A/N: Okay, I legitimately have a problem. I've literally done nothing else today (granted, it's my day off) than write and write and write. I can't stop. Hi, I'm CL and I am a fanfiction addict. SEND HALLLLLLLP!

Second chapter in 1 day, but I could not WAIT to get this one out. It may leave you with some questions, and that's okay; I am here to answer them, or at least talk in circles pretending to answer them.

Without further ado, chapter 10 is here. I'd venture to guess that we're nearing the 50-75% completion mark of this story, but *I* rarely believe anything that I say myself, so you maybe, probably, likely shouldn't either.

Reviews make me happy. They'd make Daryl Dixon happy too...maybe even so happy that he'd give you a ride on his motorcycle ;)

xx

chapter 10: bite my tongue till blood soaks my shirt

"Where ya been hidin', pretty girl?" The man in black continued advancing on Beth, who still stood just several feet outside the doors of the general store. She'd come out here ready to fight, prepared to take on four men to save the life of her companion—her friend—but she hadn't realized she'd come face to face with the absolute worst person she'd crossed paths with (to put it lightly), before.

Her arms hung loosely at her sides; the gun she'd been gripping in one hand was long forgotten for the moment even as her entire body trembled.

She couldn't find her voice. Couldn't get her brain to push the words through the necessary neural channels and networks so that they'd come out of her mouth.

"Been a long time, sugar. What ya doin' all the way up here, girly? This kid a friend o' yours?" He—Robert—her brain at least worked well enough to conjure up the bastard's name, asked, jerking his head backward as he referred to Ben, who still remained on his knees with one of Robert's associates behind him, holding his arms.

She let her eyes shift to Ben, made herself appear to be taking a long, curious look at him before returning them to Robert. She shook her head.

"Never seen him before." Her voice came out quiet but much more even than she'd anticipated.

Robert nodded, that chilling grin still in place as he came to stand directly in front of Beth. She cursed herself internally, begged her body to remain still, to not show any signs of fear—because this sick fuck loved it when people were afraid. Got off on it.

"What ya doin' with him, anyhow? Get sick o' playin' with girls?" She asked, letting her lips slowly form a fake and possibly mischievous smile.

Robert scowled at that, as Beth had expected; he didn't like anyone questioning his tastes.

"Nah. Think you know better'n that, princess. 'Less you wanna quick reminder. Nah, just bidin' our time for now. Been huntin' a group o' people that done us wrong."

He rolled up one sleeve of his black hooded sweatshirt and lifted a filthy hand up to Beth's face. She forced herself to remain calm as he let his fingers slide down her face slowly.

"Goddamn, forgot how pretty ya are." She kept her eyes on his face as he spoke, creating a barrier between herself and all the emotions she was feeling.

"But I still 'member what ya sound like when ya scream."

She clenched her jaw tightly. Couldn't control her mind for for just a second, as she remembered in brief flashes all the shit this sick, twisted motherfucker had done to her.

If the world were still the world, he'd have at least five counts against him in a court of law: kidnapping, attempted rape, assault and battery, stalking, and attempted murder, and those were just the ones he'd committed against her. And probably not even an all-inclusive list.

But then, she guessed, she'd have had a few of her own, too.

"What's up with the painted faces?" She changed the subject before she lost all control and just shot the asshole. That was too great a risk at the moment. Though she'd find sublime joy in killing him, she wouldn't risk Daryl or Ben—she was out here to save Ben, after all.

"Well, see now, that's a good question. Seems that even after the world ends, it's still such a small, small place t' be. Runnin' into same people ain't good when you're in our kind'a business." The smile returned to his face then, and Beth swore she saw a faint hint of self-pride cross his features and it made her want to bash his fucking face in.

"So, ya'll still have the—farm? The girls?" She had to be careful with what she said or asked or did, but all she could think to do at the moment was to keep him talking, keep him distracted. She hoped Daryl wasn't contemplating doing anything stupid or reckless, as she could only imagine his thoughts as he watched and listened from the store.

Robert nodded. "'Course. Gonna repopulate the earth, baby. Just runnin' low on some things, ventured out to find some supplies. Bunch'a our guys got killed invadin' some shit town south'a here." Of course it'd been Alexandria. Of course.

