Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you to everyone who reviewed! As to the poll, the idea seems to be that Maggie would have a problem, but come around pretty quickly. I guess I could see that. Though my personal opinion leans more towards Carl, because I think he is still young enough to take issue with someone else getting there first when he had such a crush on Beth. There were just too many great reviews that I would love to recognize for me to do them all justice, so let me just say a huge THANK YOU to everyone and that I thought all of your takes on the poll question were really interesting. I love the thought that everyone puts into their answers. I am so happy at the response this story has gotten. I think I am going to have to start making use of that little 'reply to review' bubble. Anyway, I hope you continue to enjoy the story and let me know what you think! Thanks again, sooooooo much!

Hunted

Chapter Nine

The days and the nights had started to blur together. Beth had lost track of how long they had been going. Time seemed to be nothing more than one long continuous stream of running and running and more running. They had found a road a few days ago; or had it been a week before? She wasn't sure anymore. But they had stayed on that road for a little ways, hoping to come across a usable car. Along the way, they had found a kind of flyer attached to an old telephone pole. It had been for some place called Terminus and had promised safety; sanctuary. Those were things that sounded like miracles to Beth but Daryl was wary of anything that involved another group of people that they didn't know.

"I don't think it's a good idea," he had said, passing the flyer that Beth looked at with longing.

"But—but safety in numbers, right?" Beth had countered, double-timing her steps to catch up to him.

"We got you and me. That's all the numbers I care about. We don't need nobody else."

"But what if the people at Terminus can give us shelter? What is they can help us get away from Joe?"

"And what if they're just like him? Or the governor?"

"I don't wanna run forever, Daryl."

He had stopped moving and looked at her then. A rare soft expression had crossed his face as he had reached out and squeezed her shoulder, his thumb massaging at a tension knot where her shoulder joined her neck, "I know."

Beth had taken the opportunity to move in closer to his body, then batted her big, clear blue eyes at him, "Will you consider it at least? Terminus?"

"I'll think about it, Beth," he had said, "but I'm tellin' you now, I don't like it."

She had known that that was all that she was going to get from him at the time, so she had let it drop. That had been days ago and he still hadn't really given her an answer on way or the other. They had since abandoned the road. Two wide open, Daryl had said, no cover. They were still traveling in the direction of the supposed sanctuary, but he never said whether or not that was where they were headed.

At the moment, he had them both crouched down, hidden in a bunch of prickly bushes as they spied on a group of about five walkers up ahead in a small clearing in the distance. The two of them just sat there, watching them. Beth had gotten pretty good at interpreting whatever Daryl's plans happened to be at the time but she found herself at a loss as to why they were staring at a bunch of walkers. She glanced over her shoulder and gazed at Daryl's profile. He was working something out in his head. His eyes were narrowed like he was looking into a bright light and his lips were parted just the slightest bit. It was the expression that he wore when he was thinking through a problem. She had seen it enough to recognize it. She wanted to reach over and touch him.

That was a desire that had been hitting her more and more frequently as of late; wanting to touch him or wanting for him to touch her. She had always had that little bit of a crush on him. He was so different from anyone that she had even known before. It seemed like such a silly word nowadays; crush. A silly word for a silly schoolgirl—and it didn't even come close to doing justice to what she felt for him now.

"I don't understand," she said in a hushed whisper, "they don't know we're here. Why can't we just go around?"

"Nah," Daryl replied, "don't you see deputy do-right over there?"

"What?"

Daryl pointed with two fingers, "Second from the back, that one there was a Georgia state trooper."

"So?"

"Think, Beth. Unless my eyes are goin' bad, and they ain't, he still has his gun. We're lucky, he may have an extra clip. Get somethin' other than that lil pocket axe you been swingin'."

"Hey, I've been doin' pretty well with that little pocket axe."

He cast a glance toward her, the barest hint of a smirk on his mouth, "Didn't say otherwise. Wanna gun or not?"

"Yes."

"Well, alright then."

