Hey everyone! Thank you all so so so much for the response to the last chapter. Reading your reviews has been making me smile all weekend. I'm at school right now, just found out I'll definitely have an A in AP Lit (just barely, but all colleges see is the letter) so for like the first time in my life I have straight A's! So I'm in a pretty good mood right now haha.
So this fic is 100% planned out plotwise, so getting everything written from this point won't be too hard. It's just a matter of organization and making sure I don't fall behind on school work. Otherwise chapters should come out pretty regularly (There will be 10 in total, so six more after this!)
Once again, thank you all so so so much for reviewing and following and favoriting, or even just reading this. It really means so much to me. Anyways, enjoy the chapter!
Episode Four - Us
Daryl hated runners. It wasn't the running part that was bad - he could go all day - it was when the runners had friends lurking around street corners. That's when he hated runners. He groaned, letting the door creak shut behind him. His jaw was sore, and his back hurt, and he was starting to regret all the dumb shit he'd done back in his twenties. Maybe one less tumble off of Merle's bike and he wouldn't feel like he'd gotten hit by a train when some asshole with a snapback clocked him.
It wasn't that difficult of a case - a break in gone wrong. Perp practically lived at the APD. He was in and out of there on burglary and drug charges so often that some of the admins down on the fourth floor had started up a monthly pool. (Daryl had thought about getting in on it, but if Lori found out he was gambling she'd have his head on a stick. Sometimes, he was more frightened of that woman than he was of Merle.) This time the idiot had taken it just a step too far and gotten someone killed, so he and Beth had tracked him down.
The kid, Randall Larson, knew Daryl - he'd had to question him once or twice on a case - so of course the little shit took off the moment he saw them coming. He'd be damned if he ever figured out how he'd gotten a look out that quick, but Daryl turned a corner, and ended up with a fist in his face. Randall had expected Daryl to be a problem (and his friend found out he was a damn big problem after a few good hits the ribs and a pair of handcuffs), but he hadn't been expecting Beth Greene.
To be fair, Daryl hadn't been expecting Beth Greene.
If someone had told him that first day when he saw her sitting in Carol's old chair with her wispy blonde hair, and those big blue eyes, that she'd be literally taking down criminals just a month later...he would've laughed in their face. He hadn't expected that girl to make it more than a week. Hadn't expected that girl to come tearing up behind him, hell bent on a man twice her size. Certainly hadn't expected her to be able to get him on the ground, but then again, he was pretty sure Randall Larson hadn't been expecting a hundred and ten pounds to hit him in the knees.
He would've laughed if it weren't a damn murder case.
Yeah...he hadn't expected it, but the girl was made of nails. Pretty as sunshine, but there was steel in her. Not that he would be caught dead telling her that.
He didn't even bother going to his room, just stripped as he shuffled to the bathroom, letting clothes fall to the floor behind him. All he wanted right now was a nice, hot shower, and a few hours sleep before he had to get up and do this shit all over again.
Goosebumps raised over his skin as he twisted the water on, and frowned. The showerhead hissed and spat, and icy water dribbled to floor, but the damn thing sure as hell wasn't on. Muttering, he pushed back the curtain and stepped in, glaring up at the rusted old thing - didn't look blocked.
It was the pipes again, wasn't it? He didn't know why he'd chosen to live in an old building, probably something to do with rent and not wanting to get up at four in the morning, but he was kind of regretting it. It was two a.m., but he'd be damned if he didn't get a shower before he went to bed.
Grumbling as he followed his trail of clothing back into the living room, redressing himself along the way, he went to go find a wrench. He was lucky, his building's portion of the plumbing ran through his apartment, the pipes all hidden in a closet in his room. Sure, it meant that he got woken up every time someone flushed a toilet, but at least he didn't have to call his super every time some little thing went wrong.
Throwing the closet open, and grabbing the flashlight he always kept next to it, he started looking around. He knew which pipes ran into his apartment, and which went to his upstairs neighbors (he often considered just turning their water off, they were assholes), so it didn't take long to find the issue. There was a leak.
"Well that won't be a problem," he said to himself, quickly taking the wrench to the leaky joint and twisting. The water stopped, and he smiled, more than a little satisfied with himself... right up until the moment that something in the pipe groaned, "Shit."
And then it burst.
It was the middle of summer, but the middle of summer at three in the morning wasn't necessarily all that warm. With soaked clothes plastered to his skin - it was absolutely freezing. He was doing his best not to look like he was shivering as he begrudgingly rung the doorbell. There wasn't even a small part of him that wanted to be doing this, but he didn't exactly have a lot of options. It was here or the Grimes' and there wasn't a damn thing that would make him commute an hour into Atlanta.
He could hear someone coming down the stairs. He bit his lip, resisting the urge to hit the doorbell again so they'd hurry the fuck up. It seemed like ages before the door opened.
"Dixon?" Her voice was thick and sleepy, lids drooping over her big blue eyes, "Dixon what the hell? It's three in the morning." She blinked a few times, a floppy sleeve covered hand going up to hide a yawn.
"Can I stay on your couch?" He decided he'd rather look at the ground than her and her oversized sweater. That was until he realized she wasn't wearing anything more than that sweater, and quickly settled on the shiny number one-o-one next to the door. Damn girl needed to start wearing pants.
"Something wrong with your couch?" She asked, and even though he couldn't see her, he could hear that playful little smirk on her lips. He ducked his head a bit and glanced up at her, she was starting to look a little more coherent as she woke up, "Why are you wet?" He wasn't going to answer that question, and he sure as hell wasn't going to look at her as her hands - incredibly warm hands - pressed against his chest, "Oh my God, you're freezing! Get in here." She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him inside.
"I'm fine." He shook her off, shutting the door.
"Daryl are you shivering?"
He scowled at her, "No." It was a blatant lie, and they both knew it. He wouldn't meet her eyes as he cursed the muscles that jerked and trembled under his skin.
"Daryl why wouldn't you just put on dry clothes?" She asked, sounding like she thought it was funny or something.
"Didn't have any," he mumbled, holding up a dripping gym bag he'd shoved some of his soaked work clothes into.
She sighed, and she laughed, and she brushed her dainty fingers against his as she took the bag from his hands, "C'mon, Dixon. Let's get you upstairs and -"
"I told you I can stay on the couch," he cut her off, trying to figure out why the hell the back of his neck was warm as she put one hand between his shoulder blades, and another on his arm, and started pushing him towards the stairs.
"Daryl, if I let you touch any furniture right now Maggie's gonna have a fit." He thought about protesting more, but decided it wasn't worth it. Instead he just pulled himself from her grip so he could at least walk up the stairs of his own volition.
He'd been in her house before, but never gone farther than the living room. He'd never come for anything other than dragging her off to a murder scene so it hadn't exactly been necessary.
"C'mon, bathroom's down here," she said, padding down the hall ahead of him with bare feet and a mess of blonde hair. She usually kept it up at work, but apparently she slept with it down - looked nice. She stopped in front of a door on the left, and flicked on the light - sleepy eyes shining up at him as his chest jerked in another shiver. "Jesus Christ, Dixon, c'mon lets get you out of that shirt - you're gonna catch pneumonia or something."
He stiffened as her fingers went to the top button under his throat, grabbing her hand he pushed it back down, "I can undress myself, Greene," he growled, stepping past her and into the bathroom.
"Well throw those clothes to me when you're done will you?" She asked as he shut the door, "I'm gonna go put all this in the dryer." He just grunted in response, too tired to really say anything. He pulled his clothes off, wincing as his back twinged, and opened the door just wide enough to shove them through. Her footsteps faded down the hall as he pulled the curtain shut and turned on the water, letting it get just a bit warm before he stepped in.
He couldn't help but groan, damn that felt good. He waited until it was bone searing hot before he turned the cold faucet - he'd rather not look like a lobster when he got out of there. Eyes heavy with exhaustion he let his head hang as the freezing cold was replaced by steam, and mind numbing heat.
