Disclaimer: I own nothing.

––

"Ceasar, everybody needs a break," Andrea argued. "You saw Carol. Maybe she saw a therapist. Maybe she decided to take a break to rest her brain."

"That's a bunch of bullshit. You know her. She wouldn't do that."

"Ceasar, you don't know everyone. People have secrets. They—they keep dark things to themselves. You know how Carol is. No matter how close you are or how much you wish to know her, there are things she hasn't told even you."

"Yes, I know that, Andrea, but I know her too. She—she's in danger. Something happened. Like before, like at the funeral." He lowered himself down on the bed. "Someone targeted her, and we both know there has been someone after her for years. What if he got her? What if he's holding her somewhere?"

"It's—a possibility."

"I have to find her, even if it is as simple as taking a vacation."

"I know." She exhaled and crawled closer to him, cupping her hands behind his neck. "I know."

"I already lost one sister. I can't lose another."

"You know, had you not said that I might be jealous." She smirked.

He returned her smirk. "Might? You know where my heart is."

"Hopefully in your chest, because anywhere else would be disturbing and impossible."

"You know what I was meant."

She chuckled and straddled his lap, pressing her forehead to his and briefly closing her eyes. "On a more serious note, you need to be careful with this." She set a hand over the shirt where the bandage was, and he grasped her hand. "The man who has been watching Carol is ruthless. He won't even pause before he pulls the trigger."

"I know, but when I find him—when Carol and I find him—he won't have time to pull the trigger; he'll be in handcuffs." He met her eyes. "I vowed that I wouldn't leave you, and if I do, it's of natural causes."

"It was a sweet vow to make, but you know you can't keep it. You came back from this, but it won't always be like that, baby." Her fingers involuntarily tightened their grip on the back of his neck. "You won't always come back to us, so I need you to be careful. I'm not speaking as your wife, not even as your best friend or somebody that loves you; I'm speaking as somebody who doesn't want to tell their little girl her father died chasing a man who is practically a ghost, because his friend—his sister—may not have gone on vacation."

"I'll be as careful as I can."

"Just be sure to tuck your daughter in, okay?"

"I'll be here to tuck her in every night. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I don't."

She searched his eyes and kissed him, her fingers slipping into his hair, and she could feel his hands on her hips. She knew how he was after his sister. She had seen the look in his eyes when he told her, had heard it from Carol and his mother. She knew he wouldn't—couldn't let that happen again, and she had his back one hundred percent. She just didn't want to the one to tell the heart wrenching story of how she lost her husband and her best friend at the same time to her daughter, if this didn't work out. She didn't want to have those nightmares. She had faith in him, but that sniper was one hell of a shot and could pull one hell of a disappearing act. She didn't want to be at two more funerals. She couldn't.

"Before you go Liam Neeson," she smiled when he laughed under his breath, "you're staying here tonight."

"Is that an order?"

"Damn straight it is." Her voice was soft but stern.

"I still owe Carol a dinner, just the four of us, and I have no intentions of leaving this world when I owe somebody something."

"Good answer." She kissed him, and he groaned softly. "You okay?"

"It's not entirely healed."

"Do you need anything? The medication the doctors gave you should help."

"I'm fine, Andrea. I've felt worse."

"Are you sure?"

"If you're doubtful, you can be on top," he mused.

"Thanks for the permission." She leaned back. "Let me go check on Keira, and when I get back, you'd better have lost those pants and this shirt." She rose up off the bed and disappeared in the doorway.

He stood up and glanced in the doorway after her. He didn't know how deep he would have to go before he found her, but he was ready to go all the way. She had saved him once, and she was family. He had lost Karen and Sam, but not Carol. Andrea would understand if the worst should happen, and Keira would...eventually understand one day. If he risked his lives for strangers, he sure as hell was going to risk it for family.

– – –

Groaning echoed around her, like dripping water reverberated off the walls of a well, and she gripped the back of her head, feeling an aching pulse there, and slowly she pushed herself up. The room was blurry when she first opened her eyes, but soon became clear to reveal that they were in serious, deep shit.

