned her hands over. Her nails were rather long; she'd let them grow a bit in Aspen Pointe because she'd always wanted long nails, had envied girls in high school with long, painted, oval nails, because they didn't have farm work to do. Now both her index fingernails had ripped halfway off, exposing the tender skin underneath. So she took a leaf from Daryl's book and set to paring her remaining nails down with her knife.

The air hung still. Beth flicked a nail crescent to the floor. Frankie mumbled, which caused Celine to rush to the man's side and feed him more of the rehydration solution. Daryl crossed and uncrossed his legs at the ankle. Something tickled the back of Beth's throat. Clara sighed in her sleep. Beth looked her daughter's way, then carved off another bit of nail.

Without really naming why she did so, Beth moved from the window to organize the room once she'd finished and replaced her knife, putting unpacked things back into their owner's bag and moving weapons for quick access. From the weight on her back Beth knew Daryl watched her, but she didn't need to explain the feeling to him, because she knew he felt the same. It was the feeling of helplessness, of your last reserve of strength failing as you tread water, of watching clouds spin in the green sky. Beth returned to the window and watched the sun set.

In the last few rays of light, Beth caught sight of a figure running down the road, legs stretching and rifle bouncing and then she saw what was behind the figure.

"Oh, no," Beth said and her hand dropped down to grab her own rifle.

In an instant Daryl was beside her. "f*ck. Frankie…"

"He's in no condition to go anywhere," Celine said.

"Then we ain't gonna leave," Daryl said. "Through leavin' people behind."

He strode from the living room and his footsteps sounded in the hall. Beth sighted him out the window as she woke the twins to put them in the sling; he held a lantern that bobbed in the darkness and his hand waved as he signaled Valerie to not shoot.

"Celine, go and warn Arjun and Erika," Beth whispered. "If we're stayin', that means no light, no sound, no guns."

"What about Dayvon?"

"If you don't see him out there… he's on his own."

Celine's lips pursed, but she started for the back door while Beth and Franny moved Frankie to the mud room, the furthest room from the direction in which the herd approached. While Franny stayed with the man, Beth ran between the living and mud room, bringing their effects into what could very well be the site of their last stand.

Arjun flung open the mud room door and Celine slipped in after him.

"We're staying?" Arjun's eyes bored into Beth's. "With those kids and a herd quarter of a mile out?"

"Frankie can't travel," Celine said.

"He can't travel? He's half dead! If he could talk right now, he'd tell us to 'get the f*ck outta here,'" Arjun hissed.

"If you wanna leave, then leave," Beth said.

"Yeah? Maybe I will. And you agree with his call? Or are you only agreeing because you think a united front will keep us together when everyone knows it was supposed to be Valerie calling the shots?"

Beth swallowed as she worked to maintain eye contact with Arjun. His assessment hit closer to home than she wanted to let on.

"Yeah, figured you wouldn't have an answer," Arjun scoffed as he stepped away to grab a kitchen chair to jam underneath the knob.

"Wants us to be a family."

"What?"

"I said he wants us to be a family," Beth said. "Leavin' Frankie, right or wrong, he won't do that because we've done it too many times before. We had folks we'd move heaven and earth for, folks we waged war over, an' that's who he's treatin' you like."

The doorknob rattled as Arjun wedged the chair in further.

"I walked away from my family—do you know how hard that is to do? It means nothing to me," Arjun said. "I'd rather walk out of here alive."

"Then walk," Daryl said, coming into the room with Valerie, Erika, and Dayvon behind him.

The two men stared at each other, shoulders squared. From the way Daryl held his hands Beth knew he was ready for a fight, if that's what it came to.

"Now is not the time to have this discussion," Celine said.

"There's never going to be a time," Dayvon snapped.

"Valerie, we need to leave," Arjun said.

Valerie's chest started rising rapidly and her eyes darted from side to side, latching onto another pair of eyes for the length of a heartbeat before dancing to a different staring set.

"I… I agree with Daryl. Keep quiet and let them pass by," Valerie said, dropping her head down as she spoke. "Leaving Frankie to… I can't."

A shudder ran through the house when the herd made contact, silencing further arguments. Beth hunkered down on the floor next to Frankie, hastily pulling out the bottle of whiskey from her pack. Franny crouched next to her, putting her thin arms over Beth's shoulders, while all around them the group fell to the floor, aiming rifles at doors.

After choking down a few swallows of the liquor, Beth adjusted the babies in the sling and pulled down her shirt. The whiskey burned in her gut as it would soon burn through her veins and she prayed God would understand that she wasn't doing this for any reason except to keep her daughters alive; if they cried it could spell the end for more lives than theirs.

The walkers rustled against the siding, their moans leeching in through the walls like a winter chill. Beth caught Daryl's burning eyes across the room and she knew then that she should have been more plain; skirting the truth about Frankie's condition put them in this very position. She should have disagreed. They could have been well ahead of the herd at this very moment, albeit with heavy hearts, but alive to fight another day.

Nothing but their breathing filled the cramped room; Beth looked sidelong at Franny, who bit her tongue in an effort to breathe calmly while the dead banged into the house. The darkness bore down on them, heavy as lead.

"Taylor! Get back—" Frankie cried out.

"No!" Celine pressed her hand over Frankie's mouth to muffle his cries.

A dead hand slapped on the door and then another. Wet gurgles and scraping fingernails peeled along the wood.

No one mistook the sound which followed: the house's front door snapping from the weight of dead bodies pressing against it.

Arjun rocketed to his feet and Daryl followed immediately after; Dayvon yanked a stiff-legged Erika upwards. Beth shoved her fingers in between the babies' mouths and her breasts, releasing the suction before she tightened the sling again, pulling them upright; Franny offered her hand and Beth clasped her forearm, using it to stand. Her rifle was welcome in her hands while Franny pulled out her handgun.

"Val," Daryl hissed, gesturing at Frankie.

"No, you need my shot, I take point—"

"Lord," Celine muttered, squatting down.

She rolled Frankie around like a doll, then pulled his limp body up and slung him over her shoulders. With a grunt, Celine pushed herself standing, Frankie fully seated over her wide shoulders.

"Get that outta the way!" Daryl snapped at Arjun, pointing to the chair blocking the door.

"You're gonna open that—"

"You wanna go out the front f*cking door?"

"Ready! Form up around Celine. Hold fire!" Valerie snapped out, no longer unsure.

Arjun ripped the chair from under the door and at a nod from Valerie flung the door open.

"Fire!"

Beth drew her arm over the twins' heads in an effort to block some of the noise from rifles stuttering, felling the walkers clawing at the door. At the sound both girls started screaming, but the only comfort Beth could offer was her hand against their heads before she needed to creep out the door besides Franny.

"Make north for Doyle! The herd is moving southwest!" Valerie cried before the barrage of gunfire silenced her.

For the space of a second Beth flicked her eyes to the sky, finding the north star, and then she held her handgun, backing up against Celine as they pushed forward into the herd. The herd thinned ahead of them; Beth made the mistake of believing they might actually make it out of danger and a tentative tendril of hope snaked itself around her heart.

"f*ck!" Celine cried out as she tumbled to the ground, her ankle twisting in a rabbit hole.

Frankie sprawled beside her, limp as a rag doll.

"Dayvon," Valerie said, snapping her fingers and pointing at Frankie. Then she pointed at Celine, "Beth!"

So Beth stooped down and slung Celine's arm over her shoulder while Valerie and Dayvon supported Frankie's lolling body between them. Daryl, Erika, and Arjun spread out further, trying their best to cover the gaps. Beth glanced behind herself to check on Franny and saw the woman far enough behind that walkers surrounded her, cutting her off from the group.

"Keep goin'!" Daryl fell back and raised his rifle, trying to clear a path for Franny.

Franny disappeared past seething bodies and Beth feared the worst as she entwined her own survival with Celine's, each of them forced to rely on their guns. In the dismal, humid air one walker toppled, and then another, and Beth watched in disbelief as Franny wielded a fallen branch like a bo staff, knocking back dead body after dead body.

"C'mon!" Daryl encouraged, holding out his hand to her.

After the older woman jammed the branch into the skull of the last walker blocking her way, she let the improvised weapon drop and reached out, her hand hooking into Daryl's. She smiled at him, eyes sagging in relief. And then a rotting mouth ripped open her shoulder.

"No!"

Franny screamed as more hands latched, pulling her into the herd. Her hand slipped from Daryl's, fingernails leaving bloody tracks on his palm. Celine fired uselessly at the walkers, an impotent scream rising in her throat. Time slowed for Beth as she saw a walker grab Daryl's outstretched hand, grasping fingers pulling his arm closer to its mouth as another caught hold of Daryl's vest.

The crossbow rose, bashing the mossy face and sending teeth flying, but it wasn't enough. Celine shook against Beth, her gun trembling and Beth didn't have the time to tell her to not shoot.

They shot simultaneously, Celine's bullet blowing through one head and Beth's the other.

"Celine, you could have—!"

"But I didn't!"

"Let's go," Daryl said, sending a nod Celine's way as he jogged up to them.

With Daryl keeping the horde at bay from behind, Beth and Celine together cleared a path through the herd's thinning edge. The twins continually attracted fresh attention, but nothing could be done; the edges of Beth's mind smoothed with the whisky and she knew now there hadn't been enough time for it to have any effect on them.

Doyle was miles away through fields and brush. The path the others took called like a beacon to Daryl and they followed along in the footsteps of their fellows, until Daryl deemed them far enough ahead of the herd to stop. Celine sat in the dewy grass, where trembling hands rubbed at her ankle before she tightly wrapped it up using a spare bandage. Beth, after taking a moment to finally shove her breasts back inside her shirt, stood next to Daryl keeping watch.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"Didn't get bit," he said.

"Okay," Beth said.

Because of course he wasn't alright. Franny had been right there, holding onto his hand, had fought harder than Beth thought she ever could, had fought with the kind of determination that should have saved her, but hadn't. Just another layer to the scars decorating his palms.

Daryl mumbled something when Beth looked down at the twins, her hand on their back doing nothing to calm their cries. In the distance she saw vague, lumbering shadows. Their cries were drawing off walkers from the herd. Celine needed to hurry.

"I didn't catch—"

"I f*cked up," Daryl said into the dead night.

"Daryl… Either way someone would've died," Beth said, letting her eyes shift towards him. "You're not God."

He scoffed bitterly.

"Yeah, I sure as hell ain't the big guy. I don't f*ckin' want this." His voice was a broken hiss carried into the wind. "Nobody else wants me neither."

"You gave them the choice to leave. They didn't take it."

"Stop, don't wanna hear no more."

Beth locked eyes with Daryl, with those drawn, heavy eyes, as vast as the ocean and she could see the storm raging within. A groan alerted them to Celine getting to her feet behind them. She favored her injured ankle, but waved off Beth's offer of support. So they started out again, limping north towards the hope of sanctuary.

Doyle wasn't much of a town, but it was empty. Celine was the one who caught sight of the others, seeing Dayvon stationed outside the small elementary school. It looked as if it had been the gathering place for the inhabitants of the town; the parking lot was littered with cars and washing lines and trash. Beth couldn't tell if the town had up and left for better locales or had succumbed to the plague. Dayvon took them inside, leading them through pitch-black hallways with only his flashlight to show the way.

"Biggest building around… figured that'd be our best bet with those two," Dayvon said, jerking his thumb at Beth and the twins. "Where's Franny?"

Celine shook her head.

"f*ck… you're not playing? She's really…?"

"She's dead," Celine said.

Dayvon's jaw tightened as his hands clenched into fists. And then those hands flew open and jumped forward, slapping against Daryl's chest to curl over his shirt.

"You went back for her, you were supposed to save her!" Dayvon muttered in a voice like broken glass. "This is your fault—if we left Frankie behind Franny would still f*cking be here! Frankie's a dead man, dead!"

Before either Beth or Celine could jump in to attempt defusing the situation, Daryl kneed Dayvon in the gut and his fists flew, cracking once, then twice, along the young man's face. Dayvon, dazed from the blows, stumbled back against the wall and sent misshapen construction paper butterflies fluttering to the ground. Daryl landed several more punches before Celine managed to pull Dayvon out of the way, leading Daryl's fist to punch through the drywall.

Daryl's head snapped up and his eyes slid towards Dayvon, as if weighing his options.

"Go," Beth said, pointing at the door to a classroom.

With stiff shoulders, Daryl spit on the floor and stormed through the door.

Later, after Celine had treated Dayvon, after they told the group of Franny's death, after Beth had finally calmed the twins and gotten them to sleep, she returned to the classroom she'd left Daryl in. She found him leaned up against the window, fat-knuckled hands resting over his crossbow. He didn't turn to look at her when she entered, although Beth saw, in the moon's thin light, his hands tighten on the weapon which was so entwined with his being he seemed naked without it.

"He okay?"

Beth carefully approached, her hands trembling against her thighs.

"He'll be okay," Beth said.

"'S right. Were my fault," Daryl said, still resolutely looking out the window.

"If fault even exists anymore, Daryl, the only thing that's your fault is hurtin' Dayvon. He don't know how you can do everything right out here an' still lose a person. That's what wasn't right, you takin' your anger out on him."

"Yeah."

Beth reached down and fiddled with the handle of her knife, biting her tongue until she couldn't any longer.

"Maybe this group is fallin' apart… are these people the ones we wanna tie ourselves to? I don't… I don't think of them like I thought of our family. We could just leave, you know."

"I ain't leavin' people behind. Valerie's no good until she's about to die and she thinks she's a soldier again. Leaves Erika and Arjun—you think anyone would survive under them?"

"The only people I want you ownin' anything to is Clara and Anne. They can't make any choices for themselves, so we gotta make 'em. Everyone else, they're adults."

"I'm tired," Daryl said, finally turning to look at her. "Tired of seein' death. Like we're cursed. Think that exists out there? Someplace where sh*t don't go south two f*ckin' seconds after we get there?"

Beth reached out and put her hand on his arm, fingers sliding along sweat-slick skin. And then she sat down on the floor, stretching her stiff legs out along the carpet. She gestured at her lap, which Daryl regarded for a long moment before he laid his crossbow on the windowsill. He sat beside her, face hidden beneath his long hair. Then, slowly, he laid down, resting his head in her lap where it settled heavily against her thighs. She felt the weight of his burdens in the weight of him against her. With careful hands, Beth spread her fingers on his head, scratching her nails along his scalp until some of the tension peeled off his shoulders.

A warm, wet pit landed on Beth's jeans and she kept scratching as another, and another, landed. Her heart wrenched, balling up like wet paper, because how long had this been coming? What kind of storm had grown in his heart for this to be the breaking point? Wide shoulders shook and Beth knew he wasn't shedding tears for Franny alone, but for all the losses he'd suffered because the world was what it was. They were for Sophia, the little girl he almost lost his life for; they were for his brother, whose one single act of nobility had cost his life; they were for Carol, the woman with whom he'd shared something real and deep; they were for Hershel, the man who'd shown him that worth didn't depend on upbringing; they were for Rick, the man who saw through the anger, through the defenses, to see a brother in arms. They were for everyone and no one. Beth wanted to pick each tear up and store it away, so he didn't have to feel them fall. He was the man who took the weight of the world on his shoulders and asked for nothing in return.

And maybe, Beth thought, that was why she loved him

It was a rare thing, these days, to find someone who still cared.

Chapter 20: oh, lazarus, how did your debts get paid?

Chapter Text

Fat raindrops plopped on the road, splashing in puddles gathered in divots along the concrete. A crack of thunder rumbled through the heavy clouds. Beth swayed slowly on the spot, rocking Clara as she stood underneath a house's porch. Beside her were Celine and Frankie, Celine taking the forced downtime as an opportunity to help Frankie build up strength in his arm, weakened after a few weeks of disuse. Erika and Dayvon braved the downpour, pouring the collected rain into empty bottles from bowls taken from the house.

The baby leaned her head against Beth's chest, fingers firmly planted in her mouth. Her eyes watched her sister, sat on Daryl's lap a few feet away.

Daryl spoke softly to Anne, saying, "—For fishin'. All the worms come up so they don't down, an' the fish're all excited by the rain on the water…"

Beth looked back towards Frankie, who winced every time he disturbed his shoulder. No one expected the man to recover, but the infection receded and was now localized to his shoulder in an abscess which needed to be drained and packed regularly. Celine worked tirelessly with every plant remedy she could think of to treat the wound and so far nothing seemed to make an improvement, but he at least wasn't getting worse.

Frankie caught Beth's eye and grinned.

"Will you stand above me? Look my way, never love me? Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling…" he sang.

"Frankie, shut up," Celine said as she fully rotated his shoulder. "Breakfast Club was a sh*tty movie."

"I am offended. Offended and deeply insulted!"

"You weren't even born when that movie came out," Celine said.

"You're killin' me here, Celine, darling," Frankie said, screwing his face up. "You're literally killing me."

"Learn a new definition of 'literally.'"

Beth turned away from Frankie and Celine, instead choosing to take a seat next to Daryl. She let her thigh touch his and he nodded at her, so she gave him a small smile. The tension surrounding his eyes eased at her smile and he looked away, back to Anne, who'd gotten splashed by rainwater leaking through the porch's roof and was thoroughly confused by that fact. Beth learned early on that Daryl preferred small, almost unnoticeable shows of affection around other people; the kind of touches which could be passed off as friendly despite the hidden language embedded within them. The way he would allow his fingers to linger on her shoulders told her almost as much as his kiss.

"Looks a little clearer to the west," Beth said.

"Needed the water," Daryl said. He clapped Anne's hands together and the baby laughed. "Been a hot summer."

She cleared her throat.

"I don't think Valerie's goin' to step up, take up leadership again." Beth couldn't help her eyes darting to the figure nearly invisible in the silvery rain.

"No," Daryl said, dropping his gaze down to Anne again.

The unspoken question hung between them. Daryl made a small, scoffing sound, his head rocking back as he did so.

Clara, now set free on the porch, enlisted herself in scooting along the planks. The first time she had done this, Beth labored under the illusion that it was merely a preliminary to crawling, until Celine informed her it was entirely possible that this was Clara's way of crawling. Beth thought babies all crawled, but there were apparently several styles of pre-bipedal movement that could take the place of crawling completely. Anne had crawled before, but wasn't as interested in moving places as her sister, and usually flopped over trying to reach what she wanted before investing energy in moving towards it. Daryl appreciated Anne's economy of movement, mostly because it meant one less baby to chase after.

As the rain slowed, Daryl pulled out one of their maps from his vest pocket, unfolding it and spreading it along the porch's floor. Beth leaned forward, turned Clara around, and let her scoot back the way she came before turning her attention to the map.

"So we’ll be stoppin’ here, then?” Beth said, pointing to a town.

She bent down to get closer. The town—which the highway they were on went through—was only a few miles southwest from the original town they planned to camp at for the night; it would allow them to spend most of the next day finding and scouting a secure place in the state park both towns adjoined. Daryl wanted to spend a few days in the mountains hunting, while Beth and Celine planned to make several excursions in which they taught the group at large about plant identification; Celine was adamant now was the time to collect. And with the changing weather, Beth knew she was right. It would be winter before too long and any day now Beth expected to wake up to the first hard frost.

“Reckon so, unless you wanna try for a house on the mountain,” Daryl said.

Beth squinted at the sky.

“Pretty close to dark,” she said.

“Uh-huh. Could try, might not find one in time—quit tryna kill yourself, Lady—but ‘fore we leave, wanna show you somethin’,” Daryl said as he signed "no," picked up Clara, and plunked her down again well away from the porch’s edge.

“Is it a”—Beth waggled her eyebrows—“kinda somethin’? Or a serious somethin’?”

“Serious,” Daryl said.

Frowning, Beth wondered what he could have to show her, but she knew her curiosity would be satisfied soon enough.

Shortly after Daryl folded up the map and returned it to his vest pocket, the rain let up and the sun returned, peeking out from behind dull, gray clouds. Beth got the girls ready to leave while Daryl whistled, calling back the scattered group. Valerie was the last to arrive, squeezing water from her shirt as she took her place next to Arjun.

“Only goin’ to Wartburg tonight,” Daryl said. “Finish goin’ the rest of the way to Petros tomorrow mornin’. Anyone got somethin’ to say otherwise?”

“Why bother going all the way to Petros?" Arjun asked. "Wartburg's equally close to the park."

"It's smaller, more outta the way," Beth answered for Daryl.

"Right. Not in the mood to run across any assholes," Daryl said.

"We haven't seen people for weeks. Is there something you want to tell us?"

"No," Daryl said. "Thought y'all would get bein' cautious."

"The longer we're on the road, the more chances we have to die. Thought you'd understand with your kids and all," Arjun said, his voice mild despite the challenge in his eyes.

"We're still goin' to Petros," Daryl said.

"Are you okay with this, Valerie?"

The woman looked away from the horizon, where she'd been keeping watch, and her eyes slid from Arjun to Daryl while fingers tapped on the rifle stock. She looked like a shadow of herself, with no light in her eyes and her face expressionless.

"Why are you asking me?"

A little dismissive noise came from Arjun and he said, "Because I value your opinion."

"Implying you don't trust Daryl's judgment," Celine jumped in.

"And what if I don't? We need shelter and food—Wartburg offers both those when it's equally distant from the park and we won't have to backtrack to reach the highway."

"It's like, two miles!" Frankie laughed in a disbelieving sort of way.

"We are goin' to Petros," Daryl repeated with a rising bite to his voice. "I'm not puttin' our safety at risk for two goddamn miles."

Arjun adjusted how his rifle sat on his shoulder, fingering the strap until he was satisfied. However, he had nothing else to say, and with no other objections, Daryl told the group to make ready. While they did so, he pulled Beth away once she'd handed the twins over to Erika, then led her some ways down the road and into the trees lining it.

She followed behind him, her footfalls as quiet as his after all their time together.

Daryl led her up to a large ash, beginning to change colors at the outermost edges of its foliage. A walker dangled from one of the thicker branches, rope tightening around the rotting neck. Dead hands reached for Beth as the face snapped, teeth clicking together.

"What about him?" Beth asked, looking over the walker for anything unusual.

"The head," Daryl said.

"That's a knife wound," Beth said.

"Uh-huh," Daryl said. "Looks deep, right? But it ain't. Like whoever did it wanted to trick someone. An' look at the neck—no bruisin', no swellin'. He were hung up after he died. Don't know if it were after he turned or not."

"So you do think it's another group?"

Daryl shrugged, saying, "Just saw this jackass today. Dunno. You're plannin' on goin' out with Celine while we're stopped, so you got the best chance of findin' more. Keep an eye out, yeah?"

"Of course," Beth said, nodding.

They started back for the road, leaving the walker where it was. Beth crunched through the parched grass, hands coming up to rest on Daryl's shoulders and making him pause, then turn to face her. He kept his head down as she needlessly fussed with how the vest sat, tugging it here and there until it sat perfectly. Then she lifted herself onto her toes and stole a kiss, bringing her hand up and resting it on his whiskery cheek. A wide hand brushed over the pinned braid she'd taken to wearing her hair in, coming to settle along the back of her head. Teeth nipped at her lower lip and Beth opened her mouth for him as she felt the first stirrings of arousal low in her gut, small sparks waiting for a breath of wind.

Daryl pulled away just as Beth thought of turning up the heat.

"Should come huntin' with me, Leg," he said as his fingers played with her hair.

"Am I finally gettin' my date?"

He tossed his head to the side and the corners of his mouth lifted.

"Alright," Beth said with a smile.

Since the fall of Aspen Pointe, they'd been hard pressed to have a moment between the two of them. Beth hadn't expected anything otherwise, but she found herself missing the time when it had been the two of them on the road, where he hadn't been weighed down by the unexpected pressure of leading a cantankerous group of unlikely companions. With Daryl's aversion to showing affection to her in front of other people, it felt as if their relationship had been put on hold because there was rarely a time where they found themselves separate from the others.

"Should get back," he said.

"I know. But first…" Beth said as she stretched for another kiss.

Later, as the group neared Wartburg and Beth kept her eyes open for approaching walkers, she thought about where her relationship with Daryl would lead. It was of such a different tenor than she ever expected of a relationship that she sometimes wondered if they qualified as being in one. But she knew his feelings ran deep in the same way the ocean possessed an undertow; it was something which couldn't be seen, only experienced. And yet she couldn't imagine anything different; she didn't want anything different. It was a humbling thing, to be loved like Daryl loved her—the kind of love she'd dreamed of finding since she was a little girl staring up at the stars, wondering what life held in store for her.

Erika broke away from Dayvon and joined Beth, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked less tired these days, but still possessed the ghost-like quality which made Beth worry for her; killing her father's body and losing Richard, the man she considered her brother, reduced her further.

"How are you doin'?" Beth asked her.

Erika shrugged and said, "Once I'm dry I won't have anything to complain about… but how much longer are we gonna look for a place? I… well, all of us are getting tired of being on the road and I know you'd rather have the kids behind walls."

Beth pressed her lips together and thought before answering.

"The further you get in the mountains, the safer it is. The walkers stay in the valleys. I think he's lookin' for some place like that, y'know... high up, out of the way. Some place hard to find."

"I see." Erika nodded and shifted her rifle from her hands onto her shoulder, letting it hang by its strap. "Are you both worried about people? We haven't seen anyone."

"Don't mean they're not there, and it's always people who ruin what you have… it were Norman who let in the walkers, after all."

"I know," Erika said with a sharp inhale.

Wartburg was visible on the horizon, a compact collection of buildings settled comfortably in its valley, presided over by a ridge to the east. Beth wasn't sure what they'd find in the town, but hopefully it would offer them a decent place to rest for the night.

"Hey… um, you know of any plants that work as birth control?" Erika blurted after a few minutes of silence.

"I don't think there are any, unfortunately," Beth said.

"Really?"

"Not any I'd trust."

"Because I found a diaphragm—"

"A what?"

Erika glanced to the side before pulling a small plastic case from her jacket pocket. She clicked it open to show Beth the wide rubber disc inside.

"And I'm trying to remember my damn high school health class."

Beth squinted at the thing.

"It goes, y'know, up there?"

"Yeah… but I don't know how," Erika said, putting the case away.

"Maybe Celine would know?"

"I'm not asking her."

"I can guess why… you've obviously forgiven Dayvon, why can't you be civil to Celine?"

"Because I owe her nothing. Dayvon was on our… on my side. He was getting there. He changed."

"Celine changed too," Beth said. "I'm not sayin' you have t' like her, or forgive her, but I think you, and the others, need to stop treatin' her like an outsider. That's friction we don't need."

Arjun questioned Daryl's every move while Dayvon joined in, trying to goad Valerie into making a different call. Since Franny's death, nothing could be done without being picked apart. Beth understood wanting to challenge a questionable call, but when said call was something as simple as choosing to take a longer midday break, Beth's magnanimity ended. They didn't have anywhere to be . There was no hurry because there was nowhere to go.

Erika sighed, bringing up a hand to run through her ponytail.

"Alright. You're right. I'll try," Erika said.

"Thank you," Beth said.

Her eyes caught movement in the trees along the roadside. Erika saw it too, grappling her rifle from her shoulder. Taking up her bow, Beth took her stance and drew back. With a cool exhale, the arrow followed her breath and whistled into the trees. A walker crumpled and tumbled onto the road.

"Looks like just the one," Erika said, lowering the rifle.

Beth waited a moment longer to make sure. No other walkers appeared from between shaggy-barked trunks, so she lowered her bow, letting the tension out of her arms. Frankie, closest to the road's edge, jogged over to retrieve the arrow. At the front of the procession Daryl paused and turned, his eyes catching on Beth. She gave him a small nod—everything was okay—and received one back.

The sun streamed between the trees in thick ribbons when the group reached Wartburg. Daryl divided the group, sending Valerie, Arjun, Erika, and Frankie to the south while he, Beth, Celine, and Dayvon continued east. A slight wind rustled trash collected in the storm drains, blown from overturned bins; one lonely soda bottle rolled across the street. Anne, awake and looking over her mother's shoulder, let out a squeal that Beth wasted no time hushing, signing "quiet" as she did so.

Both babies showed some rudimentary understanding of the signs; they got excited when Beth signed "milk" or "play" and waved their hands around in ways that resembled "mommy" or "daddy," and Beth would then correctly sign back and pick them up or hand them to Daryl. She'd introduced a few more signs with the help of Erika (who had taken ASL while attending college), such as ones for "nap," "carry," and "aunt" or "uncle" to refer to the others in the group.

Daryl held up a hand and signaled a stop. The crossbow rose, facing down a small collection of walkers slouching out from parking lots choked with cars, or toppling through broken windows and staggering to uneven feet. With a spin of the strap, Beth had her bow back in her hands. She stepped forward, coming up to stand next to Daryl; he looked down at her and nodded. After fitting an arrow in the shooter’s loop, Beth fixed her footing and drew back, just as a bolt streaked through the muggy air beside her. Before Daryl finished drawing back the crossbow’s string, Beth loosed another arrow and watched it fly true until a gust of wind kicked up; the cool breeze preceding another storm veered the arrow off its path and the projectile skittered uselessly on the ground some distance from the dead woman she’d been aiming for.

“Damnit,” Beth said.

“Disadvantage to practicin’ inside all the time. Don’t know how to deal with wind,” Daryl said, she supposed, as a way of encouragement.

Trying again, Beth took the wind into consideration when loosing her next arrow. It flew wide again, slicing through the female walker’s ear.

And then the walkers were too close. Beth and Daryl stepped to the side and Celine and Dayvon came up between them. Dayvon gripped the hatchet in his hand and Celine held a piece of rebar like a club. Letting her glance slide sidelong, Beth caught Daryl’s eye and jerked her head towards Celine, who was on the verge of hyperventilating. While she’d come to accept walkers needed to be killed for them to survive on the road without the assistance of the deterrent, she found herself struggling when it came to situations like these, where someone’s life, while threatened, wasn’t in immediate danger. A bite meant death and she could rationalize killing then, but when they were in the process of being set upon by the walking dead, Beth knew the woman would prefer to flee and avoid a confrontation.

Daryl flicked the snap from his knife and it flashed into his hand as he strode forward, driving the point into the first walker’s head with a grunt. He stepped to the side and let Dayvon push ahead; the hatchet struck bone and bit deep, sending up a spray of blood and gray, rotten brains. While Celine took a steadying breath, Beth nocked another arrow and let fly. She had better luck at closer range and the arrow sunk through an eye socket, sending the walker slumping backwards.

“Get back,” Daryl snapped out before Celine could bring down her rebar.

More walkers streamed from further along the road, too many for them to deal with by themselves without resorting to their limited bullets.

“Double back west, then go south,” Daryl said. “Meet the others.”

They stepped backwards until enough distance had been put between them and the walkers, then turned and jogged west along the road, back the way they came. Daryl jutted out his arm at a clear crossroad; they rounded the corner and were halfway down the road when Dayvon spotted the first walker ambling along the road they meant to link up with. Another followed, and then another, until it became clear they were cut off on both sides.

Celine pointed to the nearest building, a joined restaurant and convenience store, and Dayvon dashed forward to tap on the glass with the hatchet. Beth and Daryl raised their bows in anticipation of walkers appearing, but the convenience store remained still and dark. A low roaring sound turned Beth's head to the highway road they'd just left. The head of the pack after them had reached the crossroad. Beth sucked in a breath when Clara shifted on her back and voiced a few grumpy whimpers.

Dayvon's hand closed around the door handle and he gave it a little shove, arm flexing when the door turned out to be unlocked. He caught the door before it swung open completely, just in case the hinges were noisy.

After easing the door open, Daryl waved them inside the dim space. Dayvon was last to enter, closing the door behind himself. Beth took a quick glance around the store. Most of the shelves stood barren besides a few scattered items. If they had the opportunity, it might be worth a look around to see what was left, but for now they fanned out to secure the space.

Take what you need. Good Luck and God Bless , read a cardboard sign taped to the front counter. Beth almost laughed. Luck. What was luck, really? She and Daryl experienced plenty of luck and here they were, on the road again with no guarantee of another day.

A sharp whistle turned her head to Daryl, standing by a walk-in beer cooler. Dayvon joined up beside him, hatchet at the ready as Daryl pried the door open. Nothing came through the dark hole, so Dayvon darted inside. Reappearing a few moments later, Dayvon confirmed it was clear. While the cooler wasn't ideal in terms of exit points, they needed all the sound dampening possible with the twins in tow, especially with a pack passing by.

Nodding at Daryl as she went by, Beth settled into the cooler with Celine while Daryl and Dayvon took watch.

"How long will we have to wait? What about the others?" Celine asked, keeping her voice pitched low.

"Best case… the pack passes by and we meet up with everyone else," Beth said as she undid the sling. "Worst case we have t' spend the night here. No… worst case we have t' run again. Oof, you stink, Junebug!"

Beth laid Clara down, signed "change," and pulled out the plastic storage container serving as a diaper pail. Now that she'd spent a good length of time on the road with two babies, Beth wondered if she should have listened to Macy about teaching babies to toilet on command. It sure would save her a lot of trouble. Clara, however, did not think about these things and babbled at her mother, kicking her legs around.

Like a blow to the head, Beth realized she was hiding for her life in the defunct beer cooler of a convenience store, trying to change a child surrounded by trash and dirt and people who rose from death. It struck her how wrong this was, contrasted with the fact that Clara saw nothing wrong with the situation. This was her normal. This was what she'd grow up expecting, this living hand-to-mouth, and returning to Beth's "normal" would be a harder adjustment for her than it ever would be for Beth.

Raising the now fresh and clean baby from the floor, Beth bundled her to her chest and pressed her lips to Clara's wispy blonde hair. She might not ever be able to do right by her children, but by God, she'd f*cking try. She would kill herself many times over if it meant they'd have something good.

"You okay?" Celine asked.

She had Anne in her arms, keeping the baby occupied with a quiet sound game meant to encourage her language development, something more important than ever considering the twins were regularly hushed when they made a sound louder than a babble.

"Yeah... yeah. I'm okay," Beth said.

After setting Clara down and handing her Dayvon's rubber bracelet to play with (he had never taken them back after seeing how much the twins liked chewing on them), Beth briefly left the cooler to check in with Daryl. He stood near the rear entrance used by delivery drivers as he tried to fashion a lock for the door from some wire he had in his pocket.

"Hey," Beth said softly to get his attention.

"Yeah?" Daryl straightened up and dusted off his hands.

"Just came to check in," Beth said. She rubbed at her bare arms, feeling more bound than ever by her children; they weren't a burden, but she could be doing so much more, helping in other ways! No, she reminded herself, she didn't need to be a walker-slaying machine to be useful. She fed the group at large; she knew basic medical aid; she could defend herself and her children as well as anyone there; she wasn't useless. Everyone had their jobs to do. She took in a deep breath. "How's it look out there?"

"Few geeks came our way, but they're gone now. Packs are stickin' to their roads," Daryl said.

"Good, that's good…"

"Y'alright?"

Beth nodded. "I'm okay. I'm just… no, it's okay. They're still movin'? Think we'll spend the night here, then?"

"Lookin' that way. Thinkin' about sendin' Dayvon out to find the others, bring 'em here, so we don't need to waste time findin' 'em tomorrow." Daryl stopped fiddling with the door and set down the wire on a stack of plastic milk crates. He put one hand on Beth's arm and captured her chin with the other's thumb and index finger, raising her head to look at him. "C'mon, Leg, you can't pull one over on me. What's goin' on?"

"Is that really gonna be my nickname?"

"Yeah. Can't change it now."

She laughed a little and then glanced down, away from Daryl's intense eyes. An empty bullet casing knocked against her boot and she wondered who had shot it.

"I think it hit me, finally, what we lost at Aspen Pointe… at the prison… at my family's farm. A chance for somethin' normal. That this, here an' now, is what's normal for Clara, for Anne. I dunno… just has me out of sorts, is all."

Daryl pressed his lips together so they vanished underneath his moustache. His thumb ran over her chin as he looked thoughtfully down at her. The wind picked up outside, whistling over the walls.

"Don't think there ever was 'normal.' Struggle, pain, death were always there, yeah? Only looks different than we knew these days."

Ducking her head down quickly enough to kiss his thumb, Beth then looked up at him again, blinking hard to stifle the hot tears at the corners of her eyes. They didn't deserve to fall and she wouldn't let them.

"You're right. I never wanted all this for my kids… thought about 'em bein' doctors, architects, CEOs… but you're right. They woulda had those things anyways."

"You dunno. Could still be those things. Clara's real good at hollerin'; could end up president for all you know."

Beth laughed a weak laugh, small and fragile, and said, "You're right. Clara Schneider, president of the new union."

His hand dropped away from her face and for a moment she wondered if he was still upset that she wanted the girls to have Zach's last name, rather than hers or his.

"You got it. With vice president Anne Schneider."

"Well, I best get back and feed them before the 'president' hollers us all to our deaths," Beth said.

