Author's Note: First off, hello!

I have a few things to get to before the chapter. Most importantly my extended absence. It was unplanned and quite frankly far out of my control. My life has gone through some fairly big and dramatic changes since my last update. Some good, some bad. Over the summer I went through a very, very long depressive episode. I have depression and severe anxiety, and these flared up in a way I have not had to deal with in 10 years. From July to September I was having an incredibly difficult time.I had my ass handed to me, it made doing most things hard. Writing is one of those things. I had the ideas, but I didn't have the energy or drive. I was also afraid of 'forcing my way through' it to update. WDWG is not, so far, a very happy-shiny fic. I was worried that the content might effect my mood, and that my mood would effect the content. Meaning it wouldn't be 'up to standard' or it might be a bit more...doom and gloom than intended. For this reason, I didn't update. I know I posted a few other things, side stories to Polaroids. That didn't require the same sort of energy/mood that working on WDWG does, and it was my way or sort of 'keeping sharp' so to speak.

I am out of the woods now and ready to get back on the horse.

This chapter has been a long time coming and I hope you guys enjoy it!

Finally I'd like to thank the people who sent me messages and comments, and read even while this story was in an update drought. I can't thank you all enough for the support I've received and continue to receive. You guys are the best.


It doesn't fit. He'd gone back, taken a map, hell he'd even had Aaron mark the perimeter. The girl had said that she had been alone, just her and that damn dog. The signs of disturbance at the gas station he attributed to her. Freshly swiped patches of dirt and old candy bar wrappers. The trail behind the gas station, well worn and still freshly traveled. Two distinctive sets of footprints. One he figures to be Eric's. The boots are about the same size, the other set is much smaller. He loses the trail out of the woods. Wherever Eric went, whoever he was with, they had must have taken the main road out. Which meant a car, which meant he was out of his depth.

He doesn't look forward to returning empty handed. Daryl doesn't know which is worse. Not knowing or having a crystal clear answer when it came to the fate of a loved one. He'll go back out later, that much is almost inevitable. What the fuck else is he gonna do anyways? Sleep? The thought is almost laughable.

With any luck he'll get back and find out that they'd gotten something out of the girl. Something about that doesn't rub him the right way. There's no way she'd been living at the gas station. No well, no running water. The girl had been clean. Like she'd just showered. No scrapes, not even a bruise as far as he could tell. Plus the place had been littered with candy bar wrappers – no sign of actual food. She wasn't skin and bones, when Michonne offered her food she didn't jump at it like some starved thing. She wasn't wild, she'd come from somewhere.

Then there's the matter of the hearing aid. That dog she had tied up to her waist would only be able to do so much. Anybody can learn to survive on their own, even children. He's nothing if not a testament to that. Just...nothing about her suggests she had. The way she'd held the rifle had been clumsy, like she was unsure of it. The things weren't exactly made for someone her size but even so. If she had survived on her own for any amount of time with partial loss of one of her senses, he'd be the first in line to admit that it's impressive. She's gotta be about Carl's age. Unless she was only just recently setting out on her own.

It just doesn't fit.

It's with the utmost reluctance that he drags his sorry ass through the doorway. Sort of feels like he shouldn't even been showing his face. What the fuck sort of tracker was he, returning empty handed without the slightly goddamn clue as to where they outta look next? Aaron wont get ticked. He'll be upset – any normal person would be. Wont take it out on him though, he isn't like that. Still he wont need to. Doesn't need to.

Aaron's sitting at the kitchen table. There's a flicker of something – hope he thinks, and it fades as soon as they lock eyes. Daryl shakes his head, turning his gaze towards the carpet. Aaron understands. "Rick an' Carl get anything else outta her?" His voice is gruff, quiet.

Aaron turns his eyes upwards. There's a spare room right above the kitchen. That's where they'd set her up. Rick's place is too crowded. "She still says that she was out there alone." He wonders if it's possible that it's all unrelated. That the second set of boot prints didn't have any ties to her.

