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"I'm tryin' to help you," after that, he was too mad to speak.

Also, it was difficult to think of words to calm her when every step she raced further away from him just made him more furious. He'd stop her first—then he'd talk at her—yell at her if the lawmen weren't too close to hear.

She was fast, in fact, for a moment he thought she was too fast for him. He didn't manage to catch her until they were just a few dozen yards from the barricade. A ditch and plenty of growth separated them from the cops, but still, it was closer than he wanted to be. There were four cruisers up ahead on that back road and a couple of figures marching around.

He caught her by one shoulder and wrapped his other hand over her mouth, worried she might scream. She shouted into his hand, but it was muffled. As she tried to wriggle away, his other hand clamped down harder over her shoulder.

She stumbled under his weight and they both toppled into the ground. Beneath the loud THUMP there was a sickening rip, Daryl groaned when he realized he'd torn her shirt.

Dammit all to hell. How'd we get here?

She was still struggling underneath him, loads of blonde hair flipped into his face as he tried to maneuver his head over her shoulder. "Hey—calm down, Barbie," he hissed to her, breathing a little ragged from their sprint. "I ain't gonna hurt ya—this ain't no kidnappin' neither—if you really feel so strongly 'bout leavin' be my guest. We gotta make a few things real clear first."

With his hand still over her mouth he couldn't hear what she was trying to say. Mostly, it seemed like she was just whimpering, which made him feel slimier than he ever had in his life.

He growled, frustrated that he had to do this, "Hey come on—you don't wanna get your friends in trouble do ya?" As she started to settle, he uncovered her mouth.

"They deserve it," she bit back at him, but she was trying to be quiet.

He'd half expected her to scream.

"Hey—hey what about you?" He kept a grip on her as she tried to twist out from under him. "You don't wanna get yourself in trouble with the cops—nah, you don't, you're a good girl, ain't ya? You can leave, I'll even help ya. But you can't be dumb about this—" For all her struggling to crawl out from under him, she only managed to mesh them into a more compromising position, he felt the curve of her pressing into him as she tried to push-up. "You gotta cut that out," he growled. He shifted his weight so that he was holding onto her across the shoulders with one hand and pushing her hips away from his own with the other. The fabric of her shirt and jeans slipped under his grip until his fingers were pinching into the flesh over her hip-bone. "Quit grindin' up against me like that."

"Then let me up!" But she froze, seeming to understand finally, what was happening.

"You gonna run before I can say my peace? If ya get caught and say the wrong thing—" He'd been too focused on the girl, too intent on trying to keep her from running straight at the barricade and landing them all in hot water. He'd been thinking too hard about how this got so bad, so fast, about how she was scared and he wasn't all that surprised to find himself playing the villain of the piece. He was actually holding her down on the ground like exactly the kind of man he'd never wanted to be.

As a rule, Daryl was an observant guy, but he'd been thinking about all that stuff, instead of what was happening right around him. He'd been trying too hard not to think about how bad it looked… how bad it felt. He didn't raise his head in time—didn't see the policeman until he tore him off of Beth and plowed him straight into the dirt in one fluid movement; a flying tackle.

Daryl's whole life he'd managed to avoid handcuffs, and now he was going to be hauled in and charged with attempt rape? When the thought occurred to him to defend himself, it was followed immediately by a reminder of what happened to his kind when they tried to fist-a-cuff with cops. Daryl clenched his jaw. He hated taking a beating more than just about anything in the world, but he knew how to do it.

He barely got a glimpse of the cop's face before a heavy fist connected square in his face—his vision was still blurry from when his head hit the ground.

"STOP! STOP!" Beth shouted, "He didn't do anything!"

The cop had him pinned, and was slow to heed her. Daryl stuck his forearms in front of his face, but still had to take three more heavy blows before the cop let up.

"He didn't do nothin', I swear it—he didn't touch me, he was just tryin' to stop me from sneaking out," Beth was looking at the two of them with wide eyes, sparkling with tears that would have moved the hardest of hearts. "I'm sorry—it's my fault."

