Daryl spat the water out from his mouth and pushed his hair back, slicking it back with the hot water that was running down over his head and sore body. He tilted his head back to allow the water to hit his face, his hair falling in dark strands down his neck and back. The pulsating jet of the stream of water was soothing against his tender face, massaging the swollen bruising of his eyes. Daryl rubbed his calloused hands over his face, feeling the scruff of his beard across his palms, the sensation oddly calming. Dropping his head back down he kneaded his eyes with his knuckles. He rubbed the water out of them and then squinted one eye open so he could see, grabbing up the shampoo bottle and squirting it into his hands, rubbing them together until they lathered up. He ran them through his hair, ruffling it through with his fingers and leaving the residue to run down the length of his body, pondering over the scent that drifted around him and who had had the foresight to pick the shampoo up on a run. He rubbed his hands down over his body, lathering the running soap down over the the sore muscles of his arms, not seeing the way in which the white bubbles turned a shade of dirty pink as they intermingled with the blood on his arms. The blood and mud ran down the contours of his body, through the fine dark hairs of his thighs and across the open wounds that punctuated his skin and soothing the many deep bruises across the canvas of his chest, the dried on blood and dirt that had seeped through his shirt and entwined in his chest hair.

Daryl dropped his head to let his hair fall down in front of his face and blinked open his eyes, looking down to the floor of the shower which was covered in a thin layer of dark grime, swirled in with blood. He pulled one arm up and leant his forearm against the cool wall, leaning his forehead against the hot warmth of his arm, allowing his body weight to lean against that. He stayed in this position, the warm jet of water hitting his back and took several deep breaths, instinctively flexing and unflexing his hand against the wall. His hands were clean now, but he could not wash the psychological blood from them.

The last few hours had been emotional; he had grabbed Beth up from the floor of the pharmacy and rushed her home. Glen had driven whilst Daryl had held her in the back seats, her head in his lap as he held Glen's sweater to her wound, speaking to her all the way. He stroked back her hair from her clammy face as he felt her begin to heat up beneath his fingertips. Her eyes wandered from Daryl's face, no matter how often he tried to get her to look at him; he could tell she was losing consciousness and he had yelled at Glen to go faster.

Her face had been paler than he had ever seen it, her blue eyes glazed and vacant as her split lips lay parted, a dribble of blood running down her chin as she drew in each ragged, pained breath. Daryl's heart broke as he held her, his strong hands holding the fabric fast to her, keeping pressure to the wound as her own blood seeped through and began to coat his hands. Daryl thought he would envision her deep scarlet blood on his hands for the rest of his life.

'Yer gonna be okay,' he had told her firmly, wiping away the tears that were falling down the side of her face from her glazed eyes, 'stay wi' me Beth, yer gonna be jus' fine.'

Glen had not even stopped the car when he had climbed out, carrying Beth bridal style up over the gravel and into the prison, yelling for someone to help him.

Hershel had gotten to them by the time Daryl lay Beth down on the infirmary bed, Glen having gotten the crutches he had somehow thought to pick up to him. He was fraught with worry for his daughter but he went into professional mode once he saw the severity of the situation, his white eyebrows furrowing into deep concentration through the clammy exterior of his forehead through which his inner, paternal panic tried to escape. Instead of forcing Daryl out, he had allowed him to stay in the room and help him, getting him to pass the equipment over as needed and stem the flow of blood, knowing the younger man would do as he was told and do so quickly and quietly, although Hershel spotted the way Daryl's hands shook as he passed him each thing he was asked of. Whilst it frightened him to see such a strong man shake, it pushed him forward and helped to cement his belief in Daryl as a good man for his daughter; he could see the fear in both his actions and his eyes, in the thin tight line his lips had become and the deep creases in his forehead. Maggie, on the other hand, also usually so strong, had screamed at the sight of her sister and so was kept out of the room with Glen, who waited down the hallway in fretful anticipation. Beads of sweat had sprung out on Hershel's face as he struggled to keep himself up, the crutches buried deeply in his arm pits as he tried to take some of the weight off of his good leg, his hands moving deftly over his daughter.