With a little scoff, Daryl gave her a nod and turned back to his task. Beth returned to the cooler, settling in to feed the twins. The quiet moment left her mind free to wander and it drifted, for the first time in a while, to Maggie.

She'd been deliberately keeping her sister from her mind because thinking of Maggie sent her gut churning with a heavy, sick feeling, like the one you got right before throwing up. What was it Andrea had said to her, back when she reeled from her mother's second death? The pain doesn't go away. You just make room for it. Was living with Maggie's loss making room for it? It felt as if the garden of her heart expanded to allow every other loss she experienced to take root, but Maggie's memory hung over everything like a thunderhead

Beth rubbed at Anne's back. Maybe she felt this way because she imagined Maggie alive, in some safe place with Glenn, with that glow on her face she got from looking at him. Directly after the fall Beth had trouble reconciling her family's unknown status, wanting to know either way so she could move on, but as time went on the fact they existed only in her memories, while never becoming less painful, became more as a chapter in a book; the loss and pain and rage were still there, still affecting her, but those emotions were elsewhere, shut under new chapters of her life. She could revisit them any time she liked and their existence intertwined with her continuing story, but they weren't written on every page.

Yet she couldn't shut Maggie away behind other pages.

Was this nebulous other Maggie, one who was happy and not dead, keeping her from accepting what happened? The idea of Maggie having died, of her actually being dead for all this time, stopped Beth's heart in her chest, so Beth thought she would continue on believing Maggie was alive, even if it was unlikely, even if it wasn't true, because it made her happy. She could accept her father died, her mother died, her brother died. She could accept Zach was dead. She could accept that Glenn, Rick, Carol, Carl, Judith, Michonne, Sasha, and Tyreese were likely dead.

But she wouldn't accept Maggie being dead.

And she thought about how she kept that pain at bay, pushing it back to the corners of her mind, and how Valerie didn't have that option. Would Beth be like her, numb to everything until death screamed in her face, if she knew Maggie's true fate?

She had pushed on after losing her family at the prison. Valerie drifted along, leaving Daryl to pick up the slack and fight to keep the group together. Her hand twitched on Anne's back. That was it. She no longer felt sympathy for Valerie, for failing as a leader, for being lost in her own grief, not when it laid a greater burden on Daryl's shoulders.

Her kind heart was dying a slow death.

Before the packs finished passing through another rainstorm descended on the town. The skies opened, rain sluicing over the building with a muted roar while lightning flashed, illuminating the store with harsh white light during its brief moment of life. Beth had left the twins, discomfited by the noise, in the cooler with Celine while she, Dayvon, and Daryl planned their next moves. Although it pained her to leave the girls when they only wanted her comfort, their future security was more important than immediate comfort.

"—on how long the storm keeps up," Daryl was saying.

"All night? A few hours? If they're already safe, then I don't wanna put them at risk moving in the dark. Valerie might be messed up, but she's not dumb, and neither is Erika," Dayvon said. "They've found a clear house or something to wait this out."

Beth looked up from the map to Daryl, whose focus was entirely on the map while his hand rested over his moustache.

"Dayvon's right," Beth said softly. "We're safe here. They know the plan: get to Petros."

Beth's stomach twisted when Daryl's gaze flashed to her. He knew of her desire to leave these people behind if it was more advantageous to do so, just as he was adamantly opposed to the idea. While Beth liked some of the people they traveled with, they were not her friends and definitely not her family. She wasn't sure if Daryl felt as if he could force those bonds to form or if he feared loss and failure so deeply that he would bind them to his side whether it was wanted or not.

"So that's it? Leave 'em behind, make for Petros and hope they're there?"

"Daryl… we don't know where they are, you can't see two inches in front of your face out there, the town is swarmin' with walkers, and they're all survivors like you an' me. They won't think we abandoned them, they'll think we made the right call. We can search at first light tomorrow before leavin'."

Fingers tugged at his moustache before Daryl finally ground out, "Okay. First light."

He began folding up the map. Beth caught Dayvon sending her a grateful look, but she merely shook her head in response and got up to go see to the twins. With the storm raging, their cries couldn't be heard over the din, but they needed to calm down and sleep. Both twins were so worked up that nursing didn't calm them down, so Beth snugged them up in their sling on her back then exited the cooler, making for Daryl.

"Go and eat, try 'n sleep some… I can take over watch… maybe walkin' will settle 'em down," Beth said.

Dayvon, standing near the front door, glanced over at them. While Daryl's eyes narrowed and his mouth pursed, he nodded and shouldered his crossbow. Beth watched him until he disappeared behind the silver door, then she began pacing back and forth in front of the store's windows. Between the rain and the darkness, they'd be hard pressed to see any walkers until the things were a foot away from the windows; the electricity crackling across the sky had moved on with the head of the storm, leaving them with nothing but driving rain.

The slow bounce of her walk and Beth's soft singing finally soothed the babies; Beth felt when they dropped into sleep because they went limp against her back. First Anne and then Clara a minute later.

"Why don't you get Celine to relieve you?" Beth asked Dayvon when she paced near his sentinel post.

"I'm not tired," he said.

"We don't know when we'll get a chance to rest again," Beth said.

"I'm fine. Can't slept much anyway, out here," Dayvon said.

He shifted his rifle to his other shoulder. The dilapidated building creaked in the wind and the darkness beyond the windows yawned, jagged and sharp like a predator's teeth. It whispered in a voice Beth didn't like listening to. The world felt very small in that moment, contracted to nothing but the haggard interior with its scattered remnants of another life, to nothing but Beth and her daughters and Dayvon, breathing together and not naming what they really wanted to speak about.

So Beth instead asked about something else which had been nagging at her.

"You went out there every day, outside the walls," Beth said.

"Sure," Dayvon said.

"How? How could you do that and never realize what the walkers were?"

Dayvon's sigh was like that of an old man settling in his chair. He laced his fingers together and ran his hands over his head, springy twists popping back up in the wake.

"Because I couldn't," Dayvon finally said. "I didn't want to."

One of the babies twitched in her sleep and Beth resumed pacing. Her bow hung low at her side, bouncing against her hip as she walked. She waited for Dayvon to speak again.

"I was the first person in my family to go to college. There was so much pressure on me, right? Anything less than a perfect GPA and I would've been a failure. Damn, I didn't even know what I wanted to do when I got there.

"I took one of Norman's classes because they were supposed to be f*cking easy, but then I liked the class. I thought, maybe I could do this, this communications thing. Like, thinking about it was interesting. I'd go to his office hours and he'd talk with me for hours about that sh*t, what it was like as a job, things he was researching.

"I'd never had a teacher encourage me like that. He got me, got my passion. Even got me an internship. So, I trusted him, right? When everything went to sh*t, we were having lunch. Jesus. National Guard rolling f*cking tanks through the street."

A hand rested against the dirty glass and then came away, leaving a negative in the condensation. Beth remembered the riots, listening to the news perched between the stair's banister posts because her father didn't want her distressed and refused to let her watch. Like she hadn't been distressed by school suddenly being canceled with no explanation, by her father forcing Maggie back home, by Jimmy prostrate on their doorstep, screaming about his parents eating his kid brother.

"Norman asked if I had family in the area. Just… just my aunt and uncle and grandma. My mom and the rest of her sisters lived in a podunk town you've never heard of. So we went there—my aunt's house, you know—hid out for a few days and then the broadcasts stopped. Fought our way through… through all the sh*t. Got to Aspen Pointe and the staff was gone. It was just the people who'd come for their parents but were scared to leave. We all watched Nashville burn from the roof. Was this orange glow underneath black clouds. Like magma.

"He took control after that. No one really questioned it. And I don't think anyone there wanted to hear that their mother had rose from the dead, but not in the resurrection day way. So he said they're sick. And people accepted that. I accepted that.

"I didn't want to believe my grandma who took care of me like a second mom had become a monster, would kill me without a thought. I didn't want to believe that my mom, my brothers, my girlfriend were dead and… walking and rotting. So I didn't. It was easier to believe the disease would pass, that there were people out there working on a way to fix it.

"And every time I went out there wearing the deterrent, they didn't attack me like they did before, so it was easier to say, that's someone's mom, that's someone's son. I talked myself into shutting my eyes and ears and nose, and Norman encouraged it. Made me important; I was the one person he trusted the most, right? Goddamn, I've never laid it all out like that before."

A shuddering breath made Beth look at Dayvon; his shoulders had drawn up and shook until he exhaled and released them. Beth understood. She had never wanted to believe her mother, her brother, who moved and breathed were dead things which would tear her apart. She hadn't been able to believe it until her mother's decaying corpse lunged up and grabbed her hair; the rank foulness filled her nostrils as if she were lying on that sun-baked dirt again and Beth sniffed to clear the smell away.

"I get it. My dad told me the same things. 'They're sick.' 'The doctors will find a cure.' 'Your mom's too sick to be in the house, Doodlebug.' It was a lie, all of it. Not so much to me, but to himself." Beth tugged on the bow's strap, adjusting how it sat. "I wondered if it were the same between us. Someone we trusted tellin' us lies, thinkin' they were sparin' us."

"Norman was never sparing me a damn thing," Dayvon said. "He only wanted a puppet asking 'how high?' after he said 'jump.'"

Beth had nothing to say to that, so she nodded and reached over her shoulder to check on the twins. Sound asleep for now.

"Why do you trust him so much? Daryl? He beat the f*ck outta me and I hope he don't do the same to you."

There it was, what had been hovering over the whole conversation.

"I'm not sayin' he was right to do what he did, but what did you expect to happen? After we'd just seen Franny die not an hour ago? He's never raised a hand to me. Why shouldn't I trust him?"

"Do you have a reason? You know who he is? What he's about? You really know him?"

Beth's fingers curled over themselves until her blunt nails dug into the scars covering her palm, which clung like frost to her pale skin. No, she didn't know Daryl the way she knew other people; the way she used to know people. She'd gleaned enough to have a rough picture of his past: poor, mistreated, and uneducated. But the world now stripped that away. There was no money any longer. There were no schools. There was only what one did when the chips were down. And Daryl would fight tooth and nail for those he considered family. In a world where "right" had vanished along with a peaceful afterlife, Beth now considered that quality to be the real measure of a man.

"Do you love Erika?"

"I… yeah. I do," Dayvon said.

"There's a moment—an' it's just a moment—when everything's blown away, like dust from a picture frame. It's clean and it's clear. The world makes sense. And then someone's dead from your hand afterwards." Beth fixed her eyes on Dayvon. "If you really love Erika, you'll have that moment. You understand who someone is in that second. I could ask you why you trust me. Is it 'cause I've got kids? 'Cause I'm a woman? I intended to kill Norman. I killed Chuck. I didn't feel a thing. Why do you trust me more'n Daryl?"

Dayvon swallowed and Beth noted the way in which he unconsciously drew away from her.

"Go an' get some sleep while you can. Dawn's not far off. Send Celine out, alright?"

Chapter 21: where has my love gone

Chapter Text

Only the twins were happy when the sky lightened from its inky black into indeterminate navy. They accepted small fingerfulls of apples which had been cooked down to applesauce from Beth and Celine, although much of the applesauce ended up on their faces and shirts rather than in their mouths. Beth felt bruised, like the few hard apples bouncing around in their bags. She'd caught an hour of sleep before Daryl came into the cooler and roused her.

None of them unpacked much overnight, so there was very little to take care of before leaving. Blankets were rolled up and strapped to packs. An extra inch of space existed between Beth and Dayvon as they worked and she knew Daryl noticed it by the way his mouth tightened, but he said nothing.

By the time the sun broke past the trees they were ready to leave. After a quick break outside—Beth was glad to find her spotty period seemed to be over and tossed out the rag she'd been using—the group started south, the weak light making the world seem insubstantial. Long shadows stretched from the buildings' roots; they were thin and blue and were still pools, something to fall into and drown in.

It didn't take more than a few minutes to reach the next cross street. The group fanned out and, while staying within a reasonable distance of each other, searched for any sign of the rest of their party. It was Daryl who spotted it, letting out a sharp whistle to call them over.

Scrawled on a brick building and somewhat melted from the rain, despite being under an awning, were the chalk words: Herd. Making for Petros. -V.

"Looks like I was right," Dayvon said, his chin tilted up.

"Shut up," Daryl said.

"Don't f*cking tell me to shut up, you trash bastard!"

"Tired of listening to your lip," Daryl snapped, rounding on Dayvon.

The man flinched back then squared his shoulders. Beth had to give Dayvon credit for speaking his mind even after getting his teeth knocked loose by Daryl. Daryl's arm rested relaxed at his side, but he was ready to throw down judging by the placement of his feet; Beth had seen Daryl let loose enough times to know.

"I'll give as much lip as I wanna, because I'm tired of the calls you're making," Dayvon said.

"Drop it, will you? Goddamn, I'd like to make it to Petros some time today," Celine said.

"Then you start making the calls," Beth said. "Why don't you step up?"

Dayvon's eyes flicked between Beth and Daryl until his shoulders dropped, despite his forearms flexing from his knuckles briefly lining up. Beth was tired of it too. At least her family had put up and shut up after the farm's fall. From where did this friction stem? She could excuse Dayvon's attitude as simply not being familiar with the way of the world these days, but Arjun was harder to figure out.

He had been fighting his way through it the same as Beth and Daryl. Arjun was an enigma to Beth; she knew basic facts about the others, such as how Erika was from Ohio and Frankie was from the Bronx, how Celine loved her grandmother, and how Valerie had studied to be a civil engineer. But she knew nothing about Arjun except how he had, at some point before the turn, walked away from his family. Beth adjusted the sling's knot and resolved to speak with Arjun seriously, to see if she could find out why he was so against Daryl's leadership, yet unwilling to step up himself.

Back at the farm, another lifetime ago when Beth was a different person, Beth listened in while the group decided what to do with Randall. Things had been different then, because no one knew what had been lost, truly; Beth lay with her ear against the door's crack as she listened to the mockery of a trial proceed, all the while with her stitches aching. Her heart beat faster the longer that interminable silence stretched on, as no one stood and spoke for Randall's life. That moment further cemented for her it was an utterly new world—a cruel, hard world—and the old one was never coming back; her father and her sister wouldn't be discussing murder if there had been such a chance.

But they had been, and it struck her now it hadn't been much of a discussion aside from Dale's desperate pleas. Everyone else had already given up what once was for the promise of their own continued safety. They had given up what they once believed in and instead dumped the burden of decision and morality at Rick's feet, so their own hands and conscience could remain clean. And Beth wondered if that was what happened now: did these people argue but not lead or leave because they wanted their own personal responsibility to remain untarnished? Were they thinking, it was Daryl who made the call which led to Franny's death, and not me? Were they thinking, I would have made a different one. Beth took in a deep breath and shifted her weight to her other foot, her hand coming to rest on top of her gun in its holster.

Dayvon's face twisted, but he said, "Whatever. Let's go f*cking find our people, okay?"

So, with stiff shoulders all around, they made their way back to the highway and set out for Petros. Beth kept pace with Daryl. She was tired of the road too, tired of her rifle bouncing against her hip, tired of the twins fighting on her back. Fat arms waved as they hit each other and cried; Beth wasn't sure if it counted as fighting, per se, but either way they were getting too big for her to carry both on her back.

"Cool it, ladies," Daryl murmured, having noticed her plight, and gently pushed Clara's arm back down.

Clara popped her arm up again when Daryl removed his hand and immediately resumed beating Beth's shoulder, her neck, and Anne's head with fat fists, her face crumpling up and turning red.

"Okay, c'mon, stop that sh*t," Daryl said and he reached over, plucking Clara from the sling before settling her in his arms.

Anne took the opportunity to spread out like a starfish and settled down to watch the road over her mother's shoulder.

"You want to get her in a sling?"

Daryl shook his head, saying, "Like to just get on ahead to Petros."

And they did. Whispers shared between Celine and Dayvon were caught occasionally on the wind, but Beth ignored them to instead watch Daryl interact with Clara. She grabbed at his crossbow strap and tugged on his vest and tried to stand up in his arms until Daryl lifted her up and put her on his shoulders, holding her in place against his neck. Her hands latched onto his hair while she bounced and squealed, enjoying the new, higher vantage. The fact Daryl wouldn't be able to quickly grab his crossbow made Beth's heart skip a beat, but Clara looked so happy where she sat that Beth found she couldn't be mad.

"Looks like Erika," Daryl said regarding the tall, blonde figure standing in the road's middle.

"She's as good as a flag," Beth said with some amusem*nt.

The figure waved enthusiastically, beckoning them closer. Daryl picked up the pace and Erika jogged the last stretch to meet them, throwing her arms around Dayvon and bending down to kiss him. Turning her head away to give them privacy, Beth looked over Petros, studying the ridges which loomed close and hemmed the town in. A natural funnel for walkers, so they'd be better off camping on the slopes.

"You guys got our message?" Erika asked when she finally disengaged from Dayvon.

"Yeah, found it this morning. We were stuck in a convenience store all night, between the sick and the storm," Dayvon said.

He slung his arm around Erika's waist and pulled her closer, looking more relaxed than he had all morning.

"We left town before the storm hit. I'm glad you're all right. C'mon, I'll take you to the others. You should see what we found!"

So they followed Erika through the low buildings, which crouched against the ground like tired old men. Each one hugged its foundation tight and Beth wondered what they could have possibly found in this bleak ghost of a town.

"It's a prison! It closed down a year before the outbreak—Valerie remembered hearing that on the news—so we're thinking it's empty.”

It was like icy water spilled over Beth. A chill raced down her spine as she looked over at Daryl, and she found him as tense as she was. He shook his head no, his eyes narrowing to dark slits, and Beth nodded her agreement. Never again.

"Ain't stayin' there," Daryl said.

Erika blinked and shrugged off Dayvon's arm.

"It's got solid walls, fences, everything! What's safer than a prison?"

"Somethin' people don't want," Beth said.

"Why the hell wouldn't we want to make it ours? It sounds perfect," Dayvon said.

"You could at least look at it," Celine said.

"No," Daryl said.

Something like a wind—although the air remained still—blew through the group, Beth drawing closer to Daryl as Celine, Dayvon, and Erika tightened up. The hair on her arm stood on its end as she felt the heat of Daryl's arm brush across her skin; it was electric and Beth knew that this was the turning point. If this conflict could not be solved, then Beth and Daryl would set out on their own once again. Daryl would not bend on this and neither would she.

Beth saw the prison now that they were past the town. It nestled against the slopes of two mountains and wore a thick patina of age over itself. This place was old, older than many of the buildings in the town and far, far older than the prison she'd called home for a short while. The rest of the group waited in the parking lot, casually stood around a fire and sipping at water.

"Hey, assholes! Nice of you to finally show up! What, did you find a nice hotel with a jacuzzi?" Frankie called out.

"Had turn-down service and pillow mints. You missed out!" Dayvon shouted back.

Once they'd joined the group, Valerie cleared her throat. Daryl's head lifted up and he looked away from Clara to focus on Valerie. She'd straightened her spine and lengthened her neck, holding her head upright and proud; it was a marked difference from the hunched, silent presence she'd been on the road

"I've had a chance to scout around and I haven't seen any signs there are zombis inside, or that anyone's made this their home. It's abandoned," she said.

"We're not stayin'. We're goin' up into the mountains like we planned," Daryl said.

"This could be our home! We could make a life here," Arjun interjected.

"No, we can't. Besides, look at the location: any walkers comin' through are gonna get funneled right to the fences," Beth said.

"But they won't break down those walls," Dayvon said. "We know the deterrent works; it doesn't matter if the sick surround us. We can leave no problem for runs."

"Ain't gonna argue this. We're not makin' this place ours," Daryl said.

He passed Clara to Celine and stepped away from the others, bringing out a cigarette from his vest pocket. Eyes turned to Beth, begging for an explanation as to why such an apparently choice location was being refused outright. She closed her eyes briefly, putting away the heavy creak of tank treads trundling onwards.

"It's not as defensible as y'all think," Beth started. "The group Daryl and I were with before, back in Georgia, we took over a prison there. Was nothin' but a fight, a struggle, to keep it. An' someone came in, wrecked everything, scattered our people and left us for dead. Once those fences were down, it was nothin'. We lost a lot of good people in that fight an' we're not puttin' ourselves through that again."

"So you're scared," Dayvon said and Beth knew it was a challenge.

The sun grew stronger and warmer overhead as Anne shifted on Beth's back, waking up from her nap. Was she scared? Maybe, but Beth had good reason to be. She lived through the loss of three homes. The people standing in front of her should know the stakes.

"What if I am? You all know I'm talkin' sense," Beth said.

"What's the point?" Arjun uncrossed his arms to rest his hands on his hips, fingers splaying against the worn denim and Beth was reminded of The Governor for a moment. "What's the goal? What are we even looking for, if not this?"

Another ripple passed through the group: shoulders rolled and hands twitched, nostrils flared and weight fell to opposite feet. A slight wind flowed over Beth, filling the spaces between the strands of her hair as it raised goosebumps on her arms. Beth swallowed as she looked at foreheads rather than meet the staring eyes.

"We all put the burden on Daryl. He never asked for it, and here y'all are criticizing every move he makes. You asked him to lead you, yet you never let him actually lead. Everything's a fight. Everything's an argument. I dunno what this group wants anymore—if you wanna come with us, then come. Otherwise, stay here. Make the prison yours. We'll be long gone when trouble finds you."

"You've been egging us to fall in line under Daryl or leave since day one," Dayvon said, stepping forward. "What's wrong with a little healthy discussion, huh?"

"Because this ain't a discussion," Daryl said from behind Beth. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed briefly before he stepped forward, where his hand fell away. "This place is a tomb and you shacking up in there is puttin' the damn signature on your death certificate. You numb-nuts don't like my calls? Fine, bitch until the cows come home. But this is my call, not a f*ckin' PTA vote. We ain't movin' into that prison."

The world stood still for a moment. Beth waited for Dayvon, for Arjun, for anyone to turn their backs to them and walk towards the prison and they might have, had Erika not stepped forward.

"Beth's right," she said. "The walkers will get funneled right to our doorstep."

Dayvon looked between Erika and Daryl before gritting his teeth, the cords in his neck standing out briefly. He stepped forward too and it was done. The tension went out of the group; Arjun shared a look with Valerie but stomped out the fire, then grabbed his rifle.

"Let's move on and find a campsite," he said.

Daryl nodded. He shifted an inch or so and his hand reached out to enclose Beth's.

"Thanks," he said in a low voice for Beth's ears only. She squeezed his hand. "Were gettin' real tired of that bullsh*t."

"Of course… I've always got your back, y'know."

After a quick returning squeeze, Daryl let go of her hand and walked away, taking Clara back from Celine. Beth watched the two exchange a few words, with Daryl giving Celine a short, sharp pat on the shoulder. As she turned away, Beth decided she needed to thank Erika later on; Erika wanted to be off the road as much as any of them, but she'd stood with Daryl. And Beth knew she and Daryl would be walking away alone if not for her.

Once the group was ready to go, Daryl checked the maps again, spreading them out on the hood of a weather-beaten sedan. He waved everyone over and pointed out the area he wanted to scout for suitable campsites with a dirty finger. Clara reached out for the map, but her arm was too short and instead waved uselessly around several inches above the crumpled paper.

"When we've reupped, we'll go this way, along the mountain, until we hit this road. Keep us out of the herds."

"And I expect everyone to take part in Celine's Patented Apocalypse Foraging Boot Camp while we're stopped," Celine added in with a gimlet eye fixed on the group at large. "If you wanna starve, then please, leave all the foraging to me and Beth."

Valerie shifted her rifle on her shoulder; Beth didn't miss how Celine's gaze darted to the weapon before sliding back. Although the express issue of whether to settle in the prison had been solved, there were still much larger issues between the group at large.

Arjun cleared his throat to get everyone's attention, then pointed out a section on the map, so northeast that it would put them just over the Kentucky state line, which would skirt them around Knoxville.

"I used to hike this area often; many people owned vacation homes out this way as well, close to the park. If… if what we're searching for is a hidden place, and a place no one wants, it could be worth a shot. My ex-boyfriend's family had a house out there. I never saw it, but he said it was nice."

"You remember the address?" Erika asked.

"For f*ck's sake… it was a nice house, but it didn't have that many bedrooms. I didn't date a f*cking millionaire," Arjun snapped, rubbing at his beard like he was actually flustered for once in his life.

"Musta been a helluva breakup for your panties to be in such a wad," Daryl said quietly and Arjun spluttered further at getting teased by Daryl.

"Yeah, it was monumentally sh*tty. It involved a lot of lawyers and stolen intellectual property. If you're allowed to unilaterally decide against the prison, I'm vetoing Brandon's stupid summer house."

"Alright, lemme put a big red X over it," Daryl said, amused. "Thanks. Sounds about right for what I were thinkin'."

"So, what, we're looking for like, a bed and breakfast or some sh*t like that?" Dayvon asked.

Daryl sucked in a breath while he started folding up the maps again, one-handed as he still held Clara.

"What I was thinkin' was somethin' like that, somethin' with a lot of land, somethin' we could build up real nice. sh*tty thing about bein' surrounded by trees is you can't see for sh*t 'til some asshole's on top a you, so it's gotta be someplace no one'll think to look for, go outta their way to look for."

"Daryl," Valerie said gently, speaking up for the first time after making her case for the prison, "if you had told us this, we could have helped. Suggested places to look. Most of us are familiar with Tennessee… and you're not."

"An' how would I know that? When you've ragged on every call I've made?" he snapped.

"We all want the same thing: to survive," Arjun said. "If you can't ask for our help with that, how can we trust you to lead?"

"Hey, yo, I know we're in the middle of a mad heated heart-to-heart about the trials of leadership during these trying times, but we've got dusters coming up from the south," Frankie said.

A group of fifteen or so walkers stumbled up the main drive to the prison.

"Do they ever give you a f*cking moment?" Celine asked, crossing her arms over her ample chest.

"Never," Frankie said. "I got caught with my pants down once—literally. There I was just trying to jerk my gherk—"

"Frankie, shut up," Erika said. "No one wants to hear about that."

"It's a funny story!" Frankie insisted as they set out for the mountain's base.

While Beth didn't particularly want to hear about Frankie masturbating, she did appreciate his ability to defuse tension with his easy going manner. The group now passively argued about whether to hear Frankie's story or not, instead of focusing on the lingering undercurrents of resentment and distrust permeating the air between them. In this manner, they made the strenuous hike to the mountain's peak, coming up on an overgrown park trail which led them to a backcountry campground just over a mile northeast. It was close to a creek, full with the recent rain, and even offered a stone fireplace, while being near to other trails, giving them an excellent launching point for their planned forays over the next few days, although it was lower in elevation than Daryl would have preferred; Beth figured they could move along the trails to another campsite if this one proved unsuitable.

The group scattered once the decision was made to call the campsite home for the night. Frankie was left to guard the twins while Beth and Celine fanned out, searching for edibles to create the evening meal. Arjun and Dayvon traded off hacking away at tall young trees with the hatchet to create a shelter for the night, while Erika unfolded the dull green vinyl tarp taken from an abandoned government camp, which would be used to create the shelter's sides. Daryl and Valerie patrolled the perimeter until they switched places with Arjun and Dayvon, once the pair grew tired. While the weather was generally mild enough that low, individual tents created from their blankets sufficed, they were spending long enough at this campsite that the effort to create a shelter was worth it.

By the time night gathered overhead like a mother hen drew her wing over her chicks, there was a strong fire roaring in the stone fireplace and a light stew bubbling away in the cooking pot. Erika, balanced on Dayvon's shoulders, threw the tarp over top of the A-frame shelter, just large enough for all of them to pile in lengthwise. On the other side, Arjun and Valerie grabbed the vinyl, tugging it down and staking it to the ground. There was no room for a fire inside, but as the shelter was built against the prevailing wind, their body heat would keep the shelter warm enough if the night stayed mild; if the weather became colder they could build up the sides with brush and boughs as insulation. All that was left to do was cover the ground inside with another plastic tarp to act as ground cover, keeping the damp off them.

Beth quietly ate her supper, fed the twins, and brought them to bed (just their few blankets folded up on the ground) with her. It had been a long day. As Daryl wasn't on watch, he joined her in the shelter, to stay up and keep an eye on the twins, making sure neither of them crawled off in the night. After coaxing the babies to settle, to close their eyes, Beth bundled up next to them in the blankets. Daryl sat next to her head and his hand reached out to stroke over her forehead, smoothing down the frizzing strands.

"I'm headin' out, first light, tomorrow," he said.

"Perfect," Beth said through a yawn. "It'll be nice, just you an' me, to get away."

"You okay with leavin' Tomato and Tomahto?"

"No… I'm not. But I think Arjun talked sense earlier: we need to start trusting each other. Trust in them doing the right thing. I don't want to leave Clara and Anne alone… we both could not come back, but I think without trust, this group'll break apart."

"I don't trust 'em," Daryl said, low.

"I know we won't ever feel the same about these people as we did about… but that distrust… Daryl, we all can feel it."

Although the shelter was dark as pitch, Beth didn't need to see to know Daryl's scoff knocked his head back an inch before he said, "You gone lecture me about trust? When it's you always sayin' they need to leave? That we should walk away? You don't trust anyone neither. You wanna walk away alone with clean hands."

"So?" Beth contested hotly, sitting up in bed despite her movement rousing the twins. "So what if that's what I want? It's not what will keep us alive."

"Then stop tryin' to boot people like this is f*ckin' high school and none a it matters," Daryl said. His voice wasn't raised, he wasn't yelling, and somehow the lack of rage was worse. "And stop talkin' to me about trust like you're the saint in this situation."

He picked up Clara, rocking the baby to soothe her, and Beth knew their conversation was over. So she bundled up Anne in her arms and brooded, even as she hummed a sleepy lullaby. Anne hiccuped and fussed, tiny fists waving. Daryl's words stung because they rang of truth. But it was hard to let go of the self-protective shell of distrust which had grown up around her; she couldn't think herself out of her belief that those around her would fail, would make the wrong judgment call which would lead to the death of her daughters, to Daryl's death. And because she was Beth Greene, a good Christian girl, she couldn't bring herself to be mean, to be cruel, to call people on their faults, and she certainly hadn't been able to call out her own faults. Just the other day she came to the conclusion she didn't trust Valerie, but now she knew that extended to the group as a whole; her distrust, her fear of loss, her desire to shield herself from pain kept her from forming the bonds of friendship which would have broken the chains binding her soul.

Maybe one day she would love the people surrounding her like her family, but that day was not today, nor was it next week, and maybe it wasn't even next year. She would love them when her heart was ready, and the workings of the heart moved on their own time.

Chapter 22: your bell is rung to be the witness, son

Chapter Text

"Bye bye, little bugs. Be good for Auntie Celine, okay? Mommy loves you," Beth said as she pressed kisses on both their cheeks, signing as she spoke.

Anne tapped her chin with her thumb, her fat hand held open.

"That's right, baby, Mommy loves you," Beth said and signed again.

Daryl set his hand on her shoulder and jerked his head towards the rising sun. They needed to get a move on.

"No throwin' sh*t-fits," Daryl admonished his daughters. "Gotta listen to C."

Daryl couldn't bring himself to call Celine "aunt" to the twins. Sometimes Beth wondered if he thought the term should have been reserved solely for Maggie; while Beth found it uncomfortable the first few times, she'd grown up referring to her parents' close friends as "aunt" or "uncle", so it wasn't very strange for her.

Her heart was heavy as she started off with Daryl; the babies cried for her when she turned to see them one last time. Anything could happen while she was out hunting with Daryl, but they needed meat to supplement what they foraged—winter was coming—and Daryl didn't want anyone else besides her to come hunting with him. The thought of never returning to them and leaving Clara and Anne to the care of Celine and the others turned her blood into ice; her brief conversation with Daryl concerning her lack of trust sat heavy on her mind. Was that the same feeling Rick got every time he left Carl and Judith behind?

She breathed deeply, taking in the damp morning air until it cleared the cobwebs from her mind, and reached out to take Daryl's hand in hers. His warm palm rested against her own, the shared scars slotting together. When his fingers tightened around her hand, she squeezed back and felt a little better for it.

"Feel like I can f*ckin' breathe again," Daryl said while they hoofed it up an incline.

Beth lifted their entwined hands, pressing a kiss on the back of his. The widely spaced trees rustled around them, some showing the beginnings of changing colors, shifting to their fall splendor. Leaves beneath their feet crunched in a muted way, softened by the rain. Daryl breathed heavily beside her and Beth seriously considered making him take mullein to see if it would make a difference; he was a smoker and while her lungs recovered from the fire, his hadn't.

"I know it's been hard for you. I know you're doin' your best and I don't think any of us could do better. You're shoulderin' that burden for all of us."

"It's sh*t," Daryl said simply.

Her boots moved over a fallen branch she would have stepped on before, coming down silently in the soft mud instead. The wet earth sucked at her heels, squelching up over the toes and leaving streaks on the leather. Beth swallowed down her fear and voiced the thought which had been festering in the back of her mind for some time.

"Have you thought about goin' back to Georgia? Tryin' to find our people?"

Daryl's eyes slid to hers, his pitch face still as dried resin.

"Have you?"

"I have. I think about the train tracks. Feels… feels like there was somethin' there, doesn't it? I know we don't get back what we lost… but sometimes I get the feelin' they're not lost, they're only waitin' for us."

A long sigh, like an old house settling, escaped from Daryl and they came to a stop underneath a shivering oak. While Beth thought about gathering up some of the acorns, she refrained because she had nothing but a small bag; they traveled light with high hopes. Daryl pulled out his water bottle and took a sip before handing it over to Beth, pressing his mouth together to get a few beads of water off his moustache.

"Surprises me… you said we were the same coin. Didn't think much of it—what do I got in common with you?—'til it kept provin' true," he said. He started walking again, this time moving along in the slow lope she'd gotten so used to after the prison's fall. "Merle were gone. I mourned him; were probably the only f*cker who did. And then he was back, alive and shootin' his mouth off. Was the kinda thing what didn't happen, y'know? Why was he back, 'n not Carol's little girl? We both know who shoulda got the second chance."

Beth followed in his footsteps and listened to his words float back to her. He was always more eloquent when he didn't have to look people in the eye, so she made sure to keep pace with him and maintain the distance between them. At one point Daryl knelt down to examine the leaf litter; Beth watched, wondering if he'd found a rabbit run, but he only got back to his feet and continued on.

"Think that messed me up," Daryl added after some time of silence, his words quiet, angry things.

"It feels wrong to have hope, to have good things," Beth said, coming up beside him now. "After the girls were born, I sat there thinkin' 'why me?' Like I didn't deserve it. And I think that's why it feels wrong to think of Rick and everyone bein' alive and waitin' for us. Because hope in this world will crush you, same way it did me, same way it did you.

"I don't really think we'd find them… I may've had that feelin', but doesn't mean it's true. I never wanted to abandon them—I know we had to leave—an' I know it seems like we have a chance to go back, but we don't. It's been more'n a year… they could be anywhere now. An' we have no way of knowin'."

His fingers oscillated, one following the next through peaks and valleys, and then he was on his knees, sharp eyes slanting over the leaves. Kneeling down beside him, close enough their shoulders touched, Beth followed his pointing finger to the smooth pair of oblong depressions in the mud, coming in tandem with a matching track.

"Well?" he asked.

Beth examined the scene. They worked west, against the sun which made the spoor harder to spot, but they moved along a former park trail, which offered covering brush at its edges. She considered the direction of the tracks as her eyes searched for other spoor; yes, there were gnawed on shrubs jutting up against the trail and further ahead the trees thinned. Beth squinted to help her eyes focus and made out a dark, regular, man-made shape, likely a park facility in a clearing, which would offer more cover in the transition between open space and woodland, full of scrubby plants which preferred full sun.

"Headin' west. Likely passed through the clearin' ahead," Beth said.

Daryl nodded his approval, then surged forward. His hand dug into her hair and his lips pressed against hers, hungry and searching. When his teeth nipped her lower lip, Beth thought she should've gone hunting with him ages ago, if it made him kiss her like that. She stifled a gasp against his mouth and pulled away from his probing tongue, her blood thundering in her ears.

Although he looked away from her when she moved away, as if he'd made a mistake, Daryl turned to face her once she rested her hand on his cheek.

"Don't wanna let that deer get too far ahead, do we? As much as I wanna stay right here," Beth said.

He scoffed like he didn't quite believe her, but got to his feet and offered his hand to her. Though she was perfectly capable of getting to her feet by herself these days, she gladly took his hand and pulled herself up, stretching further on her toes to kiss his cheek after pushing his long hair out of the way. Daryl mumbled something she didn't catch and brushed her off, ears burning red.

"Are you ever gonna cut your hair? Or were you gonna grow it out?"

"Uh," Daryl hemmed, going even redder, "gave me a good cut last time you did it."

