A/N: So this chapter was intended to introduce you to Delores, but I got a little (a lot) distracted by a Beth and Daryl flashback. Guess Delores will have to wait! Thanks for reading!

Chpt 10: We Should Tear it Down

Thirty minutes outside of Scranton, Daryl stopped to fill up the rental car. Beth watched him through her side view mirror. He was wearing dark jeans and a dark gray button down. The top two buttons were left invitingly undone, and his sleeves were rolled up exposing tan, muscular forearms. He squinted into the cold, late October wind. When he turned to check the pump, he caught her watching him in the mirror and smirked. Busted, Beth rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the heat rising up her neck and across her cheeks. She popped out of the passenger side. "I'm gonna' grab a water. You want anythin'?"

"Yeah, I'll take a sweet tea, thanks."

Daryl watched her walk toward the station. She was wearing gray slacks and a pink, fitted turtle neck sweater. It hugged her in all the right places. Her beauty was timeless, unobstructed by heavy make-up or pretense. Her hair hung loose in long waves that bounced when she walked. The subtle sashay in her hips was driving him to distraction and making his jeans just a little tight. He swallowed hard against a dry throat and turned his face into the Pennsylvania wind, hoping it might cool him off.

Beth could see him watching her through the reflection in the glass door. "Hah! You're as bad as I am," she mused.

On her way back to the car, she stopped to answer her phone, deciding to ignore the call instead when she saw the caller ID. Zach would just have to wait.

"You thought anymore 'bout visitin' with your family while we're here?" Daryl asked.

A hopeful gleam sparked in Beth's eyes. "It would be nice to see them."

"Lock Haven ain't that far from Mansfield. Maybe we could head that way when we're done."

"Maybe," she said hesitantly. "I mean... It would be nice, but you don't have to come with me if you don't want to."

"I want to," he said and glanced in her direction. She was frowning and it seemed like maybe she had something she wanted to say. That's when it hit him. " 'less you don't want me to come."

"No," she said and shook her head. Hurt flashed in Daryl's eyes. "I mean yes!"

"It's a'right. I don't gotta' go."

"No! That's not what I meant. Let me start over," she said and steadied herself with a deep breath. "Yes, I want you to come with me. It's just... my aunt... I told her about you. I used to talk to her about you, before, when we worked together. She knew how I felt... how things went with us. She also knows that we're working together on this case. I just wasn't sure how to introduce you, you know? I didn't want things to be awkward. Then last night happened and... I want you to meet them. I want them to meet you..."

"You sure," he asked sincerely.

"I'm positive," she said. "When my mother died, Aunt Deanna came and stayed with us for a couple of months. That's when we got to be so close. I talk to her about everything... like I would my mama if she was still around."

Daryl reached for her hand and pulled it over, fingers intertwined, to rest on his leg. "Mansfield then Lock Haven. It's settled." The smile that blossomed across her face nearly stole his breath. He wanted to be the one responsible for that smile for the rest of his life.

~TWD~

"The Protective Services office is located in the court house at the town square. It should be right up here," she pointed. Daryl pulled the car to a stop in front of a beautiful historical building built out of deep red brick. A marker in front commemorated "the incorporation of Mansfield in 1857 as planned and established by Asa Mann in 1804."

"There's so much history in this part of the country."

"Hmmm," Daryl agreed.

"The only thing I know about Mansfield is that people claim that the very first night time football game, ever, was played here under electric lights on September 28, 1892," she said very matter-of-factly.

"That so?" he said with a smirk

Beth caught the look and grinned. "My aunt is a history professor and my mom's birthday was September 28th so the factoid stuck." She shrugged and spun on her heels. He watched as she trotted up the courthouse steps. A warmth settled in his heart, and it nearly had him swaying with the weight of all he was feeling.

Inside the Protective Services office, Beth and Daryl were directed to Mr. Charles Craig. Mr. Craig had been the office's senior representative for longer than anyone could say. While he didn't remember Gareth West in particular, he was happy to pull the file and take a look, especially when Beth produced the federal court order.

"Let's see," he said as he plopped down into his chair and pulled on his reading glasses. "Gareth William West entered the system as a three year old when his mother passed away. Grandmother gave up custody rights. No father of record. No other immediate family. Looks like he was sent to foster care until the age of six when he was sent to the Tioga County Military Academy."