Daryl had had his own fair share of experience with gun shot wounds in his life, but he had to hand it to the older man; he was incredibly precise and neat in his work, stemming the flow of blood and removing all traces of dirt and fabric from the wound. Beth had been lucky, the bullet had stuck no major arteries or bones, so Hershel was able to retrieve the bullet with little fear. Daryl knew that any bullet wound in any area of the body could be fatal, but he had kept Beth awake, stemmed the bleeding and gotten her help as soon as possible, so he was confident she would pull through.

But that did not stop him remaining stony faced and tight lipped as he stood at the foot of the cot, his hands on either side of her face to keep her still, the confidence in her survival doing nothing to quell the rapid beating of his heart. She looked so small and fragile as she lay there, covered in her own blood, a sight Daryl would pay in his own blood to never have to see again.

Hershel had cleaned her up and stitched her up very proficiently and bandaged her whole shoulder and part of her chest to keep everything in place and to keep her still. Thanks to Glen's quick thinking with the use of his sweater, Beth had not lost too much blood.

Beth had fallen into a deep sleep once Hershel was done and had remained that way for around sixteen hours; Daryl had remained by her bedside through all of them, sat on a hard wooden stool, his fingers laced beneath his chin, his eyes never once leaving her sleeping form. Any fears he had harboured about their relationship, about his feelings for her and the deepness of their connection, they all evaporated there in that infirmary. All he cared about was her opening those blue eyes and looking across to him.

Several times he had refused to leave; Glen and Maggie had sat with him for a while, Maggie stroking her sister's clammy head as she slept through a light fever. But Daryl did not leave.

Eventually, as the sun came up the next morning, Carol forced him to go and shower.

'You look horrible.' She had said, watching him from the doorway, 'Beth isn't going to want to wake up to you looking like that.'

He had refused at first, but she was adamant. He understood what she meant once he caught sight of himself in the mirror in the communal bathroom; his face was splattered in dried on blood, his hair thick with grime and dirt, hanging limply all around his face while two small, puffy eyes stared back at him through deep, purple bruises. His arms and hands were covered in dried blood too, blood that belonged mainly to Beth, but also to the men from the store. Carol was right, Beth didn't need to see that.

Daryl pushed himself up from the wall and shook his head before turning off the shower. He stood in the now cold cubicle for a while, listening to the steady drip of water from the shower head above him.

. . .

Beth woke to a world of pain; her head was blindly throbbing and as she tried to move to figure out where she was, her shoulder flared in agony. She cried out, scrunching her eyes shut and brought one hand up to her shoulder to apply pressure to the area. As she lay there, taking deep breaths, a wave of nausea rolled over her. Beth felt the acidic taste of bile rise up her throat and forcing herself through the pain the movement caused her, leant over the edge of the bed and threw up on the floor. She coughed in-between each retch, every heave firing more pain off inside her. Beth wiped her mouth on the the back of a shaking hand then laid back down, tears running down the side of her face and falling in her hair.

The sound of hurried footsteps caught Beth's attention, and she glanced towards the door to see Maggie appear.

'Beth,' Maggie breathed, 'you're awake. Are you okay?'

'I was sick,' Beth said, her voice low and raspy as it struggled through her raw throat.

'That's okay.' Maggie said, coming into the room. 'I can clean that.'

Maggie came around to her younger sister and gently stroked away her tears.

'How are you feeling?' she asked.

Beth grimaced slightly as she tried to assess her situation.

'Not great,' she rasped.

'Does your shoulder hurt?' Maggie asked.

'Mm,' Beth nodded lightly, her hand on top of the bandage. Her stomach still felt unsettled, too.

'I don't really remember much,' she said slowly, 'what happened?'

'You were shot.' Maggie said softly, her voice low and calm. 'Daryl brought you back, Daddy fixed you up. You've been asleep for about a day.'