Daryl was on the floor beside her, still out cold, so the groans had come from her, and yet she didn't remember groaning, didn't feel them climbing up her throat. She felt so disoriented. What the hell happened to them? She remembered talking to Andrew then falling, air rushing through her hair and around her face and then this. Where were they anyway?

Finding a wall, she leaned against it, her body sore. She slowed her breathing as panic began to swell in her lungs, and she closed her eyes, thinking back. They were speaking with Andrew. He was being a cocky asshole, and she knew—she knew—that something was off about him and the tone in his voice. He was too sure. He was too calm. It was a set-up. For it to be a set-up, there had to be a betrayal. Somebody close to Daryl betrayed him? Who? Why? A little girl's life was on the line and some bastard decided to switch teams.

She shook her head and opened her eyes, taking in the room. It was a standard bedroom, only the windows had been paved over, and there was only one worn out door, but judging from the paint and how it chipped, it was a metal door, and they weren't getting through it.

"Daryl?" She pushed herself up onto her feet using the wall and stumbled over to him. "Daryl." She lowered herself down beside him and set a hand on his back. "Daryl, come on, wake up."

He didn't move.

"Daryl? Daryl?" She moved the hair from his neck and checked for a pulse, not finding one, and her heart stopped. "Daryl?" She rolled him onto his back with some difficulty as he was big man made of muscle, and she set a hand on his cheek. "Daryl? Daryl! Daryl!"

Nothing.

"Come on, you bastard! You don't get to be dead. You don't get to die on that little girl." She smacked his cheek lightly, trying to wake him. "Daryl, wake the hell up. Come on!"

His eyelids twitched.

"So that's what it takes? Cussing?" She shook her head. "Asshole." She sat back and felt for a pulse in his wrist, this time she found it, and it was getting stronger.

He jolted and shot up, his eyes scanning the room and landing on her. He grasped her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."

"You mean that?"

"Of course I do. Why would I lie?"

"The most common lie is I'm fine."

She rolled her eyes and removed his hands, rising. "Stop reading so much."

"Scared I'm smarter than you?" He checked himself before he stood up.

"Really? Witty banter? Right now?"

"If not now, when? When we're dead?"

"Just start looking for a way out."

"There ain't one." He rubbed his shoulder. "Can tell you that now."

"How do you know that?"

"I've been here before." He dropped his hand. "I helped make this place."

"What?" she exclaimed.

"For a friend, for... It was a just in case type of thing, like you."

"I'm a what?"

He didn't answer that question. "Gareth runs this place. Son of a bitch. Tsh, I knew he had no spine." He rubbed his jaw. "We're fucked."

"Gareth? Who's that?"

"A small fish in my world. The Gov had to have offered him somethin'. I don't know what, but that bastard is a smoother talker. His men would do anything for him just about, and I bet he gave Gareth a real sweet deal. Too bad he'll kill him when he's done with me."

"So the knife in your back belongs to Gareth?"

"Yeah, but—I don't ever talk to Gareth. He's Merle's man. I only work with the men I introduced to you." He shook his head. "Merle called him, asked for a damn favor. Shit. He thought he was helping us, but he only screwed us all over."

"And your men? Oscar and Abraham?" She watched as he swallowed hard, his eyes lowering along with his head, and she folded her arms. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. They—they knew the risks." He cleared his throat. "And I'll make 'em sorry for this."

"I can't let you do that, you know."

"I respect your loyalty and code, Carol, but they were my men. I'm not gonna let them just walk away."

"They won't!" Carol promised. "I won't let them."

"You can't guarantee they'll pay for this."

"I can guarantee this: they drugged us, kidnapped us, and they will go down for that. The rest of it, I don't know, but I can assure you that they will pay for this—legally."

"You know, legally ain't done shit for me."

"Trust me."

He smirked. "Seeing as the last time you told me to trust you, you were right. I'll believe you. For now."

"Oh, just for now? Wait till I save your ass and your little girl."

"And arrest said saved ass?"

She smiled a little. "Still a criminal."

"Yeah, still a cop."