That said, he led her along a zigzagging pattern through the trees, the two of them closing in on the small herd. As they drew nearer, Daryl sent a bolt careening through the lead walker's head. That was one of the few good things about the walkers. No special awareness. They tended not to notice when one of their own went down. So instead of looking around for the assassin that took out their comrade, they just continued stumbling along. So, Daryl paused, reloaded his bow and took down another. By that point, however, they were close enough that the remaining three had caught their scent.

Beth went straight for the trooper walker. It only seemed right that she take him out as she was the one in need of his weapon. She swung her little pocket axe at its skull as Daryl dispatched of the other two, using his buck knife with that ruthless kind of efficiency that he seemed to have been born with. He joined her by the dead trooper when he was done. Beth unbuckled the gun belt from around the trooper's waist. She pulled it from under him, un-holstered the gun to check the clip. Daryl was rifling through the trooper's pockets looking for anything that might be of use. There was a large, black Maglite attached to the gun belt. It was too heavy for Beth to be comfortable so she detached it and handed it to Daryl before fastening the belt around her hips. Daryl checked that the light worked before shoving it into his bag. He had also found a good sized knife in the trooper's pocket. He flicked it open, tested its sharpness with the pad of his thumb, then closed it and held it out to Beth.

"You tuck that down in your boot," he ordered.

Beth took the black handled, military style knife from his hand and did as he said. It didn't really sit comfortably against her ankle, but she would get used to it.

Daryl watched Beth straighten out from her crouch and braced himself for the now familiar tightening in his chest. She had a gun now; she had her hatchet and a new, perfectly sharpened knife. He could at least be satisfied that she was suitably armed. Right now, every little advantage that he could give her mattered. She knew how to handle a gun, was actually a pretty decent shot. Look pretty damn cute with a glock strapped to her hip, too.

He'd just keep that tidbit to himself.

He steered his thoughts away from that particular subject. It was just better if he didn't think about her being cute. Or beautiful. Sure as hell not sexy. As though reading his mind, Beth walked over to one of the other downed walkers and bent over it. Daryl found himself staring at her perfectly heart shaped rear end.

Dammit.

He shook it off and went to retrieve his bolts. Now was not the time to torture himself. He could do that plenty when they stopped for the night. Hell, that had practically become part of his routine. She claimed she couldn't get comfortable unless she used him as a pillow, so he let her. But only until he was sure that she was sleeping. Then he would slip as far away from her as caution would allow. But he'd watch her.

He watched her peaceful, slumbering face and thought about how soft her skin would be, how sweet she'd probably taste, how innocent she really was. Then, he'd curse at himself in his head for an hour or two and get back to keeping watch. That had become his nightly ritual more or less.

Beth joined him as he cleaned off his bolts and the two of them continued on their way. As they went, Daryl couldn't help but grin at the way Beth's hand rested on the butt of her newly acquired pistol. She was keeping her guard up, his girl.

"Alright," he said, abruptly breaking the silence, "huntin' lesson." He held the crossbow out to her, "Let's see if you can bag our dinner."

They would need to stop for her to hunt. He was quick enough that he could take down a few small critters on the move. She wasn't. Not yet. She would need still and quiet if they had hopes of her getting anything. They would need to stop, which would lose them time. It wasn't a rational call on his part and for the life of him, he wasn't sure why he was doing it. But he wanted her to have confidence in her hunting abilities. If they were ever separated again (like he was ever going to let that happen) he wanted her to be able to take care of herself. She shouldn't need to rely on anyone else. Ever.

He set her up against a tree. Now, all she had to do was wait. Wait and let the prey come to her.

Beth stood there as Daryl went and propped himself up against a tree about ten feet from her. He wanted her to catch their dinner for the night. Okay, then. She took a breath and cleared her mind to focus on her surroundings.

For some reason, her mind didn't clear but wandered back to that day she had first seen Daryl. They had just lost Otis; she had been sad and clinging to Jimmy—oh, sweet, sweet Jimmy—and he had come roaring up the driveway of the farm on his motorcycle, the leader of the little convoy that would become her family. How long ago that all seemed now; ages; a distant memory.

