Alright, the final chapter. It's been a long ride, I started this all the way back in January so to everyone who has been reading since the beginning, to everyone who only picked this up a couple months ago, a very sincere thank you. And to everyone who is about to read this, I apologize for the long, sappy thank you note below.

This will be the first fanfiction that I have ever finished, hell it's the first written work longer than twelve pages that I've ever finished. So I'm going to go ahead and say I'm proud of myself, I finished something for once in my god damn life. The fact that I have you guys, you wonderful, beautiful supportive people who somehow (beyond my expectations) have loved this fic right along with me is more than I ever could have hoped.

So to all of my readers, thank you. To everyone who has reviewed, thank you. To Amber, my amazing friend who has always been there when I needed her whether it to be to bounce ideas off of, look over my writing, or just squeal over fictional people with, I love you so much and thank you. To Emily, my Aussie darling, thank you for always being there to cheer me on, and reassure me that spiders could be worse if I were in Australia; I love you, and as always, the shoulder holster if for you.

Episode Nine - Choices

00:00

Milton Mamet had never considered himself a brave man. Smart? Yes. Clever, perhaps even witty on occasion, but never brave. That particular flaw in his personality was something he had learned to accept a very long time ago, and in the last forty eight hours he'd asked himself more than once why he'd chosen now to question his own character. Yet here he was, doing his best not to feel nauseous. He hadn't quite figured out if that was due to the nerves, the pervasive scent of the blood that was drying over his mouth, or the sight of one of the strongest men he knew looking so utterly broken.

Somewhere down the hall, behind closed doors, two men were yelling at each other. Milton was sure he knew why. It was the same reason Daryl Dixon was slumped in his chair, staring at the empty seat next to him like a black hole had opened in the old, wood grain. It was the same reason Milton stood here now.

He wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten to this point, had gone over it again and again, trying to see where being brave would make the least bit of sense. It didn't, no matter how many scenarios he ran through his head, he couldn't figure out how this would benefit him in the slightest.

This was his moment. The moment where for the first time in thirty six years he disregarded logic, disregarded risk, and made his choice. This was his moment to be brave.

39:15

Daryl kept his gun up, moving like Merle had taught him to all those years ago: silent, a predator. Moving like his father had forced him to: aware, a little boy who never quite learned to be a kid. Sweeping his eyes around the dark, empty room he pushed his heart back out of his throat. Clear.

He didn't pause in any one room too long, going to the kitchen next. His gaze lingered for a moment on the corner where she'd kissed him, but he kept going. If she was here - if she wasn't just asleep, curled up in his bed - then he needed to get to her as soon as possible. Maybe, if they were lucky, it wouldn't be too late.

He listened intently for any hint of noise as he stalked through the living room. Two feet to his right he had a memory, clouded with moonshine, of a girl who had held him close when he pushed her away. The bathroom where she'd seen his scars without treating him like a child. The bedroom where he'd held her all night, breathing in coconuts.

Each moment tainted with the fear of what he would find there - the places where she had lived, and breathed, and smiled at him like no one else had before - he didn't want to find her in here, he was relieved when he didn't.

The apartment was empty. No people, no bodies, no Beth. Still he couldn't shake the anxiety raking its way through his chest. She'd been missing for all of two hours, he needed to….he needed to take a moment to think things through.

Beth wasn't here. It didn't mean she'd been kidnapped, it didn't mean she was dead, it simply meant she was...she was somewhere else. She was out there, and if she was drinking cause he'd been a dick then so be it, at least she was breathing.

So he made himself some coffee. He paced. He made more coffee. He looked at the clock, it was nearly midnight, and still no sign of Beth. No matter how hard he tried to shake it off he had the feeling that something was wrong. It wasn't like Beth to drop off the grid like this, especially over something as silly as him.

At two in the morning, when the bars should have let out he found himself watching the door. By three she still hadn't come home, and he waited on the couch. What if she really had gone drinking? What if she'd passed out somewhere?

He shook his head...she was more responsible than that. If she was coming home then she'd be home soon.

He didn't sleep that night, and she didn't come home.

When he stepped into the shower every little sound the outside world made as it slowly woke was Beth walking down the hall, Beth opening the door, stumbling onto the couch, into his bed. Beth safe.

The apartment was just as empty when he got out, and just as empty when he left. It was five thirty in the morning, Beth had been missing ten hours.

31:00

"Daryl," Rick nodded to him, passing by his office on his way to the breakroom. It was six in the morning, Rick had just arrived but Daryl had been there for half an hour already. Daryl caught up to him, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled the pair of them into Rick's office.

"We need to talk," Daryl said.

"Gotta be now?" Rick asked, "Cause Lori packed me chicken salad, need to put it in the fridge."

"Now." Rick nodded, catching the seriousness in his voice, and closed the door. Daryl wasn't sure where to start, or what to say first. This mess was something that should have come to Rick ages ago. So he started with the one thing he knew for certain, "Beth's missing."

Rick's brow furrowed, "How long?"

"Dunno, sometime between two and seven last night...her sister can't get a hold of her, phone's off, didn't come home last night. Her car ain't in the garage." The tight feeling in his chest hadn't left since he'd gotten the call from Maggie, and each breath he took felt forced, mechanical.

Rick took a deep breath, setting his bag on the desk. Daryl watched him. He felt on edge, like he needed to move, like he needed to be doing something. Why were they still just standing there talking?

"Can't file a missing persons report for twentyfour hours." Rick sat, running his face through his hands.

"Something's wrong Rick, this ain't like her."

"Daryl," Rick said, looking him in the eye, "Unless you have reasonable suspicion that there's something more here than a late night out, I don't know what we can do." The words sounded reluctant, everyone here loved Beth, but Rick was a man of rules and evidence. He needed more to go on.

"She was going after someone," Daryl started, "Glenn Rhee's killer. Close too...too close. Weren't a night she wasn't up till three with that damn lap top of hers."

"You're just telling me this now?" Rick asked. He sounded pissed, this wasn't the kind of thing that should've been kept from him. Daryl knew that.

"Weren't mine to tell," Daryl said, "Should've. She...she'd been acting weird alright? Nervous. She….the day she disappeared, she told me she thought it was Governor O'Brien." Hell it made sense, Tate Hogan had always been buddy buddy with O'Brien, and he was the one who'd nearly put a bullet through her head. If his wife of all people had been willing to turn him over, then...he believed Beth. She was smart, if she thought it was him then, he thought she was right.

"You got evidence?" Rick asked, voice a bit strained.

Daryl swallowed, and shook his head, "No. I wasn't in on this, didn't want to be, was like she was tryna chase down a bear with a bb gun. Don't know what she had on him, where she kept it...day before she disappeared she said she met with Alice O'Brien."

"Daryl, why don't you sit down?" Rick said, nodding to the chair across from him, and Daryl shook his head.

"M'fine."

"Daryl," Rick said a bit more forcefully, "I wanna talk to you, now sit." Daryl's teeth dug into his bottom lip, "Please."

He nodded, pulling out the chair and sitting. He didn't like being so still.

"I agree with you, Daryl," Rick said, "Beth wouldn't just ghost out like this if something weren't wrong, but until seven tonight, or until you can get me something to work with - my hands are tied, I'm sorry. I can't go around accusing someone like Philip O'Brien on nothing more than the word of a girl we can't find, alright?"

Daryl was very quiet, and his throat felt tight, and he was resisting the urge to grind his teeth. Beth could be anywhere, could be hurt, could be...could be dead. He got why Beth had been trying to investigate this under the radar, regulations were a bitch.

"You get something we can go off of, somewhere to start, alright?" Rick said, never breaking eye contact until Daryl nodded.

"Alright." He stood, and turned for the door.

"Daryl?" He paused, hand on the knob, "We're going to find her."

31:00

Milton didn't drink often, but last night he had felt like he had needed to…a lot. At six in the morning, with his ringtone ricocheting violently in his skull, he almost wished he hadn't. Swallowing was painful, his throat too dry, and he felt like he was moving through molasses as he sat up and reached for his phone.

"Hello?" He croaked.