"He was sent to military school?" Beth asked, shocked.

"Children are rarely adopted past the age of five, especially boys. It's a sad fact, but it's true, Agent Greene. Tioga county houses ten boroughs and twenty-nine townships. Each year, all male foster children ages six through nine in the county are given a standardized test to asses their aptitude for science, math, and reading. Five children are granted a scholarship to the academy based on their scores. Mr. West was one of those children."

Beth sat speechless with a firm scowl in place. "I assure you, Agent Greene, Tioga County Military Academy is a fine place for a boy to grow and learn. He received a premier education at no charge. That, coupled with military discipline, is exactly what a boy with no family and no connections needs. He was blessed to have that opportunity."

Daryl could see Beth's temper rising like the color on her cheeks. "Any trouble at the military school?"

"That I would not know."

~TWD~

At the Tioga County Military Academy, Beth and Daryl met with Ms. Eleanor Langston, secretary to Retired Major General Reginald Flannigan, headmaster. She had the file ready and waiting when they arrived.

"You can use the conference room across the hall," she said and escorted them through two heavy oak doors.

Military swords and ancient guns encased in shadowbox frames hung along the walls. A river stone fireplace decorated the entire far wall. The conference room table was made of heavy wood and ornately carved. Beth bet six men with arms like Daryl's couldn't lift it. The thick exposed beams overhead muffed the echoes of their footsteps and skewed the acoustics so that conversation settled in the center of the antique war room. Beth wondered what secrets it held.

Daryl spread the contents of the file on the table. "Graduation photo," he said holding up a 5x7 of a young, dark haired cadet in uniform.

Beth reached for the photo. "What happened to you," she wondered as she studied the boy in front of her. His features were pleasant enough, dark skin with an olive tint, strong jaw line, and just enough baby fat left that you could see both the boy he was and the man he was becoming. Beth laid the photo to the side and perused the papers in front of her.

His grades were excellent earning him multiple academic accommodations. There were copies of letters of recommendation written on his behalf by instructors at the academy. Each letter described West in much the same way: disciplined, intelligent, and hardworking.

"Daryl, look at this," Beth said. "They must keep bank accounts here on campus. There's three years worth of statements here. No activity, but he still has $10,000.00 in an active account."

Daryl squinted over her shoulder, and Beth tried to tame the butterflies that took flight low in her gut. "Where the hell did a ward of the state get $10,000?"

"Good question."

He leaned in and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Be right back."

Beth continued to look through the papers in front of her trying to get a better sense of the boy in the photo. When did that boy become the man they were hunting, and how did it happen?

Daryl stuck his head in the door. "We're headin' to the campus credit union."

Ms. Langston turned them over to Morris Atherton, CPA. He had been in charge of the credit union for nearly thirty years. He was a rotund gentleman, quite obviously not from a military background, and eager to help. He seemed very pleased to meet Beth in particular. "Yes, I remember Mr. West. He received $5000 in cash, via certified mail, every June, since he first arrived."

"That's $60,000," Daryl surmised. "Lot 'a money."

"West was born in June. I saw it in his file," Beth said. "Someone must have sent him birthday money every year."

"I'm not sure about that, but I remember his deposits. Very few students stay here over the summer therefore there is very little activity during those months."

Beth looked at the most recent statement from Mr. Atherton. "Mr. West withdrew $54,000, everything he had, at graduation. $10,000 was deposited into his account the following June. Who opened the letter and made the deposit?"

"It would have been signed and opened by the headmaster then sent on to me."

"Mr. Atherton," Beth said in that sweet voice of hers, "any chance you still have the letter?"

"It's likely that I do, Ms. Greene. We keep things like that in a lockbox just in case a cadet returns for their lost and found."

"Could we see it, please."

"Of course. I'll be right back," he said with a wink.

Daryl smirked at her when Mr. Atherton headed toward the back.

"What?" she said and batted her eyes playfully.

Mr. Atherton returned holding two bright blue envelopes in his pudgy hands. Beth took them carefully from him, touching the envelopes with only the tip of her finger and thumb. "Postmarked Atlanta," she said, her voice stilted with the implication. "Mr. Atherton, do you have a ziplock bag or maybe a paper sack we could put these in, please?"

