A/N: Thank you for reading and for all your lovely comments! It really means the world to me reading them.

This bit was longer than intended so I had to split it up; hopefully you enjoy it!

"Merle dead?"

It's the first thing that came to his mind when he got Rick's call. It was bound to happen sometime, right? Hell, he really thought it might've already. But Grimes just looks at him a bit dejectedly and that's when he hears it.

"Darylina!"

Daryl's blood goes cold and face hot all at once. Sure enough, there's his brother, alive and well. They got him sitting at a table in an interrogation room but Walsh slams the door shut before he can say anything else to his brother. Shane eyes Daryl through the window before drawing the blinds.

"No, he's not quite dead."

Grimes catches him up to speed, says they found Merle a few blocks from the housing development and they got reason to believe he's behind it. Didn't even bother dumping his supplies; maybe he wanted to get caught, in some messed up sort of way. Anyway, Merle's just a small fish to them (a lippy, obnoxious fish). They want to bait him to catch the big kahuna.

"I don't think this has anything to do with the Greenes," Daryl admits, peering at the window of the room holding his brother and Walsh. He wonders if Merle's yapped enough to make Shane swing at him; he wouldn't be too surprised if he had.

"Me either." The admission surprises him. It seems like everyone was on a witch hunt for Hershel Greene but Rick was a smart guy, one of the only ones left it felt like, sometimes. "But it'd help if we could talk to him. We could put some things to rest."

Daryl wonders if he could talk to Beth, if he ever sees her again that is. But maybe if he did, he could convince her to have a chat with her dad. Maybe help clear everything up once and for all. Maybe wipe their family name clean some.

Shane emerges from the interrogation room, shutting the door behind him. There's a sour look on his face and Daryl's about to ask if he can talk to his brother when Grimes all but reads his mind.

"You can go on and see him."

Damn, Merle had gotten old. His face looks more ragged than he remembered and he clearly hasn't shaved (or probably showered) in a few days. His shirt sticks to him in an unnatural way and Daryl has a vision of him crashing under a bridge on the outskirts of the city, like a lot of the homeless folk do.

Gently closing the door, Daryl moves around the table and takes a seat across from him. Merle's hands are cuffed to the tabletop; it's not the first time Daryl's seen his brother like this and probably won't be the last.

"Baby brother, you here to bail me out?" Daryl would have laughed but Merle's own chuckle took over the air. "Naw, I suppose you're too cozy with Officer Friendly and gang now. They treatin' you good here? Got a nice shiny badge?"

"Who ya workin' with now, Merle?" The older Dixon grins, widely and in a way that Daryl knows not to trust at all.

"You know what everyone's sayin'."

"Hm?"

"You know."

He's not in the mood for games, not now. "Dammit Merle, you killed some people today!"

"Oh, don't get your panties in a knot! Just some no good junkies."

"They were still people. You ain't a murderer."

"Ain't there a sayin', 'you are what you do'? I am what I am. And you're a pig. Cops and robbers, little brother. Like when we were kids." Merle lifts his hands up as high as he can, a few inches at most, his fingers curled back to form a gun like he's about to shoot his brother. Daryl's stomach flips and he remembers how Merle shoved him in the closet when their dad would come home drunk. Not just drunk, but angry drunk. Daryl would hide under their late mother's coat, breathing in the faint lingering stench of cigarettes, waiting for the cursing and screaming and crashing of furniture to end. Merle looked out for him back then.

"You can end this right now."

"Can't. Not till I get my cut for my hours punched." Daryl's jaw tightens and Merle's loosens. "A man's gotta eat."

"Who's writing the check then? I know it ain't Greene, so don't feed me that shit." Merle drums his fingers on the metal of the tabletop, a steady beat.

"You'll never guess who I saw the other night." Daryl is about to lash out again but what his brother says next catches him off guard. "That Greene girl, the blonde one."

"Bullshit," he spits out on impulse. It might not have been a lie though; hell, he'd run into her not too long ago. But how would Merle have known it was really her?

"She was singing at a club down in Old Town, one of those seedy joints, with the back private rooms? Thought she might have been hookin' first, but naw. Tried to hide under a wig or something too, long dark hair." A weird noise escapes the back of Daryl's throat, almost a laugh.

"You're so full of shit."