The cop rose up a little, but kept his knee pressed into Daryl's chest, holding him against the ground. He was bigger than Daryl and all made up of coiled aggression and muscles. If it was a fair fight he might be able to take him, but seeing as how fighting a cop was never fair, he was sure he'd never get to test that theory. He stayed braced where he was, unsure whether the officer was really done getting his licks in.

"You live on this street?" demanded the officer.

"No sir," said Beth quickly, "We were just supposed to stop by for a minute—my friend was meetin' her daddy, he was gonna take us all out for dinner. Then you guys put up the barricade. I just wanna go home."

"Well, sorry to ruin your plans, little lady, but this here is a controlled situation until further notice. We might need to ask a few questions, might need to see to it that we got the full picture, understand?"

How could she? He was being vague on purpose, but she nodded, tossing a sparkling, wet glance Daryl's way, "He didn't do nothin' wrong, he was just telling me that I needed to come back to the house with my friends, 'cause I'd get in trouble if y'all caught me."

"Well, he'd be right about that," said the officer, pointedly gesturing at both of them.

"Please—I'm sorry—can you let him up? We'll just go back. We'll be good." She begged.

"Seein' as how you've learned your lesson," the officer stood up and finally lifted his knee off Daryl's chest. He drew in a deep breath, trying not to make any sound to indicate that he'd had the wind knocked out of him. His lungs were burning and he was pretty sure he was going to have some nasty bruises on the outside as well.

Once he was upright again and could scramble back a few feet, Daryl felt at his nose. It was bleeding, but not much. Still, he could tell that one eye would be black before long.

The officer had his chest all puffed out and wore a practiced glare of intimidation. He scratched at his short black hair, glancing casually towards the back-end of Kelly Jo Ave. "Which house are y'all holed-up in? Outta curiosity," he said dangerously.

"It's just the one straight back there," Beth answered automatically, "I think the number said 701, but I'm not sure. Her dad's friend lives there."

"701?" he repeated, "Why don't y'all head back. Sit tight 'til we know it's safe, understand?"

"Yes sir."

"You alright?" the officer looked at Daryl with a peculiar glare, as if daring him to cry excessive force.

"Yeah, all good over here," muttered Daryl.

"You wanna file a complaint, the name's Officer Shane Walsh. You can phone the station. I think the lady that takes care of that stuff is called Joanna."

"Nah, like I said," Daryl glared at him, rubbing a smear of red onto the back of his hand, "S'all good."

"Stay inside until this is resolved, got it?"

"Yes sir," Beth answered immediately.

Daryl nodded and turned to start walking back to the house, still seething.

Beth fell into step beside him, sparing Officer Walsh one last glance. She waited until he was out of earshot to catch Daryl's arm, "I'm sorry—are you really alright?" She reached out towards his eye.

Automatically he flinched away from her, "The hell's wrong with you? I'm fine. Girl, if you're gonna lie to a cop, at least tell decent lies." He couldn't believe she'd actually gone with Nick's stupid-ass plan to try and convince the cops that one of the girls was Merle's daughter. Now they were going to have to commit to that load of crock. The likelihood of the story doing more harm than good was dangerously high.

"That's what Nick said to say," said Beth quietly, rubbing the fingers of the hand he'd pulled away from into her other palm.

"Nick don't know nothin'," Daryl snapped, "It was a dumb lie, but it wasn't the only one you told—I did so touch you, and I shouldn't have had to." Right then he noticed her shirt. She'd moved her long hair over the side of it, maybe on purpose, or maybe it just fell that way. In any case, it hid the damage he'd done to her clothes from Officer Walsh, but now the tresses were getting picked up by a breeze and he could see that he'd torn the neck clean open so the fabric was falling away, revealing a simple white bra lined with pink lace. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hold it closed.

"Dammit. Shouldn't've done that," he said between his teeth, "Shoulda just let ya run." He outstripped her in a few strides and stomped back to the fence with Beth in his wake.

Although she'd managed to get over the fence all on her own the first time, that was when she had a couple of foot-holes on the inside construction. Now, it was just a bare wall. Daryl watched her scuffle with the planks for a few seconds. She was purposefully not meeting his gaze. She didn't want to ask him for help after he'd snapped.

