A/N: I haven't attempted a multi-chapter story in many years. But there's something about this pairing that motivates and inspires. A five-part story told in two timelines - one where Beth is taken, one where she is not. Written before the season 5 trailer, so consider this canon-divergent post "Alone". Title taken from "Beth / Rest" by Bon Iver, which was, by pure coincidence, a perfect fit.
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1.
He tells her to run and she does, but not without protest, not without a steady declaration.
I ain't leaving without you!
And she knows her words hit him where she intended; heartfelt and true and when her mind jolts between running for her life and the events of several minutes ago, time enveloped by a heavy silence that will be their defining moment, she is so overwhelmed by feelings.
Feelings and him.
This pull, this realignment of her centre of gravity; she is well and truly caught off guard. It's those moments, she thinks, that cause people to act out of passion. It's those moments, so significant and honest, that people spend their whole lives searching for.
And he could die. He could die and he'd never know.
Beth follows his directions, trusts him more than she trusts himself. On the road, she waits anxiously, tugs at her sweater and hopes, prays for him to return to her safely.
She doesn't notice the car until it's too late.
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i.
She twists the strap of her backpack nervously with one hand, clasps her knife ever so tightly in the other.
Beth can feel her heart pounding in her chest and every little noise, every rustle of the wind causes her to nearly jump out of her skin.
Watching him from the tree line, she hopes he won't be too mad that she didn't wait by the road. There's a feeling deep in her stomach that is shooting off warning signs and she feels herself drifting further and further into the shadows, shrinking into the underbrush.
Maggie was a firm believer in trusting your instincts. Drilled it into her, even before the turn.
And when the car pulls up, idling maybe 50 feet from where she is hiding, time seems to stop.
You see anyone?
Nah. The walkers get them maybe?
Goddamnit! We were supposed to bring back another girl! Boss ain't gonna be too happy with just the one!
She's young, she'll attract bidders. And besides, there's always more…
Beth stops listening. Stops breathing. Starts thinking in terms of ifs and maybes and were she just 50 feet away, at the edge of the road, like Daryl had told her, she would be in that car.
She would be gone.
The thought, the adrenaline, the fear, makes her throw up.
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2.
Her head pounding, she awakes to light.
She has no semblance of time. She could have been out of it for hours. Days even.
Pushing the panic down, she takes a few deep breaths. Counts her certainties:
she is in a car
there are two captors
she still has Daryl's knife
She nearly cries with joy, this small victory, this small hope. But the pounding won't stop and, without warning, her captors pull over to the shoulder of the road, jolting her forward.
"Awake, I see," one notes casually, eyeing her up and down.
"Prettier in the moonlight," the other sneers, "didn't look as skinny either."
"Madam will clean her up," the driver shrugs, "don't worry. We'll still get a good cut, especially with the other one."
"If I don't kill her first," the other man groans, throwing open his door.
"What are you doing?"
"Kid's gonna hurt herself. Can't have fucked up merchandise."
He pops the boot, pulling a crying girl and source of the pounding noise out and throwing her in the backseat. The girl curls up into herself, her brown hair hiding her face.
"Keep her quiet!" the man snaps at Beth, getting in her face. Knife in hand, she slashes at him widely, feeling blood hit her face.
It's not enough though.
And everything is once again black.
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ii.
"Daryl!" she yells when he stumbles into view. The car peels off and he makes a move to dash after it, halting at the sound of her voice.
Running forward, she hurls herself into his arms, tightening her grip around his waist, shaking with silent sobs.
It's when his bow drops to his side, his arms encircling her tight that she allows herself to feel relief.
That they've survived, that they're alive, that they're together.
And that's all she needs.
"I saw the car, I thought…" he mumbles into her hair and she pulls back, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
"I was hiding, I don't know why, I just had this feeling…" Beth looks into his eyes, so dark and focused "…it was a trap. They were going to take me-"
He kisses her hard, quick, stealing the words from her mouth and thoughts from her brain. Grasping his vest, she meets his bruising pressure with a force of her own. His hands grip her hips tightly; she knows they'll be marks in the morning, and that knowledge sends a thrill down her spine.