She remembered being so scared and fascinated by him. Then, she had hated him for a while. He had been the one to shoot her mother. He probably didn't remember that. Andrea had killed Annette, but when she had first come pouring from the barn after Shane broke the lock, Daryl had been the one to shoot her. It was an image that had never really left her. After a while, she realized what she knew to be gospel now. Her mother had been dead for a long time before then. She wouldn't say she had ever forgiven Daryl the act. More that she had realized that there had been nothing to forgive. He hadn't done anything wrong. At the time, it had served to add to her fear of him.

She glanced over to where he leaned against his tree, his arms crossed over his chest, he steady blue gaze fixed on her. She couldn't imagine it now; being afraid of him. Daryl would never do anything to hurt her—or anyone that he cared about for that matter. God help the person who did. No. All she felt with Daryl now was safe and comfortable.

And a healthy dose of lust.

That was another thing that she had come to accept. She had gone and let herself fall in love with Daryl Dixon and being around him, being close to him had a deep, pulsing fire burning low in her belly. Lord, what she wouldn't give to know if he felt anything like that for her.

Great. The world was overrun by dead cannibals, she didn't know if any of her family was still alive and there was band of psychotic miscreants chasing them with a bagful of bad intentions. All that and what she thought about more than anything else was whether or not Daryl's feelings matched her own.

Stupid.

But it wasn't something that she could help. She needed to know. She needed to be proactive and figure out exactly what was between them. Then, she could stop obsessing about it. It was the perfect solution. She just needed to figure out how she was going to do that.

A squirrel scurried in front of her on a tree about twenty yards away. Daryl and she saw it at the same time. Beth aimed the crossbow, took a breath and squeezed the trigger. The bolt smashed into the tree and the furry little squirrel scampered away, unhurt.

Beth's shoulders slumped as she lowered the crossbow in defeat. In a blink, Daryl was by her side relieving her of the heavy weapon. He gave the back of her neck a squeeze and went to collect the bolt.

"Barely missed," he said as he walked, "A little more practice. You're gettin' there."

As Beth fell into step beside him, Daryl reached over and took her by the elbow. He liked doing that. He could use the excuse that he was just making sure she stayed close, but the truth was that he just enjoyed being able to touch her. He drew her the slightest bit closer to his side.

"Thinkin' we'll find somewhere to bed down for the night," he said, "and tomorrow maybe we'll head back toward those train tracks. See where those lead us for a ways."

"I thought you wanted to stay off the track. Find a town." Beth said, easing her elbow out of his grasp and tucking her hand into his.

"Yeah," he said, appreciating to contrasting roughness of her palm and softness of the skin at the back of her hand, "but the woods are getting' denser, thicker. We ain't come across a town yet. Maybe we can find a station or a stop or somethin'. Maybe find a map."

Beth wanted to ask him again about Terminus, but every time she brought it up, he got all irritable and grumpy. She didn't want to deal with grumpy Daryl, right now. Not tonight. Tonight she was going to find out how he felt about her.

"So, we're gonna stop for the night first?"

"Yeah. It's gettin' dark. We'll find somewhere."

"Good."

A pile of dead biters. Joe counted ten of them. Daryl and his petite treat had taken down ten dead assholes. He had always known that Daryl would have been a valuable addition to his boys. Looking at the carnage before reiterated that fact and served to piss him off on a whole new level. He blamed Blondie. She showed up and Daryl went all misty eyed and pussy-whipped. And Daryl, who did that little bitch think he was? Thinking he could just tag along with the boys, enjoy their hospitality and generous nature and then cut out whenever he felt like it. And all because of some fucking woman! That just wasn't how things worked.

Joe would teach him.

Joe would teach him that every action has consequences and you had better be prepared to suffer those consequences before you pull some punk ass move. Betrayal was an action that had big consequences. And in Joe's opinion, where that bitch Daryl and his little blonde whore were concerned, the suffering would know no limits.

A/N: Okay, that's it for now. For the record, that little part that I put in there about Daryl shooting Beth's mom at the barn, that's true. I have been watching season two lately and Daryl totally shot her in the face! Thought it was kind of interesting that he was the one to do that and wanted to pay it homage in my story.

Anyway, I don't have a poll question for this chapter. I have a few thought up for future ones, but it didn't feel right to tag one to this chapter. Please review though. I am curious as to your thoughts on what has happened and what may happen. Thanks for reading! Please, please, please, please review!