Most Wanted

by SquishyCool

Explicit AU: After the godly veil on the Greene Family drug operation is lifted, 18-year-old Beth commits a heinous crime to protect her family. Now she's the only one left free and is making a run for it to New York City. When she meets single dad Daryl Dixon, who just needs a little help covering the rent, she quickly realizes that some secrets can't be kept forever.

62. how will i break the news to you?

Warning: this chapter contains a deeply descriptive panic/anxiety attack.

---

how will i break the news to you?

Satisfied with two decent kills hanging from their game stringer, Beth and Daryl had trekked back within a mile's radius of the campsite, a comfortable lightness settled between them as Daryl continued teaching her how to track while they walked. Every now and then, they'd follow a small trail to find a rabbit or a deer in the distance, but they'd agreed not to kill more than they would be able to eat. Which left Beth kneeling low in the undergrowth and bushes each time they tracked an animal, peering down through the sight of the crossbow in her hands, imagining that she was lining up a kill shot. Daryl was occasionally helping to correct the placement of her hands and arms when she yielded the Horton.

They were still communicating mostly without words, and Beth was intent on picking up every bit of information she could before they made it back to camp. She knelt on the ground, crossbow in her hands, finger well away from the trigger as she peered through the sight at the large rabbit in the distance. The silence that surrounded them was suddenly interrupted by the sound of rustling leaves behind them, and they both turned their heads at the same time to see what it was. But there didn't appear to be any living creatures nearby – at least not any worth worrying about.

Daryl spoke softly for the first time in over an hour, gazing around cautiously, "Keep an eye out fer foxes – they're sneaky, they'll come right up an' snatch the kills hangin' off yer back."

Beth scoffed and gave him a smug smirk, raising her eyebrows and responding without a second thought, "Daryl, I grew up on a farm, I know all about foxes."

Her smirk immediately disappeared as she realized what she'd said and she watched Daryl's eyes widen momentarily before his face took on a thoughtful expression, deep blue eyes looking her up and down like he'd just learned something extremely interesting about her. Except it wasn't that interesting – it was just a fact that she would've much preferred to keep private. Another one of those identifying factors that she'd been lying her way around.

She pursed her lips and quickly looked back to the crossbow in her hands, focusing on aiming at the rabbit again. But the rabbit was gone, and all she could think about was how she really shouldn't have told him that she grew up on a farm. And what the hell was she thinking, letting herself get so comfortable with him that a statement like that could slip out so easily and without thought?

"A farm, huh? Didn't know that," Daryl's low growl of a voice barely reached her ears.

Beth nodded deftly, hesitating as she turned her head to meet his gaze again. He was smirking and as much as she wanted to admonish herself for being a blabbermouth idiot, she just couldn't feel bad about anything while he gave her that particular look.

"Huh – maybe there's some things you could teach me some time," he added.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and she asked quietly, "Like what? Seems like you know just about everything you need to out here."

He grunted, a humorless half-laugh. "Maybe. But everybody's got somethin' ta teach… 'Specially a farm girl like you."

Beth giggled softly, her cheeks turning pink as she looked away and shrugged bashfully. The regret was ebbing away as she realized that she kind of enjoyed hearing him refer to her as a 'farm girl.' Even though she would need to figure out how that affected who "Rosie" was supposed to be.

They stood up and began walking on as quietly as they could, searching for a new trail to track, exchanging sparse words here and there. As she followed closely behind Daryl, she reminded herself over and over to watch what she said – to always second-guess every little thing that came out of her mouth. There was too much at risk now to be letting herself slip up so carelessly.

They tracked a little longer, circling a wide area that was still within a mile of camp, half-debating on calling it a day and heading back for breakfast. The sun was beginning to peek out from behind the horizon and bright, early morning sunlight was leaking in sporadically through the canopies of tree leaves. Beth's eyes were glued to the ground and she was concentrating on remembering and identifying all the tiny details and clues that Daryl had taught her to recognize.

Then they stopped abruptly. Beth didn't understand what was going on at first, lost in thought as she focused on the small trail that she'd been eyeballing. She stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw Daryl freeze and throw out his hand to silently halt her. She gazed around quizzically, heart beginning to pound in her chest, crossbow grasped tightly in her hands. The bag was still strapped to her back, fluffy carcasses hanging lifelessly from the attached game stringer – still untouched by any clever foxes. She wasn't sure whether to expect a particularly ferocious-looking coyote or maybe a bobcat, but she knew that whatever he'd spotted wasn't an animal they'd wanted to run into.