"Did ya really expect anythin' different? Can't just go 'round robbin' people." She winced inwardly as the words left her mouth, prayed to something that he wouldn't go on the defensive, turn into the ape-shit crazy bastard that she knew so well.

"We wasn't gonna hurt nobody, 'less we had to." He retorted

"'Cept for all the girls you keep. You hurt them, keep on hurtin' 'em, just like you hurt me." She felt a twinge of sadness for the others she'd left behind when she'd escaped that little piece of hell on earth. But that was how she survived.

"Never meant t' hurt ya, sweet thing. But you hurt me, too," he turned his head to the side, letting her get a closer look at the scar with which she'd left him. The gash was deep and uneven and it stood out even underneath the paint. "Gimme another chance, sweet baby girl. Lemme make it right. I'll make it good, real good. Make it good for us both."

"No. Told ya I was gonna get out an' never come back. I did, and I ain't." She said, backing up a step as he leaned further forward, reaching his arms toward her waist.

"Well, maybe ya caught me on an off day, doll, but I don' 'member offerin' ya a choice in the matter. Come with us or we'll just go 'head an' kill ya."

"Fuck you," she spat, still backing up and away from him as he continued stalking toward her, now just inches from the store windows.

Robert laughed, touching her hip lightly. "I tried. But then you attacked me, ya filthy little bitch. So, guess what ol' Bobby's gonna do now?" He was right in her face as he spoke. His hot breath blew right into her face and she couldn't wait. Couldn't wait until this asshole couldn't take anymore breaths.

"Ol' Bobby's gonna bring ya back with us. We're gon' go back to the farm. Get ya your old room back, baby. An' then, I'm gonna tie your wrists together," he said, grabbing her wrists as he did so, playing out his words, causing her to drop her gun to the ground with a loud clunk.

"Then I'm gonna spread your sexy li'l legs way apart an' tie them down too," he continued, breathing more heavily.

"Gonna take your clothes off—nah, rip 'em off, and then—yeah, then I'll stuff 'em in your dirty fuckin' mouth."

His eyes were almost black now, and she remembered this look too, too well. Her breathing was ragged, mind torn between trying to block out the involuntary rush of horrifying memories flooding it and the formation of plans to kill him—kill them all—and save Ben and make sure Daryl survived.

"An' then, baby—then, I'm gonna fuck you so hard. You're gon' be screamin' an' cryin' when you take it. It's gon' hurt. But I know how much ya like pain, baby. 'Member how you didn't even know I was bitin' your tits, your thighs, bitin' 'em so hard. 'S like it didn't even hurt ya, but I know ya just liked it. See? I'm gonna—"

Whatever he was "gonna", Beth would never know. Everything happened in a blur. The glass of the store windows that'd been just behind her shattered so suddenly she jumped and, perhaps, even yelped in surprise. Then she was being yanked hard, backwards, by her hair or her waist or her shoulders, she had no idea. She flew over the window ledge and into the store. She felt herself rolling and sliding across the hard floor, shards of glass nicking and gashing her everywhere it touched—which was fine, of course, since she couldn't feel it.

Robert rolled into the store a moment later, his large body almost bouncing as it skidded by Beth and into the aisle next to where she'd landed. She took a moment to catch her breath, glance at her arms and legs and abdomen for any life-threatening injuries. The world began to spin as soon as she'd done a brief once-over of herself, and she wasn't quite sure whether the uncomfortable, dizzying sensation was related to blood loss or if she'd hit her head on the way in. She played it safe, remaining on all fours as she crawled over to Robert, who was unconscious, bloody, and unmoving.

She looked outside then, as best she could, and saw Daryl in a stand-off of sorts with one of the men in black, wondering faintly where the other two had gone. She saw Ben quickly beginning to run toward the store, heard that stupid jingle at the door as he entered.

