So sorry for the long wait, like I had all the time in the world (I had two weeks off school for snow), I just had writers block. Then I got back to school, and actually had school, but here it is.
I've shortened the fic, I was looking back at the plans and chapter eight was useless so I split up the important plot points into this chapter and what was going to be chapter nine. So now the story will be nine chapters total with an epilogue at the end.
Thank you all so so so so much for the response I've been getting, reading your reviews here and your asks on tumblr always puts a smile on my face, like I can't even tell you how much it means to me that y'all like this. Special thanks to Amber for always being there to help me with this, and just for being awesome in general. And another to Emily, the shoulder holster is for you.
Episode Seven - Close
Beth's alarm went off, and she pulled her blankets closer. She needed to get up, but the blankets were warm and Daryl's couch was soft. Yawning she stretched her legs and arched her back, if she didn't get up now she wasn't going to have time to shower. Phone silenced, and legs untangled from the sheets, she quietly padded down the hall to the bathroom.
She was about to turn on the water when she heard Daryl's door open across the hall. They hadn't been living together long, but she already felt like she settled in. Conditioner rinsed from her hair, she turned off the water, wrapped herself in a towel, and stepped out of the bathroom. Daryl was already there, making a discernable effort not to look at her as they traded places.
So far it seemed as if they'd formed a routine. She got in the shower first, he started making breakfast. Then she got dressed, finished up breakfast by the time he was ready to go. They ate, they walked down stairs, hopped on the bike or in the truck, and left. Honestly, she was happy here. Other than one incident of oversleeping, apparently Maggie was doing well too. Everything had worked out for the best.
Thirty minutes later breakfast was on the table (toast, eggs, and some grape fruit she'd picked up at the grocery store), and all she had to do was find her shoes.
"Looks good," Daryl said as he sat down, hair still slightly damp. He started shoveling eggs onto his fork, they didn't have a lot of time to eat. It was already five thirty, and they needed to leave in ten minutes.
"You made most of it," she commented through a mouthful of toast.
"Yeah, s'why it looks good," he said with a wry smile, and she flicked a piece of egg at him. The more time she spent with him, the more she was coming to realize just how innately sarcastic he was. His humor was dry, but he was a good roommate, actually kind of better than Maggie, he was cleaner.
They didn't have long to eat breakfast, and as Daryl's phone started to buzz across the table, she had the sinking feeling that what little time they had was going to be cut short. She saw the name on the screen before he picked up, and knew she was right, it was Rick.
"What's up?" Daryl asked, pausing as Rick started talking. It was a long time before Daryl replied, he was listening carefully eyes flicking up to look at her every once in a while. "We'll be there in twenty."
"Murder?" She asked, taking her half finished plate towards the trash. Cold eggs wouldn't taste any good later.
"Yeah," he said gruffly, and she dumped them. He followed suit, and pretty soon they were tugging on shoes and strapping guns to belts and running out the door. She hadn't thought to check the weather today, and it was still too dark to really see out the window, so the rain was a bit of a surprise. They didn't have time to go back though, so mourning her hair, she dashed out into the street, Daryl on her heels.
"C'mon!" He waved her towards the parking deck, "We're taking the truck!"
They were practically soaked through by the time they made it to the dimly lit deck, it was surprisingly chilly, and she did her best to suppress a shiver, but it didn't work all that well. Daryl glanced down at her, concern in his eyes, and before she even had the chance to protest his jacket was off and around her shoulders. It was warm, and smelled like him, and right then she decided to ignore the part of her that wanted to insist she give it back.
"Thank you," she said sincerely, giving him a shy smile.
"Don't need you getting sick," he said, pulling the keys from his pocket.
"I'm not gonna get sick, Daryl," she brushed him off. He was turning out to be a bit of a worrywart, which was odd, because no one else seemed to think he was like that. Of course no one else was living with him.
"Uhuh," he muttered, unlocking the car and sliding into the drivers side, "That's why you look like a sheet, cause you ain't getting sick." She blinked, she wasn't that pale today was she?
"I feel fine." He just 'hmphed' in response as the engine roared to life, and the a/c started to blast. She pulled the jacket closer, getting a fresh wave of cedar as he flicked off the fans. The headlights and windshield wipers were turned on, and in comfortable silence they drove off into the rain. Warm, and wrapped up in Daryl's jacket, she could feel her eyes starting to grow heavy again and she leaned back against the headrest. They hadn't had time for coffee yet.
She could hear Daryl shifting in his seat, feel his gaze burning into her cheek from time to time. Opening one eye, just barely, she caught him with his thumb between his teeth, "What is it, Daryl?"
"Huh?"
"Did you want to say something?" She asked, sitting up. They were going to be there soon anyways. He looked genuinely surprised, and she couldn't help but smirk a little. She was figuring him out.
Apparently he'd decided to shake it off, "The case...It's, it might be a bit difficult for you."
"Daryl, last week I got a dismembered body dropped on my head, I think I can handle it." She could see the police lights flashing just up the street, a nice suburban neighborhood that seemed friendly. She hoped it wasn't kids, but she'd seen that before, hell that was her first case. He looked like he was about to say something, but they were pulling up to the curb and they had a job to do. She slipped out of the jacket and handed it to him.
"You don't wanna keep it?" He asked, glancing at the rain streaming down the windshield.
She laughed, "No, no I'm not giving them anymore ammunition."
He blinked, "Ammunition?"
"You know...I can't just walk around in your jacket. They'll think...well they already think -"
"That we're together?" He asked, and for some damnable reason her heart fluttered. She wasn't going to let her own emotions jump on the boat of people egging her towards something that could never happen. They were partners, and she'd only just broken up with Zach, and she was emotional and confused. He was Daryl, not her boyfriend….just Daryl.
"Yeah."
Those bright blue eyes were staring straight into her, and it was quiet except for the rain, "C'mon, Greene."
They ducked under the yellow tape, not needing to stop to check in with the officer on guard. It was just Gorman, he knew who they were. The garage was open, its white light shimmering over the wet driveway. Officers were milling about, and a young brunette woman was sobbing hysterically as Dawn tried to calm her.
"The body?" Beth asked Officer Bello, and they were pointed towards the garage. That's when she saw him, and suddenly she knew what Daryl had meant by this case would be hard.
The man was swinging ever so slightly in the breeze, suspended from the rafters by a length of rope. His toe kept brushing into his mercedes, tapping out a little beat each time he swayed back and forth. Daryl's hand brushed against hers, and she fought the urge to take it. She could feel his eyes on her, but she kept her gaze glued on the dead man.
"Hangings are always the worst huh?" Dawn asked, coming to stand next to them, "This one's a bitch too, been scouring the house for hours. All we've been able to figure out is that he didn't do it himself."
"Oh we should totally go clubbing!" Amy squealed, grabbing Maggie and Beth's arms in excitement. The sisters both cringed, Amy had a tight grip. Beth's best friend hadn't flown back home with Zach, she'd decided to stay in Atlanta to fulfill her 'best friend duties' in the aftermath of the break up. Normally that would have entailed sleeping in the same bed, eating icecream, and watching rom-coms all night; but now she lived with Daryl, so Amy had been crashing with Andrea.
