I live! It has been a long stinking time, I know. I can't thank you enough for your patience. If you're a follower on tumblr, you've heard me say over and over that teaching music on-line has NOT been easy, especially when half of my class is in person and the other is virtual all at the same time, and I have had very little drive to write at all because I've been so completely wiped out at the end of each school day. This chapter really took a lot out of me, for reasons you're about to see. I do need to warn you that this chapter contains some show-level violence, and threats of non-consensual sex (nothing actually happens to Beth, but plenty of threats are made). If those kinds of things bother you, skip over the section between the .oOo. breaks.

"I can't believe you brought back a ham dinner," Beth gushed as Daryl dropped heavily on the edge of the bed. "It definitely makes me less mad that you left without me."

Daryl snorted a laugh through his nose, "The hell you mad for?"

Beth played with the hem of her shirt, pretending to find a loose thread particularly interesting. "I mean...not mad, I guess. It's just...you've never just up and left before. Well, at least not without my knowing. But I woke up and you just...you weren't there." She forced herself to look up at him, fighting the urge to shy away when their eyes met. "I got a little worried," she squeaked out.

"Why the fuck you worried 'bout me?"

Beth could feel herself getting defensive, her ears and cheeks turning hot. "Gee, I don't know. You just up and disappeared, no one knew where you went, when you planned on comin' back. You're out in the woods, not knowing what's out there...or who. It's not like we've been out scouting around to see what's out there yet. What if a herd came through or you fell down into a ravine or someone…" She hadn't realized just how worried she'd been about him. She opened her mouth and drew in a breath to continue, but thought better of it and stopped herself, clamping it shut.

Unfortunately for her, Daryl saw right through that. "Nah, c'mon girl. Spit it out," he demanded.

She knew she shouldn't say anything more. She knew exactly where this conversation was headed, but she couldn't think of anything else to say and now he was expecting something from her. "It's just...you didn't have me for...backup," she finished, feeling stupid and embarrassed and just waiting for him to laugh at her.

She cringed when she heard him snort in response and waited for him to berate her for thinking he actually needed her help. If anyone could hold their own, it was Daryl. She wished she could just bite her tongue clean in two so she'd never be tempted to talk ever again.

But nothing came. No snide remarks, no laughing in her face. No telling her she'd be more of a burden than any actual help. Nothing.

Instead, all that came was his soft voice, "Yer right." She looked up at him in surprise. "Just thought ya'd rather sleep, 'stead-a traipsin' through the woods in the cold at the hairy ass crack of dawn."

Beth's heart squeezed at that. Did that mean he didn't mind having her with him while he hunted? That he might even need her? Not to mention that even if he would have wanted her there with him, he was once again putting her needs, her comfort, above his own by letting her sleep?

She felt her heart warm until she watched Daryl fight to hide a shiver. "You still cold?" she asked, knowing the house they were in wasn't exactly warm, especially with no heat source other than the fireplace in the living room, but Daryl was usually such a hot box, so much so that she'd come to think of him as her own personal space heater. She was surprised to see the cold actually affecting him. "C'mon, boots off. You've definitely earned yourself some down time this afternoon." As he toed off his boots and unbuckled his belt, Beth turned down the bed, crawling in first and holding the blankets back to invite him in with her.

Once they had settled into their usual positions, with her curled into his side and his arm around her back, they cuddled under the blanket. She began to run her fingernails lazily across his chest, like she did most nights when they were laying together just like they were now. When she felt the tension he usually kept in his arms and shoulders release, letting himself start to melt into the mattress beneath them, she slowed her hand and let her head rest fully on his chest, hearing his heartbeat slow as he drifted to sleep.

Beth knew she couldn't do much to protect him. She tried her best to help him when they went on hunts together. She wasn't anywhere near as skilled as Daryl was, but she was learning. And maybe he didn't need Beth's help or protection - he'd said as much to her more than once - but she could at least offer him comfort. She could be someone to worry over him and care for him. Daryl had never opened up about his family, his past, but she'd seen how Merle had acted around him and remembered that it didn't seem to be a very caring relationship between the two Dixon brothers. As far as she could tell, she may be one of the first to truly care for Daryl, despite how their so-called relationship began.

And maybe that was enough for now.

.oOo.

The group ended up staying in the same house for a couple more weeks as winter settled in for its prolonged stay, though they were always in search of a place big enough to hold everyone in new neighborhoods that hadn't been completely looted of food and supplies. Even with food sources dwindling, it would be crazy to just pack up and leave without an actual destination in mind, especially in the dead of winter. Whenever Beth and Daryl went hunting, which was basically every day, they picked a different direction than the day before and kept an eye out for new lodging as they searched for food.

