Hi again everyone!

Since it's been a bit since I last posted you get an extra long chapter...about 1k words more than usual. The next thing I will be working on is Ch 4 of "Powerless" with Jerikataryn, and after that I will be taking a short break to write a paper for class. So, with that being said I cannot (and will not) promise you a timeline on the next chapter or any subsequent. I will let you all know that I do have the ending wrote, and it was the first thing I ever wrote for this story. It's been an amazing ride so far, and it means so much to me seeing all your reviews/faves/follows. It really drives me to continue writing this story.

Thank you so very much, each and every one of you!


Beth washed the pickling off the carrots, dicing them into the Crockpot. With the heavy snow on the ground a good hearty stew would keep them full for a while. Daryl had been working on the machinery in the barns; he had plans for making the farm a long-term home. Which was fine with Beth; it reminded her of the home she had in Georgia, and it wouldn't be a bad thing making a home with Daryl. Whatever this was she had with him would be the closest she would get to a marriage in the times they lived in now. Humming to herself, Beth cut the deer steak into cubes tossing it into the pot with the rest of the veggies. She set the knife down carefully as her stomach rolled, sweat dotting her forehead. Beth steadied herself against the counter; she hoped she wasn't getting sick; she didn't want Daryl worrying about her any more than he already was. Getting sick meant downtime, getting sick meant risking your life, neither of which Beth liked.

Time had given them quiet moments to learn each other inside and out. Beth knew every scar, every wrinkle, and every nuance of his voice that was Daryl. Ever since the night she gave him her heart; Beth opened up so much more, finding there were parts of herself she didn't know existed that Daryl Dixon somehow found and touched. Beth picked up the knife; finished prepping the stew and setting the timer for the stew to cook. It should be ready by dinner in six hours. Beth grabbed another of her father's journals, curling up in the recliner in the den with her blanket. It was too damn cold to go outside; she knew Daryl would find his way in when he was ready.


Daryl turned the wrench on the shovel blade of the ancient tractor in front of him. Eventually he knew he would have to plow out the driveway if the snow kept falling the way it was especially if they needed to leave. The old Kaiser would get them out no problem, but Daryl wanted the comfort of the four wheel drive King Ranch three quarter ton Ford in the garage. Why the farmer and his wife didn't take that when they bailed was beyond him. It was a beautiful truck with all the creature comforts. This life they led now at the farm was real, even with the ever present threat of walkers, scavengers and weather, it was still better than living on the run on the road.

This last six weeks since the ice storm came through had been rough. The only way they kept the house warm was running the fireplace in the bedroom at night, shutting it off during the day. Most times Daryl would come in from outside to find Beth cuddled up in a blanket asleep. He'd pick her up and move her into their big bed, then realizing that she didn't need to be alone; he would sometimes curl around her and take a nap. Sometimes he would find her in the stable, shooting arrows at the hay bale target he set up in the alley for her. Beth had been going through the daughter's bedroom (since Daryl had moved out of it into the master bedroom) and had found a woman's compound bow in a hard case under the bed.

Daryl was impressed when the Diamond Infinite Edge shot clean. It had been well cared for; and as a pink camo right hand bow, it fit Beth's small frame perfectly. After teaching Beth how to care for the bow, he took her out into the alley in the stable and taught her how to shoot it. At first Beth was still a bit nervous with him so close to her, moving and positioning her body to optimize the shot. Daryl had known exactly where her thoughts were, still in their bed from the night before.

He pulled Beth close, nipping at her earlobe. "Relax sweetheart, the hard part's through. I ain't going nowhere and ya got my heart. Now breathe out and let 'er fly."

Beth had taken his advice to heart, putting seven of ten arrows in the target, four within the bulls-eye. She's taken to the bow easily, and her hand to hand combat knife skills had improved far beyond where they were at the prison. Daryl had worked with her daily; her body and mind were stronger than they had ever been since he knew her. One cold morning he'd walked in on her listening to music in the house, something he hadn't heard in a long time past her singing. The music flowed like water; clear and fluid. But what rocked him to the core was Beth, her face almost transcendent as her toned body moved with a cat's deadly grace. In her hand was his spare knife, each strike was a killing blow. She had made killing beautiful, a dance of death. Daryl could feel himself almost tremble, as if he wasn't supposed to witness something so intimate. Beth had never noticed he was there, and he never mentioned it to her. He wasn't near as worried about her now, he knew she was lethal. Beth had become strong, a warrior even, but under it all she was still tender.


Beth stirred the Crockpot, the stew making her mouth water. The day was starting to turn to night; she walked through the house closing each of the blinds and curtains tight. Each window lock was checked, each door checked to be locked, except for the garage door that led into the mud room. That was the door they had agreed would stay unlocked when Daryl was outside.

Beth heard footsteps behind her on the wood steps leading into the den. She knew then something was wrong, Daryl could get past her any day of the week. Beth turned to the hallway between the den and the kitchen, finding a gun pointed at her chest.