"Don't buy it." The other man blinks at him. "If she was out there on her own, she hasn't been for long. Reminds me of the first time we saw you." Daryl pauses, bites his tongue. He wants to say no offense because it wasn't meant to sound that bad. Aaron's gotta know what he's angling at. The girl is too put together, too clean, too everything. It's like she'd been living in a place like Alexandria. Well, like Alexandria before it had all gone to shit. Thing is, the other communities know about them. Most people have seen him, Michonne, or Rick. They've gone back and forth enough. Wasn't so much as a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Even if she'd never seen 'em before, she'd have heard of them. She wouldn't have looked at them all uncertain the way she had. So where the hell was she from?

She must have sensed that she was being talked about because he can hear footsteps coming down the staircase. She isn't quiet, but he has to figure she doesn't know just how loud she's being. She walks into the kitchen, sketchpad tucked under her arm. Doesn't look around or say anything just goes right for the sink. How the hell is she already comfortable?

"Glasses are above the stove." Aaron calls out as he pushes himself out of the chair. This causes her to jump about ten feet in the air. She whirls around like she's just been caught breaking and entering. The sketchbook comes out fast, then the scrawling. She can't talk. Least if she can, she doesn't want to. Not unless he'd missed something.

'Sorry' is what the page that she holds up says. 'Sadie needs water.'

The dog. She must have left her upstairs because there's no growling that he can hear. Even with a muzzle on that thing had made it clear that she wasn't happy about her predicament, or the company. Rather than attempt to explain where the bowls are Aaron heads into the kitchen and the girl sets the pad down.

There's a different page facing upwards. He takes a couple steps closer, not that she seems to mind. She's too busy poking around the cupboards. Carl had said that she could draw, she had a bunch of notebooks and pencils in her bag. She'd shown him some pictures on the way back. There isn't much to the one he's looking at now. In fact the top half of the page is laid out exactly how you'd find a dictionary. A word, bunch of symbols and shit to tell you how to pronounce the word, then the definitions.

The word phoenix is written in bold letters.

Underneath it there's a pair of wings. They almost look like his. The edges are a bit more pointed, plus they're a bit dirty and torn up. Look signed around the tips which makes sense because the only bit of color on the entire page are the flames that surround the wings. Sort of looks like wings are springing out of them. He isn't some expert but a phoenix is a bird, they sure as heck don't look like bird's wings. Whatever – maybe bird wings weren't what she had been going for.

Daryl hadn't meant to get caught looking. Which means of course he is. She turns around and just looks at him for a second. Then reaches for the paper, flips the page. It's beyond him why because he hadn't said one thing about it either way. The next page has the same word printed on it, same couple definitions but the picture underneath is different.

It's a person. Outline of one at least, just an outline. Like a cookie cutter mold. The only thing the outline has are wings, the only distinctive feature. Similar to like what was on the first page, just minus the fire and the scorch marks. Reminds him of the vest. Reminds him a lot of the vest. He's got no clue why she'd flipped the page, maybe she'd thought he was interested or some shit.

She doesn't do it again. Instead she gathers up the sketchbook and the bowl of water and pads back upstairs without so much as another word – or a note.

"Weird kid." Daryl mumbles under his breath.

Aaron leans back against the sink and crosses his arms over his chest. "Carl was thinking that she had run away from somewhere, a group maybe." There's a question in his voice. He has a feeling he knows what the man's getting at.

"She's comfortable. She ain't afraid of people." Weird isn't really accurate enough. Hell if he hasn't come across someone like her in a long time.

They'll keep an eye on her. She'd surrendered all her weapons willingly, didn't even make a fuss about it. Not that she'd been carrying much aside from a knife and a rifle. Tomorrow when he isn't so bone tired maybe he'll try his hand at talking to her. Or at least give Rick or the boy a list of questions to throw at her.

Daryl beelines for the kitchen, reaching for the bread box and a knife from the block. They have bigger things to worry about than some over-trusting kid and her angry ass dog.

"I'm going back out."

"You just got in.

"So'?"

