The flare.
The warning signal. She can hear the screams in her mind. The cries, the prayers screamed to the heavens as if someone up there actually gave a shit.
The pain. It jolts her into consciousness, hard and fast. Beth bolts upright and instantly regrets the decision because there's a lightning strike of blinding agony spearing through her skull. It's too much. Too much movement, too bright, something's wrong with her head. Her fingers rise up to check the scars, but are met with resistance before they can reach their destination. There's a telltale metallic clink that tells her the stabbing sensation is the least of her worries. She can barely lift her hands above waist level.
The room stops spinning just enough to allow her to focus. There's two shiny sets of cuffs, one attached to each wrist and then to metal rails affixed to either side of the bed. Panic wells up instantaneously. They would never handcuff her at the outpost. Not after the first time, she was good. But this isn't the outpost. A sick feeling twists in her gut. If it isn't the outpost then where the fuck is she?
More importantly, where are the children?
The room is empty. Devoid of people. No moody teenagers, no Mac, no Sadie. There's just a window, some art on the wall, an end table with a vase on it. She'd been with the kids, getting close to the Kingdom territory. Where are they? Against her better judgment she lets out a low whistle. They'll know what it means. They'll hear it and respond. Sadie will come running if she's in earshot, but she just needs to know they're there. That she hasn't lost them because the last thing that she can remember is the flare.
The flare, burning bright as the sun that's pouring in through the open window. Both groups had been given a flare gun and a single flare each, only to be used under the most extreme circumstances. They had agreed to use it should the mission become to dangerous and they were unable to proceed. Everyone under the age of ten had been with that group. They'd set a flare off.
She needs to get out of this bed, out of wherever the fuck she is right now. She needs to find the rest of the kids, needs to find the other group. The bag she had been carrying is nowhere to be seen. Someone had given her a once over, it's not just the bag that's missing.
Her boots are gone, so is her jacket, her belt and the knives she had attached to it. Even her necklace. Okay, that one was a knife too technically. She's got nothing. Even the wires she wore wound tight around her wrists are gone. There's no point in feeling violated now. Being pissed off about being weaponless isn't going to help anyone.
Beth gives both her arms a firm pull, testing out the railings. They aren't firmly attached, they wiggle when she pulls on them. Which mean's they're loose. She gets an idea.
She'd whistled, there's a good chance whoever had decided to handcuff her to a bed heard and is on their way to deal with her. So she's got a couple minutes at best to try and make a break for it. She's not the Hulk or some other of Haley's beloved comic book heroes, she can't melt the rods or make the cuffs vanish with the snap of her fingers. But she's got ideas.
Beth twists in the bed so that she's sideways, as much as the current position will allow for. She brings up her foot, pressing it against the railing. Her leg draws back and she kicks with as much force as she can manage. The pain shoots up the pad of her foot and her leg, but she bites back the groan and draws her leg up again. There'll be time for all of that later. It hurts like hell and it's only gonna hurt worse but if she can get just one hand loose, she can mess with the other one. If need be she can break something and pull out of the second set of cuffs. She'll still have the railing attached to one hand, but it's light enough – sturdy. It'll be good to swing at whoever is gonna come through that door.
The tears are pricking the corner of her eyes and it is becoming increasingly hard not to vocalize the pain as it shoots up her leg. With boots on it would be different but a pair of socks? Yeah, that's not going to do much for her.
She is mid-kick number five when the door swings open. A man steps through, a sandwich as big as her face pressed up against his mouth. Which is oddly fitting, because the guy is massive. "You're up!"
No, no, no is all she can think. Now the kicking is more frantic, frenzied. "Hey! You're gonna hurt yourself." The man's panicking now, too. The sandwich gets dumped on the side table and in a blink he's at the side of the bed, reaching out for her. He places a hand on her shoulder and a switch flips in her mind.
Beth's head whirls and mouth latches onto whatever closest, which happens to be his arm. She bites down, hard. He lets out a surprised yelp and tries to wretch his arm away but that only makes her jaw lock. There's cloth in her way. She's not drawing blood, yep. If he wants to move his arm again though she'll get access to skin and it'll be a whole different ball game. Instead, he uses his other hand to grab her scalp. His fingers wrap up in her hair and he pulls hard. He's saying something too, sounds a lot like sorry. Which is funny considering she's the one trying to tear his tendons out.
"That's enough!" A voice booms. Instantly the man lets go of her hair, he freezes on the spot like he'd just heard the voice of God or something. Beth still doesn't let go. Her jaw is aching with the rest of her but she still looks up daringly, blue eyes meeting brown.
The bigger man turns to the new figure with wide eyes "I was coming into checking on her, she was trying to take the railing off." He sounds shocked by it – which he really shouldn't. Didn't most prisoners want to escape?