He turned his head and she saw his wide eyes and the serious expression on his face, causing her heart to thump even harder, afraid of what might have him so worried. Then she followed with her eyes to where his hand was gesturing and finally, she spotted it. In the distance, maybe two yards away from where Beth and Daryl stood, was a Black Bear. It didn't appear to be much larger than Beth, which meant it was probably young. And, Beth knew, that also meant that its mother was most likely somewhere nearby.

She couldn't suppress the gasp that escaped her lips, immediately slapping a hand over her mouth and meeting Daryl's intent gaze with wide, fearful eyes. He didn't look scared, though. His lips were pursed and he shot her a look, then nodded his head toward the left and turned around. He silently lifted his boots and stepped through the undergrowth and dead leaves, leading them away, toward a path that would take them around the bears with plenty of distance between them.

She followed his cues and stepped lightly, more careful than ever, pulse thumping rapidly and stomach turning as she struggled to access the kind of calmness that Daryl possessed in this situation. But she just couldn't – she'd never even seen a bear in real life before. Not out in the wild, with nothing to stop it from attacking her. And now she was a rock's throw from one, and the only thing she could register was the pure terror coursing through her veins… and all the thoughts of terrible scenarios that could play out.

What if a giant, momma Black Bear suddenly appeared and mauled Daryl to death right before Beth's eyes? She'd have no fucking clue the first thing to do to protect him.

But Daryl appeared calm and composed, and though she could see the rigid muscles tensing in his neck and shoulders, he didn't seem nearly as scared as she felt. And if he was, he hid it very well. Beth figured he probably wasn't, though. He was experienced with nature, with the woods, and she was willing to bet this wasn't his first experience with a bear. Hell, she wouldn't have even seen it if he hadn't pointed it out to her. She could only be grateful that he was so observant and at home in the wilderness.

As they trekked farther away and put more distance between them and the bears, and she continued watching him move and flow through the dense trees, the panic gradually dissipated. Daryl's head was on a constant swivel, searching for any signs of Momma Bear, but they seemed to have taken the correct path that led them out of the bears' territory. Beth searched around, too, slipping the strap of the Horton over her arm and letting it hang at her side as she trudged over damp moss and mud. Every little flash of black or brown caught her attention and made her repeatedly take second glances, but the only things she saw were more rabbits, squirrels, birds, and the occasional deer or raccoon.

Once the panic had faded away and they'd both walked long enough that it felt safe again, Daryl glanced over his shoulder at Beth and flashed a brief look of relief.

"Think we should be good now," he said. "Dunno where the momma bear was, but 'm pretty sure we won't be runnin' into her."

Beth sighed with relief. "That was jus' a cub, wasn't it? I've never seen a bear in real life before – at least, not without a fence around it."

Daryl shrugged, which didn't surprise her. It was somehow the reaction she'd expected. He slowed his pace until they were walking side-by-side, then he rumbled, "That's the closest I been ta one in a while, but don't worry – I wouldn't let nothin' happen to ya."

She smiled and looked over at him, spotting the flirtatious smirk on his mouth before he turned and went back to staring ahead. Her stomach fluttered, every trace of fear gone. "I know you wouldn't. But what if somethin' happened to you? Don't think I'd know what ta do in case of a bear attack – I might end up gettin' us both killed."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Good thing we live in the city then, huh?"

The sky was growing lighter by the minute, darkness and stars fading out to be replaced by sunlight and hints of bright orange and purple. More beams of sun found their way through the countless trees and the thick canopy of leaves. Beth and Daryl walked together quietly, enjoying the approaching warmth of morning, occasionally pointing out a fox or a raccoon that was skittering away into hiding and sharing a smile with each other. The crossbow remained hanging at Beth's side as they focused on more tracking, discussing little tips and new details, following faint trails just to see if they might lead back towards camp.

They were within eyesight of the tree line that would lead them back to the campsite when Daryl stopped in his tracks and glanced back at Beth. He was standing an arm's reach away on her left side, and she paused to give him a quizzical look. He smirked and she quirked an eyebrow in response.

"Ever had snake before?" His deep voice rumbled.

"Huh?" She asked, a hesitant smile forming on her lips. "Are you hittin' on me right now?"

Daryl's face quickly turned pink and he huffed out a breath, audibly suppressing a burst of laughter. He gave her a half-smile and shook his head. "No – I mean, have ya ever eaten an actual snake? Jesus, woman, get yer mind outta the gutter."