Beth exhaled, closing her eyes. Her memories were fuzzy and unclear, but as Maggie spoke, she remembered the men in the pharmacy.

'Daryl never left your side since bringing you back' Maggie said softly, 'up until about an hour ago after Carol forced him to go and shower. He's been sitting here watching over you.'

Beth smiled lightly, but the pain in her shoulder wobbled through her.

Maggie stayed with her for a while – she cleaned up the floor and talked lightly with Beth, and gave her plenty of water until Daryl returned, his hair wet, a towel slung over a shoulder that was, for once, without his vest.

'She's awake' Maggie smiled over at him as he stood there in the doorway.

Daryl nodded, his eyes on Beth. His face was carefully guarded, but Beth could see the look behind his eyes – he was upset.

'Hey' Beth called softly, her voice croaking.

Daryl wandered across the room, his eyes sweeping over the wet patch of the floor, but he did not say anything.

'How are ya?' he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

'I'm okay' Beth nodded.

Daryl stood beside her bed, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

'I'm going to find Glen,' Maggie said, making eye contact with Beth for a moment before she gently touched Daryl's bare arm. Beth couldn't help but smile slightly as he jumped at the contact; it wrenched at her heart.

Maggie left them alone.

'Maggie said you stayed with me the whole time I was sleeping.' Beth said.

'Mm.' Daryl nodded.

'Thanks' Beth said.

'Yer dad did a good job on ya' Daryl said softly.

'I haven't seen him yet,' Beth said, 'is he okay?'

'Yeh,' Daryl nodded, 'tired.'

Beth nodded, sighing slightly as the pain in her shoulder flared.

'How are y'feeling?' Daryl asked.

'Alright' Beth sighed, 'kind of sick.'

Daryl nodded as he pulled the stool over to sit down on.

'Have y'had pain meds?' he asked.

Beth shook her head, her eyes squinting against the pain.

'I'll get y'dad to gi'yer some.'

Beth smiled.

They stayed in silence for a while, Beth looking up at the ceiling and Daryl looking at her from his position on the stool.

'You came and got us from the pharmacy – how's Carl?' Beth began to ask before her mind suddenly thrust forth the image of Carl's broken and blood splattered face.

'Carl's okay,' Daryl said, but Beth could see the darkness in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched, 'broken nose. Fractured cheek bone. But he's okay.'

Beth exhaled, then winced as the gesture seemed to tear at both her shoulder and her chest, sore from the bullet hole but also torn from the retching.

'Y'never should'a been out there.' Daryl said slowly.

Beth nodded, her head tilted towards Daryl, her light eyes drawing over his own pale and worn face.

'How did you find us?' she croaked.

'Tracked ya,' Daryl said, 'neither of y'are tha' great at covering up yer marks.'

Beth smiled weakly.

'How did you know we were gone?' she asked.

Daryl looked at her, his eyes steady on her face. His hair was slowly dripping down his face and parts of his shirt and shoulders had grown wet from the drips that were not falling on the towel.

'I always know where y'are.' he said seriously.

Beth bit her lip, her tongue running over the chapped and broken skin as the warmth of her mouth stung at first, then began to soothe.

'I thought you had been avoiding me,' she said after a little while.

Daryl looked down then, his eyes leaving her face. It gave Beth an opportunity to really look at him, to see the bruises on his cheek and jaw, the painfully swollen red and purple beneath his eyes, the deep lines of his face, most notably across his forehead, carved in there by the constant frown.

'I jus' needed t'think things over,' he said.

Beth waited for him to carry on, but when he didn't, she asked 'like what?'

He sighed, his whole body seeming to slump.

'After I spoke t'yer dad things felt – serious. I kinda panicked.'

He looked back up then and Beth was able to catch his eye.

'What do you mean?' she frowned.

He shrugged.

'It was real. It wasn't jus... a fling. I dunno, I jus' needed t'process it. But seeing you like this, hurt an' fightin', it cleared everythin' up jus' fine.'

