A/N: hello guys and dolls, this is kind-of an experiment of mine. Yes, characters will be out of character. This is an AU and their life experiences will color their actions and words, as will be revealed in time if you choose to continue reading. I hope you enjoy this, it's a grittier fic, sliding into dark territory a little later. But don't worry too much: there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Welcome to "Balance" and the struggle to maintain it.

I do not own The Walking Dead or make money off writing this. Purely for entertainment and self-therapy. I do own the story…just not Beth or Daryl.

Balance

Chapter 1: Chandelier

Her eyes, crystal blue were closed, skin whitewashed in the light beneath its shimmer. Her clothes echoed the glow. Her shirt was a sheer white peasant blouse, lacey peekaboo edge fluttering around her ribcage. The material which graced her hips was tight by any standards, more white, with lace ribbons dangling at the tops of her thighs from their bows. Her legs, bare but radiating strength, ended in stiletto heels. They looked like chrome and glass encasing her feet like she was born with them. The music began, "Crazy in Love."

The lights glowed down on her, on and off in slow blinking eyes in time to the music, slow piano playing an ominous, haunted tune. She moved slowly, the grip along her anchor keeping her in place as she moved the rest of her body sinuously along the pole, moving around it before pulling it close like a lover. Her legs arced upward, graceful smooth things curling around and she spun inverted, the arch of her body as that of an angel beseeching God for redemption. The air whooshed through her ears and she pulled herself in tight, executing a shift in angle, locking herself in place with her and arms around the pole. The pose, arms around her knees with her face hidden at the top of the pole was small, sheltering…vulnerable. She shifted, body undulating just before she executed another turn and shifted yet again, body twirling in a spiral, arms thrown wide – graceful – fierce. She locked eyes with patrons, eyes filled with anguished desire, flicking between one – two – three men before tilting her head and allowing her hair to fall over her face. She slowly spilled onto the floor, writhing herself from her anchor and undulating slowly, oh so slowly as she slinked across the floor.

Her legs flitted into the air, fanning out and spiraling to turn her onto her abdomen. She placed her hands on the floor beneath her shoulders, pushing upward, back arched in a semblance of pleasurable activity. Hands sliding forward without leaving the floor, she crawled, her hips swaying in a way that should have come off as exaggerated but somehow beckoned. As the music came to a close, she arched onto her knees, swirling her hips to the floor as her hands each crept up her chest and down her inner thigh, gripping herself in seeming protest or agonizing desire. It was belied by her eyes, which held excitement and lust.

She smiled at the back of the room, then ignored the eyes of the men and women who stared at her, making her leisurely way to the left and exited the stage. The next number came on as she did so and she smiled at Cherise as they passed one another, taking the white robe from her companion while she mounted the stage.

"Beth," said a male voice behind her, softly. She turned, spying her boss. He was a full head taller than she was – lots of people were – and his brown hair and eyes heightened his all-American blandly-good looks. He was spruced up by the charcoal and purple-pinstripe suit he wore.

He crooked his finger at her and she moved to join him in the office. It was well appointed, clean and polished wood gleaming on most surfaces. She suspected it was a throwback to the establishment's earlier existence as a country bar. That had been ten years ago, when it was "Sap's Taps". Now it was a Strip Club called "The Hidden Timber."

"Are you listening to me, Beth?" said his voice. She shifted her attention back to him, feeling a familiar ache and pushing it back into its box. Not at work, she chided herself.

"Sorry, I must've spaced," she said quietly, playing to her blonde curls. "What was it?"

"There's a Gentleman in the back room. He wants something special and he's already greased my palms for it." She shifted in her seat, glancing from him to the door and down to the floor before looking back up at him.

"You know I –

"Don't look at me like that; all he wants is a private dance. I'll have Rosita just outside the room. Treat him special, he's paying us a lot."

She breathed a sigh of relief or resignation and gave him a small smile. He gestured to the door and she went for it, grateful to be leaving the room and her benefactor.

She went straight for the bar. "Hey," said Rosita, coming up behind her as she held up two fingers to the bartender. Glenn, their bartender, raised his eyebrows and poured her a drink when she nonchalantly tilted her head toward The Door. It held black curtains instead of an actually locking door, matching the black and shimmer of the walls. Even without the lights, Beth fairly glowed in the atmosphere of the club.

Glenn handed her the two fingers of Jack and she turned around in her seat to face Rosita's disapproving stare. Defiantly, she tossed it back, savoring the burn as it slid down her throat. "You know he's not going to like that," she said warningly. Beth smiled. It was a grim smile. That familiar ache dissipated in the wash of alchohol.

"Well he doesn't give a shit what I like so if he has a problem with me taking a shot before a private show he can go and do the deed himself." Rosita sighed and offered a hand, which Beth took, allowing the young woman to help her stand. Not that she needed it.

The hand holding hers gave her a squeeze right before letting go and they walked together to the back and The Door. Once behind the curtain, Beth paused, taking a deep breath, smiling slightly, both because she needed to, for what was to come but also at the familiar warmth spreading through her limbs from her belly.

"You ready?" asked Rosita. Beth nodded and strode forward, her face a mask of country-girl innocence. Innocence that perhaps was still there, if buried deep, hiding from eyes that wanted to see it all, see her laid bare. But she swore she'd never let them see her so naked. "He gives you trouble, you shout for me."

Beth found the door; the only white one in the back hallway littered with obscenely colored doors and opened it, striding inside.

A/N: this one will certainly benefit from a beta-reader. I know, this is NOT your usual Bethyl fic. This is my exploration into dark matter. The story has a strong "M" rating because of later chapters. Trigger warnings will be at the top of the page for those who appreciate warnings.