A/N: Chapter 6 is here! Sorry it's late, this was one of the more difficult chapters for me to write but, oddly, was one of the first passages I began working on and the theme of it is, in part, what inspired me to build the story that I have around it. In other words, I AM VERY NERVOUS TO SHARE IT. Totally understand if anyone has a "WTF?" moment after reading it, questions/comments are welcome, as always! But be assured it's important for the overall story going forward. A bit slow through here, be warned, but filled with Daryl/Beth interaction. Daryl's slowly trying to open up, while Beth is still struggling. Her goal is to survive, because that's what it has to be and what it had to be, before.

I love all of your reviews. They seriously make my day. Love the questions and interest in the plot - one guest reviewer was a step ahead of me with this one. Shout out to Jesspanda, I see you and know you've been here from the start and your encouragement has been awesome for me as a scared first-time author.

Already got a good part of the next one ready and a few days off of work coming up, hopefully I won't overload you all and scare you away!

xx

chapter 6: climb on top your ivory tower

"So, what actually happened to you? I mean, your face. The scars." Laurel, one of the two Alexandrians paired up with Beth and Daryl, was nothing if not blunt. Straight to the point. Beth wasn't particularly offended. Wasn't the first time she'd heard the question, was fairly certain it wouldn't be the last.

The four of them were sitting on the ground surrounding the fire pit from the previous night. Nearly dusk again, Beth had noticed. They were partaking in the squirrels, meat blackened from the fire, that Beth had shot with the crossbow, with Daryl's supervision (and nit-picking, and not overly-constructive commentary), of course.

Beth moved her eyes to the young woman, observing her perfect skin with faint admiration. She was clean, well-fed, pretty even; had dark hair that still held some faux curl, green eyes that held no malice as she asked what was, to be honest, an innocent question. More than anything, Beth was surprised that the other woman hadn't heard the story, or some version of it, as it passed along the grapevine when she'd reached the community and rejoined her family weeks earlier.

Beth kept her gaze on the woman, taking another bite and chewing slowly, trying to come up with the words to tell her that it wasn't something she was willing to talk about. To anyone. Silence was just as well, she figured, and would get the point across. It didn't matter.

Without much thought, she'd lifted a hand to her face, fingering the ridges of the scars formed by the wounds that still didn't seem to be fully healed across her cheek, her forehead. Dipped a finger into the indentation left behind from the bullet that'd ended the life of a girl she used to know; a girl she used to be.

"I mean, ya don't gotta tell me. Just curious. I heard stories from the others, back at home, but I ain't one to believe everythin' I hear."

Beth hadn't really heard her. She was touching her face, her head, focusing on the textures. She closed her eyes and with a deep breath cleared the recesses of her mind. Kept chewing.

Daryl cleared his throat loudly from across the fire. "'Stead of asking stupid fuckin' questions, how bout we come up with a game plan? Saw both o' your asses sleepin' nice and sound last night. So one of ya'lls got first watch. Me an' her," he gestured toward Beth with his hands, still sticky with the residue from his meal, "need'a get some sleep."

He shifted his gaze to Ben, who'd thus far been a silent observer for most of the day and evening. The man seemed scared, timid. Beth had noticed his eyes had widened, a look of apprehension overtaking the entirety of his expressive face.

"Even know what keepin' watch means, kid?" Daryl pressed on, targeting Ben, scoffing when the young man failed to answer. "'Course not. Probably had a nice cozy job ya went to every day. Slept in your nice bed in your nice fuckin' house every night. Lott'a good that did for ya, huh?"

"Daryl," Beth warned, feeling a bit of embarrassment for Ben, knowing all of this had to be intimidating when the only other person in the group with a Y chromosome was Daryl Dixon.

"What?" He retorted, like a child, shifting his eyes to Beth, anger and exhaustion bubbling out of him. "How's this gonna work if we can't depend on them to keep watch so we can sleep? 'Fore we get up and track and hunt and feed 'em and then do it all over again?"