One day they found an RV park and campground. At first, she was elated. Everyone could have their own place, their own semblance of privacy. As long as there was food to be found, this could really work out for the best for their group.

A feeling of sadness started to creep over Beth as they picked through what had been left behind in the first camper they came to. She couldn't help but think of all those families that had wanted to spend a part of their summer away from it all, who wanted to reconnect with nature for the weekend, all of whom must have been cut off from what was going on in the cities they were trying to escape. Or maybe they'd come here once everything had turned, hiding in the wilderness rather than fighting the crowds in the cities.

She remembered back to the chaos in the streets of Atlanta and on the highway to get back home when the world turned upside down all those months ago. Cars and vans haphazardly packed with belongings lining both sides of the highway. The monsters that came after her in her own car. They had all been sitting ducks. She knew she was lucky to have gotten away from all of that alive.

She fought hard not to think of the families being literally torn apart as walkers invaded their campsites, but found she was losing that battle quickly as a wave of grief for these unknown victims welled up inside her. Images of kids playing hide and seek in the trees, never to be found, began to run through the dark corners of her imagination. She was grateful when Daryl, always so observant, led her out of the camper they were searching and suggested she stay in the office building while he scouted around. "An hour, tops," he promised her.

After a few minutes of sitting at the reception desk, trying to clear her mind and focus on the task at hand, Beth set to work going through cabinets and drawers, pulling anything she could bring back to her family and packing it into her bag. She began humming to herself. (She'd read in her book that the baby could already recognize her voice, but she spent so much of her time staying quiet - most days she barely spoke above a whisper, mimicking Daryl's voice level when they were out hunting - that she had taken to softly humming when she was indoors, so the constant sound would hopefully make up for it.) Setting her bag down on the desktop, she began to explore the adjoining room of the front office.

As she made her way through the back storage room, Beth began to notice little things that left her feeling apprehensive. Her brother would have said her "spidey sense was tingling," but now was not the time to reminisce. The more she looked around, the more hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood out. Some shelves held their contents neatly, while others were in utter disarray. Some chairs were tucked under their desks, some were sitting haphazardly around the room, but were still placed just so.

What really stuck out to her was that there was hardly any dust. Every house they'd gone through had had a healthy layer of dust growing on every surface. The only way for that not to happen is if there had been something disturbing the dust, which meant…

"The fuck you doin' here?" a booming voice came from behind her.

Shit.

Beth whirled around, pressing herself as closely as she could to the counter and cabinets behind her, her hands gripping the chipped Formica countertop tightly to help keep herself upright. Blocking her only exit was a man holding her backpack by its straps in one hand. Behind him were several others, all of them large men, all of them filthy with grime and God knows what else.

"Asked you a fuckin' question, bitch," the apparent leader snarled at her, taking a step further into the room while shouldering the baseball bat he carried, allowing the rest of the men to crowd into the tiny back office. She counted five men altogether. Beth had always been a small girl, but she felt absolutely tiny and helpless as these burly men cornered her further away from any chance of escaping.

The sight of one of the men, his close-cropped hair a greasy gray with a wiry beard to match, toying with the handle of a large blade, a machete whose blade was hanging from his belt, dark with dried blood, jolted her out of her shock and forced her to give some semblance of an answer. "I…" she said with a shaky voice, swallowed, and tried again. "I was just looking for a place to stay the night. I didn't know anyone was here." Should it bother her how easily the lie came, even with her being terrified out of her wits? Perhaps, but this certainly wasn't a time for self-reflection.

"Bullshit," the man with the knife spat at her. "Dumb little bitch like you survive this long on her own?" He shook his head and sneered at her, "I don't think so."

"Remember what we did with the last idiot that messed with our shit?" said another, a man with long greasy hair and teeth that probably hadn't seen a toothbrush since long before the dead started walking the earth. The way he licked his lips and sucked the bottom one between his teeth had Beth feeling both disgusted and terrified.

"Please," she whispered, shaking her head as she shrank in on herself, "I'll give back anything I found here, just please let me go."

"And let a little thing like you out there on her own?" the leader asked mockingly, dropping his bat to his side. "Whadd'ya think, boys?"

The room started to spin around her, Beth's vision tunnelling as the men came even closer. "Hell no, not when we already know she puts out," the man with the long blade pointed at her belly from across the room. The rest of the men laughed raucously, and an icy fear left Beth unable to move, save for her hands moving to cover her baby bump without thought.

When the men began to crowd in on her, Beth's knees could no longer support her. She dropped to the floor, faintly registering when the edge of the countertop scraped along her spine, her hip catching painfully on a drawer handle. She curled herself around her growing baby, silently begging God to help her as she fought to get air into her lungs rather than hyperventilate.