"No, I didn't! It was all uneven in the back, only you couldn't see that," Beth laughed. "But I'll cut it again if you want me to."

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll trim it up tonight," Beth said and kissed his cheek again. "Ready?"

"Mm-hmm."

They set off again, this time on the deer's trail. Daryl pointed out spoor she missed in her initial investigation and Beth committed the signs to memory; she would never be able to read the woods as well as Daryl could, but she wouldn't let that stop her from becoming a competent tracker. As they drew closer to the clearing, Daryl removed his crossbow from his shoulder and his creep became slower, his eyes scanning through the trees for any sign of the deer.

"It's close, see?" He said, voice a low burr in his throat. "sh*t's fresh."

Looking down, Beth saw he literally meant "sh*t". A worn boot toe prodded apart scat and Beth raised her eyebrows when she noticed steam rising from the lumps, vanishing into the chilled air. So the deer had just passed by.

On his knees again, Daryl examined the depressions left in the damp leaves, then pointed with two fingers towards the clearing's opposite side, past the stone and wood building inhabiting it. Beth nodded and unshouldered her compound bow, pulling out an arrow from the quiver and holding it between her index and middle finger along the bow, ready to be nocked.

They exited the woods' cover, creeping across the overgrown, weed-filled lawn and secreting themselves against the rough stone wall of the building. Beth glanced at Daryl and saw his eyes were bright, focused and intense, as his arm flexed, raising the crossbow skywards while they waited against the wall. She took a deep breath, feeling her chest expand against her jacket as heat pooled between her legs. He'd looked at her like that before, right before she'd taken his co*ck in her hand.

Beth took another breath, willing herself to focus. Daryl's free hand gestured and they moved again, slinking around the corner to follow the length of the wall until they cleared the building. A flicker between leaves drew Beth's eye away from Daryl. Was that a twitching ear? She looked harder, straining to spot tan fur through the dappled green mosaic.

A head moved in the trees and two bows whipped into motion, Daryl's bolt whistling free first, his speed coming from years of practice. Beth's arrow flew a heartbeat later. Branches crackled and a muffled thump followed from the deer collapsing onto the leaves.

"sh*t! Let's go," Daryl exclaimed.

He hastily jammed his foot in the stirrup, co*cking the crossbow again before jogging for the treeline. Beth followed along, her heart pounding. Had they really gotten it? She didn't hear the fading scuffle from an injured animal pounding through the trees, just static crackling from disturbed leaves.

She broke through the trees a second after Daryl and found him with his knife out, well back from a thrashing young buck, stubby antlers long shed of their velvet. The buck kicked out, trying to stand, but the bolt through his chest kept him down and he stilled a moment later, breathing his last breath. Beth's arrow was nowhere to be seen, although that didn't matter. They got a deer!

Daryl closed the space between them, steps heady and confident. His hands gripped at her waist and pulled her against him, leading Beth to drop her bow so her arms were free to wrap around his neck. She met his crashing kiss. She hadn't seen Daryl like this, confident, excited, his blood up, since their time on the road, and even then it had been the tail end of it, after he'd returned from his hunt and had some time to cool down. Oftentimes all she had received from him was a smile, or a ribald joke, some free and easy expression of his confident mood. But things were different between them now.

She could see how he enjoyed hunting so much; her heart pumped and her breath sounded loud in her ears as she stroked her tongue along his, tasting his mouth. The thrill of the hunt and her desire for him blended together in a way that had her gasping.

He panted in her ear, warm breath ghosting over the shell and he said, "Y'did good."

"I missed," Beth said laughingly into his neck, which smelled of him.

"C'mon, we'll dress it inside," Daryl said with a jerk of his head towards the park building behind them.

With the wire he'd brought to set snares, Daryl bound the deer's legs together around a sturdy branch and they lifted the deer on their shoulders that way, the branch distributing the weight between them. Swallowing down her desire to push Daryl up against a tree and have her way with him, Beth strapped her bow back on again and they returned to the clearing.

After setting the deer down, Beth and Daryl fanned out, going in opposite directions around the building to check through windows. The building, which appeared to be a lodge of some kind, like the ones rented for wedding receptions, was in terrible condition. Glass crunched underneath Beth’s feet from broken windows when she passed by the empty frames. From the damp, musty smell emanating from the interior, Beth guessed that parts of the roof had collapsed as well, but the dismal space appeared clear, with no signs of human habitation. She met Daryl at the front again, nodding her approval.

Their heads turned at a crackle of twigs and brush, both of their bows in their hands simultaneously.

“Your turn,” Daryl said.

He tossed his hand at the walker shambling towards them.

“Is this ‘cause I missed the deer?”

“Mh-hmm.”

Beth poked her tongue out at Daryl, drawing a huffed laugh from him, then took aim. Her arrow flew true and bit through the walker’s head, where it toppled over to land in a heap in the shaggy grass. Once she’d jogged over and retrieved the arrow, wiping it clean on the grass, Daryl had hefted the deer inside and worked to undo the wires binding its legs to the branch. She removed her bow, setting it against the wall within arm’s reach.

“How can I help?” Beth asked.

“C’mere,” Daryl said as he jerked the hind legs open. “Hold ‘em like this for me.”

So she knelt down beside him over the deer, pushing the hind legs out and down so Daryl had free access to the belly. The legs were still warm but cooling rapidly and a hot, rangy smell rose up from the carcass. She almost braced for a wash of nausea but it never came; she wasn't acutely affected by smells any longer.

Daryl sucked in a breath between his teeth and said, “Always felt bad ‘bout this part. Sorry, man. You don’t need ‘em now.”

And he cut around the deer’s testicl*s, removing them before making a cut up the belly and pulling the flesh back to expose the organs. Daryl moved around Beth for better access before he reached into the abdominal cavity, his knife flashing to make cuts here and there until the intestines and other organs laid in a pile to the side, resting on top of a drop cloth they'd brought along.

“—don’t got a saw, so you need to cut away the diaphragm to get the lungs and heart. Otherwise, ‘s easier to just crack the sunuvabitch open.”

Now that all the organs had been removed, Beth helped Daryl tie the legs, splayed wide, to the branch and hang the deer on the coat rack. They checked out the door for walkers drawn by the scent of fresh blood, but the clearing's edges remained empty, with only grass waving in the slight wind. While the body cooled, Daryl packed up the heart, liver, kidneys, and testicl*s in a plastic container to transport back with them to camp.

"Never eaten those before," Beth commented idly, as she now had nothing to do.

She had herself leaned up against the wall, near enough to the glass door that she had a fair view of the clearing if she turned her head.

"Ain't filet mignon, but ain't bad," Daryl said. "Don't think you'll like the liver unless you like your steaks still mooing."

"Medium rare," Beth said.

Daryl huffed a laugh, wearing a smirk on his lips. "Same."

"There, we do have somethin' in common."

"That's it? We like our steaks the same way?"

Beth gave him a smile and a shrug.

"I've had this silly idea that one day we'll run across a chicken."

"Chickens are dumb as sh*t. Pry all eaten by now," Daryl said. "Which is a cryin' shame."

"So, when we finally find a chicken, that means you're gonna have t' kill it for me," Beth said.

Daryl's eyes crinkled around the edges as he said, "Stunnin' display of logic."

"Makes sense to me!"

She was laughing and then she suddenly wasn't, because Daryl had stood and wrapped an arm around her waist, jerking her body against his. A squeak of surprise escaped her which was swallowed up by his lips on hers. She relaxed, hand falling away from where it had been close to her knife handle. Their mouths moved in tandem until Daryl pulled away to look down at her while his fingers dug between her braid's strands, loosening them enough that tendrils curled around her face.

"You're always messin' up my hair," Beth teased.

She reached up and pulled out the elastic, intending to do it up again in a quick ponytail, but Daryl stopped her by threading his fingers through the thick, golden mass, pulling the braid undone.

"Like your hair down. Like you had it for the party," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Daryl, this is where you flirt and tell me why you like my hair down," Beth said.

"Looks nice."

Her lips tugged up before splitting into a wide grin and she thought, I'll take it.

"Thank you… how long do we gotta let the deer sit for?"

"'Til it's cool."

"Just wonderin'," Beth said, affecting an innocent tone.

Daryl's chest expanded against hers when he took in a deep, fortifying breath. Pressing up on her toes, Beth kissed him again, freely and unreservedly, until his mouth opened for her. She let her hands roam, sensitive fingers taking in the napped texture of his flannel, the smooth warmth of his vest, and the beating of his heart underneath the layers. Possessive hands brought her close again, removing any space between them, and Beth slotted her leg between Daryl's, pleased to find him half-hard already.

She slid her hand from his chest until it drew along his thigh, and then she brushed upwards, Daryl tensing under her touch. Beth left her hand where it was, just below the junction of his groin and thigh, while she broke away to press kisses down the sweating side of his neck. His hands tightened on her waist and his head fell back when Beth pushed aside his collar to nip at the skin hidden underneath.

Her tongue darted out to taste the salt of his skin. Beth dropped down her other hand and palmed Daryl through his jeans. A shudder rippled through him, culminating in a rough sound which he trapped in his throat. And then Beth undid his belt buckle. Fingers worked open the button and then the fly and she was pulling his jeans down alongside her own body as she got onto her knees.

"Beth, no," Daryl ground out, hand gripping on her shoulder in an attempt to pull her back up.

"If you don't want me to… but I want to, so you know."

"Don't be lyin'," Daryl said, still trying ineffectually to jerk her back to her feet.

"I ain't lyin'," Beth said. The thought of seeing him fit to burst, all from her mouth, had her throbbing. She let out a long, hot breath, letting it gust over his straining erection, and added, "If you really don't want me to, that's fine. But, I mean, I'd really like to see you cum."

"What?"

She rubbed her hands up and down his thighs. He'd at least stopped trying to get her off her knees and now looked unsure, as if confronted with a map he couldn't read.

"I just wanna make you feel good, that's all… will you let me?"

Daryl swallowed hard and then nodded; his jaw clenched tight together like he didn't trust himself to speak further. They shuffled briefly; Daryl leaned up against the wall, as stiff as a man going to his execution. She pulled his boxers down, freeing his co*ck. It bobbed before her face, as hot and heavy as the last time she saw it. Beth looked up at Daryl as she worked up a little extra spit and she tried to puzzle out the look on his face, eventually deciding on calling it somewhat reverential but mostly nervous. She gave Daryl her sauciest grin before leaning forward to kiss the head, taking it into her mouth and swirling her tongue around the tip. He tasted like salt and sweat.

"sh*t," he grunted.

His hands jutted out to clamp down on her shoulders.

Beth opened her mouth wider and took him further in her mouth, until his fat co*ckhead hit the back of her throat. She let her tongue run flat along the underside of the shaft as the pungent smell of him filled her nose; above her Daryl groaned, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. His chest rose and fell in a staccato fashion, as if his breath kept hitching inside his lungs. Beth pointed her tongue and pressed upwards, then flattened it to lave over his slick head.

Now she reached out and gripped the portion of him she couldn't take in her mouth with her hand, moving in sync with the long, slow pulls of her mouth. He stretched her jaw wide enough it ached, and that fact made her c*nt throb because what would that stretch feel like when he f*cked her?

But right now it was enough to have him in her mouth, to taste him and to hear the guttural, primal sounds she drew from him when she swallowed with his co*ckhead hitting the back of her throat. Looking up at him through her lashes, Beth saw the flush covering his chest, creeping up his corded neck and spreading along his cheeks. His mouth hung open and then Daryl looked down at her, eyes sharp as flint, and Beth shivered from the way they pinned her, as if they looked straight through her soul and drove into the earth underneath her feet. Her fingers curled into the denim of his jeans, her tongue swirled again around the tip, and Daryl's spine straightened as another ripple tore through him.

"Jesus—Christ, I'm, I'm gonna—" he bit out.

Beth drew back with another long suck and he moaned, hands twitching on her shoulders as his hips snapped and he f*cked up into her mouth, making her gag. But his hips fell back almost instantly and Beth swallowed a bit, no harm done. She worried that might take him out of the moment, the thought he'd done something wrong, but he was too far gone. His hands just spasmed on her shoulder and Beth sloppily took him back in, mouth wet and squelching.

"f*ck!"

His co*ck jumped and Beth moaned low in her throat, the sound vibrating against him and then her mouth was filled with his hot cum, Daryl's org*sm ripped out of him in a rough shout. Beth worked the last few drops from him with a few gentle pulls before releasing him from her mouth. She sat back on her heels, swallowing him down.

Daryl leaned against the wall, arms slack and chest rising rapidly, spent co*ck still wet from her mouth. Beth took a moment to admire the aftermath of her handiwork. His eyes cracked open and he glanced down at her, almost as if he didn't want to see, so she grinned up at him and held out her hand, asking to be helped up. He stuck out a trembling hand, which she took and used to pull herself to her feet.

"So… you enjoyed yourself?"

He looked at her like he couldn't quite believe her asking a question like that.

"I… f*ck." Daryl was still breathless.

His eyes locked with hers in a way that had her heart pounding. And then the set of his sweaty face became harder and he whistled, swinging his index finger in a circle.

"Wait, really?" Beth asked, eyes wide. "I haven't washed or anything—"

"C'mon, don't pull that bullsh*t on me. You're really gone turn me down?"

"No, I just… I've never had anyone do that for me before."

Daryl raised his eyebrows and his head rocked a little from the force of his scoff.

"Course they didn't. Look, I ain't havin' the same argument twice." His face flushed further and he added, "'Sides, ain't fair for me to get mine without you gettin' yours. Wanna see you cum."

"Um, okay. Alright," Beth stammered out, all her confidence from earlier eeking from her like helium from a balloon.

Daryl nodded firmly and tucked himself away, buttoning up his jeans and buckling his belt. They both glanced out the glass door, but the clearing was still and silent, free of walkers for the moment. So Beth leaned herself against the flaking paint and shoved her nerves down and out of her throat. What was she so nervous over? Hadn't she spent frantic nights at the prison fantasizing about how this would feel, mind dizzy as she thought about Daryl with his head between her legs? But those were just that: fantasies. Her head knocked back on the wall, hair fanning hot along her neck and never for a second did she take her eyes off Daryl.

He sniffed and rolled his lips over his teeth, his fingers twitching, before his shoulders rose and he knelt down in front of her, wide hands gripping on her thighs.

"Don't… sh*t. Tell me if I'm doin' somethin' weird, yeah? Not really an expert at this," he muttered.

"Sure, sure," Beth said, her voice faint, as if she'd ran miles and couldn't find the breath.

"Ain't gonna think you're gross," Daryl said, giving her thighs a little shake, "if that's what's got you so wound up."

"I know, I—jeez, I want you to, I just, you could finger me instead, you know, if you're only doin' this because I sucked you off."

Daryl blinked, his fingers tightening on her thighs.

"Number one, I've got deer guts all over my hands. You really want that up your cooter? Number two, get over yourself. If you wanted my dick in your mouth, is it that much of a stretch to think I might wanna eat you out?"

"No, it's not. Okay, okay," Beth said, nodding.

"Good," Daryl said and then he got a serious look on his face, the kind she'd often seen when he talked strategy with Rick.

His hands flattened, unfurling from around her thighs, and slid upwards to push her shirt up, exposing her soft stomach. He tucked the hem underneath the band of her bra to keep it out of the way. Daryl pressed forward, trailing kisses along her skin as his hands worked at her belt, at her jeans. He shucked them down to her knees and she shivered in the chill air, even though her skin felt superheated, ready to combust.

Beth clamped her lips together as Daryl's fingers hooked over the elastic of her underwear. He jerked them halfway down her thighs and then she felt his breath wash over her. She was exposed and on display—did he really like seeing her up close? She swallowed and supposed if she liked seeing him that way, then it followed he would as well. His thumbs dug in and pulled her lips apart and then she shoved her mouth into her shoulder because a warm tongue flicked over her cl*t. It almost felt invasive, even as her c*nt clenched.

Though she had every intention of trying to remain quiet, when she looked down to see Daryl's dark head bobbing between her thighs, something rough and maybe not quite human (or altogether too human) escaped from her throat. Daryl chuckled and the sound of it vibrated against her, making her back arch as he moved through her folds, tongue poking, pressing, searching, trying to unwind her like a tangle of yarn.

His tongue circled around her entrance and then he pulled back—oh God, the wet look of his goatee—to say, "You got wet from gettin' me off?"

Swallowing down a squeak, Beth nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"sh*t," Daryl said, sounding impressed.

He dove back in with renewed enthusiasm, repeating any motion which elicited a sound from her. Beth clamped her eyes shut, her breath coming quick as her thighs quivered and she felt herself drawing up, tightening into something raw, throbbing, and the thick, wet sounds of Daryl's tongue moving through her slick folds made her cant her hips, her body searching for she didn't know what.

And then, after circling his tongue around her cl*t again, Daryl covered the hard thing with his lips and sucked. Her thighs jerked, clamping around his head.

"Oh, f*ck! sh*t, oh, God, Daryl," she stammered out, unsure of exactly what came from her mouth. "f*ck, f*ck, I want you in me—"

Daryl pulled away from her slick puss* to pin her down with his burning eyes, and he said, "Yeah? That's what you want?"

A bit of sweat trickled down her forehead, winding its way along her temple and then her cheek and she nodded, biting down on her tongue when she thought about him pounding up into her, taking her against the wall.

"Still gonna make you cum first," he said.

A frantic pace against her cl*t had her writhing, fingers scraping a path through the loosened paint flaking from the walls. So this was what she’d been missing out on—she could kick herself! Daryl drew a ragged moan out of her when his tongue plunged past her entrance, and then he was back at her cl*t again, working circles and squiggles and all sorts of shapes (why shapes? Her mind asked before her thoughts melted away) and there was nothing but her breath and the building wave and Daryl's hot tongue—

"Oh—oh!" Beth couldn't even swear, she just went blank, like a freshly erased blackboard.

She was white-hot, she was a supernova; her ears buzzed and the edges of her vision were gray and she thought she might fall over, but Daryl had his wide hands on her hips, keeping her steady.

Beth waved her hand vaguely and slid to the floor, making Daryl laugh again.

"'S not too bad for a real try?"

"I… um, wow."

He helped her stand again and she pulled her underpants up over her still clenching puss*; there was something especially filthy about doing so while his spit was still wet among her folds and her wetness leaked out of her, slicking the worn cotton. Beth took in a wavering breath and jerked her jeans back up.

"God," she said when he brought up a hand to wipe off his goatee; the sight of it made her want to rip her pants back down, to push him onto the floor and kiss herself off him.

"Guess we should get this bastard back," Daryl said, jerking his thumb towards the deer.

"Okay." Beth nodded. She was limp, damp, boneless. "He can't wait a little longer?"

Daryl's eyes flashed and a shiver ran up her spine.

"Should get him strung up 'fore he gets stiff."

And so together they tied the deer back up as before, with each end bound up on one end of the sturdy branch. They'd hiked almost the whole length of the trail they took, so there were a few miles to hike back. Their return would take longer with the deer's weight slowing them. Something lingered in the air, keeping them from hefting the deer up and starting off; maybe it was that Beth wanted to kiss Daryl, but then she remembered the disgusted look on Jimmy's face the first time she leaned in for a kiss after blowing him.

Their eyes met across the deer and Daryl's mouth twitched like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. His fingers tugged on the wire, though it had already been checked.

"Not sure what to say now. Nobody ever stuck around before," he muttered.

"Oh," Beth said. "You don't have to."

"Yeah. I know. But you're givin' me a look like I should."

Heat sprang up on Beth's cheeks and she said, "I didn't mean to. I was only thinkin' if…" She paused to rephrase. "I wanted to kiss you again, but that's never been well received. Y'know. After havin' a dick in my mouth."

Daryl laughed out loud, looking relieved.

"What? What is it?"

"Just funny, hearin' you talk dirty, 's all. Like seein' a dog walk on its hind legs."

Beth pursed her lips and crossed her arms, as if trying to hide her body away. Was it really that strange? She liked doing that; it was freeing, using filthy words without thinking.

"That's sexy Beth. She just says whatever she feels like."

"Never said stop. 'S hot, you talkin' that way. And back to the point, I don't give a damn about you kissin' me after suckin' me off. Didn't care about your tit* leakin' and I didn't care about you not bein' douche fresh. So why would I care about that?"

Beth let her arms drop away from her chest, her hands coming to rest on her thighs. Across the space between them, Daryl's mouth twitched and he scratched absently at his goatee before holding his hand out. Without hesitation, Beth took it and scooted across the floor until she was close enough to him that she could lean in and kiss him.

She intended to keep it quick, because they really did need to get the deer back, but then teeth nipped at her lower lip and Beth opened her mouth for him, letting his tongue push inside. She could smell herself on his face and taste herself on his tongue and it was so strange, yet at the same time the fire in her gut started up again because she was reminded of what they had just done; those same lips and tongue had given her easily the best org*sm she'd ever had.

When they broke apart Beth gave Daryl a little grin and he let the corners of his mouth tug up, but it was back to business. Daryl stood, offered his hand to Beth, and they then lifted the deer onto their shoulders.

The woods welcomed them back. After the first mile on the trail, Beth's shoulder burned, but the thought of venison set her mouth watering; she couldn't wait to have meat, fresh and dried, added to her diet again.

They stopped halfway through the hike to rest and drink some water; Beth wandered briefly and brought back some wild plums for her and Daryl to eat. The fruit puckered her mouth and left the corners of her mouth sticky, but it was a quiet moment, leaning against Daryl as they ate, both of them sore and sweating and worn out in more ways than one.

His words from yesterday evening rattled around Beth's head now that sex was off her mind; was she contributing to the tension in the group? Beth nibbled the last bit of flesh from the plum's stone and started on another one. Hadn't Erika proven herself steadfast, hadn't Arjun proven himself an excellent marksman, hadn't Celine proven herself able to adapt and overcome? Did it all go back to her desire to not be hurt by keeping people at arm's length? Yes, Beth mused as she watched an ant crawl atop one of the discarded pits, its feelers wiggling in excitement over the bits of flesh left on the wrinkled stone, that's what it all came down to. She was afraid, drawn up into her shell like a turtle, because she couldn't afford to be struck dumb by grief, not when she had two lives depending on her.

Her arm shifted against Daryl's and she listened to his teeth click as he sucked on a stone to get the last few tastes off the seed. Why hadn't she despised Rick for his abject failure to provide care to Judith for those first few weeks? He'd come around of course, becoming the same dedicated father to her that he was to Carl, but there had been many worried looks exchanged between the group the longer he went without holding the baby. If Rick had been allowed to fall apart and put himself back together with the help of his rag-tag family, she should be able to trust her own rag-tag group to do the same if they were worth anything. If she wanted to trust them, she should trust them to help her at her lowest, because the world was nothing but low, marshy valleys punctuated by the occasional shrieking peak.

But her stomach turned sour as the plums' skin when she realized that she had not afforded Valerie that kind of care; the woman had been left with nothing but her thoughts and walking since Aspen Pointe fell. Perhaps Beth should have convinced Daryl to slowly hand the reins back to Valerie, to draw her out of her grief over Lettie's loss, instead of forcing everyone to submit to Daryl's leadership. The clear preference was for Valerie.

And then Beth remembered how Valerie would retreat into herself when presented with a dilemma which couldn't be solved by shooting; that hesitation meant death.

Beth's throat closed up, almost choking her swallow. She didn't recognize the woman she was becoming—not so long ago she would have seen the best in Valerie, her charming manner a magnet for people and her clear strengths lending themselves well to the position, but now… now Beth only saw disappointment and failure. Was this who she needed to be to survive? Was she even living if she had stopped recognizing the good in people? Would her mother, her father, would Shawn or Maggie recognize her these days?

A muffled clack drew her attention back to Daryl, just in time to see him spit a tooth fragment into his palm.

"Goddammit," he muttered.

"Is that your tooth!? Are you okay?"

To her great surprise, Daryl reached into his mouth and pulled out his teeth. Beth wheezed until she saw it was a denture, with one of the bottom teeth a sharp, jagged peak.

"That's f*ckin' great," Daryl said, his words sounding strange on a tongue without bottom teeth to press against. "Shouldn't be surprised. Hand me your knife, yeah?"

"Sure," Beth said weakly.

She pulled out her knife and passed it to Daryl. He used the smaller blade to saw the broken edge, working until the sharp point was softened. The broken fragment was unceremoniously flicked into the woods and Daryl resettled the denture back inside his mouth, metal clasps fitting over his natural teeth. The broken tooth was a dark hole occasionally filled by a flashing pink tongue and this out of all the things she learned about Daryl cemented for Beth the reality of the world he moved through before the turn. People didn't lose that many teeth at his age without a serious reason.

"Guess I shoulda had Schmidt look at them after all," Daryl said almost to himself.

He turned to look at Beth, who'd been silent this whole time, unsure as to what she should say.

"You okay with bein' with some toothless redneck?"

She swallowed. False teeth didn't last forever; Beth had memories of her grandparents' gummy mouths flashing while they had their dentures remade for whatever reason. It wasn't a question of if, but one of when Daryl's dentures would fail. Although it was painful to admit she had qualms about Daryl's appearance without his teeth, because she didn't love him for his looks, the plain truth was she was grossed out by the idea of kissing a man with no teeth.

But that was who Daryl was. He wasn't some perfect man, with smiling white veneers; he was full of scars and missing teeth and maybe that was why she loved him in the first place, because he had those imperfections. Like salting fruit to bring out the true taste. His kindness was all the more worthwhile when it was received, because it was something which so easily could have not existed.

And she wasn't without her own bodily faults, not after living in the world as it was and not after carrying twins. There was the deep, rippling scar on her shoulder, still numb to the touch. There were the scars crisscrossing her palms. There was the angry red line on her forehead from striking her head when she was trapped in the trunk with Daryl. Her arms and legs were dotted with rippling, shiny scar tissue from the healed burns, while her stomach stubbornly refused to flatten. She pissed a little when she laughed sometimes. And who's to say she wouldn't lose her own teeth one day? She could feel them shift in her mouth sometimes, and one of her molars was especially loose after the beating she received at Norman's hands.

"Well," Beth said slowly, "I'd prefer you with teeth, but it doesn't change anything. I like you for more than your pearly whites, y'know."

Daryl scoffed a little laugh as he handed back her knife, letting his large hand linger over hers. His fingers tightened briefly before he bent his head, pressing a kiss on her. It was slower, nothing frantic like the ones they shared earlier in the day.

When they broke apart, no further words needed to be exchanged. They each lifted one end of the deer and began again for camp.

Chapter 23: i'm gonna break these chains and feel the sweet sunshine

Chapter Text

The tracks were deep, embedded into the earth, but crumbling around the edges where the rain softened them. Beth brushed her finger over one of the divots, then walked another into the adjoining depression. They marked the ground evenly, steadily, before vanishing at the curb and the beginning of concrete. A steady stream of high-pitched babble, running commentary from Clara, filled her ear, but she kept the other one open, listening for any sounds from her surroundings as she crouched next to the tracks.

"These are from a heavy vehicle, with a lot of tread on the tires. Wider than the ones you would see on a regular truck. Military?" Beth looked across the parallel lines at Daryl.

"Was my guess, too," Daryl said.

He glanced briefly over to the sidewalk, where Anne was employed in banging rocks against a brick. She lifted a rock and looked from side to side at the trees before returning her gaze to the rock. Carefully, Anne examined it, then looked to Daryl as if for guidance, holding the rock still and steady. Daryl nodded at her and she returned to smacking the rock on the brick.

"So, were they evacuated? Why this town, out of any we've come across?" Frankie asked.

He leaned against the wall with his rifle resting ready in his hands.

"McGhee Tyson is south of here," Arjun said. "Maybe they sent a few helicopters and flew them to a refugee camp in a bigger city. Knoxville?"

Arjun sounded doubtful of his own conclusion, the words lacking the smooth clip usually present in his speech. Overhead a pair of ravens flew, wings churning the air. Two gun barrels and two bows spun, glinting in the midday light, then slowly lowered. Daryl rested his crossbow against his knee again.

"Maybe," Daryl echoed. His thumb drew across his lower lip. "Still got a weird feelin' about this place. Sooner we move on, the better."

"I'm gonna go chuck that stroller into the dumpster. I can't stand looking at it. Unless you guys want it?" Frankie said.

"We're alright, thank you," Beth said.

Beth shaded her eyes against the sun while Frankie crossed the street to the small square of grass, an area populated by a pretty wooden gazebo with scrollwork hanging from its eaves and several nearly bare trees, under which sat park benches, their wood weather-grey and warped. Frankie grappled with the stroller until he had it firmly held with his good arm and Beth let out a low breath. The damp, moldy seat was clean.

From the corner of her eye, Beth saw Arjun's eyes dart her way before they fell back to Frankie, who jogged across the street. Frankie vanished around the gas station's side and a grunt of pain followed from him lifting the dumpster's lid with his bum arm. The stroller clattered in a moment later, knocking against the container's sides.

With a soft shuffling noise, the gas station's automatic doors slid open and Dayvon stuck his head through.

"You guys need to get in here; this place is a gold mine! I don't think no one's been in here since the end!"

So they peeled themselves away from the wall they lounged against.

Daryl picked up Anne along the way, saying, "C'mon, lady. Our number's up. No, I don't wanna eat the rock."

"A delicious burger! Thank you, baby," Dayvon said with a grin when Anne passed the rock to him instead. He mimed eating the rock, which did resemble a hamburger, to Anne's delight. "Your daddy's missing out."

Beth laughed at Daryl's scoff as she stepped into the convenience store, but her laughter died away when she looked at the shelves. As if pulled by strings, her hand reached out for the nearest standee, every clip full with a puffy chip bag. Frankie let out a "damn" under his breath.

The store was completely untouched by human hands after the turn. Items stocked the shelves neatly, stretching back to the pegboards the shelves hung upon. Dust lay thick over the whole store, but the even, undisturbed layer confirmed to Beth that no one had been in the store for years.

The only sign of what might have transpired was at the register. An overturned energy drink next to the cash register left the plexiglass, which showcased the lotto ticket rolls, sticky. Beth wrinkled her nose at the hollow exoskeletons of dead ants stuck in the mess. Opposite this, a dark pile of slush inside plastic wrap had oozed over the red plastic counter, left there by whoever was purchasing it. Beth wondered, when she saw the wallet left abandoned next to the former food item, what had been done to convince the town's inhabitants to clear out so quickly, to leave their lives behind.

"This is… God, is the rest of the town like this? What does the grocery look like?" Frankie's mouth gaped as he looked around.

"I don't like it," Arjun said. "Let's get what we need and leave."

The group fanned out, each taking a row. Beth's row contained sundries of varying kinds; she indiscriminately shoved medicine, feminine hygiene products, and diapers into the pack she carried. The rest of the items weren't of much use to her, but she did grab long lighters, matches, and a few cheap screwdriver packs. In the aisles beside her packaging rustled and cans clinked as they collided.

She put on the pack, picked up the teether Clara dropped, and grabbed two gallon containers of distilled water. When she came out the end of the aisle, she met with Arjun, his own pack bulging.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Erika called out for them. So Beth followed behind Arjun to the store's front where Erika was. She clutched several faded pamphlets and looked out at them with shining eyes.

"Look at this… what do you think?" she asked as she passed the pamphlets out for them to peruse.

Unfolding the pamphlet, Beth pressed it against the wall so she could read it without Clara, who was strapped to her chest, reaching to grab it. The design reminded Beth of the PowerPoints she used to have to create in her computer class, with wacky fonts and small, blurry pictures crowding the folds. But she saw immediately why Erika was so excited.

The Wheeler House. A bed and breakfast with a few additional cottages, some miles away from the town and nestled comfortably in the foothills of a larger mountain ridge. Beth flipped the paper over and found a pixelated map accompanying written directions: a quick scan showed her this place was out of the way, not immediately accessible off a highway, instead requiring several turns onto increasingly rural roads.

"This is exactly what we're searching for!" Erika waved an extra pamphlet around.

"Where'd you find this?" Arjun asked.

"Over there," Erika said and pointed to a wooden display, full of promotional advertisem*nts for local sights and attractions.

"Like, this seems too perfect," Frankie said. He flipped his own pamphlet around in his hands. "Perfect house, right next to an untouched town? Seems like a trap, ya know? Like bait."

"Not every coincidence is a sign," Celine said. "They can just be coincidences."

"Not much a fan, either," Daryl said. "But it'd be stupid to dismiss it outta hand. Can check it out, since we're goin' near that way anyway."

Daryl then handed the pamphlet to Anne, letting her crumple it as she saw fit, while he went to the display. Sharp eyes scanned and Beth wondered what he searched for; did he look for another place which would work better? Or was he checking to see if there were other pamphlets, for different places, and someone hadn't removed them in order to direct people searching for sanctuary to a place where the trap could be sprung?

On one hand, Beth wanted to believe the place was genuine and simply a stroke of luck, but on the other hand, being cautious was a requirement of survival these days; there was no more trusting, no more being spontaneous and taking a leap of faith.

"Let's move," Daryl said. "We'll make camp nearby and check it out tomorrow."

As they filed out of the store, Daryl drew Valerie away from the group, taking her to look at the tire tracks. Pulling the jacket closed again around her torn sweater, Valerie knelt down to examine the tracks with Daryl.

"You recognize these?"

Valerie shook her head, saying, "You think they're military? I only drove. I didn't do any maintenance or anything. All I can say is it was heavy, and not from towing weight. See where it turns? The back and front tracks are the same depth."

"Alright," Daryl said.

And with that they were on the road again, slower with their heavier packs, but no one minded much because the score was so good. Besides, all of them were well broken in for the road now, their muscles stronger for the rigors, and they still made good time.

More eyes than just Beth's kept watch as they moved through empty streets. The whole town was frozen in time; most often Beth found there were signs of panicked fleeing—a car crashed into a pole and dark footsteps following from the flung open door, or scattered clothes surrounding an open suitcase, altogether too human signs that there had once been someone there. But she was forcibly reminded of those books her mother used to listen to on tape in the car, the ones about the people left behind after the rapture. Because that's what this town made her think of. Maybe this town, out of all the places on earth, had been called up to heaven, and they were the ones left here to live through the end times. Maybe, Beth thought ruefully, she would soon hear a trumpet sound.

Cars sat neatly before dark traffic lights, waiting to move. Bikes laid overturned on the sidewalks and the grass. Here and there Beth noted backpacks, bright with cartoon characters, lying abandoned on sidewalks. It really was as if every person in this town vanished.

"God, this is so creepy," Frankie muttered. "Like I'm in a damn horror movie."

"Because you're not living one every day," Dayvon answered, equally under his breath.

"We've all accepted the dusters as our reality. This has that damn sense of foreboding, like I'm waiting for some maniac with a chainsaw to pop out from the next building."

"Well, then just shoot him, Frankie. Duh," Erika said.

"I bet you all hated The Matrix because humans would be sh*t batteries—"

Daryl held up his flat hand.

Black ash blanketed the road. Rain, ice, and snow had not ruined the thick, inky darkness scoured in every crack because there was more than enough to replace it. Reaching up to the sky and stretching across the road lay an insurmountable blockage: hundreds upon hundreds of charred bodies. Bullet casings as fat as fingers sparkled mockingly in the sun while here and there were marks in the hardened and caked ash, tire treads matching the ones outside the gas station.

There was no movement from the bodies.

Everything lay as still as a tomb, and it was their tomb, with the ground and the sky and the air boxing the bodies in.

"The whole town… they just shot them?" Celine gasped.

"They nuked New York," Frankie said in a voice like the badlands. "So why is this a surprise?"

"What?" Beth couldn't believe it, couldn't believe Frankie survived that.

"I was outta the city then. On a boat heading down the coast. With my brother and some IDF soldiers. …It's beautiful, you know. So bright… it goes on and on and on… I only saw it for a second. We got under deck to stay out of the fallout."

"Christ," Daryl said.

His hand came up to circle over his goatee while his eyes scanned their surroundings.

"The… the bodies go on for a good distance each way. Over or parallel?" Arjun asked.

"Parallel. C'mon," Daryl said.

Something like a small sigh passed through the group, relief that they wouldn't be scaling the mountain of death. And so they followed along with the bodies on their left. Every gaze remained straight ahead, never wavering to the towering grave which loomed. Although Beth saw the end of the bodies, the next block over, it seemed forever that they walked besides them. Clara reached out for one of the blackened hands extending from the pile and Beth swallowed hard as she pushed the baby's arm down.

After turning the corner and heading north again, it didn't take them long to make their way out of the town; it sprawled east-west rather than north-south. They took themselves off the roads and into the woods, angling towards Wheeler House from the southeast, rather than taking the roads suggested by the map. Past the town, the area quickly became unincorporated, abruptly changing back to mountainous woodlands, as if they had never come upon that empty, blank place at all.