"At least take a nap. You've been out there all day."

Daryl grunts.

"He knows the area better than anyone, we spent so much time outside recruiting. I want to find him too, but neither of us are going to be any use if we're exhausted." Daryl opens his mouth to argue, only to promptly shut it again. "He's tougher than he looks." Aaron cracks a smile. A pained smile, but it's still a smile. He's trying to be comforting.

A few months ago, a little longer, someone getting lost would have been worrying. Would have made them all panic but now? With Negan and the Saviors? "Half an hour." The bearded man nods towards the living room.

Fucking fine.

Daryl lets the crossbow slip over his shoulder as he trudges out of the dining room. "Half an hour."

xxx

Aaron was supposed to wake him up. He wasn't supposed to be out long, he could work on no sleep. Daryl doesn't know how long he'd been passed out on the couch when the front door flies open. Someone yelling for Aaron. Eric's back. That's all the get before the guy darts back out the door like his ass is on fire.

Aaron says nothing, he only bolts. He can't blame him. He just follows him out. Sure enough there's a little crowd not far up the street. He can hear Eric's voice. It's a relief. A feeling that he doesn't have much experience with. Fuck, he'd been worried he'd wind up bringing a body back and that would have been the best case scenario – if they found him at all.

For the first time in forever, they have a win. Daryl's amazed that Aaron doesn't lurch forward

Eric isn't alone. He's got two people right behind him. One guy, and someone much smaller. He can't make it out. The stranger's talkin', smiling. He's about the only person who looks relaxed. Whatever the guy was trying to sell, Rick very clearly wasn't interested in buying. "We aren't looking for trouble. We just want our girl back." That's what the guy says. They're here for the girl. That figures, ain't all that surprising. He knew that she hadn't been out there alone – no way in hell.

It should be simple. Eric's back and they want to see the kid. Nobody is moving. No one's going back to the house to grab the girl, no one's trying to reassuring them that she's okay. Rick and the stranger are settled into a weird staring match of some sort. A stand off.

Fuck it if he hasn't seen this before.

The relief quickly washes away. One of yours for one of mine. He's pretty sure no one's saying it but the words echo in his mind. Rick's trying to keep control of the conversation. He isn't kicking them out, even if he should. Giving them a line about letting the kid sleep, they can see her in the morning. That gives them time to figure out who the hell these people are, to decide if they get to see the girl.

The guy doesn't look happy but he doesn't look dumb enough to pull some shit. Almost looks like he might just accept it. They're outnumbered and that would be the smart play – a survivors move. Whoever the fuck he's with ain't all that accepting, though. They've got other plans.

They step out of the shadow's now. They find their voice – whoever the fuck they are. Jesus, they sound pissed. That's what gets him at first. It's hard to make out their face, but he can feel the anger rolling off of them in waves.

The guy tries. He only gets one word out, a name. What sort of name is 'Bird' anyway? Then again, Carol's called him Pookie for how long now? Ain't like he's one to judge.

They keep talking. She keeps talking. It's fucking weird, that tone sounds so familiar and so foreboding all at the same time. It's so much like him of that time Beth had flipped him off. Declared she wasn't staying in his suck-ass camp.

"Where the hell is she?"

There's just enough light now that he can see. The woman's wearing a bandanna, which she wastes no time ripping off and tossing to the side.

I get it now.

All the sudden his brain is screaming at him. Those fucking words over and over. The one's he hears whenever he fucking thinks about her. It can't be. It can't be. He knows that voice. He knows that anger.

The cold blue eyes that are darting from person to person send a jolt right through him when they finally pass over him. It can't be. She's dead. She's rotting away in the backseat of a car because they couldn't fucking give her the burial she deserved. She'd never made it out of Grady Memorial alive. He'd carried the body.

A sound that he's never heard another human make before tears from his throat. Sounds more like an animal than a man. He doesn't think, he just moves. Jerking forward. He needs to touch her, needs to feel her. Needs to be sure. He's seen her so many times that he just expects her to fade away like she always does, just like smoke. He'll touch her and she'll leave.

