Over the course of time since I submitted chapter 20, this story reached over ten thousand views. I just wanted to take a moment to thank all of you who continue to read, follow and favorite. It means so much to me that you are willing to invest your time and energy in my story :-
To my Brazilian double reviewer :-)—Your appreciation of my Little Ass Kicker comment made me smile. I had forgotten that until I reread it the day before I submitted it. When it came to me, it was just so…Daryl to me that I couldn't resist putting it in there. I hope that my reunion does not disappoint you and that Beth's thoughts in regards to Maggie correspond with what you'd like to see. Words fail me in expressing how appreciative I am of you and your consistent support :-)
In general, the Maggie confrontation was a huge hit. I'm glad I wasn't the only one in need of releasing some anger on that front!
One final note, several key aspects of this chapter have been detailed much further than they were originally, thanks to conversations with some very awesome reviewers. Thank you to those of you who continue to ask interesting questions that make me only ponder the show further than I already have :-)
He volunteered for first watch. It only made sense, as no one else had even gotten their tent put together yet. Most of these people were twice the age he was when he first pitched his own tent; and, yet, here they were, no idea how to get their shit in order. Despite knowing Beth wouldn't want him to react in such a way, their lack of adaptability made his eyes roll.
Daryl was also eager to get the hell away from the group. Abraham was still complaining—loudly—about the decision they had come to earlier, taking turns cursing out Daryl for insisting upon the issue and at Eugene, for being the final nail in the D.C. coffin.
They had set up in a clearing, just off from a line of trees that circled three quarters of the way around their camp. Daryl felt like it was too exposed, but there wasn't much else to be done about it. They had strung up some cans from the dinner they had stolen from the Wal-Mart that would suffice to alert whoever was on watch to any approaching Walkers.
Still, there would be a watch, and they would take shifts throughout the night. It wasn't assured—nothing really was now, Daryl thought—but it was a start.
His shift was to last the first few hours. It was already dark by the time they had found a place to settle, started a fire and ate their dinners. Shortly after that, Daryl had assembled his tent with relative ease and told Glenn that he'd relieve him so he could go eat and help Maggie get set up for the night.
No one seemed to question him or talk to him too much. He imagined they could tell he was beyond on edge. Daryl wondered if they took this to mean something—if, maybe, they suspected something in regards to Beth. If he over thought the occasional extra wary glance that got thrown his way, he might begin to get paranoid and think they were on to him.
Now that he had achieved their ultimate goal of reuniting with the bulk of their family, he realized just how sloppy he had been in planning ahead. He hadn't decided how he would handle things. Now that he was here, with the very realistic chance of starting to look for her tomorrow—although, really, if he'd had his way, he'd be out there right now—he needed to get his shit in order.
It was no one's business, he thought. He and Beth could make their own damn decisions. And they would, once he got Beth back and he got a sense of where she stood after their conversation in the funeral home.
The funeral home, Christ that felt like that was forever ago. But, at the same time, he realized, it felt like it was just yesterday that he was looking across his jar of jelly at her.
He remembered how stupid he had felt, sitting at the crossroads the next day. Why hadn't he just been straight with her, told her what was going through his mind? All he had needed to say was one word—You, you were what changed my mind. At the time, when he fell down to the pavement, he had seriously wondered what was wrong with him, how he could be such a coward and shy away from just telling her what was going on.
Now, from the other end of waiting, searching and hoping, he understood it a bit more. When faced with the reality of finding her, that nervousness fluttered through the clenching in his stomach.
He took a deep breath and reminded himself for what felt to be the millionth time that evening that he had to find her first. God knew how long that would take.
As his family set up their six tents, he began to speculate who would stay with who, as little more than a means of distraction to keep himself from crossing into the line of trees directly to start the search.
Maggie and Glenn were a given—they were never separated, so this would be no different. Rick, Carl and Judith would take another. Once Carol had finished constructing a tent that he thought might be for her and Michonne, she joined Rick and lent him a helping hand caring for Little Ass Kicker. But, even then, Rick seemed hesitant to let her go. No, the Sheriff would definitely have the baby by his side tonight, in that little box they had found at the Wal-Mart earlier; Daryl was sure of it.
The couple new comers would stay together; although Daryl thought he saw the one that came in with Glenn and the chick from Abraham's group lingering towards Michonne and Carol's door.
Interestingly enough, it appeared Bob and Sasha would be staying together. Daryl couldn't decide if this was simply out of lack of supply from the Wal-Mart or if it meant something else. If he were honest, he didn't really care. If he had the right to make his own damn decisions, so did they.
His mind wandered back to where it really wanted to be, as he wondered who Beth would stay with once they found her. Normally, he would've assumed Maggie, but with knowing the ground Maggie had to make up for, he wasn't so sure the oldest Greene deserved the company of his littlest Greene.
The sound of a twig snapping behind him had Daryl turning directly back to the tree line, bow instantly in hand. Out of the tree line stumbled an African American man, dressed all in black with what looked like a white collar. As soon as his eyes came up and he saw Daryl's bow, he frantically held his hands up in surrender.
Daryl was just about to issue an order to the guy when he heard another person stumbling through the forest. Whoever they were, they were definitely quieter than this guy. But they weren't as quiet as him.
In anticipation, he pointed his bow in the direction of the newest arrival, before they even appeared.
"Father Gabriel, I told you to wait for me. That was very unsafe! You never know—"
He heard her voice before he saw her. Before his brain could even process who was about to come out of the tree line, the flash of bright blonde hair confirmed what he hadn't even had time to suspect. As soon as she emerged, his bow was lowered, as if beyond any control of his own. Within moments, she seemed to see something of interest out of the corner of her eye and turned to look at him.
The bright smile that overtook her face was nearly as bold as her hair. In an instant, she started walking quickly towards him. Without even thinking about it, he threw the bow down and instinctively put his arms out to catch her in her accelerated speed.
"Daryl," her voice whispered in his ear, the second he had caught her.
Daryl knew these first few moments were pivotal. He needed to try to take as much of it in as she offered to him, knowing that she could answer a few of the questions that had plagued him since their unfinished conversation from the funeral home.