"I ain't." Merle's face is serious, his eyes lit up like he's talking about the most exciting thing in the world. It makes Daryl sit up a bit straighter. "Saw her cut out the back door just before closing time. Blonde hair then. Waiting by herself till she got into a car being driven by that Chinese kid her sister's married to."

Daryl can picture the guy's face and knows the deal with him; some lower class schmuck that somehow married in the most notorious family in the region. Gary, was it? Greg?

"Had a sweet voice, blondie. Wonder what a girl like that was doing at a place like that all by her lonesome." Daryl silently wonders too, if it really was her after all.

When he emerges from the room, he's lost when Rick asks him if he got anything information. It takes him a moment to stop thinking about Beth.

"He mentioned Greene but it's crap. He always liked makin' up stories."

It's late and all he wants to do is crash for the night. But before he can leave, Grimes stops him.

"We appreciate all the help you provide, Daryl."

"We?" His eyes drift to Shane who's laying into someone on the phone and Rick follows his gaze.

"Well, nearly everyone here does. You've helped us with a lot of shit and you don't have to." Daryl shrugs, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable. "It's dirty and dangerous and all. I trust you more than most. And you should be able to protect yourself." Where is this going?

"I can protect myself."

When Rick hands him a gun, coyly but still out in the open, he's more confused than ever.

"Don't think you're supposed to be givin' weapons to common folk, Sheriff." Daryl grips the gun anyway, the cool metal almost hot in his hand, scalding his skin. He's never used a gun before; he's always just relied on his surly reputation and fists, when needed. He inspects it briefly before meeting Grimes' eyes.

"Well, they say there isn't a clean cop in this city. Just living up to standard." He smiles and his eyes crinkle at the corners. Daryl thinks maybe the two of them could be actual friends one day. Play cards, drink beer. Maybe, just maybe. If this town ever really cleans up at all.

For now, there aren't many off days.

It's not a big deal but it has Daryl curious enough that he starts mapping out the locations of murals and paintings that pop up, at least the ones specific to Beth. There's more than he had realized, at least a dozen in the spread of the city that he's thoroughly explored. And there doesn't appear to be an evident rhyme or reason to their locations either. But he's not concerned with finding out who's behind them, not like Walsh is. They just fascinate him. They must have piqued her interest too, because he stumbles upon the girl one day, while heading to the garage for his actual job.

It's a bit like a dream but Beth is there, real as day, her hair slicked back in a ponytail and arms wrapped around her stomach like she's freezing. He studies her for a moment as she stares up at the brick wall before her, tucked away from open view. There's a painting across the bumpy and broken surface, a drawing of her. Well, at least in her likeness. The word FAITH curves around the painted blonde girl's hands, folded up in what could be prayer.

"Why do they do this?" she asks aloud, her voice barely carrying down the alley to him. He shouldn't be amazed that she knows he is there and he figures he shouldn't underestimate her. She's observant. "Why do they put this stuff up all over?"

"Reminders, I guess."

"Of what?"

"That there's hope for something better." Beth nods slowly, as if trying to digest the meaning in what he explains

"I don't understand why they use me though, Daryl. They don't know me. People say my whole family is awful. I could be just as bad as anyone else in this city." He's not sure how she knows his name and his shoulders square at the thought of what else she might know about him. Beth looks over at him then.

"But you ain't," Daryl states, like he knows her so well. They're probably just fooling each other though, bluffing. Neither knows nothing. But for whatever reason, his gut still screams at him that she is good in one way or another. Worth defending. Maybe he is buying into the folklore now, brainwashed by the hope that this place hadn't all gone to hell. By the rocking on her heels, he assumes she's still unsure about it herself.

"You don't know that either. I'm not a saint like they make me out to be."

"You don't have to be. You tellin' me you're as bad as the trash that crawls all over this place?" She doesn't answer him, not directly.

"If anything, you're the saint. People like you, you and Sheriff Grimes. At least you're doing something good." His body stiffens even more.

Daryl's not too strong with words sometimes; putting his thoughts and feelings into something she can understand is challenging and by the time he's finally thought of anything to say, to try and comfort her or dismiss her claims or at least explain why he thinks she's important, she's already at it again herself.