"No." The sisters spoke at the same time.
"Oh come one it would be fun!" Amy protested.
"I have work," Beth said, though she wasn't sure if she would've wanted to go clubbing in the first place. She'd just broken up with Zach, and random sweaty guys just didn't sound appealing to her.
"My husband is dead," Maggie said, deadpan, and Amy and Beth both stiffened for a moment. Until they realized Maggie was smiling, she'd made a joke. A dark, dry, sarcastic joke, but it was a joke. Glenn would've been proud of her, she really was starting to get better.
And that was why she'd been worried to talk about work around Maggie the past few days. Whoever killed Glenn had killed again, Beth was sure of it, and she didn't want to see Maggie spiral back down in anger and obsession. Her sister needed to move on. If Beth caught the guy, she'd tell her, but right now she was so close - she didn't want her sister to have to deal with another blow like Aziza.
"Fine," Amy grumbled, "No clubs….we could go see a movie?"
"I still have to be at work in the morning," Beth said.
"I never said it had to be a late movie." Amy hitched her bags up higher on her arms, they'd been shopping most of the afternoon - deciding to take advantage of Beth's day off - and Amy had always been fond of spending money. Dentistry made a good bit more than catching murderers did.
She honestly wasn't sure how she was going to find a decent apartment she could afford right now, Daryl's wasn't bad, but he had seven years of seniority and raises bolstering his salary. She would be lucky if she could rent a closet in the city, and she really didn't want to suffer the same commute Rick did every morning. The fact that she had Daryl right now was a Godsend...she didn't like the look of the closets she'd found on craigslist so far.
"It's starting to get a bit late," Maggie commented, "Maybe we could swing by somewhere, grab some dinner."
"I have one more thing I need," Beth said, taking a left at the crosswalk.
"Bethy, I'm tired of walking," Maggie whined.
"It won't take long," Beth brushed her off, "It's just a couple blocks."
Maggie grumbled for all two of those blocks, something about not wearing the right shoes for this. There was a cute little Greek place not far from here, Maggie would shut up as soon as she got her hands on a gyro. Beth needed to do this.
Neither one questioned why she needed to go into a gun store, she was a cop, and as far as they were concerned she could've needed anything from a cleaning kit to a new glock. However, they did start to look a big confused when she began going through a rack of leather shoulder holsters - men's shoulder holsters to be specific.
"Beth…" Maggie started, "You sure those are gonna fit you?"
"It's not for me," Beth said, thumbing through the different colors of leather. She thought one of the nice dark brown ones would suit him, but Maggie did have a point about size...his shoulders were ridiculously broad. Picking out one that looked like it could fit him, she took it down off the rack. She'd just have to keep the receipt, he could always return it.
"Oh," Amy smiled, "So this is for Daryl."
Beth pushed her shoulder, "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?" Amy asked coyly, and Maggie started giggling. It was all Beth could do not to glare at them.
"Like we're together or something," Beth didn't know how to deal with everyone's insinuations anymore, cause for some reason they'd made butterflies start flipping circles in her stomach. So maybe she did have a crush on Daryl, but it was a crush, it was silly and unreciprocated and against regulation. It didn't mean anything. "This is just...just a thank you gift for letting me stay with him."
"Uh-huh," Amy didn't sound like she believed her.
The fact that dead bodies were always so pale had been disconcerting, but slowly she'd gotten used to it. She just avoided looking at the point where the pale skin turned dark black with pooling blood. It was just the little details that continued to make her grimace. The blood in his back; the thick, straight bruise around his neck; the heavy ones across his cheek... the scrawling cursive tattoo on his ribs that said his wife's name - Lena. Little details that made the bodies more than just pale corpses on the table.
"It was definitely murder," Stookey said, pulling on his gloves as he walked around the body - Christopher McKinley - and traced latex fingers across his bruised throat, "He was strangled before he was hung, if this were suicide the contusions on his neck would be v shaped, not straight."
"We got any prints?" Daryl asked, "Guy would've had to man handle him up into the noose, wouldn't he?"
"No," Stookey shook his head, looking more excited than anything as he moved around to Christopher's head, "but, if you look here…" he plucked something from the back of the man's neck and held it up for them to see.
"That hair?" Daryl asked, squinting.
"No, no it's a fiber, from a glove. The murderer was wearing gloves." Stookey grinned.
"Well, what does that tell us?" Beth's brow furrowed.
"Our murderer is fan of polyester blends," Eugene piped up from his station at the back, not looking up from his microscope.
"That sure does narrow it down…" Beth muttered, glaring at that one black thread. Everything itched, crawling under her skin as she tried not to show her frustration. They were close, they were so so close to finding him. The man who had thrown her life upside down, who had destroyed Maggie's, and now a girl named Lena McKinley.
"So, what you're sayin' is we ain't got shit?" Daryl asked, looking almost as tired as her.
Stookey took a deep breath, grin faltering a bit, "Yep."
"Great," Daryl growled.
Beth took a deep breath, she just needed to keep a clear head on this. She'd find the killer, she just had to keep looking.
"So where's Mamet?" She asked, trying to put her mind to something that wasn't the overwhelming frustration.
"At home." Eugene sounded rather bitter.
Stookey glanced down at the body on the table, "He left right about when this guy came in, said his stomach was bothering him." Stookey shook his head, pulling his gloves off, "Poor guy doesn't handle stress well."
"The hell's he stressed for?" Daryl asked, "Just another body."
"Well I thought he just had a bug -" Stookey started, but Porter cut him off.
"It's stress, he's doing the nail picking thing again."
Beth wasn't exactly sure why she felt like she needed to spend her lunch break on Milton Mamet, but here she was, parking Daryl's truck in front of the pale yellow apartment complex. She liked Milton, he was awkward, but he was sweet. Stomach flu or otherwise, she oddly felt worried about him. Daryl said she was nuts, and Milton wasn't going to want her hanging around while he puked his guts out, but she thought she should say hi. Just check if he needed anything - he lived alone after all.
He'd let her borrow his truck anyways, she almost never took her car to work anymore. Locking the rusty old door behind her, she set off down the pathway to the E building. She'd never been to Milton's place before, but she knew his address. In fact after the arm incident she'd forced both Mamet and Porter to give her their addresses. She figured if anything like that happened again, she should be able to get revenge.
Milton's apartment was E6, six flights of stairs up to his door. Six long flights, but she made it...she was slightly out of breath, and questioning the italian hoagie she bought for lunch, but she made it. With a bright smile she knocked, and waited as someone rustled about on the other side of the door.
"Beth?" He asked as the door slid open, "Beth? What are you doing here?"
"Stookey said you were sick, thought I'd stop by...see if you needed anything." It was weird though, because he didn't really seem like he needed anything, he didn't even seem sick at all. A little pale maybe, but that wasn't exactly a big change.
"Oh...oh I'm - I'll, I'll be okay...thank you." He moved to close the door.
"Are you sure?" Beth pressed.