But he was immediately on overload. Her fingers wound through his hair and pulled him down to rest his chin on her shoulder. She moved to tuck her head into his neck a bit as she whispered again. "Daryl," she said.
He was sure he had to be dreaming. There was no other option. In all his life, every time he had something good come his way, it had been taken from him. Nothing had ever found its way back to him. Not until now.
And, yet, here he was, wrapping his arms shyly around her back and shoulder. He tilted his head downward a bit further, as his nose met the collar of her still stained yellow shirt. She smelled like Beth, he realized, and he knew then—it had to be her. And she was here.
"Beth?" Maggie's voice asked from behind them—interrupting them, if you were to ask Daryl.
Slowly and hesitantly, he felt Beth pull away, almost as if he didn't think she wanted to get her hopes up that she could have found more than just him. Beth pulled back just slightly, just far enough to look him in the eye.
"Maggie?" she asked, quietly, and he was intrigued to hear that it was not only a question, but one directed for his confirmation; no one else had been able to hear her, that was for sure.
He nodded once, doing his best to keep his expression blank, in the case that Maggie might see something that raised her suspicions. If she wasn't suspicious already, that is.
That knowing smile, which he had just known would overtake her face at the knowledge that her sister and, presumably, a portion of their family, was still alive, erupted to claim her face; it whispered to him oh-so sweetly—I told ya so.
Beth's eyes left his as she turned in the direction of Maggie's voice. She left his side to give her sister a hug. Daryl watched them for just a moment, before movement out of the corner of his eye had him moving quicker than he had in a long time.
Resuming the hold on his bow, he had it instantly pointed at the asshole who had come out of the forest before Beth.
"Where ya think your goin', asshole?" he asked, bow aimed and poised to shoot.
Suddenly, a hand was gripping his arm and, without even needing to look away from the guy's face for confirmation, he knew it was hers.
"Daryl," she started quietly, with that soft, soothing voice of hers. "It's okay," she said, but he still didn't take his eyes off of the other guy. "He doesn't mean us any harm."
"The hell he doesn't," Daryl started, as he did what he knew Beth would do, if their roles were reversed—he looked to take in the outfit the guy was wearing again, trying to read it for any clues it could offer up. He couldn't be so sure, but he thought it looked religious—like something someone with a cross on their windshield would wear. "This is the asshole who took ya, right?" He still hadn't looked to meet her eyes.
"Yes, he did," she confirmed and Daryl felt his trigger finger getting sweaty in anticipation. "But," she quickly added, causing him to pause. "Before you do anything rash, you should hear him out."
He paused, as he thought that was absolutely the last thing he wanted to do right now. Daryl didn't want to do nothing but end this asshole.
But then Beth took a step closer to him, and she was in his personal space, drawing his acute attention, even if his eyes still hadn't gone to hers. "There are still good people, Daryl," she said and it nearly did him in. Suddenly, he felt the words chip at his reconstructed walls; she was gonna do him in all over again.
"Ya gonna tell me the asshole who took ya is a good person?" he whispered disbelievingly, but even he could acknowledge that the fight had left his voice. She had a way of cleaning out his temper.
"No," she answered and he saw her nod in agreement with him out of the corner of his eyes. "But I think you should give him the chance to explain himself and his motives. Don't you?" she asked and he could almost hear the sweet smile in her voice.
And that was it. The very last bit of fight left in him faded as he met her eyes, bow still poised. When she gave him that small smile and nod, he was done, as he lowered his bow and moved to look her over eagerly, in search of even the slightest injury.
"Father Gabriel," she started, looking to the other guy. "That's my sister Maggie. I'm sure she'd be more than willing to help you get settled in. We'll be right over and then we can tell everyone what happened," she said brightly before she turned back from the Father's retreating form to face Daryl.
He found no injury on her, but he did watch the Father's limping form warily as he followed Maggie to join all of the others now sitting around the fire.
Beth's grip on his arm tightened, bringing his eyes back to hers. "Come on," she said, her smile brightening again. "I'm not gonna leave you over here," she continued, tugging on his jacket—the jacket he had found, in their cabin, with her.
:::~:::
She could nearly feel Daryl itching with anticipation from his spot next to her, and she suspected it wasn't merely a corresponding response to Judith's eager squirming at the return of her main caretaker.
As she threw another glance at Daryl and found him watching her and Judith, she knew he was impatient; she could see it etched all over his face and pouring out of those blue eyes. However, what remained unclear was the source of his restlessness.
Part of it, she suspected, lay at the hands of the return of his Little Ass Kicker who had, according to the stories shared, been missing since the fall of the prison. Certainly, Judith's presence commanded a fair bit of his attention, she noted, as his eyes alternated back to the little girl; but Beth didn't think that was all of it.
No, she suspected he was rendered very exasperated by being forced to sit through tales of travel from the others—stories she felt certain he had already heard. Every time she looked at him, she found his eyes set to her—that haste all over his face, as he waited to hear what had happened to her.
His posture was relaxed enough, as he sat on the ground, one arm propped behind his back to hold him up and the other casually strewn about his raised knee. But his fidgeting told another story entirely; it seemed, to Beth, that he could hardly hold still.
She wished she felt confident enough to lay a soothing hand on his shoulder, but she didn't trust it—didn't know where they stood, especially in terms of the presence of others. She wasn't even sure if there was a secret to tell, but, if there was, she didn't want to be the one blabbing it prematurely.
Carol, after fulfilling Beth's shyly uttered offer to hold baby Judith, shared tales of her time spent with Tyreese, Lizzie and Mica. The story utterly broke Beth's heart, to hear witness of such horrible suffering.
The story made her wonder, beyond her own will, what exactly had happened—what had prompted such a troubled mind in one so young. She would attribute Lizzie's state of mind to the condition of the world in which they now called home, but that explanation didn't feel quite right to her; she had helped care for several of the children at the prison and none of them had ever showed any warning signs that indicated they had chosen the path that Lizzie did—the path that seemed to suggest that Walkers were friends to be made, not enemies to be killed.
She wondered what she would've done, if presented with the terrible situation Carol had found herself in. How would she have cared for the child after such a horrible instance? What approach would she have taken? Would she have eliminated Lizzie, as Carol had chosen to do? Or would she have tried to find a different approach—something to seek to amend the wrongful path Lizzie had obviously found herself on?