"Milton." The familiar voice of Philip O'Brien made his insides twist, the normal convivial façade tinged with something else. Milton was too hungover to pinpoint the undertones in his boss' emotions, but he sounded...breathy. Like he'd just run on the treadmill.

Milton cleared his throat and reached for his glasses, "Sir, what can I do for you?"

"You know I don't need you to call me sir, Milton. We're friends - I wouldn't ask the things I ask of you of an employee." No, and he shouldn't be asking them of anyone.

"I still take money from you, sir," Milton said, dragging each leaden leg out of bed. If The Governor was bothering to call him this early, then he assumed it meant he would have to get up.

Philip must have decided to ignore the comment, as he continued on, "I need you to come over to my place," he said, and Milton nodded though Philip couldn't see him. It was better than other things he'd been asked to do, he might even get to see Alice. For all the psychopathic tendencies of his boss, Milton had a soft spot for the man's family. Alice was his friend, she understood that he wanted to be there no more than she did.

It was just hard to leave Philip.

"What for, sir?" Milton asked.

"I need you to take Penny to camp, I'm...preoccupied at the moment."

"Doesn't Alice normally take her in?" Milton asked, brow furrowing. He had told Alice not to meet with Beth Greene, the woman had been walking on eggshells for years, he'd told her there was no point in trying to stomp on them now. She'd gone ahead and done it anyway. Milton didn't know what had happened to Beth Greene since they came for her last night, and it made him sick to think about it.

Beth was gone, and for his own sanity it was best to forget about her. Now the only person he had to worry for was Alice.

"Alice…" The Governor said, "Isn't feeling quite well at the moment."

Milton swallowed again, and stood, suppressing a groan, "I'll be right over."

29:30

Milton walked in the front door of the Governor's Mansion, and frowned. It was seven thirty, Penny had to be at summer camp in twenty minutes, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the whole house had an unsettlingly still air, as if not a soul inside was breathing. He could see the dim reflection of the hall light on the wall up stairs, and light spilled under the crack in the door to the breakfast room. Everything else was bathed in the cool gray of early morning.

Yet there was no noise. No one could be heard shuffling about upstairs, no one giggling over cereal in the breakfast room, no telltale sound of running water as Alice filled the bath. She always liked to take baths so hot that she came out pink when she was sick, said it cleared out her lungs, helped her breath.

He shook his head, maybe he should take one. The last few days he'd felt as if he'd been suffocating.

Slowly, he opened the door to the breakfast room, and peered inside. Empty. Through the door to the adjoining kitchen he could see two bowls neatly stacked next to the sink. He tried to ignore the nervousness he felt, he was always nervous, it hadn't stopped since he'd met Philip two years ago. These days the steady gnawing deep in his gut meant little more than the fact that he was awake.

Deciding to follow the lights he tentatively made his way up the stairs. He poked his head in each room as he went: the study, the playroom, the den, Penny's room had nothing more than the glassy eyed stuffed animals that she kept piled on her bed. Each one was empty.

Finally, he came to a stop at the door to the master suite at the end of the hall, and knocked.

No answer.

He opened the door. The curtains were drawn, and he had to squint to see anything in the darkness, so he flipped on the light.

His reaction was immediate. Slamming the door, he fell to his knees, holding back retches that tasted like cheap beer, and leaned against the wall - doing his best not to look at the picture of Alice that stared down at him - and tried to will himself to breath again. He did, it was gasping and rattling, as tears sprung to his eyes.

He needed to calm down...he needed to, he needed...

"I was hoping you wouldn't have to see that." The Governor's voice rang down the hall, cheerful. He sounded cheerful. "I took Penny to camp myself, she had some sort of song ceremony today, and didn't want to be late." He stood over Milton now, a smile on his lips and a hand outstretched, "A shame really," he nodded towards the closed bedroom, "but some things need to be done. Don't they?" The last two words were distinctly colder, and Milton made a point of nodding vigorously.

His heart wouldn't stop beating. He took The Governor's hand, he stood, and scared himself when his other hand curled into a fist. Milton forced each finger to pry itself free, he couldn't afford anger.

"Now that you're here, I could use your help." Philip was all smiles again.

"Of course, sir."

For his own sanity, it would be best to forget.

29:00

Daryl didn't come down to tech often. Carol had always been rather close with Karen, being good friends with her husband, Tyreese, so he'd let her do the tech visits. Then Beth had ended up just as close with the girl, so it was odd coming down to the second floor himself, but he needed help.

He'd found Beth's computer. Didn't know the password, but he needed in, needed to find something on the bastards who took her.

"Hello?" He called out into the computer lab, Beth's laptop safely tucked under his arms, "Karen?"

He turned, hearing footsteps coming to the door off in the corner. "Daryl?" Karen asked, closing the door behind her, "I heard about Beth, is everything -"

"I need your help." Daryl held the computer out to her, "Can't...can't figure out the password."

Karen nodded, taking the laptop and setting it on the desk. It took all of twenty seconds, and Daryl's brow furrowed. "It's Nelly00," Karen said, "she got her first horse back in two thousand when she was twelve, a mare named Nelly."

"How'd you know that?" Daryl asked.

"She locked herself out a couple weeks ago, I helped her reset the password," Karen said, a slight frown on her lips. "You need to find anything in particular?"

"Files," he said, leaning on the desk to get a better look at the screen, "I don't...I don't think she kept them on the computer, she had a thumb drive." She'd spent so much time with this computer lately, tapping out notes, staring at reports. Something had to be on here, something, anything, that could tell him where she was.

"There'll be traces," she said, going into the hard drive, "I'll see what I can find. You know what was on those files?"

"Information," Daryl said, "She was looking into Governor Philip O'Brien." Karen blinked, and looked up at him. His lips thinned as his chest started to tighten again, he didn't know how much time he had. "How long will it take you?"

"I...I don't know, depends on the drive, how much she has on the computer...if anything is encrypted. I…"

"How long?" Daryl asked, a hint of a growl low in his throat.

Karen took a deep breath, "Give me a few hours," she started clicking away, and then added, "Do we have that long?"

Daryl bit his lip, "Hope so."

He didn't want to lose another partner, he didn't want to lose Beth, and didn't think about what he would do if he did. But he didn't think he could keep doing this, not with her gone too. Daryl shook his head, fist clenching as he shut the door behind him. He needed to stop thinking like that, like she was already dead and gone, cause she wasn't. Beth Greene was alive, he knew that much.

She was strong, and she was smart, and she was alive. She had to be.

25:00

Daryl couldn't take his eyes off of the body laid out on the cold, metal table. She looked peaceful, blonde hair sprawled out behind her. If it weren't for the thick purple bruises clawing at her neck, he could almost imagine she was sleeping. He drew in a deep breath, and looked at Stookey.

"What happened?" He asked.

"Anonymous tip called it in. She was strangled," Stookey said, tracing a gloved hand over the bruises, "From the size of the contusions the suspect is male and tall. However...whoever left her in the dumpster...they knew what they were doing."

Daryl nodded, eyes flicking briefly down to the naked body. He grimaced.

"Stripped her, cleaned under fingernails...hell it looks like they might have dipped them in bleach too from the burns on her fingertips. Anything that might have held a trace of her killer...it's gone."

Daryl took another deep breath, trying to remain calm.

"I'm sorry, Daryl," Stookey said. Taking off his gloves.

"It might be enough...he could be...could still be a suspect. Get people looking at him closer." Daryl tried to reason, he still needed something, anything to go off of.

Stookey nodded, but he didn't look like he really meant it. "Maybe, maybe not. We don't even know if he killed her himself. Supposing he had anything to do with it at all."

The Governor was behind this, had to be, Daryl was sure of it. Beth had gotten too close, started asking questions of the wrong people, even worse she started getting answers. Philip O'Brien had gotten scared, and now Alice O'Brien was dead. If he had the files from Beth's computer, had the notes...then maybe he would have a case. It was twelve now, and he was still waiting on Karen to call him back.

With one more body on The Governor's list, Daryl couldn't help but worry, that Beth might be the next if he didn't get to her fast enough. If he couldn't even get Rick to look for her.

"I'll see what else I can find," Stookey said, "but don't expect too much. Porter might be able to pick something up I missed, he has an eye for that kind of thing." Daryl glanced over at Eugene, he'd been quiet the whole time Daryl had been there. It was disconcerting actually, Porter normally couldn't shut up.