He had a point. A good one, but the picking and projection was unnecessary. It'd just lead to arguments, which would lead to an aching head for Beth. "It's gonna work fine," she responded. "Gonna have to teach 'em a thing or two, but we all had to learn too, in the beginnin'." She turned to Ben. "You got a gun, yeah?"

Ben nodded, same look of apprehension etched across his face. "Yes, ma'am. Ain't had much experience with shootin' one, though." He looked down, embarrassed, subtly shifting his entire body away from Daryl.

"'S'ok," Beth said, leaning toward where he sat a few feet to her right. She held her hand out, gesturing for the gun. She proceeded to show him how to load it, how to remove the safety, how to cock it, how to aim for a kill, which warranted a discussion on the process of killing a walker, adding that should it be a human he saw instead, the same approach applied.

"An' if you aren't sure or ya get nervous, we'll be right here, ya know? It's gonna be okay. We are gonna be okay." Beth said, voice clear with a determination that came out of nowhere. Her words surprised her, and even more surprising was that she actually believed in them.

She could feel Daryl's stare, intense and confusing and questioning and whirling with emotion, from across the fire, where he sat with his knees curled up into his chest, arms hanging down loosely.

xxx

In the end, they'd decided that the safest bet for them all would be for Laurel and Ben to take on first watch together. Ease them in. Daryl had been surprisingly agreeable when Beth had suggested it after they'd finished eating and the last of the light had disappeared from the openings in the trees.

Beth and Daryl sat close to one another, going through their packs, studying the map, not really talking much as the last licking of the flames of the fire burnt out. Both were wary of falling into a sleep that would surely be deep, considering neither of them had slept much in the past several days with the recruiting mission and subsequent disaster that'd greeted them when they'd arrived home.

Ben and Laurel were a few yards away, sitting close to each other with the trunk of a large tree at their backs with a flashlight, which they'd been instructed was to be used for emergencies only, resting in between them. Their conversation had grown softer as the minutes passed and Beth allowed herself to feel some hope that they'd be able to support one another during what she absolutely knew was, at least initially, a very scary job.

Beth dug through her small pack, finding a couple of ratty old blankets she'd taken from her sister's home and spread them out side by side, close to the fire pit.

Daryl seemed tense. He was fidgeting and making small noises, somewhere between a sigh and a grunt, in the back of his throat and reminded Beth of a small child who wouldn't sit still.

He leaned his body backward, still close to Beth, wriggled around and reached into his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. He crossed his legs underneath him as he took one out and stuck it in his mouth. Wordlessly, he'd jerked the pack slightly toward Beth, silently offering her one of her own. She obliged, picking one out and letting it rest between her lips until he handed her his lighter. She set the end on fire, inhaling deeply at the same time.

Daryl side-eyed her, an unreadable expression on his face, hair hanging in his eyes as always. She crossed her legs underneath her, mirroring his position, their knees lightly touching. She ignored his look. She couldn't even attempt to decipher it right now, couldn't deal with the headaches that formed when she thought too hard on any one thing.

"Was brave o' you." His words were a whisper that reached her heart as much as her ears. "What ya did, with Rick an' that whole group o' fuckin' idiots. Was glad ya did it."

She tilted her head toward him, eyes squinted with questions she couldn't form at the moment.

Instead, she went for something that more closely reflected her thoughts, which had nothing to do with bravery, before she'd taken it upon herself to quiet the mob.

"Blame it on the damaged brain." No humor in her voice, but then, there was no sorrow either, no sadness.

The ghost of a smile danced across his lips. "Nah. Did somethin' like that, before. At the prison. Grabbed a gun, fired it just like that, pulled all our heads outta our asses. Had a little bit o' somethin' in ya. Always have."

She closed her eyes tightly, didn't acknowledge his comment. Didn't allow herself to think back to then, to before. Took a long drag and let the smoke she'd inhaled swirl around in her lungs, her throat, before exhaling slowly, looking down at her hands.