"I'm -"
"Milton?" Someone called from inside, "Milton, who's at the door?"
Beth's brow furrowed, "Do you have a girl over?" She was going to have to tell Daryl about this, Milton Mamet cut work to be with a woman. Oh gosh, he'd die laughing. It wasn't even the fact that Milton had a girlfriend that was amusing, it was that he felt the need to skip work. He spent more time with the dead than the living.
"N-Yes!" He seemed kind of conflicted on the matter, "Yes, I do!"
"So you have a girlfriend?" Beth broke out into a brilliant grin. She was happy for him, really, kind of amused by how awkward he was about it, but happy for him. Milton seemed to only be getting paler, and she couldn't help but laugh, "Don't worry I won't tell Stookey."
"Thank you," Milton mumbled, slowly shutting the door.
Daryl was going to love this.
He took a long sip of his beer, enjoying the warm sensation spreading out from his belly. Maybe he should've been keeping a clear head, they were at home, but they were still going over evidence. Still, it had been a long day, and he was tired. He was only having one, one would hardly get him tipsy.
"There's still Chinese food in the fridge!" Beth called from the kitchen.
"That's fine!" He called back, throwing his feet up on the coffee table. She slid back into the room, stocking clad feet easily sliding across the hardwood as she balanced a bunch of white cartons in her arms. She watched them intently, as if willing them to stay put. His lips quirked up, she was cute.
They hadn't bothered to take off their work clothes, just loosened them. Jackets were sprawled across the armchair, shoes piled at the door, his tie loosened, the top buttons of her blouse undone. She crouched down, letting the cartons settle on the coffee table without kung pao chicken getting everywhere, and then she looked up at him and smiled, and he could swear the beer started to burn like liquor in his gut.
Not good, Dixon, he scolded himself, and tried to think about the lude comments Merle would make. Or worse, the look on Rick's face if he found out he was fraternizing with his partner. He kind of wondered when the question had switched from if he even liked Beth Greene, to if he could make himself stop looking at her. Damn, he was really starting to regret that beer.
"So?" She asked, flopping down next to him, and the fire burned again as he got a fresh wave of coconut, "What've we got?"
"Shit," he grumbled, grabbing for the sweet and sour chicken as he used the other hand to pull up some files on his laptop. She was close, their thighs and arms pressed together. Christopher McKinley's face popped up on the screen, and his breath caught as her chin nestled into the crook of his neck as she tried to get a better look. He could feel her breath against his throat, and he swallowed hard.
Shouldn't have had that beer.
"Pulled some info on our victim," he said, scrolling through the pages, "but still don't know a damn thing about the murder."
"Just like Glenn…" She said softly, and he turned his head as much as he could without pressing his cheek to her face. He couldn't really see her face, but he could guess what expression was on it. Glenn had been family, she wanted to find his killer. He had a feeling Glenn had been looking for his killer before it got him strung from the ceiling...he hated to say it, but he would be okay with letting the guy go forever if it meant he didn't have to find Beth swinging in his bedroom one day.
"This guy was an official," Daryl said, "Government stuff. For the most part looks like he took care of finances for The Governor's office, other shit up in the capitol building."
"So what got him killed?" She asked, and he shrugged.
"Dunno, money'd be a good answer. Lotta people will do a lotta shit for money."
"So, what? We're down to half the politicians in the state?" She sounded like she didn't even know where to start, neither did he.
"Yeah," he grumbled, "Maybe some feds too, big corporations, campaign donors."
"Give me that," she said suddenly, fingers warm against his as she took the beer from him, and drank, "I'm gonna need this."
He let out a short bark of laughter as she settled back against him. He could feel every little shift of her body as she got comfortable, as she brought a hand down to the computer on his lap, as she left that hand burning against his stomach. You're in some deep shit, Dixon. He kept himself in check, not bringing his arm up to cradle her shoulders, or resting his head against hers as much as he wanted to. She stayed like that as they talked over the case, touching him with such nonchalance - she couldn't know what it was doing to him.
Maybe what everyone was saying about them was right, at least on his end, but there was no way in hell he was gonna let them know it. Nothing could happen between him and Beth Greene.
"Hey," she slapped his chest lightly, "Almost forgot!" She jumped up, leaving his right side feeling awfully cold, "I got you something while I was out yesterday!" She slipped and slid her way across the hardwood, giggling, and he couldn't help but smile at her. She disappeared into the kitchen, and a few seconds later was back carrying a gift bag, "I hid it under the sink." She sounded proud of herself as she sock skated up to him and set in his lap.
"The hell'd you get me a present for?" He asked softly.
She shrugged, "Dunno, you're kinda letting me live here. Figured I'd get you something." He looked at her long and hard, he'd be damned if he ever figured this girl out, "Go on!" She grinned, "Open it."
Desperately hoping his ears wouldn't turn pink or some shit, he gently pushed aside the tissue paper, and pulled out the dark leather straps. His brow furrowed as he looked at it, was that a -
"It's a shoulder holster," she said, smiling, "Here, get up." She jumped to her feet, dragging him along with her. He blinked as she took the gift from his hands, and leapt up onto the table behind him, careful not to crush their dinner. "I hope it fits right, I didn't have your measurements, and your shoulders are so broad I wasn't even sure they'd have something in your size."
She thought his shoulders were broad?
He suppressed a shiver as her hands brushed against his shoulder blades, his arms, his back, helping him slip into the leather. She slid her first two fingers under the straps, running them up and down his back, and he felt fire shoot up his spine. He knew it was the beer, but he was having a hard time not turning around and grabbing her, pulling her close. He couldn't do that though.
"How's it feel?" She asked, "Too tight?"
"Nah, it's good," he managed to get out through a tightening throat, he could feel his heart in his chest. Control yourself, Dixon.
Her arms slid over his shoulders, chin resting on the top of his head as she hugged him from above.
"Good," he could hear the smile in her voice, and he almost regretted that she pulled away from him, stepping off the table. He let out a breath, it was for the best. He didn't need to be getting himself involved with Beth Greene. Still, there was a part of him that wanted to reach out to her, pull her to him...he needed to stop drinking when she was in the house.
The buzz of his phone in his pocket was almost a blessing, "Dixon," he answered it, watching Beth struggle with her noodles.
"Daryl, it's Rick….we've got Aziza."
Beth was getting frustrated. It was late, and they'd been at this for hours. It didn't matter what they did or said, how high Daryl raised his voice, or how cold his stare was - Aziza didn't break. He didn't move, didn't flinch, hardly even looked at them, and he certainly didn't talk.
From reports she knew Aziza was a hit man. They'd managed to find who hired him for the Dolgen brothers, and that bastard was currently walking around on bail till his trial came up in a few months. Still, there were three other bodies sitting in the morgue who hadn't found justice yet. John O'Connell, Stacy Mayer, Marissa Compton - a drug runner, a secretary, and a watchdog. She didn't know if they were connected, if there was any way they could be connected, but if they weren't that meant there were three more people she needed to put behind bars.
"We can offer you a settlement," Beth said, "A gentler sentence, avoid the death penalty."