He should actually wash since he was in the shower, wasn't like it was going to be long before he had to go back to work anyways. He'd forgotten soap...he could live without shampoo and all that shit, but he figured soap was kind of necessary. Glancing around the rim of the tub he saw one light purple bar, and one pale blue bottle. Picking it up and flipping it over he scowled as he read the title, Coconut Dream. There wasn't a chance in hell he'd go around all day smelling like anyone's fruity fantasies.
And he sure as hell wasn't gonna have Porter smelling him with that shit on. That fucking lab rat didn't know when to shut up.
Setting the bottle back down he picked up the soap instead, and gave it a hesitant sniff. True to its color it was lavender, his nose crinkled, really strong lavender. Deciding it was better than Coconut Dream he lathered it on, and promised himself he'd use extra deodorant today - maybe it would even everything out.
Smelling of lavender and feeling much warmer he stepped out of the shower, and to nothing short of horror he realized he didn't have a damn thing left to wear. Every piece of clothing he owned was either soaking wet in his flooded apartment, or soaking wet in Beth's dryer. There was one, smaller than necessary, bath towel hanging on the rack which he quickly wrapped around his waist.
That didn't do a damn thing to cover his back though, and truth be told he'd rather she see his dick than his scars. All guys had dicks, they were a bit easier to explain than well...he eyed the thick, ropey lines that traced over his skin...than those. It wasn't like he cared if strangers saw them - fuck he'd gotten tattoos before - it was just, he cared if they cared. And he didn't know Beth Greene all that well, but he knew damn well that she'd care.
He just hoped she wouldn't care enough to ask.
There was a knock at the door, "Dixon?"
He took a deep breath, and turned the knob, letting the door swing open. Her eyes were lingering on his chest, and he couldn't quite decide how that made him feel. His jaw tightened, and he tried to think about something other than the eyes burning a hole into him, "You done ogling?" He grumbled, and she snapped her gaze up to his face - cheeks a bit red.
He should've just stayed at the Grimes'.
"Just reading the tattoo," she mumbled, "May, that your birth month or something?"
"My mom," he said quickly, another thing he didn't want her asking questions about.
She nodded, "I was just bringing you -" she trailed off, brow furrowing, "Daryl is that a bruise?" Her fingers shot up to brush along his jawline, and he held still doing his best not to jerk away. He'd rather her worry herself over a bruise than his back. "I told you you needed to put some ice on that."
"I'm fine," he said, not meeting her eyes.
"Daryl, you got punched in the face."
"I'm fine." A hard edge crept into his voice, and he could practically feel her rolling her eyes.
"Whatever, Dixon." She shoved something into his hands, "They were Glenn's…" She trailed off awkwardly, "He was smaller than you, they might be kinda tight, but it's uh - better than nothing."
He held the shirt a little tighter, "Thank you. I...I appreciate it."
"Right…" She'd started to drift down the hall, when she stopped and looked back at him, "Me and Maggie have the rooms on the left, either door on the right's open. Take your pick." He nodded, watching her head to her room, "G'night, Daryl," she said with a sleepy smile.
"G'night, Greene."
With a sigh he toweled off his hair and pulled on Glenn Rhee's shirt and sweats - he wasn't sure if he liked wearing a dead man's clothes either, but Glenn had been a good guy. Daryl was pretty sure he wouldn't have minded.
He glanced at his watch, it was three thirty in the morning. Suppressing a groan he stumbled into the room across from Beth's. At least he'd get a couple hours sleep.
Beth would've liked to have been asleep still, but she'd had to take a shower, and get everything ready for work. She'd let Daryl sleep a bit longer, he'd looked like hell when he showed up on her doorstep a couple hours before, but she wouldn't let him sleep too long. A tired Dixon was a manageable Dixon. With the weight of exhaustion in her limbs, she gathered Daryl's warm clothes from the dryer.
He needed to be up soon if he wanted to eat breakfast.
Maggie was still asleep, and she assumed Daryl was too so she quietly opened his door. He looked peaceful when he was sleeping - shaggy hair laying across his face, arms tangled in the sheets. It was hard to make out distinct features in the dim light from the hallway, but it almost seemed like he was smiling.
It didn't last long, his eyes snapped open the moment she slipped past the threshold, and the gentle smile quickly pulled into a scowl, "Greene?" He groaned, squinting into the light, "The fuck you doin?"
"Clothes," she said, dropping the pile of warm laundry at his feet, "Get dressed, breakfast'll be ready soon." He looked dead tired, Good, she thought. Maybe he would be too tired to be grumpy.
"You're makin' breakfast?" He asked, sitting up.
"Toast okay with you, Dixon?" She smiled, though she doubted he could see her face in the dark. He was watching her, blue eyes catching the light. There was something in his stare that made her stomach tighten, her chest, her throat. She always used to think it was because he was an intimidating jackass - but now she wasn't sure what to think. So she didn't.
"Yeah...s'fine," he muttered, rubbing his face through his hands, voice still husky with sleep. With a heavy sigh he flipped back the covers and pulled himself out of bed. It wasn't until he turned on the light that she realized she'd been staring too.
She wasn't going to think about it.
Instead, she left him to get dressed and went downstairs to start shoving bread into the toaster. Maggie wasn't supposed to be up for another hour or so, but she tended to wake up when Beth started banging around downstairs. She'd almost say that the addition of an extra person would make Maggie get up even faster, but that extra person was Daryl, and Daryl didn't exactly count. He was too damn quiet.
The toast had just popped up when he appeared in the kitchen, fully dressed though his hair stuck out all funny. He looked like a zombie, dragging himself onto one of the bar-counter stools. Beth tried not to giggle as he struggled to keep his head up. She'd seen him this tired a few times before - and for her, they had always turned out to be great days - but she knew the sleepy Daryl wouldn't last. Sure he usually forgot to be mean, but he managed to perk himself up enough not to look half-dead at work. Shame, it was cute when he was like this.
"Coffee?" She slid the mug over to him, two spoons of sugar and a splash of cream.
"Thanks," he muttered, taking a sip as Beth put the toast on plates, and slid that over too.
"Jelly's on your left," she said, walking around the counter to sit next to him.
"Anything from Grimes?" He asked, pulling the jar of strawberry over.
"Nope," she stole the jelly before he was done, earning herself a glare, "No new bodies today." He just nodded, waiting for her to pass the jelly back, "That's good though, Martin trial's coming up. Got a lot stuff I need to do, Andrea's been on my butt all week." Daryl's shoulders shook with a quiet laugh, "What?"
"Kinda thought it might be good cause no one died." He bit back a smile and took a bite of toast instead, she glared, rolling her eyes.
"It's your fault - you're turning me into a jaded old man."
"You callin' me old?" He asked, sitting up a bit straighter, shoulders pushed back.
She couldn't help but giggle, "Well you're older than me...so yeah, you're old."
"I'm thirty six," he grumbled, taking a long swig of coffee. Beth was kind of surprised, he didn't look thirty six - sure he didn't look like he was in his twenties or anything, but she'd been guessing early thirties not late. Good for him.
"Ten years older than me." She shoved the last bite of toast in her mouth, and hopped down to put her plate away, "Old man," she added, smiling at his dirty look.
It was five ten, they needed to be going - Andrea had said she would be stopping by today, and she figured she shouldn't risk being late in the presence of the prosecutor. She took Daryl's plate, ignoring his protest as he watched the last half piece of toast make its way to the trash. "C'mon, we need to go."
"Beth!" Maggie yelled, and she froze as footsteps jogged down the stairs, "Beth whose -" she stopped suddenly, staring at the two of them with a pair of boxers in her hands. Daryl's boxers to be specific. Beth watched in horror as her partner and her sister made eye contact, and then all gazes landed on the underwear in question, everyone holding a mortified poker face.
Maggie squealed, chucking the boxers at them before turning and scampering up the stairs. Daryl looked even more dead inside than before...yeah she was feeling pretty dead inside too.