His fingers don't even skim her arm. Rick's calling out. Saying her name. That stops him dead in his tracks. What are the odds? What are the fucking odds they're all hallucinating the same damn thing?

She grabs Eric and he catches that flash. She's got a knife. She's terrified, she's shaking. It's fucking twisted but Eric ain't even his main focus now. He's just a person. A person with a knife to his neck, but still. May as well be a goddamn stranger. All he can see is her.

Her hand looks like it's liable to slip. That blade's gonna sink into his throat and he's not even thinking much of it. His brain isn't thinking about much at all. He can't think, doesn't even feel like he can breathe. He should step in. She's just still a little slip of a thing and he could do it, grab the knife and get Eric out of harms way.

He could but he wont. He can't.

The only person who does anything is the man with her. Raises his hand high in the air, he's got something clutched in it. Brings it down fast. The knife falls and she just drops like a tonne if bricks.

It's just like last time when one second she's standing, the next she's on the ground lifeless. He lurches forward again but there's an arm being held out to block his movement; keeping him in place.

"She isn't dead." The man growls. Sounding nothing if not vaguely annoyed, maybe even offended. "Should I have waited for ya'll to snap out of it?"

"Hand over the gun." It's not a suggestion. The man does it, too. No hesitation, just hands the fucking thing over. Eric sees his opening and he flies at Aaron. He should be happy. Should focusing on that but he can't. Just like the rest of them, he's looking at her. He could rip the guy's head off. No, he fucking should. "You're coming with us."

There's no dispute. He just crouches down and carefully gathers her up in his arms. "Leave the knife." Her head is tucked against his chest, arm stretched out. Lifeless. Just looking at the man he can feel the weight in his arms again. She looks dead. Just like the last time he'd seen her.

They take them to the cell and there'es no more talk about the girl. In fact, no one says word fucking one. They may as well be walking to the gallows. It'll be better once they're inside -that's what he tells himself. He'll see her in the light and he'll see that it isn't her at all. She's gonna be a nobody. He needs her to be a nobody. They all do.

He can see it in their eyes. Rick, Michonne. Even Tara and Rosita, they ain't ever even gotten the chance to know her when she was alive and they look like they've all see the same fucking ghost. His fingers are itching and he's not sure he can wait until they get back to the house. Something about this guy, this random fucking guy carrying her, after knocking her out. It isn't on so many fucking levels. Rick should have shot him just for that. Hurting her.

Then again. They're gonna walk through the door and see that it isn't her, so they would have shot him for nothing.

"Do you have anything else on you?" Rick's standing in the open doorway. The stranger, Mac or something, shakes his head as he sets the girl - Beth down. He keeps his back turned, focused more on her than on the small crowd of people who have gathered outside of the cell. "What are you doing?" Daryl sidesteps out of Rick's shadow to get a clearer view. Mac's removing Beth's jacket.

"I'm not armed but she is."

He pulls off her jacket and her boots. He wasn't kidding either. There's no other guns but there's an impressive collection of knives. "What the hell does she do with those?" Rosita hisses. Mac pauses, tossing a glance over his shoulder.

"You saw what she does with them. Usually, there's more blood."

xxx

She. Her. Beth.

He doesn't want to leave the cell but no one wants to say word one in front of the strange man. She's still breathing, according to him. They're locked in - not going anyhere until Rick pulls the key back out.

"Daryl," Rick's voice is low, gruff. Rosita and Tara are taking watch. He doesn't want to turn away, he's not even sure he can. "Now."

He lets out a low growl and turns on his heel.

They're in the living room. Aaron and Eric taking up the couch. Aaron looks like he's not going to let Eric out of his sight for a second, the hold he has to have on his husband's hand looks downright painful.

"Are you sure?" Michonne is asking what they're all thinking. Asking again for the fifth or sixth time. Daryl has to bite his tongue to keep the bitter laugh from rolling past his lips. He'd likely forget his own name before he'd ever forget her face. What were the odds that someone with her voice, her eyes, and her scars would come rolling up right through their fucking gates?

