Prologue
The blood rushed in his ears, a dull humming accompanied by the still audible echo of the gunshot. He stared down where two shades of red began to gather and pool against one another. He watched in horrified mute wonder as they began to swirl in their dance of death across the linoleum floor. Dr. Edwards felt the bile rising up his throat and couldn't stop the thought of the Yin-Yang flittering through his mind. He half wondered if there was such a thing as balance anymore in this world, so full of harsh and violent extremes.
No.
Balance was long gone. Beth's blood would not currently be dancing with the Devil's blood at his feet if yin and yang still had a place among the rubble of civilization and the remnants of humanity. Suddenly he had to fight the urge to draw a line through the swirling shades of red in order to separate the two entities, he had to fight not to push his fingers into their blood and put everything back into black and white, as it were, in his own mind.
When the somewhat maternal cry broke through the sound barrier, caught somewhere between the wounded cry of an animal and the sound one might make at the loss of their own soul, Edwards felt more than saw the collective flinch from the rest of the uniformed officials and the wards. His neck twitched slightly and then he was looking down on them, all gathered around her in his arms. All of them looking so broken and lost, like the thought of actually losing her in this world had never once dawned on any of them. Which is total fucking Bullshit. He saw that scar on her wrist just as Dawn had; she had only seen it because she was present when he had found it. And it meant one thing, she wanted her ticket home. She had even boarded the train, but something brought her back. The sobbing of the brunette reduced to rubber kneecaps told him it had to have been her; she had been the one to bring Beth back from that razors edge. But there was no coming back this time. Beth was gone, the ticket she had tried to refund, had simply been exchanged for a later date. He stared at the light tendrils of blonde hair that wrapped lazily around the man's shoulder in the breeze. The ends of her hair played with the frayed edges of Angel's wings so Edwards spared a moment for the first prayer he would have sent up in over a year. A prayer for her, may she be singing and dancing on the clouds above them all now. But he knew she wasn't, he felt it in his bones. She was still here. Trapped. Like the rest of them.
He glanced back to the bigger picture unfolding beneath him and nearly gagged on his panic. He slammed both fists as hard as he could against the glass window, a crack growing from the upper right corner at the impact. Rotters were moving in on the group below, more than they were prepared for even on a good day. He slammed his hands against the glass again, a small shard bouncing to the ground from the force. Finally someone looked up, he pointed animatedly behind them screaming 'run' over and over until finally, finally, they turned and saw the impending doom. Edwards watched as the group moved into a defensive position around the man holding Beth, who either hadn't noticed the situation, or couldn't bring himself to care. He saw their mouths moving and raised eyebrows and gaping mouths and one very loud "Fuck You" followed by an almost louder "We have no choice".
Edwards watched them place Beth into the back of a car and turn to flee the area. His stomach twisted as the Rotters closed in on them and the knots that formed fell out of the bottom of him as a few began clawing at the blue car they placed Beth in. He swallowed jawbreakers lodged in his throat as he watched her people vanish and more slowly as the Walkers did too. Except for those three.
He turned quickly to the remaining officers, "Go get her."
They stared at him in their confusion and reluctance. His eyes darted back and forth over the scene below until the lack of movement behind him drew his attention and the words bellowed from him a second time before he could clamp down on the panic bubbling up his throat.
"Why?" A voice inquired from somewhere, "She's dead. They left her."
"She does not deserve to be left to rot in the back of a fucking car or shred to bits by those things. Dawn did this to her, Now Go Get Her."
The wards shifted mutely in the background, their own faces pinched in fear, sadness, and shock. They twitched and worried their lips between teeth that clenched. The Officers were clearly uncertain and unwilling, but Shepherd nodded once and tapped two of the men near her to follow her. Dr. Edwards stared back out of the fractured window and tried desperately not to feel like the coward he and Beth both knew him to be. It took longer than he liked to see the emerging police officers approach the vehicle. They dismantled the walking dead swiftly and Edwards watched Shepherd take up a defensive position to stay on guard while the two men pulled the blonde from the car. Edwards ground his teeth seeing her hair stained red again, her arm limply hung towards the ground, swaying slightly as they carried her less gracefully than he'd have liked. The remaining officers had begun cleaning up and disposing of Dawn's body when they came back down the hall with Beth. Edwards throat clenched and he would swear he could feel grains of sand in his mouth. He couldn't blink, his eyes refused to close as he stared at her pale face, he pointed to a vacant room down the hall and they moved as directed.
"What exactly are you planning on doing with her, Doc?" Shepherd asked, a twinge of moral discomfort pinching at her spine.
"Clean her up. Find somewhere to bury her. It's what her people would have wanted. It's what they would have done. Given a chance." He moved slowly to the side of the bed where Beth's body now lays, a tremor working over his last left two fingers that would have intrigued him at any other time. He lifted the towel and bottle of water from the side table and began to soak one end of the cloth. He slowly and very gently began to dab at the drying blood on her face and head and hair. He was wiping the blood from her neck when he felt it. A jump just under the flesh. Every molecule in his body came to a screeching halt as he tried to decide if he should give into hope and press harder into the pulse point or shake it off as another twitchy finger. He swallowed thickly and let his eyelids close, his index and middle finger pressing just a bit harder. Nothing. He nearly cried, his head falling a few inches.
And then he felt it again. Weak. Faint. His eyes snapped open and he held his breath, waiting. Waiting. And then Little Beth Greene's heart gave another little beat and he actually began to laugh. Shepherd, who had been helping, stared at him in horror.
"She's Alive!"
