Author's note: first walking dead fic. I don't own any of these characters. Reviews are welcome!


Maggie was carrying a basin of water from the well back towards camp when a mess of tangled blonde hair appeared in the distance. It gleamed in the sun, catching Maggie's eye, stealing the breath from her. The basin clambered to the ground. The wasted water left no impression on the brunette. She was already off and running. Heart hammering in her chest, Maggie sprinted until she was a few feet away from her younger sister. Beth was limping and covered in blood. Maggie couldn't tell if it was hers or not. She approached the young blonde cautiously. Beth's eyes were unfocussed. She had given Maggie no recognition. For one heart-stopping moment, Maggie thought she'd turned.

"Beth?" Maggie asked, now just one long stride apart from her.

Beth didn't say anything, but her eyes moved to meet Maggie's at the sound of her name. There were tearstains on her cheeks, cleaning a path from the patches of dried blood.

Maggie let out a cry. "Oh thank god your alive," she said, closing the gap between them and pulling her into a tight embrace.

Beth hung loosely in Maggie's arms, not reciprocating the hug.

"Beth?" Maggie asked, pulling back to hold her at arms length. She leaned in close, so their foreheads were almost touching. Beth blinked, but didn't say anything. Her eyes had returned to an unfocussed glaze, staring right through Maggie. She was shivering despite the heat of the late afternoon sun beating down on them.

Feeling panicked, Maggie wondered what could have happened to her little sister in the past two weeks. Horrible images flashed through her mind. Beth being taken and stuffed into a truck… strangers doing god knows what to her… and her escaping, somehow. Pride welled in Maggie; Beth had become so strong. But the pride was diminished by worry; she was clearly traumatized. And where had all that blood come from? What had happened to her little sister?

Beth was still shivering, so Maggie pulled off the poncho she was wearing and draped it on the blonde. The poncho was Daryl's originally; it barely fit Maggie and absolutely swam on Beth. It went down to her mid-thigh and her hands barely peaked out of the low armholes. It made her look so small and fragile. Maggie watched as Beth's fingers idly played with the new fabric. She had stopped shivering, a small win.

"Beth. Say something," Maggie pleaded, returning her arms to Beth's shoulders, worry wrought in her voice.

Slowly, Beth's eyes glanced down at the poncho and back up at Maggie. In a cracked voice, barely above a whisper, Beth finally opened her mouth to speak. Just one word. A question. A demand. "Daryl."

Maggie's arms dropped to her sides. She tried not to feel upset, but it was hard not to feel that she wasn't good enough for her sister. Still, if Daryl was who Beth needed to see, she would do anything to help. Furiously wiping away a tear that had escaped, Maggie nodded. "He's here. He's on a food run right now. Come on, I'll take you to camp."

Maggie grabbed Beth's arm and lead her towards Terminus. Beth limped along. Maggie remembered when she first arrived at Terminus. It was a vast building, her eyes had raked over every window, every garden. And she ran through the halls to explore every room. Beth stared straight ahead. She was not curious. She was somewhere far away, in some dark corner of her mind. Maggie prayed Daryl would be able to pull her out of it.

Daryl was always the first to volunteer to go on runs. Ever since he arrived two weeks ago with Joe's group. Maggie shuttered, remembering the confrontation between Joe and Rick. Remembering how Daryl "claimed" their group to stop the fighting. Joe and his group were gone by sunrise the next day, leaving Daryl with a black eye and some cracked ribs.

Since then, he went out every day. He would come back with a few squirrels each night. A good haul, but he still always looked disappointed. He never said so, but Maggie knew he was tracking Beth. Looking for any sign of where she could have gone. She saw the guilt etched on his face, worsening each day Beth was gone. He was probably out looking for her now, trying to make good on his promise to Maggie that he would save her sister.

"She was with me and I lost her," he told her the first night he arrived at Terminus, "but I'm gonna find 'er. I swear." He grew quiet by the end. It sounded more like a promise to himself.

It didn't take them long to get to camp. Even with the limp, Beth kept up with Maggie's pace. Once inside, Maggie led her to one of the bedrooms. Thankfully, they didn't run into anyone else inside. Maggie couldn't wait to tell everyone Beth was alive, but she didn't think Beth could handle being the center of attention right now.

"Wait here," Maggie told her, "Daryl will be back any minute." He always came back before sunset.

The breeze started picking up as the sun continued to lower in the sky. Daryl kicked the dirt beneath his boot, frustrated. This was the worst part of every day, when he had to give up tracking for the night. Every night that past, Beth felt further and further away.

And it was entirely his fault.

Swinging his crossbow over his back, Daryl began the walk back to camp. He hadn't gone far today, there was no reason to; he had nothing to go on. The blonde consumed his thoughts as he walked toward Terminus. That little firecracker of a woman set a spark to his life. Their time together kindled the spark into a small flame, a glowing light at the end of a tunnel of misery. And then she was taken and the flame was extinguished. He was back to a world of darkness, a world in which he thrived before Beth showed him the light. Daryl yearned for her presence, so badly it hurt. She made him better and he owed it to her to save her. He'd go out looking for her every damn day if he could just hold out hope that one day his searching would yield results. After all, she made him believe in the strength of having hope. But that hope was waning more and more each day. It made him feel weak and dejected.