Beth's phone rang on the way back to the car. Daryl listened to the one sided conversation and figured that Professor Morgan's secretary had found the ID badge with Gareth's West's picture on it, and that they would be retrieving it as soon as they made it back to Scranton.

"We have a recent photo," Beth said, but there was no excitement in her voice.

"What're ya' thinkin'?"

"I think Blake is the Atlanta connection. I think he sent that money and we need to know why."

"Yep. Where to?"

"I think we need to visit the grandmother. I have her last known address in Mansfield."

Daryl nodded, glad they were thinkin' the same thing. He punched the rental in gear and they hit the road. It had taken them twenty minutes to get to the academy in Blossburg. It took them ten to make it back to Mansfield. Beth, however, was oblivious to time or place, so lost in her own thoughts. "What's the house number," she heard Daryl ask somewhat distantly in her brain.

"What?"

"House number. We're on Lee Street."

"Oh," she answered and grabbed her notepad. "It's 122."

The houses on Lee Street had seen better days. Most of them were in a general state of disarray, needing paint, gutter repair, and, in short, basic upkeep and attention. The yellow house at 122 was no exception. The wooden steps leading to the front porch had long ago collapsed. In their stead, someone had fashioned a ramp out of a single piece of plywood.

"Looks like my old neighborhood," he said with a hint of sadness. "Wonder if they got a moonshine shack out back," he then mused with a smirk.

Beth laughed at that, thinking back to the one and only time she had ever been drunk. When Merle died, she had gone with Daryl to his brother's place to sort through his things. Merle had taken over his parents place when the brothers' father had finally passed away. There really hadn't been much to salvage outside of a motorcycle, a few tools, his mama's wedding ring, and a stash of moonshine in a little shed outback.

Daryl opened one of the mason jars and took a swig. His nerves were raw with the sudden loss of his brother and with all the things that had never been said between them. He passed the jar to Beth. She sniffed it, wrinkled her nose in protest, and passed it back to Daryl.

"You ever had moonshine before?"

"Ah, no. A peach drink with dinner at Outback is all I can confess too."

"Want some," he said and passed the jar back to her.

Beth smelled it again and looked at Daryl. The smirk he wore sparked her determination. and she tossed the moonshine back defiantly. Fire scalded her throat and chest. Her eyes went impossibly wide and she doubled over coughing and gagging against the burn.

"Shit, Beth!," Daryl said tossing the crate of moonshine to the side and grabbing Beth around the shoulders. "You can't just toss that stuff back like that... You a'right?"

Beth rested her palms on her knees and tried to catch her breath. When she spoke, her voice was rough and choked. "Damn that hurt."

"No shit."

After a moment of coughing and spewing, Beth stood to her full height and sucked in a deep breath. She snorted when she saw Daryl looking at her as if she might spontaneously combust.

"I'm fine. Hand me that jar."

Daryl scowled at her, quietly refusing her request.

"Oh for Pete's sake, Daryl," she said and reached around him. "You gonna' drink with me or not?"

He watch her swallow down the tiniest sip and lick her lips when she was done. He wasn't quite sure what to think of his petite little friend. She certainly never failed to surprise him.

When the few belongings that Merle owned were sorted into a junk pile and a donation pile, Beth and Daryl loaded them up in the pickup. Beth climbed up into the bed of the truck and Daryl passed her the last of the boxes. Hands on her hips, she studied the pile. Satisfied with their work, she turned toward Daryl and stretched both arms out to him. He reached for her instantly and lowered her to him. Beth had just enough alcohol buzzing through her system to make her uncharacteristically brave when it came to the opposite sex, Daryl in particular. She giggled when her feet hit the ground and slid her arms behind his neck. "Thank you, Mr. Dixon."

The tips of Daryl's ears turned red, but he kept his hands locked on Beth's tiny waist. She tilted her head and smiled contentedly, swaying back and forth in his arms like a leaf in the breeze.

"You're a happy drunk," Daryl teased, and Beth giggled again. She inched closer to him, her eyes bouncing back and forth between his. When her gaze slipped to his lips, and her fingers feathered through his hair, Daryl summoned every bit of control that he could, and stepped back from her. He wasn't about to take advantage of a moonshine tipsy Beth, no matter what his heart wanted.

