author's note: hello lovelies! i'm so sorry this has taken so long. real life is dumb and hard sometimes. here's an extra long chapter to make up for it!
but so much love to DarylDixon'sLover, UltimateBethylFicList, Reignashii, An Amber Pen, ledanna, erkr1, C.I. TigerFan, weshallflyaway, LadyIngenue, and a guest for reviewing, and thanks to all who are reading. :)
a quick recap of what happened last time: daryl, beth, and the four other prisoners are making a run for freedom outside of the hotel when a couple of guards try to stop them. there's gunfire, beth goes down.
Daryl is all a blaze of instinct and training, and he's planted himself into a defensive posture over Beth before rational thought even has a chance to catch up. The gun in his hand practically fires itself and even at that range, the three guards drop in quick succession.
"You hit?" he chokes out, heart in his throat, as he practically tumbles to his knees beside her.
"It's just my ankle," she says, her face twisted in pain.
He glances down her leg, half-dizzy with relief. It's only a sprain - she's wearing four inch heels, it's a miracle she hasn't twisted her ankle before this point.
The sound of gunfire stopped the other four in their tracks, and now they're rushing back.
"She okay?" Sasha asks.
"I'm fine," Beth grinds out. "You should keep going, we'll be right behind you."
She's right, because more guards will appear at any second and the fewer targets, the better. There's no point in all of them getting recaptured, and he and Beth aren't civilians - they essentially signed up for this. She grabs his upper arm and starts dragging herself upright, and he is a mess of fumbling hands as he tries to help her. She's doing it to show the others that she's fine, that she can walk, that they should go ahead without them.
"Follow the creek down to the backroad and get in the van waiting there," Daryl tells Andrea, since she seems like the likeliest to take control of the remaining group. "You see any guards comin', you leave. Go to the nearest police station and stay there."
Beth is balancing herself on his arm and he can tell that she isn't putting any weight on her left ankle. But her voice is steady as she says, "If that happens, give the police my full name as yours. It'll trip an alert in the CIA's systems and there'll be back-up there in no time."
"It won't come to that," Andrea says firmly. "We'll wait for you at the van." She rounds up the other three and they're off again, running across the lawn toward the tree line.
Beth waits just long enough for them to turn around before sagging against him. He slips an arm around her waist to help support some of her weight. It seems like it's taking a minute or two for more guards to be alerted to their escape, and Daryl intends to make full use of the time.
"C'mon," he says, nodding toward a lone tree with a bench underneath it a couple dozen yards to their left. It's on a wide arc out of their way, but if they position themselves right it'll provide decent visual cover and give them a second to regroup.
Beth doesn't make a single sound of complaint as she tries a tentative step, but she jerks back off her ankle so quick that he knows it's got to be killing her. Plus she's still in those damn high heels, which he can't imagine walking in anyway.
"I'll trade you," he says, offering the gun to her, grip first.
She looks confused as she takes it, but then she squeaks "oh!" when he scoops his other arm under her knees and lifts her, bridal-style.
He had somehow expected her to be feather-light, since she looks like fairydust and sunbeams. Of course she's not - she's flesh and bone, and his bruised ribs groan in protest at the extra weight. But god is she flesh and bone, all warm skin and soft curves, so different from his rough body.
Still, it's honestly a little bit of a relief when he reaches the bench and can put her down. She goes all the way to the ground with her back against the edge of the seat, and he follows to kneel in front of her so that they're both relatively hidden. The bench casts a long shadow from the hotel's lights, but there's still enough moonlight to see.
"Did'ja roll it in or out?" Daryl asks, gingerly reaching for her ankle. It's already starting to swell against the strap of her shoe.
"In," she hisses when he takes the back of her heel in his hand.
He sets her foot back down so that he can pull off his jacket. He knows the formal black shirt he's wearing is by some fancy designer and probably costs a fortune, which makes it particularly satisfying to rip off one sleeve and then then next. Beth is staring wide-eyed at his bare arms, probably thinking that he's some kind of redneck trash for destroying an Armani.
"Gonna have to wrap it," he says defensively.
"Huh?" Beth asks, and it looks like she's waking up from a dream.