Muscles aching, Daryl pulled his crossbow off his shoulder and left it in the weapons room at the main entrance to camp. Technically, they weren't supposed to keep weapons on them in camp. Daryl kept a knife hidden under his belt. He felt its sheath pressing against his hip.

He stretched and cracked his neck. From around the corner, he heard fast footsteps. Someone was running towards him.

"Daryl!" He heard Maggie call. She slid around the corner, nearly crashing into him. "She's here," she said, breathless, her chest heaving.

The brunette grabbed his arm and started pulling him down the hall she just came from. Daryl couldn't believe his ears. His heart was pounding in his chest as he allowed Maggie to lead him towards the bedrooms.

"…asked for you…been waitin'…" Maggie was talking but few of the words were registering with Daryl. Until she told him, "down there, first bedroom on the left." He broke out into an all out run.

Beth was here. Beth escaped. She survived. He wouldn't believe it until he saw her. With a shaking hand, Daryl reached out and pushed open the door to the bedroom forcefully.

The blonde standing in the middle of the room jumped at the sudden noise. Daryl looked her up and down. Alive. Alive and wearing his poncho. The sight of her wearing his clothes made something stir in Daryl, but he pushed it aside. He could have laughed at how large it was on her, but there was a lump in his throat that was preventing him from doing anything at all, for fear of all out sobbing.

Finally, their eyes met. The spark was back. Hell, it was more than a spark; it was a raging fire, making Daryl feel alive. For the first time since he lost her, Daryl felt really, fully alive. Beth mirrored his expression, eyes wildly alive.

She spoke first. "Daryl."

"Beth," he replied, wanting to reach out for her but holding his ground.

"I did it," she said. Her shaky voice was steadily growing in strength.

His brow furrowed quizzically.

"I fought. I survived," Beth said. Her eyes burned into his, her voice was strained with emotion. "I tracked this place down using what you taught me. You saved my life. So stop."

"Stop what?"

She took a tentative step closer to him. "I can see you blaming yourself for losing me. Don't. You saved me."

Daryl shook his head. He would never stop blaming himself. But her words broke something pent up in him, and a flood of relief overcame him. The relief to see her alive was enough to knock him to his knees. Instead, he leaned on the doorframe for support.

After a moment of silence, Daryl registered all the bloodstains. Questions began falling out of his mouth. "Are you hurt? What happened to you out there? Who took you? What did they do to you?"

By the last question, Daryl noticed Beth's eyes fell away from his. She stared at nothing, and, to Daryl's horror, a tear escaped from the corner of her eye. Leave it to him to say the worst possible thing and sent her into a post-traumatic break down.

"Beth," he said softly after a minute of her staring at the wall. "I'm sorry, I shouldn'ta-,"

Her eyes slowly looked up at him, another tear sliding down her face.

"Daryl," she breathed, as if she had forgotten he was there.

His name from her lips sounded like an invitation, and Daryl didn't have time to debate whether he wanted to risk it or not before his arms were wrapped around her waist. She inhaled sharply, surprised at the crushing hug. She wasted no time throwing her arms around his neck and pressing close to his chest. Her face was inches away from his neck, her tears wetting his shoulder. She took a few deep breaths against his skin, and he could feel her slowly begin to relax. He held onto her as if she was the only thing tethering him to life.

"So it's true," she whispered.

Her breath tickled Daryl's neck. The sensation made his heart beat erratically. "What is?" He asked, inwardly cursing himself for how strained his voice sounded.

"You did miss me while I was gone, Daryl Dixon. So much." Her voice sounded equally hoarse.

Daryl tightened his grips on her, burying his face into her shoulder; overwhelmed with a slew of emotions he never knew he was capable of feeling.

"And I'm never letting you leave me again," he told her, pulling her in closer, if that was even possible. He had never hugged someone like this before. For starters, he had never initiated a hug. He'd hardly ever reciprocated one. And now here he was, unable to let go of this beautiful blonde woman.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed Beth's arms had slipped away from his neck. She was fidgeting in the hug.

"Let me go," she squeaked, high-pitched, almost inaudibly. "Let me go, let me go," she repeated, over and over, growing in volume and strength until she was hitting him, hard, in the chest. He released her as quickly as possible, but her mind was somewhere else. Her eyes were streaked with tears, her face was manic, and she was screaming at him. "Let me go! Get away from me!" Her arms were flailing everywhere, sometimes catching him in the arm or the cheek.

"Beth!" He yelled, trying to bring her back to herself.

"Get away! Get away!" Her screams subsided to sobs as she fell to the floor.

She told him not to blame himself, but the gut wrenching feelings of guilt pierced into him. All he wanted was to reach out and hold her. To let her cry into his shoulder and tell her that he would never let anything bad happen to her ever again. But, painful as it was, he kept his distance.