They set up camp on a slope as the sun fell past the trees; it was a mean, simple camp, but their dinner was not. Celine took Erika out with her to forage and returned commenting on the variety of plant-life to be found, even this late in the season. While they still had a decent supply of meat from the long stop they made outside Petros, along with dried fruits and nuts which had also been gathered, these were saved in favor of the canned foods they'd found in the convenience store.

Arjun made a separate meal for him and Celine from some of the found rice, adding in canned vegetables and sprinkling in a handful of the nuts for protein and fat. Both had been vegetarians before the turn and they were well used to creating vegetarian meals from what was scavenged along the way. As Beth drew her spoon through the thin, clinging sauce of her s'ghetti rings, she realized how much her tastebuds had changed. Arjun's meal looked more appetizing than her own; she kept running her tongue over her soft palate, feeling a chemical film clung there. Beth used to love s'ghetti rings, but without hunger as a seasoning, she could barely stomach them.

She forced down a few more mouthfuls, scraped up the last of the sauce, and rinsed out the can with a bit of water. Getting up, Beth used a twist-tie to affix it to the proximity alarm, then returned to her place by the fire next to Daryl. He passed the twins over to her and while Beth settled them in for their last feeding of the day, Daryl got himself dinner from the unwanted dregs of what had been heated up. He chose chili and seemed as dissatisfied with it as Beth had been with her own supper.

"Hm." He made the noise low in his throat as his spoon moved thickly through the chili.

"What is it?"

"This could be what we were lookin' for," Daryl said.

"It could be," Beth agreed.

She waited for Daryl to continue his thought, because that couldn't be all he had to say.

"You been keepin' lookout for anything strange?"

Something twisted deep inside Beth. No, she hadn't been.

"It's hard to tell, when I'm shootin' them from yards away. And we're movin' on every night… I haven't seen any that seem out of the ordinary," she hedged. "At least not when I'm foragin'."

"Hm."

"Have you seen anything?"

"Nah," Daryl said.

He turned over his can and dumped the uneaten portion into the fire; the fat flared up hot before dying back down. Across the flames, Erika and Dayvon shared a blanket, Erika whispering something in Dayvon's ear that made him grin. Soft conversation hung around the fire like smoke and Beth felt the hope rising from the group, everyone quietly waiting to see if Wheeler House would become their home.

Beth sucked in a sharp breath when Clara bit down on her areola. She calmly said "ow," and pushed her finger into Clara's mouth to force the baby to unlatch. The baby whined and reached for Daryl, who took her into his lap, but she didn't cry. Clara snuggled in and looked reproachfully at Beth. For a long time, Clara had been good at not biting, but as she got older and moved towards weaning, the biting returned especially if she didn't feel like nursing or wanted solid food instead.

"You want this?" Daryl gave the baby a strip of venison jerky to gum on and she accepted with a squeal, tiny fist waving the meat around. "Shh. Quiet."

A crackle in the leaves made Beth and Daryl's heads turn. Valerie, back from a patrol around the perimeter, gave them both a cursory nod as she came up to the fire and crouched in front of the flames, holding her hands close to warm. Something about the sharpness of the nod made Beth bite her tongue. While Beth didn't think it was wrong to hide the possibility of a hostile group from the others when it was just that: a possibility (because didn't they all know it was so, on the road?), Beth didn't think hiding the idea would go over well.

And besides, Beth thought as she sat Anne up and pulled her shirt back up, they'd since moved far east and north of where that poor, undead walker was hung.

The next morning saw people up before dawn. The thrill in the air slipped into sleeping minds, calling them awake far earlier than usual. Jokes were made over coffee, a treat scooped up from the convenience store, and Frankie entertained them around the fire as breakfast cooked by regaling a tale from his escape from New York.

Beth gave the twins their breakfast before pouring herself some of the coffee. She inhaled the rich scent, and just for a moment, if she closed her eyes, she was back at the farmhouse. But then she opened them once again and saw nothing but travel-darkened faces, smudged with grime and dried blood.

"... And that's why you never take in a group of Catholic school kids, no matter how innocent they look," Frankie finished, waving his stale graham cracker around to emphasize his point.

"It's amazing you've lived as long as you have," Erika said.

"Isn't it?"

"Sun's up. Let's move," Daryl said.

Arjun and Dayvon rose to their feet and grabbed their rifles, ducking underneath the proximity alarm to follow behind Daryl. Beth didn't expect them back until the sun set, but she hoped they would have good news regarding the house. She adjusted how Clara sat on her lap and shoved down the dark thing gnawing at the pit of her stomach. They would be just fine. And there were plenty of things to do at camp.

Valerie and Frankie took over watch and Erika kindly entertained the twins. She sat before them and pointed at Beth, signing "Mommy" until the twins repeated the sign back. She then moved on through the people at camp, pointing out "Aunt V" and "Uncle F". The letters were harder for the girls to mimic, requiring a fine motor control they hadn't yet developed, but they tried. Both girls enjoyed the silent hand game, but their interests soon moved on to other things, like all the sticks and leaves surrounding them. While the girls practiced, Beth washed and boiled their clothes and diapers. Celine foraged around the edges of camp, within sight of everyone, and frequently stopped to check her surroundings. The morning remained quiet. Beth wiped herself down, gave the twins a similar bath, and put them down for a nap. She and Erika took watch next, pacing through the freshly fallen leaves. The sun moved overhead.

The interminable scraping of sharpening knives sounded; Valerie had taken it upon herself to sharpen everyone's knives. Water splashed as Celine settled a pot over the fire. When it boiled, she tossed in a large handful of oak bark, turning the water deep brown, like tea.

Frankie gamely stumped over to the fire and pulled off his jacket, then his sweater, his mouth grim and thin. The bandages were unwound from around his shoulder to reveal the abscessed wound, still red and raw and weeping. Shiny pink scar tissue from previous debriding surrounded the inflamed hole. Using a small knife, fresh from the boiling decoction, Celine lanced the thin layer of skin to let the pus drain, catching the exudate with a folded rag.

"I keep thinking about the grocery store," Celine said to no one in particular as she worked. "And its pharmacy."

"If I could never have hot tree-water squirted at me again, I'd be a happy man. So happy," Frankie said, his eyes squeezed shut.

"All that food, all those houses… we'd be set for life," Erika said.

"Don't," Valerie said, shoulders drawn up tight as she hunched over the grindstone.

"Don't what?" Erika shifted her rifle to point straight up towards the sky.

"Don't talk about things like that. As if they're sure." Valerie held the knife up to her eye to check the edge. She pushed the blade against the grindstone a few more times and checked again. "It's pointless."

"C'mon, didn't you ever buy scratcher tickets and talk about what you'd do if you won the lotto? That's what this is. f*cking lotto talk," Frankie said before being silenced by Celine irrigating his wound with the oak bark decoction.

"We're not going to be running forever," Erika said.

"We are. You just don't see it," Valerie said.

One of the twins woke up from their nap and Beth went to Anne, her bow heavy on her back. Valerie rose, leaving the grindstone where it was, and took Beth's place. For a while the only sounds were birds singing, Frankie's muffled grunts of pain, and the thick, wet sound of canned vegetables being crushed. Anne ate a few spoonfuls of the mush before becoming disinterested, wanting instead to crunch the dead leaves.

Beth once thought she'd be running forever. She thought she'd move through ruined houses endlessly with her dad and Maggie and Rick and the rest, helping Lori with the baby because that's all she was capable of while they huddled together near moldy armchairs. And she had been okay with that. She accepted it. Then they found the prison. That's where she put down roots, allowed herself to grow, just a bit.

But that safety and security was ripped from her hands, blown apart by anti-tank mortars and shredded by high-caliber bullets. And she'd never picked those feelings back up to keep while inside Aspen Pointe—it had all been false and forced. She'd felt them brush along her fingertips, sometimes, when she shared a bed with Daryl on the road, but in the back of her mind she always knew he was right when he said thinking she was safe would get her killed.

And she was so tired of running. But Valerie was right. There were only rests—small moments of peace—yet the race never ended. This was all there was, this eternal sprint towards an unattainable dream.

Anne rested her head on Beth's chest and snuggled in, so warm and soft. Something rattled in Beth's chest when she took her next breath. This wasn't any kind of life for her daughters. So, she supposed, she'd keep running, keep chasing that dream not for her own sake, but for Clara and Anne.

Dayvon returned after sunset. They saw his teeth shining in the dark before they saw him and Erika jumped to her feet, running to greet him. He laughed and spun her around—just once because Erika was a sturdy woman—then pressed a kiss on her cheek.

"It's looking good! I gotta tell you all about it," he said as they welcomed him to the fire.

Celine poured a cup of tea for Dayvon while everyone got settled. He held it up to his nose and breathed deeply, fingers cupping around the ceramic to soak up the warmth. The air had the breath of frost, creeping along the damp leaves and crawling up trees, and perhaps tonight it would freeze.

"So, it's pretty big, probably it got, like, four or five bedrooms. Real old. There're all these old farm tools hanging around, for ambiance or some sh*t. Gonna have to repair the fence, but hey, we won't have to build one. We think there are some dusters inside, since there's a couple cars in the lot. No tracks outside, according to Daryl, and none surrounding the property. It's pretty high up the slope, and there's a crick in a ravine further east, maybe half a mile. He and Arjun are still there. They're gonna watch and if things stay clear, they'll be back by noon and we can get to work clearing it out!"

"Oh, I'll be glad to be inside again! I'm freezing my ass off these days," Celine said as she rubbed briskly at her arms.

Beth hugged her daughters tightly, fingers stroking through their cornsilk hair. It would be nice to rest.

Although no one named what they did, the next morning found the camp a hair's breadth away from being broken, only needing the fire doused. Packs had been repacked, the alarm taken down, and blankets shook out and rolled up. Beth hummed as she watched the girls play, but her gaze frequently snapped to the trees, waiting for Daryl and Arjun's return.

When they finally appeared between the trees just after noon, Beth knew from their relaxed faces everything had gone well.

"Looks alright," Daryl said. "It's about two miles from here. Should give us time to clear it before sunset. Let's move."

Beth did Clara up in her sling and joined Daryl; Dayvon carried Anne in his arms—he was well on his way to becoming the twins' favorite person. She let her hand jump to Daryl's, dry winter skin rustling as it touched. His hand enfolded hers for a brief second and then it was back on the strap of his crossbow; with the twins now much too large to be carried by one person comfortably and the changing season necessitating more supplies, Beth had fallen in the ranks and stood somewhere between human stroller and pack mule these days. She rather hated it.

Wheeler House materialized through the tree trunks as they drew closer to the property. Daryl signaled a full stop and Beth got her first look at the potential home as she crouched next to him behind a dormant bush. Cracks of twigs sounded as the others drew up to the tree line's edge or as they put their hands on scrub to move naked branches from their field of view.

The first thing Beth noticed was the charmingly dilapidated rail fence, zig-zagging around the whole property. With maybe a day's work they could have it repaired and fully secured again. She saw the mentioned cars in the small plot of concrete serving as a parking lot, one, two, three. All sedans, so a good chance the walkers inside were all adults. Beth pulled a bit of brush closer for Clara because she wanted to chew on it.

The house itself was large and sprawling in the way that buildings were when they'd been added onto by different generations, when visions of modernity clashed with the past. It looked as if several different houses had been smashed together: the east corner was a log cabin, the central portion a solid brick lump, and the west corner light and airy with white-painted wooden siding that extended onto the second floor, covering the whole length. A dark shadow moved past one of the upper floor's windows. Beth let out a slow breath.

The newest addition also added a wraparound porch to the property, with wide stairs leading up to the front door. Here and there, small clusters of outdoor furniture cluttered the porch, and Beth thought the effect would have been quite inviting before the world turned. Perfect to sit outside with a glass of wine and your husband after a long day of hiking and watch the sun blaze past the trees. But now all the furniture would need to be removed; it was a tripping hazard.

Further back on the property, Beth spotted a tiny cabin and guessed that to be one of the offered cottages; it would be good for people keeping watch now that it was almost winter. They could go inside and warm up without having to go all the way back to the house. So far, Wheeler House seemed ideal.

Daryl's hand sliced the air and they crept forward, hopping the fence when they came to it. Weapons bristled but the air remained still.

"I'll cover the woods—Dayvon, pass her here—from the cars," Beth said.

Daryl looked back at her, past the skyward stock of his crossbow, and nodded firmly. So while the rest fanned out along the porch, Beth jogged to the cars, checking to see if any were unlocked. The first door she tried wrenched open in her hand with a wretched, rusty creak. Swallowing, Beth put both girls in the sedan's backseat and shut the door on them. Clara pulled herself up in the window, her face crumpling as she looked for Mom.

"I'll be right up there, Junebug," Beth said with a small wave.

She dropped her pack to the ground, finally unencumbered by the weight, and hopped up onto the trunk, then walked up to the roof for a better vantage point. It felt good to have her bow in her hands again. The trees stayed quiet as her eyes swept back and forth over them. It would be good to have a rest.

The house's door creaked open; this was followed shortly after by a piercing whistle from Daryl. Then came a series of thumps, followed by grunts, squelching, and bow twangs. She fought the urge to look over when a gunshot rang. The report called walkers from the woods, but just a few, so Beth watched them carefully until they ganged up on a fence section.

Beth jumped from the roof and crossed the yard until she was close enough to hit them with her bow. One by one they slumped over the rail, which groaned under the weight. Well, they'd be dealt with later. When she turned to jog back to the car, only Frankie and Celine were left on the porch, standing ready next to a pile of corpses. She listened carefully for more sounds from inside the house, but she couldn't hear any.

So instead she climbed on top the car once again. The twins both cried at the window and the sight of their small hands scrabbling at the glass tightened Beth's heart. They hadn't been apart from Beth for more than a day since being born. If they were with someone else, Beth was often in sight. But they'd never been alone. Beth wanted to bundle them up in her arms, to reassure them they weren't actually alone, she was right there above them.

What would they do if she died and actually left them alone? The thought made her throat tighten.

No, she wouldn't think about that.

Her grip slipped and Beth wiped the sweat off on her pant leg before gripping the bow again. In the sky, a few wispy clouds scudded over the sun, dimming the light. Beth shifted her weight to her other foot, trying to ignore the wails drifting up to her ears.

Thirty minutes later, the house had been thoroughly swept and declared clear. While Arjun and Dayvon began removing the corpses from the house, Beth got to her knees and pulled open the car door, letting the twins crawl to her. She hugged them tight, pressing kisses to their heads. Both girls were red-faced and exhausted from crying. Beth kissed their heads once more and settled them on her hips, rising to head for the house.

Daryl leaned against the wall just outside the door, smoking a cigarette. He put it out against his worn boot sole, putting the unsmoked portion back into the pack. Clara reached for Daryl and he took her, even though walker blood slicked his front.

"We've been on the road long enough. It'll be good for everyone to have this place, even if it's only for a little while," Beth said.

A little toss of his shoulders and a mumble was all the answer Beth got from Daryl. After a quick kiss to Clara's head, he gave the girl back to Beth and she continued inside, taking her first look at the interior.

It looked much like she expected. She stepped into a small foyer, crowded with a round, low cast iron table holding the visitor registry and some maps of the local hiking trails. When she took a step back, the hooks of a coat rack poked sharply at her head, so she stepped forward again.

The foyer turned into a long, narrow hallway, which opened to the right into a dining room and to the left into a sitting room. The formal sitting room joined with what looked to be a more casual media area, with a computer, television, and squashy couches. Beth could only suppose the dining room joined with the kitchen. Spidery hallways appeared to branch from those rooms, leading to the additions, most likely.

Directly before her were some lopsided stairs, warped from years of use and humidity. Beth let those be for now, instead searching the rooms to see if there was a safe place she could deposit Clara and Anne. There wasn't, so she returned outside to set the girls in the yard, where she could keep watch while the others finished removing the bodies. Beth glanced down at the blood staining Clara's jacket. No, that probably wasn't good for her, but she'd be inside and warm soon enough.

For the longest time Beth thought she'd be one of those overbearing first-time mothers, fretting over every small thing. She let out a sour little laugh. She had been, hadn't she? With Judith? Rick, I can't get her to burp. Carol, she's sleepin' too much. Daddy, is she runnin' a fever? Judith just ate a spider—is she gonna be okay? Please, Glenn, wash your hands! Shouldn't she be sittin' up by now? Why isn't she talkin' yet? She was an old hand when the twins arrived.

Clara pulled herself up using Beth's leg and bounced, pleased with herself. They'd be walking soon. What would she do then?

"Beth," Daryl called, tacking on a short whistle. "C'mon, I got your pack."

After gathering up the girls, Beth jogged to the stairs, stepping up to meet Daryl at the top with a brief kiss. She drew back and smiled, co*cking her head to the side in the most minute way. He always looked so thunderstruck, like each kiss was a surprise, like it was so bizarre she was still interested in him.

"Be nice to have some privacy again," he said real low as they walked through the door.

"Won't it?"

Everyone was gathered in the sitting room, looking like beggars invited before the king's table against the fine furniture. Beth ignored a large blood stain splattered on the wall and sat down with the twins, divesting Clara from her dirty coat and stuffing her into a fresh jacket.

"Let's get tomorrow planned, 'fore we do anything else tonight," Daryl said. "Most important, gettin' the fence fixed."

"I can do that," Dayvon said.

"Good. Next, should head into town again, search for essentials."

"I'll do that," Celine said. "The grocery store's pharmacy and all that. Beth needs to come with me, so I can teach her."

"Y'okay with that?"

"Of course," Beth answered Daryl.

"Alright. Y'all know what else we'd need. Other thing is I want you checkin' garages."

"I thought it was impossible to find a car these days?" Arjun said.

"It is. Want you lookin' for those midlife crisis cars. Not worth a sh*t on the road, but that's how we used to find gas—was usually kept in cans with stabilizer since they weren't driven much. Those have a chance of still bein' good."

"I didn't know that," Beth said quietly.

"Bring one back! Man, I always wanted to drive one of those. Or just… drive," Frankie said.

"We'll be sittin' pretty if we can get those cars out there drivable," Daryl said, ignoring Frankie.

"What else?" Erika asked.

"Cleanup," Beth answered for Daryl as Anne inched her tiny hands towards a pile of brain matter.

"Yeah. Got it," Erika said with a grimace twisting her face.

"Anything you think needs done?" Daryl called to Valerie, making the woman startle and look up from her rifle.

"I'll scout around," Valerie said. "Try and get some escape routes planned."

"'S good. 'S a good start. That's it," Daryl said and shoved his hands into his pockets before slouching out of focus.

The group broke apart as if their strings had been cut. Beth brought the packs into the media room; they'd likely sleep on the couches and on the floor tonight as they had on other one-night stopovers. Sleeping in a room with only Daryl and the twins would feel strange. It had taken Beth weeks to get used to sleeping alone at the prison; she'd often drag her bedroll to her dad's cell or to Lori and Carol's cell—then just Carol's, after Lori—and sleep on the floor, simply to hear them breathe. Lori was no good in the mornings and had stepped on Beth's face a few times, never realizing she was there, though she always apologized profusely after waking up a bit.

With Daryl by her side, maybe the transition wouldn't be so bad this time.

Later, once they'd eaten the dinner Erika prepared, Beth joined Daryl on the porch for watch. The twins had been laid down for the night in a laundry basket, with people surrounding all four sides, so if they climbed from their bed someone would be woken up. Outside, in the still, cold air, Beth stared up at the sky as she paced the porch's length. In the velvet dark each star hung like a crystal, and there were so many. Beth had never seen skies like these until the turn. Without a single light tarnishing the firmament, the stars painted the sky in a glittering swath, so bright and so pure it caught Beth's breath in her chest. She thought she knew the sky, growing up in the county, but she didn't. It was as if a veil lifted away and she saw the true sky, the true night, and before she only saw an idea of night, like a child's imitation of it.

"Look," Beth said when she passed by Daryl.

He paused, following her pointing hand and let his shoulders down when he realized she only meant the sky.

"It's a beautiful night. There's Orion," Beth said and she laughed. "I can only find him and the dippers."

With a step to the side, Daryl bumped against her and his arm slipped around her waist, hand coming to rest on her hip. His fingers, curled up from being around the crossbow strap, jerked a few times as if they couldn't straighten. A small ripple traveled up his arm.

"Dammit," he muttered.

Beth looked up at him, able to see his features clearly in the bright starlight. They were all screwed together. "What is it?"

"Nothin'. Cold's got my hands all f*cked up, 's all."

"Let me see."

A heavy hand landed in her open palms. She hooked her own fingers underneath Daryl's bent, callused ones, trying to straighten them, but they resisted, tightened tendons pushing back against her. His ring and pinkie fingers straightened after gentle manipulation, but Beth didn't bother to force the middle and index fingers after his arm flexed tightly, drawing away from her.

Beth trapped the hand between both of hers and worked to rub warmth into his skin. His fingers loosened, the curl not so tight, so she switched to massaging with her thumbs, using a light pressure against tense spots.

"I'll bring you back some gloves," Beth said without looking up from her task.

"Yeah. Alright."

As his hand warmed and relaxed further, Beth worked her thumbs in harder. She'd done this type of massage before, back in Aspen Pointe, on some of the residents who had arthritis. A torrent of half-baked medical ideas stopped behind her teeth and she swallowed the words down. Instead she reached for his other hand.

"sh*t," Daryl said as he held his hand up to his face. The fingers curled smoothly and unfurled once again with a small catch, barely noticeable. "That's a lot better."

"I'll see if I can find some medicine in town," Beth said.

"Don't bother. f*cked my hands up one too many times, is all this is. Ain't nothin' for that."

"Steroids would help with the inflammation. Could save it for when you need your hands at their best."

"You're gonna bring some back anyway, even if I say no, right?"

Beth pressed her lips together to hide a smile and shrugged.

"Already learned not to argue with Maggie, 'bout time I gave up on winnin' with you."

"It's not my fault you're slow," Beth said.

The corner of his mouth tugged up; he remembered saying the same phrase to her long ago.

"Liked you better when you didn't sass me."

"No, you didn't."

Daryl snorted and withdrew his hand, even though Beth hadn't finished her massage. He replaced his arm around her waist, his hand now able to rest flat against her hip. Beth leaned into him, her head coming to rest against his shoulder and they stayed like that a moment before parting and returning to their patrol.

Chapter 24: tomorrow the sun will be rising

Chapter Text

Beth rubbed at her chilled hands to get some warmth back in them before using her knuckles to rap at the window. Beside her, Celine waited with her foot tapping rapidly. The blade of her knife flashed in the watery sun as it bounced against her thigh. After knocking again on the glass, Beth blew a breath on her cupped hands before picking up her bow, readying an arrow as she did so.

"How long did it take you?"

"What do you mean?" Beth asked.

"To get used to killing them."

"Used to… I don't know if I'm used to it. Maybe I never will be. But there's always a voice in the back of my head sayin' those were people, once. I hope I don't forget that. You say to yourself, if I don't kill them, I'm dead. I turn into one of them, and then I'm killin' livin' people."

"Everything I've done in my life has been to help people… you see them thinking, moving… how can you say they're not still people…?"

The store remained still and dark, but it never hurt to wait longer, just to be sure.

"You know I was in Georgia, with Daryl, before."

"You've said."

"Before I met him… my family—that is, my dad and my sister, and I—before we met what became our family… It was a while after it all started. I remember… I was pissed off because we didn't celebrate my birthday, how stupid is that? And that's when Daryl showed up. They told us what they'd been through. Anyways, before I met Daryl and the others, they had tried going to the CDC, thinkin' it would still be staffed, be safe, have answers."

"Did it?" Celine asked, her eyes narrowing as if Beth had said she could fly.

"There was one man left. Just one man. I don't remember his name. It…" Beth took a deep breath, trying to parse what she'd been told through the filter of a medical mind, though perhaps that was futile as Rick wasn't a doctor, wasn't a scientist, didn't have that kind of specialist knowledge. "As far as I understand it, whatever makes us come back restarts the brain, but the lowest parts of it. They breathe, but they don't need to. Their heart beats, but it doesn't need to."

"That makes no f*cking sense… you cut off the sick's head and it stays animated without any sort of blood supply or oxygenation! That's the best the CD-f*cking-C could do? What parts of the brain? The cerebellum, obviously, but they see and smell and that's the cerebrum—if it reaches that part of the brain there could still be cognition—"

"Celine," Beth said, "don't. When you were a nurse… did a family ever pull the plug on someone in a coma?"

"Yes."

"Did you agree?"

"I hear what you're trying to put down… but I just can't… they've died… and they've come back…" Celine's hand clenched into a fist. "I should've—when I learned my grandma died, I should've stolen a bunch of fentanyl from the hospital and—"

"It doesn't make you feel any better," Beth said in a crushed voice as she thrust out her hand, pulling back the ragged collection of bracelets still hanging around on her wrist. "I wanted to do it. Andrea said I'd found my reason to live when I didn't cut deep enough, but I hadn't. I was scared. It hurt. I didn't want to die, I wanted the pain to end. The pain never ends, but I found my reason to live, eventually. And then I lost it. And I found it again. And that's all this life is. Gettin' up again, and again, and again."

Celine wiped underneath her eyes with her fingertips, sniffing loudly. And then she laughed.

"Your problem was you went across the street, not down the highway."

"Excuse me! You are a medical professional—"

"I'm sorry, that wasn't funny…"

"I cut the wrong way?"

"You should know that, from the anatomy I had you study."

"I'm sorry for openin' up—"

"No, no… don't be… I appreciate hearing it. I did tell you I'd listen, didn't I?" Celine said and she gave Beth an apologetic smile. "Sometimes humor works best… but not always."

"Across the street," Beth muttered.

"Hey, you're right though. About there not needing to be a reason. That comes later. I did have one for a long time, but I guess I lost it. It was helping people. Helping women. Helping mothers. You reminded me of why I became a midwife in the first place."

Beth decided they had waited long enough and pushed open the first set of doors to the grocery store. They entered into a dark, musty-smelling entryway, filled with carts and sickly-sweet can-return machines.

"Did I?"

"It's the way mothers look at their babies. That moment when she holds her child for the first time… that's what we need more of these days."

Together they pulled open the second set of doors, which lead into the store itself. Beth's hand slipped on the glass. She could still see those memories so clearly: blood-covered and howling little Clara being settled in her arms, the stilted way Anne's chest stuttered until she matched her breath to her mother's and began turning pink. Everything else about that long night was a blur of pain and fear and fever; she and Daryl had been so sick, so exhausted, that Beth's fears she'd die during the delivery seemed more of a promise than an idea.

But seeing her daughters' faces made her think that maybe she hadn't been so stupid after all, if it meant that those two souls had the chance to exist. That maybe—though it was something done many times before by many sorts of people—she had done something special, reverential.

"I had a whole universe in my hands."

"Yes! You understand that power…"

Celine's voice trailed off as they took their first look at the grocery store. For one moment Beth believed it was before the turn and her heart skipped. And then she noticed all the things which were wrong. There were no fresh vegetables or fruits on display; those had all rotted away. A few withered skins lingered in the defunct coolers, but otherwise, the only sign the shelves once held produce was an unidentifiable sludge caked on the metal. The fluorescent lights were all off. And of course, there was the complete and utter lack of human beings. But the shelves otherwise stood untouched, aside from dimmed buggies askew in the aisles.

"We've got to carry everything back on foot," Beth said aloud, mostly as a reminder to herself.

"No, we could fill up the carts," Celine said. "Pharmacy first, though."

So they crossed the empty aisles until they reached the store's back, where the small pharmacy was located. Neat rows of white bottles lined the shelves beyond the counter and at that moment it struck home for Beth the scope of what had been lost—were all the diabetics dead? The asthmatics? The cancer patients and the people with lupus?—because even if humanity made it through this, how would they reach this level of manufacturing again? How many thousands of people had been involved in the creation and distribution of these drugs? The breadth of knowledge lost sunk in for Beth; she knew how to survive, but did she know how to create?

No, not this. She didn't know how to recreate this.

Celine hopped the counter, sliding smoothly to the other side. She landed on her feet and strode to the nearest shelf. Her finger ran over the neat white bottles, skimming the long names which still made Beth dizzy to look at. Beth grabbed a few baskets from an end cap before joining Celine behind the counter.

"I'll handle the antibiotics, but I'll leave everything else to you, alright?"

"Okay," Beth said.

She walked among the shelves. Her eyes darted, trying to comprehend the muddle of consonants and vowels faded on nondescript plastic. Most of the medicines were unfamiliar to her—what the heck was pantoprazole? But she grabbed what she recognized and thought would be helpful, which turned out to not be much.

"Beth, you wanna come here?" Celine called.

Hurrying to meet Celine, Beth went to a far corner of the pharmacy, where two large, tan cabinets stood side by side.

"Can you get these open? All the schedule drugs are in here, and that's what we really need."

"I'll try. If you could find a flashlight, that would help."

"Lemme see what I can find," Celine said.

So while Celine searched, Beth pulled out a few bobby pins from her pinned braid, bending them as needed. She slipped them into the keyhole and began fiddling; while she didn't need light to work, she could open locks faster when there weren't people breathing down her neck. The door sprang open and Beth shoved it aside only to find a second locked door behind the first.

"What the heck?"

A sharp light glimmered on the metal and Celine said, "It's a security thing."

"It's a pain in the butt," Beth griped as she set to work on the second lock.

"But we need the opiates and the benzodiazepines," Celine said. She tried to angle the flashlight to give Beth more light but ended up reflecting the beam off the lock instead, directly into Beth's eyes. "If we get those, we can sedate Frankie and really work on his shoulder. I'm worried it'll spread somewhere we can't fix, like into his bones."

One more pin and she'd be in.

"Daryl hasn't come to you to be seen, has he?"

"That man? His arm could be off and he'd ask for a bandaid. No, he hasn't."

"I think his lungs are still messed up from the fire… and he's never been kind to his hands. They locked up last night and wouldn't straighten."

"Well, what do you think?"

"I suggested steroids for his hands, but I'm not sure about his lungs."

"Get him to stop smoking."

"That'd help… but, y'know, with the world the way it is, I can't bring myself to ask him to quit. Feels like askin' a soldier on the front lines to quit for their health."

Celine laughed and said, "In that case, the only thing I'd recommend would be a bronchodilator if his breathing becomes significantly impaired. Otherwise, he's just gonna have to deal."

The last pin slid into place, so Beth turned the lock and pulled the door open to narrow metal shelves with hardly a speck of dust darkening the plastic. The flashlight’s beam rose and narrowly shone, falling on a bottle of lisdexamfetamine. Celine lifted the flashlight higher.

"What dipsh*t pharmacist organized these? This is a mess," Celine muttered.

"I'll get the other cabinet open, and then I'll look around the store. Fill up a buggy or two," Beth said.

"Yeah, okay. I'm gonna be here a while."

Once the second cabinet had been unlocked, Beth left Celine to her muttering in favor of a quick jaunt around the store to get the layout; while it was similar to most groceries in that the perishables were located around the sales floor's perimeter, the designations of the interior aisles were unfamiliar. Beth jogged the length of the store, eyes flicking up to read the signs. She thought about what they needed most: low-weight non-perishables first and foremost, like jerky, rice, oatmeal, and dried fruits, but also salt. Oil for needed fats, if they hadn't gone rancid; although if they had, perhaps they could instead be used to create the deterrent Aspen Pointe used so well because the store surely had to have unscented candles to use for paraffin. Batteries and flashlights, invaluable. Soap, because hygiene was important to maintain and reduced the chance of infection if they sustained cuts or abrasions; and in that vein, toothbrushes, floss, and toothpaste as well. Maybe she could even find diapers for Clara and Anne and dispense with the cloth diapers for a short while; Beth almost grinned at the thought. Swishing sh*t off a diaper in a creek was not how she imagined dealing with cloth diapers. If Wheeler House ended up proving suitable, they could return for the canned and jarred goods later.

After familiarizing herself with the layout, Beth grabbed one of the emptier abandoned buggies and began trolling the aisles. The slap of her feet on the linoleum echoed, ringing off the dusty shelves until it bounced into the drop ceiling. An item here and an item there and before she knew it the buggy was full to the brim with foodstuffs. It was unlikely all the items would be edible and free of mold or other contaminants, but that didn't matter in this moment. Beth brought the buggy to the entrance and lined it up with the door, ready to go.

Movement through the glass caught her eye and she looked up to see several walkers gnawing at the exterior doors' glass, leaving bloody streaks behind. Well, Beth thought, the town couldn't have remained free of migrating walkers. They grouped up in herds and moved in abstract patterns, moving like schools of fish along the earth. She counted six, enough for her and Celine to deal with them if it came to that. Wheeling the buggy around, Beth brought it to the back of the store and left it just outside the stockroom entrance.

She grabbed another buggy, this time filling it with non-food items: bleach, for cleaning and water treatment, flashlights and batteries, emergency and other unscented candles, the ugly five-packs of cheap underwear, a set of plain work gloves for Daryl, bottles of vodka for tinctures, and as many diaper packs as she could fit in the cart. Once the buggy had been parked next to its fellow, Beth returned to the pharmacy to find Celine performing a last walkthrough. Here and there a bottle was shoved into the basket dangling from her left arm.

"I think that's everything important," Celine said. "Let's go through the non-prescription stuff, get bandages, gauze, betadine, y'know, that kinda sh*t."

"Okay. Gonna need to leave 'round the back; we got some walkers up front."

“You gotta be kidding me… I guess the quiet couldn’t last.”

Together they pawed through the short aisles adjacent to the pharmacy, clearing the shelves of bandaging and minor wound-treatment items. Celine also tossed in items like lice treatments, epsom salts, sports tape, and braces. After seeing the lice treatment, Beth idly itched her scalp, wondering if the sensation was a psychosomatic reaction or not. She’d gotten lice once in elementary school and wasn’t eager to repeat the process of endless combing and stinking shampoo.

Beth stopped and picked up a box that caught her attention, turning it over in her hands. It claimed to reduce the appearance of scars by some excessive percentage in only a few weeks. Although she didn’t particularly mind her scars, the burn scars had tightened painfully with the drier weather, itching with a distracting intensity and sometimes popping with sharp little pains if she moved suddenly. Beth added a few boxes to the basket.

“Is that everything important? We can always come back,” Beth said. “I don’t want a whole gang meetin’ us outside.”

“Yeah, that’s everything. I’m ready,” Celine said.

“I’ll go first and clear the way; you follow behind with the carts, okay?”

“Got it.”

After maneuvering the carts into the stockroom, Beth and Celine made their way to an employee door, opening it to weather-beaten dumpsters. Ripped trashbags clustered around the metal containers, their contents long scattered by the wind after animals tore inside. Beth’s bow raised, an arrow nocked and ready, and she stepped forward, clearing the bags from their path as she crept forward. The carts rattled behind her as Celine guided them along, one in each hand. As they stepped out from behind a cinderblock wall, Beth swept her head around, taking in the rustling trees and empty houses.

“Clear. Let’s get goin’,” Beth said, lowering her bow. “Here, let me take that one.”

Instead of directly following the path they took this morning back to Wheeler House, they skirted an extra two blocks east before joining with the main road north. Beth hoped that would be enough space that the walkers wouldn’t follow them. She mused on the hardware store she'd seen on their journey here; they would have nothing but time this winter and she wanted to build a system of spikes and earthworks, like the man in the mountains, around the fence. There were so many useful items she could think of which could be procured from the hardware store.

Perhaps, if they were lucky, Wheeler House used propane, and that would mean heat and indoor cooking. She'd seen the canisters outside the grocery store, the gas station, and the hardware store. The idea of cooking over a stove again had Beth giddy.

A rustling in the trees sharpened her senses, turning her head towards the small stand of beeches. She brought the buggy to a stop; beside her Celine did the same, drawing her handgun from her waistband. Her hand was steady now; she moved as they all did these days: rigid, focused, aware. The road taught Celine the truth. It was a hard truth to learn—Beth had almost died from learning it—but it was one which must be learned, or more people would die from the ignorance, had already done so.

One walker popped from between the trunks, and then another. Three more followed behind.

Beth backed up to give herself space while her compound bow came from her shoulders. As she nocked an arrow, Celine slowly exhaled and her finger depressed the trigger. A mottled head exploded, gray brains and thick blood flying from the destroyed head like shrapnel. Another shot followed and was quickly succeeded by an arrow, which bit into the forehead of a male walker with a noose tied around his neck, the trailing rope end frayed and uneven. Setting up for another shot, Beth stepped back again and so did Celine; the walkers drew ever closer.

A silent whistle and then an echoing crack sounded and the last two walkers fell.

The noose, Beth thought. Stepping forward, Beth knelt beside the male walker, ostensibly acting as if she were merely retrieving her arrow rather than examining the body. Beth turned the head this way and that, but the head was so degraded, nothing but scaly, leathered skin peeling from rotting muscle, that she couldn't tell if there were any other pre-mortem (or post-mortem for that matter) injuries to the body. She yanked the arrow free, shaking it to remove the gore, and clicked it back in the quiver.