A rough hand closed around her shoulder, and he pushed her towards the door, "Let's go, Greene."
It was well past noon when Andrea finally knocked on an open office door. She was a lot later than Beth had expected, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing - she'd needed the time to pull things together. For all the indisputable evidence they'd had on Martin over the years it was surprisingly difficult to keep him incarcerated. As far as Beth was concerned he shouldn't see the light of day again.
"How're we doing, rookie?" Andrea asked, tossing a couple files onto Beth's desk before taking the chair opposite. Beth had met Andrea more than a few times when she came to visit Amy up in New York. She liked the woman, she never treated her like some kid.
Beth pushed her own files over to Andrea, "Good I think. Got a bunch of witnesses lined up for you. Testimonies from some of the cops who've been dealing with the family, Layla Martin's mother, the daughter, some neighbors -"
Andrea's lips drew into a thin frown, "But no one who could say for sure it was him."
"Well, I mean it's obvious!" Beth said, pointing at the big case file between them, "We don't have any other suspects."
"You didn't exactly look for any other suspects," Andrea said, taking a sip of her to-go coffee.
"We didn't need to -"
"Tell that to Martin's lawyer," Andrea uncrossed her legs, leaning forward a bit as her lips took a bitter twist, "He's got a good one. Gary Merrit. Moraless son of a bitch, but he can talk circles around anyone." Beth sighed dropping her head to her hands, "Beth, we've got a good case here, but it's not solid - there's too many holes, too many questions that haven't been answered."
"He can't walk after this, there's too many charges - no on in their right mind would believe he didn't do it."
"He won't walk, but he ain't gonna stay down long. I've seen Merrit get people out of a lot worse before." She shook her head, looking tired. Beth wasn't the only one staying up long nights on this case, Andrea had prosecuted Martin before...she wanted him behind bars as much as anyone.
Beth shook her head, "The trial's in two days. What the hell are we going to do?"
"We need the name of his dealer," Andrea said, "he's the only one who saw him within twenty four hours of the murder who's still breathing."
A sinking feeling settled deep in her gut, yeah they needed the one thing she couldn't get, "Dixon's never going to give him up."
"Well make him." Andrea had steel in her voice and a hard look in her eyes, "I've been in the court system too long to trust it. Martin walks, and those little girls are going to be back in his hands before you know it." The lawyer started gathering Beth's files, moving to stand.
"Andrea you've talked to Dixon before! You know what he's like - trying to get his favorite color out of him is like pulling nails!"
"Get me that name Beth." Andrea said, a simple ultimatum that was ridiculously complicated to achieve. With that she left, striding out the door with her coffee and the determined click of high heels.
Groaning, Beth hit her head against her desk, and not having the energy to pick it back up just laid there. She was going to have to talk to Dixon eventually, but every fiber of her being was telling her to stay exactly where she was and take a nap. She shifted so her cheek was on the cool wood, and her eyes were on Daryl Dixon. He was glaring at his laptop, the cup of coffee he'd come dangerously close to begging her to stop and get still clutched in his hand.
The talk could wait a little bit...she glanced at the big red mark on her calendar, two more days...just a little bit.
Daryl stood at the break room counter trying to decide if it was worth it or not. He could feel his eyelids drooping, and his limbs felt heavy...but was he really willing to drink that shit? On a normal day he would've hopped in his truck and driven the ten blocks to the nearest Starbucks, but his truck was at Beth's house, and he didn't want to walk ten blocks.
He bit his lip, feeling horribly indecisive, which was odd. He could ask Beth if she'd go pick something up for him...but he'd already had her do his laundry for him. He didn't ask her to do it or anything, but he didn't want to keep pushing the nice button to see when it would break.
With a curled lip and silent string of curses, he poured the foul smelling coffee into a little styrofoam cup. He was surprised it didn't melt.
"The world end or something?" He looked up, Beth was smirking at him from the doorway. He blinked a few times, and she flicked her gaze from him to the coffee on the counter.
He shook his head, "Jus' tired."
She let out a short laugh, and flounced in to stand next to him, close enough to smell Coconut Dreams on her. She could probably tell he smelled like lavender today, and he reminded himself to ask her to swing by his apartment on the way back to her place. He wanted his own damn shampoo tonight.
"You know, you could've just asked me to go get something for you." She leaned back against the counter, peering up at him through thick eyelashes as her arm brushed his. Since when had he liked the smell of coconut? His pulse picked up, and he told himself he was really excited about coffee.
"That offer still standin'?" He asked, glancing at the revolting excuse for coffee still sitting untouched on the counter.
Her teeth grazed across her bottom lip as she pushed down a smile and shook her head. He fought off the urge to roll his eyes. "I dunno… I think you're gonna have to drink that coffee, Dixon."
"You wanna tell me why?" He asked, voice low and eyes narrowed though they both knew damn well he didn't mean it.
"Revenge," she said, shrugging nonchalantly. He nodded, kicking himself for throwing her to the wolves the other week. He should've known that would come back to bite him in the ass. She threw him a mischievous smile and he shook his head, reaching around her for the coffee.
He took a long, slow sip, doing his best not to let his face twist in disgust - he'd had worse things in his mouth before, "Happy?" He asked, trying to ignore the burning in his throat.
"Maybe," she said, teeth finding her lip again. He was gonna go nuts if she kept doing that...he was gonna go nuts if he kept thinking like that. The girl was ten years younger than him, and his partner at that - he had no business thinking about her lips.
Rolling his eyes at her he took another sip of the coffee. At least the caffeine content was high. He was starting to wake up a bit "So, what you been up to today, Greene?" He asked, glancing down at her. He was kind of wondering why she was still here - wasn't going for the coffee, or pulling any snacks from the fridge. He'd never claimed to be a captivating conversationalist, so he wasn't sure what was left for her.
"Not much," she said, "Just last minute stuff for the Martin case...you ready to testify?"
"Yeah," he grunted.
"No stage fright?" she teased.
"Pfft," he blew her off, taking a sip of the coffee, "I don't get stage fright. Can talk in front of people just fine."
"Can you?" She raised an eyebrow, and he jammed an elbow into her ribs. She laughed that musical little laugh of hers as she regained her balance, "Jerk!"
He just nodded, holding a smirk in, "What about you, Greene? This is your first trial."
"No it ain't."
"First murder trial," he corrected himself, "It's different when you're tryna find justice for a dead kid, instead of someone's flat screen."
"Yeah…" She said, a nervous little frown tugging at her lips. He was about to reach out for her, a gentle touch that came from lord knew where - the girl was gonna do fine at the damn trial, she was a good detective - when she spoke, "Daryl I need the drug dealer's name."
His hand fell back to his side before it ever closed the distance between them. He wasn't going to do that. If Merle testified he'd get thrown back in prison, and fifteen years on the force hadn't managed to strip him of the little voice deep down that told him Merle was his brother. He was a violent, bitter asshole with more addictions than real teeth (lost more than one in bar fights over the years, Daryl on the other hand, had remained sober enough to remember to duck).
Rick understood that, had understood it from that first night when he'd spoken to Daryl through the bars of the station's one holding cell. If Merle hadn't been so high that he couldn't tell a lamp from Jesus, he might've told Daryl to tell Rick to shove it up his ass. But Merle hadn't been sober enough to say a damn thing, and Rick was a bit more persuasive than he looked. Rick knew they were brothers, and he would let Daryl overlook things when it came to Merle. Said it was good to have him around, Merle might not be a snitch, but he wasn't above a bit of 'brotherly advice' from time to time.
Wouldn't even have known where Martin was hiding out if it weren't for Merle. Felt wrong to throw him under the bus.
Beth must've seen the shadow that fell over his eyes, 'cause that nervous little frown hardened with a stiff lip. "You know my answer to that, Greene."
"Daryl we don't have a solid case without him!" She argued, turning to face him full on.
"We've got a case," he growled, chucking the half finished coffee in the trash, "ain't a damn jury in their right mind who wouldn't put him away."