"Your ankle," he says. "You mind?"
"Sure, go ahead," she nods, all her fierce resolve flooding back into her face.
He slides the strap out of its buckle so that he can gently slip the shoe off her foot. She winces as he rotates her ankle one way and then the next, trying to diagnose how bad the sprain is. It's definitely going to have to be iced and elevated, but there's not much they can do about that at the moment.
He knots the ends of his sleeves together to make a longer strip of fabric. It's been a couple years since he wrapped a sprain, but it's like muscle memory - lay a foundation across the ball of the foot, and then overlap around the arch and over the ankle. He's careful not to make it too tight, since the fabric doesn't have any stretch in it.
Beth tries an experimental flex of her foot once he ties off the makeshift wrap. "High heels suck," is all she says before her face goes steely and she raises the gun in her hands. "Get down."
He reacts without questioning her, lurching forward at an angle that makes his ribs scream in protest but keeps his weight off her injured ankle. He has just enough time to regret his proximity to the gun before his ears are ringing from the two rounds she fires off over his shoulder.
"Damn," he mutters as he straightens back up, a little dazed.
"I think they're tryin' to circle around and cut us off," Beth says in an undertone. "I can't see any more of them, but they know where we are now."
Daryl scans the area behind her to make sure no one is coming from that direction. They're pretty far up shit creek, but they do have a slight tactical advantage if they can prevent any guards from fully penning them in. Honestly, it's kind of a shock that it's taking so long for a response from the Governor's guards - but then, maybe the disappearance of Merle as head of security is wreaking a little havoc on the troops.
"We should keep movin'," he says.
"I know," she sighs regretfully, and Daryl can't keep the confused grimace off his face at her tone. She pushes the Glock into his chest, reaching for her uninjured foot. She slips her shoe off and cradles it in her hands for a second. "This is my favourite pair," she whispers before wedging the heel into the space between two slats on the bench. With one strong wrench, she breaks the heel clean off to turn the shoe into a flat.
"Let's go," she says once she's fastened the strap around her ankle again.
Part of him wonders what on earth they're doing. Beth isn't able to move very fast, and there's no way he can carry her with his ribs making it so hard to breathe. They have one gun between them, with twelve bullets left if it was fully loaded when Merle handed it over. How the hell are they gonna make it to the treeline, let alone the waiting van, without getting shot in the back?
But Beth is looking at him expectantly, those big blue eyes catching the moonlight and her lips pressed into a firm line of determination. His brother would say she's got moxie - Daryl's not sure what he would call it, but there's no doubt that Beth Greene has every intention of getting back home. Her optimism is infectious, despite his natural tendency to predict the worst.
"What's your rush?" he asks, handing the gun back to her so that he can help her up. "Got a hot date later?"
She cracks a coy grin at him as she takes it, her eyelashes fluttering just so. "Isn't that what we're on right now?"
He can't help but snort a laugh as he gets his feet under him, sitting on his haunches until they're about to move. "You ready?" he asks, extending a hand to her.
She clasps it around the wrist with her free hand and readjusts her grip on the Glock in her other. They pause for a beat like this, long enough for Daryl to peer up over the back of the bench toward the hotel. Even though it still looks all clear, it feels way too easy. Daryl's senses are prickling, but there's nothing for it. Anything is better than waiting around to be picked up by the Governor's men.
He flicks his eyes back to Beth and nods that it's time to move. They go up together, using their clasped hands as leverage.
"Think you can walk-" The words are only half out of his mouth when there is a loud barrage of gunfire from the hotel and they both go back down on instinct. None of the shots landed anywhere near them, but Daryl still frantically checks Beth over as best he can.
"I'm fine," she's saying breathlessly, and it looks like she's trying to check him, too. "Where'd that come from?"
"Come out, come out," a now-familiar voice calls in a sing-song tone. "Wherever you are."
They don't even have to look to know it's the Governor. Of course it was only a matter of time before he showed up. Daryl can make him out through the slats of the bench, that obnoxious swagger emphasized by the assault rifle in his hands. He's flanked by about a dozen guards who all have their weapons raised and aimed at him and Beth. They're about twenty yards away, fanning out to form a line behind him.