"Beth," Celine said.

"Sorry. Okay, let's go."

Once her bow had been shouldered, she and Celine resumed their trek back to Wheeler House.

They returned to find Dayvon and Daryl in the yard, both stripped to sleeveless shirts as they cut straight saplings down to size for the fence. Frankie sat on the porch with the twins and was the first to notice their return. Clara's exclamation raised Daryl's head and he straightened, resting the head of the axe he held on the chilled ground.

"Hot damn, look at that haul!" Frankie said as he made Clara and Anne wave.

The buggies rattled through the parking lot and then they were on the lawn, everyone except Valerie gathered around to look through the goods. While the others were distracted, Beth pulled Daryl aside. They walked a ways away, Daryl stopping to grab his long-sleeved shirt along the way.

"The town still gets walkers movin' through," Beth said.

"That it?"

"No… I killed a walker with a noose around its neck. I couldn't tell if it had other injuries… but I thought I should let you know."

"Just the one?"

"Yeah, just the one. I guess he could've… could've opted out."

"Reckon he could've… what street you leave him on?"

Beth told Daryl and he nodded. He shifted slightly, body angling towards the house, large and sprawling and more inviting than it had been a night ago. Reaching out, Beth touched her hand to his, although she stiffened when Valerie appeared around the corner of the house, her rifle slung over her shoulder. Her eyes raised to meet Beth's and though her face was neutral, Beth thought there was a certain hardness to her gaze and wondered if she had heard them.

"Val," Daryl called.

"Yeah?" She made her way over.

"C'mon, show me what you got," Daryl said as he pulled out a map of the area taken from the bed and breakfast's visitor guide.

Touching her hand to his once more, Beth exchanged a nod with Daryl and then went to help bring the haul into the house. The twins wished to tell her all about their morning with Uncle Frankie, so Beth politely listened while her daughters chattered, all the while helping sort the precious haul into organized piles.

"The house is as clean as it's gonna be," Erika said to Beth as they all worked. "I mean, there aren't biohazards sitting around."

"Thank you for handlin' that; I'll feel a lot better about lettin' Clara and Anne roam, now."

"Let's sort out sleeping arrangements," Arjun said. "There's five bedrooms upstairs, and three more downstairs."

"I'd like the girls to have their own room if no one minds. Get them used to sleepin' alone," Beth said.

"Shouldn't be a problem… assuming Beth, you'll room with Daryl, and Erika, you'll share with Dayvon," Celine said.

"The babies don't need a big room, but I'd like it to be close."

"I'm a light sleeper… I'll take a downstairs room," Arjun said.

"I'd also prefer a downstairs room, if you wouldn't mind that, baby," Erika said, looking to Dayvon.

Dayvon shook his head no as he opened canisters of oatmeal to check for mold.

With that sorted, Celine pulled Beth away to review the prescription medication taken from the pharmacy. The twins refused to stay on their mother's lap, instead crawling off at every opportunity. Beth found herself distracted and giving wrong answers as she worked to keep the girls occupied and their hands busy.

"No, it's a sedative-hypnotic, which means—" Celine sighed and put the bottle down. "We'll do this later."

"I'm sorry, Celine, I am, but I reckon it's time for a nap."

"It's fine," Celine replied with a little smile. "I do know how babies work, you know."

Beth laughed and got up, one twin settled on each hip. Clara rubbed at her eyes, even as her head swiveled this way and that and Anne whimpered after the jostle from Beth rising. Ascending the stairs, Beth took her first look at the upstairs rooms. She went to the first door on the right and turned the china knob to peek inside. Something wrenched in her chest, feeling like missing a step going down stairs; it was decorated just like her parent's room, with a wedding ring quilt spread on the bed and a crochet lace doily spanning the top of a warm solid oak dresser. Beth shut the door again.

Her feet carried her to the next room; Anne fussed, then signed "nap", and Beth said, "We gotta pick a room first, Ladybug."

The next room, while decorated similarly, didn't hurt her heart. It had a fireplace, however, and Beth thought she should leave the room for someone who would actually utilize the feature. While the hallway went on further into the house, into the newest addition, there was one last door to check in the current space, but it only turned out to be a bathroom. Beth idly wondered if the house utilized a septic system; if it did perhaps they could enjoy the conveniences of flush toilets again.

She moved on. The next door she opened, in the newest section of the house, was another bedroom with warm wooden floors and a double four-poster bed covered with a simple four-patch quilt. While this room didn't have a fireplace, it did have an east-facing window, looking out over the yard and the surrounding trees. Beth liked immediately how the room felt and thought this could be her and Daryl's room; she didn't think he had much preference in which one became theirs. The only deciding factor would be if the room opposite would work for the twins.

But Beth thought that could wait when Clara rubbed her eyes too hard and let out a wail.

So Beth settled on top the bed and laid one girl in each arm, singing softly as they settled. Anne stuck her thumb in her mouth and snuggled closer. Beth stroked her fine hair, still bright blonde despite her eyes being solidly hazel. The shade was the exact same as Zach's and sometimes the set of her eyes was so like his. This happened especially when she laughed, the edges of her eyes scrunching up in the same fashion. While she expected the girls to have Zach's coloring, she was pleasantly surprised to notice all the little ways they imitated or resembled him.

He wasn't gone, he was here. Her wish for something of him to still exist in the world came true, in the thousands of small things his daughters did.

Beth pressed a kiss to Clara's head.

And sometimes, just sometimes, she thought the way Clara laughed reminded her of Maggie, or her pigheaded refusal to sleep so she could observe the world around her made her think of Maggie's stubbornness and insistence on being involved in everything. She screwed her eyes shut against the burn.

Maybe Maggie was dead. Maybe she was alive.

Whatever the truth was, she was here in all the small things Clara and Anne did.

And it could be that was what was so cruel about the world these days, that people were never really gone.

When Beth's turn for watch came that night, she stepped outside to see Arjun in the yard, although it wasn't his patrol; it was hers and Frankie's. Beth leaned against the porch to watch him for a second, curious as to what he was doing. He looked repeatedly at the waning moon; Beth shifted her stance to gain a different angle and from this vantage point she saw the scabby section of wood planks, as if from a board wall or perhaps flooring, sat propped up against a stump. The planks shone in the moonlight and just below something round and metal glinted: a paint can. Beth wrapped her arm around one of the veranda's posts. He was painting.

She watched him for a while. He dipped two fingers into the open paint can and brought them to the planks, making a mark here and a mark there, although the placement seemed arbitrary. Beth squinted, but she couldn't figure out what it was he painted. It could have been nothing at all. There was some art like that.

"You can come look," Arjun called.

Beth jumped guiltily—she needed to be patrolling, not watching him work.

"I shouldn't," she said.

"I'm watching as well," he said. "Do you know anything about art?"

"Not really, no," Beth said as she descended the stairs then crossed the yard.

She was curious.

"It's only the rough draft," Arjun said.

He stepped back to allow a closer look. She peered at the canvas covered in light green smears, the same color as one of the bedrooms, and thought the curving lines suggested a face, but no… that wasn't quite what she looked at. Beth kept staring. With the way the warped wood cast shadows and merged with the blocky shapes in the background…

"It's a park? Like a city park?"

"It could be. I was thinking of Lincoln Park."

"I didn't know you painted," Beth said.

"I haven't for years. I preferred sculpture." Arjun chuckled and crossed his arms as he regarded his progress. "When do you think we stopped being apes and instead became human beings?"

"When we started buryin' our dead."

"You're glib when you want to be. Why do you think that? I'm curious."

Arjun wiped off his paint-covered fingers on a rag and threw a glance towards the woods before returning his gaze to Beth.

"I don't know why. Because I want to think we're still human, and that's all we can do these days."

"Other animals bury their dead. Not like we do, of course, with the ceremony and wailing and such, but they still recognize a dead body and treat it with respect… elephants for example."

"I didn't know that. Do they really?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Well, what do you think? What do you think changed us?"

"Some people say it was language, some people say it was forming tools, but I believe it was art. What transformed us. What do you need to make art? Time. You're not surviving if you have the time to create art. Creation. The desire to innovate, to make, to build, to manifest our will and thought. No other animal shows that drive. It's like a pulse," Arjun said and his face seemed alive in a way Beth had never seen. "It builds and builds behind my eyes; it's not even a vision or an idea, only the thought that if I don't let my will flow from my mind to my fingers to the medium before me, then my soul is withering away. That's what separates us from the animals. And now that is gone. There is nothing but destruction and ruin, the opposite of birth, the opposite of creation, and I—I was dying inside, being unable to fight back. If we're to become human again, then we must create ."

Beth swallowed and said, "Creation is more than paintin' and drawin'. It's not just that. I… I don't know the way forward any more. I don't know how to make a good future, but I can still create. I had nothin', and then I had Clara and Anne. We had nothin', and now we have Wheeler House. My family had nothin', and then we had our prison."

He shifted as she spoke, uncrossing his arms and crossing them again. Had she spoken well enough to communicate what she wanted to say? Beth thought she grasped at what Arjun spoke of; there were times she needed to sing, to play, to lose herself in the music because it was what her soul demanded, but she'd never written her own songs or composed her own music. She sought both challenge and solace in the act of playing music, but she'd never considered it to be a form of creation. Could it be considered so? She was, after all, filling the silence with her actions.

"Is that enough? Anyone can f*ck and make babies. There's no thought in that—”

"Of course anyone can make babies! That's not hard. But they're gonna grow up and who will be responsible for that? Me. One day they'll be their own people, but they'll be who they are because of me," Beth said. "I don't feel human, a lot of the time. But I know I am because I want to make somethin'. It's not art, it's not writin', but it's real. Creation and destruction go hand in hand. 'And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away.'"

Arjun laughed again, rather bitterly, and stuck his hand in the paint can again.

"I know I have a narrow view of what constitutes art. I can't see the beauty in those things, in the raising of children… or the creation of a community. That's survival of the species. And often… I think we deserve what we got. We're a plague worse than the one we're living through."

The weight of her belt, of her handgun and knife, and the bow on her back, were stones on her soul. Those weapons had taken the lives of three people and she could still remember the number of sweat drops beading on Freddy's face, yet she hadn't thought about Chuck until this very moment. She remembered how easily Warren's gun rose to end Daryl's life and how little time it took for Norman to seize Dayvon's gun to attempt on Valerie's life. She remembered the look of the son's eyes as his hand skated along her belly.

And above all, she remembered the cavalier way The Governor spoke, as if he were nothing more than a mayor asking the community to pull together and help the fire station buy a new truck. She remembered how his stance belied the coalition of armed aggressors below and she knew that moment was what began all of this, this slipping away, this trying to keep water in cupped hands. Arjun's words didn't anger her; no, in fact, she agreed with them.

But just because the world was evil didn't mean she was unable to rage against it.

Chapter 25: let them come and tear us free

Chapter Text

They had been at Wheeler House for a few weeks when the house started to feel like a home. The fence had been repaired. Propane tanks had been retrieved from town, so meals could be cooked over the stove, although to save on propane the boiler was not used, which meant they relied on the fireplaces for heat—it was a very dirty afternoon spent cleaning the flues. While no good gas had been found, the hardware store provided amply for their lighting needs with camp lanterns and batteries, as well as giving them power inverters, so they could run some of the electronics in the house off car batteries, which Beth thought would be exceptionally useful, but wasn't really in the end. None of them had cellphones to charge, and light and sound from television only drew walkers from the woods after dark; the inverter powered the refrigerator, but the batteries were drained after several hours without a running car to recharge them. Mostly the inverter was used to charge the power tools which had been taken from the hardware store and to power a food processor so the twins could have baby food with less effort on Beth's part.

Beth spent a putrid afternoon working with Celine to create a vast vat of deterrent; she couldn't believe Celine had done this all the while at Aspen Pointe and still advocated for treating the dead with dignity. There was no dignity in the creation of the deterrent. While paraffin candles melted in a stock pot over a large fire, a plastic tarp was laid out in the yard. Dayvon and Daryl dragged corpses over and Erika hacked limbs from the bodies. Beth then took these limbs and, over a trestle table, stripped the flesh from the bones. The blood oozed over the white plastic until it ran into the grass. With each cut of her knife, her stomach turned a little more until she ended up losing her breakfast sometime midmorning.

This… this was dehumanizing.

They were people once and she was running their flesh through a blender.

After the paraffin melted, Celine mixed in the spoiled oil while at the same time the human remains were taken to be burned. Beth gagged again as she helped pour the collected blood from the tarp into the waiting bowl of pureed flesh. But the deterrent worked. So she gamely continued on, stirring the pot of salve while Celine poured the flesh in, to ensure an even distribution and suspension.

That night, Beth thought she could still feel the filmy odor in her skin, despite the bath she'd taken. The whole group was subdued; the making of the deterrent was a different kind of violence, a subtle, insidious kind.

So Beth wasn't really paying attention as she idly spooned reconstituted, chopped apricots into Clara's mouth; Clara banged her hands on the table and signed "more".

"I've been watching the sky," Arjun said.

"And? We all know the stars are there," Frankie said.

He was sat still as a statue while Celine examined his shoulder; the abscess was now a lump of shiny scar tissue, but he continued having pains deep in the muscle.

"So, I don't give a damn, but maybe… maybe it would mean something to Clara and Anne," Arjun said.

Daryl's head lifted from his crossbow. A freshly made bowstring curled on the tabletop beside him.

"What is it?" Beth asked.

"It's the winter solstice today. That means Christmas is in a few days, if you… if you felt like celebrating it," Arjun said.

Everyone in the room turned to each other, exchanging looks. Should the holiday even be celebrated?

"We might not get another chance," Erika said. "We're all going on runs in the next few days… we can find something in town if we feel like exchanging gifts."

"Y'know, we don't have to do a whole thing. A good meal is all I need to be happy about being alive another year," Frankie said. "Shoot us a turkey, Daryl."

"Shoot your own damn bird."

But the next day Daryl returned from a trip into the woods with a fat tom, although he sat on the porch smoking, having pressed Frankie into service plucking the bird, instead of doing it himself. So, with the celebration of Christmas unofficially decided, the tenor of tasks around the house shifted as people scrambled to pull together small gifts. Beth decided to put her sewing skills to use and used old bed linens to create handkerchief sets for everyone; she didn't need much more than firelight to hem the straight edges with a whip stitch and colored thread. The next morning Arjun pulled her aside and had her sit with the twins for a portrait; he made quick work of the sketch and showed the result to her twenty minutes later.

"That's amazin'! It really does look just like us," Beth exclaimed.

It was almost bizarre to see her daughters' likenesses captured and she secretly hoped the picture would be her gift.

"Are you going into town soon?" Arjun asked.

"After lunch," Beth responded as she set Clara down.

The baby clung to her hand, almost falling over in her attempt to reach a hard plastic caterpillar toy that had been scrounged up for her.

"Bring back hairspray, because I need to seal these. They'll smudge otherwise," Arjun said.

"Any kind?"

"Any kind."

So after lunch, Beth said goodbye to the twins when she settled them down for their nap in their room, just across the hall from the one she shared with Daryl. They each had a crib now, brought back from town. Erika had agreed to watch the girls while Beth was out, so there wasn't a need for Beth to hurry back. The weather was fine for a December afternoon, in the high fifties according to the thermometer outside, and Beth stowed away her hat and gloves in her bag instead of wearing them. She found Daryl in the yard sawing away at some lumber and came up to watch his progress.

"Here to hand over the stupid?"

"Yep, sorry it's not gift-wrapped," Beth teased, holding out her hand as if offering a gift. "Valerie and I should be back before dark."

"Alright. Surprised she agreed to go," Daryl said as he straightened and dusted his hands, keeping warm in a pair of leather work gloves.

"Surprised me, too. I think this place is doin' everyone some good, havin' a few good things."

"Maybe. She's at the shed," Daryl said.

Beth nodded to show she heard before leaning over the sawhorse and pressing a kiss on Daryl. She was going into town specifically to find gifts for him and the twins; she already had a few ideas bouncing around her head as to what she could give him. It would be easy to find gifts for the girls; she'd seen all kinds of toys lining the shelves of stores in town.

When Daryl's tongue skated along her lower lip, Beth's eyes opened briefly, but she let him in and tightened her grip on the shoulder of his flannel, fabric bunching up in her fist. Her mind flashed to the night before, to the memory of his head between her thighs and his hot breath washing over her skin; they might have gone further and God, how she wanted to, but Anne woke up sobbing and couldn't put herself back to sleep. Clara had no problem sleeping alone and slept through the night, dead to the world until just after dawn, and her sister was just the opposite, waking up every time the watch changed. Beth tried arguing with Daryl that she needed to learn how to soothe herself and they were just across the hall, but her words fell on deaf ears.

"Ain't gonna let her lie there, cryin' and scared," he had said. "Never been by herself in her life."

So, he had lifted himself off the bed, dressed, and rinsed his mouth out with some water before crossing the hall and returning with the snuffling Anne in his arms. Beth sang softly to Anne until her eyes closed, glad that the babies no longer nursed regularly during the night—they were down to three or four nursing sessions a day, mostly centered around meals. She was ready to be done breastfeeding. She was done with the aching and the cracks and the clogged ducts, even though she knew she'd miss the quiet, close time with her daughters, miss the stage of life lost to the march of time. But them moving on to solid food completely would be a milestone she had worried over reaching: on the road, every time they cried, every time they squealed, her heart froze in quiet terror. Every encounter with walkers could have led to their deaths. But here, in Wheeler House, they could actually be babies.

The clearest indicator of this was that both of them now stood and took tentative steps along the sides of couches or beds; they had never done this on the road. They delighted in being walked around the yard and Beth worried she had stunted their development by keeping them in the slings for months until Celine talked her down, telling her babies kept in slings often spontaneously started walking when they were ready.

Daryl pulled away at a crackle from the woods, but it was only a walker who promptly stumbled into a pit that had been dug to provide earth for a series of mounded barriers around the fence. The stakes weren't fully in place yet. A few had been placed around especially weak areas of the fence, and more would come in time. Letting go of his shirt, Beth smoothed it back down and smiled at him.

"That was nice," she said.

His lips pressed together and he looked askance.

"Y'look nice."

"Thanks… I figure I like the summer version best, but you look pretty good in flannel," Beth said, almost shyly.

"It's warm," Daryl said.

"Gosh, I know it's practical! Just accept the compliment. I like how you look."

He mumbled something and looked off into the distance while his gloved hand darted out, closing around hers. Even with the extra layer of warmth, Beth felt the catch in his movement, fingers threatening to remain straight and stiff. But it was only for a moment and then the smooth leather curled around her palm. Beth kissed his cheek.

"I best get goin'. I'll be back before dark," she said.

Daryl nodded and, as she pulled away, his hand seemed to tug on hers, as if reluctant to let go. She gave him another smile and then set off across the yard, heading for a small storage shed. The new vat of deterrent lived there now. Valerie waited outside, already dressed in a coat slathered in the stuff. She inclined her head towards Beth, who offered an apologetic smile as she ducked inside the foul space.

As quick as she could, Beth donned a coat and applied a layer of deterrent before joining Valerie again. As they crossed the yard for the main gate, the sounds of sawing filled the air; Daryl was back at his task. The sun came out from behind a cover of listless clouds as she and Valerie walked the road into town.

A heavy thing hung between them.

Beth didn't know how to fix it.

"This is a stupid idea," Valerie said, finally, as she squinted into the horizon.

"Celebratin'? I don't think so."

"All it's gonna do is remind people…"

"I suppose… but I think we need it. Not because it'll make us grateful for what we have, but because I think this group could do with likin' each other a little more. Goodwill will go a long way with us."

Valerie snorted.

"You don't think so?"

"No."

Letting out a long breath, Beth unclenched her fingers. A light breeze blew from the south, rattling the naked branches and giving them a breath of fresh air untainted by the stench of corpses.

"Valerie, I—" Her words caught in her throat.

"Don't," Valerie said. "I know. I can't change it."

Beth pressed her lips into a line and they continued on in silence, nothing around them but the echoes of another life and the sharp, staccato slap of boots on pavement.

It wasn't until some time later, when they were halfway to town, that Valerie spoke again.

"What are you looking for?"

"Lookin' for? Well, toys for Clara and Anne, obviously—”

"No, what are you looking for?"

"I dunno what you mean," Beth said, her eyebrows drawing together.

"Is Wheeler House safe?"

"Safe as any place is… you're out there almost every day, makin' escape routes and findin' safehouses."

No place was ever truly safe, Beth knew that now. Wheeler House was nothing but a respite, a chance to breathe. Was Valerie asking if she could set down the burden she carried for a moment? That was dangerous.

"I'm tired. Tired of carrying it all. Maybe that's why I never…"

"We're all tired," Beth said.

"I know. Will you keep looking? Are you just going to accept it?"

Beth had no idea what Valerie meant, but since her last attempt at clarification had been dodged, she didn't ask again. Instead, she said:

"Sometimes, I think you just have to. Know you've done all you can."

"Have you?"

"I've always tried my best."

Valerie snorted like she didn't believe Beth but said nothing else.

The rest of their trip into town was quiet, and Valerie seemed thoughtful rather than tense as they worked their way through houses and stores. At a few places, Valerie picked up small things, a necklace from a jewelry box, a bottle of perfume, a book. Were those gifts or items for herself? Beth supposed she'd find out soon.

It took Beth herself most of the afternoon to find everything she needed and she spent that evening ensconced in the twins' room, singing to them as she worked on her gifts. It was peaceful in a way that made her heart ache, reminding her of Christmas Eves from another time, when she stayed up late into the night to put finishing touches on gifts for another family.

The first Christmas after Maggie went away to college, she'd decided to go on a trip with friends instead of coming home for the holiday. While her parents had agreed, the house seemed emptier than ever, her presence diminishing with each new layer of dust in Maggie's empty room. A box of ornaments, the ones Maggie made in school, sat next to the unfinished tree, waiting for a young woman who wasn't coming.

Maggie had taken to the independence of college like a duck to water, her voice bright and enthused when she spoke to Beth on the phone. Beth didn't understand half of what Maggie told her at the time—she'd been too young—but the enthusiasm of her older sister electrified her. Maggie described with relish all the free time she had, all the hobbies she'd filled that time with; her sister, so vivacious and popular in high school that most teachers never guessed quiet Beth Greene was related to Maggie Greene, came into full flower in her newfound freedom.

Although happy for her sister, Beth remembered feeling left behind, stuck in an unchanging world where the tempo of the days never altered, where her motions of life were the same as her grandmother's. She longed for the days when she could go down the hall and open the door to find Maggie sprawled on her bed, chatting on the phone with a friend, and, when she saw her kid sister hanging shyly behind the doorframe, would laugh and hang up before offering to paint Beth's nails. If Maggie was going to grow up and move away from home, Beth wanted to grow up quickly, too, so she could join Maggie.

Beth hummed after finishing the song. Her needle flashed in the lamplight. She'd gotten her wish after all, hadn't she? Seventeen and her childhood fled away on the smoke rising from the barn and into the cold sky.

But that Christmas, Maggie had come home after all. She showed up on the doorstep like the prodigal son, red-eyed from riding a Greyhound all night with only a backpack full of textbooks on her back.

"I missed you guys," was all she said.

Hershel laughed and stepped aside so she could come in, and like she never left, she hung up her ornaments on the tree. That Christmas was perfect.

Her eyes itched. Beth blinked hard to keep the stinging tears contained. Maggie was having her own perfect Christmas wherever she was, and Glenn was there, too, and they were happy. Taking in a deep breath, Beth locked down the last stitch and cut the thread. She folded the handkerchief and put it with the rest, to be wrapped up in tissue paper later.

Clara and Anne breathed softly, evenly, in their cribs. Outside the window, a light dusting of snow fell, only enough to wet the ground, which was still warm from that day's sun. She wanted to go back. She wanted to go back so badly.

But there was no way to go back. Her memories were just that: memories. Nothing but echoes of what used to be. There was only forward.

On Christmas morning, Beth watched the sun rise. She walked along the fence with her eyes on the woods and her breath steamed in front of her like smoke from Daryl's cigarettes. A rustle in the trees stopped her in her tracks. She drew her bow off her back and readied an arrow.

Two walkers stumbled from the trees, first one and then the other. The first shuffled along like any dead body, limbs limp and mouth clicking. She almost didn't see the second. It pulled itself along on its hands and its head was twisted, skin ridged up along the unnatural turn, as if rigor mortis locked the neck at the awkward angle. The bit of scrub at the forest's edge hid it until it moved past the cover. Beth fired on both, jumping the fence to collect her arrows.

Pausing a moment, she studied the twisted walker. She still felt guilty over not looking very hard for unusual walkers, and this one was unusual. At close range nothing became any clearer about the walker; it was old and crumbling, with any wounds received before death indistinguishable from those received after. She turned the body over and bit her tongue; that explained why the walker dragged itself. Rough, knobby vertebrae poked out from the greenish, mossy skin.

Using a stick to move the sun-bleached, threadbare shirt out of the way, she looked for any sign that could explain how the spine had been broken. Dead blood congealed under the skin around the wound, mottled and purple, and the darkness of it blurred any other signs of injury, if there were any. Sighing, Beth sat back on her heels. Maybe her guilt was making her overthink things. This walker could have died any number of ways.

She returned behind the fence to continue her patrol.

When the sun was strong and well risen, Frankie hollered for her and Erika. They met together on the porch, pink-cheeked and their hands a little stiff from the wind. There would be no watch this morning when they exchanged gifts, but Beth expected the exchange itself wouldn't take longer than a half-hour. Although the idea of no one being outside keeping watch made the skin along her spine crawl, she forced the feeling down. It would be okay. It was only a half-hour.

"Merry Christmas!" Frankie put a mug of coffee in each of their hands, then pulled out a fifth of whiskey and gave it an inviting shake. "Eh?"

"Hell yes," Erika said, immediately shoving her mug in Frankie's direction.

Beth laughed, but said, "No, thank you."

She remembered the ease with which she turned to drink after that poor boy's death. No, if she could avoid it, she would.

"More for me," Frankie said.

He poured a glug into Erika's mug before taking a large slug himself. From the way his eyes shone, Beth suspected it wasn't his first pull of the day. Beth caught sight of the others gathered in the media room: Celine lounging on one of the recliners, Dayvon sprawled on the couch, Daryl leaned against the wall near a window and the twins at his feet, happily occupied with a toy keyboard that played twee melodies. She and Erika set their mugs down on the table and removed their coats. Beth dashed upstairs to grab her gifts (she would give Daryl his privately), grabbing her mug again on the way to the media room.

Clara noticed Beth first and babbled excitedly, so Beth plunked herself on the floor with the twins, who immediately set to crawling all over her. She leaned back as if creating room on her lap for both babies, but it was really to touch her back to Daryl's leg.

She was about to ask how they wanted to handle the gift exchange when Frankie spoke up, saying, "Someone should give a speech. One of those bullsh*t ones about what we've gone through."

"Really?" Dayvon asked. He hadn't moved from his spot, only shifted to allow Erika to settle between his legs. "I'll give one. This world is sh*tty and we're all waiting to die."

"Not very Christmasy, but I'll take it," Frankie said. "We could die every day, but we haven't, so I guess we're doing alright."

At the edge of her vision, Beth saw Valerie shift where she stood, her arms coming up to cross over her chest.

"All of you are f*cking depressing," Celine said.

"It's a depressing world," Frankie said. "Anyways, here are some presents!"

His words started a period of shuffling as people moved around the room, dropping off small things at each person's place. The gifts weren't equally distributed; Frankie did not receive a gift from Arjun, nor did Erika give a gift to Celine. But most people had a package or two near their spot. The twins reaped the benefit of being the only children in a group full of adults: they received presents from everyone.

Daryl remained where he was and Beth wondered but didn't ask; perhaps he had already given what he considered gifts to the others. She dropped off the tissue paper packages with a smile and returned to her place.

The twins were the ones who kicked off the unwrapping frenzy; being babies they had no sense of being polite and taking turns. Clara saw a prettily wrapped box and ripped the paper off, laughing as she did so. She ignored the present (a doctor's play kit) entirely to crunch the paper in her hands, then tear it to shreds. When the gentle laughter at her antics subsided, the group turned to their own piles and began unwrapping.

Beth received a delicate ring with an aquamarine stone from Erika and Dayvon together; she immediately slipped it on her right ring finger. Celine gave her a small guide to edible plants (clearly taken from the town's library) but the little book was light enough she could take it with her wherever she went. Frankie's gift surprised her, being a short knife, the total length not much more than that of her hand.

"Goes in your boot," Daryl said, having been looking over her shoulder.

He pointed out the clip on the sheath with the option to strap it to her ankle. Beth turned the knife, dull brushed steel with a serious, durable black handle, around in her hands. The ring caught the light coming through the windows and Beth closed her eyes a second. Once the ring would have delighted her, because it was very pretty, but the knife warmed her heart, knowing Frankie had given her the gift of chance , just as Celine had.

The last gift she had was from Arjun. Beth lifted her eyes across the room, meeting Valerie's. Valerie set her jaw and swallowed, then turned back to her own pile of things.

Arjun's gift was presented in a warped manila folder with her name scrawled on top. Beth flipped the folder open and her eyes screwed themselves shut against the hot sting of tears. After sucking in a little breath, she opened her eyes again to fully take in the picture. Instead of the drawing of her and the twins together, what she had hoped to receive, it was a sketch of Daryl with the twins. Beth reached out her hand to touch because the downy peach look of Clara's fat cheek was so realistic, but she drew back when she remembered what Arjun said about smudging. In the drawing, Daryl didn't look especially pleased, wearing the same serious, pressed-lip and narrow-eyed expression he always did. Beth laughed to herself, because what would she have done if given a picture of him smiling?

His smiles were fleeting things, ephemeral glimpses of him that would feel wrong captured, as if they'd been caged.

There it was on paper, her family, her small, fragile family, proof it really existed and that it was hers. She gently shut the folder and let her hands rest there on top, her eyes still stinging.

"You actually like it? He made me look like a douche," Daryl said, even as his hand dropped onto her shoulder.

"How could I not like it? I love it, it's great," Beth said with a shaky little laugh, "even if you do look like a douche."

Daryl had received the picture Beth sat for and he spent a long time staring at it before folding it up and placing it in his vest pocket. Just yesterday she thought she couldn't go back, but Arjun had given her a way. He'd taken a moment in time and pulled it from the stream, fixing it on paper for her to return to. She would find a way to keep this moment forever, a reminder that she still had a family, that she wasn't alone, and perhaps had never been.

The room, filled with small exclamations and chatter, fell silent when a wrenching sob sounded. They all looked up and immediately looked away when they realized it was Valerie who cried. The piece of paper clutched to her chest was the cause, and Beth didn't need to look to know who Arjun had drawn for her. Valerie threw her arms around Arjun's neck, burying her face in the side of his neck. His hands came up, awkwardly patting her back until she drew away and sped from the room.

More subdued after that, everyone started cleaning up the scraps of paper used to wrap the presents while Beth worked at freeing the girls' toys from their packaging. Both were more than happy to be plopped in their playpen with the colorful things and they set to banging stuffed animals and plastic singing fish and building blocks together to make a delightful racket.

Celine and Dayvon left the house for their shift on watch while Beth, Erika, Arjun, Frankie, and even Daryl went to the kitchen to get the afternoon's meal started. Daryl could cook, but the meals he cooked were simple and unadorned, seasoned with nothing but salt and pepper, so he wasn't asked to help much. Erika had quickly been nominated the best cook among them and it was she who directed the chaos in the kitchen.

"The oven's preheated so the turkey can go in when it's ready—please use more rosemary than that, Daryl—can someone go ask Celine how to prepare this? Those nuts can go in with the turkey, Frankie, so hurry up—"

Frankie, growing more boisterous with each new sip of whiskey, loudly told stories about his life until Dayvon stuck his head in the door and told him to shut the f*ck up because he was bringing down dusters on them. As casually as she could in the whirling chaos, Beth touched Daryl when she could, a hand to his, because the louder the kitchen got, the more his face tightened up. He ended up stepping out just after shoving the turkey in the oven and kicking the door shut.

She could understand; the atmosphere was suffocating, a facsimile of what should have been, and it hung at the bottom of her soul like silt. Beth checked on the twins when she caught a break, then took them upstairs when Anne signed for a nap. They wouldn't let go of the toys they held, so those came upstairs with them, though Beth planned to pry them away once the girls fell asleep.

As she left, she heard strangled sobbing from behind Valerie's door. Her hand reached out to knock, but stopped halfway there, hanging impotently in the air with her fingers in the middle of curling towards her palm. What would she say? The more she thought on it, the more the words fled. Maybe there was nothing to say.

She could have told Valerie more about Maggie, could have let her know how she understood the pain well, but she didn't want to. Once, she had tried to console Valerie, to share the pain. Once. It was as if Norman's fists had pushed everything deeper inside her, closing her up, sealing her tightly as a tomb.

The day after they first found Wheeler House, when she walked back from the run to town with Celine, came to mind. Celine's lack of hesitation in bringing down the walkers showed Beth she could trust Celine to do what needed to be done. She was beginning to trust in the group, to think they were people she wanted by her side as she forged through the sh*t.

But Valerie abandoned her.

Just as Rick had fallen apart when her family needed him the most, Valerie abandoned those under her banner as she sunk deeply into grief. She had forgiven Rick in her heart, but that was a different Beth, one with fewer scars.

Beth's hand fell to her side and she walked on.

Christmas dinner was a feast. The centerpiece was the turkey, plump and golden brown. Dehydrated mashed potatoes with powdered milk and powdered gravy were plentiful and more delicious than Beth remembered them to be. Arjun cooked up a huge pilaf, with dried fruits and nuts studding the rice. There were large bowls of baked beans, sweetened with molasses and brown sugar, and small oatmeal cookies full throughout with chocolate chips.

Wine flowed and Beth allowed herself a small glass, but even that much still pinked her cheeks and made her laugh harder than she usually did. Daryl indulged in several glasses; after the first glass, his hand found its way to Beth's knee under the table. With each subsequent glass, his hand inched higher. Beth tried to act as if nothing was happening, and thought that maybe his hot, wide hand contributed to her pink cheeks more than the wine.

The merry mood lightened the heaviness permanently inhabiting her heart, and that afternoon Beth sang all the Christmas carols she knew as she worked around the house; it may be Christmas, but there was laundry to wash, clothes to repair, stakes to carve, and plants to dry. Sometimes she was accompanied by another person, but most often she sang alone. She didn't mind.

For supper, they had leftovers (of which there were plenty) and passed the evening playing cards in the media room. Drinks were passed around and while Beth abstained, Dayvon, Erika, and Frankie happily got drunk.

"What are you doin'? You can't bluff your way through the whole damn game," Daryl said to her with a laugh. "Fold once in a while."

"C'mon, show us what you got," Dayvon called.

"Am I really that bad?" Beth asked as she turned her cards over to reveal a 2 pair.

"Yeah, y'are. You're gonna be doin' all our laundry for a year at this rate," Daryl said.

"Full house! Any of you gonna beat that?" Erika challenged.

Frankie opened his mouth to respond but his laughing words died away when Valerie entered the room. She hadn't joined them for either meal, staying locked away in her room. From the blank looks everyone wore, no one knew what to say.

"C'mon, get dealt in. We're betting chores," Celine said, scooting to the side so Valerie had a place to sit.

"Beth's losing," Frankie added helpfully.

Valerie stared for a long moment, her eyes frozen, and then she smiled a small smile.

"I've played against tougher bastards than you. And won," she said.

"Damn! Put your money where your mouth is and show us!" Dayvon said.

And so Valerie sat down and proceeded to clear house with them all.

Once the sun set, Celine and Arjun left to take the first watch of the night while Beth went upstairs to put the girls to bed. They were exhausted from the excitement of the day and quite cranky, so Daryl wordlessly rose alongside her and went with as reinforcement. After a sponge bath and a snack, they acquiesced to being laid down, but began crying the moment Beth and Daryl made a break for the door.

Several lullabies later, they finally slept and Beth found herself very thankful for Daryl teaching her how to move quietly in the woods as they both crept towards the door. Daryl closed the door behind himself and listened after the soft click, to make sure both girls stayed asleep. No sounds came which indicated either had woken again, so they started for the stairs.

Laughter and jokes from below flowed up the stairs, as warm as the heat pouring out from the fireplaces. Daryl hesitated on the landing, stopping with his hand hovering over the banister and fingers almost grasping the wood. Coming up behind him, Beth hooked her hands around his chest and pressed her face between his shoulder blades to inhale the heavy scent of him: wood smoke and cigarettes, unwashed male and faint soap lingering in the fibers of his woolen shirt.

"Let's stay up here, just you an' me. Still have t' give you your presents,'' Beth said softly.

"Don't have t' ask me twice," he said.