Beth's vision began to cloud and tunnel as Ben approached her, and she couldn't make out what he was saying. She wanted to tell him she was so glad he hadn't been killed, that she was so happy to see him, that she was sorry; but before she got the chance to even attempt any of it, the world around her went completely black.

xxx

When she came to, cracking her eyes open slightly, she saw Daryl—thank god, he was okay, she thought—standing over Robert. She was still lying on the store's floor, blood pooling in a thick puddle around her that extended from her to Robert, and she was sure it wasn't all hers.

Beth slowly regained her senses. Opened her eyes a little wider to take in the scene in front of her, keeping her head against the floor for fear of blacking out again.

Ben was sitting by the counter near the front of the store, curled up in a corner with wide eyes as he, too, watched Daryl, who was kicking the shit out of Robert's face at the moment.

"Please, man," she heard Robert's voice and, weak as she was, managed to shiver at the sound of it. His voice was a sound she'd wished for months she'd never have to hear again. She wondered how and why he was still among the living.

"Don' 'please, man' me, you fuckin' piece o' shit," Daryl was yelling, probably the loudest she'd ever heard him speak. "You fucked with her an' she's my family. I killed your other men, so don' even look out there. An' if there's more waitin', I'll fuckin' kill them too."

"There ain't no more. I swear, man. It was just us four, sent to check out these parts for some fuckin' people that done us wrong." Robert coughed then and nothing but a splatter of blood came from his mouth.

"Well, you done me wrong. You done her wrong. An' you're gonna pay. Where the fuck's the rest o' your people?"

Robert didn't answer. Beth saw Daryl pacing briefly, steps loud and hard, before he moved out of her view for a moment, returning with a pair of pliers that must have been hanging from one of the shelves.

He crouched down next to Robert then, pliers in hand, and Beth couldn't make out what exactly he was doing. But if Robert's scream were any indication, it wasn't anything pleasant.

"FUCK! Please—please—I—they ain't close by. Our farm's outside'a Richmond. Some of us—we decided to spread out, look for them people I's tellin' ya about. Ain't goin' no further'n Washington. We was on our way back." Robert cried, suddenly more forthcoming.

"Ya got any way o' contactin' the others that're out lookin'?" Daryl continued questioning the man.

"Nah, man. Ain't like we got cell phones or nothin'. But I'd bet all the rest of 'em are headed back home, too, 'less they came 'cross the people we's looking for."

"A'right." Daryl said, voice suddenly quiet, calm even. Beth saw him approaching her, and she moved her eyes up to his face. She wasn't sure what kind of look she was giving him at that moment, but as his eyes met hers, all she saw there was tenderness and concern and an undercurrent of distinct anger.

"Y'okay?" he asked, crouching down as Ben, scared as he must've been, moved to guard Robert.

Beth nodded as Daryl helped her into a sitting position. "Think so."

He grabbed her hand then, assisted her to her feet (and she wasn't as wobbly as she'd anticipated), and led her over to where Robert was.

Robert was almost unrecognizable now. His face was swollen with forming bruises and cuts from the glass and Daryl's fists and boots, all the paint had mostly been wiped off, too. He was bleeding from multiple areas. It'd likely be easier to count the areas from which he wasn't bleeding. The bloody tip of a finger caught her attention and Beth remembered the pliers, wincing a bit at the thought.

"Girl. I'm s—sorry. For what I done." Robert said, voice trembling.

Beth felt a stinging behind her eyes. Not because she was moved in any way by his forced reformation, but because she had never felt this kind of relief, this level of almost happiness, in anticipation of killing or the death of anything.

She narrowed her eyes, felt her face screwing up in a grimace that was almost outside of her control. She spat at him, bloody saliva landing right in his face as he broke down, crying and asking—begging—her for forgiveness. For mercy.

"You're an evil piece of shit," she said, feeling her face grow hot. She turned to Daryl, who stood beside her, as always. "Mind holdin' him for a second?"

Daryl got on the floor without question, restraining Robert's hands while motioning for Ben to hold his legs down to the floor.

Beth, heaving in breath after ragged breath, dropped to her knees and crawled up right to Robert's face. Let her lips curl into a smile, and she hoped it was the sweetest fucking thing he'd ever seen.