Aziza didn't respond.
"We just need names," Beth continued, watching him intently. Still, he didn't move an inch. Just three people, sitting quietly in a room as they waited for words that would never be spoken. Aziza wasn't going to crack.
There was a knock on the door, and Beth and Daryl looked up. She grimaced a little bit, she didn't have the slightest clue why, but she'd been feeling kind of sore today. She had chalked it up to sleeping weird, but it hadn't been going away. Karen peeked her head in through the door, not paying a bit of mind to Aziza.
"Beth?" She asked, "Can I borrow you?"
Beth glanced at Daryl and he nodded, "I'll be fine here."
"What's up?" Beth asked as she closed the door behind her, leaving Daryl alone with Aziza. Karen didn't pull her out of interrogations often, but when she did she usually had something good. Case solving good, and Beth couldn't be happier. She wanted to be done with this man for good.
"We got Aziza's computer."
"Anything useful?" She asked as they headed towards the elevator.
"He kept everything pretty clean, but I managed to pull back some emails," Karen said as the doors slid shut behind them, "I don't have time to look through them, and they're pretty heavily encrypted, but I thought you might find something useful."
"Since when do you not have time to play with computers?" Beth asked with a giggle.
"It's me and Tyreese's anniversary," Karen said, smiling, "He's taking me out to dinner, already got the kids having a sleepover at grandma's, I thought I heard something about a pinot de grigio in the cabinet. "
"Mmm," Beth moaned, "I haven't had a good wine in a week now. All Daryl keeps in the house is beer."
The elevator dinged, and they stepped out, "Really? I always pegged him for like one of those guys who had a glass of dry scotch every night or something."
Beth giggled, deciding she shouldn't tell Karen about the moonshine,"He has some whiskey I think, but it hasn't been opened yet...still not quite wine."
They closed the door to the tech lab behind them, and Karen lead her over to Aziza's laptop, opening it up. The home screen was generic, just the normal green hill and blue sky. There was nothing personal on it from the looks of it, he kept things very business oriented. He was the real deal when it came to assassins, and he was good at not getting caught.
"I can't let you take the computer from the lab, but I'll print these off before you go," Karen said, pulling up the emails.
"Thanks," Beth smiled, "You and Tyreese have fun, alright?"
"Oh we will," Karen smiled suggestively, and Beth rolled her eyes as the first sheet whirred out of the printer. Karen grabbed her keys and waved goodbye, slipping out the door, and leaving Beth to wait for a well over a hundred page print job to finish. She stood, watching nameless email after nameless email shoot out into the tray.
One name caught her eye, and she jumped as it was quickly covered in more and more sheets of paper.
Glenn Rhee. He'd gotten an email about Glenn Rhee.
Beth had looked on edge when he finally gave up with Aziza, meeting her in her office. She'd had a stack of papers in hand, reading intently. She'd been coughing too...he'd noticed she'd been kind of weezy earlier, pale, but now he was sure she was starting to get sick. He'd been worried when he left her on the couch, and headed off to bed.
Now listening to yet another hacking cough, he gave into the nagging feeling that told him to go check on her. He'd expected to find her curled up on the couch trying to sleep, they had work in the morning, but when he opened the door he was surprised to see the light was on.
"Beth?" He called quietly, stepping out into the living room. She was on the couch, a feverish sheen to her eyes as she glanced up at him, and back down to that stack of papers. She coughed again, tiny frame shaking, and he shook his head. The girl had gotten sick fast...she needed to be sleeping not working. "Beth, you need to go to bed."
"I can't." Her voice was hoarse from coughing. With a sigh she turned the page, not giving him a second thought.
"Beth." He tried to sound somewhat threatening, but he was sure he just sounded like a worried hen. She didn't look good.
"I can't!" She insisted, "I have to keep -" she yawned, "I have to keep reading." Slowly, he approached the couch, and bent down to slide the papers from her hands. She held firm, not letting go, "You don't understand!" She whined, yanking them back towards her chest.
If the Greene sisters were anything alike when they were sick, he could only assume why Beth had been so annoyed with Maggie that whole week. He cringed as it dawned on him he was going to have to deal with it now.
"Karen gave these to me!" She said, though he still didn't have a damn clue as to what these were.
"Beth you need to sleep."
"No!" She jumped up suddenly, letting the papers fall to the cushions, "Don't you get it? I'm close! I'm so close!" She coughed a few times, and he stood, kind of worried she'd topple over or something, "The emails, they're there, they're all there! John, Stacy, Marrissa, their killers all emailed him! McKinley, Glenn! It's all right there I just...I just…" She coughed and swayed, and he rushed forward wrapping his arms under hers just as she stumbled back.
"Alright," he murmured, "C'mon, up we go."
She protested, but he ignored her, hooking an arm under her knees and lifting her off her feet. She was warm against his chest, wiggling and kicking, but warm.
"Daryl! Daryl put me down!" Her voice was tired, and she didn't sound like she really meant it - struggling just a bit more as he carried her off down the hall. It didn't take long for her to give up, growing heavier in his arms as she dropped her forehead to rest against his neck. She was sick, needed a decent bed. Wouldn't kill him to take the couch for a few nights.
He had to kick open his door before he laid her down in his spot on the bed, and tucked her in. The fevered light had been replaced by a slow burn, she looked tired as her chest heaved with another bout of coughs. He hated to leave her alone right now, but what else could he do?
Trying to ease his own worries he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. He frowned, she was burning up. Cursing himself for not owning a thermometer (he almost never got sick), he stood up.
"Daryl -" she moaned, and then mumbled something unintelligible.
"Be right back, Greene," he said, "Gonna go find you some Tylenol."
A few minutes later he was back with a glass of water and a couple little red pills. She mumbled something again, and he couldn't help but smile a little. She was cute, he was worried she was going to keel over or something, but she was cute. He helped her sit up, one hand splayed across her back as he handed her the pain killers. She took them, and he set the glass down, and stood up.
The couch wouldn't be half bad, he'd bought it to be comfortable with Merle in mind. His brother had had a habit of crashing with him when he wasn't in jail.
"Daryl," she muttered his name again, and he paused, watching her carefully, "Daryl," she said his name again and then something else he couldn't make out. He blinked as she reached a hand out, fingers catching in his sweat pants, "Don't go."
He laughed softly, "Where the hell you want me to stay, Greene?"
"Here." She was dead serious, "Maggie always slept with me when I was sick."
"I ain't Maggie." He didn't need to be sleeping with Beth Greene, already had enough problems as it was. Already couldn't get her out of his head, already was smelling coconuts everywhere he went. He didn't need to go and crawl into bed with her too.
"Daryl, please," she groaned, looking up at him with big puppy dog eyes, still bright with fever. He couldn't say no to her.
"Scooch," he grumbled, pulling up the covers and sliding in next to her. He could do this, it wouldn't be bad or anything. He was just sleeping next to her, that was it, just two adults sharing a bed. That small sense of false ease was shattered as she rolled over, pressing her nose into his chest, little fingers gripping his shirt.