Beth giggled, quickly covering her mouth with one hand and shaking her head. She lowered her hand and replied, "Nah, can't say I have – why?"

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a look that she couldn't quite interpret, then reached down with one hand and unsheathed the hunting knife that was clipped to his belt. She watched curiously, surprised when he reached a hand out toward her and jerked his head toward the ground on her opposite side.

"Han' me that stick, would ya?" He asked, and she followed his pointed gaze to one particular stick lying on the ground beside her feet.

It was long and sturdy, and the end forked out to create a Y shape. She was still confused as to why he wanted it, and why he had his knife out, but she quickly picked up the stick and handed it over to him. Then she watched, intrigued, as he grasped the stick in one hand and the knife in the other and turned to his left, eyes narrowed and focused on one specific spot an arm's reach away.

Beth hadn't even realized there'd been a snake there – not until she saw the forked end of Daryl's stick slamming down into the dirt and pinning the mud-colored snake by its small head. Her eyes widened as she watched the long brown serpent writhe desperately. Then, just as fluidly as he fired arrows from the Horton, Daryl was swooping down with his knife and penetrating the snake's head with his sharp blade.

"What – what kinda snake is that? How'd you see it there?" She sputtered, eyes wide and mouth agape. She'd never seen someone kill a snake so confidently.

He discarded the stick and wiped off the blade of his knife before shoving it back into its sheath, then grabbed up the long, limp body of the snake and held it up proudly to reveal its red-tinted underside. He smirked and replied, "Jus' a redbelly, ain't venomous. Or poisonous. I been huntin' snakes since I could walk, don't nothin' get by me."

Beth smiled and chuckled tentatively. "Yeah – I guess so, huh."

She tried not to think about what he'd said as he attached the snake to the stringer on her bag, right alongside the two rabbits. It was conflicting because this was the most assured and self-possessed she'd ever seen him. And she loved watching this side of him emerge, grateful for her chance to see him in his most natural state. But it was painful to hear him speak so confidently about the one thing he was truly skilled in… all the while knowing she was actually slipping something colossal by him. And he had no idea.

Beth was determined not to let those thoughts ruin what remained of their small escape, though. She pushed them from her head, allowed them to settle in her gut with all the other guilt.

They made their way back to camp, emerging from the tree line with content half-smiles on their faces, quietly chuckling to each other over a joke they'd shared beneath the cover of leaves. As soon as they reached the open air and stepped out into beaming morning sunlight, the sound of voices reached their ears. Their paces simultaneously quickened to cross the small opening as the smell of a burning campfire filled Beth's nostrils.

Dwight, Sherry, and Malachi were gathered together around a small fire, sharing one of the logs. They were all dressed in warm clothes, though Sherry and Mal were sharing a heavy blanket that was slung over their shoulders. Dwight and Sherry sipped from steaming mugs of coffee while Mal held a juice box in his small hands.

Upon spotting them, Dwight smiled and announced happily, "There they are!"

And when the toddler's wide, blue eyes looked over and spotted Daryl and Beth approaching, he grinned and immediately jumped up from the log to rush over and wrap his arms around his dad's legs.

"Dad, Rosie! I missed you, where'd ya – oh! What'd you – is that bunnies?!" Mal exclaimed, staring curiously at the game stringer as Beth slipped it from her back with the bag and held it out.

Daryl chuckled and ruffled Mal's hair before reaching out and taking the stringer from Beth. "Nah, bud, they're jus' rabbits. There's still tons left out there, we seen a bunch. But these ones'll be our breakfast – you hungry?"

Mal's eyes lit up and he nodded fervently, still grinning. "Yeah, I'm hungwy, Dad!" Then he turned his attention to Beth, rushing up to wrap his arms around her legs now that she wasn't holding a stringer of animal carcasses. "Rosie! Did – did you hunt, too?!"

Beth smiled and leaned down to give the toddler a brief hug, then nodded toward the stringer in Daryl's hands as he was walking away with it. "Yeah, I did! 'D'ya see the snake?"

Mal's smile grew wider and he watched his dad curiously. "That's a snake?!"

She chuckled and nodded, watching with him as Daryl set the stringer down and began laying out a place to skin his kills. Mal immediately turned away from Beth and wandered over to get a closer look at what his dad was doing. His wide blue eyes were set intently on the dead snake now, anticipating the moment that he'd get to see Daryl laying it out for skinning.

"Rabbit fer breakfast?" Sherry asked, eyebrow quirked curiously as she glanced from Beth to Daryl.