The question goes unanswered. It doesn't need to be.

Rick's hands stray from the mantle that he'd braced himself up on. "You said she took you to the Kingdom?" Eric had explained it. She'd demanded to speak to Ezekiel himself. They knew each other, somehow. That doesn't fit. Carol was at the Kingdom, if Beth had been there - if she'd known she woulda said something.

Eric tells them that she had caught him out in the woods. She had been scoping the same area out. It's not just that coincidence, it isn't just that she knew about the Kingdom, Ezekiel. She knew about Hilltop. They'd gone to Hilltop.

"She saw Maggie?" Rick's quick to ask. There's a hope in his voice that, from where he's standing is completely unwarranted.

"We didn't meet with Maggie. She stayed inside, I think Carol was with her. Jesus was the one who came out to greet us."

It didn't matter who saw her because it wasn't her. No way in hell it was their Beth.

They go back and forth over and over. Eric tells the story, one of them mutters and shakes their head in disbelief. No one is in a hurry to go back downstairs. They're scared, he thinks. They all are. Daryl knows that he sure as shit is. Scared to go downstairs and face whatever-the-fuck that they've got locked up in that cage.

"And he's talkin' with Davy, who's still in the Navy

And probably will be for life,"

The words echo up the staircase as they're in the midst of discussing what to do about the people in the cage. Mainly, who will be going in because someone should check on her, she had been knocked out. Beth or not she needed to be checked to make sure that the asshole hadn't done any serious damage to her.

They all turn their heads towards the door as the words filter through the hallway.

"And the waitress is practicing politics

As the businessmen slowly get stoned,"

"The fuck is that?" He growls, irritated more than anything by the introduction. He already knows who it is.

"Go check on them. I'll be down in a minute." Rick cocks his head towards the doorway, frown etched into his brow.

He takes the stairs fast, boots thundering the whole way down. He doesn't mean to run, he doesn't make the conscious choice. Rick hadn't told him to rush, they had taken all of their weapons and they were secure. The thought of the girl is what spurs him on, that sets the pace for him. What if she had woken up? What if something was wrong with her? Maybe the asshole had hit her too hard.

What if?

There's a lull in the song - he's pretty sure the guy is actually hum. That is until he pushes open the doorway. The guys got his arms through the bars, face pressed up against the wrought iron. No sooner do their eyes meet before he's belting out another verse.

"Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness

But it's better than drinkin' alone,"

And smiling while he does it. Like his voice ain't annoying as fuck, like he isn't about to wake up the whole goddamn community. Save for the girl, Not-Beth, who is still slumped in the corner.

"Shut up, asshole." Daryl snarls as he advances towards the cage. The man doesn't continue, but that's about all he does. Some part of him hopes that the stranger will back himself into a corner or shrink away out of fear. A smart person would do something like that. The guy only smiles and shakes his head, like he hadn't just told him to can it.

"Not a big Billy Joel guy, are you? That song's a classic."

He's talking, but Daryl isn't listening. He's watching her. Even in the dim he can see that she's still out. Out, but breathing. Like the last time he'd seen Beth. Only he'd been too fucking stupid to pick up on the breathing part. Couldn't even find the damn pulse - because she was dead. Had her head blown open.

Only she didn't. "She's fine. She can take it, I wouldn't let anything happen to her." Daryl can't help but scoff at that proclamation, which, is clearly bullshit seeing is how he'd fuckin' pistol whipped her. "She's had worse." It's not quite dismissive, he says it in a more matter-of-fact tone than anything which Daryl instantly finds grating. "Hey, man. You mind not eyeballing my wife?" Just like that - he goes from annoyed to something else entirely.

Anger courses through his veins. The spark catches and roars through him, in his minds eye he can see himself grabbing the man by the neck and jerking him hard against the bars over and over. Wife. His wife.