There was a sliding sound, Daryl stepped back and a can rolled into the room, but before they could even reach each other or protect themselves, it blew up and light and smoke filled the room. Carol felt arms grabbing at her, and she struggled. And though she couldn't see who her attacker was, she still gave one hell of a fight as they carried her out of the room, and she would have kept fighting until they slipped a needle into her back.

The next thing she saw was the same room she had been in only minus Daryl and plus being tied to a chair and two men were with in. One of them was a stranger to her, but the other. The other was Tomas, and boy did he ever look very pleased to have her all tied up like a Christmas package, ready to be ripped open. She could tell the next few hours were going to be hell, but she was damn sure they weren't going to be her last. She just hoped Daryl made off better than she had.

"Well, if it isn't the gray-haired queen bitch," Tomas spat, bending down and chuckling. "It's my lucky week. I'm gonna enjoy this."

"Remember," the man warned.

"I don't have to kill her to enjoy this," he shot back. "Leave me with her."

"I can't do that."

"Stop being such a pussy. The guy isn't even here." He straightened. "Get the fuck out, Gareth."

"Fine, but if you kill her, it's on you."

"What's he gonna do? Kill me? At least I'll die knowing this bitch went first."

"You know, from the sound of your tone you don't seem as pleased as I was when we met last," Carol chimed in. "But it is nice to see you haven't let go of our time. It's not all pathetic and creepy to hold a grudge this lon—"

He punched in the face and grabbed a fistful of hair. "Shut up."

"Your right hook could use some improvement." She kicked him in the balls as hard as she could, and the man named Gareth—the one who sold Daryl out—slapped her across the face so hard her cheek busted open. She could feel he was wearing a ring. Well, the several rings he wore. Shit.

"Take care of her," Gareth ordered. "We have enough smart-mouthed bitches around here."

"Any time you want to come up with a new offensive name is fine by me," Carol tossed out.

Tomas pulled a rag from his back pocket and shoved it deep into her mouth and went over to a table filled with tools for just this purpose. He wanted to make this special. She put him in prison, and he was going to make her pay for every second.

"I'm going to take care of Daryl, get him ready for the Governor." He exited the room, giving one last look to Carol and smirking at her. She was going to regret throwing his pasty ass in prison.

"I don't want to double cross anybody." Tomas ran something metal and ice cold along her cheek, and he jerked her head back. "There a plenty of ways I can hurt you without killing you. Let's start with the abdomen." He slammed the cold, metal object into her ribs, and she bit down on the rag, not caring what was on it as it was already in her mouth, and he chuckled. "A broken rib might puncture a lung, or worse, and the Gov wants you alive for some reason so we'll deliver you in one piece, but see over the years I've managed to bruise the body as badly as any fatal wound."

She was breathing roughly already, and she prepared herself for the next blow, her agonized cries muffled by the rag in her mouth.

––

Daryl was handcuffed to a chair in the room he and Carol had been in, only now it was him, Shumpert and Crowley. They hadn't laid a hand on him, so obvious the Governor wanted him alive. He knew the same didn't apply to Carol, so he needed to work out a deal. He didn't involve her just to get her killed. That was the last thing he wanted to happen to anybody. He had to talk fast. He couldn't afford to waste a second. These soundproof walls were no friend to him, so he couldn't confirm the harm he could assume she was enduring at the moment.

"Where's Carol?" Daryl demanded.

"Oh, she's just down the hall, spending some quality time with Tomas," Shumpert replied, voice deep and slow.

Fucking hell. Anybody but Tomas. He had it out for her already for the arrests and prison time. Son of a bitch. "I guess it makes sense," Daryl coolly uttered.

"What does?" Crowley crouched down.

"Y'all two watching me. I mean, I'd leave someone like me with bitches like you two."

"Trying to goad us?" Shumpert's eyes flashed.

"Intelligent, sophisticated murders like you two? Never."

Crowley narrowed his eyes, but it was Shumpert who spoke, not letting his dense partner fall for the bait. "Why do you care who's with that woman?"

"I don't."

He smirked. "I'll be right back."

Daryl didn't like the look in his eyes. "You're gonna leave me with this dumbass?"