"He doin okay?" Daryl asked quietly, nodding towards the man staring absentmindedly into a microscope.

Stookey frowned, "Mamet didn't show up for work today, he's not answering his phone either. I think Porter's kind of worried, for all the bashing and fights, I don't think he has any other friends."

Daryl frowned.

He'd almost started to wonder if Milton had anything to do with this, when his phone started to ring.

"Daryl?" Karen's voice came through the line, "I've got them."

"I'll be right over," Daryl said, and then looked up at Stookey, "I've gotta go."

Jogging out to his bike, he almost didn't notice the car parked all alone down at the end of the lot. An old, tan, Toyota Camry. He stopped, staring at it. It was Beth's car, whatever had happened to her...it had happened here.

28:15

The first thing she registered feeling was pain. It was dull, and pulsing, overpowering her senses and thoughts as she struggled to rise out of darkness. She wasn't quite sure how long it took her to realize that the darkness wasn't in her head. The lights were off, and she was almost thankful. Her headache was splitting, and she didn't think she could handle light right now.

Regardless, she had no idea where she was, but could tell she hadn't been given the nicety of a window. The one thing she knew was the she couldn't lay on the floor forever, so, steeling herself, she propped herself up on her arms.

She screamed the moment she put her weight on them, fire shooting up from her right wrist, and she had to choke back the tears that sprung to her eyes. It was broken, of that much she was sure, though for the life of her she couldn't remember how. Her last memory was Milton Mamet apologizing for something that didn't make...sense.

"Damn it," she cursed, and tried to hold back tears of a completely different kind. Milton had turned her over, hadn't he? That son of a bitch.

Keeping her weight on her left arm this time, letting out a cry as her hip protested and her ribs groaned, but she kept going, staggering to her feet and leaning against the wall to her left. Her breathing was labored, and each intake of air made her ribs ache. They might be broken too.

She needed to figure out where she was, so, slowly, she began to make her way along the wall searching for the corners. It didn't take her long, the room was small, and in no time her good hand was drifting over a thick wooden door. She tried the handle, locked. Squinting she could see the faintest bit of light under the crack, blue, like daylight filtered through windows and empty space.

Frowning she started to run her left hand over the walls near the door, feeling a spark of satisfaction when her fingers brushed the smooth plastic of the light switch, and finally she could see. The room was small, hardly more than a closet, with a single bulb covered by one of those glass bowl-things from the fifties - the kind painted with little roses and vines.

The roses were chipping, but it was the prettiest thing in the dingy room. Now that she could see the mold creeping up the walls, the faint smell of mildew grew distinctly stronger.

In the corner was an old metal chair, which she limped over to, sitting as gingerly as she could. Her hip still ached, and she wished she could remember what had happened outside the morgue. She fingered the cloth of her skirt...the pretty white sundress was stained with dirt and smears of black. She'd liked this dress.

She sighed, and glared at the door.

If it weren't for the hip she thought she could've at least tried to kick it down, but she didn't think the hip could hold her weight on one leg. So now, with her tiny cell explored, all she could do was sit, wait, and try not to let the adrenaline overtake her good sense. Time passed, she closed her eyes, she opened them, more time passed, and after what felt like hours she heard something.

Voices coming closer.

And then the door opened, revealing none other than Milton Mamet. Her face settled into a stony glare as he closed the door behind him, and repeated the sentence that should have told her to run as fast as she could last night. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," she said, not masking the blame in her voice.

He took a moment, looking at her with a pained expression before going on, "How're you feeling?" He asked, and then let out a nervous little laugh, "I'm sorry...that...that was a stupid question."

Yeah it was, but her silence seemed to be disturbing him, so she continued to simply watch him.

"You, you were hit by a car last night...I hear...the injuries aren't too extensive it would appear. You're, you're awake." When she didn't respond, he continued, "The Governor, he...you've...you've worried him."

"Good," Beth said, narrowing her glare.

"No," Milton said suddenly, "Not good. The Governor...he doesn't like to be scared, when he's scared he gets angry. He, he wants to know what you know, who you've told, who might know."

She'd only ever told Daryl, and there wasn't a thing on earth that could get her to point that sadistic bastard towards him. So she kept her mouth shut.

"I think he wanted me to ask you as a...as an effort to be civil, but...I'm afraid that may not last long."

Beth was quiet, watching him with glassy eyes. Her hip didn't like the position the chair forced her into, but standing or sitting on the floor didn't sound much better.

"I'm sorry," Mamet said again, "Truly."

"Then help me," Beth said, glass slowly melting to give way to fire. For some reason all these apologies she'd been hearing were beginning to grate on her nerves, "Get me out of this...this hell hole."

"I can't," Mamet said quickly, avoiding her stare, and ducking for the door, "I'm sorry."

Beth felt like she could scream.

28:15

"I found a body. Alley off of North East Peach Tree and Sixth, dumpster behind the CVS." Milton hung up the phone with a shaky breath, and sniffed hard. He was far too close to crying, and his nose had always run when he cried. He didn't have many friends, but Alice had been one of them. He didn't think he could keep doing this without her, but he couldn't leave either, Philip would kill him.

Milton didn't lead a life he really considered worth living, but that didn't mean he wasn't afraid of dying.

He'd never been religious, but he was afraid that, if the Christians were right, he would have to see Alice again. He couldn't bare the blame in her eyes if she had known what he had done, if she had seen his trembling complacency, watched him prepare her body for Philip O'Brien's continued innocence.

He hated this place. The mildewy, abandoned factory that was technically owned by some haughty druglord. However, for his assistance, Philip was allowed to use it as a sort of office space for his less official business affairs. He would give anything to be back in bed right now, he would give anything to just forget.

He couldn't though. He couldn't forget Alice O'Brien, and he couldn't forget the girl locked in the closet down the hall, and he couldn't forget how much he hated the man who'd done this to them.

He couldn't do this anymore.

"Milton." The Governor had opened the door, "Come with me please."

Milton didn't say anything, quietly, obediently following behind him.

"I need you to speak with our guest," The Governor said, leading him down the hall, "Make it clear to her what information I need, the consequences if she's feeling...reservations. We can't afford not knowing what she's done, who she could've told. I don't want things...getting out."

"Of course, sir," Mamet said, void of emotion, and then stepped into Beth Greene's closet, "I'm sorry."

24:00

Daryl hadn't wanted to punch someone in the face this much since Carol died, and Rick seemed to know, keeping a hand firmly on Daryl's knee. All he wanted to do was to jump across this desk, and yell, and feel his fist against Chief Ford's jaw, but that wasn't going to help Beth.

So instead, voice strained as he stopped himself from yelling, he said, "What do you mean we ain't gonna look for her?"

"Dixon," Abraham started, fingers interlocked, and elbows on the desk as if in prayer, "You brought the evidence in yourself, you know what this man is capable of. He doesn't seem to have a habit of showing mercy. Greene's chances...I'm sorry, but they aren't good. We need to think about the other people who might die if we don't get to him."

Daryl shook his head, suppressing a growl low in his throat, "She's out there."

Abraham looked doubtful.

"She's out there!" He snapped, and the pressure on his leg increased, Rick warning him not to get out of hand, "If we go after this bastard now he's gonna panic, and she's gonna end up dead!"

"Dixon," Abraham looked like he was trying to remain calm, everyone in the APD knew the chief had a temper almost as bad as Daryl's, "We don't have the time! O'Brien is our top priority right now - you've brought me ample evidence of at least twelve murders, drug trafficking, human trafficking, and apparently now he's gone and killed his wife!"

Rick was looking at Chief Ford with a warning in his eyes, that Abraham seemed to take. Rick may only be a sergeant, but there weren't many people who didn't listen to him. Abraham took a deep breath, and continued.

"He's got a lot of resources, and he's got to know we're on to him by now," Abraham said, trying to sound as reasonable as he could, "He's going to be halfway to Mexico before you can blink, and then you won't even get justice for the dead girl you care so much about."

Rick couldn't stop Daryl from jumping up this time as he yelled, "She ain't dead!"

