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She felt like her heart was trying to escape through her mouth. It's beat fluttered thickly in her throat as she re-checked Aaron's shoulder, making sure the bandage was tight but not so much that it cut into his skin. How long had they been down here? Minutes? An hour? Couple hours? It felt that way. It felt like both ways. Daryl was on the stairs to the far left of the basement, the boards creaking under his shifting weight as he jimmied the lock with a thin piece of metal he'd scavenged from somewhere in the room. They'd agreed that whether someone was waiting for them on the other side of that door or not they had to get out. It was a risk worth taking.

She kept her fingers as light and gentle as she could, relieved when Aaron didn't stir at her touch. It was a mixed blessing though. As long as he was unconscious, he wasn't feeling it, but it also meant that they couldn't move him. Too dangerous to try and wake him up. His body had knocked him out. Best to let it run whatever course it had planned, deal with the trauma and start healing. She glanced up towards the darkened stairwell, gnawing on the corner of her bottom lip. They couldn't stay here. Whoever had shot at them had to know that they'd holed up either here or in the other house. If they'd been able to see them clear enough to start firing, then she had to assume that where they'd gone had to have been clear as well.

It was just common sense. There was a distinct possibility that they'd been deliberately trapped down here, that these people would just wait them out. It was likely that someone was stationed to watch the window they'd used. And it was better to just assume that there were people waiting for them to come up out of the basement. They wouldn't come in, of that she was dead certain. Trap the fox in its den, let the hounds keep guard and eventually it'd either try to run or they'd just shoot inside. No need to take the risk and enter the den yourself. It was how she'd have done it. Efficient, cautious.

Give a man enough rope and eventually he'd hang himself.

Beth held in the heavy breath that wanted to push out of her mouth, tucking her hair behind an ear as she leaned over Aaron. The bleeding had already stopped, which was good. Even better, she and Daryl had come through unscathed, for the most part. He had a knot on his forehead, but he functioned fine. No trouble seeing, coordination was alright. She had a couple of scrapes on her palms. Lucky. Or these people were bad shots.

Or they hadn't meant to kill.

Her stomach clenched. That was the most likely possibility. Herd them, make a nick or two. If they already had the car, the bike, and the supplies they'd brought with them, and they hadn't outright killed any of them yet, then they wanted the three of them alive for something. Made sense. Not the kind of sense she entirely liked, not when it was aimed at her and hers, but it was sense she understood.

Daryl came back down the steps and crouched next to her, his hand big and warm on her shoulder.

"No luck on the door. Still aright?" He spoke in a low tone, neither of them sure who might be listening.

She nodded, able to see parts of his face in the slim sunbeams that radiated through the window and around the shelves in front of it. "Stable."

"He gonna wake up anytime soon?"

She lifted her shoulders, feeling his fingers tighten slightly. "Dunno. Hope so."

He grunted, sliding his hand over to the back of her neck and running his thumb along the smooth skin beneath her ear in a soothing motion before moving upwards to bunch her hair in a loose fist. Tension she hadn't realized had gathered was suddenly released and she sucked in a deep breath. She leaned her head towards his touch, dipping it in another short nod and he let go, standing up. Their eyes met briefly as she looked up at him. His features were set, hardened, maybe even a little urgent and frustrated. She understood that. The need to move had to be tempered with a patience that neither of them really possessed, and it was wearing on him as the seconds ticked by. It made her almost wish that someone would come through that door, even though she knew that wouldn't happen, not yet anyway.

She wondered, should they leave him? Daryl wouldn't like that. She wasn't sure that she liked it, but what were their options? She glanced at the tall man who was standing in front of the door again, his crossbow strapped across his back. He would say that it wasn't an option. Somehow, she knew that. Beth shifted uneasily. Did that make her wrong? Her head tilted as her eyes fell back to the curly-haired man on the floor. Did she feel like it was wrong?

She considered that question more than the others, turning it over and over in her head. Because she wasn't entirely sure what made it wrong.

It was practical.

It made sense.

But was it right?

There are still good people, Daryl.

Beth blinked, pain pulsing from the back of her skull and making her wince. She reached up and massaged her fingers over the puckered skin beneath her hair. Would a good person leave him? Daryl wouldn't. He was good. So...no. Beth started gnawing on her lip again. Quietly, she reached out and ran her hand through Aaron's unruly curls. His breathing was even, but shallow. An image of his crooked grin flashed in her mind, like the one he'd given her that morning.