"I don't know who people think I am. I wanna give them hope, if I can, but I don't wanna let anyone down. Because I'm not who they think I am, who they make me out to be. I'm not this." Her eyes travel back to the painting.

"You ain't lettin' anyone down," he tells her, watching as her eyes slide upwards towards the pitch black sky and her jaw relaxes. He knows that trick, he used it all the time as a kid. Couldn't let his old man see him in tears and the simplest movement like that helped them subside. "Nobody looks at me and sees good stuff. They don't see a brighter future. They see some asshole who beats the shit outta people. They see a rat, a narc. What you represent to them, that matters. Optimism and all that. The thought of you helps people want something better."

Beth smiles at him, the kind that actually reaches her eyes and he's drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He doesn't know if he should trust her, not fully, but damn if she doesn't overtake him. He wonders how warm she is to touch and he doesn't think twice as he reaches out and his filthy hand, mud caked under the nails and hard calloused, slides up her forearm, around her elbow. He doesn't know why but she grabs him then and he wonders if he's hallucinating because she steps in towards him all on her own and presses herself to his chest.

They stand there for only a few moments (or maybe it was hours; too short either way) before the sudden wailing of sirens fills the air around them and she tenses, pulling away from his embrace.

"You should get out of here," Beth tells him and he wants to laugh because isn't that what he should be telling her? An ambulance rushes by and it splashes murky, grey slush towards them.

He leaves her and once he's a few blocks away, he wishes he hadn't because there's still so much he wants to learn and find out about her. It dawns on him that he can't remember the last time he's been hugged, let alone touched like that. The moment's almost like a dream he'd drunkenly ramble about at a bar, how he stumbled upon the radiant Beth Greene and how her touch seemed to lighten his conscience and cause his heart to swell. A real unbelievable tale to be passed on and enhanced from mouth to ear to mouth.

"Don't you draw anymore?"

It's one of those rare nights where he and Sophia are both awake; he's teaching her cards, simple five card draw. The girl shrugs, her eyes glued to her hand, starring so intently like maybe the suits and numbers will change under her gaze.

"You don't draw no more then."

"I do, sometimes."

"Hm."

"Why didn't you ever try to adopt me?" It's a bomb and he's not expecting it, at all. Sure, the thought had crossed his mind years ago, once or twice. He would've loved getting her out of her old man's place for good but that's not really how things worked anymore. It would have been a nearly impossible case to plead and God knows Ed would've come after both of them anyway.

"I ain't much the fatherin' type, you know that." Sophia's staring at him now, intensely; maybe he'll spontaneously combust if she keeps it up.

"That's crap, I've seen you with Judith. You'd be better than most." Her words cut into his gut and he sets his cards down before scrubbing a hand over his face. Idiotically, he racks over how many times her old man must've spat at her or hit her. It makes his blood boil and he has to push the thought away, because what can he do now? He could do something, he supposes.

"Could still try, if that's what you wanted."

"It's not what you want..."

"That ain't true," Daryl interjects, starting to get a bit heated. The girl can tell and she softens her gaze, shoulders sinking a bit.

"There's no point, I practically live here already anyway. And my dad... that's a useless battle. They wouldn't let you take custody of me." Never lacked in the smarts department, this girl.

"You are my kin, you know that? We're family no matter what." She smiles at him and he can't help but return it just a little bit. Her mother was a dear friend of his and he was glad Sophia had a bit of her bite. She'd need it as she grew older.

He notices then her hand of cards tilted forward, enough so that he can read them all. Reaching out, he pushes them upright and slides back into his serious tone.

"Can't go flashin' your hand to your opponent like that. C'mon, kid."

New Year's Day comes and go. Rick tells him the body count of the past year and it leaves a weight in Daryl's stomach, heavy and uncomfortable. The number's been on the rise and what have they done about it? What good have they done in trying to hinder it? It only takes a few days for the first numbers of the fresh year to rack up.

Another fire, this time a women's home. It's bad and gruesome and so disheartening. There's three causalities and a slew of others injured. It doesn't make any sense though, it doesn't fit the pattern. This place wasn't known for anything dirty or drug-related. If anything, it was one of the gleaming spots of the city, a sacred place of sorts. It was a haven for so many women and children and everyone respected that. Until now.

The sun doesn't make an appearance at all that day and Daryl finds it fitting.