"Don't worry," the man snickered as he let his bat drop with a thud to the floor, closing in until he was standing less than a foot away from her. "We're gonna take good care-a ya." He grabbed her upper arm and yanked her back to her feet. She yelped in pain, still unable to get her limbs to move, to run, to fight back. He had his arm around her waist, pressing her to him, surrounding her with his aggressive strength and putrid stench. She felt her stomach lurch violently and her head start to spin. She scrunched her eyes shut, praying for a miracle and bracing for the worst, her breath racked with unvoiced sobs.

"The fuck you will," growled out the only voice she wanted to hear in that minute. She heard two sounds simultaneously: boots turning on the cheap berber carpet, and the unmistakable sound of weapons being drawn. As relieved as she may have felt knowing Daryl had come to her rescue, she wasn't stupid - they weren't out of danger yet. "Let her go."

The man holding her readjusted to use her as a shield while laughing menacingly, "That yer daddy, comin' ta save his slut of a daughter?" He maneuvered her around, pulling her back to his front, and wrapped his thick forearm around her shoulders, just starting to put pressure against her neck. She instantly grabbed onto him, trying to pry his arm away with shaking hands, but it was no use. "Nah, I think we're gonna hang on to her for a while. Show her a good time. Don't she look fun, boys?" His taunt was met by another round of harsh laughter.

"Come on, Marty," he said to the older man with the blade, who turned to face the two of them, indicating that he did not perceive Daryl to be a threat. "Let's help her relax a little."

Beth scrunched her eyes shut, again, trying her hardest to breathe slowly to keep from fainting. She heard the familiar sound of Daryl's crossbow releasing a bolt, then the pressure around her neck suddenly vanished. The man's body fell to the carpet, but with his arm still around her neck and shoulders, his literal dead weight dragged her to the floor with him. She scrambled to get away from him, but there was nowhere to go, caught between a row of shelves, the counter, and the now dead man with one of Daryl's bolts protruding from his forehead.

The rest of the men stood in shocked silence for a moment as they processed what had just happened as Daryl rushed to load the next bolt.

Marty spun on his heels to face Daryl once he finally caught up with his senses. "You're dead, mother fucker!" he shouted, spurring the rest of the group into action. Beth tried to force air into her lungs, blood pounding in her ears as she fought to regain control. She sat, staring, as if in a trance, as the four remaining men turned toward the door leading into the front office.

Another bolt released as Marty and the others moved toward Daryl, who immediately slung his crossbow onto his back and was already pulling his own knife from its sheath and crouching into a fighting position. One of the other three immediately screamed in pain; Beth saw the second bolt sticking out through both sides of his shoulder as he awkwardly stepped sideways, away from the fray but knocking himself into file cabinets and an empty water cooler as he stumbled.

Marty had hung back, letting the younger three in the group ahead of him, as if he was calculating, plotting. "Dammit, Earl," he mumbled, looking with disdain at the one with the injured shoulder. "Get your ass to Tracy, see if she can deal with it. Not like you'd know what to do with either one of these fuckers, anyway."

Beth stayed still and silent as the scene in front of her unfolded. Earl was slinking around to the main entrance, hissing in pain with every step. The remaining three continued moving into the front office, undeterred by their fallen comrade. Daryl at least had the advantage of the men bottlenecking through the doorway between the offices, and again between the furniture in the front room, but that would only buy him seconds at best. While Beth knew he could handle himself against as many walkers, she remembered their brief lessons where he would remind her time and time again, "Walkers don't think, don't plan - means they ain't the biggest danger out there."

The two in front, closest to Daryl, rushed forward together, boxing him in against the wall. The sounds of punches landing on flesh, yelling and grunting, and bodies crashing into furniture filled the office building. The realization that he wouldn't be able to hold them off forever finally snapped her out of her daze and pushed her to move. Beth tried her best to move silently, not wanting to draw any attention to herself as she fumbled for the baseball bat she knew had to be close.

Never taking her eyes off the scene unfolding, her shaky fingers found the weapon, wrapped around it in a nervous grip, just before her other hand reached into her boot to make sure her own knife was still there. She took a slow step toward them, and another, watching as Daryl took as many hits as he was giving out. He hadn't been beaten yet, but with two (though she was sure it would eventually be three) against one, he could only hold out for so long.

The three men were surrounding Daryl on all sides, the younger two punching and hitting any chance they got while Marty watched with an evil grin. It was a game to them. They were both just playthings to this inhuman group, or they would have just used one of their weapons to kill Daryl. For whatever reason, they wanted Daryl alive.

The realization made her stomach churn.

Daryl yelled out in pain, and Beth realized time was running out. Readjusting her grip one final time as she got within striking distance, she squeezed her eyes shut and swung the bat with as much strength as she had, hoping it would be enough to help Daryl.