"I think he can manage." He tightened the cuffs, Daryl groaned, and he exited the room, making sure Daryl saw him pull out his knife.

He could only hear Crowley fumbling with his gun, but inside of his mind he could hear Carol's tortured screams; and he twisted his wrists raw, knowing that if he could get out of these binding and his damned nailed down chair—who the hell did that in real life anyway?—he could easily get by Crowley and get to her. Whatever was done to her now...was his fault.

– – –

"I can't pick her up," Caesar argued over the phone with Andrea.

"You have to. I have a meeting in five minutes, and I can't bail. You'll have to pick her up. Unless you want to leave her alone outside of her school for a few hours."

He sighed. "Can't someone else take her home? What about her friend?"

"Caesar, when you call all of her friends "that" friend how am I supposed to know which one you're talking about?"

"I'll pick her up."

"And you'll have to keep her with you."

"What?"

"The babysitter's sick. I just got the message."

"I'm working a case. I can't let her tag along."

"Locating your best friend is not a "case". Until you have proof that something happened to her, it's just concern."

"I don't need proof."

"Legally, yes you do."

"Could you talk to me like I'm your husband and not your employee?"

"I am. You need to remember that you don't have the same authority as you do when you're working a Michonne-approved case. The last thing I want is to have to bail you out of jail for B and E, or worse."

"I heard what you said, but Michonne-approved?"

"Two minutes." She was trying to be stern, but he heard her give a hushed laugh.

"I'll go pick up Keira, and I'm going to swing by Carol's and pick up groceries for dinner. Anything in particular in mind?"

"Bell peppers."

"Bell...peppers? What do you want to do with that?"

"Just pick some up for me."

"All right. Anything else?"

"No, that's all. I have to go, but please be careful."

"I will be. I'll see you at home. I love you."

"I love you too." She hung up and exited her office.

Caesar started the car and headed to his daughter's school. He would have to be careful about what he said to her. He didn't want her to worry about Carol. Andrea was right. He didn't know that Carol was in danger, so he needed to keep his guard up and appear like everything was normal, because for all he knew it was. He knew in his gut it wasn't, but there was still a chance that he was wrong. He didn't know why she would have left. He kept thinking over the many possibilities, but there wasn't one that came to him. She had no blood family, just him and his mom and Andrea and Keira, and his mom hadn't heard from Carol since Christmas. She wasn't the type to just up and vanish unless she was working a case, and Michonne was keeping her off cases until she was evaluated, and even then it depended on what the report said.

Maybe she was running to avoid being evaluated, which made no sense, because if she didn't go through with the psych evaluation, she was risking her job. Her job was her entire life, so she wouldn't run. And Michonne hadn't even told her about it yet, so there was no way she knew. Unless she overheard him talking about it with Andrea the other night. Shit, that could have been it. She could have left to clear her head and prepare herself. Maybe that was it, but he needed to be sure. He needed to know she was all right. The last time he assumed she was... Those who didn't learn from history were doomed to repeat it; he wouldn't repeat his past.

Keira climbed into the car and set her backpack beside her, buckling herself in, and she smiled, happy that it was her dad who came to pick her up. He rarely did. "Where's Mommy?"

"At a meeting." He looked back at her. "How was your day?"

"Fine." She could tell something was wrong and frowned.

"What's with that face?"

"You're working, aren't you?"

"No! No. I'm not working."

"Promise?"

"I pinkie promise."

She didn't believe him, but she smiled anyway, knowing that would make him happy. "So, where are we going?"

"To Carol's—I need to pick up the plasticware we let her borrow." He pulled out. "Then we're going to the store to grab dinner."

"Is Carol gonna be there? I wanna show her what I made in class today."

"I don't know, baby, but maybe."

She sat back and gazed out the window as they drove to Carol's, and Caesar rubbed his thumb over the spare key Carol had given him years ago. He had lost his key so many times when they were roommates, so she eventually put it on a necklace and made sure he had it before he left. She was the best, always thinking about how to improve things in her life and other people's lives as well. He couldn't let anything happen to her. His gripped tightened on the key, thinking about the last time he had been careless, and he clenched his jaw. That would never happen again.

