GracieMae11 I really liked your PDA comment and had to incorporate it somehow. ;) Thanks for the idea.

Is it Jesus's or Jesuses' or Jesus'es, or Jesus' or what? None of it looked right. I googled it but was thoroughly confused. Someone help me! lol

Thanks so much for reading and commenting! We're starting to get into the thick of things now.

There were two people watching Daryl and Beth that they were not aware of. Daryl prided himself on relying on his senses as a hunter, and more importantly, as a sheriff, he really had no idea. Beth thought she was aware too, especially after her stint at the Sanctuary. She thought she'd never let her guard down. As time went on, she did.

People in small towns, though, they watched. Most watched in a curious non-threatening way. Connie was one of them. She saw Daryl and Beth everywhere now, it seemed. Driving through town, Beth riding shotgun in the Bronco like she deserved to be there. As they strolled through town, they didn't hold hands but there was an obvious intimacy between them. At the diner, sitting like a couple of lovebirds at a booth in the back. She wondered caustically why they didn't share one milkshake with two straws. To her, they were sickening. She also was certain Beth was living with him. Shouldn't that be against town policy? He didn't own that house, the town did. Taxpayers paid for it. Everything about their being together - she refused to name whatever it was, pissed her off.

Unfortunately, Connie was the least of their problems. There were more menacing forces lurking through the town than Connie and her envy.

Simon waited in the alleyway of the building of the police station and the pharmacy next door. Casually he leaned against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. He was hoping to blend into the background but doubted that he would be able to. It was a small town. One where everyone said hello to everybody else. The fact that he didn't live there made him stand out.

He easily found the sheriff and so far had followed him as he went from the office to the diner to get an early morning coffee, to another couple of stops that looked to be more social than official. Simon followed him for a couple of miles as he and that woman partner of his went to a house outside the city limits. Not wanting to get made or lost, Simon turned back around and waited in town for them to return. It wasn't too long later when, through the diner front windows, he saw the Bronco driving down Mainstreet again.

Simon didn't think it was going to be this easy.

By the end of the day and after a lot of running around, trailing far behind, he followed the sheriff to his home, a small run-down house just outside of town. He passed the driveway and drove further down the road parking on the side and walked back to the house through the dark.

He waited outside in the cold, hidden in the trees across the road for a while. The house was lit up but whatever was behind the windows was obscured by a curtain. Occasionally he'd see a shadow pass by. Not just a shadow the size of the sheriff but another smaller shadow. Someone was in there with him.

When it was obvious he was getting nowhere watching from the front, he rounded the house. This angle didn't afford much of a view either. There were only three windows. Two were curtained, one wasn't. Wishing he'd brought binoculars, he got as close as he wanted to risk. The only uncurtained window was the kitchen. He watched as Daryl passed back and forth and then, imagine his surprise when, through that kitchen window, a certain future wife of Negan appeared.

As the average window in any kitchen is situated in front of the sink, he guessed she must have been at the sink. She was looking down, focused on whatever was in front of her. After some time, Daryl came up behind her, kissing her neck.

Simon had seen enough, he had all he needed to report back to Negan.

Who knew this kind of life could be so simply fulfilling, Daryl, wondered? Working all day, coming home to Beth in the evenings. If they didn't go back out, they'd make dinner together. Hanging out until they went to bed. Have mindblowing sex. Talking, who would have thought that could be enjoyable until he fell asleep with Beth in his arms. A year ago if you'd asked him if he pictured himself set up in this type of situation, he'd look at you like you were insane.

Yet, here he was. In love with a girl that didn't have a past. That didn't matter, he was sure if he had met her at another time, another place, he still would have fallen in love with her.

She may not have a past, but she has a future with him.

In the peripheral of his mind, he figured he'd find someone eventually. Beth made it move from a vague idea to the forefront.

It was absolutely fucking ridiculous. She had no idea how he even felt. On that same note, he had no idea how she felt about him. He wished he was one of those people that could just say what was on his mind. He opened his mouth to tell her many times, but in a funny turn of events, he was the one that suddenly became mute.