There's still looming smoke and most of the place has been cleared out, moved to some other shelters across town. There's a few stragglers though lining the street, watching in horror and heartache, some in anger. Grimes says he knows one of the women who was staying there for the time being and he's off to the side talking with her, showing her pictures of Hershel and Merle and other shit stains wandering the city. Walsh is off strolling the perimeter and Daryl, well he's sniffing around inside the place even though he shouldn't be. Nobody appears to mind though.

The fire seems to have originated in the far east corner of the building, furthest from the street. The room holds a few beds, it's where two of the victims were that didn't make it. There's nothing to leave him believing it was electrical or anything but intentional, not that he's an expert in that kind of field. It just doesn't look right. Why would someone target a place like this though? Unless it was personal, unless they were targeting someone.

Grimes pops in a few minutes later and he looks worn down.

"When's the last time you slept, Sheriff?" Rick ignores him as he surveys the room but Daryl doesn't think he's looking for anything in particular. Just processing something in his mind.

"Michonne was staying in this room. But she wasn't around when the blaze started."

"She the one you were talkin' to?" Grimes nods, stopping in front of the charred window frame, his boots crunching along the blackened ground and tiny shards of glass. There's a stifling scorched smell in the air and Daryl tries to hold his breath.

"She recognized Merle-"

"Merle's locked away." He doesn't mean to defend his brother, he knows the crap Merle has pulled in the past and that he's guilty of some heavy shit, but it just comes out. Daryl receives a pointed look and he holds his tongue to let the cop finish.

"She had a few run-ins with a guy a while back, said Merle was one of his cronies."

"Who?"

"He goes by The Governor."

Daryl's heard of the guy in passing, though nothing too detailed. But that didn't mean there wasn't anything to find out. And if Merle didn't want to help them out, he'd look elsewhere for information.

He gets a few snippets from his regular squealers: the guy's real name is Philip and he was an average joe for a while, until he lost his wife and later on his daughter, and finally he went off the deep end. Quit his steady job (which weren't that easy to come by these days) and disappeared for the most part. Much like Hershel Greene had.

That's all people really had to say about him, nothing accusatory or too alarming. The only really notable thing that came up was his scuffle with some woman a few months back; the guy ended up losing an eye. Daryl wonders how that would have transpired.

He's conversing with a bartender one night, a guy who says he knows of Philip through a friend. Claims he's certain the guy really did lose an eye and wears a patch like he's a modern day pirate or something. It's almost comical and Daryl's about to crack a straight-faced joke when a broad-shouldered man a few seats down chimes in.

"Why are you asking about the Governor, roughneck?" Daryl doesn't catch that he's being addressed at first because the nickname is ill-fitting. But the guy is smugly smirking at him and he knows then to slip into defensive mode.

"Just heard some things is all." The mystery man nods a few times and finishes off his beer in a couple of large gulps before sliding the glass away. "Why? You got something to add?"

"Well, what do you want to know? You looking for something in particular?" Daryl turns in his seat to stand and the man makes a clucking sound with his tongue. "I thought you reminded me of someone."

For one reason or another, Daryl freezes; he doesn't have much of anything to hide, but the words spook him none the less. And the stranger seems to be able to tell.

"A friend of mine used to have a vest just like that. Used to talk about his little brother sometimes too. You two sure are cut from the same cloth." Of course this guy knows Merle, because why wouldn't he? Daryl sits back down, slowly.

"How you know Merle?" The man shrugs.

"Work together sometimes. Till he got locked away, that is. Heard his kin might've had something to do with that." Daryl tries to relax, releasing his hands from the fists they formed. The guy's trying to get under his skin, he knows that. But it's working still. "Though I can't say I'm surprised, with all the shit I've heard about the Dixon clan. Daddy Dixon loved the hard stuff and beating the shit out of his boys. And your ma..."

It just happens and he doesn't realize he should stop until his arm is already swinging forward, arching in slow motion till it collides with the side of the jackass's jaw. And then it's just a full on brawl.

By the time anyone in uniform arrives, Daryl's bleeding pretty good. His nose isn't broken so that's a plus, but his lip is swollen and there's a good gash above his left eyebrow. Eye is pretty sore too when he tries to keep it open.