"You've put me in an awkward position, Daryl," the Governor calls. "I kept things nice and quiet, didn't want to disturb my guests inside the hotel. But then you had to shoot up five of my men."
"Sorry for the inconvenience," Daryl replies, looking around for any possible advantage. Beth finally looks kinda spooked, which is a little ironic since this is the first time Daryl actually feels like he's got his feet under him. Not that their situation isn't a shitstorm, but at least all that undercover crap is over with.
"Well, y'see, it's a little more than an inconvenience," the Governor says. "I've got my reputation to think of, and lettin' you hurt my people without repercussions isn't something I'm willin' to do."
Beth makes a hand gesture that means keep him talking. At first Daryl is confused, until he catches onto her train of thought - when the others leave without them and give Beth's name to the local police station, it'll only be a matter of minutes until HQ knows something is wrong. Even with all the legalities to sort through, the CIA could deploy a rescue mission within a couple hours. They just have to survive that long, even though that will probably mean being recaptured.
"What do you propose?" Daryl asks to stall for time. He hates talking this much, but there's no way he's gonna make Beth parlay with the Governor.
"Why don't you lay that gun down and come inside? I'm sure we can settle this like civilized adults."
"And if we don't?"
"Well," the Governor drawls. Daryl can hear the mocking smile in his voice. "You only have a handful of bullets left. The way I see it, this'll work out just fine for me either way."
"Just takes one bullet to shoot you," Beth pipes in, and there's enough venom in her words that Daryl half-wonders if she'll actually do it. But of course it's all for show, because there's no way either one of them could get a shot off without being exposed.
The Governor laughs at her threat, which makes Daryl grind his teeth and Beth's face harden in irritation. "Something tells me you won't do that, sweetheart," he says. "You never did tell me your name."
Daryl isn't completely sure, but it sounds a hell of a lot like Beth mutters "suck my dick" under her breath.
But there's no time for a proper response, because just then they hear the rev of an engine screaming toward them. Beth's eyes pop in shock and Daryl whips around to see a familiar SUV barrelling toward them, Merle at the wheel with one arm out the window to open fire on the Governor and his men. They scatter under the hail of bullets, except for the Governor who lifts that huge assault rifle and just starts shooting from the hip.
The SUV lunges to a stop between them and the the Governor. Everything is insanely loud, but by now Daryl recognizes that Merle somehow got their CIA issued vehicle, which is bulletproof. The door nearest to them pops open and Tyreese appears.
"Come on!" he yells over the noise. By now it sounds like a couple of the Governor's guards have recovered themselves and joined the fray, but they're sheltered by the SUV.
Daryl hauls Beth to her feet and up into his arms in one swift movement, and by god if the adrenaline isn't so high that he doesn't even think about his ribs. He passes her across the bench into Tyreese's waiting arms, figuring it's quicker than making her hobble around.
"You get in the front, I've got her!" Tyreese says, already back to the SUV and helping Beth into it. Someone's hands reach for her from the inside to keep her long skirt clear of her feet so she doesn't trip.
He doesn't even remember getting to the car and flinging himself inside, but Merle's yelling "All clear?" and the door isn't even shut all the way when they're roaring out of there, with a couple parting shots from the second window in the back. Daryl twists around to see, and realizes that Andrea and Michonne had both been shooting, too. Beth is crammed between Andrea and Tyreese in the second row, breathing hard. Sasha and Michonne are all the way in the back.
Next to him, Merle lets out a whoop of victory. They've gained enough distance that the last of the scattered shots aimed at the SUV have petered off, and now they're spewing gravel down the long driveway away from the hotel and toward freedom.
"You hit him?" Daryl demands as his brother picks up speed. "Anybody see if he went down?"
"Son of a bitch got to cover," Andrea grinds out behind him.
There's a couple guards at the front gate, but they blow past them so fast that there's no gunfire exchanged. With shrieking tires, Merle pulls on to the main road and then settles into a more measured speed to blend in with the few other cars that are out so late.
"Where to now, baby brother?" Merle crows through a wide grin. He lives for this adrenaline shit. "You got somewhere for us to lay low for a while?"