All this was running through his mind as he sat kicked back at the kitchen table watching Beth's backside as she was filling the sink with hot water and soap. He was exhausted from the week, but happy. Genuinely happy. Michonne was on call and the prospect of a quiet weekend with Beth sounded ideal to him.

He stood and went to Beth, sliding his arms around her waist, pinning her against the counter with his body. He swiped her hair to the side, nibbling at the base of her neck. She sighed and leaned back into him.

"What do you think you're doin'?" She asked playfully.

"Nothin'," he answered innocently, his voice muffled against her skin.

"Doesn't feel like nothing to me." She pressed her butt against his middle, feeling his dick hardened against her.

"We can do the dishes later," he said, reaching around her and shutting off the faucet. He took her by the hand and made her face him, kissing her hard. She leaned up on her toes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"What do you suggest we do instead?" She asked, pulling back, looking into his eyes, the color, and clarity of tropical water.

"Oh, I can think of a couple a' things." His hand ran along her hip, up and under her flannel shirt, cupping her braless breast. Teasing the nipple to a point and making Beth moan.

Without breaking the kiss, he began walking backward, out of the kitchen into the living room. He paused when he hit the back of the couch, tempted to strip her and go at it right there on the floor, but he decided he'd force himself to make it the next few steps to the bedroom. That way they could make love properly. Antaginozingly slow, until she begged him to make her come.

They'd almost made it to the hallway when there was a sharp knock on the door. He ignored it.

Beth laughed against his lips, "Uh, there's someone at the door." He moved from her mouth and trailed down her neck, sucking at the skin just above her collarbone. It took Daryl a second or two to register what she said or that someone was knocking and another second more to pull away from Beth.

"Damn, whoever it is has horrible timing. Hold that thought, " he told Beth and untangled himself and went to the door.

Moving the front window curtain to the side, he saw Michonne's vehicle in the drive. "Shit,'' he grumbled. This probably wasn't going to be good.

He opened the door for her and Michonne entered without a word. Her long dreaded hair was pulled up in a twisted bun, her police issued jacket was zipped up to her chin. Her gun, in its holster on her hip. In a few second's assessment, he determined nothing was wrong with her personally. That made him feel marginal relief.

She nodded at Beth and looked back to Daryl, her brow was furrowed with worry.

"What is it?" He asked gruffly, she may have been physically okay, but something was definitely amiss.

For the first time since he'd known Michonne, she hesitated. "I thought you'd wanna' know, so I came to tell you in person," she began. "It's Jesus. He was in an accident."

"What?" Daryl asked, anger sudden and sharp.

Gasping, Beth walked to Daryl and slid her hand in his. "Is he hurt?" She asked, then frowned at her own words. Of course he was hurt or else Michonne wouldn't be here.

"He's alive. That's about all the doctors can tell us now."

"He was drunk?" Daryl asked. This was his fault, he had let his watch over Jesus slip.

"I know what you're thinking, but this isn't your fault," she said voicing his exact thoughts. She knew how he took personal responsibility for Jesus.

"Just answer the question," he bellowed. Letting Beth's hand drop he went to the door where he discarded his boots when he got home.

She didn't bat an eye against his tone. "Yes, according to the bartender he was at the bar all afternoon," Michonne answered. "He ran off the road, hit a ditch and flipped his truck. He was thrown from it. He was transferred from County Hospital by ambulance. I figured you want to know and I didn't want you to hear it from someone else."

Daryl slipped on one boot, began lacing it up. Looking back up at Michonne, he nodded. "You're right. Thank you for lettin' me know," he spoke more calmly now. "I'll head there now, check on him and see if I can get the doctors to tell me anything more."

As far as Daryl knew Jesus's parents weren't close by meaning he'd be alone. He didn't want that.

Once Michonne delivered the news, she left to tend to other business. Beth quickly changed into something other than Daryl's old threadbare flannel shirt and yoga pants and met him at the door, slipping on her shoes.

"What are you doin'?" Daryl asked Beth as he grabbed his coat off the hook by the door. Finding his keys inside the pocket.

"I'm going with you." She said, pulling a hoodie over her head.

"Beth," Daryl began.