There's no point in holding on now so when he pulls on his arm again, she lets go. Snarling like some wild thing as she does, too. He's rolling up his sleeve, worried look on his face. "It's nothing." He reassures the stranger.
"Jerry, leave us for a moment." The two exchange looks and for a second, it looks like the sandwich receives consideration. He leaves it though, whispering something about being just outside the door. "I apologize for the restraints. They were necessary, unfortunately. You attacked two of my people. You shot at one, and stabbed another." That sounds like her, exactly like something that she would do but she can't remember it and that's something she would remember. All the people she's hurt or worse, they're the only thing in her head that stays. The only thing that she doesn't doubt for a second.
If she attacked them, why not just kill her? Leave her for dead?
There's something about him. The way he's moving around the room. His long coat, even his hair. The tone of his voice. Who was he?
"The children have continuously asked to see someone by the name of Bird. They assured us that we left no soul behind, I presume that you're the Bird of which they speak." The children. A sigh of relief threatens to escape where it's been caged up in her chest. It's not like she wears a name tag, if she'd been in a fight it wasn't like she would have stopped to make introductions with her assailants. He must be some sort of psychic because he offers her a reassuring smile. One which, all things considered, Beth knows she does not deserve. "The children are unharmed. I just left them, they are enjoying the finest breakfast that the Kingdom's stores have to offer."
The Kingdom. That gives her pause for thought.
So, on the upside. They'd made it. On the downside, she had attacked some of the Kingdom's people. Which is bad, really bad.
"Might I ask who I am speaking to?" Why is he being so revoltingly polite? Beth says nothing. Her answer should be that she's Negan. That's the answer she'd been trained to give. Not her own name, if it's even her name. Not the nickname the others had lovingly bestowed upon her. She's Negan, end of story. If this is the Kingdom then Negan is the last person she can be.
"I am King Ezekiel."
Shit, shit, shit.
It is a damn good thing he hadn't been the first person through the door. Fuck, what if he had been and she'd tried to rip his arm off with her teeth? Gavin had given her strict instructions. She was to dig deep and be personable just long enough to get the King to agree, should he require any convincing. While he hadn't explicitly stated that they weren't to attack any of the King's personnel but it had been implied. Heavily implied.
He's watching her carefully. She should say something but she can't. 'I'm Negan' is still threatening to spill out and that little speech she had rehearsed in her mind the day before was long gone. If the ache in her skull was any indication, it had been bashed out of it. "The children are reluctant. Understandably so, my people found you without transportation, and you were packed for a journey. You must have come some ways. All I ask is for your name, nothing more and nothing less." It's amazing how even he is keeping his tone. Everything seems measured, calculated.
If she were in his place, there would already be threats of violence right about now.
A few long moments lapse between them. This guy fits what she's heard about the king, plus he'd introduced himself as the king so there is that. It's just that she can't do it, can't break. Can't trust. What if the children aren't alive? If this guy is a showman, this could be an act. A way to crack her open and extract information.
"Perhaps you will feel more inclined to speak after you have had some rest. Our doctor will be up shortly to see to you. I imagine you're every bit as hungry as your companions were. Jerry will arrange a platter." He finishes with the wave of his hand. Beth's pretty sure Jerry isn't going to want to arrange a platter – whatever the hell that means. Food is the least of her worries.
He turns to leave then. She's left alone in the room, but there's a man on the door. She can see the feet through the crack. Smart. She wouldn't leave her alone, either.
Someone comes by eventually. They introduce themselves as a doctor, her eyes are too busy sweeping them for a weapon or anything that she could use as one to pick up on their name. They're hesitant to come close and she can't help the smirk that turns up the corners of her mouth. They're scared.
That's good. They should be. She's killed over less – for less.
There's questions. The predictable type. Wanting to know how she's feeling, how her head is doing – what those scars on her chin and her scalp are from. Beth ignores it. She'd been knocked out, probably with the butt of a gun. How the hell did they think she was doing? Knocked out and cuffed to a bed. Was she supposed to be happy? Compliant? Probably. They're in for a rude awakening if they're waiting for that.
The doctor leaves eventually. Fed up with her, or too uncomfortable. A mixture of both is what she had been aiming for. The empty little room that they have set her up in doesn't provide much in the way of distractions or entertainment. Those first days at the hospital had been like this. Funny how much like a prisoner she had felt then. In a way, she was. They'd told her she'd hurt people, that she'd killed. She was a hazard which was why when she had woken up, Dr. Edwards had to explain away the sets of leather cuffs that kept her tethered to the bed.
It's different now though for a few reasons. She isn't that girl anymore. She's grown, she's evolved. If she wants out of the bed then she's gonna get out of the bed one way or another. There isn't a goddamn person in the entire fucked up world that's going to stop her.