So Beth released her hold on him, her hand sliding down to clasp around his and their fingers lacing together. She gently tugged on his arm, causing Daryl's lips to twitch up into the ghost of a smile. They walked to their room and shut the door behind themselves, sealing themselves away from the noise. Letting go of Daryl's warm hand, Beth flitted here and there as she lit candles and filled the room with light; it shimmered on the frosted window panes, illuminating the ice crystals and turning them bright as stars. Their room didn't have a fireplace, but it was comfortable enough with the heat rising from the first floor. If it got too cold, Beth would brave the chaos downstairs to grab a few of the bricks warming by the fireplace.

While Daryl settled on the bed, hunching over as he unlaced his boots, Beth got onto her knees and pulled out the packages she'd kept hidden underneath the bed. Straightening up, Beth put them on the bedspread before she took a seat to undo her own laces. The air was quiet, comfortable, and Beth relished this time with just the two of them; things were better in the group now they were settled, but there were scarce opportunities for Beth and Daryl to enjoy being with each other. Those moments were usually times like this, just before bed after the twins had been put down for the night, but tonight, being Christmas, it felt as if they could linger, could take their time and indulge themselves.

"Okay, go on, I can't wait any longer," Beth said as she scooted the packages across the bed.

Daryl shifted on the bed, his pants rustling against the bedspread. His face tightened as he said, "Why'd you get me so much?"

"Because I could. Because I kept thinkin' of things for you,'' Beth said.

"Makin' me feel bad," Daryl said in a manner which had Beth wondering if he teased her or not.

He reached towards the bedside table, opening the drawer to retrieve a small present carefully wrapped in bold yellow construction paper. And like when Beth had the realization she'd never seen his feet, as she took the present from him Beth realized she had never seen his handwriting before.

Her fingertip trailed over the letters’ depressions, scratched out in ballpoint pen. For Beth. From D. An exceptional amount of space existed between the letters, even as the letters themselves were tiny and cramped, disjointed as if the lines had been cobbled together from random pieces. But she liked seeing her name in his hand. It was as roughly written as he said it. Beth decided she'd keep the paper, just to see her name.

She felt a little silly now, having badly drawn tiny reindeer and Santa Clauses all over his presents. But who didn't like feeling a little childish on Christmas?

Daryl noticed the doodles right away when he picked up the largest box. He laughed at her poor drawings, the sound low and rough but Beth didn't feel embarrassed any longer. She grinned easily at Daryl, shrugging her shoulders a little as if that explained the doodles.

"So you drew frogs and the meltin' Nazi from Indiana Jones on my gifts?"

"No!" Beth laughed. "Reindeer and Santa! Why the heck would I draw those on a Christmas present?"

The smirk on his face let her know he teased her; Daryl knew perfectly well what she had drawn.

"You go first," Beth said. "Save the big one for last. Greene tradition. You have t' follow it."

"Alright," he agreed, placing the box back on the bed.

Beth waited on tenterhooks as he picked up the smallest package, giving it a little shake before his fingers probed along the folded seams. When his thorough examination was complete, Daryl used his nail to slit the tape. He peeled the wrapping back to reveal a bundle of feathers. Some, like the speckled tail feathers from the turkey which had been their lunch, were loose, just waiting for a purpose. The others, brightly dyed craft feathers, were together in a plastic storage container. To those she had attached fish hooks with bright thread to make flies.

He poured out the flies, gathering them in his palm, and used a fingertip to gently push them here and there. His eyebrows raised when he held one up to scrutinize more closely. It twirled between his thumb and index finger, the feather streaked through with narrow strips of holographic foil which caught the lamp light. Beth had spent a good hour painstakingly cutting the strips with a tiny pair of sewing scissors.

"Didn't know you knew anything about flies. These are good."

Beth smiled, pleased he seemed happy with the gift, and said, "Was Shawn's favorite kind of fishin'. Trust me, I know way more about flies than I want to."

"Thanks," Daryl said. "Been missin' fishin'."

"You're welcome. Open another!"

"This is excitin' for you?"

"I like givin' gifts, okay? I like seein' people happy… haven't seen enough of that. So please, open another?"

She inched closer to him until her arm pressed against his and slid the next present she wanted him to open towards him. There was a growing warmth in her chest; how simple it was to give a gift and have it well received, but how rare it had been over the past years. With a scoffing laugh, Daryl grabbed the present and inspected it in the same methodical fashion.

"Are these books?"

Beth shrugged and made a non-committal noise, even though the tone of his voice made her stomach twist nervously; she didn't know how much he liked to read, though she'd seen him do so before. But she'd done her best to find books she thought he'd enjoy and that counted for something, right?

Daryl removed the wrapping as carefully as he had for his first gift, pulling back the paper to reveal a small stack of books. He pulled up the first one, a somewhat battered copy of The Godfather, and he smiled.

"Always liked this book," he said.

"Yeah? Good, I wasn't really sure what you'd like," Beth said.

"Long as it's not… I dunno, what were that book with the shiny vampires? Were real popular."

"Twilight," Beth answered. "And don't you make fun of that book! I liked it, or at least I did when I first read it."

"Scout's honor," Daryl said, holding up his hand with three fingers up and the pinky pinned down by his thumb. "What else we got… The Terminal Man. Never heard of it."

"It's by the guy who wrote The Andromeda Strain," Beth said hopefully.

"Yeah, says that right here on the cover, Leg." Beth stuck her tongue out at Daryl. "And… The Eiger Sanction. sh*t, my old man loved that movie."

"I didn't know it was a movie, too."

"Yeah. Old jackass loved anything with Clint Eastwood. Had a real hard-on for him."

"What is it with old guys and Clint Eastwood?"

Daryl snorted and said, “He's a man's man.”

He opened The Eiger Sanction and thumbed through it, reading a sentence here and there before closing the book again. Daryl set the books on the bedside table next to his side of the bed, ready to be read, and Beth beamed.

“Jesus, from the way you look, must be somethin’ real nice,” Daryl said as he picked up the last gift.

It was large enough to cover his lap and Beth struggled to find enough paper to wrap it; she resorted to scribbling over the parts of the box peeking out between the gaps with marker, to help obscure what the gift was. Daryl turned the box over and over in his hands, listening to the contents clunk around.

“Sounds like shoes,” he said.

Beth pressed her lips together and tried to keep her face from showing if he was right.

He lifted up one of the pieces of tape and peeled it away from the cardboard, piling the pieces neatly next to him.

“It’s a shoebox,” he said.

“Yeah, and…?”

Daryl laughed a little, saying, “Merle always tricked me, puttin' things in different boxes or makin’ them look like somethin’ else. Got a turkey call wrapped up to look like a dild* once. Guess not everybody does that.”

“How did he manage that? It sounds like a lot of effort,” Beth said, easily able to imagine Merle cackling over handing Daryl a dild*-shaped present.

“Cut up an’ taped cardboard together to make it. It were a lot of effort for a sh*t gift,” Daryl said.

Daryl then lifted up the box’s lid and pulled out a new pair of motorcycle boots, barely worn and in his size. She'd been lucky to find the box that went with the boots tucked away in the closet.

“sh*t—thanks… been needin’ new shoes. Where the hell’d you find these?”

“One of the houses in town,” Beth answered. “I would’ve brought the motorcycle, too, if we had the gas for it. It’s your kinda bike.”

“Know the one you’re talkin’ about… and yeah. sh*t’s nice.” He worked open the laces of the new boots, then bent over to put his feet in them. “Miss ridin’. It’s somethin’ different, bein’ out there, with the road in front of you. Like you can go f*ckin’ anywhere. Nothin’ holdin’ you back.”

Reaching out, Beth touched her hand to his back, running her fingers over the warm flannel.

“I always… I always wondered why… after the farm, why you and Carol didn’t just ride off into the night. Why you came back.”

The mood in the room turned heavy, the air silent as Daryl yanked on the laces, pulling the leather tight over his ankles.

“Thought about that, too…” he said. A deep breath expanded his lungs. “Reckon it were because of Rick. He’s my brother, same as Merle was. It were true back then and it’s true now, though I didn’t know it at the time.”

At that statement, Beth shifted on the bed, drawing closer to Daryl so she could press her chest to his back and rest her cheek between his shoulder blades. Her arms drew around him and a wide hand reached up, closing around her wrist.

“I ain’t sad about it, Leg. Don’t gotta worry about me. Only wish I had the chance to tell ‘im, ‘s all.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s Christmas, and we shouldn’t be thinkin' about sad things on Christmas,” she said.

“People are always sad on Christmas,” Daryl said, giving her wrist a small shake. “Fit real nice, by the way. Be nice to have dry feet again.”

“You’re welcome,” Beth said, her voice a little muffled when she turned her head, burying her face in his back.

“Hey,” Daryl said softly, “you don’t gotta feel all torn up about bringin’ that up. You gonna open up my gift, huh? Or are ya gone leave me in suspense?”

Nodding against his shirt, Beth took a second to put away those dark feelings before she pulled away, fixing her sweater as she sat up straight. She picked up the small package, turning it over and over in her hands while Daryl removed his new boots, giving him time to stretch out on the bed and get settled. His hands came up behind his head while he shifted side to side, working his body until he felt comfortable.

“It’s heavier than it looks,” Beth said. “And it doesn’t feel like it’s in a box. A cardboard one, I mean.”

Daryl was a much harder sell than she was, with his face revealing nothing. Beth tapped her fingers on the top a few times.

“It sounds… wooden. And hollow.”

She couldn’t keep up the pretense any longer, so she lifted up the tape with her nail, keeping the paper intact to save the part with her name written on it. The paper came away to reveal a beautiful wooden box, all carved along the main planes with swirling curlicues that took up the suggestion of animals if you spent long enough looking at them. The box shone in the lamplight, stained a dark brown which revealed the grain and sealed with a coating of varnish.

“Daryl! This is gorgeous,” Beth exclaimed, turning it over in her hands.

Something clinked inside the hollow center. So Beth lifted away the lid to have a look and she pulled out two small, round pendants on a thin, silver chain. She dropped the necklace into her palm, letting the silver chain pool in her hand’s creases like cool water, so she could examine the pendants. Each one was not much bigger than her thumbnail. As she held the necklace up to the light, swirling dark lines dominated one side of each pendant, while the opposite side had either A or C marked on it. Beth realized with a jolt they were fingerprints, Clara and Anne’s fingerprints!

“Oh, Daryl! I love it! I love both of ‘em.” Her voice trembled, the hitch which came from such deep, positive emotion. The accompanying tears were as foreign as sand in her eyes. “Will you put it on for me, please?”

Scooting closer to him on the bed, Beth passed over the necklace when Daryl sat up. This time there was no hair to move out of the way; she still kept it pinned up in a braid. But the brush of his fingers was the same, and having those calluses rasp against the heated skin of her neck sent the same shiver up her spine. The cool metal seared against her chest like a flash until it glowed warm, soaking up her body heat in a mere second. The chain jingled and then Daryl’s hands rested on either shoulder as his beard scratched at the back of her neck and his chapped lips pressed into her skin.

He moved his hands away, resting his chin on her shoulder instead while taking his arms down her body to rest in her lap.

“Been wantin’ to give you those for a while, now. Just couldn’t find a chain,” he said into her ear.

“And you kept them with you all this time?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Thank you, really… And the box is beautiful. Did you carve it yourself?”

“Uh-huh.”

With Daryl enveloping her, Beth felt warmer than ever and her heart raced as she thought about turning around to soundly kiss him. But first, she picked up the wrapping paper to carefully tear out the section with her name written on it. She settled it in the box’s lid, fingertips pressing down the ragged edges until it was safely wedged in such a way that it wouldn’t fall out. Beth admired the effect before replacing the lid.

“You liable to forget who gave it to you?” Daryl asked.

Beth chuckled a little, letting her hand run idly over Daryl’s arm.

“It’s just… this is goin’ to sound really silly.”

“A lot of things ‘bout you are silly.”

“No bein’ mean on Christmas!”

“Why? I didn’t get no coal, so I don’t have to worry ‘bout sh*t for a whole year,” Daryl said.

“You’re terrible,” Beth said, turning around to face him.

Her knees braced on either side of his thighs. Instead of sitting, she leaned forward and kissed him; it was slow and meandering, the kind of kiss which only dreamed about highs and rushing water, even as Daryl’s hands came up to her hips to steady her. While Beth didn’t know how long they spent like that, her legs quivered as she broke away and sat down in his lap, her hands resting on his chest.

“As I was sayin’—“

“What were you sayin’?” Daryl asked while kissing along the column of her neck.

“I was sayin’... I was sayin’...” Beth stopped and laughed. A gust of air blew along her neck from Daryl laughing as well. She gathered up her thoughts and continued on, “When we were still in Georgia. Right after we hid in the car, and you had accidentally shot yourself. I had a moment where I kinda stopped and thought: I had never seen your feet before.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow.

“It was… it was one of those little things—things you see when someone’s made themselves at home around you. When you see them unguarded. Like how you look when you’ve just woken up. You always look out the window to check the weather. It’s like that. And this….” Her fingertip brushed over the lid's wooden ripples. “I’ve never seen your handwriting before. And I like how my name looks in it. It looks the same as you say it.”

A flush creeped up Daryl’s neck, settling along his jawline after it spread to his ears. Beth gave Daryl a small smile as she set the box down.

“Beth,” he said and they met together again in a kiss.

She drew closer to him, moving until she met the wall of his chest. Beth let her hands travel up the back of his neck to bury themselves in his hair and the familiar searing fire started up inside her, small, licking flames making heat pool between her legs. The necklace was a new weight against her chest, but she loved it, loved the fact Daryl created it for her, just as he had created the box. His hands were strong and firm against her hips, a steady pressure, and Beth wanted to stay like this forever, being twined around him. But she wanted more.

Those same strong and firm hands dipped under the hem of her sweater, under the waffled fabric of her long underwear, and skimmed along the marked skin of her sides; the stretch marks were no longer red and angry, but instead had faded to muted pink streaks. Beth didn’t look at them much, just as she didn’t look at her soft stomach, which hadn’t regained the tautness it possessed before she carried the twins. While she didn’t hate the way she looked, she was still coming to terms with the fact her body changed. It was now something different, transformed by carrying two lives, and it was no longer wholly her own. It would always remember that once, Clara and Anne had safely floated inside. It would never simply be her body again; even now Clara and Anne had claim to it.

But she could choose to give it freely to other people, and she chose Daryl without reservation.

Beth lifted her arms to allow Daryl to pull off her shirts and she shivered in the air until Daryl wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. His fingers traveled along the knobs of her spine, tiny little thumps that echoed in her chest.

“You wanna get under the covers?”

“I’ll be okay… you’ll just have t’ warm me up,'' Beth said with a teasing grin. “Always felt like the covers just got in the way.”

“Alright.”

Taking advantage of the closeness, Beth put her lips to his neck, laying a trail of soft kisses along the clean lines of it, as all the while her hands worked at the small buttons of his flannel. She spread the shirt open as she worked, letting her fingers ghost across the coarse hair covering his chest.

When the last button was undone, Beth pushed the shirt from Daryl’s shoulders; he shrugged his arms free and let the shirt drop. Before they laid down, Daryl worked at her bra’s clasp and, when the hooks came free from their eyelets, slipped his fingers under the straps to lift the bra away. With that taken care of, they fell onto the mattress together, the springs creaking at the sudden press of weight. A scarred palm rested on Beth’s ribs and began skating down the dip of her waist while the other hand dug into her hair, loosening it around the bobby pins until Beth laughed and propped herself up on her elbows to pull the pins out.

“You could just say you wanna see my hair down,” Beth said.

“No fun in that,” Daryl said.

Beth deposited the bobby pins in the small dish on her bedside table along with the elastic. She fluffed up her hair, fairly straight with the lower humidity, and let it fan out over her shoulders. Her hair hadn’t been cut in almost a year, which meant it skimmed the middle of her back when it wasn’t pinned up. Reaching out his hand, Daryl threaded his fingers between the strands and combed them through; he pushed her hair back behind her ear so he could then rest his hand on her cheek.

"Why did you start wearin' it like that? So it wouldn't get grabbed?"

Beth answered, "Honestly, I started wearin' it like this so I could always have bobby pins at hand to pick locks. I feel… feel like the Swiss Miss or somethin' with it up, but it's easy."

"Practical," Daryl murmured.

"That's me. Beth Greene, always practical, always dependable." Her words came out soft at the ends because of Daryl kissing his way down her chest, leaving small, rippling tingles behind.

"Sayin' that like it ain't worth anything. Practical and dependable are valuable. There's a lotta sh*t worth its weight in gold these days that no one gave a damn about before, 'cause it wasn't money."

His thumb smoothed over a nipple and it drew up in his wake while his lips drifted along the curve of her breast. As he moved, Beth tensed, anticipating the moment when she'd feel his hot mouth over her nipple, but for now she busied herself with her roaming hands, taking them over the warm, hard contours of his body. He felt good underneath her palms; she caught a low sound in her throat when his thigh pressed between hers, hitting the apex and sending a wash of heat over her body, adding to the goosebumps raised on her arms. With the chill air surrounding them, Beth was glad for the heat pouring off him.

"Never imagined I was cut out for this kinda world… an' I don't think I was. At least, not who I was. She's gone."

Daryl buried his face in between the valley of her breasts, his nose smashing flat against her sternum. It wasn't a motion born from attraction, but from irritation at her words. A puff of breath glided wet on her skin as his hands closed over her ribcage, fingers stroking along the bones, so close to the surface.

"You said I changed, right? Thought you were right, at the time"—his lips moved across her skin as he spoke—"but you shoulda said people grow. There isn't changin' who people are. What you were talkin' about was growin'. Becomin' more. What's happened to both of us. People aren’t pictures, never turnin’ into somethin’ else."

Beth swallowed and said, "Seems like the way to look at it. I didn't change, I grew. Still, it feels like I'm one of those plants growin' where they shouldn't, like outta the cracks in concrete or somethin'."

"Because you are." Daryl pushed himself up on his elbows to look up at her. Shadows shifted over his face from the flickering candles; first the contours were those of a young boy, desperate eyes and a certain type of pleading, and then they were of an old man, haggard like a stone left exposed on a mountain face. Beth tensed her shoulders to suppress a shiver; hadn’t she seen the same quality in her own face? Seen an old woman's eyes set in her young face? "But aren't those the sh*t you use for medicine? Shouldn't be there, but they are, and we wouldn't be here without 'em."

"Daryl," Beth said in a voice like the night wind whispering through dark leaves. "I love you."

He bent down, brushing his lips over hers, and then he drew back. "Wouldn't be here without you, y'know. Jesus—"

"What is it?" Beth touched her cool palms to his face, running her thumbs over his rough cheeks and feeling the same dips and rises, the same softening skin starting to lose the elasticity of youth which her own still possessed, dispelling the shifting quality of his face.

"First time I got drunk was with Merle. Was just turned fourteen. I had to walk home an' he told me to pick a street lamp. Told me to look at the light, use that to make sure I walked straight. That's what you are. You're my f*ckin' light in the dark."

Her small laugh was a watery thing, weak and insubstantial. "That's how I think of you, you know. When we were wanderin’, it was always your back in front of me, those angel wings movin', goin' on even when I didn't think I could. I knew I could follow you into the dark."

"sh*t—" Daryl turned his head away and Beth's hands hung empty.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, leaving Beth unsure what to do for a moment. Then her hands dropped down, down to her belt buckle. It clinked gently as her fingers pulled the leather free from the prong. The movement raised Daryl's head from where it was hidden, making him look between them at her hands working, then back up. He pinned her down with his lamp-light dark eyes.

"You still want to…?"

"More than ever."

Her hand stretched out to cross the inches between them. Beth worked open his belt and jeans until Daryl took over, pulling his legs free from the garment while Beth wriggled out of her own remaining clothes. Immediately, they joined together again, Daryl's erection trapped between their feverish skin. He trailed a hand over the slight curves along the edge of her body until his fingers curled over her hip to dig into the soft flesh of her ass while his thumb caught on her jutting hip bone. With that hand, Daryl pushed her down into the mattress; Beth let him. Her breath caught in her throat and she spread her legs, hooking them on either of his thighs. Hips shifted until Beth felt the damp head pushing against her entrance, felt the fingers wrapped around the shaft knocking along her folds.

Beth didn't know why, but their conversation had done nothing to damp her desire for Daryl, no, she had found it increasing as they spoke. She yearned for an unknowable thing—maybe it was solidifying the emotional connection she felt with a physical response, maybe Daryl couldn't give her what she needed in this moment at all, but she needed him, she needed to feel him move inside her, or something small in her soul would die, joining the rotten pile of other small things, which lay there in her heart's garden, the scattered detritus of everything she'd endured.

A ropey arm braced near her head as Daryl lifted himself up. And then he pushed in.

"f*ck," Daryl ground out as he seated himself deeply inside her.

Beth arched upwards at the first feel of him filling her and spreading her wide, but she was glad he waited a moment; she almost wanted to cry, but she didn't, she only wrapped her arm around him, letting her hand catch on his shoulder blade like it was the ledge which would save her life. The pillared arm next to her head shook; Beth watched the muscles shift under the skin. Despite her desire to take Daryl inside her, there hadn’t been much in the way of foreplay between them and she needed a moment.

"Please," Beth gasped, not sure what she asked for, but she knew Daryl would give it to her.

Hands slid underneath her and lifted her body from the mattress. Now they sat upright, with Beth's legs wrapped around his hips and their faces mere inches away. Beth brushed a few strands of hair from Daryl's eyes so she could look at them, then shifted until she rested on her knees. Daryl's eyes closed as she rose, and Beth pressed her lips together against a moan from the feel of his co*ckhead dragging along her walls

Settling her hands on his shoulders for balance, she set a slow, dragging pace, sinking fully back onto Daryl at the end of each stroke. Her chest rose and fell and she lost herself in his burning eyes, tumbling into them, so deep she knew she'd never return. And she didn't care. Her hips snapped and she rode faster, reveling in the way he seemed to fill her most sensitive places, the ones she'd only been able to stimulate herself before. Soon, Beth found herself unable to keep her eyes locked with his; Daryl wore an expression that made her heart stutter; it made the corners of her eyes burn and she knew if she cried, the idea he hurt her would always remain in the back of his mind.

His pupils were blown wide and his mouth partly open, wet lips catching the light as he watched her hair fly. Surprised and focused all at once, he seemed single-mindedly intent on memorizing her. One heavy hand remained latched on her hip, keeping her steady, while the other closed over her tit and his fingers roamed along it.

When he tweaked her nipple, or when his co*ck hit in a particular way and sent waves washing over her, she would cry out, her eyes shutting and her mouth opening in a plea. Daryl's hand tightened on her hip and his mouth opened a little wider and he made a sound of his own, which hit her like lightning.

Beth raised her hands to cup his cheeks and surged forward, meeting him in a depthless kiss. Daryl swallowed down her breathy moans, drawn out of her each time her trembling thighs pushed her upwards. Although she wound tighter with every stroke, Beth knew she wouldn’t cum from this and that was okay; that wasn’t the point. Her taut nipples dragged across Daryl’s chest as she moved while his hands tangled in her hair, gripping tight like he was afraid and it could be Beth was afraid also; it was almost too much to bear, the desire to curl herself inside his chest and never leave.

She loved him.

She loved him so much.

On the next stroke, Beth pushed herself down, taking in Daryl to the hilt. Her lips slanted over his cheek as she cried out; it was painful, having him that deep, but the shock of it woke up something inside. They shared this—this moment, whatever it was—and it was theirs alone. Her hips faltered; she wrapped her arms around him and clung, letting her face sink into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Daryl’s arms enveloped her, one of his hands knotting in her hair as he pressed her head to him, and his erratic breath expanded his lungs unevenly.

There was a moment of stillness where nothing moved, where it felt as if their hearts didn’t beat, as if they didn’t breathe, and then Beth said again, “Please.”

“What is it?” he asked in a splintered voice.

“I don’t know,” she said, unable to keep the hitch out of her words. “I’m scared.”

Daryl stiffened, his biceps flexing against her back.

“Scared of what?”

“I'm—I'm not sure. I want you so much it scares me. I want all of you; I want your sins and your scars; I want you to reach into my chest, pull out my heart, and rip it to pieces. I’m not even makin’ sense,” she said and her words tumbled out with a breathless laugh tacked on the end.

“Makes perfect f*ckin’ sense,” he said.

“Does it?”

With a grunt he jerked his hips, filling her again with his co*ck. She clenched around him, biting at her lip to keep from crying out too loudly when he dropped a hand between them to roll his rough fingers over her cl*t.

“Makes sense—makes sense because—” Another noise of effort and Beth’s head knocked back on her neck, her hair flying out in a corona. “Makes sense ‘cause the face you make when you cum is the same one you made when you gave birth.”

Beth didn’t understand and then she did. Everything was the shadow of something else. Pleasure and pain were the light on a cloth and the shadow on the other side, but woven from the same thread and draped over the same body. She'd finally broken through to the other side of the mirror, unable to recognize the tumultuous feelings inside of her, and her mind picked up the shadow instead; it was like the night they spent in the firehouse after Aspen Pointe fell, where she wanted to run and f*ck and cry. All things were only a moment from flipping from their obverse to their reverse.

A hot hand covered her breast, rolling her nipple between the fingers, and this time she cried out in pleasure as she drove down on Daryl's co*ck, the world contracting to nothing but their joined bodies, his hands sending fire through her, and the rough sounds in his throat when he thrust up into her.

One of the candles guttered, going dim as it burnt into nothing but a puddle of wax. Her hair stuck to her neck; they were sweating now. Daryl's hands lifted away to grapple on her hips, stilling their motion. Her mouth hung open and panting as she searched his eyes, but Beth received her answer when Daryl asked her to lay down. She lifted off of him with a soft moan at the sensation of his co*ck slipping free, then settled on her back, letting her hair fan out along the sheets. Sweat shone on Daryl's chest, the glisten highlighting the scars which usually lay hidden, blending into the rest of his flesh.

He looked down at her. His thighs were taught and the head of his co*ck flushed dark and he wore the same focused hunting look—did he understand what she searched for? Beth thought he did, because the hunting look vanished as a tremble traveled through his body.

And then Daryl positioned himself between her legs, entering without hesitation in one thrust. He staked his hands on either side of her head and his fingers dug into the sheets. To Beth, he moved like he searched for the exact unknowable thing she desired, moving slowly, steadily, deeply, as if he plunged far enough inside her he could drag the knowledge from her depths. Beth welcomed his every thrust; she would drown in this eternal moment if she could; if she choked on the waves, that was okay, because maybe she would wake up knowing sense, would emerge with the knowledge they sought of why, exactly, she felt like crying, why she felt like running, why her face was the same when she org*smed and when she gave birth, why Daryl bore the face of a child and an old man all at once.

When her legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his ass and thighs squeezing, his thrusts became frantic, swinging between extremes like a runner dropping in and out of a sprint a few feet from the finish line.

"I can't—f*ckin' sh*t, f*ck!" he cursed as he quickly withdrew.

He balanced on one hand as the other fisted his co*ck, hand jerkily slipping up and down as he spilled himself on Beth's stomach. One shoulder blade stuck jaggedly in the air like a mountain peak while his head hung low, covered by a curtain of hair. Once he'd finished, he released himself and braced with both hands once again. Daryl's whole body shook, so Beth lay her hands on his biceps, running her flat palms up them, following over his shoulders and onto his back.

"I'm sorry," Daryl said in a scraped kind of voice.

She brushed some of the hair out of the way, hooking it behind his ear. "What for?"

With a strange look on his knotty face, Daryl laid down next to her. He grabbed his shirt, wadded up in a crumpled heap half hanging from the bed, and handed it to Beth. She cleaned up before rolling onto her side, pressing against him with her arms tucked up to her chest.

"Ain't never had sex like that," he mumbled.

"Well, neither have I."

Another candle burnt out, leaving the room a shade darker, as Daryl turned his head to face her, his eyes deeply set and inky pools, like the terrible sky, endless and merciless.

"You got somethin' I've never given no one. You made me feel like nothin'."

"Wait, what are you tryin' to say?"

He took in a deep breath and raised his hand to her face, drawing his thumb along her damp cheek.

"I love you," he said. "You pry already knew. It were… any sh*t I ever thought got blown away. Like you gettin' mixed up and wantin' me to hurt you. Losin' yourself. Like 'you' is nothin'."

Beth dug herself into his side, drawing the heat of him up into herself. A strong arm wrapped over her and she drank him in, drank in the fragile, precious love like it was the water she needed to survive. Daryl was in her heart and was her heart and she would stand by him no matter what the world threw at them; if the world wanted him it would have to rip him from her broken and bleeding hands.

"sh*t," Daryl said and Beth realized tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, leaving cold trails on her skin.

"It's okay… I love you, too. I know you know, but I figure it's one of those things you can't say enough. I love you. I love you," Beth breathed against his chest.

Chapped lips kissed her forehead. She sighed and another candle blinked out of existence. The high tide of emotion was receding, drawing back into the hidden ocean from which it came, leaving her a bit breathless but washed clean.

Daryl cleared his throat and tried again, saying, "I'm sorry 'cause I almost came in you." He sighed. "Used to lastin' longer."

Drawing the blankets over their bodies, Beth shifted around to lay her head on his chest. A warm hand came up to stroke through her tangled hair. Quickly she counted through the days since her last period; as the twins started eating more solid food and she breastfed less, her periods seemed to be back to stay. If he had, time was on their side.

"Oh… well. We'll be better next time. And you were just fine."

"Good." Some of the tension left Daryl and he chuckled low, almost to himself, in a bitter kind of way. "Lets you f*ck for hours, y'know. Shoulda figured."

Beth paused. She knew alcohol sometimes kept men from getting erections, but she didn't know it extended them. Daryl looked down at her and something in his face shuttered, drawing over the previously open eyes. And then it clicked into place. He meant meth. He'd never had sex without being high.

Initially she wanted to draw away, but she'd always know that, hadn't she? At the very back of her mind? She'd always known. She only wanted to frame the knowledge in between acceptable vices, because… Beth swallowed. Because maybe she did feel some childish disdain for the man he had been, for who she expected him to have been. And that thought set her gut burning, that she imagined herself able to ignore who he used to be, like it meant nothing towards who he was now.

"What's it like?" she asked suddenly.

Daryl looked down at her, blinking.

"What's it like? Bein' high? It must feel good, right?"

"Not really," he answered.

"Y'know, I think you can guess I don't know much about drugs at all," Beth said wryly, to which Daryl snorted. "But I always figured on 'em making you feel good."

"At the time, feels f*ckin' amazin', but that's the lie. Cuts out the noise in your head, gets you focused. It hits and you're the 'you' you always wanted to be. Happy. Interestin'. All your stupid hangups are gone when it hits. Until you aren't, until your brain sets to makin' you think about the sh*t you hate over an' over for hours, sets you to thinkin' sh*t's under your skin and you gotta get it out. Until you start thinkin' you won't be worth anything unless you're on it."

Beth ghosted her fingers across his chest, steering clear of the scars.

"I guess I get it, about bein' better. Why my dad told us to stay away from drinkin'. Was easier to talk, to open up. I felt good. Happy, too. And then he died. That boy. And I looked at the bottle and I thought, that'll make it easier."

"Ain't easy, knowin' there's somethin' out there to shut the pain off for a while. Hard to turn your back on it."

"No…"

His arm tightened around her shoulder, pulling her closer as his other arm came to rest behind his head.

"Why I liked shrooms better. Never felt like I needed them, y'know? Just made things quiet. Peaceful. Thought a lot, but never made my brain go crazy the way… Looked at the sky, thought about bein' part of the universe."

"You've taken a lot of things," Beth said, but there was no recrimination in her tone; she simply stated the truth.

"Yeah," he said. A frisson of tension steeled his arm. "Never thought so, but compared to you, guess I have."

"I used to be mad about the things I missed out on. Finishin' school, goin' to college. Havin' my own place. Bein' me, but better. And I think, maybe, they weren't that great after all. Like I found out drinkin' wasn't that great. There's an edge to everything."

Daryl pressed her tightly to him and laid a kiss on her forehead, almost as if afraid she'd vanish.

"There an edge to us?" His lips moved across her skin.

"There is. You saw it. That fear. What'll happen to me if I lose you."

But she wasn't going to, right? He had been formed into someone who moved easily through this world by the brutality of his youth as it walled off every part of his heart, the parts which would destroy a person these days. Daryl would make it to the end, wouldn't he? He would walk into the new world.

His eyes burned into hers and she knew he asked because he felt the same fear, because he would feel the same devastation. And then he shifted, covering her body with his while his knee urged her thighs apart and she went, "Oh."

Beth sighed when he entered her, letting her eyes flutter closed. When she opened them again she looked into the ocean, with all its power and rage, contained in Daryl's eyes. It wasn't as frightening to look at this time, as it had been before. The desperation was still there; Daryl moved as if he only raged hard enough against the dark, then this could be their eternity. But she had already tasted the depths and it had made channels inside her, and it was those same channels that it flowed through now. He leaned down and kissed her as his hands roamed, trying to map the contours of her body, trying to read her soul in the bumps and rises, despite his being there for so many of them. Her own hands grappled on his back, fingertips skating over his scars, and she surged upwards to pepper wet kisses along his corded neck. These soon devolved into rough little nips as passion built in her blood.

She had told herself she'd possess him, after all.

With a punctuating grunt accompanying a last hard thrust, Daryl paused to slip his hand from her tit, where he'd been rolling a nipple between his rough fingers. His palm slid over her sweat-slick body until it ran along her thigh, and then he pressed her leg towards her chest to cant her hips at a different, deeper angle. Beth dropped her head back, letting his thrusts rattle her head. This was good. She wanted this blade's edge, now, after the emotion of before. She wanted him: the sweat, the primal sounds, the pain in her bones as he gripped too tight, the knowledge they shared with only each other, the bite of his teeth into her skin, the way he growled when she returned the favor, the way his co*ck twitched when she moaned his name into the shell of his ear. She wanted all of him; she was getting it.

They would have this. Whatever happened, they would have tonight.

Chapter 26: the green, green grass, the gray, gray house

Chapter Text

When the sun hit her eyes, Beth was awake. She sat up and stretched, then moved from under the warm blankets towards the mattress edge, swinging her feet out and letting them hover above the cold hardwood. Suddenly, arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her back to bed with enough force she wobbled, her balance threatening to give way. She let out a noise of surprise and toppled onto Daryl.

"Stay in bed," he said, laying a kiss on a small mole on her stomach.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, letting the thin strands fall away, and his eyes closed at her touch. Ever since Christmas, when they crossed that last physical barrier between them, they'd found each other irresistible, the long caged passion bleeding into every interaction. Beth didn't mind; in fact, she enjoyed it very much, and besides, soon enough the flames between them would stop flaring, quieting down into something hot and long-burning.

"I want to," she said, "but I got a busy day. An' so do you."

"Can wait," he said and his mouth wandered lower.

"Twins are up!" Frankie's voice called from the hall as he passed by on his way to the bathroom.

"But bein' parents can't," Beth said with a laugh. She kissed the top of his head. "Keep the fire burnin', though, yeah? I still have a babysittin' session I can call in from Christmas."

"I'll make it worth it, then," Daryl said.

"Always do," she said.

Beth threw on a dressing gown and shuffled across the hall to the twins' room. Both girls stood in their cribs, eyes bright and flyaway hair charged with static. The second they saw their mother, both began babbling and signing, asking for mommy. A fond smile tugged at her lips; Beth remembered when she used to greet the day with just as much enthusiasm.

"Yes, good mornin', bugs! Let's go eat, let's go! Oh, you're gettin' so big. Can't you stay small a lil longer?"

With a baby resting on each hip, Beth made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Surprisingly, it was empty aside from Valerie, who stood over the stove as a pot of coffee brewed. At this hour, most days found everyone awake and gathered in the room to share a meal. She looked up when Beth entered the room and smiled, almost as she had in Aspen Pointe, though there was a certain brittle edge which seemed permanent.

"Morning… and morning to you too, Miss Clara, Miss Anne."

The twins waved at Valerie as Beth settled them in their high chairs.

"Is that coffee for anyone?"

"Sure."

"Thanks..." Beth poured herself a cup and set to getting the twins breakfast. "Are you stayin' up? I thought you had night watch."

"I did. Just gonna visit the creek and check on things quick. A squad of zombis came down the road and I want to make sure they're not fouling up the water."

"I'm goin' out with Celine… if you want, we can go that way and check."

Valerie shook her head, saying, "It's fine. I don't mind. Arjun offered, too."

"Is he out?"

"Yeah. Getting more wood, I think. He says a storm's coming. Was up all night again, the f*cking insomniac."