Grimes shows up and part of him feels like a kid about to get scolded, but Rick says nothing. He does have to take Daryl in, this time not just as a confidant. Daryl behaves himself.

They're at the station and Rick is filling out some kind of paperwork while Daryl squirms in his seat, trying to peer in the closed off room holding the man from the bar.

"You get a name out of him?" he inquires and Grimes arches an eyebrow at him.

"Maybe you should have asked that yourself before you started swinging." Daryl all but scoffs. "Martinez. He's got a record and we've been looking for him, so lucky you."

"He knows Merle. They both work for the Governor." That seems to catch the Sheriff's attention and he leans back in his chair.

"He tell you that?"

"They just are the type of guys Merle would be workin' with." Shane emerges from the room holding Martinez and he looks less ornery than normal. In fact, he almost looks pleased with himself.

"I think's it's about high time we got Hershel Greene down here," Walsh tells them, or rather Rick, but Daryl inserts himself into the conversation by listening.

"Is that really the name he gave you?" Grimes asks, clearly unamused. There's a hard line across his forehead once Shane nods. "We should get him down here, if for nothing more than to clear some things up."

"He's at the center of this, Rick."

"We don't know that."

"His name is always the one coming up!"

"That don't mean nothin'," Daryl interjects and Walsh tosses him a hard look.

"Suppose your big, bad eye-patched schmuck is the head of the snake, then?" There's a silence because Daryl's not in mood to bicker. He just glowers for the moment and Rick sighs, sounding somewhat exasperated.

"We get Hershel to come down, we'll get answers for something."

"I'll find him." Both officers turn to Daryl then, Shane almost entertained and Rick confused. But Daryl knows out of any of them, he has the best chance of finding the man... if he can find Beth again first.

It takes a couple of weeks, but he finally manages to hunt her down. He did some broad surveying for a while, lots of wandering at night with no real destination in mind because hell if he knew where she might be. He'd only seen the girl in alleyways and those were a dime a dozen. But he recalls what Merle had told him, where the older Dixon had supposedly seen her. And damn him, he must've been telling the truth because Daryl does finally find her one night down in Old Town.

He wouldn't have recognized her on stage if he hadn't been consciously looking for her. Her hair is pulled back tight, wadded up in a knot against the back of her head, and it's dark, just like Merle had told him. She isn't dressed how Daryl's seen her before either. She looks like she fits in here, her legs long and exposed, her eyes rimmed in dark charcoal and her lips painted an unnatural red. She looks much older than she actually is.

But her voice... her voice, that trumps everything. It's like nothing he's ever heard; it's doesn't resemble the smokey, deep bellows of most of the women who take the stage at places like this. It's sweeter and airy and when she hits certain notes, his arms break out in goosebumps. Everyone in the place seems transfixed by her, so much so that they can't look past her make-up or sparkling dress to see who she actually is. Beth Greene is fucking serenading them and they are none the wiser. And that's how she must like it.

It's not hard to find his way to the back; there's a few teenagers snorting something in an out of commission bathroom and there's a couple arguing, cursing and screaming at each other in the hallway. The man gets shoved into his shoulder but Daryl keeps walking past all the other locked doors concealing moans and cries and other noises that he tries to block out.

There's a half-cracked door at the end of the furthest hall and he curiously peers in, catching the back of her head. She lets down her dark hair and it tumbles across her shoulders like ocean waves. She's out of that glittery number, clan in a too big shirt and dark pants now. It's mesmerizing how she wipes her face clean, streaks of mascara and lipstick smeared until she's fresh faced again. Daryl wants to look away, to give her privacy, but it just isn't in him right now.

It isn't until she's at the sink, hunched over and washing the brunette dye from her hair, that he finally steps into the room. No greeting or knock or anything, just a click of the door shutting behind him.

"You recognized me." It's not a question but an observation; she doesn't seem upset, which is a relief to him. Droplets of water hang from strands of her hair and they fly off with every flick of her chin. He's reminded of the first night he saw her: freezing rain and dim street lighting. Flashing neon. He was glad to see the crass, dirty brown water drain from her hair; he enjoyed her blonde, for whatever reason. Swirls of the stuff funnel down the drain. "You were able to track me down?" He nods.

"Came here to ask a favor of you," he informs her. As much as he would like to fully take in the moment, the reason for his finding her stood. "You heard of The Governor?" Beth's body goes taut, wringing her hair in a dingy towel.