Beth rather suspected that, by the fall of the prison, Lizzie's mind had already been set. Perhaps if there would've been signs, if Carol had known what to look for, interpreted some apparently random misguided actions for their inherent deeper meaning…. Beth found herself wondering if, in some different, kinder universe, perhaps Lizzie could've been saved—could've been forced to realize she had the wrong point of view on the matter of Walkers; a viewpoint that was understandable, given their human origins, but which was ultimately nothing but dangerous.
Maybe, Beth thought, if she had talked to her, expressed how she had felt upon first experiencing the Walkers, and just how incredibly wrong she had proven to be, she could've done something to persuade Lizzie—to reassure her that they were not seeking friendship, but their next meal.
Beth was by no means so naïve as to think she alone could've saved the girl. But, she couldn't help but wonder what could've happened, had she put forth her experiences, to combine them with Carol's existing efforts. Perhaps then she could've done something to save them both—to save Carol from having to make that choice to begin with.
Beth had always been intrigued by Carol's interactions with the two girls. She knew that she felt indebted to care for them, due to the death of their father in the sweeping grip of the illness that had plagued them.
Much like how Beth felt about Judith, it had obviously never been an obligation to Carol; she had cared affectionately for the girls. However, it seemed to Beth that, unlike her relationship with Little Ass Kicker, Carol's care was not always issued with a sense of kindness; there was something of a begrudging aspect to it—an understandable reaction that seemed to stem from the still keen sting of losing Sophia.
That was not the only affect from Sophia that Beth had read on Carol's relationship with the girls, on her care of some of the other younger children who called the prison home. Beth had heard rumblings, in her time spent caring for the very same children, that she was training them to fight. They had let it slip unintentionally to each other while she was close enough to hear, but not close enough to be noted. She hadn't gathered enough information to truly seek to tell the others, but she couldn't deny that it had prompted a feeling of confliction in her.
Beth understood entirely that to survive in this world, fighting would be a requisite at some point; running was no longer enough. She knew that Sophia had tried to run and had failed. Beth couldn't help but think that, perhaps, the lessons on fighting were meant to overcome what Carol saw as her own shortcomings in preparing Sophia for this world.
While Beth didn't blame anyone for the loss of Sophia—not Carol, and certainly neither Rick nor Daryl—she couldn't help but wonder if this dedication to teaching survival, instead of what it means to truly live in this world, had allowed Lizzie's troubled mind to slip her attention, furthering the progression of loss of comprehending what danger the Walkers truly presented.
Beth didn't intend to say that Lizzie's troubled mental state was Carol's fault. She simply hated to see the loss of a life; especially if she couldn't help but wonder if there had been the chance she could've help, long before the issue had even truly started.
The story drew her attention to Carol, who looked so very tired after weeks spent on the road. She recalled that Carol had been without a home for longer than they had, as she remembered what Daryl had told her about the strike against Karen and David.
Beth's eyes found Daryl's once more, as she sought to read his reaction on the Lizzie story. His eyes were on Carol's as she spoke, although they didn't necessarily look pleased. Whether the origin of the vexation was from this new information regarding Lizzie or lingering contention on the Karen and David issue, she couldn't be quite sure.
Maggie pressed in on the conversation next, forcing Beth's attention back to her family in general. As her sister talked of her struggle to find Glenn, the miles she had walked on the tracks and the messages she had left in her wake, Beth felt a pang of an emotion she couldn't quite identify. The story saw to her receiving confirmation that, as she had once told Daryl, Maggie would always go for Glenn as her first priority.
Without meaning to, her eyes wandered once more to the man sitting next to her, whom she found staring at her intently, almost as if he had expected her to look at him then. She found none of the irritation present at Carol's story, but did note a bit of a blush on his cheeks; she rationalized that it could mean very little, serving merely as the product of sitting too close to the warm fire.
With this one glance, she also found that, through his arm that propped him up, he seemed to have leaned himself closer towards her than he had been previously. It reminded her acutely of her belated realization that he had moved his chair to sit next to her instead of across from her at their funeral home. Despite the confusion and slight strain put on her by Maggie's tale, she found herself smiling at him.
Rick and Michonne went next, temporarily putting any and all thoughts related to Maggie and Daryl to the back of her mind. She was delighted that their tale was, for the most part, relatively cheerful, as they spoke of a happy early reunion, within days of the prison first falling. It sounded as if Rick had suffered some pretty severe injuries, but they had managed to hold strong and hold together through it all.
Their story apparently intersected with Daryl's, who Rick prompted to speak next. Beth took the opportunity to look at him—to detail a series of new injuries, which she had noted as soon as she had pulled away from her initial embrace of him. Now, in the brighter light of the glowing fire, she could see that none of them appeared to be very far along on the course of healing; these hadn't come from the herd that had found him, the state of the injuries informed her.
Daryl cleared his throat and looked away from her to sit up a bit straighter; his second arm joined his other in draping over his raised leg. He started by saying that he had been with her for a while, only to pause and glare at Father Gabriel before turning to her for a brief moment. She smiled at him, barely able to hold back an affectionate laugh at the near petulant pout upon his face.
But as he started speaking again, introducing a group of men he had begrudgingly gotten involved with, she felt as if everyone slipped away, as if it were only the two of them all over again.
"I knew they were men," she said with a smile, her voice soft as she cradled Judith. He looked at her immediately. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, as she recalled where they were, who they were with, and raised a hand guiltily to her mouth. "I could just tell, from the tracks. From what you taught me," she added with a sheepish shrug as she averted her eyes to Judith, who was finally dozing off.
When she risked looking up at him again, she thought he looked rather proud. It made her bite back a bright smile.
Daryl continued on and, as the story progressed, it only got worse. She cringed at the repeated use of the term claimed and she flat-out gasped at the death of Len. She could tell that, despite all of the trouble Len had put Daryl through, he felt some lingering sense of responsibility for the situation. Personally, she thought he should carry very little, if any, of the blame; it was these men who had killed him, not Daryl.