Abraham took a deep breath, "Son, why don't you sit back down."

"No." Daryl was starting to pace, like he had been for most of the day. Rick was watching him like he was crazy, and maybe he was...he couldn't handle losing Beth. Not now, not so soon after Carol, not when he'd only just found her. Not when he hadn't even found the balls to kiss her like he should have.

"Daryl," Rick said gently, a hand reaching out to grab his arm, but Daryl brushed him off. Right now he was just trying to keep his breathing even, he was a Dixon after all, and Dixons weren't good with keeping their tempers under control.

Abraham shook his head, "She should've brought this to us a long time ago, Dixon. The fact that this happened...it was a mistake, but we got a prioritize."

Daryl laughed bitterly, "Girl makes a damn mistake, and now it's gonna be a death sentence for her?" The urge to punch something, anything, was starting to become unbearable, "She ain't even been missing twenty four hours, and you fuckwads in suits think you can just give up on her!"

"Dixon." Abraham was glaring now.

"O'Brien wouldn't even be sitting in our laps now if it weren't for her! She's the best damn detective we got, and we're just gonna abandon her cause it ain't fucking convenient for ya?" His accent was thickening, and he was starting to sound almost disturbingly like his father. Perhaps with a bit this slurring...he almost painfully sober right now, even though a sensible man would've been halfway down a bottle of whiskey at this point.

"She's one of ours Abraham," Rick said finally, "Wouldn't be right not try."

It was quiet for a long time, and then finally Abraham nodded, "Twenty four hours, you have twenty four hours to find her before we make the arrest. Understand?"

Daryl nodded curtly, and glanced at the clock. It was one in the afternoon, he had twenty four hours.

22:00

Daryl had finally found the footage of Beth's abduction, grainy film off the security camera outside the morgue. He'd watched it three or four times now, unable to look away as he watched her try to run. Watched her head crack against the glass. Watched her, motionless, as she tumbled to the ground and was dragged away into that car.

A black sedan, ironically, just like the one the Dolgans had driven.

His only solace was that they hadn't just left her there. She was alive, and they wanted her for something, or else they would have left a corpse to rot in the parking lot for someone else to find.

The past two hours had been spent digging through footage, digging through notes, trying to see if there was any property in The Governor's name that sounded off. Nothing, he had nothing, but a minute long video of Beth Greene being hit by a car.

"Daryl?" Maggie's voice came from the door, and he looked up. With a stab of guilt he realized he'd forgotten about her, "Daryl, where's Beth?"

He closed his eyes, letting his face fall into his hands. He didn't have an answer for her, not a good one. Taking a deep breath he glanced between the frozen image of Beth halfway up the car's hood, and her sister who looked even more terrified than he felt. Beth was her sister, family, and Maggie Greene had already lost too much of that the past few months.

So he told her the truth.

"I don't know."

Tears were beginning to well in her eyes, fingers gripping her purse, "Is she okay?"

Daryl was quiet for a moment, "I don't think so."

A small, hitched sob escaped Maggie's chest, and Daryl did his best to ignore the tightening in his own throat. She slowly took a seat in the chair across from him, and rested her head in her hands as her shoulders shook. Daryl didn't have any words to comfort her, had no leads to follow, and no clue where he could find Beth Greene.

"I'm sorry," Daryl said quietly.

Maggie took a deep breath, sitting up, "Can you tell me why? Where...do you know anything?"

"Beth was, Beth was working a case on her own time. She...she ticked off the wrong people," Daryl grimaced, wishing he'd tried harder to convince her to lay off, "I think they wanted to keep her from talking."

Maggie's eyes widened a bit, as the hint of a sob began to curl her lips, "It wasn't...it wasn't the same-" she broke off as her chest heaved, and the tears started to trickle down her cheeks again. She had to take a deep breath to finish the thought, "The people who killed Glenn...did they...did they take her?"

"I'm sorry, Maggie."

22:00

For all Beth knew she could have been in there for days. Her head hurt, and she kept drifting in and out as the time dragged on and on. Her throat was impossibly dry, and the only thing that kept her from being hungry was the growing nausea in her gut. She was starting to worry that she had a concussion, but it wasn't the most pressing issue on her list.

The door hadn't been opened once since Milton had left. No one had come.

Daryl was looking for her. It was the one thing she knew for certain. Her head was spinning, and she couldn't tell time, but she knew that. Daryl was trying to find her, he had to be.

The door started to open, and she jerked her head up, wincing at the new wave of pain. Milton, it was just Milton again.

She was about to ask him what the hell he wanted from her, when he kneeled, and a set a small water bottle and a pack of cracker next to her. She'd moved to the floor, god knew how long ago, when the pain in her hip had become unbearable in that chair.

She looked warily between the food, and Milton before saying, "Thank you."

"I'm not supposed to bring you this...but I, I don't think it's right to starve you," he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"And it was alright to kidnap me?" She asked, weakly fumbling with the plastic on the crackers, her fine motor skills weren't quite up to par. He took them, deftly opening the package and handing them back.

"No, that was probably even worse."

The two were quiet for some time as she chewed, taking sips of water every few bites.

"I'll stay till you finish," he said nodding to the crackers, "Take the trash with me. It would be bad if someone found the wrappers, they'd want to know how they got in here."

She nodded.

"Look...I can't help you escape, I'm sorry, but I...I can tell you how you can get yourself out. I...I don't want to see anyone else die."

Beth blinked, heart fluttering with the first feather of hope she'd had since she'd woken up in the dark. She could get out, she wasn't going to rot in here.

"Thank you," she said, and she meant it.

"The ceilings in here are pretty low," he said glancing up, "You see that air duct up there?" She nodded "If you can use the chair to climb up there, it'll take you straight across the hall into a sort of armory, Philip always keeps a few guns in there. Take one. There's an exit into the back alley on this hallway, third door on the right."

She nodded, nibbling at her last cracker.

"You're going to have to wait a while, until it's night, by midnight everyone except a couple guards will have left," Milton said, and her brow furrowed.

"How am I going to know when it's midnight?" She asked, and Milton paused. It didn't seem like he'd thought about that. Then, almost reluctantly, as if he were afraid, he started to unbuckle his watch.

"If anyone comes in hide this," he said, handing it over to her. It was nice, with an antique face and a leather strap. He picked up the trash of her finished snack, and tucked it in his pockets as he headed back to the door, "Be careful, Beth."

With that he left.

19:00

"Eat it," Lori said, shoving the sandwich in front of him, but he just pushed it away, again. He didn't take his eyes off the computer screen, ignoring Lori and continuing to sift through pages and pages of notes. She was starting to annoy him, to be honest, and he was busy and didn't have time for this, but his temper was starting rise again.

"Daryl, I don't know how long it's been since you slept, you look like hell warmed over. I know for a fact you haven't eaten a thing all day, and it isn't doing you a damn bit of good."

"I ain't about me!" He snapped, glaring up at her, "This ain't about me, or you, or my god damn sleep schedule. This Beth, Lori."

"Daryl -" She started to interject, but he just kept going.

"I can't lose her, Lori!" He'd stopped reading, instead he kept seeing her face, "I'm not going to lose her, and if she's just wandered off into the woods somewhere I would have found her hours ago, but she didn't. So fuck off so I can focus!"

"Daryl, you aren't going to do her any good if you kill yourself trying to find her." Lori looked like she was trying her hardest to be patient with him.

He glared, but she had a point. Begrudgingly he took the sandwich, unwrapped it, and took a bite.

"Thank you," Lori said, and sat down.

It was quiet for a while before she said, "You love her don't you?" He stopped chewing, and his heart stopped beating, but he didn't reply as he watched her carefully, "Don't worry I won't tell Rick." His pulse started back up, but he still didn't say anything, "I've known for a while, but you just figured it out didn't you?"

He blinked, glancing down at the desk.

"You'll find her, Daryl. You've always been good at that kind of thing."

15:00

"They found Alice's body already," Philip said as they walked towards the exit. Milton glanced at the door Beth Greene was trapped behind, and hoped she would make it out okay.