"Ya know ya ain't gotta talk 'bout anythin' with anyone," he continued, and she wondered when he'd become the talkative type. His voice hovered above a whisper, his face inched minutely closer to her own. "Don't gotta tell no dumb bitch that don't even know ya what happened. Don't gotta tell me, neither. But if ya ever wanted to, ya know, I'd—"

"Daryl." She cut him off. Kept her eyes closed, shook her head in swift little motions, praying he'd stop.

"Please." It wasn't a question nor a command. It was a plea, a prayer of his own. His voice cracked just a little, and she wondered somewhere in her mind when the last time was that Daryl Dixon had said "please" to anyone.

"Beth, I ain't forcin' anythin' on ya. Ain't tellin' ya what to do. But I—I just know. What it's like. Not talkin' bout shit that's fuckin' with ya. Feelin' like ain't nobody 'round that really gives a shit. An' all I'm sayin' is that I do."

She marveled a little, if she were being truthful, at the honesty of his words. The sincerity. The need for her to know that he was there. That he gave a shit.

And he did. She knew that. Knew it long ago, back in a time that she wouldn't let herself think about. She'd practically had to beat the hell out of him, verbally if not literally, to get him to admit it, but she knew Daryl Dixon. The type of person he was. Still is.

But she just couldn't. Couldn't do this. Not this.

Wordlessly, she tossed her cigarette, smoked to the filter, into the fire pit. Eased the straps of her backpack off of her shoulders. Removed her jacket and then moved her hands to the hem of her shirt. She'd noticed at that moment that it was yellow, her shirt. Not that that mattered.

In one motion, she removed her shirt, lifted it over her head and set it on the ground next to her, leaving her bare on top save for a filthy old bra that was now too large for her but still managed to keep her covered.

She was intent now, decided. She'd give him this piece of the puzzle. Because Daryl, as frustrating and childish and infuriating as he was, hadn't tried to push her. Also hadn't made an effort to talk to her when she'd first returned, about which she'd still felt some pang of sadness or anger or some other emotion that she didn't want to think about, but he'd never asked her anything. He was the only one that hadn't, if she remembered correctly. And despite everything, he still cared. Cared enough to tell her he cared, that he was there. To talk, which was amazing enough itself, or to listen. To share, she'd guessed. Because they weren't so different.

She ignored the choking sound he'd made as he exhaled the last of his cigarette, plucking his lighter off the ground in front of him, sparking it, and letting the flame cast a dim light over her body.

She heard him make another noise, like the sound a grimace or a wince would make if either were actually a sound rather than an expression, but she felt the only pain she was able to feel now in that sound, in his response.

"What the fuck, Beth?" His voice was strained. She felt him leaning closer, letting his mind catch up with all the things his eyes were seeing.

Still wordless, she took another cigarette from the pack he'd placed on the ground, lit it up, and tossed the lighter to the ground. It wouldn't be necessary any more. She took a couple of quick, shallow drags from the filter as he watched, confusion and something like fear evident in his face.

Removing the cigarette from her mouth, lit end blazing and somehow forming a halo of light around the two of them, she pressed the cherry into her abdomen, hearing but not feeling the searing of the layers of flesh.

The smell of burnt hair and skin soon engulfed them, but still she felt nothing. Didn't flinch, didn't make a sound. Knew her face wore a masked expression that was essentially expressionless, as it wasn't the first time she'd done this. Wasn't the worst thing she'd done.

Daryl reacted then, as the smell grew more potent, grabbing the hand in which she held the cigarette and yanking it roughly away from her body.

"The fuck is your problem, girl?" Voice angry, he ripped the cigarette out of her hand and stubbed it out on the ground beside him.

She kept her gaze forward, blinked a few times, wondered if he'd understand soon.

"What the hell was that, Beth?" He asked, growing impatient, angling his head so that he could see her face more clearly.

She shook her head, once, slowly, maybe shrugged a shoulder. No sadness, no embarrassment. Just acceptance. Looked down at herself, connected the scars dotting her front with an imaginary line as she often had. They weren't all self-inflicted. Some she hadn't even known about. She knew her back looked the same, probably worse.