She ignored him and opened the door, the cold air felt good on her face. He rested his hand over hers on the doorknob.

"It sounds like he's in bad condition. It'll probably be upsetting to you."

She sighed, he was always protecting her. But sometimes she didn't need so much protection.

"I'll be fine," she said unwaveringly. Just as he didn't want Jesus to be alone, she didn't want Daryl to be alone. "I'm going with you."

He stood still for a moment, watching Beth. Reading the stubborn look of her face. "Come on, we're wasting time," she finally told him. Taking his hand, she pulled him out the door with her.

Jesus was alive, that's about all Daryl could say. He was unconscious. Tubes entered and exited every visible patch of skin. He was breathing on his own, which the doctor was encouraged by. The right side of his face was a giant bruise. His forehead contorted outward at an unnatural angle.

The doctors were a little freer with information because Daryl flashed his badge, making it seem like it was a part of an official investigation of the accident and not that he was just a person concerned about his friend. They said it was a waiting game. Only time would tell if the swelling on his brain would go down. They had to wait and see when, and if, he'd wake up.

On top of the concussion and damage to his face, he had a broken arm and leg. If he did wake up, he was in for a world of hurt.

Wake up you dumbass, and feel that hurt. Maybe you'll learn your lesson, he told him once he was sitting next to his bed.

Beth sat in a plastic chair in the corner of the small room, giving Daryl his space. She'd wait as long as he needed.

They had entered through the emergency room. The hospital was pure chaos and if she allowed it to, it would have overwhelmed her. So much pain and suffering. But this was her chance to be there for Daryl like he was there for her time and time again. So she swallowed the panic and followed Daryl through a maze of halls and corridors and up an elevator to Jesus's room.

There was a strange familiarity. The uncomfortable smell of cleaner and sadness. Desperation. The blinding fluorescent lights in the hallway versus the dim lights of the room. The constant in and out of nurses and doctors. The ever-present sounds of muffled voices, of beeping machines.

For some reason, it made Beth want to run. She felt claustrophobic. Trapped. But she only had to look at Daryl to feel a calm returning. She watched as he pulled up a plastic chair and sat next to Jesus's bed. Mumbling a sentence or two she couldn't quite make out, then he watched silently as his friend fought for his life.

Beth settled in for a long night.

Exhaustion eventually got the better of her. Daryl still sat in the chair next to Jesus's bed, staring at him intently as though he could wake him up by sheer intimidation. Daryl was pissed, but more so he was hurting. His firm frown didn't fool her.

She stuffed Daryl's jacket between her head and the plastic armrest, tucking her legs up underneath her. The beeping of one of the machines lulled her into a fitful sleep.

Beep, Beep, Beep.

Sometime later, white light haloed the peripheral of her vision. Blinking she tried again. Yellow walls, a big window mirrored black against the night sky. Voices echoed in the distance. Frightened and unsure where she was, she tried sitting up. A warm hand lightly weighted her shoulder back down.

She was in the hospital bed now, not Jesus.

"Don't try 'n sit up. You just rest sweetheart," a kind voice soothed. The hand moved from her shoulder to her hair, smoothing it down. The arm was connected to a woman with long silver hair. She had a kind face with laughing lines at the corners of her mouth. Warm, dark eyes, watery with tears, peered down at her worriedly. This woman, without a doubt, was her mother.

Beth cleared her throat, tried to speak. Her voice was froggy, her throat parched. "Where am I? What's goin' on?"

"You're in the hospital," the woman said quietly as though she wanted to soften the blow.

"Hospital? Why?" Wasn't Jesus the one in the hospital? She was only visiting. Why was she in the bed? She fought against the brain fog. Closing her eyes and opening them again, forcing her mind to clear. She pushed lightly against the woman's hand and sat up. Her head swam, but she fought past it.

She lifted her left hand to push back her much shorter hair. Her right wrist was bandaged with white gauze, secured with medical tape. Her other hand? It was also bandaged but bound by a leather restraint tied to the railing of the bed. She yanked her arm, pulling at the brace. A sharp pain shot from the bandage up her arm.

"What the hell is this?" She asked, hysteria edging her voice.