She leaned down, fast, and sunk her teeth into the fleshy tissue of his chest, right above his left breast. She bit and bit and bit and ground her teeth, almost chewing, around in all directions as he screamed in pain. Her teeth sunk further and further and further until her top and bottom sets touched one another through the layers of his skin.

He was sobbing, struggling against Daryl and Ben. She released his skin and sat up, weight on her heels, spat at him again, his own blood and torn up flesh. Grabbed her knife out of its holster and, without a thought, drove it downward into his crotch. Lifted the knife up again and repeated it. Again and again and again.

"PLEASE! Stop—god—oh, please, just—just stop!" Robert's voice was becoming hoarse from his screaming.

Beth hadn't noticed the tears that were soaking her face then. The cries that were coming out of her mouth as she ruined him. Like he ruined her.

"You ain't ever gonna hurt anyone again!" She screamed, moving her face right up into his as she ceased her actions. "An' just so you know, you motherfucker, I didn't feel it. None o' the sick shit you did to me. I didn't feel it. Does it still get you off? Still make you wanna try an' hurt me? Tie me down? HUH? DOES IT?!" She let out a humorless laugh as his face, though still pained, twisted with confusion, maybe disgust—at Beth, at himself, she didn't know. Didn't care.

"In just a second, ol' Bobby," she whispered, still close to his face, tears and blood and sweat running onto it from her own. "I'm gonna kill you. And after that, ya know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna kill every last one'a you sons o' bitches. Gonna spit on your bodies. Let the walkers do the rest."

She gripped the knife and, in one swift motion, sliced it deeply across his neck from one side to the other before jamming it through his right eye, just for good measure.

The room fell silent then. Ben and Daryl released the dead man's limbs.

Beth fell back onto her ass, knees coming up protectively as she hugged them to her body and cried.

xxx

They were back in the woods soon after, continuing their journey north. Though they were all tired and bruised and spent, they'd wordlessly come to an agreement that they had to distance themselves from the town, just in case Robert had been lying about the location and intentions of the others.

Beth hadn't cried for long. Wouldn't let herself. Didn't speak. Tried like hell not to think.

They'd been walking for at least three hours when Daryl broke the silence.

"Let's stop here. We'll be gettin' to the meet up by tomorrow night, maybe even early evenin'." Beth felt his eyes on her face. "Need to rest."

They set up camp wordlessly, the three of them moving around one another like one unit, like a well-oiled machine. Ben offered to take first watch, and no one argued with him.

The fire burned low and the heat of it felt good on Beth's skin, which had become clammy and cool as the night settled in. She lay on her side, facing the fire pit, staring at the abstract design formed by the spatters of blood on her hand in the light. Daryl sat across the pit, just staring at her for a long time, lost in his own thoughts.

He eventually made his way around the pit, lay down on his back next to Beth, placing her between his body and the fire.

She was praying he wouldn't ask anything, almost hoped he wouldn't say anything at all, though she didn't mind his voice—every variation and octave of which was honest and beautiful, from his yelling and screaming to his mumbles and indecipherable grunts.

She felt him roll his body toward her, his chest close, right up against her back. Felt the downward flow of his breath on her ear; Beth imagined he must have been resting his head on his hand, elbow propped up on the ground.

She placed both her hands under her head, stacking them and cradling herself, as he spoke.

"Ya done real good, Beth." His voice was a whisper, and some emotion that she couldn't identify laced his words.

She nodded slightly, not verbalizing any kind of response.

"Yain't gotta tell me nothin'. Ya already know that." He moved his free hand to her flank, gripping her hip gently. "You ever wanna go back, take care o' whatever kind'a shit they got goin' on, I'll help."

She nodded again, hoping he was able to interpret her silent gratitude.

"Don't want ya dealin' with nobody even remotely like them by yourself. Don't want ya dealin' with 'em at all, really, but if ya plan to do it one o' these days, I know I can't stop ya. Just tell me 'bout it, please, Beth, an' let me help ya."

She took a breath, unable to deal rationally with his kindness, his protectiveness, for a moment.

"I promise to," Beth whispered, keeping her eyes on the fire in front of her. She felt a deep sigh from behind her, maybe in relief; she felt Daryl's grip on her hip tighten just slightly, just for a second before resting lightly there again.