"Have they?" Milton knew they already would have, he'd worked with the police for years. Some of them weren't the brightest, but they certainly could follow basic directions to a body. He shook his head, his mood had been steadily souring all day. The fear, the pain, fading into a distinct bitterness to the man he had once willingly called his friend.

Philip hadn't always been like this. There had even been a time when Milton had been convinced he was helping him do something good, why fight crime when you can control it? Prevent the adverse effects, the deaths, and the thefts, and all the pain right at the source. He still didn't know if something had changed The Governor, or if Milton was simply stupider than he'd always told himself.

"The Greene girl…" Philip said as they stepped out into the fresh air, "She's a risk."

"What are you going to do about her?" Milton asked, trying to sound disinterested.

"She has till tomorrow afternoon to talk, and then we'll need to dispose of her." Milton's blood ran cold, and he was thankful he'd given Beth the chance to escape while she could.

"And if she does talk, sir?"

"Well, I'll make sure to kill her a bit quicker."

13:00

Beth checked Milton's watch one last time, it was midnight exactly, and she was perched on the chair - grate already laying on the floor below her - ignoring the protest of her hip. The ceilings were rather low, and she could lay her forearm flat on the bottom of the air duct, but she was still going to have to hoist herself up.

She took a deep breath, put the flat slipper she'd been wearing when they took her in her mouth to bite on, and closed her eyes tight. This was going to hurt a lot, but pain sounded a hell of a lot better than waiting to die.

With a groan she secured her arms in the vent, reminded herself that the screaming bones in her right arm were worth being allowed to keep breathing, and started to pull. A ragged breath sounded like a grunt around in the thin shoe in her mouth as the pain hit, and everything went white. She couldn't stop pushing.

She sobbed, doing her best to muffle the cries as she kicked, and pulled, and struggled into the cold metal passage.

She bit down a scream, hot tears dripping down her cheeks, and gave it one last push. Her shoulder leaned into the air duct and with gasping breaths she spit out the shoe, and clambered the rest of the way into the duct. She laid there for a while, trying to catch her breath, waiting for the agony to subside at least a bit.

She still had to crawl all the way across the hall, and she couldn't waste much time. So she lightly placed Milton's watch in her bad hand, and tucked it against her stomach as she took her weight on her knees and left arm, and started to crawl. It was awkward, and the duct was only just wide enough to accommodate her shoulders but she kept going, she had to keep moving.

After what seemed like ages she pulled up the grate to the room opposite her cell, gripped the edge of the opening with her left hand, and dropped through. Her left arm alone couldn't hold her weight, and she fell hard to the ground, sending another flare of pain through her hip. She was just thankful Milton's water and crackers had stopped her head from spinning, though she was beginning to feel light headed again.

She couldn't hold a gun in her right hand, so she was going to have to shoot with her left. If she ran into anyone she would have to pray that she got lucky. Arming herself with a pistol, and slipping Milton's watch into her bra, she stopped at the door and listened. The hallway was silent.

Holding her breath, she eased the door open, and slid into the dark hallway. Milton had said it was the third door, and seeing as there was only one door before the end of the hall if she took a left, she headed right.

She moved silently, finger very close to the trigger. The gun felt all wrong in her left hand, and her heart beat faster at the thought of having to try to shoot at someone. She didn't think her aim would be true, but maybe she'd be lucky enough to scare them off.

She passed the first door on her right, quickly making note of the small window in it, and the man inside. Not having time to find out if he'd seen her, she started limping faster. She'd passed the second door when the first opened.

"Hey!" A man yelled, and she glanced back. She briefly recognized Shumpert's silhouette, and flung her left arm back, blindly sending a bullet his way. The shot rang out loud, but she knew she hadn't hit him.

Her hand closed around the handle of the third door, moonlight dimly illuminating her face as a hand roughly yanked on her broken wrist, and she cried out. The second bullet shattered the glass window in the door, and before she could say a word Shumpert was dragging her back down the hall.

She tried to fight, but each time she pulled she could feel herself nearly pass out.

The man unlocked the door to her closet, and roughly pushed her inside, where she crumpled to the floor. With the door closed again, she screamed, and finally let herself cry - really cry - for the first time since she'd woken up in the dark.

12:00

At some point Shumpert had come back with long strips of cloth, and tied her to the chair. She didn't have the energy to try to struggle, couldn't escape again. No, she was trapped this time, and with a horrible stab of fear she realized she probably was going to die. She was going to make Maggie mourn someone else, she would never see her parents again, or Shawn...or Daryl.

All she had left now was silence.

The door started to open, and she looked up. She was expecting Shumpert, or maybe for Milton to have come back, but her gut plummeted at the horribly familiar face that was smiling down at her: Philip O'Brien.

"You are a feisty one aren't you?"

She swallowed hard, not looking at him, not letting her stony expression falter.

"You've caused me a great deal of trouble, do you know that, Ms. Greene?" The Governor had the same friendly tone he used in his speeches, and for some reason that was all the more terrifying.

"Not very conversational are you?" He smirked, and slowly started to circle. Everytime he passed behind her, her pulse sped up, but she didn't dare turn her head to look at him. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing that she was scared. "Well you don't have to say much, Ms. Greene, you can just nod yes or no to my questions. I want you to be comfortable."

Beth swallowed hard.

"Have you told anyone what you know about me?" He asked as he came around behind her, and she remained utterly still. Dry, papery finger trailed up her arms, coming to rest on her shoulders, thumbs drawing slow circles. She closed her eyes, "Let's try that again shall we?"

"Have you told anyone what you know about me?" She still wouldn't respond. Lightning fast his fingers jumped to her pony tail, and he yanked hard. A short cry escaped her lips and she blinked the tears from her eyes.

"What about your partner, Daryl?" She bit her lip as he came back around to the front,

crouching to meet her eyes, "Have you told him?" She held still. She didn't think she was going to survive the night, but she wouldn't let Daryl become The Governor's next target. She could still remember the soft pressure of his lips against hers, his arms around her that night when she was sick, the way his eyes would light up when he smiled at her across the break room.

He didn't deserve to die for her mess.

"Have you told, Daryl, Beth?" He asked again. She kept her gaze on the wall just over his shoulder, she didn't even see the slap until it had almost hit her. His palm cracked hard across her cheek, and she swallowed a whimper.

He slapped her again, "Say something!"

She bit her tongue, but looked up at him, and met his gaze as he backhanded her hard enough for the chair to pop up onto two legs. Blood welled in her mouth, and she spit.

"Your sister, the one with the husband almost as troublesome as you. Did you tell her?" He asked, his voice pleasant again as he ran his hands over his knuckles, smearing away a bit of her blood.

The questions kept coming, and with each one a slap. She tried to push it all away, and sink back into herself. The hits started to go lower, a fist slamming into her already damaged ribs. She tried to remember the farm, and sunset rides with Maggie. A hand wrapped around her throat, and as the light started to dim she had her head on Hershel's lap some lazy Sunday afternoon, a book propped on her stomach.

His hand released and she took a gasping breath.

"How much do you know?"

Sneaking brownies from NYU's dining hall with Amy.

He grabbed her right wrist, and twisted. Beth screamed, and as she struggled to remain conscious she saw Daryl. He was standing in the hall between their offices, dressed in a leather vest with angel wings and a pair of torn up jeans, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a look of tentative concern on his face.

"You really ain't goin' home?"

"No," she whispered.

Her wrist twisted farther, and a second scream tore from her throat, eventually breaking out into a soft sob.

"What did you say to me?" The Governor growled.

Daryl looked at her, running his thumb up and down the strap on his bag. He looked away, an expression she now recognized as bashful, before meeting her eyes. She never had understood how they were so blue.

"My place is about ten minutes out...gotta pretty comfy couch."

"I'm sorry." Her voice cracked. She wasn't coming home.

"That's better," The Governor released her wrist, "Now why don't we try again? Did you tell Daryl?"

She let out a small sob as she tried to cling to Daryl, but the pulsing pain in her head was beginning to overpower everything else. He nodded goodbye, turning to leave. She wanted to cry after him, but she couldn't get her voice to work as she watched angel wings begin to fade.

He slapped her again, and Daryl was gone.

"Did you?!" The Governor yelled.

Beth clung to what she had left. Her memories and her silence.