"Dixon, it don't matter if he gets put away, it matters that he stays away!" She said, fire in her eyes, and he shook her off, stalking towards the door. She followed relentlessly. He was starting to see the side of her that leapt headfirst into a murderer's knees.
"He's gonna stay away, Greene. He killed his damn wife and child!"
"No one saw him do it," she hissed. Eyes started to follow the pair as she practically chased them back towards their offices, "The only person who saw him anywhere near the time of the murder was your fucking dealer."
"He ain't my dealer," he muttered, knowing that wasn't what she meant, but he didn't particularly like the insinuation either way.
"I don't care!" She snapped, "I don't care who he is, I care that we make sure Martin can never get back at the two kids he didn't manage to kill the first time!"
He turned suddenly, stopping her short. She was glaring up at him with pursed lips and a steel that didn't match her porcelain exterior, "It ain't gonna happen. We gotta a good case without him…." He took a deep breath, trying not to get too mad at her, she was just doing her job. Wasn't her fault he wasn't going to tell her he was related to drug dealers who fraternized with child killers...sure Merle had been pissed when he found out what Martin had done, but most people didn't take the time to draw a distinction between Merle and his customers. There was a line, fine as hair, but it was there - and he didn't think someone like Beth was gonna see it.
He shook his head, "Look, Greene, it's gonna be easier if we just leave him out of it." With that he turned towards his office.
"Easier for who?" She caught him by the wrist, "Lily Martin, or you?"
With a growl he shook her off, and slammed his office door behind him.
Daryl Dixon was the most impossible, selfish, infuriating man she had ever had the misfortune to deal with. He could coat himself in as much cedar, and spice, and roguish charm as he wanted - but at the end of the day Beth wouldn't have minded smacking him around the ears. She had left without him, if he wanted to get a cab out here he was more than welcome to come back, but she wasn't going to do him the favor of a ride home.
The door slammed behind her as she kicked off her shoes, and strode into the kitchen, throwing her bag up onto the counter. Maggie watched it all with bemused silence. Her older sister had never taken her anger seriously, said it was like watching some little baby chick - all golden and innocent - squabbling around, screaming murder. The first time she had said that Beth had had half a mind to tell her that chick's beaks hurt just as much the full grown birds, and she'd've known that if she would've spent a damn moment with them.
Maggie had always thought the birds were too smelly.
Her sister's smirk wasn't doing much for her mood, and her next comment didn't help either, "Daryl not coming home with you tonight?"
"He doesn't live here," Beth said, yanking the fridge open.
"Well he's keeping underwear here now," Maggie said with a laugh, taking a bite of what looked like leftover stir fry. Beth just glared at her, not wanting to relive the awkward hell that had been this morning. "So," Maggie said through a mouthful of broccoli, "What's got your panties in a bunch?"
"Dixon." Beth slammed the fridge, not seeing anything particularly appetizing.
Maggie snorted, earning another glare that Beth was sure she just found endearing, "Really?" Maggie asked with amusement.
"He's my partner Maggie, I'm not fucking him."
Maggie just nodded, contemplating, "Really, that's the biggest barrier? Not the boyfriend up in New York?"
Beth shook her head, not dignifying that with a response - though she made a mental note to call Zach, she hadn't done that in a couple days. Maybe she'd just go take a bath, lay down in the hot water and forget Dixon for a while.
Beth was almost up the stairs when Maggie's voice called from the kitchen, the amusement replaced with a familiar, lost tone, "Beth?"
This happened sometimes, little things reminded her of him. Last time it was Beth suggesting they get a New York White pizza, it had been Glenn's favorite. Lord only knew what had triggered her memories, but Beth was duty bound to let the anger slip from her chest and turn back around. Maggie was her sister after all.
"Yeah?" She stopped in the threshold to the kitchen. Maggie was staring half heartedly at a half eaten bowl of stir fry.
"Have you heard anything else about Glenn?" Yeah she should've expected that question...an odd bit of guilt stirred in her gut, and she almost wished a pissed as all hell Daryl would burst through the door and give her an out of the conversation.
"No, Maggie, there haven't been any big developments," Beth said carefully.
"I don't care if they're big or not!" Maggie snapped, setting her fork down with a clatter, "I just need to know something!" Beth opened her mouth, trying to find words to respond, "Have you even been asking?"
"Maggie," Beth began softly, "You know it's not that easy."
"Well it can't be that hard!" Maggie glared at her, tears starting to well in her eyes. Beth suddenly didn't want to be home. She wasn't angry, just tired, and being here was about as exhausting as anything.
Knowing there was nothing she could say to heal Maggie's wounds, that she just needed time and answers that Beth couldn't provide, she shook her head. It was quiet for a long time, "I'm gonna go back to the office okay?" Beth grabbed her bag and started fishing for her keys, "Stuff I forgot to do…"
Maggie's expression softened, realizing she'd been harsher than she needed to be, "You haven't had anything to eat."
"I think Daryl left part of a ham sandwich in the fridge." Beth swung her purse over her shoulder, "He owes me anyways."
She didn't knock on Daryl's closed door to see if he was in or not, instead she quietly slipped into her office, and started working. If Daryl wasn't going to give up the dealer's name, she was going to make damn certain that every other piece of this case was absolutely bullet proof. She was organizing the forensic evidence Stookey had sent her, making sure it would get to Andrea in the most efficient form possible (plus full annotation, courtesy of Eugene Porter who seemed to think his boss's less technical report was nothing short of blasphemy - Beth thought it was a godsend, she didn't want to sift through fifty pages of science jargon), when she noticed someone at the door.
"What are you still doing here?" Michonne asked with a sleepy smile, leaning in her doorway.
"Working," Beth laughed, "You?"
"Same," Michonne looked pretty tired - as tired as Beth felt. She really should get some sleep, but she had so much to do here, and a morose sister that she was helpless to console at home, "I was justing heading out for the night though...unless you need help with anything?"
"No," Beth said quickly, "I don't want to impose. You need your sleep."
Michonne nodded, looking thankful Beth hadn't actually taken her up on the offer, "Everything okay between you and Dixon?" She asked suddenly, and Beth blinked, "Saw your little spat out in the hall this afternoon."
"It's fine," Beth sighed, shaking her head, "just Dixon being Dixon."
"You sure?"
"Don't worry, Michonne, me and Daryl will be just fine," Beth smiled.
"Good," Michonne looked at her pointedly, "You two are solving too many cases to fuck up now." With that she disappeared down the hallway, and Beth listened as footsteps faded, and the elevator dinged. Beth sighed, now that she'd been pulled away from her work she was feeling more than a bit reluctant to get back to it.
Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she stood up. A walk would be good, get the blood flowing again. Maybe she'd break down and brew herself a pot of break room coffee. Slipping down the abandoned hallways towards the break room she noticed an open door that should've been closed. Michonne had forgotten to lock up when she left.
Thinking she'd be helpful, and close her office for her, Beth stepped towards the open door. Michonne really must've been tired, her lights were still on, computer still powered up, files open on her desk. She almost just turned the lock from the inside, flipped off the lights, and shut the door - almost. Something caught her eye though, and she was swept back to moment when Maggie had held her, and admitted she was scared. All those moments when she'd snapped, and reminisced, and held back tears.
Right there on the desk, was Glenn Rhee's face peering up at her.
Sparing a glance down the hall, she slipped into the office, and slid around to look at the file. There were pictures - his APD i.d. photo, crime scene photos that made her stomach turn a bit, more that Stookey must've taken in the morgue. There were Michonne's notes, Rosita's notes, the transcripts from the few testimonies they'd gotten - one was Maggie's - and over all very little that she didn't already know about the case. Glenn Rhee had been hung in his own home, and no one knew why it had been done - just that Glenn had been acting oddly paranoid the last few days he was alive.