"Yain't gotta do nothin' alone. Nothin'. Did that for long 'nough. I'm here."

She ignored the stinging behind her eyes as he spoke, forced her mind to stay still and focus on the flames.

"Did I hurt ya? I mean, did I cut ya real bad? When—when I broke the glass?" The tone of his voice had changed slightly as he asked, like he may've been afraid he'd damaged some vital organ and expected her to drop dead at any moment. It made Beth want to smile and call him silly or cute or some other word that just wasn't right.

She flopped over onto her back, kicking the blanket off of her as she did. Rolled up the sleeves of her jacket, turning her arms this way and that to let him see by the light of the fire beside them that she was okay.

He bent over her a little further, head still propped on one hand, to check her face she'd guessed. Lifted his free hand, slowly moving it to run over what must've been a new cut on her neck.

It wasn't a large cut by any means. It would scar, she realized as she'd run her hands along it, but then, what was another scar? Beth didn't care.

She removed her hand from her neck, letting her arm lay on the ground, alongside her body. Daryl placed his hand back over the same spot, again tracing the scar, over and over and over.

She was about to tell him to knock it the fuck off, that it wasn't a big deal, and ask him if he'd forgotten what the rest of her body looked like when he slowly, so slowly, leaned his face down and covered that spot on her neck with his mouth.

She drew in some air at the contact, couldn't stop the shudder from rippling through her when she realized he was placing small kisses all along and around the scratch. Couldn't stop the breathless sound that came out of her mouth when she felt his tongue touch her skin, igniting the neurons there and in so many other places at the same time.

He lifted his head, not meeting her eyes, and pulled the top of her shirt down just a little, just exposing the bite mark above her breast—the one that had been left by Robert.

He repeated his ministrations, leaning down and placing his lips over the spot where she knew the mark was etched into her skin. His mouth lay over the spot for a moment before his lips started moving and he pressed, initially, closed-mouth pecks that eventually turned into more intimate ones, his tongue swiping at her skin and kissing it and she couldn't help but wonder why she was suddenly almost glad it was there.

Though breathing heavily and just barely holding onto her ability to keep her body still or, really, do much of anything logical, she reached up and threaded her fingers through his oily hair, pulling upwards, forcing him to look at her.

And—oh—she was taken aback by the look in his eyes, tears leaking from the corners, like this was all his fault and that he needed to make up for it.

A lump formed in her throat as she shook her head, massaging his scalp with one hand while the other gently touched his face.

"Daryl," she whispered, without having any coherent or planned follow up to it. She couldn't think clearly when she could still feel the heat radiating off of the areas he'd touched and kissed.

He closed his eyes then, just for a second, before rolling more of himself on top of her. He didn't rest his full weight over her by any means, but rather braced his body on his elbows, which boxed in her upper body.

"Beth. I don' know how you did it. How you made it through all ya did. An', hell, I don't even know what all it was, if this was even the worst of it. But I ain't gonna let it all be for nothin'. I ain't."

His whisper was filled with so much—so much something. And she knew, to him, it—this—wasn't right. But there was no way in hell she could stop herself from it.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, keeping one hand on his face. And so gently, so slowly, she pulled his face closer to hers.

But it wasn't her this time. She wasn't the one who closed the distance between them. And for the first time in so long, she let herself feel the tiniest shred of happiness as he pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss wasn't as urgent, not as desperate, as their last—or first—one was. This was all passion, all intimacy, all feeling and emotion, surging from one to the other and back again as their mouths moved. It was smoother this time, gentle. It didn't mean that she wasn't feeling like she would fucking implode or explode if he didn't touch her somehow, but it was enough—more than, really. It didn't mean that he wasn't finally pressing his body against hers, allowing her to feel his want for her.

And when they came up for air and she glanced over at Ben to make sure he wasn't getting some pervy free show, she couldn't help but smile—an actual, genuine smile—the first of which she could remember since before. And it seemed to slide off of her face and onto Daryl's as he suddenly dipped down, letting even more of his weight drop onto her body as he whispered in her ear:

"I fuckin' love you."