03:00

Milton glanced at as phone as he rounded the corner, fifteen missed texts and three voicemails from Porter. At the very top of the list, a text message from Philip.

Be here at ten.

He didn't give an explanation as to why he wanted Milton to come, but Milton was willing to bet it had to do with the girl who had escaped last night. He was surprised at the warm feeling he had, the Governor may have been pushing the breath from his chest bit by bit, but at least he had given someone else a chance.

Philip smiled at him from the back alley steps, the very steps Beth should have run down nearly twelve hours ago now, "Milton."

"Sir."

The pair stepped into the building, The Governor leading the way, "Beth Greene is a rather remarkable young woman, don't you think?" There was a certain snideness in his voice, and Milton suppressed a smile - he was sure Beth had escaped.

The Governor stopped in front of the door where she had been kept, and slowly opened it. Milton could hardly wait to see his boss' scowl at the empty room, but instead his heart plummeted into his gut.

She hadn't made it.

Beth Greene was covered in bruises, face painted black, and purple, and blue. Her cheek was swollen, blood trickling from the corner of the mouth, even more splattered down the front of her white dress. He was thankful she was unconscious, he didn't think he could bear meeting her gaze right now.

"She's a strong one, didn't say more than three words to me, and by that time I'm pretty sure she was hallucinating."

Milton felt nauseous.

"Resourceful too. Smart. Somehow she seemed to know not only where the air ducts ran, but where my guns were kept. Even which door to run for...if I was a superstitious man, Milton, I might believe she was a witch."

Milton held his tongue.

"I don't like it when people ignore me, Milton."

"It is odd, sir." He swallowed hard, The Governor was staring down at him with a cold light in his eyes. He knew.

"One would almost think someone had...told her something." Philip closed the door, sealing her off from the world again, "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"No, sir."

His glasses cracked when The Governor's fist connected with his nose, sending Milton to the ground. Everything was flooded with the smell of iron as the blood started to run down his face.

"I don't like it when people lie to me, Milton," he said cooly, his hand slowly, almost lazily reaching for the gun he kept at his hip. Milton was up in seconds, sprinting down the hall for the door. If he could just get to the street, Philip was The Governor, he wouldn't be seen brandishing a pistol on the sidewalk.

A shot rang out, and Milton ducked, yanking open the door and dashing into the alley. He didn't look back.

00:30

"Just a little more time, sir," Rick said, though both men sitting across from the chief knew there wasn't much point, "Please, just a few more hours."

Daryl was staring at the mug on Ford's desk, a monkey holding a banana smiling back at him. He was exhausted, but he didn't think he could sleep if he tried. He hadn't found her, twenty four hours, and he didn't have a single clue. She was just...she was just gone.

"I gave you a time limit," Abraham said, "and now we need to go in. You wouldn't believe how fast his assets are moving, he knows we're coming, and if we don't get him now we won't get him period."

Daryl felt like his chest was caving in, "He'll kill her."

"Son," Abraham, "If you're right, if The Governor took Beth...then she's probably dead already.

"Abraham," Rick snapped, standing "You don't know that."

"I looked through all those files Dixon gave me, Rick," Abraham said, "If she's alive it'll be a god damn miracle. "

Daryl stopped listening as they argued, his throat was tightening, and he could feel tears pricking at his eyes. They didn't even seem to notice as he slipped out of the room, and without really realizing where he was going, fell into his regular seat in the briefing room.

He couldn't take his eyes off the empty chair next to him, her chair.

He swallowed hard as he tried to force down the tears. He'd failed her. Just like he'd failed Carol. He should have seen the signs with her, he should have seen the signs with Beth...he should have been able to protect them.

Instead he kept finding himself sitting next to an empty chair.

00:10

Milton wasn't a stranger at the APD, and though people gave him odd looks as rushed by, dried blood still smeared over his face, they didn't stop him. He had spent two years damning his soul to hell, if the place even existed, and now...and now he was done.

He stepped into the elevator, too tired to even be nervous as he halfheartedly tried to wipe at the red stains on his skin. When the elevator opened he could see Daryl almost immediately, and the guilt weighed down on his shoulders all the more.

Milton Mamet had never considered himself a brave man. Smart? Yes. Clever, perhaps even witty on occasion, but never brave. That particular flaw in his personality was something he had learned to accept a very long time ago, and in the last forty eight hours he'd asked himself more than once why he'd chosen now to question his own character. Yet here he was, doing his best not to feel nauseous. He hadn't quite figured out if that was due to the nerves, the pervasive scent of the blood that was drying over his mouth, or the sight of one of the strongest men he knew looking so utterly broken.

Somewhere down the hall, behind closed doors, two men were yelling at each other. Milton was sure he knew why. It was the same reason Daryl Dixon was slumped in his chair, staring at the empty seat next to him like a black hole had opened in the old, wood grain. It was the same reason Milton stood here now.

He wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten to this point, had gone over it again and again, trying to see where being brave would make the least bit of sense. It didn't, no matter how many scenarios he ran through his head, he couldn't figure out how this would benefit him in the slightest.

This was his moment. The moment where for the first time in thirty six years he disregarded logic, disregarded risk, and made his choice. This was his moment to be brave.

He took a breath, and stepped into the briefing room.

00:00

"Dixon?" Daryl looked up suddenly. Milton Mamet stood in the doorway, dried blood, mostly wiped away, had run down from his nose. He was used to Milton looking nervous, quiet, perhaps throwing in a biting remark when he was in a bad mood, but he had never seen him look quite this calm.

Daryl swallowed hard, trying to do away with the iron lump in his throat.

"I know where Beth is."

-00:30

"You say they're coming to arrest him now?" Milton asked, jumping off the back of the bike, hardly even waiting for Dixon before he started off towards the warehouse.

"Should be here any minute," Dixon nodded, "Martinez drives like a bat out of hell."

Milton nodded, they didn't have a lot of time. If the APD got there before them, if Philip realized, then Beth could have a bullet in her head before they even got in the door. He wasn't going to let that happen, he wouldn't let another one of his friends die because he was too busy covering his own ass.

"When we get in there we're going to take a left. Fourth door on the right, Beth is being kept in there," Milton said as they turned down the alley, and Dixon pulled his gun from it's holster. "At the very end of the hall is The Governor's office, I'll keep him occupied, you...you just get Beth out, okay?"

Dixon nodded as the pair of them jogged up the stairs, the ones Beth should have escaped down last night, the ones she would escape down anyways.

"You got a plan?" Daryl asked as they paused at the door.

It suddenly occurred to him that, for the first time in his life, he hadn't thought something through. He was walking in blind. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the sound of sirens, he didn't have time for plans.

"Nope, that's all she wrote."

Dixon reached for the door knob, and just before he pulled it open he looked down at Milton, "Thank you."

Milton nodded, and just like that they were running. Daryl stopped at Beth's door, and Milton thought he heard the sound of a boot slamming into wood as he stopped in front of The Governor's office. He didn't knock, throwing the door open with a bravado that he almost regretted.

However, the genuinely surprised look on Philip's face was more than enough to push back any picking fears in his mind. This had been his choice, and he didn't plan on backing down now.

"Milton," Philip's brow furrowed, "I didn't think I would be seeing you again so soon."

"You killed Alice," Milton said.

"I thought you would have figured that out by now," The Governor said, with a playful nonchalance that made Milton's fist clench, "Really, I thought you were a bit smarter than that, Milton."

"You killed Alice!" He yelled, and slammed his fist into the side of Philip's face. It wasn't a hard punch, he hadn't expected it to be, The Governor hardly flinched. Still, it was the most of satisfying moment he had had in thirty six years.

"You killed her, for...for what? For objecting to the fact that her husband had become a criminal? For having a mind of her -"

The Governor hit him in the mouth, and he staggered back, spitting blood.

"She betrayed me!" The Governor yelled. The second punch was fast, the third following in quick succession. Milton fell back against the wall, somewhere in the hallway behind him a shot rang out. "You betrayed me!" Philip grabbed him by the collar, slamming his head into the concrete wall.

His ears rang.

"You suffocated her!" Milton spat through ragged breaths.

