Hi everyone! Here is the tenth chapter of On the Inside. I'm a little sad as it's also the last chapter. It's been so much fun writing this story interactively with you all, listening to your suggestions and theories and hopes. It's been such a unique writing experience. I hope you have enjoyed it too.

...

July 29

Dear Daryl,

Maggie's been put into the ground and we're able to grieve properly for her. Our sadness is just as fresh as it was when she went missing, but even stronger now, as we know that she's gone for good.

You've done the very best thing for me and my father. You saved us. It's all over now.

Yours,

Beth

…

Daryl stepped out into the streaming August sunshine and heard the prison gates clang shut behind him. What a sweet fucking sound.

Merle was a few yards away, leaning on the hood of a rust-bucket car, arms folded. 'What's first, baby brother? You wanna get lit or get laid?'

Daryl looked beyond Merle toward the trees. 'How's the huntin' been this summer?'

'Real good.'

Daryl gave a small, satisfied smile at hearing those two words. All he wanted was to get out into the woods, strap his crossbow to his back and walk until this place was a distant goddamn memory.

He headed round to the passenger seat, thumping the hood of the car as he went. 'Then let's get the fuck outta here.'

…

It was the end of September. The anniversary of Maggie's disappearance had come and gone, impaling her and Hershel with grief, but they'd made it through to the other side, swapping happy memories to remind themselves of all the good times they'd had together.

The days were still sunny but the evenings were cooler and the trees in the woods were starting to turn yellow and brown. Beth watched them now, sitting at the piano forte and staring out the window.

He was out there, somewhere. He'd be among the trees, bare arms streaked with dirt and grit under his fingernails. Probably too much stubble on his chin. Not in her woods, of course, but the wilds somewhere. It made her happy knowing he was back where he belonged. Sheriff Grimes had told her that he'd been released in August. A judge had overturned the conviction against Daryl in light of fresh evidence and an argument of self-defence by his lawyer.

There was still Maggie's murder trial to get through. It wouldn't start until February. Blake had pleaded not guilty, but Sheriff Grimes had told them that he had DNA evidence linking Blake to the burial site and a confession from his accomplice, and was confident that the jury would convict. She hadn't seen Merle out of the corner of her eye since the accomplice had been arrested. She supposed the two brothers were together. She liked that idea.

Beth wandered into the kitchen, feeling restless. She'd carried that restlessness with her for months. She wanted to thank Daryl for what he'd done for them in person. If it weren't for him Maggie would still be out there in those woods in a shallow, unmarked grave. She'd thanked him in her letter, but it wasn't enough. And he'd never replied.

She missed him. His letters had kept her going those dark months when she'd felt so isolated. She missed receiving them, written in that firm, slanted script.

Beth went to the window over the sink, intending to get a glass of water but losing interest as soon as she got there. She glanced towards the woods.

There was a figure in black standing by the tree line. Whoever it was was too far away for her to make out any features, but it was a tall, broad figure. A man. He had longish, dark hair, and as she watched he put his hand to his mouth, and a few seconds later a cloud of blue-grey smoke drifted over his head.

Beth stood back, heart pounding. 'Daddy,' she called. 'I'm just going for a walk.'

Walking slowly, keeping her excitement tamped down, Beth pulled on her runners and walked out of the house. It might not be Daryl. It probably wasn't Daryl.

She walked across the fields, advancing slowly toward the figure. He stood still, watching her. As she drew closer she saw that he had a crossbow slung over one shoulder. He wore a black leather vest and his bare arms were muscled and tanned. He was streaked all over with dirt and had more than a week's worth of stubble on his chin. She hadn't been able to see much of it in that hateful orange jumpsuit, but he had a lean, powerful body.

She stopped a few feet from him. 'Hey.'

Daryl squinted at her through the blazing sunshine. 'Hey, yourself.'

Beth wanted to throw her arms around him, ask him where he'd been, what he was doing here. But her mouth felt dry. Finally she pointed over her shoulder at the house. 'Want some lemonade?'

…

Daryl glanced at the white weatherboard house. It was just as pretty as he remembered. And so was Beth. Prettier, even, out here in the sunshine surrounded by birdsong and hay and the smell of damp leaf litter.

He remembered lemonade from her letters. She'd sat on the porch and drank lemonade the day she'd gone hiking in the woods. He knew every goddamn word of those letters. They were burned into his mind from constant reading and rereading. They were in his backpack even now, wrapped carefully in plastic. The only good thing he'd taken out of the prison with him.

'Yeah, I could drink some lemonade.'

He walked silently beside her, one arm holding the crossbow strap, the other arm swinging. They climbed up the front steps and Beth headed toward the front door.

'I ain't comin' in. Haven't showered in days.'

She smiled at him and wrinkled her nose. 'Don't be silly, Daryl.'

And the way sweet goddamn way she said his name made him walk right in behind her without thinking. He propped his crossbow against the wall and followed her through to the kitchen, looking at the polished floors, clean drapes, the pictures on the wall. Just like he'd imagined it when he'd thought about her living in this house.