"I'd put that knife on the bar in front of you missy. Be a shame to have to kill you in such a pretty house. Nice and easy, set it down and drop to your knees, hands on your head. Come on now." The thick southern drawl made Beth want to spit in the guy's face. A whistle cuts the silence, startling Beth as she sank to her knees with her hands behind her head.

"Alright boys! Bring him in! I got her down. You want to keep your man alive, you're gonna play nice." Beth's eyes met with the sneer of the gunman; he was serious, and she wasn't planning on playing the game for long. Beth's heart sank as two men drug Daryl into the kitchen, blood from his face staining the tiles. Behind them walked a woman in fairly clean Army fatigues; she was far cleaner than the rag tag looking men standing around Beth and Daryl in well-worn fatigues.

"Well looks like the happy couple have been playing house here for a while, nice set up you got here. And whatever it is you're cooking smells so much better than the MRE's we have been eating lately. You got a name? Or do we have to beat you just like we did your old man here?" The woman's voice held nothing but scorn for Beth; the scarlett red hair, pointed nose, emerald green eyes and New York accent didn't help either.

Beth held her tongue for a moment too long; the woman she now dubbed "Scarlett" nodded her head to one of her men, who kicked Daryl in the gut. What scared Beth more than the intruders in their home—Daryl didn't make a sound or motion when the boot connected with his guts. Was he playing possum or did they really get the drop on him and kick his ass? Two men vs. Daryl was not good odds, Beth didn't think the leader would get her hands dirty.

"Lori! My name's Lori!" Beth cried, "Please don't hurt him anymore. What is it you want? I'm sure we can work something out. Please." Beth looked up at Scarlett, hoping that showing a little fear would sway some compassion.

"For now, I want dinner. After dinner is over I'll decide what else I want. Take care of him boys; lock the kid in that room over there so she can keep an eye on him. Then we'll have dinner." Scarlett barked out the orders like she had been doing it for years; the men jumping to motion.

One of the men grabbed Beth by the hair; dragging her into her bedroom, locking the French doors behind him. Beth was locked in her own bedroom, the doors locked from the outside. She watched from the floor beside the glass door as the men drug Daryl into the adjoining living room; tying tethers to his wrists and ankles, posting him out spread eagle on the living room carpet. Beth jumped hearing the stakes being drove through the floor. Daryl didn't move, something was wrong.

Beth knocked on the glass in front of her; Scarlett stomped over peering down at her menacingly.

"What do you want now?" Scarlett's patience was short; Beth figured they had been traveling in the cold and snow for a long time looking for somewhere to stay.

Beth swallowed, trying to be as timid as she could. It worked with angry horses, show fear; show you're smaller, weaker. They were less likely to kill you if they were not afraid of you. "Please, let me look at him. He might be dying, and you don't want him turning into one of those monsters and possibly infecting you. Please."

Scarlett rolled her eyes, audibly huffing as she reached to unlock the door. "Fine. You get stupid I will shoot you myself and let the boys have their fun with you in your last moments of life."

Beth skittered across the floor on her hands and knees; kneeling down beside Daryl fingers pushing against his carotid artery. Beth breathed small sigh of relief; his pulse wasn't strong but it was definitely there.

Beth had to think fast, to see if she could get him to respond somehow. She had to know Daryl was still with her. Beth took his hand in hers, whispering in his ear the one thing she could think of that he would recognize and respond to.

"Merle, you fucker. Why are looking at me like that? You can go fuck yourself! I'd never sleep with you!" Beth could hear Scarlett chuckling above her, that wasn't what mattered though. Beth felt Daryl's hand clench around her own. There was a light in the darkness, there was hope.

"Time for the little mouse to back to her cage." Scarlett grabbed Beth by the arm, dragging her into the bedroom, locking the door once more.


Scarlett leaned against the kitchen counter; pulling the lid off the Crockpot, stirring up the stew. "Meat, whatever it is isn't done yet. You two get out there and make sure Deavers is taken care of. I didn't expect hillbilly in there to put up such a fight. But he did us a favor, one less mouth to feed. Get to it!"

Beth watched as the two men grudgingly walked through the house to the mud room door. She watched as Scarlett walked around Daryl; she could see his head moving, could hear his groans faint through the glass. Scarlett reached down; grabbing hold of Daryl's chin, forcing his unfocused eyes to look at her. Scarlett studied his face, her lips quirking up into a vicious grin.

"You're not the best looking son of a bitch that's for sure. But those eyes are haunting. Sadly, you're a sick bastard for liking little girls. Blondie in there can't be a day over 16. Maybe something a little closer to your own age will do you some good."

Beth watched in horror as Scarlett ran her hands down the planes of Daryl's chest, knowing Daryl was in no shape to defend himself against Scarlett's touch. Beth could see him breathing, his head moving, she could hear him moaning and groaning from his wounds.