Marty screamed, in pain or in anger, (it didn't matter which, really) as he turned around. "You stupid bitch!" he yelled out and lunged at her. She let out a squeak of fear, fumbling to get both hands on the handle of the bat again but ultimately dropping the weapon. She grit her teeth together, mentally kicking herself for dropping the bat which would have at least kept him at arm's length away from her, as she backed herself up to try to stay out of his reach.

Beth ran into a chair behind her, stopping her from her retreat, which gave her attacker a chance to backhand her across the face so hard she saw stars. She dropped to her hands and knees, her back to him, dazed for a second or two before frantically searching for the bat again. She had just managed to get her fingers around the grip again when the man behind her grabbed her by her ponytail and pulled hard, causing her to yelp in pain as he dragged her backwards until she was seated on her butt, her legs kicking up in the air with the force of it.

Her hands went to her head, trying to stop him from pulling the hairs from their roots, as she fought to get her feet back under her. Her boot slipped on something round - the bat, she realized - which was now rolling back away from her. Still struggling against her attacker, she reached with the toes of her boots to get the bat to roll back to her.

She sent up an instant prayer when the handle rolled right into her hip.

Marty let go of her hair to reach for her front. She didn't know whether it was her arm, her shirt, or her neck that he was reaching for, but whatever it was, it didn't matter. As soon as he was within striking distance, leaning over her, Beth swung her arms backwards over her head as hard as she could, just hoping to make contact. She didn't care if she got his head, back or shoulders. As long as she hit something and it got him away from her, even for a second, that's all she cared about.

Instead, he caught the end of the bat with both hands. While her plan hadn't worked the way she wanted it to, she was at least free from him. She scrambled away on her hands and knees again, reaching into her boot for her knife before turning to face him again.

Before he could turn the bat around to take a swing at her, she stayed in a crouch and rushed into his space, scrunching her eyes shut and working solely from muscle memory from her training with Daryl, her knife handle now fitting easily in her palm. Just as she'd practiced, she slashed and stabbed, feeling the pull as the blade sliced then pierced his flesh.

Once the deed was done, she peeked one eye open, then the other, to see what damage she'd dealt. There was a growing dark stain across his thigh, the flesh beneath it squirting and oozing blood.

He fell backwards onto the floor, holding the handle of her blade which was still embedded a few inches below his belt. She quickly found the bat and used it like a golf club to hit his arm so he would release her knife. She yanked the blade out of his leg, then stepped back to give a soccer kick right between his legs before turning to look for Daryl.

"Bill," Marty called out weakly. Beth instantly regretted not hitting him in the head. She couldn't kill another person, she just couldn't, not even someone belonging to this sick and twisted group...but she certainly could have knocked him out.

Before she could think to do anything, the one called Bill turned slowly to face her, like something out of a horror movie, revealing the knife he'd held earlier, now wet with fresh blood. Taking in what Beth had done, he smiled wickedly, a dark chuckle seeping through his rotting teeth. Instead of rushing toward her, he stood between her and Daryl and sneered at her. Calculating.

"You got that fucker under control?" he asked over his shoulder to the man still grappling with Daryl. "I think our little friend here could use some attention."

"No, no, no," Beth whispered her plea, shaking her head. Behind Bill, she saw Daryl take a strong punch right to the temple that had him staggering backwards against the wall, his eyes closed and jaw slack. She yelled out his name, willing him not to give up.

Her new attacker didn't even break stride. He moved slowly and scheming, in absolutely no hurry. As if this was exactly as he had planned. "Oh, you'll be screaming something else in a minute here, girlie. Ain't gonna be saying much of anything after that, though." He sheathed his knife in the case hanging from his belt, then brought his hands to the front to undo his belt buckle.

Beth riveted her attention back on Bill and adjusted her weapons, one in either hand, steeling herself while crouching down, making herself an even smaller target. Before the man could take more than a couple of slow steps toward her, he screamed out in pain, dropping to his knees. Both of his hands were reaching between his shoulders as his breath ran out, his scream dying off as he collapsed in front of her with Daryl's knife sticking out from the middle of his back, buried to the hilt just left of center.

.oOo.

Daryl tried to climb to his feet, panting to try to catch his breath. His knees were unsteady, unable to carry his weight just yet, and he collapsed back to the floor where the body of the fifth and final man lay in a heap, a growing dark red spot forming beneath him.

Beth wanted to curl in a ball on the floor and cry, just completely break down after being attacked and having to attack someone herself. Only the pressing sense of urgency to get the hell out of this office, this RV park and away from anyone else who might be coming, won out against the feeling of giving up. First she had to breathe. Think it out.

Daryl was still barely moving, his breathing labored. His face was already mottled with bruises, his lip split, nose bleeding, and both eyes starting to swell shut. A closer look showed bruised and cut knuckles, but it was what hid beneath them that gave her real reason to move.