Top suspect was a man named Tomas Aziza, whom they had no solid proof on. All they really knew was that Glenn had a lot of people who could've been mad at him - a lot of people who wouldn't shy away from murder. The only thing Beth learned was that for some reason there were a lot of files missing from his computer. Maybe the murderer had done some hacking work too?
Whatever they'd done to get rid of those files, it had the techs completely stumped - no way of retrieving them so far.
She took one last long look at Glenn's smiling face, before settling the file back in its original place. With a sigh, she was about to turn and leave when the name on the file beneath Glenn's caught her eye: Carol Peletier.
Daryl had hoped that Beth would wake him up again that morning, but he hadn't expected it. No he definitely hadn't expected it, she was pissed at him after all - hell, she'd made him find his own way back to her place. So instead of Beth's soft footsteps, he woke to the harsh clang of his phone alarm. Groggy and wishing he could go back to sleep, he stumbled into the bathroom. The shampoo he'd paid the cab drive an extra twenty bucks to go pick up was on the counter.
At least he wouldn't spend the day smelling like lavender. He frowned, Beth was usually up by now, but the shower was dry. She must've been sleeping in.
Stripping down he stepped into the hot water, and let it pour over his bare shoulders. He couldn't help but wonder if Beth was right...no he knew Beth was right...he couldn't help but wonder if he should actually listen to her. He arched his neck back, running his fingers through his hair as the water soaked in. Merle was Merle, and he was going to end up in jail for one stupid reason or another in the long run.
He was stubborn, and he knew that, but she was right. The case wasn't as strong without Merle. Didn't mean he wanted to put his brother in that situation, didn't even mean Merle would agree to testify if they went to him. He sighed, trying to push all thoughts out of his head, just focus on the heat of the water on his back.
He was expecting to hear Beth coming down the hall by the time he got out of the shower. He thought he'd run into her on his way down the stairs. Thought she'd be in the kitchen making breakfast. She wasn't any of those places though, and he frowned, quietly walking back up the stairs.
Softly as possible, in hopes of not having another encounter with her sister, he knocked on Beth's door. Nothing. Ever so slowly, he turned the knob and let it swing open. Nothing. Her room was empty, it smelled like her, and her clothes were strewn everywhere - but the rumped sheets were all that occupied her bed.
He frowned, had she gone into work already...without showering?
"I didn't take you as the guy who liked to watch girls sleep." The voice came from behind him, and he jumped, slamming Beth's door shut. Maggie Greene was staring at him with a pointed gaze and a raised brow.
The back of his neck burned hot, and he glared at her, "Can't stare at a girl who ain't there."
Maggie frowned, "Did she not come home last night?" Daryl shrugged, and Maggie passed him, opening the door to look in for herself, "Was she still working when you left?"
He shook his head, suddenly not liking that he didn't know where she was, "She left before I did."
"No," Maggie said, "She went back to work, after she came home, she went back - said she had things to finish." The woman's lips were drawn into a thin frown as she pulled her phone from her pocket, "She hasn't called."
"Mighta gone into work early," he said, though it came out a bit more like a question.
Maggie just shrugged, frowning into the empty room, "Dunno, she was in a pretty bad mood last night." Yeah that made sense, and it was probably his fault. He sighed, stepping into Beth's room and looking out the window. Her car was gone.
"I'm going to go into the office," he said, heading back into the hall, "she's probably working."
Maggie nodded, "Have her text me when you find her."
Her hair looked a right mess. There were bags under her eyes, and a cup of break room coffee in her hand. It looked like her make up had started to smudge at some point, and she either hadn't notice or was far too tired to care. At least she was here though, here and not wrecked on the side of the highway.
Her gaze briefly met his as he leaned in her doorway. She was hunched over that laptop, staring at it like it was her last link to sanity. He shook his head, she hadn't even come home had she? And from the dazed way she was staring at her computer he didn't think she'd bothered to get any sleep at all.
"You tryna run yourself into the ground?" He asked, voice far softer now than it had been the last time they'd spoke.
"I'm trying to win this case," she replied curtly.
"You been workin' all night?" She didn't respond to that, just stared at her laptop. He took a deep breath, watching her with something that almost felt like worry. When had he gotten to the point that he was worried about Beth Greene? Though, thinking back on the night that Frank Martin had tried to run a knife through her chest, he supposed he might've reached that point a long time ago.
Merle was going to be just fine, he always was. "His name is Merle," Daryl spoke up, and Beth's eyes quickly found his. They looked a little bloodshot, and the pallor in her skin hinted that she could probably use something in her stomach that wasn't the toxic sludge of the break room.
"I'm going to need a last name, Daryl," she said, her voice was tired, but her tone was no longer clipped.
It was all going to come out into the open one day, why not now? He focused his gaze on the pencil holder on the desk instead of her, and he took another deep breath, "Dixon."
Beth wasn't sure what she expected out of Daryl Dixon's brother. Daryl himself was such a contradiction that his brother could've been anything under the sun. She'd already known he was a drug dealer, and stoic Daryl seemed almost ashamed of him, so there must have been some part of her that knew what was waiting for her in that interrogation room. However, she didn't think there was anything that could've prepared her for Merle Dixon.
The first thing she heard was a whistle, long and low, "Didn't tell me you were bringing girls, baby brother." Ice blue eyes raked down her body, and she was overcome by the desire to hit this man.
"Fuck off, Merle." Daryl sent his brother a heavy glare, and Merle grinned back, tongue slipping over his lips as he looked at Beth again.
"And who might you be, sweetheart?"
Beth kept her face straight, "Beth Greene, I'm Daryl's partner."
"Beth," Merle played her name over his tongue as she and Daryl sat across from him.
"Why don't we try lookin' somewhere else huh?" Daryl rapped the table with his knuckles, grabbing Merle's attention. His older brother's gaze snapped from her, and over to him - there was something calculating in Merle's eyes, shrewd. He might not have made anything of himself like Daryl had, but that same cool, intelligence was still there. They were brothers through and through.
A grin spread over Merle's lips, "Mighty protective aren't we, baby brother?"
"Fuck off, Merle," he repeated, sending him a withering look that Merle laughed off. Maybe it was just an older sibling thing, Maggie didn't put any stock in her harsh words either.
"So y'all gonna tell me why I've been dragged all the way down here? We normally do this shit somewhere a bit more comfortable," his eyes went to Beth again, the flirty heat replaced by something cold. Merle Dixon liked strangers about as much as his little brother did, "bit more private."
Daryl looked like he was about to respond when she cut in, "We're here to talk to you about Frank Martin." Beth kept her tone professional, though there was a shortness to it - she was having issues pretending she liked Merle Dixon.
Merle looked to his brother, "Already helped you catch that son of a bitch, told you I was done with him - ain't sellin' to him no more."
"Course you ain't," Daryl snorted, "He's in jail without bond till the trial's done with."
"An' what's that got to do with me?" Merle had slouched back in his seat, head tilted ever so slightly down, but eyes on them - like he was the most intimidating man in the room, but he couldn't really give a shit either way. She'd seen that position before, in this very room, just on her side of the table...now she knew where Daryl had gotten it.
"We need you to testify," Daryl said, and his eyes found Beth's for just a second. For all he had in common with his older brother, there was a softness in those eyes that she didn't see in Merle Dixon. She nodded to him, thankful for what he'd done for her - and for just a moment, she thought the corner of his mouth curled upward.
Merle scoffed, "Brother, you know that ain't happening - this ain't some drugs bust, you can't get me immunity for this shit." Beth frowned, raising an eyebrow at Daryl, he still hadn't told her everything about that night. Merle seemed to sense her confusion, "Courts don't take kindly to selling coke or hiding murderers, darling."
"You hid him?"
Merle shrugged, "He didn't tell me it was his kid - least I could do to help a faithful customer." He laughed, "They ain't so regular when they're on lockdown."
"Merle, we need you up on the stand," Daryl said.
Merle shook his head, "Ain't happenin', baby brother. I go up there, an' I'm goin' back to jail."