He could feel fire on his skin in every place their bodies met, his leg going up next as her shin pressed against his.
"Thank you," she whispered, nuzzling closer to his chest, "Daryl." His heart beat harder as she said his name, and he just prayed she was too out of it to notice the thumping right next to her head. Gingerly, not even knowing why he was letting himself do it, he slid an arm around her waist holding her to him.
What the hell had he gotten himself into?
Her vision was blurry when she woke, and her head was pounding, and despite the warmth of arms around her she was cold. It took a moment for it to register that Daryl's chest was pressed against her back, soft breath tickling down her neck, nose in her hair, arm around her waist. I took another moment for it register that she liked it. He felt warm, and solid, and she felt like she could lean into him and fall back asleep and everything would be fine.
A cough shook her body, and he groaned, chest rumbling against her as shifted. She didn't want to wake him, so trying to hold back the itch in her throat, she gently pulled his arms from around her and got out of bed as quietly as she could. He stirred, but he didn't wake, and she sighed in relief.
There was a bottle of Nyquil on the end table, one that hadn't been there when Daryl carried her in here. He must've broken down and made her take it in the night, she smiled softly, she couldn't even remember. Everything hurt as she dragged herself into the bathroom, suddenly feeling even heavier than before.
Maybe she should've tried to find the Dayquil, instead.
She just wanted to get in the shower, turn it on as hot as she could, and hope the steam would clear her out a bit. The water was hot, didn't do much for the headache, but her muscles started to relax and the shivers began to fade. Her eyelids were drooping farther and farther though as she slowly lowered herself to the ground, maybe she'd just sit in the shower today.
Ten minutes later she turned off the water, but she didn't stand. It was warm in behind the curtain, she didn't want to feel the cold air, or quite frankly stand up. Instead she closed her eyes. It was only for a minute, she could've sworn it was only for a minute.
Somehow though, the shower curtain opened, and she wasn't the one opening it. She screamed suddenly very awake as she scrambled to cover herself. Daryl yelled jumping back, stumbling over his pile of clothes, and that's when she saw them. In all the time she'd been working with Daryl, been staying with Daryl, living with him, she'd almost never seen him without a shirt on. She'd certainly never seen his back.
Scars, thick, straight, meticulous scars. The kind you didn't get from a bad run in with your neighbor's dog, they were old too - one partially covered by the demons on his back. She only saw them for a second, just long enough to get an idea about how they'd gotten there, before he whipped around. There was a burning in his eyes she hadn't seen since the night they'd gotten drunk on moonshine.
"Get out!" She struggled to stand, not even thinking about the fact that they were both naked as he roared, "Get out!"
It didn't take long for her to slam the door behind her.
She'd seen them. She'd seen his scars. Trying not to growl he turned on the shower with a harsh tug, almost grateful that all the hot water was gone. Everything was burning, he could feel the flush that crept from his cheeks down his neck. Groaning he let the freezing water pelt over his scars, and leaned into the wet tiles of the wall.
He shouldn't be angry at her, he wasn't angry at her...he knew that. It wasn't about her. It was about the marks his father had left him, the part of his past that he hadn't told anyone, that, if she had half a brain, she now knew. He wanted to yell, he wanted to throw his fist against the wall, he wanted to kick something. He couldn't though, cause then she'd hear him, and it would be an even bigger deal than he'd already made of it.
Or worse he'd fall and she'd have to come pull him out of the shower naked, scars and all. A bitter smile twisted up at the absurdity of it.
He hadn't taken the time to look at her eyes, it was the worst part. The part he didn't want to see...pity. Cloying questions, and simpered sympathies, and those goddamn blue eyes looking at him like he needed to be fixed or some shit. He already had Dale picking his head apart twice a month, he didn't need her doing it too.
He only stayed in as long as he needed to, shutting off the water wrapping a towel around his waist, and stalking across the hall into the bedroom. He could hear her in the kitchen, really he didn't think she should be up at all, but there was no way in hell he was going to go tell her that right now. Instead he started pulling on his pants, trying to keep his head on straight, trying to keep his head empty.
He didn't want to be thinking about her, or his old man, or anything. Suddenly he was snapped back as something crashed in the kitchen.
He didn't even think about putting on a shirt as he dashed out into the hall, socks slipping on hardwood, "Beth!" He saw her feet sticking out on the other side of the island, and it was seconds before he was sliding to his knees next to her, "Beth." There was milk and cereal seeping over the tiles, her shirt soaked through.
"I'm okay," she mumbled, and without really thinking he found one hand holding her waist, the other going to cradle a cheek. It was bright red, she must have hit it when she fell, "Daryl, I'm fine...just got dizzy."
"You ain't goin' to work today." He stated as he helped her to her feet, not letting go of her waist. He kept double checking that she was fine, and for the most part it seemed like she was. Bit of a bruise was going to form on her cheek, and it looked like she was favoring her ankle, but she was fine. Since when did he get so worried about everything? Since when did he get so worried about her?
It wasn't until after he'd reassured himself she was fine that he realized he'd never put on a shirt, that his back and everything else was sitting in the open. He didn't care if she'd already seen them, didn't mean he wanted her seeing them again. So instead he made damn sure she only saw the front side of him.
"Daryl, I have to go to work!" She protested, staring hopelessly at the milk on the floor, "I can't just -"
"Yes you can," he said firmly, didn't need this happening to her in the office. Sure as hell didn't need it happening out in the field. The fever was getting to her, making it hard for her to balance, he wasn't going to be there to catch her and pick her up every time.
"Daryl -"
"You're stayin home, Beth," he said, quickly shooting her down.
"You can't make me." She stuck out her chin stubbornly.
"I can not let you on the bike." Hell she'd probably slip off the back and into the street the way she was looking right now.
"I have a car," she said, a self satisfied smirk spreading on her lips...he'd been giving her rides so much he almost forgot she owned that thing, "And just cause I'm not at work doesn't mean I won't have to stand, just means I'll be alone. What if I fall and can't get up?"
He'd almost gotten pissed, but instead he shook his head, trying not to laugh, "This ain't a damn life alert commercial, girl."
"Daryl, please!" She begged, voice thick and nasally, "I don't want to drive myself right now."
"Fine," he grumbled, "but you're keepin' your office door open ya hear? And take some damn Tylenol." He placed a hand on her forehead, and felt his own breath catch at those big blue eyes meeting his. Couldn't keep doing shit like this, "You're burnin' up," he murmured.
"I'll be fine Daryl," she smiled sleepily at him, eyes a bit hazy as she slid past him, and he quickly turned to keep his back in the corner, away from sympathetic blue eyes. Maybe it was the fever, but she hadn't been treating him like some sad piece of shit.
"You better be." Didn't need the shit scared out of him again today.
She'd gotten up the courage to ask Daryl if he wanted to talk, watching him cautiously. He'd blown up that morning in the bathroom, if she'd guessed right about what caused the scars on his back he had good reason to. She'd gotten a response, which was more than she'd expected, still no answer, but he'd bothered to at least tell her 'no.'
She hadn't pushed it further, if he wanted to tell her he'd tell her.