He'd been cut. Stabbed, more like it. Either way, there was a growing red spot on his shirt just under his palm.

There was no time to panic. He wouldn't be able to make it the trek home without bleeding out, which meant she had to do something now and hope it would be enough until her dad could get him the help he really needed.

Gauze. Tape. Could she stitch him up if she needed to? Where had she seen that first aid kit?

Stepping around the bodies that lay between Daryl and the back room, making sure to give Marty a wide berth, she made her way to the shelves, ignoring the groans of the two still bleeding out and listening for the sounds of any that may have already turned, or worse, other members of their group coming to look for them. The one with the injured shoulder had been sent to get help from someone; Beth briefly wondered how many belonged to this group.

She frantically searched for the large white plastic box, remembering to pull Daryl's bolt from her first attacker's head as she crossed the room. Picking up her backpack on the way, she returned to Daryl's side and opened the kit, thankful that it still looked to be in decent shape.

Beth pulled out the small bottle of rubbing alcohol, knowing it was absolutely necessary to clean his wound before dressing it, and regretting how much pain she was about to cause him. He was still so weak from fighting the three men...fighting to save her. Now it was her turn to save him. She pulled the last remaining bolt from where he kept them on his crossbow and moved to give it to Daryl to bite down on.

"Don't need that shit," he grit out through clenched teeth. "Ain't like pullin' out a bullet or nothin'."

Beth sighed testily. They didn't have time for his bullshit bravado. "Daryl, just do it," she said, raising her voice just enough to let him know she meant every syllable. It must have worked because the next thing she knew, he had snatched the bolt from her hand and placed the shaft between his teeth. "Breathe," she said, reminding both of them to do so with the simple command.

A choked off yell filled the space between them, and Beth's heart went out to Daryl, but she didn't have time to spare him much pity. Now that some of the blood had been washed away, she saw just how big the cut was, curving from front to back, as if someone tried to stab him but missed. She couldn't tell if there were any internal damages, but he most likely wouldn't make it back home unless it was sutured, at least until her father could get a look at it and do what she was just unable to. "I don't have anything to numb it," she apologized. "I'll go as fast as I can."

She set to work inserting a rudimentary line of stitches. If there were more than two that were even close to being uniform, it was by pure luck. As she tied the last one, she heard the unmistakable throaty growl of a walker taking its first raspy, post-mortem breath. Beth hurriedly taped layers of gauze over the wound, said a prayer that it would all hold as they made their way back home, and threw the contents of the first aid kit into her backpack.

"C'mon, Daryl," she said softly as she stood, shouldering her backpack and dragging a chair nearer to him. She lifted his crossbow and strapped it across her body before offering him a hand. "We gotta go."

She knew she was in no condition to try to lift him to get him standing. He would have to at least get to his knees before she could offer a shoulder to help support his weight. She pushed him as much as she could toward the chair, encouraging him to use it to pull himself up so she could help him again. She tried hard to fight the panic rising within her when he could just barely get off the floor before plopping into the seat of the chair. Huffing and puffing, he grunted out, "Jus' gimme a minute."

She'd never seen him like this, where he let her see just how weak and vulnerable he was, how dependent on her he was. It was unsettling to say the least. The problem was, she didn't really have a minute to give him to recover.

Once he was holding himself up on his feet, still supporting himself with one hand on the wall (to say he was stable was a far cry from the truth), she thrust the handle of the baseball bat into his free hand. With one eye swollen shut already, and the other reduced to a mere squint, his depth perception would be basically non-existent, but he could at least swing a bat at anything that got too close. If anything, he could use it as a cane if he wanted or needed to.

She took a quick peek out the door to make sure the coast was clear, and moved as quickly as she thought was safe for him without causing too much of a commotion or to tire themselves out. Before finding the campground, they had walked at least a few hours from when they left the house earlier that morning, and she had a pretty good idea of which direction they needed to go to get them there.

A mix of fear and determination drove every step. She didn't want to stay within any kind of proximity to this terrible group, and Daryl needed more help than she could give him. They didn't even have a moment to take one last, steeling breath before making their escape. Beth grabbed Daryl's arm and threw it over her shoulders, rushing him as much as she dared toward the tree line.

It was slow going, stopping every couple hundred yards for the both of them to catch their breath, and even that was pushing them to the limit. After an hour or so, Beth already had to change Daryl's bandage, stuffing the used gauze in the side pocket of her back pack. There was no way she would leave any more of a trail for anyone to follow. As it was, she could spot her and Daryl's heavy, staggered footprints without really needing to look.

Maybe they'd get lucky and the other group wouldn't have clue one as to how to track someone. Maybe.