"Everyone has."

"A few of his henchmen have been brought down to the station the past few months." Daryl neglects to mention one of them was his brother, who had seen her in the flesh before too. "They kept bringin' up your dad. Knew some stuff that ain't common knowledge or hearsay."

"Like what?"

"Talked about you for one, that you were performin' at sketchy clubs in Old Town. Like here." She stills, the faucet still gushing water. "And said your family was behind the the women's home arson last week, other arsons too. Said they had witnesses, proof."

"Bullshit." Her language startles him but just for a moment because he's caught up in watching her towel off her hair, streaks of dye stretching down behind her ears and all along her neck. He wants to rub them away, circles of his thumb along her pale skin till it disappears and she's all clean. "Why would we do that? That doesn't make any sense."

"Some say your dad's trying to drive out competition-"

"Did you come here to accuse me and my family of something?" She's lit up now, her eyes blazing and pink filling her cheeks. It's not what he was anticipating, especially when she steps in close to him, toe to toe. "My family has none nothing but try to help the people of this city."

"Rein it in, lady. I don't think you and yours had anything to do with it." Daryl meets her gaze, strong and sure; that's nothing new for him, he's always been known as the intimidating one. But she doesn't seem ruffled by him and there's an unusual clenching in his chest at that realization. "But it'd sure be useful if your dad came down and spoke with folks at the station."

"So they can frame him? Twist his words? They won't help us at all." The woman has a point, he can't find fault in her distrust of the law. It's wise to distrust just about everyone.

"There's still some good ones."

"Who? Rick?" Beth pulls her hair up and ties it off, still damp but more like it's natural blonde hue. "He's just one man. Everyone is against my family."

"People listen to him and he wants to get this sorted out. He'll help your dad." There's a long pause and she's watching him closely, like a hawk, leaning against the back of a chair. Daryl can't help but shift under her scrutiny.

"Why do you care? You aren't a cop." Beth tilts her head to the side. "Everyone hates my family but you act like you're trying to help us."

"I am." Really he's just trying to get the truth out, but by helping the Greenes, he reckons that's what he is doing too.

Beth steps towards him again, her face softer than before. Her eyes roam over his shoulders and she steps to his side, peering around his back and he turns away from her out of instinct.

"They talk about you too." Her voice is quiet, nearly a whisper, like she's sharing a secret with him. He silently sucks in a breath and she picks up on it. "Good things. Like how you put away Martinez and even your own brother. People have noticed that, they've noticed you."

"I didn't turn in my brother," he growls, feeling that familiar rage boil in his veins. "Snitchin' on your blood ain't honorable anyway." Beth nods her head once and she's very close to him suddenly, closer than he realized. A subtle, sweet smell hits his nostrils and he wonders if it's her or just his mind making things up.

"Still, you're one of the good ones." Daryl's about to object but he feels her palms press to his back, sliding over the stitching on his vest. He freezes under the touch, not sure if he should shove her away or relax into it or grab onto her himself. And just like that, her touch is gone. Beth heaves a sigh. "I should cut back on this stuff now, since they know about me." He glances over his shoulder at her and sees a sad smile twitch on her lips. "Singing's just nice, you know? It's a nice escape."

Daryl doesn't sing but he gets it. Everyone deserves an out from this reality once in a while. The last time he remembers feeling something like that was weeks ago, when he held her, just for a brief moment. He clears his throat.

"I'll talk to my daddy." She's grabbing a bag then, tossing it over her shoulder and he imagines she's heading out the back to wait for her brother-in-law. If Merle had been right about all this, he was probably telling the truth about that.

"How'd you know my name? Before," he questions before she can make her way to the door. There's a look in her eye, like she's smiling without moving her lips at all.

"The same way you knew who I was when I told you mine." It doesn't make much sense to him, because he recognized her based on stories and gossip. He doesn't think on it too much though because she's all up close on him again and in a slow, chaste sort of way presses her mouth to his. It's brief enough that he can't fully react in the moment before she's slipping through the door and he's left alone, the rhythmic pounding of the headboard next door filling the room, accompanied by bedspring groans and breathless gasps.

She's nowhere to be seen by the time he makes his way outside and he figures that to be fitting.