As time went on, the story only grew in severity, as it was revealed that the man they had been tracking turned out to be Rick. She felt her whole body tense, knowing that Daryl would feel nothing but terribly heavy guilt at leading men he obviously joined out of nothing more than necessity straight to a man she believed he considered as a brother. He hid it well, perhaps because he had had some time to process it in the last few days, but she knew it was still there, lingering underneath his surface.
When he met her eyes at the close of the confrontation, which sounded as if it had gotten pretty bad, but which, Beth couldn't help but note, conveniently lacked for details, she did her best to convey to him that she was proud of him—proud of him for taking the risk of joining others, even if he was wary of them. It had shown growth, in her opinion. She'd have to be sure to tell him that.
From there, the entire group began to tell their tale of Terminus. From what Daryl had alluded to, but failed to outright state, the people who were there were a new breed of horrible and should never be thought of again. She didn't quite know what that could mean; perhaps, some day, she could build up the stomach to ask it of him. But, not today; now she wanted nothing more than to be content in having a majority of their family reunited.
She learned that they had lost Tyreese to Terminus, but all of the others—including the four newcomers to the group—had managed to make it out in one piece. Beth couldn't help but think that made them incredibly lucky, as if they weren't already there by the mere state of their reunion alone.
As soon as the Terminus story was done, she felt Daryl's eyes glued on her, as he waited to hear her speak her piece.
"I suppose it's my turn," she said then, unintentionally cutting off the slight bit of conversation she hadn't noticed rising after the close of the detailing of the Terminus adventure. It stirred a discomfort in her, causing a reprise of her earlier insecurities—did they hold any interest in how she had survived?
She didn't want to be a bother, which stirred her to wonder if she should tell her story to begin with. Beth's anxiety applied pressure, prompting her to shift her weight, as a combination of a distraction and as a means of seeking comfort under the weight of the sleeping Judith on her chest. With one look to Daryl she knew he, at the very least, was eager to hear this story.
Before she started, she looked to Father Gabriel. They hadn't discussed what they would say, mostly because Beth recalled with a bitter taste in her mouth just how some people could omit certain facts to misrepresent things. If done under the wrong reasons, the choice to do so just felt hollow and malicious to her.
But she knew that wasn't always the case. Daryl had chosen this practice with the confrontation he detailed earlier. Beth realized she, much like him, knew that some things were simply not her secrets to tell.
Father Gabriel had a chance to start over here, if she chose to not share his entire past with the group. While his background was obviously still disconcerting, she didn't believe the whole group needed to know. Daryl and Rick should know, she thought, out of sheer hope for self-preservation and trust; but the others could make do without it for now.
Gabriel nodded once, yet his eyes remained wary and nervous. She knew instantly that he worried she would confess his horrible cowardice. No, she thought, she wouldn't. Not this night, not to everyone. If for no other reason than it wasn't her story to tell to their general public—not yet.
She started by explaining her initial confrontation with Father Gabriel, on the lawn of the funeral home. She explained that he had only meant to save her from the herd of Walkers, as, since Daryl was still in the house working on finding a way out of his own diversion, he had thought she had been alone.
Beth explained that she had struggled and tried to tell him that someone was coming, but that the hand across her mouth hadn't allowed for that. She risked a glance over at Daryl and found him stewing, though his eyes were still on her, not on Gabriel. She took that as a good sign that his temper was under control, for now, and carried on.
In the continued confrontation, she explained that, in a rush to get her in the car, safely tucked away from the approaching Walkers, Gabriel, due partially to her failing and still injured ankle, misaimed and accidentally hit her head on the siding of the vehicle, causing her to pass out and not be able to yell or struggle against his directions any further.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daryl's hands clench around the top of his knees, the knuckles going white in the strength of the grip. Beth gave Daryl another glance, trying to convey that she hoped he could keep his cool, at least until the close of the story. He seemed to read it fairly accurately, which made her smile in return.
When she explained the process of waking up the next morning and explaining to Gabriel that he had forced her to abandon a member of her family, she detailed that she was able to persuade him to return to the funeral home so she could start the process of tracking.
She told them how she had managed to follow the tracks of the very men who had attacked Rick, Michonne and Carl, up until the point where they started to strictly follow the railroad tracks.
Beth conveyed her concern that there was less sense of accuracy in following a trail that didn't really have any further tracks to offer. However, as soon as she saw her first sign for Terminus, she had an instinctual feeling that that would be her best chance at finding the others. She quickly decided then, that that should be her next destination.
"I knew it was trouble," she said, looking to Daryl. "But I also knew that that was where you would go," she said, before she turned to the others. "Where we all would go, even if it was a huge risk, because there was just the slightest chance that our family would feel the same way we did, and would then choose to go there too. On that sheer fact alone," she continued, her eyes coming back to Daryl's. "I knew I didn't have any other choice."
She explained that the state of the last prints before Daryl had obviously parted ways with the dirt for the pull of the tracks seemed to suggest that she had been getting close, possibly within a mere hour or two of catching up to Daryl and the others.
"But," she said with a sad sigh, looking to Gabriel's ankle. "Before we could catch up, we got into a bit of a bad position. A herd found us, a fight broke out. It was really the first time Father Gabriel had faced that many Walkers in one shot," she said, her eyes coming back to him.
She may not wish to talk of his cowardice to the group, but this, she thought, they needed to hear; even if they couldn't appreciate what the move had meant, as they didn't have the context of his history to serve as a comparison. With a smile, she continued, knowing that her pride in him was showing. "He hesitated at first, took him a bit to jump in," Beth started, with a small laugh. "I was just about to have a very bad situation on my hands when he suddenly appeared out of no where, knife in hand and ready to fight.
"We took them down," she continued, with a small smile. "Together. But, he got injured in the fight. Nothing too serious," she added immediately, seeing all eyes turn to the Father. "He just twisted his ankle. We stopped at a church for an hour or two to give me a chance to examine and wrap the injury. Once I was sure he was okay to travel, we moved on.
"From there, we had to move forward a bit slower. Fortunately, we had resolved to follow the tracks to their end at spotting that sign. I had hoped I could maybe catch up before you reached Terminus, but I couldn't quite do it.
"We heard the shots this afternoon, but I was still too far away to do much of anything about it. Father Gabriel may have slowed us down a bit, but it appears that was all for the best, now knowing what horrible things you all went through."