It was well past dark when they finally made it back to the house to find the rest of their group anxious with worry about what had happened to keep Beth and Daryl so much longer than normal. Once they had taken a second to actually look at the pair of them, Rick and T-Dog rushed forward to catch Daryl, who was ready to drop from exhaustion, and carry him to Beth and Daryl's bedroom. Beth shrugged out of everything she was carrying, tossing the backpack to the floor and ordering her father to follow the others to finally get Daryl properly attended to.

Lori supported Beth, guiding her across the living room toward the fireplace, but Beth fought when Carol offered her a chair to sit in. "I need to be in there with Daryl," she argued, and eventually won as the older woman carried the chair to the bedroom after Beth.

Everyone followed her, all of them wanting details. Questions flew through the air so fast and thick that Beth couldn't keep up, especially since her one focus at the moment was Daryl. She jumped when Hershel yelled out, "All right, everyone out."

Beth opened her mouth to protest, but her father stopped her before she could. "I know I couldn't get you to leave if I tried, Bethie, but everyone else, save for Carol, needs to leave."

Carol moved the chair to the head of the bed, giving Beth a pointed look which silently demanded that she sit in it as the rest filed out of the too-small room. The older woman moved to the other side of the bed, staying out of Hershel's way until he needed her assistance with anything.

"These stitches probably saved his life, Beth," Hershel said as he carefully pulled the pieces of thread Beth had sewn into Daryl's side. "What happened to cause this?"

Chancing a glance at Daryl, she could see he was unconscious. Relief and worry battled through her. She knew he needed rest to say the least, and if he was unconscious, it would be easier on him when her father examined his wounds and resutured them. There was still that nagging feeling that made her heart race with fear. Was it blood loss that had left him knocked out? Was it something worse that he may not wake up from?

Beth reached for his hand and brought it carefully to her lap. It scared her to feel how limp it was, how there was no resistance at all, but it was warm, and she could feel his pulse throb in his wrist, faintly but definitely still steady.

Her father softly spoke her name again, gently demanding her attention. Right. What happened? Somehow, she knew he wasn't looking for the gory details, he was only asking so he knew how best to treat his patient, so she kept her story simple for now. "We were attacked. Daryl fought against three men. I'm pretty sure they each had some kind of blade, so I don't know…" she trailed off, exhaustion starting to get the best of her, both physically and emotionally.

Beth watched Daryl's face as her father worked on resuturing the wound. Once finished and everything was cleaned up, Hershel turned his attention back to his youngest daughter. "That's quite a shiner," he said softly, lifting her chin gently with his fingers as he examined her face. She'd almost forgotten she'd been hit in the first place. "Not much to be done for it now, unfortunately," he murmured, a sad look crossing his face as he dropped his hand back to his side. "You okay? Anything I need to check on you?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"I'm okay," she said with as much conviction as she could muster. "Fell on my hands and knees once, but," Beth placed her other hand over her baby bump, "I think we're both okay."

Hershel nodded, not entirely convinced, but with no way for him to check on his growing grandchild, didn't argue.

Carol walked back in the room, though Beth hadn't even noticed her leaving in the first place. "Everyone's pretty anxious to know what happened to you two, but I don't imagine you much want to deal with all that right now," she said with a look of understanding. She was carrying a cookie sheet with some bowls of food and set it on top of the dresser. "You need to eat something, Beth. I doubt you've had anything since you left this morning."

Beth nodded, and although eating was most certainly not high on her list of priorities right now, she knew it should be. Now that her heart wasn't beating up in her throat anymore and Daryl was one step closer to being on the mend, it occurred to her she hadn't warned anyone about the group that could be on its way. "The guys that attacked us, they were in a group," she tried to explain through her exhaustion. "I don't know how many or if any of them followed us or…"

Hershel placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We'll take care of it," he said, then gave her a litany of instructions before escorting Carol out of the room to leave Beth and Daryl in peace.

After several minutes, Beth finally released Daryl's hand, his pulse still just as strong and steady as it always had been. She stood slowly, feeling her muscles stretch reluctantly with each movement. On the tray that Carol had brought in, she saw a bottle of aspirin sitting next to an orange pharmacy bottle containing what she was sure was antibiotics for Daryl. She took an aspirin, washed it down with a gulp of cool water from the bottle Carol had also left. Their meal was to be a portion of some kind of stew and a shared can of fruit cocktail.

Beth ate and drank slowly. She was still worked up from everything that had happened to them earlier. Her body, and her baby, needed nourishment, and that ultimately won out against her addled nerves.

After a few minutes, a soft knock sounded at the bedroom door. Rick poked his head in, asking if it was alright for him to come in. He asked for details about what had happened, and Beth supplied anything she thought could be pertinent. Apparently, while she had been eating, the group decided the house was no longer safe, and any food supplies were beyond scarce anyway, so they'd be moving on as soon as they could.