"Bethy, you gotta calm down now," a male voice this time. She looked to her left finding the source of this voice. A man sat in a chair next to the bed. White hair, full beard. Kindness in his eyes.

Her father.

"Why am I here?" She asked again, though her throbbing wrist answered the question for her. The memory of the event came back as sharp as the pain.

She'd slit her wrist with a shard of glass after punching the bathroom mirror. The details were cloudy, bouncing around her mind slowly. She had been upset. Angry. Nothing was going her way. No boyfriend. No real friends. She hated school. What was the point of it all, she had wondered.

Annette sat next to her on the bed, enveloping her with a strong motherly embrace. Rocking her gently back and forth.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized tearfully to her parents. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

Hershel moved from his chair and sat next to Annette on the side of the bed, patted Beth's knee affectionately. "We'll talk about all this later, right now you just need to focus on getting better."

"Beth? Beth, wake up." Someone was shaking her shoulder. Talking quietly.

She sat up straight, fully awake in a second. She grasped her right wrist in her left hand, it was no longer bound. Neither were still bandaged. A sigh of relief escaped her lungs. She was grateful to be pulled from that dream. Seeing the hurt and confusion she'd caused in her parent's eyes was too much.

Daryl stood above her. "Ready to go? It's almost dawn."

She felt her wrist for that raised white line. A scar. Now she knew from where it came.

Though Jesus was still unconscious, he was showing small signs of improvement. Whatever that meant. He looked the same to Daryl. He was still unconscious and looked like he'd been run over by a train. He and sometimes Beth, spent the majority of the weekend going back and forth to the hospital an hour away.

After the exhaustive weekend, Monday came around and Daryl had work to focus on. Due to Beth's statement, he was able to obtain a warrant from the town's only judge rather quickly. He was now legally able to go to the Sanctuary. Though he wanted to spend his days waiting for Jesus to wake up, he had to focus on the next steps required to take Negan down.

Negan didn't do anything directly to Beth that was illegal that she can remember, you can't arrest someone for being psychologically abusive, she did give them information on possible abuses happening on the grounds of the Sanctuary.

Because he knew that was exactly what she'd do, worry, he promised Beth everything would be fine. Nothing was going to go awry. This visit was not for Negan, it was for the innocent men, women, and children that resided there. Today the plan was only talking with Negan's people, getting a better feel for the situation.

Unless they saw blatant acts of abuse, nothing would happen that day. Not to say nothing would come of it in the coming days or weeks as the investigation continued and once CPS decide whether or not action needed to be taken. It was not his intention to go in there guns blazing.

He wanted to be sure he had all his bases covered, so he brought his small cavalry in. Along with two CPS officials, Daryl and Michonne and their two part-time officers were on the figurative front steps of the Sanctuary bright and early.

They were in for a long day, and Daryl couldn't wait to get it started.

Of course Beth was going to worry. How could she not? Daryl was running off into no man's territory on her behalf. Yes, it was his duty as the sheriff but she doubted he'd be going there if it wasn't for her. Sooner or later he might have found out they were there and been curious enough to check it out, but that was a big maybe. They'd been there for years without anyone knowing. As far as she was concerned if something went wrong it'd be no one's fault but her own.

Telling Daryl about her dream at the hospital was out of the question. He didn't need her extra baggage hanging around his neck. So she stuffed it down along with everything else.

Needing to direct the pent up tension some way, she cleaned the entire house. Not just your regular vacuum, dust, scrub the toilet. She swept the corners of the ceiling in each room where the cobwebs sneakily collected. She ran a rag along the baseboards and the window sills. She got on her hands and knees and scrubbed the old linoleum kitchen floor until it shined.

She washed the bedding and was putting the extra set of sheets away in the bedroom closet when she noticed more cobwebs. Did Daryl ever clean? Grabbing the broom, she batted at them, knocking a box down from the upper shelf. Papers and photos came raining down on her head.

Shit, she whispered aloud, bending to pick up the scattered debris from the floor. They appeared to be paperwork, insurance documents, a rental agreement, mixed with a few old photos. The old photos were what interested her the most.