"Did you know the noise was from us?" Maggie asked.
"I thought it might be," she said, with a smile. "I figured, at the very least, Rick and Daryl had somehow managed to find each other—only those two could cause that much ruckus."
She heard Rick laugh roughly and looked up to see him nodding his head. Daryl, on the other hand, she noted, seemed incapable of looking away from her.
"I arrived at the gates shortly after the sun had gone down. There were still a few people lingering about, but I stayed on the edge of the trees, just watching. When I didn't see either of you," she said, motioning to Rick and Daryl. "I knew I couldn't be far behind you. Father Gabriel wanted to break camp for the night and resume the search in the morning.
"But," she continued with a small smile. "I was insistent. I had managed to find a flashlight at the church I wrapped his injury at; at the time, it had just been a beneficial and supplemental light. But, now," she said, her smile pulling even tighter. "It allowed me to find all of you pretty easily, even in the dark.
"So I fished it out of my bag, turned to Father Gabriel and said that there was no way we were stoppin' now. I knew I had to be close. It was just a matter of reading the signs," she finished with one proud nod of her head, her eyes on Daryl.
:::~:::
The circle of her family broke out into smaller pairs for conversation once the exchange of stories had been completed. The slightly raised volume had Judith stirring against her chest, but she didn't mind in the slightest. She was so incredibly happy to see Little Ass Kicker that she was sure she wouldn't mind resuming her early crying wake up call in the mornings.
"Never thought I'd say it," Daryl startled her from her reverie by speaking and leaning in to run a hand over Judith's back. "But good ta see her stirrin'."
"I was just thinking that," she said with a small laugh. "Even if she gets me up hours before the sun tomorrow, I don't think I'll mind in the slightest."
He released one rough laugh. "Ya be sure to say that to me again tomorra when it happens."
She was all smiles and nods as she said, "I sure will."
Their eyes met again as Daryl just continued to soothingly rub Judith's back and Beth bounced her, knowing it really was time to try to ease her back to sleep. Within a few minutes, they had managed it very well.
Rick came to collect her just as Glenn tapped Daryl on the back, drawing him over to discuss watch duty for the evening. Beth watched as Rick grabbed Father Gabriel on his way towards his own tent for the evening and cautiously welcomed them to their family. He ushered the Father away and Beth hoped that he could hold his nerves together; he wasn't necessarily a social man, by her standards.
Suddenly without anything to do, Beth felt exhausted. She had been constantly on the move for the last few days, seeking out her family and Daryl. It was oddly disconcerting to suddenly have no purpose.
"Do you think I should start putting out the fire?" she asked Carol, who was the only other remaining person at the fireside.
Carol had been watching her, but Beth didn't take too much stock in it. They were all so tired no one's eyes seemed to hold much focus now. As Beth waited for her to respond, she saw the others were climbing into five or six set up tents. She watched as Maggie slipped her one small smile before entering and sealing in a tent with Glenn, who had evidently already received his watch assignment and was now ready for bed. With a stir, she wondered where she would stay for the night.
At that, her eyes wandered behind her to Daryl once more. With a shock, Beth found that he was watching her, looking between her and the tent Maggie now inhabited with Glenn; and, what's more, he didn't look away once she met his eyes.
She saw that Daryl's focus wasn't even remotely on the man who stood with him, whom Beth had learned was named Abraham. Despite the obvious engagement and excitement experienced by Abraham over the contents of what looked to be a map, as he pointed and flailed energetically, Daryl's eyes remained unaffected, as they stayed glued on hers.
It made her smile for a moment, beyond any will of her own. But, as soon as his eyes were truly settled in on her, and she saw his lack of attention for the matter at hand, she gave him a jokingly stern look, which prompted a smirk—and, or had she imagined it, a blush—from him before he turned his eyes back to Abraham.
With a sigh, she thought on how she'd like to talk to him and clear the air a bit before she figured out the sleeping issue for the evening. She had so many things she had waited far too long to say as it were.
"You don't have to," Carol responded after a lengthy pause. "I was just about to get up and do it."
"Nonsense," she started as she stood to match Carol's change in stance. "I won't feel right if I'm not carrying my weight."
Beth watched as Carol's eyes suddenly flicked above her head. With a shock, she realized Carol was looking directly behind her, to Daryl. Seconds later, her eyes wandered over to a sleeping Judith, who was entering a tent with Rick and Carl.
"I'm sure you'll find other ways," she said, her tone rather flat compared to the Carol Beth thought she knew.
Acutely, Beth recalled once again the bit of information that Daryl had shared with her in their time together—that Carol had been the one to kill Karen and David. Despite the still stutteringly lit fire, Beth felt a chill go through her at the thought.
"I want to help," she asserted, although her voice was still soft as she moved to help Carol with dumping some dust on the fire. Within moments, they had it flickering out, although she did notice that Carol seemed persistent to beat her to the task.
The tone of race to the action confused Beth; their life, their family, shouldn't be a competition—it should be a collaboration. At least, in Beth's opinion it should be.
When they were done, Carol parted ways with one curt nod thrown in her direction, as she walked over to a tent she seemed to be sharing with Michonne and two of the other new women.
The interaction didn't sit right with Beth, who hated thinking she had done something wrong to aggravate the other woman. But she couldn't for the life of her place any errors she had made that could've irritated Carol.
Of course, she had requested Judith upon her initial arrival but, knowing what she did now, that Carol had long been caring for the child, shouldn't that have been a relief? That had been Beth's intention, after all, at seeing Carol weighed down with an evidently rowdy Judith.
Suddenly cold from the lack of a roaring fire, she rubbed her arms over the grey sweater she still had from the cabin they had stayed at to patch up Daryl's back. The mere thought of it sent another chill through her.
As if by some force of habit, her eyes wandered up and found his again. She could almost feel him moving behind her, as she lingered behind by the side of the nearly dead fire, despite the fact that pretty much everyone else had gone to bed.
Without the light of the fire, she could barely see Abraham at his post on watch; if not for his red hair, she wasn't sure she would've see him at all. Her eyes shifted back into focus, to find Daryl standing directly in front of where Abraham's back was turned towards her, and a bit closer than the guard was.