Feeling like shit for making her so scared of him, he stepped forward and held out his hands to make a foot-hold for her without her asking.

She took a moment before she let him help her. Fighting to meet his eyes, she held still, looking down at him until he finally met her gaze. "Thanks," she tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. One hand was still keeping the torn fabric of her shirt together. She was forced to let go. She set one foot into his hands and gripped his shoulder as he lifted her up high enough that she could get her other leg over the fence. Awkwardly, she pulled the rest of her body over, landing with a soft thud on the other side.

He had to get another running start and scrap a little to get over the fence without help, but it didn't take long.

Once he hit the dirt on the other side, he found that Beth was still waiting there for him, holding onto her ruined shirt with the same penitent expression that she'd worn since Officer Shane clocked him in the face. "Daryl, I'm really sorry."

He couldn't help but think that really, she felt sorry for him, but he would take it. He nodded. "We're good." But they weren't, not yet. He didn't know how to go about making up for handling her like that, wasn't sure he could, or if he should even bother trying. He could already feel it eating at him. He wasn't going to be able to forget about it anytime soon.

In silence, they entered the house together through the kitchen, from the living room, Merle poked his head around, eyebrows pulled together, "What the hell happened to you two?!"

Someone had the good sense to pause the movie, as they all craned their necks together to get a look. Beth sat down at the table, moving her hair over her shirt again to hide the gaping tear.

"Nothing, just needed some air," grumbled Daryl, in spite of everything, he almost smiled at his own blatant lie.

"Your face, bro," Merle shook his head, unamused.

"Officer Shane needed some air too," said Daryl with a shrug. "My face is fine, nose ain't broke, eyes still see. Cops don't care 'bout us. I'm just peachy," he picked up the same beer that he'd discarded earlier and downed the last of it in a few unsatisfying gulps as he fell into another chair and kicked his feet onto the table.

"You're doin' swell in this job interview," Jeremiah told him.

Evan laughed, "He's serious, so ya know."

"Damn right, I'm serious," said Jeremiah.

Daryl had forgotten about the damned job. He groaned inwardly and set the empty bottle on the table a little too hard.

They started the movie up again, apparently satisfied with the partial answer and lie that Daryl had allowed them. Beth was texting on her phone, Daryl resisted the urge to try and read what she was typing up-side-down. He might doubt her sincerity in her apology to him, but he didn't suspect her of any more trouble, for now. She looked good and defeated. His guts wrung with guilt.

Nick sauntered into the kitchen to get a beer after a few minutes.

"Hey, Nick? Could I go lie down? I'm not feeling so good," Beth asked.

"Help yourself, sha—you saw where the bedroom is, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks," she spoke while she was getting out of her chair, clearly anxious to be far away. Daryl watched her disappear into the hallway, shoulders hunched. The fabric tumbled underneath the curtain of blonde to give him a glimpse of a few strips of creamy white skin.

He shook himself mentally. It wasn't his problem. He had no reason to get himself worked up because some dumb bitch was all unhappy and wounded. He'd just been trying to protect his brother and the others from getting embroiled with the law. She knew it. So, why did he feel like such a dirt-bag?

With a growl of frustration he stopped Nick before he could leave the kitchen, "Hey man—that neighbor a couple doors down… The only one ya know."

"Yeah? What about her?"

"She a large woman?"

"Nah, she's thin," Nick frowned at the question, "Nice lookin' too, truth be told."

Daryl raised a hand, "Which side?"

"Two doors thataway," Nick pointed with the hand that wasn't wrapped around his beer; his frown deepened.

Daryl mirrored the gesture and stood up, "I'll be back."

"What are you doin' man?" Nick laughed, "Ya hard-up, or what?"

"Or what, asshole," Daryl muttered as he slipped out the back-door and turned to jump the side fence.

It wasn't his problem, but he could still do something to help, even if it was just something minor. Beth needed a new shirt.

Thoughts? Concerns? Jokes?

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Skinny Love - Bon Iver