At least he wasn't mad at her, his concern for her health had outweighed his temper. She almost wished she'd taken his advice, stayed home, slept. She needed to be in the office today though, needed to be making some sort of progress with those emails. She was close, she was so close she could taste it.
She glanced across the hall at Daryl, scowling at his laptop, which was honestly not unexpected.
Those emails were the biggest lead she'd had for Glenn's case, for the three remaining bodies from the factory, for Christopher McKinley it was all right there if she could just figure out who'd been sending the emails. In late March someone had contacted Aziza asking him to take out Glenn Rhee, Aziza had passed it on to another unknown. He'd done the same with Christopher, and if the style of murder said anything it was the same guy.
She glowered at the stack of emails in front of her, whoever had sent Glenn and Christopher to Aziza had sent him John, Stacey, and Marissa. Aziza had actually taken those jobs, but she still had no idea who'd given it to him.
So, ignoring the pounding in her head she started to go through the rest of Aziza's emails, one by one. Maybe she'd get a name, a hint, just some little slip up. Maybe she'd find leads on another victim, just that missing link that would tie them altogether… A drug's unit officer, a secretary, a drug runner, a watchdog, and a financier for the capitol building.
She just needed to solve this, and then she could go home, and sleep all she wanted in a nice soft bed that smelled like cedar. She laughed shortly, yeah, if she could just solve five murders at once she could go home.
"Knock knock." A musical voice came from the doorway, it was Lori, holding two plastic bags in one hand and a thermos in the other. Daryl was watching with an amused look on his face.
"Lori," Beth croaked, managing a smile.
"Oh dear! You really are sick!" Lori rushed in, setting the bags up on the table.
"How -" Beth started to ask, somewhere in the background Daryl laughed.
"Oh Rick mentioned it sounded like you had a cough this morning, so I thought I'd just run by CVS get you a few things," Lori said, rifling through the bags.
"Lori, you you didn't have to -"
"Oh don't be silly it's nothing." Lori waved her off, pulling out a box of Kleenex, "Tissues, throat spray - I thought if you had a cough, you might have a sore throat, and Lord knows those are just a bother - Mucinex…" She placed the box on the table, "You aren't allergic are you?" Beth only just had time to shake her head before Lori kept going, "Cough drops." She hefted the bag up and slammed it on the table.
Beth blinked, trying to process...anything.
"I wasn't sure how many you needed, so I just got the big bag." Lori grabbed the empty
CVS bags and tossed them in the trash.
"That's two hundred cough drops," Beth commented. She'd heard stories about Lori's 'Mom Mode' but she'd thought Martinez had been exaggerating.
"Yeah," Lori said like it was a normal thing for someone to just carry around in their purse or something, "Like I said, Rick mentioned you had a cough...Oh!" She set the thermos in front of Beth, "I made some chicken soup last night, Carl's got a bug too, so I just thought I'd heat some up for you."
"Th-thank you...really," Beth said, trying very hard not to laugh out of some weird mixture of confusion and gratitude, "You didn't have to do this."
"Oh it's nothing dear," Lori closed the office door, and plopped down in the chair in front of her, pulling out her own lunch. "Do you mind if I eat with you? I was going to have lunch with Rick, but he got called out on some big arrest."
"No, no that's fine," Beth said, honestly not minding the company. She liked Lori, and the last few days she'd spent the greater majority of her time around Daryl. It was nice to just hang out with a girl every once in a while, or to be fair a person who you didn't have to drag a conversation out of half the time.
"So, other than hacking out a lung, how've things been going?" Lori asked, "Heard you and Daryl moved in together?" She was smiling that smile, the one she'd had when she was talking about setting Daryl up with her friends...oh no...not her too? Did everyone in Atlanta think she and Daryl were sleeping together? Well….technically they had slept together but they weren't...sleeping together.
"You know...Daryl's Daryl…"
"Temper?" Lori asked knowingly.
Beth thought back on that morning, it was a justified temper then, sure, but it certainly wasn't the first time he'd snapped at her. She didn't think it'd be the last either, "A little bit," she smiled bashfully and Lori nodded.
"Well you haven't let him get to you before, don't start now." She took a bite of her sandwich as Beth opened up the soup, it smelled delicious.
"Don't worry." Beth smiled, the soup tasted just as good as it smelled.
"He's prickly, had a hard life, but he's a sweetie - goes to the ends of the earth for the people he cares about," Lori said, shaking her sandwich at Beth, "And I think you're one of those people now. Don't think he'd put up with you sneezing on his couch if you weren't." Beth laughed, the grin quickly deteriorating into coughs. Lori pushed the massive bag towards her, "Cough drop?"
Beth took one. "Goodness Lori, he's a person not a car. You don't need to sell him to me, I'm not going anywhere."
"Just making sure," Lori smiled, "You're good for him."
She was looking better than she had the day before, and the color in her cheeks seemed to be natural instead of flush from the fever. He'd convinced her to stay home anyways, Tyreese and Martinez had been plotting her death in the break room...no one had been very happy about all the coughing. She'd gotten up at the same time as him though, probably woke up when she heard him get in the shower.
He'd taken the couch last night, though a lot of him wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with her. He told himself it was because the bed had more leg room. The shower had been hot for once, and when he'd gotten out - remembering a shirt to wear out of the bathroom this time - he'd found her curled up in blankets on the couch with those damn emails again.
He shook his head, she was supposed to be resting. He didn't say anything though, instead going into the kitchen and looking for something for breakfast. Eggs and bacon were probably a no for her, with all her coughing her throat had to hurt like a bitch. Instead he pulled down an old can of Campbell's chicken noodle, and put it in the microwave while he poured himself some cereal.
No point in bothering with hot breakfast, it was just him eating it after all.
The microwave beeped just as he was putting the milk back in the fridge, and pretty soon he was carrying the two bowls out to the living room. She smiled when she saw him, setting the emails aside as she eagerly took the soup out of his hand.
"Thank you," she said, taking a sip of the broth.
"S'nothin'," he mumbled, taking bite of his cereal, "Just from a can."
"Still, thank you."
They ate in comfortable silence for awhile, Beth all huddled in her blankets with a soft smile on her face. He always pegged her as a Progresso girl, but apparently Campbell's worked just fine too. Which worked for him, Progresso was expensive shit, she wanted it she could go buy it herself. He glanced up at her, trying to ignore the 'need more legroom' feelings.
"So, what'cha been workin on?" He asked, nodding towards the emails. He never had gotten a clear answer.
"Aziza's email records," Beth said through a mouthful of noodle.
"Yeah, got that part," Daryl said, leaning back, "Meant why you were half off your rocker the other night."
"Glenn," she said, and suddenly he felt a cold sort of anxiety seep into his gut. He wasn't sure where she was going with this, and he wasn't sure he liked it, "Over the past six months Aziza has gotten seven hit jobs, he passed off two of them. Glenn and Christopher were killed by someone else, but all the orders came down from the same person."
She set the soup aside, and picked the emails back up, and started leafing through them.