"Yeah, I did," The Governor said, "I wrapped my hands around her throat, and I watched the life bleed out of her eyes." He was practically snarling now, "And now I'm going to let you bleed out too."

Milton hadn't even noticed him draw the knife, not until it was buried hilt deep in his gut. It didn't feel like he'd expected, he'd always thought stabbing would feel like fire, like burning. It felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to his stomach, he coughed, feeling fresh blood bubble to his lips.

The Governor drew the knife halfway out, and then slashed left. Milton sputtered, blood running down his chin. Philip dropped him, letting him slide down the wall before striding out of the office, leaving Milton very much alone.

Milton Mamet had never considered himself brave, and now he wouldn't even consider himself smart. Slumped on the floor, vision flickering in and out as he struggled to find air, the slightest smile pulled at his lips. This was his moment, this was his choice.

And he had chosen to breath.

-00:35

The door was locked, the damn door was locked and Milton hadn't given him a key. With a grunt of frustration Daryl jumped back, slamming his boot into the door - it budged, but it didn't give way.

He glanced to his left, Milton was standing in front of the final door, hand on the knob. There was no going back to ask him now, he'd just have to force his way in.

"Beth!" He called, slamming his fist into the door, "Beth?"

He growled a bit when he got no answer. If she was...he shook his head, kicking the door again. Somewhere down the hall he heard Milton yell. He didn't have time for this, pulling out his gun he aimed at the lock.

"Hey!" A door opened just a bit down the hall, and Daryl spun, not hesitating to pull the trigger. The man crumpled to the ground, and Daryl turned back to the door. He had no idea where Beth was in that room, could only hope she wasn't close enough for the bullet to hit her, but now that he had fired one shot he was running out of time.

He didn't know how many men were in the building, but he knew every last one of them had heard that shot. He knew if he didn't hurry then there could be a lot more bullets in both him and Beth.

Taking a deep breath, he squeezed the trigger, the lock busting off with a crack.

"You must be the partner." The voice sounded smug, "I suspect Milton brought you?"

Governor Philip O'Brien stood five feet away, a knife in his hand, gleaming red with blood. The man looked haggard, hair out of place, a wild look in his eye as he breathed heavily.

"Where is he?" Daryl growled.

"Dead," The Governor said, raising the knife to inspect, "Or I suspect he will be soon. Belly wounds tend to be horribly slow."

Daryl raised his gun, the governor caught his wrist, digging his thumb in between the tendons. The gun fell, but a quick left hook caught Philip in the jaw. There was a moment where the two men broke apart, and Daryl stared at him with a hatred he hadn't felt before.

Which was surprising. Daryl had spent thirty eight years being angry, thought he'd known every kind in the book.

With a roar Daryl slammed into Philip's chest, taking them both to the ground. Somewhere a few floors above the sound of gunfire started to echo. Abraham had arrived. The Governor kneed him in the stomach, and Daryl grunted, falling back as the knife slashed out.

He'd been in knife fights before, watched Merle in even more of them. A knife fight was a damn fair test of balls and skill when both of them had knives. When only one did...it was like watching a pig go to slaughter.

Daryl brought his left arm up, the blade easily cutting through flesh. It was better than a stab wound to the chest, couldn't always get back up after those. The Governor snarled, shoving him to the floor as he raised his knife again, and Daryl kicked out. His feet caught squarely on the taller man's thighs, knocking Philip's legs out from underneath him as Daryl flipped the man onto his back in one deft motion.

With a yell Daryl brought his fist down into the man's jaw, his cheekbone, nose, eye. His face was turning red as the blood started to flow, most of it from Philip's nose, a good deal from Daryl's knuckles. The sound of the firefight was getting closer, he didn't have time for vendettas. Leaping to his feet, and planting one solid kick to The Governor's stomach, Daryl grabbed his gun. Slamming into the door, it gave way, and he stumbled into the tiny room.

And then his heart broke.

-00:40

Beth groaned, her head felt like someone had smashed it in with a rock. Still waking up was not entirely unpleasant, she could swear she felt gentle hands - warm and solid - around hers. That couldn't be right she was just...groggy...her hands had been tied up so long it was probably just the blood. Maybe she's shifted, finally gotten some circulation going.

"Beth," Daryl's voice was a welcome one, familiar. She didn't quite have the energy to open her eyes, and didn't know if she wanted to. His image fading away last night had broken her heart, she didn't want to watch him disappear again. Even if she was just hallucinating.

"Beth," he said again, soft and pleading and her brow furrowed, "Beth, wake up. Please, wake up." A thumb brushed tenderly across her cheek, just barely causing the bruises there to sting. He felt real, he felt too real. Forcing her eyes open she had to blink a few times for everything to come into focus.

"There she is," he breathed, hand resting on her face for a moment more before he went back to the ties around her wrists.

"Daryl?" She croaked out. Her face was stiff with swelling, but she couldn't help smiling through the pain. "How'd you find me?"

"Milton," he said quickly, her left wrist falling free. She tried not to cry out as he moved on to the right, he needed to be quick, not worrying about hurting her.

"I'll have to thank him when I see him again," she said, trying to think clearly over the drowsy heaviness of her headache. Daryl didn't say anything in response, just went down to untie her ankles. He cursed, Shumpert must have tied a pretty complicated knot.

Beth looked at him. His shaggy hair was slick with sweat, a bruise blooming across his cheek. On the floor next to him was his pistol, he must've used it recently. Or maybe he was worried he was going to need to. He wasn't wearing his jacket, the shoulder holster laying over a white dress shirt with the left sleeve stained crimson. She frowned.

"You're hurt."

"Ain't no where near as bad as you," he muttered, still working away at the knot. She squinted her eyes, trying to see if she could pinpoint the blood's source, but it was all just red cloth to her. Her vision was too fuzzy, and trying so hard to see just made her head hurt more, "You got any idea what they've done to you?"

She nodded slowly, "Broken wrist, I think I have a concussion and some cracked ribs. My hip isn't in great shape either."

Daryl took a deep breath, "We're gonna get you to a hospital alright? There's gotta be ambulances out here, we'll get you fixed up."

She smiled again, "I've been fine this whole time...I can, I can wait a little bit longer, Daryl. No need to worry."

He gave a dry laugh, "Yeah, no need to worry."

They settled into as comfortable a silence as was possible given the situation as he worked away at the knot. She was starting to get drowsy again, vision fading in and out of focus. The shadow in the doorway almost slipped her notice, until it moved.

"Daryl!" She said suddenly, and he spun around, grabbing Philip's knife arm just before the blade would have pierced his skin. The Governor threw a punch, his face contorted with blood and rage as he kicked Daryl in the gut. He stumbled, Philip raised the knife, and Beth didn't hesitate.

Scooping the pistol up in her left hand, she pulled the trigger. She'd been aiming for a headshot, it went low, blood welling dead center in his chest as the man fell. Somewhere in the distances guns were blaring, Daryl didn't take long to register the moment, grabbing the fallen knife, cutting her free, and helping her to her feet.

Everything was stiff, and her hip had only gotten worse since her attempted escape, each step was more difficult than the last. Daryl was starting to look nervous as he crouched in front of her.

"Daryl?"

"C'mon, get up," he said, motioning for her to climb onto his back, "You're too slow. Gotta get out of here."

"Are you serious?" She asked.

"Yes I'm damn serious," he snapped, "It's a serious piggyback, now get on."

Her hip protested as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and she had to hold herself up with only her left arm, but she had to admit it was easier than walking. She'd like nothing more than to rest her head against his back and drift off. She couldn't do that though, staying alert, watching for anyone who might come after them as he carried her to the door she'd almost made it through last night, and down the stairs.

She was going home.

-66:30

Beth had come home from the hospital last night, and Daryl had forcibly made her take the bed, opting to sleep on the couch. Now he wasn't sure what time it was, but light was spilling through the glass doors to the balcony, and he could hear someone banging around in the kitchen.

Beth. She shouldn't be up.

Dragging himself off the couch, he stumbled into the kitchen, leaning in the doorway as he watched her. She was cooking eggs, doing her best to do everything left handed - she might as well start learning. The break was bad, they'd had to do surgery to repair the nerves and put a solid six ounces of metal in her. She was going to be in that cast for eight weeks.