Daryl shrugged, laying out a rabbit carcass before him. "Might as well eat what we killed, ain't really try'na take it back with us."

"An' what's the snake for?" Dwight asked, standing from the log and joining Daryl.

"Eatin'," Daryl replied simply.

Dwight grunted, smiling impishly. "I'll pass on that one – li'l too phallic fer me."

Beth and Sherry both laughed, glancing over and sharing amused smiles and eye-rolls as the men teased each other.

"Bullshit," Daryl said. "You inhale bananas like they're goin' outta style."

Sherry laughed loudly and Beth saw Dwight smiling and shaking his head.

"It's true, babe," Sherry commented with a playful smirk.

Beth helped herself to a hot cup of real coffee and took a seat near Sherry, casually watching as Daryl and Dwight worked on the animal carcasses. She listened to their brotherly banter, sharing jokes and laughs with Sherry, sipping coffee and glancing over to see Mal's entranced gaze still focused on his soon-to-be breakfast.

And for a short time, the heavy guilt on her back and the indescribable sense of dread in her gut were forgotten. Beth breathed in mountain air and campfire smoke, tasted black coffee and fire-cooked game meat on her tongue, and heard laughter – from both child and adults. She shared more flirtatious smirks and meaningful glances with Daryl. She even found herself laughing more often than not.

But their remaining time away from society and civilization was fleeting. Before Beth knew it, they were all packed up and heading back down the long, winding roads toward the New York City skyline. Back towards people and news stations and cell phone service.

---

The drive felt longer than the first time they'd made it, but Beth figured that was probably because she was so exhausted and ready for a shower. Mal fell asleep within twenty minutes of being on the road, and even though Beth had joined in on the conversations and jokes between Dwight, Sherry, and Daryl, she couldn't support the heaviness of her eyelids after an hour of driving. There was something about a long car ride down quiet, winding highways that almost always made Beth sleepy.

She drifted off into a dreamless sleep without realizing it and awoke when the Ford Explorer finally came to a complete stop. She opened her eyes and looked around long enough to see that they'd stopped at the storage facility, and Daryl was unloading his stuff from the back of the truck and returning it to his storage unit. But she drifted back to sleep almost immediately and didn't wake up again until Daryl was nudging her, telling her that they were home.

Home, Beth thought, faintly reaching for consciousness like it was a fond memory, momentarily confused and expecting to open her eyes and find herself sitting in the backseat of her daddy's truck with the farm outside the window.

But she quickly remembered where she was as the sleep gradually cleared from her vision and she looked around to see the inside of Dwight's Explorer and the New York City apartment building outside. She couldn't explain the sudden heaviness in her stomach, because it faded away as quickly as it arrived.

She was home, though. It wasn't Georgia and it wasn't the farm, but it felt more like safety than anywhere she'd been in years.

It took a few moments to wake herself up, but once she did, Beth hopped out of the truck and gathered her things, throwing the guitar onto her back and the duffel bag full of her stuff onto her shoulder before jumping in to help Daryl unpack the rest of their belongings from the back of the truck. Mal woke up quickly and began jumping around with endless energy, eager to help the adults. Dwight and Sherry attempted to distract him, giving him small tasks, but he was persistent at his dad's side and under their feet.

They unloaded their stuff with Dwight's help as Sherry attempted to guide Mal over to the front door of the apartment building. He was chattering away about nonsense and Beth was focused on Daryl, standing by and offering to help when he needed, hands at the ready. As Daryl handed her a bag to throw over her shoulder, she saw Mal approaching, racing away from Sherry and straight to Daryl's side. The toddler jumped up and down, demanding his father's attention.

"Mal, go open the door fer us, that'll help a lot," Daryl said, giving his son a stern look.

Mal nodded, blue eyes growing wide. "Okay, Dad!

He turned and quickly raced toward the sidewalk, jumping enthusiastically over the curb. But he tripped and went tumbling forward onto the hard pavement, catching himself with his hands and knees. The sound of his fall caught everyone's attention, and Daryl was the first to whip his head around and look for the toddler.

Everyone froze as they watched Mal stand up, and Beth could see Daryl preparing to set down whatever was in his hands to tend to his son. But instead of beginning to cry, as everyone had seemed to be expecting him to do, Mal quickly brushed his knees off with a small whimper and examined the palms of his hands. When he turned around and looked toward Daryl and Beth, realizing that everyone was watching him, his eyes grew larger and filled with tears, bottom lip trembling.