It was clear which photos were of Daryl. His hair was a bit lighter but he sported that unmistakable half-grin. In one photo he was young, maybe five, standing proudly next to a deer carcass, holding a compound bow. In another picture an older boy, Beth guessed to be Merle, held his arm tightly, probably a little too tightly, around his neck. Merle smiled mischievously. Another picture was of the two boys with a woman with long dark hair, bell-bottoms and bare feet planted in the dirt. A cigarette was pinched between her lips. She was looking down at the boys who stood in front of her. Was this Merle and Daryl's mother? It had to be.

It melted her heart a bit. She was rough looking, in all honesty, it was evident she didn't have an easy life, but she affectionately looked on at her rambunctious boys. The photo's made Beth want to know more about this picture, more about Daryl's life. All of it.

The photos had a strange effect on her. They made her want to make a life with him. A life with rambunctious mischievous boys and maybe a blonde little girl. All of them would have Daryl's eyes…

Daryl expected a bit more resistance but once he procured the warrant, Simon let them through with a reluctant nod of the head. There was nothing any of them could do. As Beth said, Negan was crazy, not stupid and Simon just seemed resigned.

They had driven up in two vehicles. Daryl and the part-time officers in the Bronco and Michonne with the social works in another. As they drove up the winding path, which was no better than the road itself, the compound came into view. Buildings were set in a row on each side of the path. A larger building was placed in the center. A community hall, maybe?

Some, leary of their unannounced visitors, reluctantly came from every direction. Others retreated to the little huts that served as their homes, still, others came from the main building. Children ran about. The ones too young to realize the ramifications of who they were reacted with excitement. It wasn't every day they had new people on this side of their gates.

And then there was Negan. Strolling casually up the path in a black leather coat and red scarf, as though he were some sort of defunct James Dean. The same bat he'd had before was propped against his shoulder.

"Well, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Negan questioned as Daryl exited the Bronco. His words could be misconstrued as kindness but his face told a different story. He frowned. Almost pouting, like a little child that didn't get his way.

"You brought a whole entourage didn't you?" Negan asked when he noticed the other vehicle. He leaned in conspiratorially, yet whispering loudly enough for everyone that had gathered around to hear. "Were you afraid to come by yourself? Had to bring a bunch of womenfolk and elderly men with ya?"

Daryl didn't take the bait. "You've met my partner, Deputy Hawthorne. This is CPS workers, Denise Cloyd and Jadis McIntosh."

"Now, now," Negan strode toward Jadis.

She wore a grey sensible suit with a black wool coat. Sensible grey flats, that would no doubt be covered in mud by the end of the day. Negan looked her up and down. "Ain't you an amazonian beast of a woman."

Her straight spine and blunt banged bobbed hair cut as well as the suite portrayed her for the no-nonsense, no bullshit social worker she was. Daryl has been impressed by her the few times they had to work together. Social works could get a bad reputation. Not Jadis, she did her job and did it well. There was no doubt in his mind she could handle the likes of Negan. She probably ate men like him for breakfast on a regular basis.

She didn't back down. "My name is Ms. McIntosh. And I'd prefer if you'd keep your distance while we do our investigation."

"Aww, all businesses and no pleasure?" Negan asked, affronted. But he backed off.

Denise was a little softer than her counterpart and so Daryl took a casual step toward her when Negan fixed her with his stare. She wore more sensible clothing. Jeans and boots with a blazer.

"And you?" He said with a comical grin spread his face, making Darly want to punch it off his face. Negan motioned with his hands a circular motion. "There's a bit more to you, ain't there?"

Denise opened her mouth in rebuttal but before she could, Daryl slapped the paperwork he held against Negan's chest, gave a slight shove.

"This is a search warrant. It states we can look over the grounds and speak with your people. Make sure everything is in accordance with the law."

Negan took the paperwork and handed it off to Simon, who never seemed to be far off.

"You can't get a warrant without probable cause. Mind sharing with me what that probable cause might be?" He was no longer grinning. It was almost as good as whipping the grin off his face with his fists.

"We've had a complaint filed against you," Daryl answers vaguely.

Yes, I know they call Jadis Annie now. But I like the name Jadis. ;)

Thanks again for reading.