"Couldn't you—" Daryl began but stopped himself sharply, the ideas and accusations and disbelief and anger appearing to roll around in his head, on his tongue. "Beth. Can you not feel anythin'?"

Loaded question, a question she would have laughed at had he been asking her, before. A question she'd actually asked him, in some version or another, once upon a time—though she wouldn't let herself think about that or then or how scared and pissed off she'd felt when she'd asked it, demanded an answer.

Of course she felt. Too much. Always had. One thing that hadn't changed from before. She felt what others couldn't feel, felt it for them if she needed to.

She reached her hand up, tentatively but without fear, and touched the side of his face. She felt the temperature of his skin, hot against her hand. Took one of his hands, guided it to run lightly up the bare skin on the side of her abdomen, intentionally tickling herself with his fingertips, which didn't cause her to laugh or twist and turn and wriggle but instead elicited a reflexive tremble that visibly rippled under his touch. He watched with awe, following the path of her hand on his but, as soon as she released it, snatched his hand back toward his body as if he'd been burnt.

She reached around behind her, dug through her pack again, found her trusty steak knife. Opened one of her palms and stuck the tip of the blade straight down, hard, drawing a dot of blood within moments; stared directly at his face, let him see her reaction—which was, in fact, none at all. Hoped it would illustrate the words she couldn't yet bring herself to say.

He was entranced, eyes lowering to take it all in, to take her—bare in front him, exposed physically and emotionally—in, before rising slowly to again study her hand. She could see the wheels of his mind turning, replaying the scenes, interpreting them, deciding what they meant. What this meant.

He lifted his eyes to hers, squinting, biting his lip a little in a way that indicated he was thinking, in a way that meant, maybe now, he understood. He reached one hand out to cover hers, which was now harboring a small pool of blood, grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket with his other, placing it in the center of her palm and pushing down hard to slow the blood flow.

Seeing her blood on his fingers, his wrist—she knew within her that it wasn't entirely true that she couldn't feel pain. Her brain was now simply more selective with the type of pain she could feel. And at that moment, she felt sorry for herself for the first time since before, wishing like hell to take back the physical pain in return for a diminished number or absence of emotional pain receptors in her stupid, fucked up head. In most cases, physical pain went away, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to rid herself of the pain she felt inside of her right now. The pain that came from all the things she'd seen and done and longed for; all of her hopes and dreams and deepest fears punctuated by the culmination of his silent understanding, violent acceptance, unspoken vow of protection, and unshed tears that he'd never let her see.

Dxxx

Beth awoke when dawn was settling into the woods, when a crisp fog that had no discernible origin had blanketed the earth. Daryl was nearby, sitting with his back to her, head bent down. She heard footsteps approaching and looked up to see Ben and Laurel, who were sporting grins of success.

"Mornin', sleepy heads," Ben greeted them, rolling his shoulders back and forth with a celebratory look on his face, as if he'd just returned from a warzone.

Beth gave the Alexandrians a small smile, sitting up and stretching her arms out above her head, blinking a few times to focus.

"So, uh," Laurel spoke this time. "What do we do now? Switch places for a few hours? Have some breakfast?"

Daryl whipped around, anger apparent on his face. "Now, we fuckin' start walkin'." He reached into his pack, tossing a can of peaches at the pair without looking directly at them, or at Beth for that matter. "There's your goddamn breakfast."

He stood up in one swift movement, gathered up his pack and crossbow, and started walking to the west.

Ben and Laurel looked at Beth expectantly as she packed up the blankets and donned her jacket. "He's rough 'round the edges. But if anyone's gonna get us back together with our family, 's gonna be him." She motioned with her hand, indicating for them to follow her.

"Just a word of advice, though. Knock it off with all the questions."

xxx

A/N Part 2: Watch out, Beth, your faith and hope and all-around goodness is showing...and Daryl can be such an ass, no? It'd be so hard to date such a moody man, but damn I'd try.

Please let me know what you think. Legit shaking as I submit this.