"If I can figure out who that one person is, I can solve all of them, and…" she held out the stack to him, pointing to one email, "Now I can do that."
He scanned over it, it wasn't fancy or detailed, just a couple of lines naming a time and a place. He didn't know the address, but apparently the meeting was today. His brow furrowed slightly, and it was soon. Sooner than a proper team could be pulled together, or warrants drawn up.
"That email's from the same guy," Beth continued, ignoring his unease, "He was supposed to meet Aziza today, and we haven't publicized his arrest yet which means -"
"The guy wouldn't know not to come."
"Exactly!" She grinned, jumping up. She swayed a little on her feet, and he stood ready to grab her, but she waved him off as she carried her bowl into the kitchen, "If I can get down there, just see who it is, take some pictures or something - we'll have him," she said, that smile never fading.
That is, until he said, "No."
"Daryl, I'm feeling better," Beth argued, breathing heavily through her nose, "See, no more stuffies."
"Ain't about you being sick," he growled, tossing his bowl in the sink and taking his keys from his pocket. He needed to get going. A hand closed around his arm before he could even get halfway to the door, and he turned to find Beth glaring up at him.
"Then what is it about?" She asked, and he could tell she was starting to get pissed.
"It ain't safe." He didn't want her name to show up in one of those emails, he didn't want to find her bled out on the floor like Carol. Didn't want to find her hanging like Glenn. She hadn't been the one to find him, didn't know what that shit did to a person...he didn't know if he could handle it happening again. He pulled out of her grip and started for the door.
"Daryl, I have to go!" She chased after him, "This isn't just some case this is Glenn! This is the whole reason I came down here!"
"No," he said, pulling on his suit jacket, "We ain't gonna just bust in there, gonna do this carefully."
"I don't have time to do it carefully!" She argued, stepping in close blue eyes flaring up at him. He glared down at her, trying to match every bit of fire. There wasn't a way in hell he was letting her go find them...he didn't have the strength to go through that again.
"Then we ain't gonna do it," he said, voice low. She was only inches from him now, and he could feel the familiar warmth on his skin. He tried to shake it off, he was supposed to be pissed right now.
"They killed Glenn!" She snapped, and he could smell the toothpaste on her breath.
"Then what the hell makes ya think they won't kill you too?" He yelled back, and suddenly she stopped. Just stood there, watching him with those big blue eyes like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. Fingers grazed his palm, then laced through his, and he tried to find his breath - tried to find the argument he'd been having.
"I'm not going to die Daryl, I won't leave you." She believed those words. That didn't mean they were true. She knew about Carol, she knew about his scars, she knew him. Every damn person who'd ever known him left one day. They went up in flames, or went to war, or got shot in the head, and he'd always kept going...but she was different.
He didn't respond, just watched her. How close she was, how much he want to hold her, how much the determined fire in her eyes was scaring him. His gaze went lower, from eyes to nose, from nose to lips. His breath caught, god she was so close. He tilted his head ever so slightly, watching her, trying to figure out why the hell he was so scared of losing her.
Why when he wanted to be pissed, his eyes just kept finding her lips.
"Daryl, I'll be okay."
"You can't know that."
She met his eyes, swallowing hard as she took a deep breath, "Fine...we'll take it slow," she didn't seem to be happy saying those words, but she'd said them, "I'm not going anywhere, Daryl."
He could've left right then, could've let go of her hand, but instead he just stood there eyes trailing down to lips one last time. Don't be stupid, Dixon. He had to remind himself as he let go of her, and dazedly walked out the door.
He spent the rest of the day working in the office, happy to know she was safe at home, not running headlong and blind into something that could get her killed. There were other ways to get this guy, he'd already looked up the address - some warehouse in the industrial district - found the security cameras around the entrances, the surrounding streets. He'd go in, he'd come back out, they'd get his face and they'd get him.
Didn't need to risk life and limb over it.
He'd go home tonight with a name for her, and she wouldn't have to get herself killed over justice for a dead man. He shook his head, when the hell had he gotten his head so wrapped up in all of this? He couldn't let himself go farther, get even more tangled, but he could make sure she stayed safe.
The phone rang, and he picked up, "Dixon."
"Daryl?" Lori's voice came over the phone, "I thought I told you to get Beth to stay home today, she needs her rest."
He blinked, what'd she mean she wasn't at home? "Where is she?"
"Well how should I know?" He heard her shuffling something around, like she was in a fridge, "I mean I got here..." It didn't surprise him in the slightest that Lori was going through his fridge, he didn't even bother to comment, she was probably just throwing out the expired shit, "and I had lunch, and was going to check on her, but she's just not in the house."
He glanced down at the time, and his stomach dropped. He didn't even say goodbye to Lori, just hung up, made sure his gun was in its holster, and ran for the door.
She didn't think she'd lied to Daryl...not technically. Mislead him, yes, but she hadn't lied. She'd just said they'd take it slow, she didn't specify an exact time frame. Instead she just made sure to be careful, and show up an hour and a half early. It didn't take long to find the warehouse, took effort to push the rusting door open and closed again, but at least she was here. The place was empty, just one big room with nothing but support pillars.
She'd been hoping for more places to hide, but at least she wouldn't have to worry about staking out the wrong room. She'd have to be quiet, and she'd keep her gun ready, just in case, but she thought this could work.
Picking out a thick concrete pillar to sit behind, she settled in to wait. She felt bad about misleading Daryl, he'd been so concerned...no, no not concerned he'd seemed scared. He'd seemed genuinely scared she'd be hurt, which was odd, because she didn't see him scared often. He'd let her hold his hand, and he'd never pulled away, and for a second she could've sworn he was going to kiss her, and of everything in the world he was scared for her.
It was a bit of an 'Oh' moment...what if the tingles and lingering glances, the warmth she'd felt when he held her, what if that was something more than a silly crush? What if he felt it too?
She jumped slightly when she heard the door start to grumble open, and she quickly stood, back to her pillar, and inched to the side. She needed a face, she needed to see the guy's face. A name would be even better.
Peeking her head around the corner her heart soared, she had a face and a name immediately. Tate Hogan, it was Tate Hogan - the bastard had gotten out on bail, but she didn't think the judge was going to go for that now...not when someone else was dead already. Holding her gun steady she got ready to jump out, make the arrest. She almost did it too, but something made her pause.
Two guys followed in behind Hogan, two big guys, both looking well armed. She didn't have the advantage here, she was going to have to stay put. Her heart was beating a little faster, and the adrenaline kept her alert as minutes drifted by, and still she never heard the door open again. Aziza wasn't showing up.
She peeked around the corner again, Tate was getting impatient, pacing back and forth as his men watched.
"Where the hell is Aziza?" He asked, anger mixing with nerves as he wrung his hands. Beth smirked a little, Aziza wasn't coming.
His guys shrugged, watching him with something that resembled amusement.
"He won't be pleased with this - this is a big job, a big big job, important. He'll have Aziza's ass on a plate for this," a hysterical little laugh bubbled up, "hell he might even have our asses for this - or worse, La Familia or Los Zetas. There's a lot of powerful people tied up in this, a lot of money -" He was ranting now, nervously going on and on. He'd dropped the names of more than one big cartel, but who was he?