Beth laughed lightly and so did Valerie, and for a moment there was nothing but ease between them. The twins flung more mashed green beans around the kitchen than they actually ate, so Beth got a later start than she would've liked, by the necessity of her needing to wipe wet lumps of green bean out of every nook and cranny in the whole damn kitchen. She looked at the sky and frowned, then took the damp cloth to the stove front again. But, eventually, Clara and Anne were dressed, Beth was dressed, and that was good enough.

Celine was impatient to get going and so was Beth. Although, strictly speaking, they didn't need to forage anything—considering they had a whole grocery store as their larder—there were plenty of plants that could be harvested this time of year. Celine had also been drilling Beth hard on how to identify the dormant forms of other plants for spring and summer.

The morning was quiet in the way Beth had grown used to. Before the world changed, mornings on the farm were noisy, chaotic things. Roosters didn’t crow with the sunrise, but any time they damn well felt like it, so their calls often woke Beth well before her alarm. The house would creak and settle, and she would hear her mother and father talking in the kitchen, pans clattering as her mother made breakfast. Shawn would thunder down the stairs, late for his morning chores, and shout good morning as he grabbed a thermos of coffee to take with him. The cattle would be lowing and the dogs barking, and Beth would put her feet in her boots and drag herself to the barn to muck out the horse’s stalls, getting her hair nibbled on as she worked.

But here there were no animals making noise besides the birds and squirrels, no livestock demanding she put their needs before her own, and Beth rather thought she preferred it the other way. She’d grown used to quiet, though she didn’t like it.

Luckily Celine was more than happy to remedy the situation.

“I’d love to find a persimmon tree. They’re good on the tree well into winter. Have you had persimmon?”

“No, never,” Beth said, dragging her hand over a frosted bush as they walked among the trees.

“Have you had dates?”

“Once! My grandpa ate them and gave me one. I spit it out and got spanked!”

“Poor baby,” Celine said with a smirk. “Forget everything you know about dates. Persimmons are dates on steroids.”

“You’re still not makin' them sound appealin’,” Beth said.

“I'll convince you yet, I just have to find some. I’m thinking we should go west today, there’s a lot of pines that way we haven’t touched,” Celine said.

“So you’re thinkin’ pine nuts?”

“If they’re still on the tree. We could also gather the inner bark, the phloem, but you can't take it from a living tree without hurting it.”

"Y'know, I'd like to avoid choppin' down a whole tree just to eat it."

"Live a little!"

"Is eatin' a tree really livin'?"

Celine laughed and said, "In my book it is."

Beth checked over her shoulder and then shook her head at herself; the twins were back with Daryl and the others at the house. It wasn’t as much trouble to leave them in the care of others, now that they were reliably eating solid food, but she was so used to their weight on her back or chest that she felt off-kilter without them babbling in her ear. Right now Daryl was probably walking them on his feet across the yard because they loved seeing the birds darting among the trees. Beth smiled at the idea. Anne was always happiest standing on Daryl's feet.

She looked ahead again, watching Celine’s back bob up and down as she navigated over obstacles. The colorful ends of her scarf fluttered in the wind. Beth glanced down and checked the underbrush to see if she recognized anything in its dormant state. It was hard to tell, but she thought she recognized witch hazel. And then her face smacked into Celine’s back, causing her to stumble and rub at her smarting nose.

“Holy sh*t—is that…” Celine mumbled, her voice all frost scraped from a window.

Coming out from behind Celine’s broad back, Beth saw what Celine looked at and her heart fell to the frozen forest floor. Arjun lay stiff on the ground, crumpled where he dropped and blanketed in hoary, creeping frost. A slick cascade of blood spread frozen on his temple and Beth knew the man was already dead, that he had been for some time.

And he hadn't been bitten.

“We have t’ get Daryl,” Beth said.

“We can’t just leave him there!”

“We have t’! If we get any closer, we’ll ruin any signs around the body, ruin any chance of figurin’ out what the hell happened!”

They ran. Sharp branches whipped at Beth's face as their feet crunched through leaves. They ran until the house materialized between the naked trees and then they crashed through the gate to dash over the lawn. Erika looked down the sight of her raised rifle before she recognized Beth and Celine; her mouth opened in a panicked shout which drew Daryl to the porch. His narrow eyes followed Beth and she shivered, the news she was about to deliver a trembling burden on her chest.

“What is it? Are you okay?” Erika asked once they’d dashed up the steps.

“We-we’re fine,” Celine panted.

“Arjun, dead, west a quarter mile,” Beth gasped out.

“What?”

Daryl’s hands clenched into fists while the blood drained from Erika’s face, so quickly that Beth thought her liable to faint until she slumped against the wall and some color returned to her cheeks.

“Show me,” Daryl said.

"What's going on?" Valerie appeared in the doorway, sleep-rumpled and red-eyed.

"Arjun's dead," Daryl said.

He reached inside to grab his coat from the rack beside the door and threw his arms so roughly into the sleeves that one thin elbow ripped. While Celine explained where they'd found Arjun, Beth dashed inside the house to check on the girls, finding them safe in their playpen. Frankie stood next to them, his rifle in hand and his eyes sharp.

"What's the big deal out there?"

"Arjun's dead," Beth said as she bent over her daughters to kiss them goodbye again.

"Bitten by dusters?"

Beth ran her hand over Anne's head and static kept the strands clinging to her palm. They didn't know anything. What would happen if she told Frankie she thought Arjun had been attacked? What kind of panic would that statement cause?

"We don't know. Please, Frankie, will you stay? Watch over the girls?"

He agreed to keep watching them, well used to being kept out of the action due to his shoulder. Once she'd grabbed her rifle, Beth rejoined the rest of the group on the porch.

"Let's go," Daryl said, tossing his hand westward.

So Beth and Celine set out beside him, striding away from the house and leaving Erika and Valerie anxiously pacing the porch. Once past the fence, Beth led the way, her breath loud in her ears and her thoughts whizzing past at alarming speeds. She heard Daryl speaking low behind her and Celine answering.

"...Stand of dead pine—yeah, that's the one—and I'unno, I'm not stimulatin' conversation or some sh*t, so he left at first light to cut some down…"

"...Signs of rigor mortis, so he died shortly after reaching…"

Arjun had been killed, but by whom? Were they safe where they were? Could it be another group and if so, what were their numbers? Her mind flashed back to the prison, to the mysterious murders of—Beth thought hard to recall the names—Karen and David. Rick never had deduced who killed them, or if he had, he'd never told the group at large. When she first learned of the deaths, Beth assumed they had succumbed to the flu they were sick with and her heart went out to Tyreese, who always had the time for Judith and insisted Beth sing more often to jazz up the cell blocks (he called her Radio Free Beth). But when she learned they'd been murdered, she found herself surprised it had taken so long.

Human life was no longer sacred, murder no longer reprehensible but necessary, and a reasonable course of action to protect your own when there were no courts, no jails, no judges, and no higher power except God or someone with more bullets in their gun. Beth wondered if at the prison they'd been trying to recreate something which no longer existed, if they pretended the world they once knew wasn't more than an ephemeral memory trapped in the minds of survivors. At the time Beth had been so angry—so pissed—that one of their own dared to commit such an evil act (she tried to reason with herself that Randall had been different because he was a threat). Now she wasn't angry at the act itself, but at whoever thought murder would solve the issue rather than create more problems for Rick. Although she'd never been told anything more than the fact Karen and David were murdered, she didn't imagine her reasoning to be a stretch.

Beth wasn't sure when her perspective shifted, but the fact it had pulled a film under her skin, something thin and crawling and slippery, like an oil slick. She took a deep breath, turning her eyes ahead towards the dark form among the carpet of rust underneath the evergreens.

A signal from Daryl stopped them. His eyes roamed and his head swept until he stepped forward, motioning for Beth and Celine to follow. They approached the body carefully, with Daryl dropping down to examine the ground as they neared. Now close enough to take in the details of the scene, Beth studied the body.

Arjun lay face-up, one arm splayed and the other tossed carelessly over his chest, and Beth thought he might have been dead as he fell, to not try and catch his fall. And then she noticed the marks on his neck: a swath of dull purple blooms circling the circumference. Like he'd been strangled, Beth thought.

And Daryl came to the same conclusion, as he reached out and pulled back the collar to observe the bruises before moving on to examine Arjun's hands.

"Came up on him from the west, two men," Daryl said, pointing out the disturbed tracks in the pine needles, "and pry hit him from behind. Were a struggle. Bet one held Arjun while the other strangled him. Bashed him in the head again once he were down."

"To make sure he wouldn't turn?" Celine asked, coming up to examine the body now that Daryl had taken his initial assessment.

"Maybe," Daryl murmured, checking over the head wound again.

Beth kept watch while Daryl and Celine talked over the body, pointing out little details to each other until they had as complete an understanding of the situation as they were likely to get. When Daryl straightened up and stood, his lips were pursed tight and his eyes dark. A cold wind blew, snaking down Beth's collar as it blew loose strands of hair into her eyes.

"Gonna follow the trail; we gotta know if there's another collection of jackasses nearby," he said.

"You wanna leave now?" Beth asked, shouldering her rifle again.

"Leg, you gotta stay," Daryl said.

"I'm the only other person who can track," she said.

"Yeah, and you're the only other parent Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum got," Daryl snapped out. "You have t' stay—"

Daryl's voice cut off abruptly, the cessation of sound punctuated by a small grunt of surprise. His leg snapped out and Beth's gaze flicked downwards. Arjun's body turned while they talked—how could they have been so careless? Filmy eyes fixed on Daryl as stiff hands closed over Daryl's calf. With a jerk, the walker upset Daryl's footing before Daryl could free himself, and he came crashing down into the pine needles, the meaty thud of his back hitting the earth echoing through the trees. Beth's hands were slick on her rifle strap as she tried to fumble it into her hands, but Arjun was freshly turned, inhumanly strong. As Daryl's back curved from him reaching for his knife, a shot rang out. Thick blood, sluggish from the cold, exploded from the skull and splattered the dead needles as it coated Daryl's front.

A broken sob fell from Celine as her shaking hands lowered her gun.

"Oh, sh*t, oh, Jesus, I—" Celine's lips kept curling inwards and pushing outwards, like she'd forgotten how to work them.

"f*ck," Daryl breathed, scooting backward and out from underneath the corpse.

"The walker outside Wartburg," Beth said. Her voice trembled and she paused to swallow and get control of herself again. "The one with the shallow head wound."

Daryl remained sat on the ground, his knees pulled up and his forearms resting on them while his hands hung loose. He looked up at her with eyes hidden beneath his dark shock of hair and Beth's stomach clenched at the weight of his gaze. She knew what that look meant.

"Damnit. Beth, go back to the house. Let Valerie know what's goin' on. If I'm not back by sunset, you get the hell out."

Even though Celine was there, even though his face was awash in cold blood, Beth fell to her knees and kissed him hard, her hands coming up to grip the side of his face. The wet blood and the cold wind chilled her fingers—at least, that's what she told herself about the tremble which sent her fingers skidding. His hands closed over her wrists. The fingers tightened until they encircled her bones and she knew she couldn't dissuade him from leaving. She pulled back to stare him in the eyes.

"You better come back," she said.

"I'm serious," he said. "The house ain't worth fightin' for. You get outta there, you run, first sign of trouble."

"Okay," Beth said, but she felt like a child with their fingers crossed behind their back.

She got to her feet and so did Daryl. He helped Beth lift Celine, slinging the woman's arm over Beth's shoulder. Celine still shook, but she was silent now. Her eyes never left Arjun's gaping, ruined head. With a curt nod and nothing else, Daryl was off, following the trail of Arjun's attackers. Beth stayed where she was, watching his back until he was nothing but a faint shape blending into the trees.

The walk back to the house took much longer than the initial sprint. By the time the fence was in sight, the sun hung well overhead, sending down its cold, merciless winter light. Valerie stood on the porch with Erika and Dayvon. Her bearing tightened, every aspect of her drawing up when she spotted them. Valerie jogged down the steps and crossed the yard to open the gate for Beth and Celine. She bent over and draped Celine's arm across her shoulders, then stood up, relieving Beth of her burden.

"What happened? Where's Daryl?"

"He's okay," Beth said to cover the most pressing point. "Dayvon, run inside and get a blanket!"

They settled Celine on the steps as Dayvon came out with a quilt and Beth covered Celine's shoulders with it. Beth went to the fire, where she started water heating for a hot drink. By the time she returned to the porch, Frankie had joined them. His arms were crossed and his normally genial face was twisted into a tight line.

"So what's going on?" Valerie demanded.

"Arjun was attacked," Beth said. "He turned and went for Daryl, but Celine killed him. She's dealin' with that. Daryl's okay; he's on the trail of the attackers. See if he can find out anything more."

"We need to leave," Frankie said as Valerie said at the same time, "We need to fight."

"We're goin' to leave," Beth said, "if Daryl's not back by sunset."

"This is our house! We worked hard to make it what it is and f*ck me if I run away like a coward," Dayvon said.

"We don't know how strong the group is," Beth said. "It could be two, it could be two hundred! We don't have the people or the ammo for a fight. And I'm not puttin' my daughters in danger over a house. It's not worth it."

"Then leave," Valerie said coldly, locking eyes with Beth and making a shiver race down her spine. "Go somewhere safe with the girls. But this place is defensible, even with just us, if we work for it. We have the high ground, the ravine to the east—look, I know I haven't been at my best for a long while, but this place, this house, just… living… I'm not giving that up without a fight. Especially not after they killed one of our own—Arjun is dead and we're going to... run away? Not burn him?"

"We don't know anything," Erika said. "We don't know. If we knew what we're up against, then maybe we could say one way or the other, but Beth's right. Our lives aren't worth this place."

"Is that what this group's gonna be, running, always running?" Dayvon asked.

He rose up to his full height as his chest swelled, bearing down on Beth with his livid gaze. A hot crack of lightning rage exploded across Beth's chest.

"That's what the world is! You were happy enough to run away the night Franny died!" she snapped.

"Because that's walkers, not people! A herd like that you can't fight—but I will kill every motherf*cker who thinks he can take what's mine," Dayvon said as his hands tightened, the knuckles popping out like bolts. "You. You and Valerie took my home, my family, because you thought you knew better. I'm making my stand and I'm not getting told what to do by a f*ckin' bitch!"

"That's uncalled for!" Erika rounded on Dayvon. "You knew we needed to do what we did, so don't go pulling that—"

"You're being uncharacteristically quiet, Frankie," Celine croaked, making all heads turn towards her.

She kept the quilt clutched around her shoulders as she stood on trembling legs. Rolling his shoulders, Frankie offered up a thin, tight smile.

"I've made my mind up," Frankie said. "You're dead-ass psychos if you think you can shoot your way outta this."

"We're not doin' anything until Daryl gets back," Beth said.

"Well, we all know you'll fall in line with him, so I don't see the point in waiting until he's here to argue," Dayvon said.

Beth wanted to say something back, but she only stared at Dayvon, her heart pounding on her chest. The painful swell of her throat stopped the words before they could be spoken.

"You're always trying so hard to keep him in charge, but it's plain to me the man don't want it! You wanna feel important, like the queen bitch?"

"Oh, f*ck off!" Celine cried. "We all know you were hot sh*t in Aspen Pointe, and I'm tired of your ass stirring sh*t because you think you can do better! You can't! You don't know how."

"I'm goin' inside," Beth said quietly. "I'm goin' to start packin' up."

She kept her gaze straight ahead as she ascended the steps—not that she could have done any different with the burn of tears in the corners of her eyes—and pulled open the storm door, letting it crash shut behind her. Another bang of the door followed. Frankie fell in step with Beth, his good arm swinging in time with his gait.

"Let me help you pack up," he said.

"Thank you," Beth said.

Clara and Anne, still safe in their playpen, squealed when they caught sight of their mother, but Beth only gave them cursory kisses on their foreheads before taking the stairs to the second floor. Frankie followed behind, peeling off for his own room. Each breath felt like a tongue of flame snaking down her throat and she would not cry. It wasn't what Dayvon said to her, but Daryl putting himself on the line to determine what they faced that choked her. She wanted to stay. She wanted to fight. Yet Beth knew leaving was the right thing to do; Clara and Anne couldn't be put in that kind of danger. Daryl needed to come back. He needed to come back to her and the girls.

Ducking under the bed, Beth grabbed the empty bags kept there. The zippers jangled between her fingers as she worked them open. She opened dresser drawers, throwing items pell-mell into the bags until she realized she'd packed all of Daryl's boxers and none of his shirts. She soberly began again.

In the end, she had a bag packed with an extra outfit each for her and Daryl along with long johns for warmth, and another bag packed with the twins' clothes, blankets, spare slings, and diapers. Beth put the bags on her shoulders and paused before heading out the door. Her hand reached towards the carved wooden box Daryl had given her for Christmas. She didn't need it; it was nothing but extra weight, but Daryl had made it with his own two hands for her. And it held the only picture in the world of her daughters.

Shouts rose up the stairs from the porch; the others still argued vehemently with each other. Beth crossed the hall to Frankie's room, knocking on the door before stepping inside.

He laid on the bed, good arm akimbo and hand behind his head. When she entered the room, his head turned towards her and the man looked positively ancient. Beth had never noticed the lines around his mouth or at the corners of his eyes before, assuming Frankie to be closer to Maggie's age than Daryl's. A bulging rucksack laid at Frankie's feet and one boot, the leg propped up across the other, bounced repeatedly off the bag's top, filling the room with an insistent rustling.

"I get the feeling today's not gonna call it quits any time soon. Thought I'd rest up while I got the chance," he said.

Beth took a seat next to him on the bed and asked, "Do you want to pray together?"

Frankie nodded and sat up. He reached for her hand, closing both of his over hers. Beth closed her eyes and bowed her head. What did she pray for? For Daryl's safe return, for Arjun's soul, for the safety of Clara and Anne, for them to make the right decision, for all of this to be nothing. She prayed for the group as a whole, and she prayed for Maggie, wherever she was. For the first time in a long while it felt as if no one listened, as if her prayers dropped away into nothingness, and that was so lonely a thought her mind guttered still like a single candle snuffed by a sudden gust of wind.

"Hey," Frankie said, interrupting her sucking thoughts, "Daryl'll come back. Toughest bastard I ever met."

Beth nodded and let go of Frankie's hands, reaching up to press unfallen tears from her eyes. She wasn't sure if that's why she cried, the only reason or just part of the reason.

"Here." Frankie handed her the hemmed handkerchief she'd given him for Christmas.

After dabbing away her tears, Beth returned the handkerchief. Frankie folded it and put it in his pocket. He looked like a light viewed through thin paper: dim and diffused, something less than. When Beth stood up, so did Frankie. He grabbed his rucksack and tossed it over his good shoulder.

The first thing Beth did once downstairs was put the girls up in their sling; if she needed to run, she couldn't afford to take the time to safely secure them. She slipped a few spare clean diapers in the sling with them, just in case she had to flee without being able to grab her packs. Both twins were tired, as it was nearly time for their afternoon nap, so they drooled on Beth's shoulder before their heads dropped warm against her while she and Frankie packed up anything edible in the kitchen which would travel well.

As they worked, Erika came into the kitchen. She looked at Beth and Frankie packing and her mouth tightened, but she only began putting together a lunch that no one would eat.

Frankie broke the silence by asking, "What's the mood out there? Totally brick?"

"It's bad," Erika said, furrowing her eyebrows and then giving her head a small shake. "Beth, I think you need to go out there."

"Best time for it; no one can holler," Beth said grimly, jerking her thumb at the sleeping twins.

So she left the kitchen and plodded down the narrow hallway to the entryway. Valerie and Dayvon's voices tangled with Celine’s, a knotted thread too far gone to untangle. Beth squared her shoulders before pushing the storm door open.

"No hollerin'," Beth said. "Girls' are nappin'."

"You come out here to play peacemaker? That requires actually listening to people's concerns, " Dayvon said, his eyes boring into Beth with the weight and sharpness of their stare.

"No," Beth said. She took in a deep breath. She could be mean; she had to be. She could be commanding; she knew she could. She squared her shoulders and continued, saying, "We ain't gonna go off half-co*cked; we ain't gonna get ourselves killed that way. We will wait until Daryl gets back before makin' any decisions. This ain't negotiable. All of you are on watch. Erika's makin' lunch, and we'll switch soon so y'all can eat. I want a quiet watch. No more discussion."

"And how are you gonna stop me, huh?"

Dayvon pointed his finger out, jutting it accusingly at Beth. She hadn't forgotten the first self-defense move Daryl taught her. Her hand snapped up, closing around Dayvon's wrist, and she jerked him towards her until her shoulder checked his and her foot swept his forward foot from beneath him, which sent him sprawling onto the porch's floor. Beth pulled her gun and trained it on his head, though she didn't put her finger on the trigger. Burning eyes stared up at her as the twins, jostled awake by the action, began howling.

Beth didn't stay to observe the aftermath. She turned on her heel and stepped back inside the house. After giving the twins a small snack to quiet them down again, Beth took her own lunch. She sat at the counter, across from Erika and Frankie, and none of them took more than a few bites of the quick soup which had been thrown together. The lamplight, which added to the dim gray sneaking through the windows, slipped up and down the raised beads decorating the spoon's edge. Beth tilted the spoon this way and that, watching the light oscillate among the beads. She felt like the tarnish dug into the tiny crevasses of the silver, something oxidized and filmy which couldn't be polished away.

Erika stood and dumped her still full bowl into the bin.

Well, Beth thought, Valerie was right about the waiting.

For now, all they had to do was wait for Daryl's return.

Clara whined and beat her tiny fists against Beth's back, signing to be let down. She and her sister had been in the sling all afternoon aside from changes and feedings. Although Beth knew they ached to be let down, she couldn't. Beth paced around the house, passing by the rest of the group as she walked. Coming around the front, Beth ascended the porch's steps. The arguing died down around mid-afternoon after Valerie returned from scouting the woods surrounding the property, when they all took up their guns to stare at the trees, yet shoulders held tension and faces revealed troubled thoughts. The sun skimmed the edge of the earth.

Coming to a stop next to Valerie, Beth, unable to stand the frigid silence any longer, said, "I know you wanted to stay, but—"

A brittle smile appeared on Valerie's face; it was wry and ready to fall from her face at the slightest gust, like a dandelion seed clinging to the plant.

"All I wanted was to keep what was mine. Everything is taken from me in this world, no matter how hard I try to keep it. This house is mine, yours, Clara and Anne's… and just as I've started feeling human again, it's snatched from my hands by panic, by a ghost—that's who Arjun's attackers are. Ghosts. But I get it. I dropped the ball. You and Daryl don't trust me any more."

She was right, Beth thought. She didn't trust Valerie any longer.

"You wanted the responsibility of leadership but you abandoned it without a second thought," Beth said softly. "I know the grief you're dealin' with… but all of us have had to put pain like that away, because it's—"

Valerie's flat hand jerked up and she raised her rifle. Peering through the scope, Valerie swung the weapon side to side to check the treeline.

"Movement at one o' clock," she whispered.

Swallowing down her heart, Beth raised her own rifle to scan the darkening trees. Yes, filling her crosshair was a dark shape bisected by tree trunks. With a few frantic hand signals, Beth caught Celine's attention, communicating the new development. Celine nodded and passed the information on to Frankie; it went down the line to the next person in that fashion.

Valerie raised one finger and Beth fought the urge to jump from the porch. Daryl came back! Valerie raised another finger and then another.

sh*t.

The rifle stock pressed into Beth's shoulder as her eyes strained to make out further movement among the trees. Small, pudgy hands reached over her shoulder to probe along the stock. The sight made bile, pungent and acrid, rise in the back of Beth's throat. She slapped the hands back; Clara let out a sharp whine at receiving a physical rebuke.

A man emerged from the trees.

Beth's immediate thought was he resembled an old lion: shaggy and battle-scarred. But then her eyes landed on the figure accompanying the man and all thought left her head. It was Daryl.

His hands were tied behind his back. A dark cascade of blood dripped steadily from his broken nose, splotched red and purple. From the way he hobbled, Beth knew he'd been kicked or punched in the gut, enough to bruise, to maybe break his ribs. But even as he was shoved forward, he bucked wildly against the restraints, neck straining and mouth working against the gag tied over it. Flecks of blood and sweat flew from his head as he jerked.

More men materialized between the trunks after the pair emerged. Beth counted at least thirty, but there was a good chance more surrounded the rear or lingered in the trees. Each man was rangy, stringy in the way people with little to eat but much work to do were, and all were armed.

The leader, for he had to be the leader, shoved Daryl roughly forward. Beth had to stop herself from crying out when Daryl's ankle twisted and he fell with a painful crunch onto the dead grass. A gnarled hand waved over Daryl's prone body.

"This yours?"

No one moved.

The leader laughed and took up a relaxed stance, placing his hands on his hips.

"Okay… okay… I get it. Trying to suss us out, right? Well, I'm Jacob, these are my men, and you're squatting on our territory. Your man here came sniffing up around our camp like a stray dog… we've kindly returned him to you."

Beth tried to steady her rifle, but her hands refused to stop twitching. Her mind was a senseless roar, like the rushing of an oncoming train. She wanted to run to Daryl; he was badly injured and she needed to help him! Her daughters were in danger and she needed to protect them! It was a maelstrom and she was buffeted by the winds.

"Thank you for your kindness," Valerie called, voice dripping with disdain.

"Right? You're welcome," Jacob said.

He smiled in a way that made Beth's back crawl. As a stiff, lonely wind blew, chilling Beth's neck, thirty-some rifle barrels stared back at her, each depthless hole dark as a demon eye. On her right, Valerie's breath came in long, steady draws, smooth in the way breathing was when someone forced themselves to take deep breaths. On her left, Beth saw Celine's hands rattling on her handgun and sweat dampening on the fabric underneath her arms. The knowledge there was no way out arced through the group like electricity rushing to the ground.

"As I was saying, this is our territory. All together we're three hundred strong. Now, you are squatting, and we can't allow that because then any old Joe Schmo will think he's entitled to our land. But we're not totally heartless—"

"Wait!" Dayvon cried. "Wait, we're not doing anything but living here peacefully. We have seeds and plans for a garden; I'm sure we could work something out—"

"Nope!" Jacob said cheerfully.

And before Beth registered what happened, a gun was in Jacob's hand and Dayvon fell backward, bleeding from a shot to the chest. The gunshot's echo rang through her brain a heartbeat later. Erika screamed and rushed to Dayvon's side, plummeting to her knees so she could cradle his head in her lap. He could only gurgle, eyes rolling wildly in his head as his limbs jerked.

"What kind of collective would we be if we didn't protect what was ours?" Jacob asked, projecting his voice across the clearing. He twirled his pistol before replacing it in his holster. "But I have an offer: your women and children can come with us. Of course, no promises as to how much they'll like living with us, but hey, they'll be alive, right? Tick tock, tick tock, let's make up our minds!"

Daryl lay very still on the grass. Was he dead? Unconscious? Beth's heart hammered away in her chest and each breath contained no oxygen. Erika's sobbing echoed off the trees. Celine jerked beside Beth, as if stopping an instinctual reaction to aid Dayvon. Beth's body itched to move; the sounds Dayvon made were etching themselves into her brain and there was another person she needed to help! He may have argued for fighting these men, but he had still tried the diplomatic approach first. Dayvon still believed that men could be reasoned with, that something fundamentally good lay in the hearts of men. He still believed. And that was something rapidly dwindling in the world.

"What do we do?" Celine cried desperately, her shoulders shaking.

Going with these men was not an option. Whatever waited for the women at their camp would be worse than death, nevermind the fact Daryl and Frankie and Dayvon would be dead.

"What do we do? What do we do? We're surrounded. We're dead or we'll wish we were!" Valerie said, her voice taking on a crazed, manic note.

"No!" Beth was too late.

Valerie opened fire on the men, rifle muzzle flashing viciously in the dimming light. The twins screamed on Beth's back as she dropped flat on the porch, pulling herself along towards the storm door. At once the men returned fire and a hail of bullets bit into the siding above Beth's head; they blew through the railing and sent splinters exploding like shrapnel. Valerie fell next to her, concealing herself behind a metal planter as she let off volley after volley, not stopping until her rifle clicked empty. There was nothing in Beth's head except gunfire.

A body fell and Celine landed heavily against the floorboards, most of her chest gone. She attempted to breathe, her body unwilling to accept what happened; Beth watched her mouth gape like a fish and the ragged bits of lung left inside her chest cavity flutter. More thuds followed and Beth thought this might be the end; her hand reached for her handgun to give Clara and Anne a merciful death and then she was jerked backward by her ankles, the storm door slamming after her.

"You need to hide!" Valerie hissed.

Beth couldn't speak. Had just this morning she thought she disliked the quiet? Her arms shook and the twins squalled; how could she hide while they howled like that?

"C'mon!"

And they crept through the house until they'd reached the media room, where Valerie crawled to the furthest corner of the room, squeezing behind one of the armchairs. She yanked up a bit of the carpet, revealing a hatch leading to the crawlspace. Beth stared blankly and then her hands shot forward, fingers fumbling the latch until it opened. She slithered through the hole and Valerie followed, pulling the hatch and carpet shut behind her.

No light made it into the damp, cold space. Gunfire sounded like firecrackers outside, muffled through the house's brick. Beth and Valerie shuffled along on their hands and knees until they bumped up against a rubble pile; Beth undid the girls from the sling and, cramped and crouched with her neck at an odd angle, held them against her chest. They still wailed, voices shrill and piercing, and their tears dampened Beth's shirt. She sucked in a shuddering breath as she begged God that they would calm.

"Some went into the house! Let's go!"

A whistle and the gunfire ceased. The storm door slammed.

"Beth!" Valerie's hand clamped on Beth's arm, nails digging in.

She felt the tears cooling on her face, and her mouth, drawn wide and open, had gone cottony; she tasted dust and dirt and salt.

"Okay," she whispered.

Beth covered her daughters' mouths with her hands, inching her palms up to cover their noses. Every nerve ending blazed painfully and her eyes burned hot. The wet rush of air over her skin slowed as strange, needle-sharp sounds eked from their throats. The flailing arms grew more crazed and then slowed; the wet sucks against her palm increased; tiny milk teeth bit at her flesh. I'm sorry, Beth thought with every fiber of her being, I'm sorry. And then her daughters were limp and silent in her arms. Their heads dropped forward, bouncing on their necks and flinging wet tears against Beth's skin. With a burning throat, Beth removed her hands from Clara and Anne's faces and guided their heads upright again, resting them against her chest.

Desperate fingers pressed to find a pulse and she held the back of her hand in front of their mouth to check for breath. When the thready, hummingbird flutter registered under her fingertips, Beth choked back something awful and clawing in her throat. Smothering her own children—for what? A gust of breath from first Anne, then Clara, and Beth screwed her aching eyes shut. Valerie's sweating hand remained latched on her arm. Those fingers tightened as footfalls shook the floorboards overhead.

"Think they snuck out the back? Went into the woods?"

"Could have… get Ethan and his band out there to search. I want them both found!"

A hard forehead knocked into Beth's and she clung to Valerie. This could easily be the end—Beth's mind flashed to Daryl still and bloody in the grass, the way she'd abandoned him—no. No, he wasn't dead. She knew he wasn't dead. The thought of him being… Beth bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. What would she do without him? How could she go on without him? He was the scars on her palms, he was the pause before her exhale, he was the ghostly glow on the horizon before sunrise, he was the rush of cold wind before the storm. He was the man who made her feel love like the crevasse in a glacier: silent, quiet, unnoticed, but deep and real and deadly.

If she was already dead, if she was discovered and had no choice, Beth decided she'd push her thumbs through Jacob's eye sockets. Something Daryl had said, that it was supposed to feel like crushing a grape, came to her and she wanted to laugh, but it was high, wild, and she bit her ragged lip harder. Why was she thinking of that, as if it would make a difference whether she lived or died? Why was she thinking she wanted that sick pleasure; why was she thinking about how good it would be to see Jacob howling, begging for mercy from her for harming her family, for killing them?

She wouldn't die for Daryl. Maggie had been right. That wasn't romantic. Nothing about this was romantic; it was the howl of a raging storm; it was a burr on a knife dragging on skin; it was broken fingernails scraping across a blackboard. She would not die for Daryl, and neither would their daughters. If he was—no. She would live. She would live for him. Clara and Anne's lives depended on it.

More footsteps moved across the floor. As they creaked, dirt showered Beth and Valerie; When a tickle started in her nose, Beth reached up and pinched her nostrils together, hard enough that a warm trickle of blood slipped down her upper lip after she removed her hand. The creaks came louder and louder, growing like the panting breaths of an nearing predator, and then they paused, the owner hovering in one spot. He shifted his weight to the other foot. A cold bead of sweat wound its way down Beth's face. And then those horrible footsteps creaked off in the opposite direction. A door slammed. Voices rumbled, loud enough Beth and Valerie clearly heard what was said.

"You counted seven, didn't you?"

"Well, not counting those kids."

"Can't find hide nor hair of them in the house. They must've run off into the woods."

"Ethan'll track 'em down. C'mon, let's go shopping!" The speaker affected a lisp and laughed like he was the funniest person in the world.

Go away, Beth thought, go away, go away. How long until Clara and Anne roused? Go away, go away, go away.

Raucous laughter followed and more feet clomped along the floors above. There would be shouts when one of the men found something especially good, disparaging comments about the quality of other items, and Beth closed her eyes as her head throbbed and the twins stirred on her chest. She stroked her hands on top of their heads, feeling their cornsilk hair, and she begged them to stay quiet, to stay asleep, if that’s what they were. She told herself they were only asleep.

“You f*ckers finished yet? C’mon, Ethan’s found some tracks so Jacob says roll out. We’re gonna follow ‘em east.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re done. Mostly sh*t, anyway, ‘sides the ammo. Alright, here we come, you jackass. Keep your panties on.”

The boots stomped away and a door slammed and then everything was silent. A sharp rush of air, like the hot blade of steam released from a pressure cooker, escaped from Beth.

“We gotta go, right now,” Valerie said in a cracked whisper. “If those tracks are what I’m thinking, they’re mine from this morning. They’ll see I came right back after a mile.”

“What if they’ve left lookouts? Val, I’m not riskin’ Clara and Anne!”

“You can't smother your kids again and they aren't gonna stay quiet. This place is gonna be swarming with zombis—we need to get on the deterrent quick and find a pack to follow. They’ll cover our tracks for us.”

“God, please… okay. Okay, let’s go.”

Valerie took Anne in her arms and together, Beth and Valerie crawled back for the hatch with a struggling baby in one arm. Beth felt as if she crushed the air from Clara’s lungs with how tight a hold she kept on the baby—Clara cried and whimpered, but didn’t scream, which Beth figured was the best she could hope for. After reaching the hatch, Valerie handed Anne back to her mother and forced the access hatch open, flooding the crawlspace with dazzling light.

Neither of them waited for their eyes to adjust. Beth blindly scrambled to the front door and kicked it open, only to be forced to dodge a grabbing, dead hand. Her heel caught the edge of the steps and she tumbled down them, landing hard on her back while the girls rolled out of her arms, coming to rest in screeching heaps a few feet away. With a catching suck, Beth forced her lungs to fill again and she rose up on her knees, pulling her handgun to fire at Celine's body, which stumbled down the steps after her. And then she got her senses back; Beth instead put away her gun to pull her knife, and strode up to the corpse of her mentor.

Her gaping chest, sharp with jagged ends of shattered rib bones poking through the tatters of cloth and skin, made a sucking sound as the walker inhaled a wet, bubbling breath. Beth glanced behind her—clear—and lunged forward, driving her knife blade upward, catching the soft spot on the lower jawbone, where the tongue rested. Her blade pierced through the soft palate and Beth wrenched her hand to drive it further, just enough for the walker to go limp and drop. When Celine fell, Beth knelt down and retrieved her knife, wiping it clean on the grass. She then shut Celine’s eyes, knowing that was all Celine would get; she would not receive the kindness of a burial; they did not have the ability to give her proper due; none of their fallen companions would receive that.

Beth collected her daughters from the grass, where they were working at crawling towards her. As she brushed their hair from their faces, leaving streaks of red on their foreheads, Beth's blood ran cold. How easily they could have crawled towards Celine instead! Pressing her head into Anne's warm chest, Beth allowed herself a second, just one, to fall apart before putting herself together again. She checked the twins over with a medical eye and her heart skipped a beat when she found they seemed alright, albeit terrified and seeking what comfort they could.

“Beth!” Valerie’s insistent, if low, voice called.

Working quickly, Beth got the girls in the sling again, which helped calm them somewhat. Jogging over to meet Valerie on the porch, Beth paused briefly as she passed by Frankie’s bullet-riddled body, now still from a knife wound to the eye. She stepped around him and continued on to find Valerie knelt down over Erika; Dayvon’s body lay to the side, crumpled and still. Valerie raised her head, eyes blank and shining, then moved back and Beth saw Erika’s legs coated in blood, her front slick with bits of intestine and organ. And then she opened her eyes.