He shifted towards a lonely tent, set off a bit in the distance from the others. With one last glance thrown her way over his shoulder, he climbed his way into his tent.
Beth lingered for a few minutes more, wondering if she should really do this. She had played this conversation out countless times in her head, usually in the time that it took her to fall asleep at night. But now that it was here, her opportunity to actually pursue this conversation, to say the things she so desperately needed him to hear, she wouldn't deny that her nerves had hit her pretty hard.
Beth had always been somewhat introverted. Talking earlier to explain her path with Father Gabriel had been a lot for her. It hadn't necessarily made her nervous—this was, after all, her family now—but it did make her feel a bit uncomfortable. She just wasn't used to talking that much, she supposed. She was a thinker, not a talker.
This seemed, to Beth, to be another item she and Daryl had in common; in the moments when he wasn't suffering from any form of anger, he also always seemed to have a circle of thoughts trapping him inside his mind. As a result, conversations with a complacent and taciturn Daryl often drove her to become the extrovert, to be the one driving the conversation forward.
In a way, she liked that about them. He forced her to come out of her shell, whether he intended to or not. There was no denying that before being pushed to her end by over a week spent with a sulky and taciturn Daryl, she wasn't necessarily known for making stands. But, now, they had crossed that bridge together. She had demolished their walls and set immediately to rebuilding them. She liked to think, in the end, they had both come out as better people on the other side.
Now, she needed to pull on that strength he had given her.
With a nervous sigh, she approached the tent, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and unbraiding the section that had remained that way for several days. She needed a bath, she thought distractedly, as she made her way over to the tent.
When she arrived, she fell to her knees and smiled as she saw he hadn't even slid the zipper shut the whole way. It encouraged her, prompted her to hope that he had potentially left it in such a state in the expectation that she would come to see him. Regardless, she would be lying if she said there wasn't still the pressing of that nervousness on her stomach.
Awkwardly, she tried to knock, only to realize belatedly that tents didn't necessarily come with that luxury. With an internal sigh, she resorted herself to entering unannounced.
Her hands shook slightly as she set to opening the door the remaining amount of the way. In an instant, she gasped slightly as she felt the cool medal of a knife pressed against her throat. Adrenaline ran through her, even as a knowing smile slid into place on her face. That was her Daryl—always on high alert.
"Sorry," she muttered as she brought her eyes up to meet his shyly. She noted he had almost lowered the knife even quicker than he had brought it to her skin; it was gone before she even started to speak. He was also very close, she realized—his face directly in hers. "I would've knocked," she started with a small, quiet laugh as she ran her hand over the pliant material of the tent. "But this doesn't exactly make that an easy task."
He nodded, lowering his knife to place it back in the belt he had tucked on the ground by his door. Daryl didn't shift in the slightest, she noted, as his face still lingered close to hers. Beth already felt a strain that made her struggle to remember to breathe.
"May I come in?" she asked, doing her best to smile as if this was any normal interaction between them.
He nodded once more and she really did smile then—always so stoic, she thought. Daryl moved to the side and she crawled on her knees to enter the tight space.
There wasn't a lot of luxury to be had in the shelter, but Beth hadn't expected any; she knew Daryl far too well to expect otherwise. It seemed he had nothing more than a trash bag—the trash bag? She wondered—that served as his makeshift pillow. This wouldn't do, she thought, smiling slightly once again at the thought to improve his living conditions. She didn't want him just settling, just surviving. He deserved more than that.
Daryl slid the zipper shut—fully shut, she noted—behind her as she moved to sit back where he would've been lying, if his head had been placed on his 'pillow.' Immediately he swooped in and gripped her neck, his fingers weaving around her nape as his thumb prodded at the slight knick she had suffered at his measures of security from earlier.
"I'm sure it'll be fine," she muttered, her voice strained as he tilted her head upward and came in closer to get a better look. "I didn't even notice anything," she added as she licked her lips nervously.
Finally he eased back a bit. The distance gave her some room to think, as she felt her smile come back at being able to see him, talk to him. He seemed to be waiting, and Beth couldn't help but think that that had been the case for far too long now.
"I—I just wanted to apologize," she started, ringing her hands in her lap as she inwardly cringed at her own stuttering. "I didn't hold up my end of the promise—I wasn't there, waiting for you at the road."
As she finished, she finally met his eyes; the silence had taken its toll on her, rolling over them, demanding she meet his eyes in the hopes that they could tell her something he hadn't found the words for yet. When she was met with sadness, she felt her own heart contract.
And, yet, she couldn't help but note, releasing those words had felt incredibly freeing.
"I should've—"
"Nah," he interrupted her from continuing on. The word was casual out of context, but his tone said nothing but seriousness. Suddenly, she felt her eyes couldn't leave his. "Wasn't your fault. I screwed up, dropped the ball, didn't—didn't hold up my end."
He looked away from her then, to his lap, almost as if he were ashamed. It clenched her heart to see it.
"Shoulda gotten there sooner," he added.
Beth's hand found its way to his chin, where she forced his head and his eyes to come to meet hers. She prepared to tell him something she had told him many times before, something she suspected she'd tell him many times to follow. But, she'd keep on reminding him, so long as he'd keep on letting her.
"It wasn't your fault," she said, as she did her best to keep tears from gathering in her eyes. Her hand grew shaky from the weight of emotion, forcing her to drop his chin, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. "It wasn't your fault at all," she repeated. "And it all worked out, didn't it? You're here, and I'm here, and our family is here," she paused, looking down to the floor with a laugh. "And we're alive."
Daryl watched her for several seconds, in that way she had seen him do so many times. It was almost as if he were studying her, trying to follow her thought processes, trying to decipher how she had gotten there. She left her eyes open and willing, giving him every thing she had.
When he looked down, she knew there was something else bothering him. It hadn't been there long, but it seemed like he had suffered a flash of a memory, something he wanted to share with her.
"Is everything okay?" she asked, believing that he seemed to have accepted her words on this issue and that this, therefore, had to be something else.
He released a rough laugh before chancing a glance up at her; there was no humor in it. "Made a lot of mistakes after…"
"Everyone makes mistakes, Daryl. It's okay," she interrupted, as he trailed off and left the silence roll on between them. "We can work together to sort everything out. Just one thing at a time," she said with a reassuring smile.