When they arrived at Carol's, Caesar kept Keira close, and he found her door was locked up tight. That was a good sign. The vacant apartment was not, and his stomach sank slightly.

Keira hopped up on the couch and turned on the television to watch one of her after school cartoons since her father was taking his time in looking for "plastic ware". She knew her dad well, and he was working. At least they were together. Sorta.

He scanned the kitchen, not seeing the slightest thing out of place and nothing was broken. He headed to the bathroom, seeing that Carol had left it in the same manner as always, and he moved onto the hall closet, mostly checking to see if her body came tumbling out of it. Luckily it did not. And the guest bedroom was in the beginning of being made up for Mika. She had stripped the bed and was clearing out the drawers. Nobody had been in this room since...since 2003. Mika would brighten the place up. He just knew that little angel would. He hoped she brightened up Carol too.

He found himself now in her bedroom. Her bed was in the normal condition: unmade, sheets hanging off, pillows knocked onto the floor. She would only make it when she had company coming over or if she woke up early enough, and she usually did. She just didn't care sometimes. After having Sam, she made sure their beds were always made. He never knew why.

There was nothing off about her apartment, and he felt his gut loosen just a bit. He would call her again, see if she left her phone was here somewhere, and with luck she would pick up. He stepped back out of the room and felt something under his shoe. Lifting his foot he saw the cap to a needle, and he picked it up.

Son of a bitch.

– – –

Daryl lifted his head, feeling exhaustion creeping over him, and he could feel it was either early morning or late at night. He hadn't slept well since they took Sophia, and he wasn't going to sleep now. He needed to get to Carol. He needed to get the hell out of these cuffs and get to her so they could get Sophia. He had to wake the fuck up.

The door opened, there was whispering from someone he couldn't see and then it slipped shut again. He looked at Crowley, and Crowley was smiling like a giddish schoolboy, but before he could ask what the hell he was smiling at, Shumpert returned.

"Still awake?" He flicked something cold and wet at Daryl, and Daryl turned his head as he chuckled, pulling a rag out and wiping down his knife.

Daryl's eyes locked on the reddening cloth, and he looked down at himself, seeing the drops of blood on his shirt and pants.

"Your little girlfriend gave one hell of a fight," Shumpert informed him. "So stubborn, and she wouldn't sit still...hence so much blood."

Daryl's jaw tightened and he bared his teeth, jerking toward Shumpert in his bindings, like he could get to him, and Shumpert threw his head back to laugh. Daryl growled and spat at him, and Crowley backed up at the furious look in Daryl's wild eyes. Daryl roared sentences that were composed of cuss words and growls at Shumpert, struggling so much that he could feel his skin tearing against the cuffs, and he was so focused that he didn't notice Crowley had moved behind him until he felt the sharp sting of a needle in his neck.

––

Daryl groaned and slowly came to, feeling the cold floor on his back, and he shot up. He was in a new room, one that was completely dark, and he let his eyes adjust, trying to see if anybody was in there with him. He didn't dare call out.

A light flickered on, he stood up instantly as the door creaked open, and they threw Carol at him like she was nothing more than a doll they were done playing with. He caught her and turned her over, catching a glimpse of what they had done to her before the door slammed shut and the lights were turned off.

Her cheek had been busted open, her bottom lip cut and swollen, sweat staining her shirt as well as blood. Her belt had been ripped off of her jeans so violently the button had broken off and the zipper may have been broken as well. The only upside to this was Carol was breathing. Unconscious, but she was still breathing.

He sat back on his legs, holding her in his arms, and he pulled her closer, wanting her to be against something warm rather than the cold floor. There was no point in thinking all the he should nevers; what was done was already done and thinking wouldn't make her any better. He would make sure they paid for this. He wouldn't kill them, but he would take their power away and then when they were back to sniveling rats, Carol would arrest them, and he had enough to bury them in prison for the rest of their lives and then some.

When he got out of this shithole cell, he was going to find that small fish motherfucker and make him suffer for this. That was a promise.