Rick also told her that the rest of the group agreed that she shouldn't go hunting with Daryl anymore. "Not that you can't handle yourself," he quickly explained, "because you clearly can. But it can't just be you and Daryl anymore. We don't want to risk losing anyone, and there's strength in numbers." Beth nodded in agreement, knowing the man had a point. Besides, how much would she really be able to help in the coming weeks once Daryl was healed, anyway?

She had just finished her bowl of stew when Daryl began to stir. She guessed it had been at least an hour since they arrived back at the house. Beth moved to sit gently next to him, making sure to give him his space at the same time, not wanting to aggravate him or his fresh stitches. She jumped a little when he jolted awake, but had enough forethought to lay a hand gently on his chest to keep him from trying to sit up too quickly. "It's okay. We're safe. You're okay," she reassured him.

Daryl breathed heavily, rubbing his hand on his face a little too roughly, causing him to wince in pain and mumble a curse word or three. "Feel like I got hit by a truck."

"You're not far off," Beth replied. "You've got a bunch of stitches in your side, so try not to move too much. You need to take one of these," she got up and placed her bowl back on the tray before rattling a pill from the antibiotics bottle, then two aspirin into the palm of her hand and bringing the second water bottle with her to offer to Daryl. When he scoffed at the pills, she rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Daryl Dixon, I have no qualms about having Rick and T-Dog come in here and hold you down to force you to take these. We don't know how dirty that blade was and I am not going to lose you to infection because you're too stubborn to take care of yourself."

Daryl blinked up at her for a moment before answering, "How the hell am I supposed to take 'em if I can't sit up?"

Beth grinned and shook her head. "Smart ass," she set the pills and water back on the tray then went to help Daryl get into a sitting position, supporting him as much as she could so he wouldn't have to strain too much. As she adjusted a pillow behind his back, she realized it was the first time he'd been shirtless in her presence, at least while he was conscious, but she knew better than to point out that fact, though she wondered if he'd noticed, too. Once he was situated, she retrieved the drugs and stood waiting, arms crossed, until he took each one with a swig of water. "There's a bowl of stew for you," she turned and picked it up, handing it to him.

"What, you ain't gonna spoon feed me?" he teased. At least he was in somewhat of a good mood, despite everything they'd gone through that day.

Sitting back in her spot on the edge of the mattress, she teased him right back, "Guess I could use the practice," and made to take the bowl back from him.

"Shut up," he grumbled, cradling the bowl close to his chest and spooning bite after bite into his mouth, hardly pausing to chew.

When he was finished, Beth took the bowl from him and asked, "You doing okay?"

"Better now with food and pain killers. Been through worse." Beth held her tongue before she could let herself ask about one of those worse times, not sure she could handle hearing any of those stories at the moment. Instead she focused on the bowl in her lap, unsure of what to say. Another minute passed before Daryl spoke again, "You okay?"

Beth took stock of herself. The headache she'd had while they were making their way back from the campground had subsided, and she'd noticed her stomach gurgling as she watched her father work on helping Daryl, but now that there was food in her not-quite-full-but-at-least-not-empty-anymore belly, she was ready to curl under the blankets and sleep for at least two days. "Yeah. I'm okay," she finally responded. "Thanks to you," she added softly.

Daryl scoffed again, and Beth gave him a stern look. She was about to tell him exactly what she thought, but he beat her to the punch. "Shouldn't'a left ya there in the first place. Fuckin' stupid to split up like that," he looked down, his fingers moving like they were itching to pick at the scabs that lined his knuckles.

Beth furrowed her brows together, "We've split up before on runs."

"Yeah, in the same damn building," he countered, "not when we're out of ear shot of each other." He let his head thud against the wall behind him, wincing in pain after doing so. "If I hadn't gotten there when I did…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

Laying her hand softly on top of his, stilling them and the thoughts she was sure were spiraling in his mind, she spoke softly, "But you did. You saved my life, Daryl." She gave his hand a light squeeze as she added, "Again," then withdrew her hand back to her lap. "How did you know?" she asked after a moment when she exchanged Daryl's bowl for the can of fruit cocktail on the tray.

"How'd I know what?"

"To come back when you did," she explained. "Before you left, you said you'd be gone an hour tops, but you were back in less than ten minutes."

Daryl nodded his head in understanding. "I hadn't even made it back to the campers when I heard those assholes heading to the office. They must've just missed me, never looked my way. Don't think they knew you were in there. Didn't exactly look friendly."

