Once they reached the stairwell, Beth had no choice but to let Daryl carry her up the several flights back to her floor. It's not like they had the option of elevators, given that the hospital had to conserve as much energy as possible to keep more important things running.

Daryl gritted his teeth, supposing that he despised carrying her right then as much as she despised being carried. Her body was rigid and foreign in his arms; emotionally they might as well have been in different countries. Instead of finding it within himself to be empathetic, he was so furious at her he could spit nickels. He wasn't even sure why, other than she was refusing to act like a normal human being.

Then a thought crossed his mind that left him sickened: Maybe that gunshot wound done more than leave 'er with an empty eye socket n' take away her memories. Maybe she just ain't 'right' anymore. Maybe she won't ever be.

Well, wouldn't that just figure, brother. Merle's voice intruded. That there's whatcha call….karma, ain't it? Ya messed with that little tow-headed princess and look whatcha done: Ya brought her down to your level 'stead of the other way 'round. Now she's ruined, too."

At the top of the stairs Daryl wordlessly set her back on her feet. She propped herself up with the broomstick she'd manage to drag up with them.

He walked away from her with cat-like quickness. Behind him, the clack-clack-clacking sound of the stick pinched at his insides. He picked up the pace to put even more space between them.

"Go ahead, run away again, Daryl." Beth called out. "Ya keep worryin' 'bout yerself and how it's so painful for YOU to tell ME the truth. I mean the whole truth. Wouldn't want it to be uncomfortable for ya or nothin'."

He froze.

"That's right," she said with feigned sweetness. "The truth. For instance… why YOU, huh? Why YOU the one that's supposed ta fill me in on what's happened to me? Why not Sasha? She seems competent. Or Noah? He and I were stuck here at the hospital together, right?" She steamrolled on. "Why not Rick when he gets back? He's the leader, ain't he? Or Carol? SHE seems to care 'bout me."

He remained cemented in place.

"After all," she said, her tone growing sarcastic. "Carol said we were ALL 'old friends.' Didja just draw the unlucky short straw? Or is there somethin' more to it? Huh? 'Cause someone who can barely speak beyond grunts sure wouldn't be MY first choice."

The space between them tunneled away as Daryl felt himself barreling back toward her, knowing he was on the verge of making a big mistake, yet not being able to stop himself. "Ya DUMB BITCH," he yelled. "You were FREE. We SAVED ya." He paced in a frantic circle trying unsuccessfully to rein himself in, while she stood by with both hands clasped to the blood-smattered broom handle, her jaw clenched.

"The HELL," he'd continued, moving right up to her, so close that he could feel her uneven breath ghost across his lips. He shoved an accusing finger at her. "Ya ruined EVERYTHING. Ya tried ta take out an armed cop with a pair of Barbie doll scissors." His chest was heaving and his lungs felt heavy, as if unable to work properly. "Ya learned NOTHIN', NOTHIN' I tried to teach ya when we was together!" He added.

He was visibly shaking, as was she, now. But she held her tongue.

"What the hell was it all FOR?" He spun around and nearly lost his balance. He needed to get far away from her, and fast…far away from her and, more importantly, away from the whispers in his ear to slap her… or…or…he cursed himself...to take a fuckin' belt to her.

Goddamn it, he wished Rick was back.


When I started writing this, I didn't quite know it would end up this way. I know it's short, but I needed it to be like a one-two punch: quick, and then over. And even though it is painful, it seems realistic that Daryl would have to struggle with his demons. I hope that you'll stick with the story to see where it goes, despite uncomfortable chapters along the way... And thanks again for reading!