"Just head for the 285," Daryl says, figuring the highway is probably their safest bet. He doesn't have the heart to tell him that this high tech CIA vehicle is riddled with sensors that have been sending info back to HQ - like how they just took heavy gunfire. There's probably a flock of discreet black cars already on the way to intercept them. Even though Merle helped them escape, there's no way he's getting out of this without prison time.
That's the safest place for his dumb ass right now, Daryl tells himself, and it's technically true - not that it makes him feel any better. "Why'd you come get us?"
"Heard the second set of shots," Merle said. He's driving with one wrist draped over the wheel like this is a lazy Sunday drive, except there are a couple of round, spidery indents in the side window where the glass stopped bullets. "Your new friends said that lil dollface got her ankle all in a twist, figured y'all could use a helping hand."
"Don't be a dick," Andrea cuts in from the back seat. "It was Tyreese's idea to go back."
"Yeah, yeah," Merle waves his free hand to dismiss her. "But seein' how it was me who provided the weapons and the escape car, I think I should get credit."
Daryl can hear Beth's soft voice behind him, thanking Tyreese and everybody else in the back. It sounds like Andrea offers to take a look at her ankle.
By now Merle has pulled onto the highway. If Daryl can pretend that no one else is in the SUV, this would feel just like every other time the two of them have left a job. Except it's nothing like that, because his brother let him think that he was dead for four years.
"This is a mighty fine vehicle for a freelancer," Merle says, and the cavalier quality has faded out of his voice. "Mighty fine."
"Maybe I just know how to pick better jobs than you," Daryl mutters. He's eventually gonna have to sort out how he feels about all this, but for now he'd be satisfied with getting back to base.
"Maybe you do, baby brother," Merle replies, checking the rearview mirror as if he expects something to be there.
"How'd you get the key for it?"
"Got it from the valet box," he says. "Devon Jones is a shitty-ass cover name, by the way."
Daryl ignores the jab. There's a million questions running through his mind, and the loudest all start with why. After a minute, he just settles on, "what the hell, man?"
Of course Merle knows he's not asking about tonight. "I had to get outta there. You know I ain't made for the straight n' narrow."
"You started that fight four years ago," Daryl realizes out loud, huffing out an incredulous laugh at the simple genius of it. What better way to escape the CIA than to make them think you're dead?
"I tried lookin' for you a couple times, after," Merle says, and it's probably the closest thing to an apology that he's ever gonna get. "But damn, you're a difficult son of a bitch to find."
Daryl somehow knows that Beth is listening and for a split second, a really really weird part of him wishes that he was back in the hotel room that morning, when her hair was backlit like a halo by the sun coming through the window. What the hell? he thinks. Nothing makes sense and he hates everything.
He's saved from a response by flashing lights in the rearview mirror, and he hears Beth murmur some kind of thanks like a prayer. Merle tenses, his free hand going to the steering wheel for a better grip in an automatic instinct that Daryl's seen a hundred times before back when they did jobs together.
"It worth me runnin'?" Merle asks. He's not dumb - it's clear that he's finally put the pieces together. It probably only took him so long because joining up with the CIA in an official capacity would never have occurred to him.
"Nah," Daryl says.
His brothers jerks his head toward the backseat where Beth is as he eases off the gas. "I hope the pussy's worth it, little brother."
"Shut up," Daryl says reflexively, damning his own face all to hell for flaring with heat.
"What is this?" Michonne asks about the lights behind them.
"That's the calvary, darlin'," Merle replies with a strained grin that's hard for Daryl to read. For a second he's afraid that he'll try something stupid, but his brother puts the hazards on and pulls off to the side of the road as if this is a normal traffic stop.
And it almost is, except that it's the equivalent of a SWAT team surrounding them instead of a single police officer with a ticket.
"Turn off the car and gimme the key and the gun," Daryl says.
Merle has somehow produced a cigarette and he's lighting it. "I'm gonna think twice before bustin' you out of a hostage situation next time, baby brother."
"The key," Daryl growls.