"It's just—with that group," he started.
"Was it bad?" she prompted, when he didn't continue. He merely nodded, giving Beth the impression he wasn't quite ready to discuss it yet.
"And, then, your sister," he changed subjects and his tone of voice immediately drew in Beth's attention. Just as she had knew would be the best practice, she waited, knowing he needed time to organize his thoughts and that pressing him would only do damage at this point, not help.
It didn't happen often anymore, but she knew it was his default stance to fall back on things that made him angry when he didn't wish to push topics that riddled him with sadness. While Beth knew there were more issues to discuss in regards to that group he spent a few days with, she took his change of topic and tone as confirmation of her suspicions—that he wasn't ready to go there just yet.
"I didn't see her till we got stuck in the train car," he started, drawing in Beth's acute attention and forcing her to remember that Daryl was discussing Maggie. "She was there, with Glenn and the others," he started and Beth was happy to see that he wasn't shying away from looking at her completely. He still resorted to alternating some of his glances, but that was to be expected when he discussed things that made him uncomfortable. It helped prepare her for what could possibly be coming.
"Had a fight…still pis—mad at her."
"What happened?" Beth asked, her tone even despite the rampant curiosity coursing through her, a curiosity that even served to draw her attention from his correction in cursing.
"She tells us that after the fall, she didn't do nothin' but look for her precious pretty boy husband. Didn't even mention your name in her fuc—freaking notes. So I told her ya were a hundred times the woman she is, told her that from the second the prison fell, ya set yourself to finding her, finding all of 'em. Told her ya kept my ass movin', worried about the little 'ens, while she was just selfishly running 'bout, lookin' for her husband."
He stopped and looked away from her, shaking his head angrily. Beth tried her best to keep up with him, but he was talking very quickly and she was a bit emotionally exhausted, causing a distinct delay in the process. The words sunk in, though, as he sat stewing in silence.
Before she could move forward with processing and perceiving, he continued. "And I'm sorry," he said, his tone almost pouty. "I shouldn'ta made that stand; it wasn't mine ta make. But I just couldn'ta helped it. I just got so angry, 'specially since I thought about what ya said—'bout how you'd'a went for Maggie. Just…couldn't stand by and let her not know how you'd'a felt if you were there."
Her heart broke at his words—over both the fact that Maggie had evidentially forgotten her—or, perhaps, her insecurities whispered, she hadn't thought her own sister had the skills to survive and had, therefore, just assumed she would be long dead in the wake of the attack—and that he seemed to feel so guilty over the actions he had taken on her behalf.
On the issue of Maggie, her insides chilled at the thought, for several reasons. She had known, clear as day, that her sister would make moving for Glenn her top priority. That did not, however, mean that she had believed her sister wouldn't bother even concerning herself in a search for her only remaining blood on the planet.
There was a line there, in Beth's opinion; she knew not everyone would be as driven to reunite the entire group as she had been—she had needed to be, to keep her own sanity, as well as Daryl's, in check—but she had assumed, at the very least, her own sister would make finding her, not a top priority, but, at the very least, an item of interest.
There were other issues to contend with here too, most import of which was that even her own sister seemed to underestimate her, just as her father had and just as several others in their group seemed to still believe to this very day. If her sister hadn't had faith in her ability to survive, her ability to make it in this world, who would? If even Maggie believed her fate was sealed after the conflict at the prison, had any of the others spared a thought for finding her, spared a moment to have faith that she could've somehow managed to survive the fray?
But things were different now, weren't they? She had tracked them down, not the other way around.
She didn't care, she suddenly resolved. The opinion of others had rarely swayed her previously, unless she had been shown to be in the wrong. She had, as Daryl had noted, managed the motivation to not only look for her own sister, but for the others as well.
Beth hadn't engaged in that search in the hope of some return benefit. She didn't seek to have them search in return; she looked because she knew it was in the best interest of the others, especially for Daryl—he needed that mission, that motive, that task to keep him moving, just as she needed the little ones to care for, to provide her purpose and facilitate a contribution she could make to the group.
No, it wasn't for them. She knew that she could handle herself and, if Daryl's argument was to indicate anything, it was clear he did too. The others—she could show, with time. But, for now, that would certainly suffice.
Plus, she reminded herself, he had been right. She had said that Maggie would go for Glenn. Did that mean that the fact that it had proven true had hurt any less? No, not necessarily. But it meant that the action wasn't necessarily wholly unexpected.
As for Daryl, she could practically feel the regret pouring off of him, even as he continued to shake his head.
"Didn't mean ta, just got a bit carried away," he said again, eyes meeting hers briefly. "My damn—"
"Daryl," she started with a smile, which only brightened when his surprised eyes met hers. "I really appreciate every single word you spoke in my defense. They were—You said some very kind things and, for that, I could never really be mad at you. Had I been there," she continued, as she looked once more to the wrung hands in her lap. "I would've wanted to make that stand, even if I would've struggled to do it on my own. And, for that, I am very grateful that you were able to do it for me, since I couldn't even be there to try."
Silence hit them again, as Daryl settled for merely nodding in response. Normally, she would've worried that he clung to that guilt, but, when he met her eyes, she didn't see it there. It made her smile even more.
Beth contemplated then issuing the question and her corresponding confession that had burned within her from the moment they had been jarred from their kitchen at the funeral home. While she lie waiting for sleep to claim her at night, she had considered reissuing the question of what had changed his mind; she had thought she would need a confession, a definitive answer—would need him to say it—in order for her to say it in return.
But, as she sat here, watching him alternate looks between her and his lap just as he had at their funeral home, she realized the entire exchange was completely unnecessary. She had known her feelings and his answer from that very evening—oh, she thought, as she recalled her surprise with a smile. It had been a pleasant surprise, especially considering she knew how hard it must've been for him to be as explicit as he had been up to that point; it was no secret that he was not a fan of words.
No, she thought, she would never put him in that position—to demand a confession from him and force one of her own forward that would only serve to appease her now non-existent curiosity and increase his level of discomfort. It wasn't needed—she knew what he had to confess and she believed he was now assured in her return as well.