"No one's taking you anywhere, ya hear?" he says gruffly, holding her firmly in place, her eyes wide.
"I'll kill anyone that tries to hurt you."
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3.
This time round, she wakes to sobbing.
The room is dim, but she can make out delicate furnishings and rich tapestries. She's lying on an actual bed; her first since the farm and the mattress feels like heaven.
It's almost enough to forget her splitting headache and the young girl crying in the corner.
But not enough.
The girl is just that; a girl. Beth deduces that she can't be much younger than Carl. There's a softness to her features that are just starting to sharpen, curves that are just appearing. She is a mess of brown hair and torn clothes, but beneath the dirt and grime and the glasses there is no mistaking that she is a beautiful girl.
Young woman.
(Fuck.)
"Hey," Beth murmurs, struggling to find her voice. Clearing her throat she repeats herself, louder and stronger, "Hey."
The girl glances up at her tearfully.
"How long have I been out?" Beth asks, standing up slowly. The girl eyes her warily.
"A few hours," she sniffles. Beth sighs, rubbing her head.
She's hit with a bolt of realisation, which quickly fades when her hand goes to her hip and she finds her knife gone.
"They were going to kill you," she says softly, "but then they found out you were a virgin, and you're worth more alive than dead."
Beth feels the bile rising up her throat.
"How did they find out?"
But it's easy to put two and two together, when the button of her jeans isn't done up and her underwear feels askew.
"They stuck something in you," the girl whispers.
Beth swallows.
"They touch you too?"
The girl shakes her head.
"I'm only fourteen. Guess they didn't have a reason not to believe me."
Her heart breaks a little in that moment, not for herself, she's can't allow that. But this girl, she doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve any of this.
"What's your name?" Beth asks, her resolve building, her protective instincts kicking in.
"Annie," the girl replies, pushing her hair behind her glasses, "Annette."
She goes numb.
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iii.
"You wanna talk about it?"
"No."
It's been two hours since they saw the signs, give or take. She had paused, taking in the small proof that her sister was alive, before moving on.
They both didn't miss the fact that the signs bore no mention of her.
"I mean, would she really be wrong for making that assumption?" Beth kicks at rocks, "And maybe it's easier for her to think that I'm dead. Less to worry about."
"Still don't make it right," Daryl mutters, shifting his crossbow to his other arm, "you're tougher than she thinks."
"Thanks to you," she shrugs, "I'd probably be dead or worse if it weren't for you, Daryl Dixon."
He's silent and she respects the fact that he didn't try and convince her otherwise.
"So Terminus," Beth states, kicking a stone across the track, "we don't have to-"
"We're going." Daryl leaves no room for argument.
"It might be dangerous?"
"Probably," he shrugs, "what isn't these days? It's your sister, Greene. It's what we do for family."
We. Family.
The words fill her with warmth.
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4.
The small window in the corner provides them their ticket to the outside world. It's too high to make an escape, too small, even for Annie.
They get two meals a day. No one touches them, just brings them food and leaves. There's a basin of water, floral soaps, and hair brushes. Clean underwear and dresses, but Beth is quick to knock them out of the other girl's hands, instructing her to keep her ripped jeans and stained t-shirts. The young girl might not understand the clothing choice, but Beth sees them for what they are.
Window dressing. Plain and simple.
She thinks this place used to be a fairground, abandoned even before the turn. A fence runs the perimeter, manned day and night by gunmen. There are tents and trailers and people come and go as they please.
Not women, though. Never women.
It's a trading ground, from what she can tell. Food and medicine and weapons are in high demand, based on the spruikers lining the corners. Gasoline and car parts follow a close second, but she figures that people are still getting by on siphoning the stuff.
It won't be long before that option runs out.
She doesn't pretend she doesn't know what this place is. Doesn't pretend that the moans and groans and cries don't haunt her sleepless nights.
When she does sleep, she dreams of her daddy and Maggie and Judith and him.
Always him.