Beth looked him over. She could understand where he was coming from, especially as she knew Daryl incredibly well by now, and knew his stance towards any personal relationships, but it still kind of rocked her to discover it had worried him.

'I ain't goin' no where.' he said, as if he could understand her thoughts.

'You don't need time to think? Decide if I'm worth it?' Beth had started off asking calmly, but a sarcastic bitterness underlay her tone as she finished. Daryl picked up on it. He looked across at her, solemnly.

'No.' he said.

Beth nodded, looking back up at the ceiling. It hurt to think Daryl had had any second thoughts, but she could understand. She didn't want to rush him. But there was something else bothering her, something else that was stopping her from just lying there in the cot in a silence her sore throat so desperately needed.

'Daryl' Beth said quietly, moving her head against the pillow to look at the man before her. He looked up and into her eyes. Beth searched those eyes, seeing the familiarity and soft understanding in them. There was none of the darkness she had seen in them at the store. But she had to ask him.

'Those men at the pharmacy' she said.

Daryl's face darkened then, but he did not look away from her.

'You killed them' she said.

Daryl looked at her, his eyes moving from each of her own. He nodded.

'They were bad people,' he said after a moment's silence. His voice was low and rough.

'They were people' Beth retorted softly.

'Beth, they hurt ya,' Daryl said with an impatient sigh, 'an' they would'a done a lot worse.'

'I know.' Beth said, 'but if we start killing people, where do we draw the line?'

Daryl looked at her.

'The line starts to blur. How do we know we're not the bad guys?'

'Y'think I'm th'bad guy?' Daryl asked quietly. He looked hurt.

'No,' Beth said softly, 'No. But it's a slippery slope.'

Daryl looked away, down to his hands in his lap.

'If I have t'kill t'keep y'safe Beth I will,' he said solemnly, 'I ain't gon' apologise f'that.'

Beth sighed.

Daryl stood up and leant over her cot, placing his hands beside her and leaning his weight on them.

'I'm sorry I upset ya,' he said, 'but I would do it again. In a heartbeat.'

Beth reached her good arm up to stroke his face.

'Thanks for saving me,' she smiled.

'It was yer dad' Daryl shook his head lightly against Beth's warm hand.

'You got me back here,' Beth said, 'thanks.'

Daryl nodded.

. . .

Beth spent a week in what her father dubbed 'intensive care', meaning she was forbidden from leaving the infirmary despite her best efforts to convince him otherwise. It was closer to all medication than her cell room if anything were to go wrong. Beth's brush with death had frightened him and he fussed over her more than usual, but Beth couldn't blame him, her brush with death had frightened her. She was weak for several days due to the blood loss and every little movement sent a flare of pain through her shoulder, each a constant reminder of her fragile state. Maggie fussed over her just like their father, perhaps even more so, visiting her every day for as long as she could and at times neglecting her other duties to stay with her sister. During her time of intensive care, Beth was very rarely alone, for when her father or sister were not around, Daryl was, who was a lot more sullen and reserved, but who fussed over her just as much in his own way.

A few days into her stay, Carl came to see her. His left eye was so swollen it could hardly be seen and was no more than a slit above some deep, dark bruises that spread down from the contours of his nose. His cheek beneath that was sunken although the swelling almost hid it. Beth gasped so hard at the sight of him that it stabbed a sharp pain in her shoulder. She groaned slightly and pressed her hand to the bandage, attempting to alleviate the pain with pressure.

'Oh, my, Carl, you look awful!' she rasped as he limped into the room.

He shrugged, but Beth could see the pain in the movement.

'Don't look so good y'self' Carl smiled. It was a grotesque sight, the swelling in his cheeks too great to allow for much movement, and it ended up more of a pained grimace than a smile.

'How are you feeling?' he asked, coming to sit on the stool beside her bed. A swollen lip blurred his words ever so slightly.

'Okay,' Beth smiled, 'how are you?'

'Been worse,' Carl said, 'broken nose, fractured cheekbone and bruised ribs but I'm still here.'