Her sobs slowed to a whimper. Then, blinking a few times, her eyes darted around the room. It was like she was remembering where she was, that she was safe. They settled on Daryl, and, particularly, a scrape on his cheek that was trickling blood.

"Daryl," she gasped. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry." Her apology brought on another round of her tears. Daryl walked around to sit on the edge of the bed behind her.

"Don apologize," he told her. He wanted to reach his hand out and run his fingers through her blonde hair. He hated himself for even thinking that while she was such a mess on the floor. "Don ever apologize to me."

She swung her legs around so she could face him, her sitting on the floor and him on the bed. If anyone walked in from the door on the opposite wall, the scene could look a little less than innocent. So, using his forearms to lift himself off the bed, he lowered himself down to the floor with her and leaned his back against the metal frame of the bed. With one of his leg propped up at the knee and the other straight out, Beth fit comfortably between them, an arms length away from each other.

"It's just," she said, staring at the ground, "that's what he said to me. 'You're never leaving me. I won't let you.'"

More pangs of guilt settled in Daryl's stomach. He said the wrong thing. He always says the wrong thing.

"Beth," he groaned.

"I killed him."

He stopped himself from asking what he did to her. He didn't think he could bear to know. Instead he replied, "Good girl."

Beth looked up at him. Impulsively, he lifted his arm and leaned forward a bit, gently using his thumb to wipe away the tears under her eyes. The moisture allowed him to use his thumb to wipe away most of the blood on her face, as well.

She automatically flinched away from his touch, like he had burned her. His arm fell to his side. He felt rejected, though he knew he shouldn't.

Beth regained her composure quickly this time. She didn't start crying again. Instead, she stared at him, her head tilted a little to the side. She tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear and, in one fluid motion, reached her hand out to entwine it with Daryl's. Their eyes locked as Beth runs her thumb over his palm. It felt like all the air was sucked out of the room. Daryl had butterflies in his stomach like a horny pre-teen. He had never experienced butterflies before. The way her thumb flitted over his palm, so gently he could barely feel it, made him shiver. The eye contact was becoming overwhelming for him, so he turned his gaze to their interlocked fingers. Her hand was small in his. It looked so delicate. For a fleeting moment, he thought that if they could just stay right like this, the rest of the world would disappear and they would stay, safely, forever.

But the next moment, she pulled her hand away and reality set back in. Daryl tried not to be disappointed. He looked at her for an explanation, hoping he didn't do something else to scare her away. She was running her fingers over the bottom of the poncho. In an instant, she started pulling the poncho up to take it off.

"Whoa," he said, his voice shaking, "wh-what are you doin?" He grasped onto her arms to stop her undressing.

"It's yours, innit?" Beth asked, dropping the poncho back down when he grabbed her.

Of course she was just trying to give him his poncho back. He was equal parts relieved and disappointed. But he hid the disappointment well. He needed to screw his head back on straight; there were more important things to be thinking of than romance, especially when the romantic thoughts he was having involved a girl half his age who had just survived a traumatic near-death experience and killed a man.

Daryl shook his head. "Nah, you keep it. Looks better on you." He had never spoke truer words.

"It smells like you," she said.

"Oh. Sorry."

Beth laughed. "No, Daryl, it smells like you in a good way." It occurred to him that this was the first time he heard her laugh since he carried her into the kitchen at the funeral home. The sound awoke something in him he hadn't realized was gone. He felt, for the first time, the sense that everything was finally right. He basked in the amazing sound of her giggling. "It makes me feel safe. It smells like home." She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging the poncho to her, a small smile still playing on her lips.

"You are home, now," he told her. "You should get some rest," Daryl said, noting by the chill in the room that the sun had long since dipped under the horizon. He moved to stand up, pulling his legs in to cross them.

"No!" She shouted, startling him. "Sorry, it's just… please don't leave? I don't want – I can't be alone."

"Do you want me to go find Maggie? She could stay with you tonight?"

"I don't want Maggie," Beth said. She scooted closer to him, her eyes burning into his. "I want you." She climbed onto his lap and leaned her head down on his chest, wrapping both of her arms around his waist. "Please stay?" She whispered.

He nodded and leaned his head down into her hair. His eyes fluttered shut. From the way she was seated on him, he couldn't leave even if he wanted to. And there was no part of him that wanted to leave. He was sure she would be able to feel the intense pounding of his heart, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

In no time at all, he heard Beth's breathing turn deep and even out to a slow pace. Carefully, he put one arm under her propped up knees and lifted her up to set her down on the bed. She stirred, but didn't open her eyes, when he pulled off her shoes and tucked the blankets around her. She looked so peaceful as she slept, like she had not just gone through hell. He admired her for a moment, brushing her hair out of her face and – after a momentary inward debate – kissing her quickly on the forehead.

The bed was large enough for both of them to fit comfortably. Still, Daryl grabbed the second pillow and set it on the floor, instead. He was used to sleeping on the floor, and with Beth sleeping safely in the bed slightly above him, he had a feeling he would get the best night sleep he'd had in awhile.


Author's note: I could continue this fic, but it'll be AU after the finale tonight. Let me know what you think!