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iv.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
She spares him a quick glance, trying not to look too hopeful, too young. Though, she feels it in her bones, the trivialness of the conversation she's attempting to start. Flashbacks to high school, to her friends pressuring her to 'define the relationship' with Jimmy hit her hard and she suddenly feels every bit her eighteen years.
(But there was a look that went unanswered, her whispered oh and his eyes so dark and intense, boring into hers.)
He grunts, picks up the pace slightly and she has to job to catch up with him.
"Not now, okay," she concedes, "but soon. Before Terminus."
"Nothing to talk about."
She sighs, dropping it because, yeah, it's stupid. It's childish and she's being childish.
"Look," he stops, grabbing her to face him, "it was a reaction. The kiss. It was a reaction. I reacted."
"Okay," she says softly.
"Don't mean I'm you boyfriend or anything," he says gruffly.
"It's okay," Beth says quietly, "I don't want to talk about it."
"Jesus, woman," he sighs, "you brought it up."
"I can change my mind," her voice contains a hint of a smile, "it's my prerogative and all."
"Yeah, you do what you want to do," he nudges her lightly, resuming their walk, a smirk playing on his face.
"Always do."
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5.
Around day five, Annie stops crying.
Beth stops trying to console her after day three.
She figures the girl needs time to process everything. Her father's sudden and gory death, her abduction, her fate.
Hell, she remembers her own emotional breakdown, and her life, compared to now, was something of a cakewalk.
(She had the farm, she had her sister, she had her father.)
Beth doesn't talk much, so the silence is filled with the younger girl's sobs and whimpers. She fills her time with silent contemplation, watching the world outside her window, memorising guard rotations, counting the number of men with weapons.
Counting the number of paces from the building to the gate.
She does sit ups and push-ups. Tries to make herself look as menacing, as fierce, and as wild as possible when their captors come by with food and water. Tries to look as bored as possible, to school her features into an expression that screams if this is all you've got then this is nothing.
It's day five, when she wakes to silence.
"Annie?" she says groggily, almost afraid that she'll look around and the girl will be gone. But she's there, staring out the window, counting under her breath.
"Only five men guard the fences at night," she whispers, "the fat one with the coonskin cap falls asleep around 3am. They don't bother to wake him unless there's walkers."
"What else?" Beth says, cautiously.
"The north east corner is the least patrolled, because of the brick wall."
"Good," Beth smiles slightly, "real good."
"I know what you've been doing," Annie says softly, "I'm sorry I've been such a baby."
"You're grieving, you're allowed to be sad." Beth tells her kindly.
"You don't," Annie fiddles with her torn jumper, "I wish I was more like you."
If someone had told Beth six months ago that she would be viewed as someone strong and in control, she would have laughed nervously, and assumed they were referring to her skills with Judith. But this girl, not much younger than she was when the world turned, is looking at her like she's Maggie or Michonne or someone capable enough to tackle the dangers of this new world head on.
Someone who survives.
"You want to be like me?" Beth asks, voice barely above a whisper. The girl nods, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. She walks over to the window, placing her hands on her face.
"We don't get to be upset," Beth wipes away the girl's unshod tears. Sparing a glance at the window, then the door, she swallows thickly.
"We all have our jobs to do."
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v.
She puts a bolt in the legless walker and tries not to look affected.
Tries.
It still gets to her, that these things used to be people and she wonders what kind of man he was, what kind of man he wanted to be. Was he alone? Was he searching for his family, just like they were?
They're haunting her, she thinks. Every walker she puts down, with his bow or her knife. Their ghosts follow her, ominous and chilling, screaming at her to remember them.
Remember them as what they were, not what they became.
Daryl rifles through the bags nearby; food, weapons, medicine – in that order. She looks through a small duffle, finding a clean enough sweater and a purple beanie.
And a ukulele.
Huh.
She strums it softly, picking out the chords for Imagine and when he catches her eye, she half expects him to scold her for making too much noise. Instead, he stops rummaging, leans against the hood of a burnt out car and lights up a cigarette.