'No-one is going to put Rick Grimes's son down that easily,' Beth smiled weakly.

'No sir,' Carl tipped his hat lightly, but then Beth saw his face change somewhat, despite all of the disfigurement.

'We were lucky they turned up when they did, Daryl and Glen.'

Beth nodded.

'Gave those men what they deserved.'

Beth looked away, but she could feel Carl watching her.

'Does that bother you?' he asked.

Beth glanced over to him.

'What Daryl did?' he said again, 'does that bother you?'

'I don't know,' Beth admitted with a sigh.

'They got what they deserved. He did the right thing.' Carl said fiercely. 'He saved our lives.'

'Seeing him kill people, human people, it's sort of different.' Beth sighed.

'He did it for you, to save you,' Carl said, but his tone was a little softer this time, 'if he hadn't, I would be sitting here with a lot worse than a broken face – I might not even be sitting here at all. Those men could have beaten me to death. Beaten me and raped you, probably killed you after too. Daryl was right.'

Beth swallowed.

'I'm glad he did it. I would do the same thing.'

Beth turned to look at the young boy beside her and knew for sure that he would; she had witnessed him gun down a potentially entirely innocent boy before now. Did killing really come that easy to him? To Daryl? Was the world no more than kill or be killed now? As she looked at Carl's poor, bashed up face, she could see the steely ferocity in it, the determination in his (one good) eyes. Was there any of that same determination inside her? She was strong, and growing stronger with every passing day, and she was passionate, but could she kill if it came to it? She wasn't sure, and the thought worried her.

. . .

After a week, Beth was allowed back to her own cell, now that her pain was more of an annoying throb than a debilitating suffering and she no longer relied on pain medication to get through the days. Daryl helped her back, his strong arm around her waist so she didn't have to put too much pressure on herself. Beth held onto the leather of his vest in her small hand to keep her stable.

'It feels cold in here' she said as he helped her in through the doorway into her own cell block. The room felt unused and dark. But it was better than the infirmary.

Daryl led her over to the bed and helped her down, where she sat with a heavy sigh, pressing her hand to her shoulder with a grimace. Across her pillow lay Daryl's poncho, which she picked up once the flare of pain had subsided and rubbed it gently against her cheek. She sighed.

Daryl stood in her room looking down at her, his face as grim as usual.

'You okay?' Beth asked softly, looking up at him.

Daryl just nodded down at her.

Beth laid the poncho down across her lap and ran the fabric through her fingers.

'I spoke to Carl the other day,' she said without looking up, 'he looks up to you.'

Daryl did not answer.

'He thinks killing those men was the right thing to do, he said he would have done the same.' she said.

'You don't?' Daryl asked.

Beth shrugged; she looked up to Daryl, her blue eyes catching his.

'I don't know.' she said honestly. 'I still think we have to draw a line, otherwise what do we become? If we start killing people, we're no better than the walkers. We need to stay... human.'

'I ain't gon' apologise for it Beth, I ain't gon' apologise for savin' yer.'

'I'm not asking you to' Beth sighed, 'I'm grateful that you did. I just worry – I worry about us losing ourselves.'

'I ain't losin' m'self,' Daryl said firmly, 'I know who I am, I know who I wanna be and if I gotta kill t'be who I need t'be, for you, then I will.'

Beth smiled lightly at him.

'I don't know if I can,' she said softly.

'Can what?' he frowned.

'Kill.' she said. 'I don't know if I would be able to kill someone, even if it was to save someone, to save myself.'

'You ain't gon' need to,' Daryl said seriously, 'you ain't never gon' need to because I ain't lettin' y'out of m'sight again.'

Beth chuckled softly but Daryl's bright eyes bore into her with a severity that slowly drained her laughter.

'I'm always gon' be there to protect you. I promise y'that.' he said.

Beth swallowed, and nodded.

'Okay.' she said.

And she believed him.

Sorry it's been so long, I've just finished my university course so have been super busy!