"You think you should be telling us this then?" One of the guys asked jokingly, "Ain't exactly top dogs over here."
Hogan glared, but he shut up. Maybe they weren't his men, maybe they were his bosses, his. Whoever he was, but these guys didn't seem to have that much respect for Hogan. She'd be surprised if anyone did, he was kind of a weasel.
She had what she needed: a face and a name. Still didn't know who'd given the order, but she had the middleman, it was a start. Now she just had to wait until they gave up and left, and she could go back home. Daryl would be pissed when he found out she'd gone, but she'd be okay, and he couldn't stay mad forever.
All she had to was be - a sudden cough forced it's way up through her chest...quiet.
"What was that?" Hogan asked, there was a moment of silence as she held her breath, "Shumpert, go check it out."
Shit, she thought, holding her gun tighter. There were three men out there, at least two of whom had guns, she couldn't hold them off on her own. She wasn't rambo, she wasn't an expert marksman like Daryl...she couldn't one, two, three take them all down at once. Shumpert was getting closer, footsteps coming steadily towards her hiding place.
She had to run.
Taking a deep breath, she glanced around her. There was a back exit, a pillar ever two hundred feet between here and there. If she could just get to the next pillar, take it one step at a time, lay down some fire to hold them off as she went. Shumpert was close, a few more steps and he would see her.
This was it.
Heart pounding she raced forward just as the shot rang out.
The motorcycle cut off at the same time as the gun did, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. It had come from inside the warehouse, just one shot. Just one, it wasn't a firefight, they weren't chasing someone down. They only had to shoot once. His breath stopped, his heart stopped, waiting for another gun shot waiting for her to fight back...but she didn't.
He didn't hear a damn thing.
He had to get in there, he had to find her, she might not be dead. Could have been shot in the belly like Sophia, bleeding out on the floor. He pulled his gun, ready to sprint across the street, whoever was in there be damned...when he saw them. Three men walking briskly out of the warehouse, Tate Hogan in the lead with a nervous look on his face.
He waited just long enough for them to turn the corner, and then he was running. The door slammed open as he frantically scanned the empty floor.
"Beth!" He yelled, there was no body, no blood, no her, "Beth!" He started running again, had she fallen behind a pillar, he kept seeing little red hand prints, and dead blue eyes, and he was desperately trying to keep faith that there was still fire in hers. That she wouldn't be just another dead girl for Dale to pester him about.
Then he saw her, bright red staining blond hair, and he felt like his chest was caving in. She looked so small on the ground...so still. His throat was starting to tighten when he heard it, a cough.
"Beth!" He slid down next to her, hands going to her side, her face. She was breathing, there was blood, but her eyes were open. Dazed, and in pain, but open. It was a graze, just a graze. Only just deep enough to get it bleeding.
"See," she smiled hazily, as she struggled to sit, "I'm okay."
He wanted to be mad, he wanted to be furious, but right then all he could do was pull her to her feet, and half drag half carry her out to the street. Cause right then he was scared.
They hadn't even made her stay overnight at the hospital, just stitched up the side of her head and let her go home. Daryl had gone into the bathroom the moment walked through the door, the shower had been running for the past twenty minutes. She felt bad, she did, but she thought he was being unreasonable. This was their job. It was dangerous, and messy, and what they'd signed up for.
They just had to make the best of it.
Finally the shower cut off, and she heard him getting dressed. Her heart was beating a tad faster...whether she thought he should be angry or not, didn't mean she liked it when he was. The door opened, and bright blue eyes met hers with something that wasn't quite anger, but wasn't exactly forgiveness either. He just seemed kind of tired.
There was a long silence as he walked past her into the kitchen, and grabbed a beer.
"Did he see you?" He asked finally, watching her quietly.
"What?" Did who see her?
"Hogan, did he see your face?" His jaw was tight, and it looked like he was doing his best to keep his cool. Yeah, maybe she'd fucked up a bit where he was concerned.
"I...I don't know...it doesn't matter," Beth brushed it off. She was alive, and she had Daryl, and right now she didn't feel like questioning the situation. She had a lead, she was close, that was what mattered.
"Doesn't matter huh?" A bit of temper seeped into his voice, "Why the hell do you think Glenn got killed? They figured out that he was onto them. If Hogan knows it was you, who do you think they're gonna go after next?"
"It'll be okay Daryl," she tried to reassure him, though she wasn't even sure if she believed herself now.
He looked like he wanted to say something, to call her out on the lie. He didn't though, instead he was quiet, watching her, gaze starting to itch under her skin.
"I'm sorry -"
"But you're not sorry?" He finished for her.
"Yeah…" She felt horrible. She really did, but this was bigger than them...this was her whole family, this was the families of six other people who'd lost the ones they loved to him whoever he was. This was their job.
"Daryl you have to understand, I'm so close to solving this - I couldn't...I couldn't just let this slip out of my fingers I had him!"
"Yeah?" He looked at her bitterly, "And we would've had him you'd waited, already knew what CCTV cameras to pull...we would've gotten him."
"No, no we wouldn't have," she shook her head, "It's not Tate, Daryl, it's someone else out there, someone bigger. If I hadn't been there we would've just arrested Hogan and that bastard would still be running around somewhere."
He was quiet for a while, not meeting her eyes as he absentmindedly fiddled with the paper label on the beer bottle.
"You could've died today," he said.
"I didn't."
His shoulders shook with a brief, silent laugh, "Scared the hell out of me, girl."
"I'm sorry." She really meant it that time.
Beth needed her earrings, the little silver ones with the loopies. Lori had decided to throw a 'Beth didn't die' dinner. It was semi formal, and those earrings were the only ones that went with the dress she was wearing. She'd searched all over her room at Maggie's house, in Maggie's room, all the little key dishes down stairs, and she was at a loss. She'd gotten to the point where she was opening the same three drawers over and over again as if it would do any good.
She'd ask Maggie if she could, but Maggie was still at work.
So instead she'd taken to haplessly searching in places she knew she wouldn't find them. This time it was the linen closet. What her earrings would be doing in a linen closet she had no idea, but it was worth a shot.
Frowning she stuck her hand up on the highest shelf, blindly patting at Maggie's old 'I don't actually like this guest, but have to put up with them,' sheets, when she felt something out of place. It wasn't her earrings, but something bigger. Something familiar.
Frowning she pulled it down. It was a box, a little blue, ceramic wish box decorated in shells and stones off the beach. It had been Glenn's, Beth knew, because she'd been the one to give it to him. A souvenir from a summer vacation years ago, back when she was in college. It had been all she could afford, but she thought Glenn would like it. He liked silly little things like that.
What on earth had it been doing all the way up there?
She smiled softly, sliding open the top, and then frowned. It wasn't empty...no wishes, but it had a thumb drive.
I'm really tired, and just need to post this and go to bed, so I'll keep this AN short. I hope y'all liked the chapter, and once again I apologize for the wait. I can't wait to hear back from you guys!