Beth tries to formulate a plan. The first and most obvious step being have the cuffs removed. The King had said that the children were alive and well. She needs confirmation of that, she needs to know just how much holy hell she's gonna have to raise once she gets out. Once her group is confirmed safe, there's the others.
She had purposely tried to bury that down as deeply as she could. She only vaguely remembers seeing the flare, it had felt like a dream but it wasn't. Down in her bones it's like she just knows. If they set the flare off something bad had happened. The group had the most adults, the most firepower, but they had been escorting the youngest of the children. If they were overrun, the children were gone. What six year old was equipped to survive in this world on their own?
A child strapped into a carrier or a car seat? An easy snack for a walker.
She couldn't focus on that, the bile rising in the back of her throat and the pounding in her skull. Everything in her that's telling her the flare should be her utmost priority. Because the logical part of her, the bit of her brain that hadn't been blown out is telling her those children are gone. The group is gone. There's nothing she can do for them, but maybe she can still take care of her own. It doesn't need to be a complete defeat.
If she can somehow kick the rail over, it will mean she'll have to wreck one of her hands just to get free. There's still someone at the door, the odds of her being able to get free of the bed before they storm in are non-existent. She had never been the strongest. She's stronger than she had been before, sure there's muscles where there probably hadn't been prior. She's not weak, not like they told her she was, not any more.
She's not strong enough for this. She's smart enough, though.
Weird how sitting in a room with nothing, no one, triggers memories. Funny she even has those really considering – holes in the head and all. They aren't from before though, so that's why. She can make new memories it's just all those old ones. Before waking up strapped to the bed at Grady Memorial, those were gone.
There's one in particular that comes to her now. Her first few weeks at the plant outpost she'd picked a fight. Someone had pushed her out of line for food. Beth's immediate reaction was to swing at them. It hadn't ended well, she was back and on her ass in about a second flat. They were too big – too strong. Beth dragged her sorry self to the back of the line. By the time the plant floor was clearing, she'd marched herself up to the line-cutters table and slammed her tray down – demanding that they teach her how to do that.
The thing was they couldn't. Mac had made it immediately (and painfully) clear that she would never have brute strength on her side. She could train all she wanted, it wouldn't matter. A weapon would only slightly improve her odds. She didn't have strengths but she had smarts, and her size could work in her favor. It wasn't long before Quick and fast. Dance circles around them. Those weren't the only tools at her disposal, as Mac would soon take the liberty of pointing out.
"I bet before you were real good at getting people to do what you wanted." Mac had told her one night after he was a few drinks in. Part of their nightly ritual after training and she rounded on the kids. They'd play the "What Does Beth Remember?" game. "You're pretty, you've got those big fucking blue eyes and that voice. Bet you could get someone to walk through hell and back for you just by batting your eyelashes."
Pfft. Beth had just glared at him. Nothing about her was pretty. Scarred up face, tiny pale build on the outside, nothing but dark and empty inside. "I'm serious. You outta try it sometime. You can get more flies with honey than you do vinegar. Might work better than all that snapping and snarling you insist on doing."
Much to Beth's chagrin he was right.
She can play nice. When she's gotta she can do it because she's smart. Guns and big ass walls aren't the only thing that keep people alive nowadays. Brains do it, too. Brains do it all the time. Luckily for her, she hadn't had all of her own blown out
"I want to see Ezekiel."
They wont kill her. That's not their way, she's pretty sure all that crap about him having a tiger who has a thing for Saviors is bullshit.
"King Ezekiel." The voice on the other side of the door calls out.
Beth rolls her eyes. Mac's voice echoes helpfully in her head. More flies with honey than with vinegar. "I want to see King Ezekiel." She corrects herself, letting her head drop back against the pillow on the bed. There's that annoyed tone she couldn't quite bury but they'll have to understand – the day isn't going her way.
There's no other response. Nothing. It's quiet and then the shadows underneath the door vanish. Whoever had been guarding her is walking away. The urge to kick the-ever-loving-shit out of the railing reels up and it takes every ounce of restraint that she possesses not to cave. That's not smart. If she needs to fight it'll go a hell of a lot better if she's got both hands at her disposal.
A/N: So Beth is in the Kingdom! I know this chapter is a bit wordy considering there's not a whole lot that happens. I will say right off, I may take some creative liberties with some of the Kingdomer's. I love the crew, but I'm a bit worried about how I'll write them. Ezekiel in particular I think will be my Everest. I love him so much I'm almost scared to use him /too/ much. There's some characters in various fandoms who I think way too highly of (thanks to the writing and actors portrayals) that writing them feels so intimidating.
UNRELATED! I have a question for you guys! Which member of Team Family would you have Beth reunite with first and why? I debated this one for a long time. I'm really curious because there's so many people who are a part of Team Family now. So many options and honestly all of them are good in their own ways.