"Don't you know any songs made after you were born, girl?"
She giggles, fingers pausing their ministrations.
"Don't you know I'm an old soul?"
He simply raises an eyebrow, exhaling slowly. Her fingers pick at another tune, lyrics she'd thought she had once forgotten slipping from her lips.
"Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry, you don't know how lovely you are…"
He let's her sing her song. She doesn't read into the lyrics, doesn't read into his actions, simply appreciates this small pleasure that he lets her have.
And when her song ends, and it's time for them to move on, she slings the small instrument over her backpack and he lets her have that too.
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6.
They take her from the room first.
It's day seven.
She marches down the halls, a scowl on her face, still clad in her ripped jeans and stained sweater. She's rejected the dresses, rejected the delicate shoes. Rejected the hairbrush and the make up and the other girls peer curiously at her from their doorways, each painted up for show.
"Wait here," her captor mutters gruffly, pushing her into yet another well furnished room. It more resembles a sitting room, with several plush sofas and a stocked bar. Jazz plays from an old record player and she feels the urge to get up and smash it to pieces.
"Don't."
Whirling around, an elegantly dresses woman slips through the door. She is satin and red lipstick and like something from the old movies her daddy used to watch, but Beth's eyes are immediately drawn to the gun in her hand.
"Don't what?"
"Don't think about destroying my belongings. It won't help your situation."
"And what is my situation?" Beth asks, standing her ground.
The woman moves to pour herself a drink.
"You will be sold to the highest bidder."
Beth swallows her disgust.
"That's human trafficking."
"That, chica, is a trade older than the pyramids." The woman scoffs, pouring a second drink and passing it to Beth.
"And Annie?"
"Her too," the woman takes a dainty sip, "but they'll be a strict screening process. Things are not quite that dire and we are not complete monsters."
"You are monsters though," Beth spits, throwing back her drink, savouring the burn, "She's only fourteen!"
"Your problem is you're still living in your Disney Channel, Taylor Swift, Twilight world," the woman sneers, "waiting for whatever your version of Prince Charming may be to show up. Holding onto your virginity like it's something sacred. How long before you would have let your archer friend fuck you?"
"Shut up," Beth snaps, "you don't know anything about me."
"We're not different," she rolls her eyes, "just because you never fucked the man for his protection, doesn't mean you don't have your own unique…charms. You'll use them on the next man. And the one after that. And you'll stay alive."
"I can look after myself," Beth whispers.
"Maybe," the woman shrugs, "but can she?"
Beth's silence is answer enough.
"Keep in line, kid. Consider this your first and last warning. Play the game like a good little girl. And remember, screening processes aren't 100%. Lot of wolves in sheep's clothing these days."
"Lot of wolves, period," Beth notes bitterly and woman merely laughs.
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vi.
When she sees Carl's hat, through the tree line, it takes Daryl's arm across her chest to stop her from bolting.
Even in these moments of elation and joy he is cautious. Looking for the trap, the catch. The snare that will bring them down.
He must decide that it's okay, when he moves his arm away and she takes off, her ponytail bouncing and Carl's name on her lips.
She crashes into the younger boy, falls to the ground, a tangle of limbs and tears and smiles.
This is her family and they are alive.
Through her tears, she spots Rick and Michonne and when she throws her arms around the older woman, Rick embraces Daryl and her heart feels oh so full.
"Oh sweetheart," Rick whispers into her hair, when she extracts herself from Michonne throws herself into his arms, "I am so sorry."
Her dad. She flinches, forgetting for a moment that her father is dead and her sister is missing and it hits her: Judith, sweet baby Judith, is nowhere to be seen.
"Me too, Rick," she says softly, "me too."
She doesn't miss the look in their eyes, the flash of hearts breaking once more. That any hope they had is quickly dashed by her empty hands. And she feels, once again, the crippling guilt and sadness that too often threatens to drown her, to extinguish her own hope.
It's Daryl's hand, hesitantly entwined in hers, that serves as an anchor, reminding her that she is whole.
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Chapter song:
"The Scientist" by Coldplay