She poured them each a glass of lemonade and they clinked, neither of them toasting anything but giving each other a nod of understanding.

'Do you remember saying to me that someday you'd like to hear one of my songs?' she asked, and he nodded. 'Do you still wanna?'

'I do.'

She led him through to the front room. She took her place at the piano while he perched on the arm of the sofa. Gettin' it filthy, he thought.

She placed her small white hand on the keys and began to play. It was a light, cheerful song, and as she sang in a clear sweet voice he realised from the words he knew what it was: Two Hearts and a Diamond, the first song she'd sold.

When it was over she turned and grinned at him. 'The Sweetgums do it much better. They've got this sassy style, and guitars.'

He didn't say anything, just watched her, and he saw a pink blush come to her cheeks. Goddamn, she looked so pretty sitting there, all soft smile and soft eyes. But she weren't soft. She was strong, though maybe she hadn't worked it out yet. She'd faced some things he wished she'd never had to, but she hadn't let it take her happiness. He could feel himself easing as he looked at her, feeling like maybe he wasn't a monster through and through because she didn't look at him like he was one.

'Can I play you somethin' else?' she asked, looking down at the keys.

'Sure.'

'I wrote it the morning after I first met you. I woke up and you were on my mind. I could feel the notes in my fingers and out it came. I never wrote a composition like it before.'

She began to play, and it wasn't a ditty or a pop song like she'd told him she normally wrote. It was a haunting, instrumental piece, like a film score, and make Daryl think about stormy skies over the sea, and the depths of icy winter. There was real emotion in that piece. Loss. Need. Tenderness.

The piece ended, and she stared down at her hands as if she was afraid to look up at him.

'Damn, girl,' he said, his voice low and husky. 'You got some talent.'

She turned to him with a smile, but was distracted by something over his shoulder. He turned and saw a white-haired man standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

'Daddy, this is Daryl Dixon.'

Daryl stood quickly, remembering how filthy he was. Hershel would know about the manslaughter charge. He probably knew what he'd done to Blake, too, and here he was sitting with his slip of a daughter, looking at her with who goddamn knew what expression had been on his face. That piece had stirred up things he'd never felt before.

Daryl nodded respectfully at Hershel. 'Sir.'

Hershel came forward. 'Son, I've been hoping I'd get to shake your hand one day.'

Daryl quickly wiped his hand on his pants and shook Hershel's extended one.

Hershel smiled. 'You've helped this family, and I ain't ever gonna forget it.'

…

Later Beth and Daryl leaned on the porch railings, looking toward the woods. The sun was starting to sink down behind the house.

'Were you angry with me that I told Sheriff Grimes about what your daddy used to do to you?' Beth asked softly. 'I'm sorry if I hurt you.'

Daryl followed the path of a swallow as it flew overhead. 'You ain't got nothing' to be sorry about, Beth.'

She took a deep breath. 'Those letters we wrote each other,' she said. 'What's that expression people say? More than the sum of its parts. That how I feel about 'em. They were just pieces of paper and words, but they did so much for us.'

'It weren't the letters.' He turned to look at her. She waited for him to go on, but he didn't.

'I should be gettin' back,' he said, nodding toward the woods. 'Make camp. Shoot some dinner.'

She didn't say anything, but felt a pang of loss and sadness go through her. She could see how uncomfortable he was in her house, like he felt he didn't belong. And maybe it was a reaction to being locked up for months. He wanted to feel free, not have four walls around him.

He startled her when he said, 'Come with me?'

She thought about this for a moment. 'It's gettin' dark,' she pointed out.

He nudged her gently with his shoulder. 'You scared, girl?'

Beth looked at him side-long, a smile playing around her lips. Then she disappeared inside the house. She came back a few minutes later in a pair of hiking boots, a light waterproof jacket and with a rucksack slung over her shoulder. She marched down the steps, but turned back when he didn't follow.

Shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, she gazed up at him. He looked dirty and dangerous with that crossbow slung over his shoulders and hair hanging over his forehead. Handsome as hell, too. He always had been, but it was doubled now that he was free.

He was looking at her through narrowed eyes with a pleased, amused expression.

'Well? You comin', Daryl?'

He curled one hand around the crossbow strap at his shoulder and made his way down the stairs toward her.

…

THE END

…

I hoped you enjoyed Reading On the Inside as much as I've enjoyed writing it. You are an amazing community of people and I can't thank you enough for all the support and encouragement you've given me!

Even though this story is now complete I love hearing from people who have read it subsequently. Do leave me a comment letting me know if you enjoyed it!

Check out my other alt-universe stories. They Seek Him Here is a Bethyl story set in East Germany behind the Berlin Wall. Angst, danger, bleak midwinter communist oppression.

Doctor Blake and Mr Hyde is a Jekyll and Hyde/Walking Dead mash-up starring Philip/Brian as Jekyll/Hyde, and Beth.