"We can work something out -"
"It ain't happenin'," Merle growled low, glaring. He was kind of like a big dog with his hackles up - guarded eyes, and a snarl on his lips.
Beth held back a sigh as the brothers stared each other down. This wasn't going to go anywhere fast...too many stubborn people in one room.
Beth didn't know why she was there, certainly had no idea what she thought she would see this time that she hadn't the last. Nevertheless, there she was, staring hopelessly at week old garbage. Twenty feet behind her two men had been murdered, and she had absolutely no leads. Just like she had absolutely no hope with Merle Dixon.
She and Daryl were known to be hard heads - had iron in their skulls, but Merle...Merle's was laced with titanium. Wasn't a thing in heaven or hell that could get that asinine man to budge an inch. So to relieve her frustrations, here she was, making herself even more frustrated.
Eventually they'd let Merle leave. Daryl hadn't seemed all that happy about it, had gotten cagey, and disappeared. If he was going to run off to do God knew what, she wanted to at least pretend she was useful. So here she was, running her flashlight up and down an empty alley where two killers had been murdered months ago.
Or at least she thought it was empty - a shadow flashed on the back wall, and footsteps whispered over concrete. Her mouth went dry as she remembered the unseen eyes boring into her back the last time she'd been here. Hand inching towards the gun at her hip, she inched down the alley, heart in her throat.
Something rustled again, just out of sight, the hush of breathing from around the corner. Just a few more steps, her heart thudded out an erratic beat as she slid through the darkness - following the thin path flashlight provided. It was whatever laid just outside it's lines that worried her, that made the blood roar in her ears.
It hissed and Beth whirled around the corner, illuminating pale eyes, wild like some feral creature. The woman breathed heavily, pupils wide and dazed as she watched her with animalistic uncertainty. Beth's chest was heaving too, blinking in a daze as they stared at each other. She didn't dare take her eyes off the woman - the nervous snarl pulling at her lips, the dark track marks on grime streaked skin.
"Do you need any help?" Beth asked slowly, carefully, not daring to move an inch. Her thumb still grazed the butt of her gun, concealed under her jacket.
"No," the woman replied quickly, no amount of nervousness erasing her musical, Scottish lilt. Beth spared a glance at the alley behind her, a shanty of cardboard and tarps had been set up against an abandoned looking dumpster.
"Do you live here?" The woman didn't respond, just shifted her weight backwards ever so slightly. Beth took a shallow breath, "Do you have a name?" Once again she was met with silence. Fighting the urge to move, Beth tried again, "Have you been on the streets long?"
The woman's eyes shifted uneasily towards the only escape, the one Beth was blocking, "Three years."
"What about this alley," Beth kept her tone soft and soothing, though her heart was racing, "How long have you been here?"
"Six months." Beth glanced back towards the street, to the spot where her killers had been killed. It had only been since April.
"Do you remember April second?" Beth asked.
"Don't really count days anymore." The woman almost seemed to be shrinking in on herself, eyes bright in the flashlight's glow.
Beth nodded slowly, "Do you remember anything odd happening a few months back? Some men were here that night, up by the road?" The woman stiffened immediately, that animalistic glare lighting a fire in her nerves - suddenly she couldn't stay still. Beth watched her cautiously, waiting for a response. The woman was muttering something over, and over, and over, but she couldn't make out the words. "Did you seem them?"
The muttering got louder, "It weren't me, it weren't me, it weren't me."
"I understand that, ma'am, I just need you to answer a question -" For all her frailty, the Scottish woman was surprisingly quick. Nails raked down the side of her face, and fingers dug into her neck. Beth gasped in pain, yanking the pair of them to ground - hoping to pull the advantage, and maybe a pair of handcuffs. Instead she got a knee to the ribs, and the air was forced from her lungs as the woman clambered over her, slamming her booted foot hard into Beth's cheek bone as she tore down the alley.
The world rang like a bell, and spun round and round - she just laid there for a moment trying to regain her breath and her senses. So far it wasn't working out too good.
The woman's footsteps had long since faded away, but Beth was going to find her, she had to. She was the only lead she had….but first she had to figure out if she could get up.
Merle ignored him, bent over as he loudly rummaged around in the fridge for a beer that they both knew was sitting in the door. Daryl did his best to hold back a groan as he sat at the rickety table in the middle of Merle's kitchen. His brother made decent money running drugs, but he stayed in his trailer all the same - too lazy to get his money laundered, too paranoid to risk a run in with the IRS. Anyways, all that glitz and glam wasn't exactly how Dixon's worked. They weren't fancy folk.
They were stubborn, and set in their ways, and that was the most aggravating thing about them. Even if you were one. Daryl ran his face through his hands - it was late, and he was tired, and he just wanted to crawl into the bed in the room across from Beth's and fall asleep.
He wasn't going to do that though, cause he owed it to a little girl that her father would never come back for her. Lord knew he and Merle might've turned out decent if someone had been there to do that for them.
"You're wastin' electricity," Daryl commented, and Merle sighed, grabbing his beer and slamming the door.
"Them city slickers turnin' you into a tree hugger now too?" Merle smirked.
"Nah," Daryl grunted, "Just tired of lookin' at your ass."
Merle chuckled and took a swig, "Yeah, I bet I know whose ass you wish you were lookin' at."
"Don't you fucking start too," Daryl grumbled, too damn many people seemed to think he wanted in Beth's pants - that he was already very much in Beth's pants. He didn't need his brother on that list, at least the others would shut up about it if he gave them a dirty look. Merle would just laugh.
"I mean if you don' want her," Merle grinned slyly, and Daryl couldn't help the red heat that pooled in his chest.
"No," he said, ice in his voice.
His brother just laughed and leaned back, "Don't worry, baby brother, I won't steal your girly." Daryl decided not to tell him she had a boyfriend, he decided not to talk about Beth at all. As long as the conversation stayed anywhere near her and her big blue eyes, Merle was going to keep dancing around the reason Daryl had driven all the way out here.
"Merle, we need you for this case."
"You've needed me for a lot of things, Daryl. And most of the time I was lounging on a cell bed when you needed 'em - don't tell me your tryna' put me away now?" Merle never lost that goofy smile, though there was something serious in his eyes.
"It's different now," he said, eyes finding the wood grain of the table, "I can take care of myself better than you can."
Merle let out a short, barkish laugh, "So you're retiring me?" He seemed to think it was the silliest thing, breaking out into giggles.
"Ain't retiring you," Daryl rolled his eyes, "This ain't even 'bout me."
Merle quieted, watching Daryl for a long time, "Alright...then who's it 'bout?"
"Charlie Martin was five, Merle…" Daryl didn't think about the bodies he worked with all that often, tried to keep them nice and tucked away. They slipped back to him when he was sleeping, but he was used to it. It was only the childish little faces that really haunted him. He remembered the name of every kid who's case he'd worked: Charlie, Julio, Mary, Jack...Sophia.
Daryl found Merle's eyes, "You know damn well that could've been you or me." Merle didn't have a snarky response to that one, "Frank's still got two more kids, and they ain't lil'shits like we were - one of 'em's just a baby." Daryl let the heavy silence in the air speak for what might happen to the Martin children - he and his brother had felt it more times than they could remember.
Now she understood the stiff gait that Daryl had walked with the other night - getting hit in the face hurt. Especially when you get thrown to the ground first. She could still feel the imprint of the woman's foot on her cheek, the ache radiating down into her jaw. Everything felt swollen, and the scratches that ran from beside her eye to her cheek stung. She decided it would be in her best interest to not look in the mirror for a few days.
Throwing her Camry into park, she dragged herself from the car, and tottered her way up the drive. It was late, already past one, but there were still lights on down stairs. Maggie's room was dark...maybe she'd thought Beth wouldn't want to come home to a dark house. Fumbling with the keys, she finally managed to get inside.
All she wanted to do was lay down and sleep.
"Greene?" The gruff voice called from the living room, and she paused. She'd forgotten Daryl would be here.