Partially out of awkwardness, she suspected, his hand rose to examine her throat again, drawing her from her thoughts. The move also served as confirmation of the confession at hand for her; if her time in reflection had taught her anything, it was that his physical actions, his need to reach out and touch her, spoke volumes for him—made his confessions for him.
If he was reaching out for her with barely even a blush present, he was not only confessing his comfort level and feelings for her, but his assurance that she would not recoil from his actions. His fingers brushing against the barely felt knick in her skin made her laugh a bit, as she reached up out of reflex to grip his wrist and pull it slowly from over studying the injury.
"I'm fine," she emphasized as she leaned in, her hand still on his wrist.
She watched his eyes take in her hand on his before his they came up to meet hers. Again, there was no recoiling on either of their parts; it seemed, to her, that it served to confirm his suspicions on the confession she had come here to make. "Any other injuries I need ta know 'bout?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, confusion evident on her face and in her tone.
"He didn't hurt ya, did he? 'Cause I'll kill him if he did."
"No," she said, making sure to give him a very stern look at his threat, although she suspected it may have been at least partially empty; it was also, however, inherently partially true—there was clearly no love lost between the two, of that she was certain. "Other than that first slip up with putting me in the car, he hasn't hurt me one bit.
"Actually," she started again, her smile coming back. "I've taught him quite a bit in our time together. Have you to thank for that." If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was blushing, as he looked back down to the ground, still sitting in his silence.
Despite having no desire to really think more on the issue for the evening, the details of his conflict with Maggie lingered in the back of her mind. They ran rampant and pressed further upon her existing exhaustion, causing her attention to be split, between rethinking the conflict and drawing direct remark to her fatigue. Without really meaning to, Beth's eyes wandered back over to his makeshift pillow, as she felt her eyes droop further with the pressure of her lethargy.
Previously, she had assumed she would've stayed with her sister and Glenn in the evenings. Now, with knowing everything that had happened, everything that had been said on the matter in her absence, she wasn't so sure that was what she truly wanted.
In truth, she still felt rather burned by her sister's lack of caring or conviction in her comb through the areas surrounding the fallen prison, although she would admit that she was ashamed to feel so. Regardless of her reluctance to embrace her own issues on the matter, she knew that what she needed from Maggie now was a bit of space, to process her thoughts in a way that would allow for a logical discussion at some point down the road. That would mean, however, that, for some time, her sister's tent would not afford a proper place for peaceful protection through the long evenings to come on the road.
Suddenly, with her eyes still set to that makeshift pillow, a solution presented itself. The very thought of it had her teeth lowering to latch on to her lower lip; approaching him at the start of the evening was one thing, proposing this was a whole other issue, one she would need to gather her strength to suggest.
"Um, I—I just…" she trailed off, her eyes falling to her lap again as she released his hand to run hers nervously through her hair. This was why she never wore it down, she recalled distractedly.
"Is there any chance that I could—" she cut herself off to stutter once or twice, before moving her eyes to his. The curiosity there—and the complete and utter lack of disgust or suspicion—gave her another push, increasing her zeal in issuing her request. It's Daryl, she reminded herself; she tried to picture this situation differently—as if they still remained in their funeral home. Suddenly, the question came from her with ease. "Could I stay here tonight? W—w—with you?"
Daryl was surprised and, if the evidence afforded by his eyes and the burning spots on his cheeks were to be taken to mean anything, embarrassed. As much as she hated to admit it, seeing that he was affected by this topic served to comfort her on some level; at least if they were both shy and awkward, they could suffer through it together.
He didn't meet her eyes as he simply nodded his head two or three times and settled back in towards his pillow. As if he had forgotten something, he jerked to a stop and dug through his bag. Fear struck Beth; would he try to kick her out? Would he throw something at her and demand she leave?
No, she thought. That just wasn't like him. Not now. Not anymore. Not with her.
"I—ah—found this," he said as he brought her bag out and put it on the floor in front of her.
She gasped at the sight of it, as she remembered that her very few worldly possessions always resided within this bag. She hadn't really shed a thought for it in the last few days, as she focused more on finding her way back to him. But, now, sitting in front of her, it looked like a sight for sore eyes; still not nearly as much so as Daryl, but important nonetheless.
"You found it," she said with a bright smile as she ran a hand over it. She had suspected, of course, but she didn't dare assume that he had managed to grab this in his hurry.
"Didn't go through it," he added, almost as if he felt the need to reassure her. But it wasn't needed; she trusted him. Besides, she thought, after their time spent together on the road, there was hardly an item in here that wasn't related to all that she had already shared with him.
"Thank you," she said, after giving him a silly dismissive smile at his issued disclaimer. "I can't believe you thought of this."
Daryl shrugged and the familiarity of it almost made her laugh. "Managed to grab it before I took off runnin'."
"How long?" she asked, after only a moment's hesitation. It was a question that had plagued her since she had followed his tracks away from the crossroads. That trip would've taken quite a bit of time when travelling by car. Butby foot? She couldn't even imagine.
"Ran after ya all night, inta the next day," he said, talking to his shoes. That blush returned again. She was really starting to enjoy seeing it there—it made him look innocent in some way, less touched by the horrors of this world.
Beth reached out once more and pressed her hand to his chin, forcing him to look at her, although he seemed less than eager at the prospect.
"Thank you," she whispered, certainly feeling tears spring to her eyes this time. The two words were too small, too casual. But she didn't know what else to give him; she wished she could give him so much more, but she just didn't have the slightest idea how to go about it. "I can't even begin to tell you how much—"
"Don't," he started, that smirk on his face. She decided she quite liked that too. "It's just what family does," he said.
With a nod, she shifted to remove her shoes and lie down, placing her head on his pillow in the process. Her eyes followed him as, after a few moments, he moved to follow her actions.
Beth kept her eyes open as long as she could, watching him watch her. Without even realizing what she was doing, she began to hum the same song she had played for him, in their time spent at the funeral home. He didn't even try to pretend he minded; no joke about the jukebox was issued. It pushed her to continue, for as long as she could.
But, with time, the pull of exhaustion and the comfort of being back with him pulled her under, but not before lyrics slipped from her lips "…and we'll be good."