His mind is struggling with the decision, whether or not Beth is alive and in the cell or decaying in the backseat of a car - but he's sure about one thing. More sure than he's been about anything in his goddamn life. That the word wife coming out of this fucker's mouth is just damn wrong.

The indecision is temporarily struck down by anger and the urge to strangle the man where he stands. All of the sudden she's Beth and she didn't belong to anyone, not ever. She was her own. Wasn't a soul in the world that had a right to lay claim to something like her, not a goddamn soul.

It's easy to shift his gaze to glare daggers at him instead. "I get it. She's pretty. Not a whole lot pretty left in this world." No, he thinks bitterly. Pretty isn't the word for what she is. The man quiets for a second and shoots a glance over his shoulder. "Who does she look like?"

The question is so sudden it takes him back. Daryl literally leans back on his heel and freezes. The man lets out a labored sigh. "You all looked like you were having a stroke when you saw her face. Looked like you saw a goddamn ghost."

Maybe that was because they fucking had.

His fists ball at his sides. Which, the guy seems to take notice off. There's something sympathetic in his gaze now. "It happens a lot. Aside from the whole -" He waves his hand over his face, Daryl only assumes he's trying to reference the scars. " - she looks like everyone's kid sister, or the best friend they had when they were eight, or somebody they went to highschool with. Usually she opens her mouth and does something stupid and they realize their mistake pretty quick." He adds thoughtfully.

Only this time, he's not so sure it's a mistake. It would be better if it was. Would be better if they were just all hallucinating or some shit. What was the alternative? That they'd left her for dead. They they'd left her behind. Defenseless, wounded, without supplies.

His brain jumps back and forth by the second. One second she's Beth, the next she isn't. As if it all wasn't infuriating enough. The man is staring at him expectantly, like he's waiting for a genuine answer. Daryl just snorts. Good fucking luck, buddy. The only thing he wants to say is that there's no way a girl like that would marry an annoying shit like him, only he can't.

That would just invite the guy to talk some more. Which was quite possibly the last goddamn thing he needed.

"Talking about it is cathartic." Daryl can feel his skin prickling. He can feel the rumble in his throat. It's a growl low and clear. He doesn't even think about it, make the conscious decision to snap around and all but throw himself at the bars. It has a desired effect, the man takes a quick step back. "Fine." He says, as if he'd just deeply offended him.

Without another word the man retreats back to the corner, sitting right beside her. Daryl's eyes narrow into slits. She's moving, groaning. Her eyes are still shut but her arm is shaking. This prompts the man to lean over and pull her closer.

It's so tempting to tear the goddamn door off its hinges and pull her away from him.

The only thing that keeps him from it is the sound of the door upstairs opening and closing, and Carol's voice cutting through the air.

xxx

"Rick!"

She's panicked. Something's wrong. It's enough to pull him away, because it's Carol. The two are contained for now, and they weren't getting anything out of the girl until she woke up, anyways.

Carol's there. She's got Ezekiel's people with her. Including the one's that they'd found off the side of the road a ways, tied up in the back of the van. Eric and Aaron had gone back to the house to check on the other girl. Tara and Rosita had opted to head down to the cell. Nobody batted an eye on that when they awkwardly excused themselves. This didn't concern them. They didn't know her. To them, all Beth had ever been was a body.

Eric had been right, Carol had gone to the Hilltop. They'd picked the man up from there, and Alexandria had been their next stop. Only things hadn't gone to plan and they'd hijacked the van, otherwise they would have arrived at the same time.

"How long have you known?" There's an anger in Rick's voice that he ain't used to hearing, not when he was talking to one of his own.

Carol doesn't waver, she doesn't so much as blink. "Not long. Ezekiel met her first. I almost missed her, I was at the cottage when she first got there…" His head is spinning again. Ezekiel had met her. They could have known days ago. "His guards found a group of children out on patrol, she was with them. She tried to run and they took her in." Carol flinches, crossing her arms over her chest.

"She was with children?" Rick asks, cocking his head to the side. He's confused. Hell if they all aren't.