Sunshine.

Her hand dropped. She didn't want to leave him, not really. Did that make her good? Maybe. She wasn't sure. She didn't feel like it was an adequate enough question to measure herself with. She wasn't sure that there was one. Did it make her wrong to consider it? She looked back up the stairs again. Did her relief that Daryl hadn't been the one shot make her wrong? She didn't think she'd have ever wished for Aaron to take a bullet, but she couldn't deny that knowing Daryl hadn't been the one hurt, that he'd been alive and whole and solid-

Was that wrong?

She didn't know the answer to those questions either.

All she did know to do was wait for something to happen. And that grated. Without immediately realizing it, she started tapping on the sheath of her knife. It was a two-beat rhythm, quick, but soft. Abruptly, she pushed herself up and approached the stairs. Taking them two at a time, she quietly climbed up. She tugged on Daryl's jacket and he bent sideways towards her, his eyes still trained on the door as he tried to work it open.

She brushed aside lank strands of hair to murmur in his ear, "Lemme try."

"I got it," he muttered, angling the metal bar left, then down, trying to work it under the latch.

Beth growled at him and put her hand on the bar, bumping her hip against his. She couldn't sit down there anymore. She couldn't look at Aaron anymore. Not when she was thinking things that she couldn't determine were bad or good. That, at least, she felt wasn't right, felt certain that it wasn't right.

Daryl looked down at her, and she could just make out the faint glitter of his eyes in the dimness. Maybe he got it, maybe he didn't, she couldn't tell, but he let her have the bar.

"Got the window," he said lowly, moving past her and she took his place on the landing.

The metal was almost too thick to use, catching between the door and the jamb with a scrapping sound. Beth eased it down, working it back and forth as quietly as she could. When it felt as though it couldn't be pushed any further, she stopped and pressed her ear to the door. She let her eyes fall closed, listening hard. Past her own breathing, there was no other noise. Not comforting. Meant anything and nothing.

Carefully, she angled the bar up, blindly groping for the jarring feeling of metal rubbing against metal. It was slow in coming, minutes crawling by as she navigated by sensation. She'd been concentrating so hard that when she finally did feel it, it nearly made her jump. Easing her hand back, she tilted the end of the bar, her lips twitching when she heard the soft click of the latch sliding back. Gripping the bar tight, she held the door knob, twisting it. She pulled the door back just shy of an inch, bracing the toe of her boot against the bottom of it as she bent sideways to quietly set down the bar.

Her hand slid down to the hilt of her knife, slipping it from her belt and tucking it tight against her thigh. She glanced back down to the basement, saw Daryl standing at the shelves, peering through the broken frame just behind it. For half a minute, she debated whether or not to call him over. None of them knew what was waiting behind that door. Their chances were better if they went out together, but what if-

Her eyes darted down to Aaron as another twinge of pain skittered through her head. She pressed her lips together. 'If' didn't matter. 'If' wasn't cautious, it got people killed. They'd moved into town to start with because of an 'if' and look what that got them.

So she whistled, two soft notes that pulled Daryl's attention from the window. She tipped her head towards the door and he nodded, crossing the room and strapping his crossbow over his chest. Gathering Aaron up in a fireman's carry, he grunted as the other man's weight settled across his shoulders. Beth waited at the top of the stairs, her hand on the doorknob, keeping it still and the latch from locking again. Slowly, he climbed the steps, swaying forward to retain his balance. If she'd had a free hand, Beth would have reached out to steady him. Instead, she just tightened her grip on her weapon, wincing every time Aaron was jostled and hoping that it didn't tear open his shoulder any further.

Deliberately, she ran her thumb along the knife's edge, feeling its sharp bite dig into the pad. Warm wetness trailed down her skin and she made a silent promise. She didn't know to whom, but that wasn't important. What was important, was that she was going to sink that blade into every single, gun-totting son of a bitch. She was going to carve a perfect circle that matched the one in her friend's body into every hide, whether it drew breath or not.

Maybe it wasn't right. Maybe it was the worst thing she could do. Maybe it wasn't what a good person would do. Maybe it wasn't what Daryl or Aaron, men who she considered to be good people, would do, but it was what she was going to do.

And she knew that she wasn't going to have a single question about it.