“Erika!” Beth fell to her knees beside her.

“I’m not okay,” Erika said. “Please. I can’t—I… It’s too late.”

And then Beth saw the perfect teeth marks marring her chest, just visible above the collar of her tank-top.

“I couldn’t stop him, when he turned. I gutted him and it wasn’t enough, didn’t smell dead enough. Please. I’m so scared. I can’t… I can’t do it myself.”

“We will,” Valerie promised, her voice something broken and scabbed. “But it has to be when we leave. We can’t afford a gunshot any sooner."

They pulled Erika to her feet and led her to the steps, where she hung her head and let her blood-stained hair drip on the white-painted wood. Beth wiped off her hands on her jeans and looked around until worn leather ground into the hard earth made everything inside her stop. Her breath stopped, her thoughts stopped, her heart stopped; the world ground to a halt. Even the birds were silent.

Before she knew what happened, she was there, kneeling next to the embroidered vest with bloody bootprints and mud dirtying the appliques. Her hands reached out of their own accord, lifting up the vest and hugging it to her chest. There was blood all over the grass, so much blood—it glistened on the frozen, dead blades of grass and it slicked the leather and the wind chilled it on her hands.

"I've got your bags, c'mon, let's—oh, no… Beth…" Valerie came up behind her and knelt down.

The words sounded like a foreign language. Beth could only look at the vest in her hands as she fought the urge to lay down and never rise again. Only the echoing sounds of Clara and Anne kept her anchored to reality.

"Beth! We gotta go!"

A vice-like hand latched on her arm, dragging her upwards. For a moment Beth wildly thought her legs wouldn't support her but then her feet were on the ground and she swayed slightly, but she was standing. Valerie pushed her forward, towards the shed and its store of deterrent and coats.

It took their eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness inside the shed and then Beth saw him, just a ghostly face peeking out above a dirty coat, eyes puffed shut and purpling, nose swollen and red, mouth hanging oddly over gaps from lost teeth, but it was Daryl. Beth ran to him, her fingers jutting out to press against his neck.

Suddenly she couldn't breathe and Valerie was saying in a sibilant hiss, "It's Beth! It's Beth and Valerie!"

Cool hands pried away the choking fingers and Beth massaged her neck, taking in small sips of air. Daryl's arm fell back down as he mumbled, trying in vain to stand but falling back to the floor; Beth saw a dark stain along his thigh and another on his side: gunshot wounds. He just needed to hold on until they were safe, until they were away—

Valerie pulled out the silk scarf Celine had given her for Christmas and ripped it in two, tying each half over the twins' mouth. They whined and gummed at the fabric, but it would keep them from getting the deterrent in their mouths. She then pulled on one of the coats before helping Beth into another; while Beth opened a jar of deterrent and applied it to the coat, Valerie helped dress Daryl, lolling once again, in a coat of his own.

Once Valerie hefted Daryl upright, supporting him as needed, it was time for the last gruesome task.

Erika looked up at their approach, her face wet and shining with tears.

"Please, do it quick," Erika whispered. "No goodbyes, no crying. I couldn't stand it. Just do it! Just do it…"

So Beth swallowed and removed her handgun from its holster. She moved her hand to the right slightly, to be sure the shot would hit the center of Erika's forehead. Red-rimmed blue eyes stared back, burning like hellfire, and Beth thought perhaps Erika was damning her with those eyes, condemning her to hell for leading Erika here, where she and Dayvon lost their lives. Behind her, Beth heard the sharp breath of Valerie, the sluggish, labored breathing of Daryl, and the whimpers of the twins.

Beth pulled the trigger.

A thin, delicate column of red burst from the back of Erika's head and she slumped forward, tumbling bonelessly down the steps. The thought of leaving her there, like she was a rabid dog put down, twisted something in Beth's heart—like the idea of her dad's body left in the field beyond the prison to reanimate—so she quickly arranged the body by pulling it into a sitting position and resting the hands in the lap.

"Beth."

She took a last look at the house which once held so much promise and saw now it was a twisted shell of itself, nothing but a skeleton picked clean by carrion birds. Home would never be a place; home was the weight on her back, home was the man beside her, home was the memory of her mother, her father, her brother, and her sister. This was the lesson she was cursed to learn over and over again as her tender child heart latched onto each small new hope, no matter how she told herself the truth of the world. A tiny part of her, a part which grew sicker and more maligned with each failure, kept ignorantly reaching out as a child did, trying to take hope where it could be found, only to be shown most violently why hope should be left where it lay, should never be picked up or nurtured. She knew where this path would take her. She knew one day that dying tree in the garden of her heart would lose its last leaf.

Beth turned her back on the mountain house, nothing more than a monument to failure. It was now a gravestone, lonely among the naked trees.

Chapter 27: i have no memories, i only have scars

Chapter Text

Her socks were wet. Blisters pinched along her heels and toes from the wet fabric rubbing the skin raw. They'd been walking through the creek for several hours and couldn't stop or they'd freeze; lighting a fire wasn't an option. Daryl leaned against Valerie; he limped along under his own power now but he'd said nothing during their flight. Beth's chilled fingers touched against her neck, where ruby-red marks blazed, soon to turn into bruises. He'd been out of his mind, delirious, but the strength of his hand frightened her, just as the emptiness inside frightened her; she was nothing. She was nothing but a pair of moving legs and plodding feet.

Eventually they'd come up on a bridge, part of a county road which linked up to a larger north-south highway that they'd avoided in the past as the road acted as a funnel for the walker herds, smaller in winter, but large enough for their purposes.

The twins were asleep on her back, not because they finally calmed enough to sleep but because Valerie had picked up a knocked over bottle of whiskey from the kitchen when she entered the house to gather up what was left of their lives. It was just enough for Beth to rub on the twins' gums until they relaxed. Beth felt like sin given form, but she'd saved her daughters' lives, hadn't she? Hadn't she? No, she hadn't yet. She thought about praying, about asking God to forgive what she had done, but He wouldn't listen. Not to her.

This was all there was: this walking, the creek splashing, the twins' soft breathing, and the cold, uncaring stars overhead. Stalking death followed them, its hot, rancid breath racing down their necks, and it was the only thing which kept them going as long as they had. Bodies lay behind them, left to rot. They couldn't be buried and their bones would scatter to the wind and to Beth the fact they had been forced to do so made her feel like the walking dead they hoped to meet. Humans had always buried their dead, so what did that say about her?

A dark, brutish shape cut through the lacey shadows of stripped branches and Beth knew that was the bridge they'd been working towards. If she sat down to rest, she thought she might not get up again, but she couldn't wait any longer to treat Daryl's wounds, especially when she had no idea what remained in their bags.

Slowly, they worked their way up the muddy incline surrounding the creek, slipping in the muck and sliding back a foot for every two; Daryl's heavy breathing and grunts of pain echoed on the chilled air. Abandoned cars littered the road and their dusty windows didn't even glint in the low moonlight. One of the vehicles was a step van with the company logo indiscernible in the darkness. Beth went to it and found the rear door already opened and the packages within ripped open. She shoved the withered pieces of cardboard aside, creating a space large enough for the three of them to huddle inside. Valerie helped Daryl over the bumper and, after Beth climbed inside, pulled the rolling door shut.

"D'you have your light?" Beth asked and her voice cracked.

There was a rustle and a click and then a small beam of light appeared from Valerie's keychain flashlight.

"Daryl, I'm gonna have t' undress you," Beth said.

He only grunted, but his stiff arms lifted enough that Beth could unbutton and pull off the coat slicked with deterrent. Beth waved Valerie and her light closer, then shrugged out of her own heavy, stinking coat. The bags retrieved from the house were set next to her, ready for her to examine. She undid the snap of her bag, putting her hand in and rifling around; Daryl's clothes were gone and so was all the food, but some of the jars of medicine lingered, mixed in with her underthings, and Beth wondered if that was because the men hadn't known what they were. The jars came out, along with the water bottle inside; the men apparently hadn't needed that item either.

"Good," Beth said quietly when one of the jars left contained her styptic powder.

She also found ground oak bark along with the half-used tin of salve she'd brought with her from Aspen Pointe. This would have to do until they reached a better place—some place not under the control of Jacob, wherever that was.

So Beth unbuttoned Daryl's shirt, keeping her head down because she couldn't bear to look at him and connect the injuries he suffered to her Daryl. Without seeing his face she could convince herself he was an anonymous body—that was a lie, but that's what she told herself. She took off his undershirt, then undid the buckle of his belt and that's when she realized he'd been completely divested of weapons: his crossbow, gun, and knife were missing. There was no time to worry about that now. Beth pulled off Daryl's boots and then his pants, leaving him exposed and shivering in the dark.

The gunshot wound to his side was first to be examined, but to Beth's relief it was superficial, only grazing the edge of his flank. Several ribs were cracked and two broken, but they were positioned well and he was in no danger of flail chest; there was only one break per rib. Bruises spread like ink on water on his trunk, but when she examined him she found no evidence of internal bleeding. His nose was broken and Beth set it back in place, eliciting a stifled swear from Daryl. His lower denture was completely gone and most of the crowns on his upper teeth had cracked or fallen away, but there wasn't much she could do for those issues. She moved on to check over his arms and hands: bruised with swollen knuckles, but no bites or scratches. Then she moved lower. The gunshot wound to his thigh had stopped bleeding and Beth soberly concluded if it had hit any more to his right, he would have bled out. As it was, he was lucky the bullet penetrated cleanly.

Beth turned to ask Celine a question and snapped her mouth shut. Her throat clamped tight over a lump.

"A little higher, please," Beth asked of Valerie.

The twins' bag had been mostly left alone, so Beth took out an empty bottle and poured a measure of water in it, along with the oak bark. Once the bottle was capped, she shook vigorously to dissolve the powder as much as could be done without heating it over a fire. She removed a bobby pin from her pinned braid and used her fingernails to pull off the rubberized beads at the tips, then took her lighter from her pocket and spun the wheel, each spark off the flint bright as a firework against her eyes. The lighter burst to life and she held the metal in the flame—it would be marginally cleaner than her fingers.

"This is gonna hurt, I'm sorry," Beth said as she touched her fingertips to Daryl's thigh, a few inches above the entry wound.

"Get on with it," Daryl grunted.

Beth went ahead and prised the bobby pin apart somewhat, so she could use it as a very small pair of tongs. She pressed and pulled, picking through the wound until she removed all the foreign matter she found. Daryl remained quiet through this process, but when Beth poured the tannin oak bark mixture into the wound, he groaned behind his teeth and his neck corded up. She didn't let up, next using the mixture to clean out the wound to his flank and the abrasions on his extremities.

The most serious wounds received a packing with the styptic powder, which included comfrey and yarrow, among other things, but the powder also contained the proven hemostatic alum. The wounds needed to remain open, so as to not trap any growing infection inside, so Beth sacrificed one of the tank-tops in her bag to become bandaging for Daryl's thigh and flank. With that taken care of, Beth used the salve on his cuts and scrapes.

"That's the best I can manage," Beth said, sitting back on her heels.

Daryl reached for his clothes, closing a stiff hand around them and pulling them to his chest. He threw them on again, struggling against his wet jeans, and he still hadn't looked either of them in the eye. The flashlight clicked off. Beth heard the chain jingle as Valerie clipped it back on her belt loop.

"Let's keep on," Valerie said. "We need to meet up with a herd."

Although Beth wanted to protest for their staying here, resting and letting Daryl recover somewhat, it was imperative they did everything possible to obscure their trail; they didn't know exactly how far south hostile territory extended. So she passed the water bottle among them until it was empty and then they were shrugging back into the foul coats and raising the door. Valerie jumped first, then Daryl hobbled down before offering his hand to Beth. A hot sting attacked the corners of her eyes and instead of answering that call, Beth handed her bow to Daryl.

"Still have my rifle," she said.

Daryl gave her a curt nod.

So, with dawn breaking around them, they started south, feet slapping on the dusty pavement until the sound of it was tattooed on Beth's brain. They only stopped once, long enough for each of them to trade off catching an hour or so of sleep and for Beth to change and nurse the girls when they woke. Neither of them liked wearing the scarf scraps over their mouths, but they couldn't extricate their hands from underneath the coat to pull it from their faces. Both were fussy, being uncomfortably squashed against each other on Beth's back, now much too large to be carried in that way. But there was nothing for it; they would need to endure.

They didn't meet up with a herd until the next day. Its vile smell announced it from a long way off, so Beth used the last drops of the whiskey on the twins again; she didn't want to think about what would happen if one of them woke up unhappy in the middle of a blessed herd of the dead.

They walked past the first walkers around noon and within the hour, they were in the thick of the herd, moving against the sea of the dead as the bodies migrated north. Beth's breath was nothing but a catch in the back of her throat as she sweat and shook. Her eyes remained locked ahead, always planning her next few steps through the surging bodies. Beth kept a close eye on Daryl, injured and with little water and no food; his fainting would spell disaster with the dead twenty deep on each side. Every shift of the twins on her back had her heart pounding. Valerie moved like an automaton a few paces ahead, her hand tight on her empty rifle.

A drop of sweat slipped down Beth's neck and she stepped to the side to avoid bumping into a walker wearing a fireman's clothes.

Some time later, Valerie raised her hand to catch their attention and Beth saw it: the converging of two roads, each traversed with walkers who crashed together at the merge like whitewater. Beth gestured towards the southwest road, because it looked less crowded; they'd spent most of the afternoon walking with the herd and none of them could spend another night without sleep. So they angled through the crowd until they were on the southwest road. The sun dropped closer to the horizon, bathing the clouds in red and purple.

A signal from Daryl called for a halt and he then pointed to sign for a town, two miles east. Looks passed between them and Beth nodded her agreement. It wasn't ideal, but they were exhausted and likely to make any number of stupid mistakes if they carried on—not to mention the twins could wake up at any time and they were still surrounded by walkers.

When they reached the town, the sun had set and the stars winked into existence once more, shining on the same as ever. The town was small, with Main Street consisting of nothing more than a gas station, some appliance repair shops, pawn shops, and a bank. They came across a few walkers, but were left alone by the walking dead, who were too concerned with the nocturnal animals to pay mind to the strange walkers. Eventually, thanks to the sacrifice of two more bobby pins, they gained entrance to an apartment above a bail bond office, one which offered a fire escape on one side and a clear view of Main Street from the front.

Once the apartment had been checked, Valerie barricaded the door with the kitchen table. While she did this, Beth first went to the bedroom then into the closet, where she threw clothes from their hangers onto the bedroom floor. Before she removed the twins from their sling, she ran her hands along the floor, making sure there were no small objects the girls could grab and put in their mouths. And then she finally shed her burdensome coat, leaving it on the bedroom floor.

From the living room came the sounds of Valerie moving around, pulling curtains shut and shoving furniture here and there. Heavy, uneven footsteps came down the hall and then Daryl was there, looming in the doorway.

"Hey," he rasped out.

"Gonna… gonna sleep in here. Girls'll be up before I'm awake an' I don't want them gettin' into anything. You… you should come in here, too. You need the rest more'n me."

Although Daryl said nothing else, he stepped into the closet and eased himself to the floor. Stiff hands came up to hold the girls steady as Beth undid the knots keeping the sling secure. The twins stirred and geared up to cry, beginning with those squeaky, grunting, half-sobs. Beth offered them her breasts, but she wasn't sure how much they'd get; water was so low and Beth felt parched, like a potted plant too long in the baking sun.

She thought about asking Daryl how he felt or checking if he ran a fever, but she didn't. She couldn't.

The twins broke away a few minutes later. Beth could tell they signed "more" even in the darkness. She poured the last measure of water into two of the bottles and the twins sucked it down greedily. A pair of t-shirts from the closet became clean diapers and that was the extent of care Beth could offer the twins.

She undid her belt and put it on the closet's top shelf so the twins didn't pull out her knife while she was asleep. And then she laid down next to Daryl. He was a thousand miles away until he inched his pinky out, just enough to touch hers. She inched back until her pinky curled around Daryl's blazing hot one. He inhaled sharply when the pad of her finger ran over the raw space where his nail should have been. Then her hand was in his and their fingers laced tightly together.

Beth couldn't cry.

There was nothing inside her. There was only the desire for sleep. She closed her eyes.

—

Beth hurtled upright so quickly Clara went tumbling off her chest to land hard on the floor. She'd been grabbing at her mother with tiny, clenching hands and Beth had been dreaming that—Beth bundled Clara up in her arms and whispered to her until she calmed again. The commotion woke Daryl as well; he jolted up beside her and seemed wild, tense, until Clara babbled at him and he remembered where he was.

The closet was warm from their body heat, filled with a rank, noxious smell Beth knew too well. So she reached out and opened the closet door, letting in slanting light; it was mid-afternoon. Anne was revealed to be in the furthest corner of the closet, completely naked and a total mess as she made handprints on the wall, but she seemed pleased with herself.

Beth ran through several different phrases to say, but settled on, "We should go find water."

"Yeah."

Daryl stood with the jerky, stiff movements of someone aching in every inch of their body. His eyes, nothing but puffed over slits, were brilliantly purple along with his nose. He needed rest, but Beth didn't know how much he'd get before they moved on.

While Beth got to her feet, Daryl grabbed some of the clothes from the bedroom floor and returned to the closet, kneeling down in front of Anne.

"Hey, sh*tmeister, get your butt over here," he said and his words distorted like melting wax without teeth for his tongue to press against.

Anne, standing against the wall and using it for support, bounced several times before dropping down and crawling to Daryl, who wrapped her up in a large t-shirt. She signed "daddy" and leaned in for a kiss.

"Yeah, that's gone have t' wait a bit, lady," Daryl said as he toweled her off.

While Anne was cleaned up the best she could be, Beth changed Clara, using another t-shirt in place of a diaper. Clara and Anne, like their parents, would not get the luxury of clean clothes. Clara was dressed in her already worn clothes, as many as possible to keep her warm. Beth then grabbed her belt from the top shelf of the closet. It wasn't until she felt the familiar weight on her hips that Beth realized how naked she felt without it. Her head pounded and her legs ached, but she had her safety within hands' reach again and it eased some tension from her temples.

She set Clara down and crossed the bedroom to the windows, grabbing her rifle along the way. Clara scooted along after her, latching onto Beth's legs and pulling herself up. The windows were coated in a thick layer of dirt and cobwebs, almost impossible to see through, but Beth lifted her rifle anyways, peering through the scope to scan the area outside. She couldn't make out a damn thing.

Beth lowered the rifle.

She couldn't make out a damn thing.

And then she bawled. It came on without prompting, without warning. One second she was fine, if a little frustrated over the issue at hand, and the next her chest burned and hot tears streamed down her face while she worked to suck in breaths through a choked throat. Her forehead knocked against the cool glass. A tug on her leg made her look down.

Clara looked up at her and signed, "Quiet."

Beth's legs refused to support her, dropping her to her knees. Tiny hands tugged at her as she raised her arm to brace against the wall. Her sobs were dredged up from somewhere deep in her gut, just as heartfelt and helpless as her own daughters' cries. If she had anything in her stomach, Beth thought she would have vomited it up.

"What is it?" Daryl was next to her now, having taken a quick glance out the window before carefully lowering himself to the floor with a grimace of pain.

"No-no-nothin' outside," Beth forced out.

She used to cry at the drop of a hat. She cried when she stepped on rolly-pollies. She would cry every year at the Fourth of July parade when Shawn would snatch the best candy out from under her, then act like he was going to put it in his bag, before giving it to her anyway because she was little and not as fast. She cried each time her father read about the Israelites reaching the promised land and Moses standing on his lonely mountain, unable to lay his own eyes on the land of milk and honey, all because he had struck a rock. She cried when she saw the ASPCA commercials and cried harder when she had to change the channel.

After everything changed, the tears built as a hot, itching pressure behind her eyes, like they were dams which she built higher each time. Now the torrent poured out; each rattling breath and wailing hitch drawing up something black and slick from the darkest corners of her soul. She wanted to crawl away inside that darkness, to live in it, and never see the light of day again, because that wasn't something she deserved.

But then Clara wormed her way into Beth's arms; the steady pressure on Beth's shoulder let her know Daryl's hand rested there. The baby bonked her head against Beth's chin and shoved her fist into Beth's mouth and the coming sob turned into a hiccuping little laugh. The darkness was still there. But she didn't get to cry; she had a job to do.

"Thank you," Beth said and stood, bringing Clara with her.

Raising swimming eyes to lock with Daryl's, Beth pressed her lips together and let herself fall into him; he was alive and here with her. He was alive. And she needed to keep it that way. Daryl's hand reached out again, as if he wanted to take hers, but Clara flopped out of Beth's arms and into Daryl's. He caught her with a grunt and settled her, wincing as she happily patted at his bruised face and signed "eat".

"Gonna go see if Valerie's awake," Beth said.

"Alright," Daryl said.

Valerie was awake, sitting on the dusty couch with her head in her hands and her back rounded with the weight of life. She looked up when Beth came in, fixing red and haggard eyes on her.

"Hey," she mumbled.

"I'm goin' out, try 'n find some water," Beth said.

"I'll come," Valerie said and stood.

So Beth returned to the bedroom to shrug back into the foul coat. Daryl, sat on the bed with one twin on either side, held out the bow, but Beth only shook her head and removed her knife, sheath and all, from her belt, passing it to him. Daryl's hand clenched around the handle, which was small in his large, scarred palm, and he affixed it to his belt while Beth blew kisses at the twins.

When Beth stepped outside the apartment with Valerie, the breeze flowed gentle over her face; it was kind with the promise of a warm day. Spring was a long way off, but it was a shadow on the horizon, it was the light of the sun reflecting off the atmosphere before the star cleared the horizon. It would come. Beth walked beside Valerie and, even as the breeze soothed her, kept the eyes in the back of her head wide open.

"We'll check the bank," Valerie said. "They might have a water cooler."

"Okay," Beth said.

So they cut across the street and stepped through the bank's broken glass doors. The interior was cool and mossy, with damp bills fluttering listlessly in the slight breeze. Beth grabbed one of the nickel-plated posts rolling around on the floor, unclipping the attached velvet rope. From the corner of her eye she saw Valerie do the same; neither of them knew how long the deterrent worked and it had been over forty-eight hours since the last application.

As they crept along in their search for a water cooler, Valerie said, "We were going to die."

"I never said I was angry with you," Beth said.

"You don't have to. It's all over your face!"

"What… what the f*ck d'you want me to say?" Something hard and hot burned through Beth's hands and she gripped the post tighter. "Thank you? There's no thank you for what happened; my survival, Daryl's, the girls'… that's incidental an' you know it. There ain't any words at all. You made a call that got our people killed."

"They were never your people," Valerie hissed. "I may've been useless… I know you wanted to leave everyone behind, set out with Daryl on your own. You never thought of them as your people."

"No," Beth said without shame. "You wanna know somethin'?"

"I don't. But you're gonna tell me anyway, aren't you?"

Beth adopted Daryl's dismissive scoff. She said, "My people were lost a long time ago. Once I was Dayvon… I would've done what he did. And I would've gotten killed for it. But I'm not him any longer. That got burned away. I think you an' I, we could've had somethin'... a bond like that, like I used to have, but you abandoned everyone in your grief. I can't forgive that, not when it hurt us all."

A bit of drywall lathe skittered across the damp carpet when Valerie kicked it viciously, her hands clawing through the air.

"Lemme ask you this," she said. "You act like I'm the devil for mourning my sister, for making Daryl step up. If you hated seeing him shoulder that responsibility so much, why didn't you step up, huh? For the same f*cking reason no one else did. Daryl was the goddamn scapegoat for your sins."

"Because no one would've listened to me, that's why," Beth said.

"You keep telling yourself that. Go ahead, pretend you're the innocent victim in all this, that you're just oh-so-quiet and sweet; you're just a mommy who wants the best for her babies. That's bullsh*t—it's f*cking bullsh*t. Let me guess… you were the youngest, right? Used to everyone else taking charge, telling you what to do? I bet you've never had to take personal responsibility for anything in your whole life! Having your daughters, that was an 'accident', wasn't it?"

Beth's hands slipped on the post as a cold sweat sprang up on her palms.

"Daryl hand-f*cking-delivered you to Aspen Pointe, coddled you until you could stand the truth, and excused your shadow-queen bullsh*t on the road, covering for your string-pulling at every opportunity. Yeah, you and me, we could've been friends, we could've been sisters, but the difference between you and me is I'm willing to admit I screwed up. And I know I got people killed, but we were all dead. We've always been dead. Always. And you… you won't admit you played a part."

"Excuse me, how in hell is any of what happened my fault? You wanted to fight! You wanted to stay!"

They stopped walking and faced off against each other on opposite sides of the hallway. Valerie's eyes snapped, quick as the stutter of gunfire and just as deadly.

"You knew that group's modus operandi a hundred miles back!" Valerie yelled as she bashed her fist against the weak drywall. "Daryl showed you outside Wartburg, that zombi, the one which was killed the same way as Arjun—a warning! How many others did you and Celine find, huh? How many?"

"None! We didn't find none," Beth hollered back. "Did you find any when you were out there?"

Valerie lunged forward, her hands latching on Beth's collar. The foul deterrent extruded between her tight fingers, coiling over on itself, and then Valerie slammed Beth against the wall with enough force that her body punched a hole in the drywall.

"There you go again! There you f*cking go! It's now my fault, right? For not seeing the signs? It was your job to look in the first place and you couldn't even do that. Admit it, admit it—SAY IT'S YOUR FAULT—"

Driving her knee up into Valerie's solar plexus, Beth rolled out of her grip and along the wall, the coat leaving greasy smears on the paint. She reached inside the coat and pulled her handgun, training it on Valerie. The woman hung slumped at the waist, wheezing as her diaphragm spasmed.

"You want me to say it was my fault? Fine. It was my fault," Beth said as her eye looked down the sight.

"You don't get it. You still don't f*cking get it," Valerie said, the shake of her head slow, deliberate. She pulled herself upright and her hand reached underneath the coat to massage where Beth kneed her. "There's the break room."

Neither of them wanted to turn their back on the other and it was for a long moment that they simply stared, unwilling to blink first. Pressing her lips tight, Beth went to Valerie's side and they walked through the door together. It was automatic now, the way Beth's mind catalogued a space. A vending machine, glass broken and only a couple packages of hard candy remaining. Packets of sugar left on the counter next to the coffee machine, from a larger box. The molten remains of a grocery store cake on one of the tables. Had it been someone's birthday?

Maybe she didn't get it. Maybe she would never get it.

There was the water cooler. Beth went to it and tried to push down the feeling which clawed at her throat. It had water, but only around a gallon. The rest had leaked or evaporated. Stepping forward, Beth tried to hold both the jug and the dispenser together, but the length was longer than that of her arms.

"Here," Valerie said.

Her hands pressed against the jug, keeping it secure in its setting. Beth lifted the whole water dispenser and turned it upside down before lifting it completely away from the jug. She set it down and looked again at the scanty water inside. There wasn't enough inside for even one of them to have a day's worth. Where would they find water?

"Where else can we look?" Beth asked helplessly, survival winning out over smouldering silence. "Toilet tanks?"

"The gas station won't have anything." Valerie closed her eyes. "Moving on might be the only option."

Beth let out her breath slowly. There wasn't any way she could make Daryl travel, injured as he was. He needed time to recover, time for her to take care of him if any of his wounds became infected.

"I can't move on," Beth said. She looked at Valerie and met those endless, ancient eyes, filled with the same thing she saw in her own. "I won't ask anything else of you. Please, help me one last time."

"The world hasn't made me that cruel yet," Valerie said.

She looked down her nose at Beth, something defiant and searing brightening her face. And maybe, Beth thought, that was where she and Valerie differed. Valerie extended her hand to Beth again and again in her times of need, but Beth had only returned the favor once.

Valerie took up the water jug in her arms and left the nickel-plated post where she had dropped it. Exiting the bank, Beth took in the empty streets with their plastic bottles and other trash built up into corners like snowbanks. Her gaze stretched past the tightly compacted buildings of Main Street to the emptiness beyond.

"Maybe one of those properties have a fish pond, a hand pump, anything," she said.

Nodding, Valerie accepted Beth's desperate theory and went with her out of town, along a desolate road towards nothing. The sun sunk lower and lower into the dusky sky, casting winter-bright rays at blinding angles and still, they found no water. Each time she took a sip from the jug, Beth's stomach twisted tighter, thinking of Daryl, Clara, and Anne back at the apartment with nothing.

It wasn't until the sunset had turned the listless clouds gathered on the horizon a brilliant orange that they found water in the bar ditch running parallel to the road. An overturned semi blocked the ditch just after a culvert, allowing a small amount of standing water to form. Valerie set the jug in the water, filling it as much as the position allowed, before turning it upright. She and Beth used their hands to fill the remainder of the jug with the chilled, silty water.

The weight required they both carry the jug and this put Beth's teeth on edge; the jug had no lid. What would they do if the deterrent lost effectiveness? Hope they had enough time to put the water jug down without spilling it? Her fears ended up being unfounded as they made it back to the apartment, albeit well after dark, but without incident. There was no light except what came from the moon.

"Daryl? We're back," Beth called.

She and Valerie set down the jug. Beth pulled her gun and crept forward, Valerie at her side with her knife. The apartment was deathly still. After passing by the empty living room, Beth slunk into the bedroom to find it empty as well. Her chest tightened.

"Daryl, it's me. Valerie and I are back," Beth called again as she stepped towards the closet.

Carpet rustled underfoot and Beth knew Valerie was behind her. Reaching out her hand, Beth grasped the doorknob and turned. It opened to her own arrow staring her down. With a grunt, Daryl dropped out of his stance and guided the bowstring back in place. Beth sighed and lowered her gun, holstering it again. She could barely make out the sleeping forms of Clara and Anne behind Daryl.

"We found water," Beth said. "Not much, but enough."

Back in the living room again, Daryl and Valerie started fashioning a filter for the water from what they could. The patter of falling water soon filled the silence as Beth went to the kitchen. On the counter was an opened can of hominy, half-full, and further to the side a bowl showing remnants of the foodstuffs. Beth breathed a small sigh of relief that the girls had something to eat.

She pulled out a few more cans that still had good seals: tomatoes and some peas. Although she looked for beans, there weren't any in the cabinets. This would have to do for now. Beth cranked the can-opener around the tops and poured off the liquid into a plastic cup found in a different cabinet. She returned to the living room with the three cans and set them beside Daryl on the floor.

The jug, which had several layers of washcloths tied around its mouth, had been upturned and the murky liquid inside dripped steadily into one of their water bottles; the others clustered close, waiting to be filled. Beth watched the slow progress a moment before returning to fetch the glasses filled with the saved liquid grub the cans.

Although her body screamed for food, Beth found it hard to choke down the plain, mushy vegetables; her mouthfuls caught in her throat and made her gorge work. Daryl steadily ate through his share while Valerie seemed to be suffering from the same issue as Beth. But they both ate anyway, neither knowing where their next sure meal would come from.

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning," Valerie said suddenly.

The clinking of spoons on tin slowed as both Beth and Daryl looked up. Valerie met their eyes with a hard sort of look on her face, the welded steel one Beth used to see in Aspen Pointe.

Perhaps Beth should have said something like, "We need you," or, "Please, don't go." But she didn't. She couldn't say those lies.

She only said, "Okay," as Daryl said at the same time, "What?"

Although Beth knew Daryl's gaze slid sidelong to her, she remained looking at Valerie, waiting for her explanation.

"I don't want to look at you anymore," Valerie said with a horrible smile, the kind of smile which could only be created from absolute astonishment at what one felt. "I don't want to look at you."

"Can't make it on your own," Daryl said in a strange whisper.

"And you can't make it with people, either. I'll take my chances. We've been through living hell together and the only thought in my head is how much I hate you, Beth, for having everything."

"If you think I got everything, you're crazy. I only stand to lose more," Beth said in a flat sort of voice as she set down her can. "But I won't convince you to stay. You think you're better off alone, then go."

"Hol' up a goddamn minute," Daryl said. "You can't just walk away—not after this. Jesus, Val, if you think it's your fault, what—"

"You can't change my mind, Daryl," Valerie said. "And you can't make me stay. You're not the leader of anyone. Not any more."

"Huh." The sound that came from Daryl was like the sound a man makes after being punched in the gut. He leaned back against the couch and his spine curved as his head hung. "Yeah."

Beth waited for the anger, waited for the rage, but it never came.

"Once the sun's up, I'm gone. You don't need to say goodbye. In fact, I'd like it if you didn't."

There was nothing more to say. They sat in the living room in the darkness, exchanging the bottle underneath the jug for an empty one when needed. Beth nursed the twins once and gave them the last sips of tomato juice when they signed "more". Every last inch of her felt dried out, withered and shrunken, with nothing left inside of her to give.

After putting Clara and Anne back to sleep in the closet, she exited to find Daryl sitting on the bed. The moonlight shone through the edges of his hair, but the rest of him remained shrouded in darkness. Stopping, she softly closed the door behind her and waited.

"What the hell happened out there?" Daryl finally asked.

Beth closed her eyes. She couldn't figure out what to say.

"You think the two of us alone can make it? Can keep Clara and Anne alive?"

She turned her head to the side and said, "No."

"Then why the f*ck is she leavin'? 'Cause I can't get her to stay."

"She hates me. And I… I hate her. Shirking all responsibility until the eleventh hour, then gettin' Celine and Frankie and… gettin' everyone killed. I'm not goin' to forgive her for that."

"I tried."

"What?"

"Jacob. The deal. Tried to say I agreed. You're smart. Thought you'd at least be alive and then you could figure out a way to get free. But he never heard me."

Beth's stomach turned. For a moment she had no words.

"Why? Why would you say that? Give me into a life like that because I might escape? I might live for a few more weeks, bein' tortured and raped?"

"Because you'd be alive, goddammit! Some of you would live. Beth, there weren't no cavalry comin' to save the day. It were just us an' a lotta bad choices!"

Her face found its way into her hands as she tried to block out the world, the idea that Daryl thought subjecting her to a life like that was a better choice than death. She knew, deep in her bones, that Jacob would not have let Clara and Anne live; he was not the type of man to show mercy to children. Two impossible choices, both the wrong call, five dead people in the wake of them, and three broken ones left behind to grapple with the reality of what they'd done, what they had decided in the moment of truth.

Daryl, broken under the weight of leadership. Valerie, knowing she condemned her family to death. Beth, who hadn't… her fingers clenched and dug into her forehead. It wasn't her fault. She had looked. She had!

"I don't wanna talk about this," she said.

"Don't hafta tell me," Daryl said, "but you gotta talk things out with Val."

"I can't. Daryl, I can't fix this. Maybe I could have, right after Aspen Pointe… but not now."

Daryl sighed, one as large as the weight pressing on him, and carefully laid back on the bed so as to not jostle his ribs. For a moment, Beth stayed unmoving where she was. If she didn't move, then, perhaps, she would meld with the wall, with the floor, and become a being which didn't feel this choking pain. And then Daryl moved his arm on the bed, creating a space for her.

She fell onto the dusty mattress, and pushed her face into the junction of his neck and shoulder, one of the few uninjured portions of his body. There was still so much to say which wouldn't be said, choices made in desperation which would never see the light of day again, deaths which still seemed distant dreams, their pain pushed to the outer reaches by survival.

They laid like two corpses in their casket until the sun rose.

Small sounds from the closet let Beth know the twins had woken up. She pushed herself up and stood before turning and offering her hand to Daryl so he didn't need to use his core muscles as intensively to sit up. His hand clasped around hers, the scars lacing together, and he went pale as blood drained from his bruised face.

Beth took a twin in each arm and went to the living room, with Daryl following along shortly after. She found Valerie putting a last few things in a pillowcase rigged up with duct tape straps. The woman looked up at Beth's footsteps, then looked away.

"I took a third of the food. A third of the water," she said.

The makeshift backpack slipped onto her shoulders and then the rifle. In that room, in that apartment, in that lonely, dead town, the only people really alive were two small children in their mother's arms. Beth and Valerie stood across from each other, poised to speak, but Beth found her mouth locked up as if she had tetanus; her molars cracked as they slid over each other and a shot of pain lanced through the loose one.

Out of the corner of her eye Beth saw Daryl's shadow. He brought his thumb to his mouth to chew the nail, then it dropped immediately after when he remembered he couldn't. Anne's hand waved as she asked for food.

"Goodbye. Good luck," Valerie said.

Her voice was a scraped thing, dusty and faded as the layers of dirt blanketing the world. Beth's head jerked in a facsimile of a nod, a motion which would have been more at home on Daryl than herself.

"Be here for another day, two days," Daryl said, extending the hand which had once been extended to him.

The set of Valerie's jaw softened a fraction and she said, "Thank you."

The door opened and then Valerie vanished behind the flimsy plywood. It latched shut with a finality that might as well have been a gunshot.

For better or for worse, Beth and Daryl were alone again.