"Yes. They're at the Kingdom now. There was a second group but only two made it, they were headed to the Hilltop."

There's something about that, that immediately sends up red flags. "How sure are you they were just kids?" Daryl finally speaks up, voice hoarse. Kids could have been bait, or a distraction.

"They swept the woods. Didn't find signs of anyone or anything else."

Not good enough. "They could have cleared out, avoided the patrols."

Carol shoots him a look. A look that says he outta stop soundin' like he's about to challenge her because this isn't the time or place for it. "The only thing they found were the remains of the second group."

"Jesus," Michonne mutters. "The remains?"

The look on Carol's face is grim. Something about this has him feeling anxious, anxious and combative. "She brought the kids there but she didn't stay with them?" Rick, to his credit pushes on. He has to anyways. Nothing Carol's saying is clearing up any of this shit.

"She left by choice. Ezekiel tried to convince her to stay but she had no interest, he let her go."

Why didn't you tell us?

He wants to march right up to her, get right in her face and demand an answer. He just doesn't have the balls to do it - Carol wouldn't put up with that sort of crap. She must sense it because she lets out a heavy sigh. "I didn't find out about her until she had already left. Even when he told me I wasn't sure. How could I have been? I watched her die. We all did." Something about her delivery makes him flinch. "I couldn't have rushed to you or Maggie without proof. The last thing any of us can afford to do right now is chase a ghost."

"But she ain't a ghost." He bites back. "We don't have some dead thing down in the cell." It's meaner than he'd meant it, but he can't help it. Not even a little.

A painful silence swept through the room. "It's really her, isn't it?" Michonne asks quietly.

Carol asks to see her. There isn't much more to say, she'd told them what little she knew. He can hear the asshole downstairs singing again. Rick must sense the fact that he's planning on going down there and shutting him up himself because he places a firm hand on his shoulder and gives him a look. The look, the one that says 'don't even think about it' before brushing past.

The room empties quickly. Carol hangs back, for whatever reason. She'd wanted to see Beth - so he can't figure out why she's just standing there looking at him like that.

"What?" It's harsh, defensive. It's him. That's probably why Carol doesn't even so much as roll her eyes. She gets it, gets him. She always had.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Thought you wanted to see the girl." Because he can't say her name, not out loud at least.

"I don't think she's going anywhere. Besides I thought it would be best if it was...just us." Fuck. He's not going to like it. Immediately he knows that he'd rather throw himself out the fucking window than be apart of whatever Carol's planned out. "It's about Beth." His teeth grit together, jaw locking into place. She waits a beat because she has to know from this point on, he's not gonna speak unless spoken to. Unless she drags it out of him. No one talked about Beth. Not outloud, certainly not to each other.

Her voice is calm, collected. Like it always is. "Do you know if she was pregnant?"

Fuck it if he doesn't choke on air. His eyes may well bug right out of his head. Pregnant? Beth? There ain't no way. "I know you two were on your own for a long time."

And what? What the hell is she trying to get at? That he'd knocked Beth up?

"I didn't do anything." Daryl shrinks away, bowing his head.

Carol's quick. She must pick up on it, what he thinks she's insinuating. "That's not what I meant," She says softly. "Before the prison fell, I know she had a few boyfriends. The man you have downstairs with her showed up at the Hilltop with a baby, he said that Beth was the mother." The thought makes his stomach drop like a stone. Beth and a baby. There's no way That Beth would ever let something like that happen, after they'd seen the risks with Judith? Jesus Christ, why is he even thinking about this? There's no way she would have been. Their girl had been smart.

She reaches for him, slender fingers wrapping around his fist that he's got balled so tightly his knuckles are turning bright white. "Come on, let's go."

Go see her, she means.

He glances up and towards the door through the curtain of hair that's fallen over his fast.

Go see Beth.


A/N:

So that happened.

What do you guys think. Do I still have it? Should I never write a Daryl POV again? Should Mac audition for a ZA version of American Idol?
I promise this will be the last time Beth is knocked unconscious again, for a long time, if not forever.