Her pelvis was fractured, wasn't much they could about that but wait. The ribs would take time too. The concussion she just needed to be careful, no falling and hitting her head or any of that, could kill her. A prospect which absolutely terrified him, and he just knew she'd get pissed if he treated her like a china doll for the next few months while her brain healed.

He'd been angry when she'd told him what Philip had done to her, had almost gone up to the eighth floor of the hospital and shot the man himself. Now though...now he was just happy that it was over, happy that she was safe. Once Philip was out of the hospital they had enough evidence on him to get a sentence well over the lifespan of any normal human being.

Standing their watching Beth, he couldn't help but think she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

"Morning," she said with a smile, finally noticing his presence.

"You shouldn't be up," he commented, earning himself an eye roll.

"They've kept me cooped up in a bed for days. I wanted to do something, stand for a few minutes." It was true, she had hated the hospital. When she wasn't sleeping she was usually asking him to take her home. She seemed happier here.

"At least eat breakfast on the couch?" He suggested, he didn't think the hard chairs at the table would be good for that hip.

She grinned, "That sounds more than agreeable."

As they spoke he found himself gravitating towards her. First he'd ended up leaning against the counter, and then standing a few feet behind her, and finally leaning on the fridge - close enough that he could smell coconuts - to watch her fry eggs.

"You only have one more," she said suddenly, and his brow furrowed. "One more nice thing," she said, "Rescuing me was five, so you owe me one more."

"What was the first one again?" With everything that had been going on, he'd almost forgotten about that whole thing. It seemed like it was all so long ago.

She smiled softly, lips only just curling up. He'd almost think it seemed sad. "You let me crash at your place...told me you had a pretty comfy couch."

He nodded, he remembered that. "Was I lyin'?" he teased.

Her laugh was light, musical, made his heart beat go all wonky as she turned to look up at him, face so very close to his, "No. Have you ever lied to me, Daryl Dixon?"

He took a deep breath. Just once, just once when it really counted. He'd omitted the truth, he'd refused to give certain facts, but the only time he'd ever lied to her was when he walked out that door. And he planned to make up for that.

He took his time. Thumb gently brushing the purple bruise over her cheek as he cupped her face in his hand, fingers grazing along her jawline. His heart skipped a beat when she shivered. He didn't take his eyes off hers, hand running down her neck - over the thick bruises Philip had left there - and touching his forehead to hers.

He didn't plan on ever lying to her again.

He closed his eyes as he moved his lips down to hers, softly pressing against them as his thumb traced back and forth just below her jawline.

His heart stopped when she kissed back, a dainty hand resting over his chest. He felt like he was on fire as she slowly slid it down the slide of his ribcaged, never breaking the kiss as she drew tiny patterns out of the embers in her fingertips.

"Beth," he moaned, his free arm pulling her close as he turned her around, and pressed her up against the fridge. His kisses were harder now, hungry, lips moving steadily with hers as her tongue slid past his. Her hands were in his hair, running along his scalp. He had one hand against the fridge, the other tracing the length of her ribs.

He sucked lightly on her lower lip, teeth grazing along it. He couldn't help but smile into the kiss as he felt her shiver against him.

"Daryl," she said between kisses. He liked the sound of his name on her lips, and he kissed her again, long and slow, "Daryl," she said again, almost breathlessly, "Daryl the eggs are burning."

"Shit." He jumped back, pulling the pan off the burner as she went to retrieve her spatula.

"I hope you like your eggs crispy, cause I don't," she said, a blush still coloring the skin underneath all the bruises.

He didn't. "Sounds delicious." Maybe a little lie here or there, he didn't think the world would end over some damn eggs. She slid them onto a plate and handed them over, suddenly jumping up on her toes, to give him a short, sweet kiss.

"That was number six by the way," she said with a smile.

"Eating burnt eggs?"

"No," she said coyly, and he couldn't help but laugh. Good to know she'd liked it as much as he had.

She had turned back to the stove, cracking open new eggs for herself. He still couldn't get over how happy he was to have her home, to have her safe. Setting the eggs on the counter, he wrapped his arms around her waist, stooping to rest his chin on her shoulder.

"Promise you won't leave me like that again?" He whispered, taking in the sweet smell of coconuts.

"As long as you promise not to leave me," she said, the words just slightly pointed. Yeah, no more running out the door cause he can't deal with his emotions like a grown man. He wasn't planning on it.

He kissed her cheek, and held her a little closer. He wasn't planning on letting go any time soon.

-97:45

Beth hadn't quite known how to say goodbye to Milton Mamet. He had been her friend, he'd nearly gotten her killed, but in the end he'd died to save her. She hadn't cried when Daryl had first told her, after everything she didn't want to be upset. She'd wanted to just relish the fact that she was alive, that she was with her family, with Daryl.

The tears had come in the dark, all alone in her hospital bed, when no one else had been there to occupy her.

She was last in a short line of mourners, watching them lay down their flowers on the coffin as she clutched her final gift. Eugene was the first to lay down his flower, the man looked like he'd been crying recently. Stookey was next, Rick, a few other of the detectives from the homicide department, her own family had wanted to thank him too, Daryl, and then finally it was her turn.

She laid Milton's watch on top of the pile of roses, glass gleaming the afternoon sun.

"I thought I'd give it back before you go," she whispered, touching his coffin in a last goodbye, and said a final, "thank you," before turning into Daryl's open arms. He kissed the top of her head, and kept one arm wrapped around her shoulders as they walked over to meet her family.

Lori caught Beth's eye, waving excitedly as she realized what was going on, and Beth couldn't help but laugh as Lori quickly shoved Rick off towards Tyreese before he could see the new, completely against the rules, couple.

Hershel and Daryl had turned out to get along remarkably well in the hospital, and Annette was fond of him too. Which she was glad for, because otherwise the sudden display of affection between the two of them might not have been accepted with nothing more than bemused smiles.

She hadn't had time to tell them about yesterday's...developments.

"Well, I can't say I'm disappointed," Hershel said warmly, and Beth felt Daryl relax against her. Despite the growing friendship between them, apparently he'd been a bit worried. With family like Merle, she didn't blame him for thinking family encounters might go sour, "but, you know, this means I'm gonna have to give you the talk."

Maggie laughed and Beth groaned, "Daddy!"

"It's only traditional," Hershel said, taking Daryl by the arm and leading him away from Beth.

Maggie nudged him, a wicked smile on her face, "You should've seen Glenn after her got it, he looked like he'd almost shit his pants."

"Uh-huh," Daryl said, not quite masking his sarcasm. If only he knew that Maggie wasn't kidding.

Annette had gone off to speak with Rick, leaving the sisters alone, "You wanna go for a walk?" Maggie asked, nodding off towards the other end of the graveyard. Beth nodded, knowing exactly where they were going to end up. Glenn had been buried here too.

"You remember what I told you the first time I met Daryl?" Maggie asked as they wandered among the headstones.

"You told me he has a nice ass," Beth said, smiling up at her sister. That had been so long ago.

"And I was right."

Beth scoffed, "You...you can't be right about that...it's just objective observation."

"Yes," Maggie agreed, "but, you always get with guys who have nice asses. Three months later, who's getting the talk from Daddy?"

"Who?" Beth asked, playing along.

"The first guy you met with a nice ass!" She absolutely cackled, and Beth couldn't help but laugh too as they got closer to Glenn's grave. Maggie kissed her cheek, "I'm gonna go talk to him for a moment, be back in a bit," she said, going off to sit with her husband.

Three months ago Beth Greene had dropped everything to help her sister. Family first. Three months ago everything had been different, and despite it all...despite every last bit of shit this city had thrown at her, the end result...the end result hadn't been half bad.

She still had nightmares about that night in the warehouse, and she supposed she would for a long time. Maggie still had her bad days where she couldn't make sense of anything. Daryl still had his demons, the ones he'd kept from her and the ones he hadn't. She knew that nothing would be perfect forever, because that just wasn't how life worked.

Right now though? Right now was nice.

It was a quiet day, sunny. Glenn would've liked it.

And with that I leave you. Look out for the epilogue, and once again, a very very sincere thank you to every last one of you.

I hope you enjoyed.