It was Beth's turn to scoff in sarcastic agreement. "Think you can scoot a little? We can have some dessert," she suggested. She sat gingerly next to him once he made a space for her, kicking off her boots before stretching her legs under the covers next to his. They took turns stabbing pieces of syrupy fruit from the can, both eating much slower than they had with the hearty bowls of stew. Too exhausted in too many ways to put it back on the dresser, she set the can on the floor beside her, then turned to help Daryl scoot down on the mattress so they could both get some much needed rest.

"I'm so sorry, Daryl," she whispered after another quiet moment.

She felt him turn his head to look at her, felt him breathe sharply at the sudden movement. "The fuck you sorry for?"

Beth took a steadying breath, "You could have been killed, all because I couldn't handle going through an empty camper."

"Yeah, and if they found me by myself in that office instead, I'da been dead anyway." Their eyes met as she interpreted what he didn't say. They had been planning to do far more than just kill her, they'd basically said as much.

He let his head roll back to the pillow and looked toward the ceiling. "Ya saved my ass, today, Beth. I wouldn't be back here if it weren't for you, even if I had been able to take them all on myself."

The silence between them grew heavy. After a few minutes, she wondered if Daryl had already fallen asleep. In the back of her mind, Beth knew she needed to tell him everything her father and Rick had told her while she was waiting for him to wake up after being stitched up: that the group would be leaving the house at first light in search of a new place to hole up; that Daryl was not to go hunting until the stitches came out in two weeks; that someone would be coming with them from now on once he was completely healed.

It could all wait until morning. They deserved some unhindered rest tonight.

Beth had just let herself start to relax when she felt a...something...low in her belly, just under her belly button. It was similar to all the times she felt her stomach gurgling in the past few weeks, but so much stronger this time. Maybe it was just gas, she thought to herself, until she felt it again, just as strong and in the exact same spot.

She laid a cautious hand over the spot and waited. Sure enough, something was definitely moving in her.

"Daryl," she whispered harshly, rapidly tapping the backs of her fingers against the back of his hand. She wasn't about to apologize for waking him up, not for this. "Daryl, give me your hand...your other hand," she said frantically. She ignored his grumbles and drowsy questions and reached for his hand, moving carefully so she didn't disturb his wounds or their baby.

"Shh," she commanded, placing his hand in the same place she'd had hers seconds ago.

Nothing happened. "Beth, what the…" Daryl started.

"Wait." The tone in her voice must have let him know she was dead serious, and he sighed heavily and let his head drop back to his pillow.

Was he really that dense? Didn't he understand what she was trying to show him? "Come on," she whispered to her abdomen, willing their baby to move. After a long minute, she got her wish.

Daryl's head shot up from the pillow beside her. Even in the darkness, she could tell he was looking at the bump beneath his hand. "Was that…?" He couldn't form the words. Truth be told, neither could she. She just nodded her head emphatically, hoping he could tell without seeing. "Have...have you...felt that before?"

Beth shook her head, "Not like this. I mean, the book said it would feel like a little flutter, and I've been feeling my stomach gurgle a lot lately, but I thought it was just me being hungry or the baby being hungry or whatever. I didn't realize…" She laid her hand on top of Daryl's and looked up at him as she felt another sharp movement within her. "Oh my God, Daryl," she whispered reverently. "That's our baby!" Tears of pure joy began to roll from the corners of her eyes.

"Holy shit," Daryl murmured in awe. He left his hand where it was as he let his head back down to the pillow, their noses nearly touching. "That's fuckin' crazy," he laughed softly.

Beth joined him in a laugh, then pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. When she pulled back, she searched his face in what little moonlight filtered through the curtains covering the window. Even in the dim light, she could see how it was mottled with bruises, scabs littering his face where punches had split the skin. This man had taken a hell of a beating, had nearly died, all while trying to protect her. He could have left her behind, could have left the whole group behind, and no one would have known what became of them.

But this man, lying next to her beaten and bruised - on account of her - was a good man. He had sworn to protect her and take care of her, and had yet to fail her. She knew in her heart that he never would.

She knew that ultimately, she was lucky Daryl had found her and had offered to keep her fed and safe, even considering how things had progressed between them since they had met. He could have done any number of things to her out there in the woods when he'd first found her and no one would have known about it. Instead he'd brought her to a group of people. People who could act as a kind of witness, to give her a sense of security in the deal they had made between them.

Their relationship may have started as a kind of verbal contract, one where he knew she didn't have many other options and had taken full advantage of that, but as the months had passed, she had grown to care for him in spite of all that, and lately he had shown how much he cared for her in return. More and more, he was putting her needs before his, and his actions spoke volumes. He'd gone the extra mile more than once to make sure she was taken care of, that she was safe. That their baby was safe.

She didn't know how he would react. She didn't know if it was because she could finally feel her baby moving. She didn't know if her sheer exhaustion was making her do stupid things. More importantly, she didn't really care about any of that. She only knew what she felt at that moment.

"I love you."

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