"Hey," Beth said, leaving her stuff in the mudroom, and lingering in the hall. She grimaced into the mirror, preferring to see the damage for herself before she saw Dixon's reaction. The swelling felt worse than it looked, but the scratches were nasty, and there was an oblong bruise spreading down her cheek. With a deep breath she stepped into the living room, fully intending to dart into the kitchen, and not deal with Daryl.
She didn't though, 'cause Daryl was on his feet from the moment he saw her, brow furrowed, "The hell happened to you?" He breathed, closing the distance, and gently cupping her chin between his thumb and forefinger - eyes intent on the red marks down her face. His skin felt hot against hers, fingers moving up to trace her bruise.
"Kicked in the face," she said, lips twisting with dry humor.
He shook his head, "And how the fuck did you manage that?"
"Mentally unstable homeless woman from Scotland," Beth said, and there was a moment where she thought Daryl was going to ask. He seemed to think better of it, fingers brushing her throat as he let one hand fall, and brought the other up to her shoulder to pull her into the kitchen. She just tried to ignore the warm feeling that seeped through her chest.
"Daryl!" Beth protested, struggling to move under her own volition as he practically lifted her up onto one of the bar stools.
"You gotta first aid kit?" He asked, ignoring her.
"Downstairs bathroom, under the sink." He was gone for seconds, striding in, box already open as he searched through it. He placed himself in front of her, a step closer and he'd practically be straddling her lap. She breathed in cedar as he unwrapped an alcohol wipe, and dabbed it along the scrapes the Scottish woman's nails had left. She did her best not to hiss, though she jerked back on reflex, and a warm hand moved to cradle her cheek.
"Dixon I'm fine," she said, trying to pull back before she drowned in the scent of wood chips. His hand was like a wall, holding her firmly in place as he cleaned out her cuts.
There was something gentle about Daryl, which was odd - she'd seen him beat armed murderer's to the ground before - but under Detective Dixon, under surly redneck Daryl, there was something sweet in him. She could see that now, in the softness in his eyes as he scanned over her face - looking for more cuts and bruises - she could see what Carol must have seen.
Beth did her best not to let her lips fall into a frown, he'd been through about as much shit as Maggie in the past few months. The way everyone had talked about him and Carol, they were best friends - as good as family...coming in and finding her and her daughter like that. She briefly wondered if he'd cried, it was weird trying to picture Daryl Dixon cry.
His thumb traced over the bruises on her cheek again, and the sensation dripped straight down into her lungs, forcing air to fill the sudden hollow in her chest.
"Remind me not to let you run off on your own anymore," Daryl said, a hint of a smile on his lips as he dropped the wipe into the trash, and stepped back. The smell of him lingered as he crossed to the freezer, pulling out a few ice cubes, and grabbing a paper towel. Had his shoulders always been so broad? She shook her head, chocking it up to the tank top he'd put on for pajamas.
Still, her eyes followed him around the kitchen as he threw together the makeshift ice pack.
"Thanks," she murmured, letting him drop it into her hands.
"You wanna talk about the crazy hobo, or you just gonna leave that hanging?" He asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes as she held the ice up to her cheek.
She shook her head, smiling, "I just wanna go to bed...sleepy. You wanna hear it over coffee tomorrow?" She asked, he nodded, watching her with warmth in his eyes. Slipping down from the bar stool she winced, getting slammed to the ground had left her sore. She had barely made it a few steps out of the kitchen, when suddenly she'd been spun around, and the ground disappeared from under her feet.
"Daryl!" She laughed, as he draped her over his shoulder, and started for the stairs, "Daryl put me down!"
"Too slow, Greene," he teased, strong arms holding her body against his; one hand wrapped around her calf, the other splayed across her lower back. She gave up, going limp, and letting her cheek rest on his back. She was tired and aching, but Daryl was warm, and the lulling motion of his stride was making her eyes droop.
He kicked open her door, and she giggled as he dropped her to the bed. Smiling in the dark she looked up at him, "G'night, Daryl."
"G'night, Beth," he said, voice low and gravelly. He didn't leave as she crawled under the blankets, and fell into the pillows, making sure she was all settled before he left. It wasn't until he'd closed the door that it occurred to her, that that was the first time she could remember him using her first name.
She looked like a little bird perched up on the witness' stand, blonde hair pulled back, and makeup covering the worst of her bruises. It was a stroke of luck that she got her face kicked in the night before the trial. Daryl shook his head, bruises and all she still looked pretty, and innocent, and not at all like someone who spent her time catching murderers.
"And Detective Greene," Andrea had her lawyer voice on, strong and commanding as she paced up and down the courtroom, "You were at the crime scene, were you not?"
"Yes, yes I was," Beth said, not a hint of nerves in her voice.
"And would you mind telling the jury what exactly you saw there that day?"
Beth took a deep breath, glancing at the men and women in the jury box, "My partner and I were called after the police had checked in on a domestic disturbance report. Layla and Charlie Martin were still in the kitchen." Just for a moment that pale look crossed her face, he knew how she felt, "They'd both been shot in the head, Layla's body had fallen over her son's, as if she'd knelt to hold him after he'd -"
"Objection!" Martin's lawyer called out, "Superfluous details."
"Sustained." The judge hit his gavel, and Daryl rolled his eyes. He let his gaze wander from Beth over to the defendant's side of the courtroom. Frank Martin looked nervous, face washed with an unhealthy pallor, and his eyes ringed with dark circles. He knew he wasn't going to win this one - Daryl glanced anxiously back at the door - didn't even have a chance if a certain someone bothered to show up.
"Continue, Detective Greene," Andrea prompted her.
"Layla's face was freshly bruised," Beth started, "There were blood spatters on the floor, the cabinets under the sink...but everything above the counter was clean."
"Can you clarify what that means?" Andrea asked.
"She was beaten before she died," Beth said, the fire in her eyes burning with a cold intensity as it reached her tongue, "Her son was killed in front of her, and then she was shot from above - executed…" Her eyes found Martin's, and he quickly ducked his head, "She was never even given a chance."
Witnesses came and went, the hours dragged on, and still no sign of Merle. He and Beth sat next to each other on the front bench, her body pressed against his. He wasn't going to admit it to anyone, but he was nervous - every minute that Merle didn't show was another minute that Martin could walk - having her close, for whatever odd reason, it kept him from needing to bounce his knees every damn moment.
Dawn was up now, testifying to her past experiences with Martin. He'd almost completely given up, when he heard the door softly creak open, and he glanced back. He almost smiled, Merle had bothered to put on something that didn't have holes in it. His big brother smirked when their eyes met, and gave him a little two-fingered salute. Daryl just nodded in response.
"Is that all, Ms. Harrison?" The judge asked Andrea. Her mouth opened to speak, but her eyes briefly flicked towards him, and she hesitated. He shook his head, nodding towards the back where Merle still stood.
Andrea's eyes lit up, and Beth glanced back, looking even more astonished than him as she saw who it was.
"I have one more witness to call to the stand," Andrea said, gesturing towards the back of the room, "Merle Dixon."
His big brother looked resigned to his fate, walking, all of his own will, up to the stand to condemn himself.
The bailiffs had put the handcuffs on Martin in the end, but as the room emptied, they'd put them on Merle too. He and Beth stood outside the courtroom, listening to idle chatter echo off marble walls, and waited for him to be lead out. It was a relief, knowing that Martin was going to be put away - stay away. He'd been given sixty to life after the charges from two murders, drugs, illegal firearms, and armed assault of an officer had been added up.
The door opened, and he and Beth both straightened. Daryl nodded to the officers following behind Merle, and they let him go - still handcuffed - to say goodbye. Merle smiled, one of the things he'd noticed over the years, Merle almost never stopped smiling. You'd think that would be a good thing till he grinned at you with fury of hell in his eyes. Right now though - Daryl couldn't quite pinpoint what was behind the smirk Merle was giving him.
"Well I did it, didn't I?" Merle said, not sounding particularly happy about it as he glared down at his cuffs, "Make you happy, sweetheart?" Merle's gaze found Beth, and she nodded.