"Please Daryl, please come around. You have to defend yourself." Beth pleaded, her breath fogging up the glass. As much as she wanted to look away she couldn't tear her eyes away from the sick scene playing out mere feet from her.

Scarlett's nimble fingers unbuttoned Daryl's jeans; reaching inside his underwear, stroking him as she pulled him free of the confines of his clothes. The woman stroked him vigorously; there was nothing Daryl could do to stop the natural reaction of a woman's hand on his cock, even if he was fully coherent. Beth watched as Scarlett unbuttoned her pants, sliding them down to her ankles, kneeling over Daryl's sex. Beth closed her eyes; tears falling down her cheeks, she couldn't watch the man she loved being humiliated like this.


Daryl heard the zipper of his jeans going down, hearing a woman sigh as a hand wrapped around him. The hand stroking him to erect was bigger than Beth's with a ring on one finger; what was fog was now clear, as Daryl realized what was about to happen. Since the pinning to the floor, Daryl had been slowly moving one hand, the hand Beth had grasped onto earlier when she called him Merle. That clued Daryl into that the intruders were still in the house, putting him and Beth in danger. He felt the wet heat of the woman near him, slowly cracking his eyes open to see her. Her eyes were closed; she was mere seconds from mounting him. Daryl swung his right hand up, the metal tent pike imbedding into her neck, nicking the carotid artery. Daryl's would be rapist crumpled to the left, tension on his leg and arm still pinned to the floor. Blood pooled into the cream colored carpet as the woman bled out, her death nearly instant.

"Beth! Beth! Come help me get loose!" Daryl hissed at the shaking form inside the doors. Beth's tear stained face pressed against the glass, the stress clear on her face. Daryl could feel his heart break; he realized she'd seen it all.

"Sweetheart, get your gun out of the nightstand by the bed. Break the glass near the handle on the right side. Get a knife and help me loose before the others come back, or we ain't gonna make it." Daryl breathed as deep as he could, to clear the cobwebs out of his brain, his chest aching deep.

Beth dove over the bed, grabbing her Glock out of the nightstand and breaking the glass like Daryl had told her. The glass was more brittle than she thought, easily breaking apart with the force of the strike. Beth reached through the glass to unlock the door, tucking the gun in the back of her jeans as she skidded to the floor next to Daryl.

"I thought she was going to rape you, she's got two other men with her. I had to play along till I figured something out. I'm so sorry Daryl!" Beth gulped, pulling her tiny knife from the shaft of her boot, cutting through the tethers holding him down. Daryl's crushed Beth into his shoulder; taking comfort that she was okay, he knew they would make it out of here alive.

"Make sure she's dead. You deserve that much. I'm going out to find her boys and finish them off." Daryl grabbed the Glock out of Beth's back, kissing her quickly on the neck. "Get your bow and hide in the other bedroom. You can pick them off in the hallway. When I get back in the house we are packing up to leave, it ain't safe here no more."

Beth grabbed Daryl's arm; turning him to look at her, fear evident in her eyes. "You come back to me." It was a statement, not a plea. Daryl nodded, heading out the side door. Beth grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer, stabbing the slim blade up through the back of Scarlett's skull, ensuring she wouldn't come back. Beth's anger got the best of her; obscenities erupted from her throat, her feet moving of their own volition. Once the red cleared from her vision, Beth looked down to realize in her anger she had kicked and stomped the woman's face into a puddle of skin and goo. Satisfied the job was handled; covered in blood that was not her own, Beth jogged to the other bedroom.

She pulled the bow case out from under the bed, knocking an arrow before slinking back into the darkness of the bedroom. She made sure there was a clear shot of the hallway; waiting for someone to come looking for her. She knew Daryl would get them; he was full of rage, she could feel him shaking when he pulled her to his chest. The sounds of two large caliber rifle shots startled her concentration; they sounded closer than the barn. Beth hoped it was Daryl killing the men, if the worst happened she wasn't going to last long without Daryl.


Daryl lay on the roof of the garage, the snow making his chest hurt even more. He'd found an old 30.06 rifle in the barn, refurbished it the best he could with what he had on hand. One round in the chamber, one more in his shirt pocket. That was all he had, he had to make them count. These guys were not the brightest for being Army, but since the fall of the world almost three years ago, he was sure they had forgotten everything they were ever taught. The first guy was easy to pick off; he walked right into the barn lot, heading for the house. Daryl looked through the scope, gently squeezing the trigger. He knew once the first shot went off that it would be easy for the other guy to pinpoint him. Daryl loaded the other round, holding his breath. This was the hunter in him; stalking his prey, waiting for the prime shot.

The guy's buddy came running around the side of the barn, zipping up his fly. Daryl crouched up onto his knees, bringing the scope to his eye. In a few seconds it would all be over; Daryl would be in the house eating that last meal, taking that last shower before they packed the truck to run again. Paradise lost.