"Best make one more sweep 'a the place," he mumbled and deftly stepped around her toward the house.

It was early evening, and the cicadas were singing when they finally settled on the dilapidated front porch. Beth sat across from him leaning on a post, smiling like a cat that just ate all the cream.

"So you grew up in this house?"

"Nah, we lived a few blocks over. First house caught on fire. Burned to the ground."

The smile slid from Beth's face, but there was no pity in her eyes. Even buzzed on moonshine, she knew that wasn't what he needed. "Was anyone home when it happened?"

"Yeah. Me and my mom," he said. "She dropped her smoke and passed out on the couch. Place lit up like a torch."

"Where were you?"

"Asleep in my bed. The fire woke me up. Sounded like somethin' wild... roarin' lIke a unholy beast or some shit. Hotter 'n hell. I tried to get to her, my mom, but 's too late." He spoke so softly, Beth had to lean toward him to hear. "Had to go out my bedroom window. Couldn't see. Couldn't breath."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve."

"I'm sorry," she said, but there was no pity nor sympathy in her words, only genuine empathy for a little boy who lost his mama too soon.

Daryl shrugged it off. "Shit happens," he said with finality and Beth didn't push. She never pushed, yet he found himself, more often than not, opening up to her anyway and saying more than he meant to. Much to his surprise, he realized that he never regretted telling her anything. She never judged him, never used it against him. He guessed that's why the rest of his story flew from his mouth unbidden.

"Things got bad once we moved in here. Merle left, and it was just me and my old man."

"That when you got those scars?"

Daryl's head shot up. If looks could kill, Beth would have been dead where she sat. "What the hell you know 'bout my scars?"

It was all she could do not to scurry back from that glare, but she knew he would never hurt her. "I saw 'em once... the ones on your back. You were splittin' wood behind the garage at your place. The radio was turned up, so you didn't hear me. I went back to my truck, and I honked to let you know I was there. When I came back around, you were still chopin' wood, but you had your t-shirt on. I figured you tell about it when you were ready. Hoped maybe you could trust me with it someday."

"I do trust ya'," he heard himself say, "but them scars ain't nobody's business but mine."

"You're right. They're yours to carry, and I'm not askin' you to tell me about 'em. It's just... Well, I guess I feel like I've been lyin' to ya', not lettin' you know I saw 'em."

He couldn't figure her out. They had been close for near on a year and she was still a mystery. A beautiful enigma that he found himself trusting completely. Before he realized what he was doing, he was unloading the secret burden he had carried his entire life. "He used to take me to the shed, beat the shit out 'a me with his belt. After my mom died, there wadn't nobody around to stop him..."

They sat in companionable silence, content just being there together. Beth stretched her leg out and nudged Daryl with the tip of her Chuck Taylor's. "We should tear it down. Take those big sledge hammers we found, and beat that shed to the ground."

Daryl studied her for a moment while he chewed on the inside of his lip. She just sat there smilin' at him, eyes bright and wide, waiting patiently for his decision. Those eyes followed him when he popped up from the porch floor and held out a hand to her. "Better get started 'for it gets too late, and we wake up the whole damn neighborhood."

Beth's entire face lit up, and Daryl's heart stuttered in his chest. She took his hand and he hauled her up. He overestimated her weight and ended up pulling her tight into his chest. Beth landed against him with a resounding "umph". The sweetest giggle bubbled up from her chest and her forehead landed softly right over his heart. She threaded her fingers through his and stepped back, pulling him with her down the stairs and around the back to the shed.

They spent the next two hours smashing walls, destroying bad memories, and banishing ghosts. When the last wall fell, Beth stepped back and flipped the whole mess off. Daryl was breathing hard, letting go of all the shed represented when Beth gently smacked him with her elbow and silently demanded that he join her in sending the whole thing to hell. He flicked his eyes back to the pile of rubble and felt a tug at the corner of his lip. When Daryl at last flipped the pile of wood and memories off and made his peace, he took Beth's hand and led her back to the pick-up. He felt a thousand pounds lighter, all because of her, and he knew, in that moment, that his heart was no longer his own.

A/N: So not the most exciting chapter, but hang in there, the next one is kind of fun! Thanks for reading. Oh, and, I'm just gonna' say it... Please Review! ;)