Her face lifted but Edwards didn't waste another second, he lifted her up into his arms quickly and all but ran from the room with Beth. He yelled instructions out to Shepherd as she struggled to keep up with him both in stride and in the naming of utensils and supplies.
"What do you think you are going to be able to do for her?" she asked somewhat incredulously.
"Keep her alive, using whatever it takes to do it." He said as he continued down the hallway with palpable determination. He looked down at her and found himself chuckling again, "That brunette didn't have a damn thing to do with bringing you back," he started breathlessly, "You brought yourself back."
== 3 weeks later ==
Even through the dull pounding in her head, the glued sensation between her eyelids and lips, and the way it felt like the world was tilted on its side and spinning just a bit too quickly; Beth Greene knew she had woken up in Grady Memorial Hospital.
Again.
The ticking of seconds falling away, the sting of bleach to that back of her throat, the beeping monitor, the too rough and starched cotton sheets over the rigid and cold metal bed. She knew where she was. This time, however, there was no panic. No fear. Because she knew where she was? Yes. But that alone did not quell her loathing of this establishment. No, Beth Greene remembered. Beth Greene remembered shiny metallic reflections of light and the taste of blood lust and calm rage at the back of her throat. Beth Greene remembered the tensing of her back and squaring her shoulders. She remembered black lightning against her face and the tendril of death it shot through her. And she even remembered the warm coppery spray of someone else's blood on her face. Her mind couldn't locate the memory, but her heart remembered a strangled, whimpering cry that repeatedly begged her 'no. no. no, don't go.'
Yes, Beth Greene remembered it all as she lay there attempting to coax her eyes into opening. Her head felt too big when she tried to move it to the side where light warmed the cosmos she felt trapped in behind her eyelids, a groan of distaste revealing just how much lack of use of the vocal chords could hurt.
"Beth?"
She froze, having been so distracted by assessing her situation she had not considered she may not be alone.
"Beth, are you awake?"
Confusion shrouded her, and even a muted wave of panic, as the realization hit her that it was Dr. Edwards voice calling to her from the black. Her lips finally parted in a breathy inhale and she flinched at the movement. Why did her jaw hurt so badly? Why did it feel like ancient stone grinding against each other?
"Beth, it's Edwards. You were shot. Beth, you were in a coma, you need to relax and give yourself time to fully come out of it. I'm not sure your body has woken up, so to speak."
I know I was shot, I remember. Where is my family? What did you do to them? Why can't I speak!?
She felt hot sticky skin press into the flesh of her hand and wanted to pull away instantly, but all that happened was a twitch in her elbow and a small crease to her eyebrows.
"Beth if you can hear me, if you can understand what I'm saying, squeeze my hand Beth."
She didn't like the man. But he was helping her, and the concern she could hear in his trembling voice was something she could not deny. But she also knew why it was there; guilt. Dr. Edwards feels guilty. And he's looking for redemption. The fiery Irish blood and temper in her wanted to deny him his hand squeeze. She wanted to force him to live in the black like she was. But he was probably her best bet for proper medical treatment and healing so Beth Greene had to swallow her pride and well-hidden malcontent. She focused entirely on her hand, willing all the energy in her already tiring body to go to one small act. She focused on her fingers curving around his hand and even on digging her nails into his skin. She highly doubted she would be able to cause him any pain in her current state, but the thought entertained her and even helped her focus. She could feel perspiration falling from her face and could swear she even felt herself biting her lip when suddenly Edwards was speaking again.
"Good, Beth! Try and rest now, you still have quite a bit of healing to do. Surviving a head shot is not going to be easy."
And just like that he pulled his hand from hers and she felt more than heard him leave the room. She lay there and shifted in her own skin, spiraling downward in the confines of her mind. Hours dripped by along with the saline solution used in her I.V. and not one member of her family had come to see her. In fact, she had drifted back out into the nothing she felt but couldn't touch before Edwards made it back around to check on her. The images her mind filled with in her lapse of consciousness had her running through that dark fog, thick fog like sludge that dragged her down and trapped her. She saw blue eyes that saw all of her. She heard a whimpering that pulled at her harder than gravity and felt pinpoint burning sensations on her hands that made her want to let the tears fall. She felt sobs and screams and curses as they built up in her chest like a dam for the damned. She had the sensation of tossing and turning and falling and running and whatever rest she was supposed to get had fled right along with Edwards earlier that day. Or was that yesterday? A few days ago? The timelessness of her mental prison felt like doing somersaults and twists underwater. She couldn't tell if she was awake or dead, which was up or down, if heat was white and cold was red and blood was blue and if it was normal to feel like she was here not here. She wanted to scream and throw punches and burn things down all so she could settle into warm blue eyes because she knows, she just knows; Edwards will not be able to heal all of her. He was never able to. She Needs Him. Her Soul needs him to heal. So where is he? She knew that whatever it was that had been growing between them was in and of itself terrifying, but she also knew that it would not be enough to keep him from her in this scenario. She didn't even know the extent of her injuries, and his absence aside, where the hell was Maggie? Carl? Surely he would have at least come by to see her, conscious or not. She knew her family, they would not have left her completely alone in this. They would have had someone, maybe even taken shifts, to make sure she was actually being cared for. But over the course of- well, she didn't really know. She came and went like Spring rain without rhyme or reason. She would be semi-conscious and be aware of her surroundings what Edwards had mentioned was every few days. She had lost track of how many times they briefly communicated through his rushed words and her delayed hand grips. That combined with the loss of reality, the inability to tell the difference anymore between what was happening around her and what was happening in her mind left her clueless most times.
Beth Greene genuinely began to wonder if she was in Hell.
She also began to wonder if this is what it was like for the Walking Dead.