Merle hands them both over. Daryl opens the door slowly, keeping his hands up with the gun loosely held in a neutral position. His chest is immediately lit up by flickering laser tracers, and even though he's been legit with the CIA for three years now, he still gets an awful panicky feeling like he's done something wrong.
Then he hears the click of a car door behind him, and senses more than sees Beth slip out of the car too. He can tell it's her because she's favoring one foot, and he risks looking away from the SWAT team to glance back at her.
"I'm Agent Bethany Greene," she calls out. Her hand is resting lightly on the open door for balance, but the other is up like his. "ID number 26148. My partner and I could use medical and tactical support."
One figure emerges from the rest, lowering his weapon. Daryl is relieved to see it's T-Dog - he'll be fair about Merle, even if he doesn't like it.
"Hey Beth, Daryl. Sorry about the greeting," he says as he approaches. The rest of the team doesn't stand down in the slightest, probably because they can see the others still inside the SUV. "Protocols, y'know?"
"We got five civilians in the vehicle," Daryl says as he relaxes his arms. Beth does the same and takes a little hopping step forward to stand beside him, grabbing his arm for support as she does. It kinda spooks him, but more just because her fingers are cold on his bare skin rather than the contact itself. He puts a hand at the small of her back to steady her almost without thinking about it.
(Almost. She's wearing that backless gown, after all.)
"Alright," T-Dog nods. "We'll handle it. We got a medical van a couple cars back - y'all look like you've been through hell."
It's gotta be pushing two in the morning by now, and all of a sudden Daryl can finally acknowledge how exhausted he is. He glances over at Beth, who is already looking at him. She looks even more tired than he feels, with dark rings under her eyes and a bruise fully blossomed on her cheek where the Governor backhanded her.
"C'mon," he says to her as the SWAT team moves toward their vehicle. They probably should have given them a heads-up about exactly who some of those five civilians are, but T-Dog will process them and send them back to base, which is the safest thing for everybody at the moment. Rick can sort everything out.
The next fifteen minutes or so pass in a blur. They make their way back to the med van, where two medical operatives examine them, clean their cuts, and re-wrap Beth's ankle before tucking shock blankets around them both. Somehow, miraculously, there's hot coffee, and Daryl starts to feel slightly human again with a steaming cup of it in his hands. Then the med team heads over to examine the others, leaving them with strict instructions to be still and rest until it's time to transport back to base.
And then Daryl and Beth are alone, sitting in the back of the van. They can still hear what's going on a couple cars up, and occasionally a civilian vehicle will pass by. It's amazing what people will ignore - a whole row of black SUVs pulled off on the side of the highway, and people just keep driving.
"Sorry about your brother," Beth says, interrupting his thoughts. He's not sure if she means about his brother being back, or his brother lying to him, or that his brother is now going to a CIA detention facility.
He takes a sip of coffee and says, "Merle's an asshole," which is a pretty succinct answer to all three options.
"He kinda is," Beth says, sipping from her own cup. "But I'm glad he was there. We got those four people out because of him."
Daryl doesn't respond, just looks at her from under the fringe of his long hair. She's smaller and sweeter somehow, wrapped up in that orange blanket and cradling a to-go cup in her hands. She isn't looking at him at first, but then her eyes flicker up and he doesn't yank his gaze away in time.
"What?" she asks, something like a smile on her lips.
"Nothin'," he answers quickly.
He can tell she's about to say something more, but just then T-Dog appears at the open back doors of the van. "Y'all are gonna have one hell of a report to file," he says by way of greeting. "Ready to go home?"
More than anything, Daryl thinks, already starting to shift from sitting on the bumper to one of the seats inside the van. He's about to give Beth a hand to do the same, but T-Dog is already helping her up and for a split-second Daryl is pissed at the intrusion. But then Beth is buckling into the seat opposite him, giving him a smile that says we made it, and he can't be pissed anymore.
This shitty mission is finally over, he thinks as a couple other agents pile into the van and it starts moving. He had assumed he would feel only relief at this point, but he's just now realizing that the end of the mission means the end of working with Beth.
Damn.
hmmm looks like our boy has a lot of things to sort through in the near future
one more chapter on this one, friends! the next part is already underway and i am so mcfreakin excited to share it with you omg
12.09.15