"Thank you, Merle," Beth was smiling, the scratches down her face crinkling painfully, but she looked damn happy.
"This one likes you," Merle said, nodding to Daryl, "You take care of him for me now, darling, you hear?" Merle sent him a shit eating grin, "Darylina ain't ever been too good by himself, nightmares you know - don't sleep too good alone."
Daryl glared hard, he could slap Merle round the head if he weren't in the middle of a courthouse. He got on just fine by himself...he wasn't lying about the nightmares, but he wasn't a damn kid who needed to be coddled. Dreams were just dreams. Beth laughed, not bothered at all by Merle's slightly suggestive comments. He was pretty sure she was too damned pleased with the case to be disgusted by Merle.
"Don't worry, Merle. I've got a good handle on him," she said, leaning over to bump into Daryl. He couldn't help the soft smile as he looked down at her, and her blue eyes, and the brilliant little grin on her face. He couldn't help but blanche when he saw the knowing smile on Merle's lips.
The bailiff coughed, glancing at the clock, "I think that's my cue," Merle said, taking a step back. This wasn't a new situation, it'd been played out time and time again, though normally Merle hadn't needed any of Daryl's encouragement to get himself thrown into jail. "I'll be seeing you baby brother, sweetheart." He nodded to each of them. Daryl just nodded back, they didn't need a chick-flick moment - they were brothers.
He and Beth stood and watched as Merle followed behind the officers, "Ready to go home?" She asked, looking up at him.
That soft smile touched his lips again, "Yeah."
"Hey!" Merle's harsh twang called out, and they both jumped up, "Daryl! You take care of her for me, you hear?" With that, he disappeared around the corner.
"Who's he talking about?" Beth asked.
"I need your help with something," Daryl said, letting his hand find the small of her back, and turning her towards the door.
They'd only been driving ten minutes, it wasn't late, but it had been a long day, and Beth was starting to doze off. She just leaned back, and let the roar of the truck engine lull her to sleep. She didn't know how long she'd been out, but eventually Daryl's voice broke through.
"Greene," he said, shaking her awake, "Rise and shine."
She moaned, squinching her eyes together - it was dark, "Where are we?"
"Merle's place," he said, unbuckling his seat belt, and she did the same, "You know how to drive a stick?"
"I grew up on a farm, Daryl," she shot him a sleepy smile as he hopped out, "I can drive a stick." She hopped out after him, brain a little too groggy to really wonder what was going on, though she was confused.
He handed her the keys, and patted her on the shoulder as he jogged off, "I'll be right back."
Beth waited quietly, trying to make out what she could of Merle's place. It looked like a trailer, it's silhouette dark against the dusky sky. There was junk lying around - the shadows of rusted out car bodies hunkered on the ground. He didn't have neighbors, just trees, and an overgrown field.
It was quiet out in the country, quieter than Atlanta, far quiet than New York. Just the sound of summer crickets and a rare breeze whispering through the grass. She was almost starting to grow sleepier when a loud roar made her jump, a single headlight cut through the darkness as Daryl rolled up on a vintage bike.
"This is she?" Beth asked over the rumbled of the engine.
He nodded, "Merle's baby, I take care of her whenever he gets locked up."
"You got a helmet?" She asked.
"No," he said matter of factly, and she rolled her eyes. Exactly what she expected from him - just that little bit of redneck carelessness.
"Don't crash, Dixon," she said, climbing into the drivers side.
"Don't fuck up my truck, Greene," he shot back, and revved the engine, taking off down the drive. She struggled to get the truck on before he'd completely disappeared, she didn't even know where they were - much less how to get back to Atlanta.
Daryl had refused to let her go alone this time. Instead he'd managed to rummage an old helmet out of his closet, plunked it on top of her head, and stuck her on the back of Merle's bike. Motorcycles weren't the horrifying monsters her father had made them out to be, nestled up against Daryl's back she was actually very comfortable.
She was sure it would've been less than comfortable in work clothes - but a pair of jeans was just fine. The ride was shorter than she would've liked, she was a bit sleepy from the mac and cheese in her belly (Daryl was a surprisingly good cook), and her head fit comfortably between his shoulders.
Eventually the rumble of the engine beneath her began to quiet, and then cut out completely as they came to a stop next to the sidewalk. She swung off first, Daryl following after as they hopped up onto the curb.
"Well this is it," she said, gesturing to the alley in front of them.
"Don't look like much," he said, looking over the entrance. She couldn't help but agree as she flicked on her flashlight, and cautiously lead them down the little strip of asphalt between the Walgreens and the Laundromat. He was sticking oddly close, his scent filling each breath as his bare arms brushed up against hers.
The woman wasn't lurking about this time, if she was there she was being quieter than before.
"Hello?" Beth called out, voice bouncing off concrete walls, "Hello?"
Something shifted, back towards the shanty next to the dumpster, and she felt Daryl stiffen. His chest brushed against her shoulder as she waited for a response, and for a second he thought his hand was about to close around her arm and pull her back as the shadows stirred.
"Hello," the woman said, blinking in the harsh light. She looked nervous, abashed almost. She recognized her.
"How are you?" Beth asked, not moving any closer, though she did push Daryl off a bit. For a guy who normally seemed a bit of a loner, he had very quickly lost all meaning of personal space.
"I'm okay."
Beth started to search through her bag, and the woman's eyes widened, body stiffening, "I brought you something," Beth said, holding out a tin foil wrapped sandwich. The woman took it hesitantly, "Do you have a name?" Beth asked.
"Violet." She picked nervously at the tinfoil, though she didn't open it. It was quiet for a long time, Daryl didn't butt in - she was grateful for that, Violet didn't need his aggressive demeanor right now. "I didn't do it."
"I know that," Beth said, "We have surveillance tapes - whoever did this was a man." The woman nodded, avoiding eye contact, "Do you know who it was?" Beth asked.
She nodded again, and she and Daryl waited breathlessly, waiting till she realized they expected a response, "I don't know his name."
"Does he come here often?" Beth asked, her heart was pounding. It wasn't fear this time, she was on a hunt, and she was getting close. She knew how Daryl felt when he had his crossbow out in the woods, when he could see his quarry through the trees.
"Yes," Violet said.
"Do you speak with him?"
"No," she trailed off, "I hide."
"He killed two men here a couple months back," Beth said, glancing back towards the entrance where they'd died, "He dragged the bodies back here, do you know where he might've taken them?"
Violet didn't say anything, just started walking towards the back of the blind alley she lived in. Beth met Daryl's gaze, questioning. He seemed to be thinking, but he nodded, giving her the slightest nudge forward. It turned out that the blind alley wasn't quite so blind - built into a tall brick wall, was a gate.
The Scottish woman stopped, and turned to face them, "Through here, to the left...you won't miss it."
Daryl didn't seem to like the idea of letting Violet out of their sights, but Beth didn't want to risk upsetting the girl's already imbalanced mood. So she took his hand, and pulled him along before he could protest. It was dark back here, the abandoned courtyard of an old factory that no one had set foot in (legally) for the past forty years.
Violet was right - they weren't hard to miss. Five plots of upturned dirt - some were obviously older than the others, only signified by the slightest rise in the topography. Two were distinctly fresher. She took in a shaky breath, not letting go of Daryl's hand. For just a moment the world was incredibly quiet, and then something crashed in the factory behind them.
He reacted instantly, hand tightening around hers as he tugged her back through the gate, and dragged her to the bike. They couldn't know who was in that factory, but she didn't like the thought of risking it with nothing more than two pistols and a dark alley.
He tossed her his cell phone as he hopped on the bike, "Call Grimes, then we go."
Oh my gosh this took so long to write haha. I hope you all enjoy it! I'm pretty tired, so I'm not gonna put too much effort into the author's note. I'll save my energy for editing so I can post this damn thing.
I hope you all enjoyed, and I hope to hear back from you!
See ya soon!