"Ya alrigh'?" Daryl called out, freeing his hands and stepping away from the truck.

Mal shook his head and let out another whimper, then he dashed back over the curb and ran straight for Beth. She reflexively opened her arms and knelt down to Mal's level as he approached, and when he reached her, he held out his palms for her to see. A few tears were sliding down his pale cheeks.

"Wosie, I got a ouchie," he whined, bottom lip stuck out and blue eyes filled with tears.

Beth's heart dropped to her stomach as she gazed at the toddler and heard his soft, vulnerable voice. She couldn't ignore the painful twinge in her chest as she replied with sympathy and reassurance, "Aw, yer alright – see?"

Then she quickly reached out and took his small hands in hers, examining the scrapes on his palms. She gently brushed off the dirt before giving each hand a light kiss. Just like her momma used to do for her "ouchies" when she was little.

Mal watched her with fascination and his tears quickly receded, a small smile forming on his face as she met his gaze again and smiled softly.

"All better now, huh?" Beth asked, her smile widening right along with his.

He nodded eagerly and pulled his hands back before wrapping his arms around her neck and giving her an impromptu hug. He pulled back and grinned. "T'anks, Rosie! Are – can I help you now? I won't um – I won't fall again."

Beth looked over and up at Daryl, who was still standing beside them. She realized he'd been watching the interaction, and so had Dwight and Sherry. She thought she spotted Sherry nudging Dwight and giving him a knowing smirk, but she was too focused on Daryl's reaction to be sure.

There was something in his eyes that she couldn't quite identify, and for a second, she thought he might be angry. Had she overstepped the line and gotten too motherly with Mal? Was that a parenting moment that she should've stayed out of? Maybe Daryl didn't want Mal to be babied and she'd coddled him when she should've told him to walk it off. But then Daryl was half-smiling and she realized the look in his eyes was something that closer resembled adoration or pleasant surprise. Her heart skipped as she stood up and resituated the guitar and bags strapped to her back, attempting to hide the pink blush rising to her cheeks.

"Yeah, bud, here – carry this inside," Daryl instructed, holding out a small duffel bag for Mal to take. The toddler eagerly reached out and grabbed it, cradling it in both his arms, and turned around to carefully walk toward the front door of the apartment building.

"Looks like you got some competition fer yer kid's favorite person," Dwight commented light-heartedly, waiting for Daryl to pull out the last bag before shutting the rear hatch.

Daryl scoffed, shooting Beth a meaningful glance as the hatch of the Explorer slammed shut. "Ain't nothin' new – he already likes Carol more'an me, what's one more woman I can never match up to?"

Sherry and Dwight laughed aloud at the light-hearted remark and Daryl chuckled sheepishly, flashing Beth a playful smirk before leading the way to the front door of the apartment building. Beth smiled and laughed along with them, quickly following after Daryl. But she couldn't ignore the twinge of guilt this time.

It might've been a joke to Daryl, but for Beth, it sounded a little too honest.

---

Malachi gave "Uncle 'Wight" and "Aunt Sherry" long, heartfelt goodbyes, hugging and thanking them for taking him camping upon Daryl's gentle instruction in proper manners. Dwight and Sherry thanked Daryl and "Rosie" for joining them on the trip, all of them agreeing that they would have to do it again soon – even though Beth knew that those plans probably weren't likely to come to fruition. And then they'd parted ways with lots of smiles and hugs and waves and hearty pats on the shoulder.

And coy looks from Sherry, like she was excited to see Daryl's new little romance play out before her eyes. Beth tried not to think about the false confidence that the other woman currently had in her, all of her conclusions based on nothing more than fallacies and elaborate cover-ups. "Rosie" had certainly played her part well. Maybe too well.

Beth was slipping farther and farther away each day – though she occasionally felt herself returning during moments with Daryl, it was more like brief spurts when she allowed her vulnerability to show through the disguise. She only allowed herself to do so because it was him. Still, it wasn't enough. Not enough to ever make up for all the lies she'd already told him, to justify the entirely fake persona he'd fallen in love with.

He loved "Rosie," but Beth doubted it was possible for him to love her.

Beth, Daryl, and Mal managed to lug their things up the three flights of stairs in one trip, the lobby and stairwell of the apartment building empty and quiet. It was barely past seven a.m. on a Sunday morning and the hall was quiet as they stepped onto the third floor landing. They moved slowly the whole way and Mal was the only one who wasn't out of breath by the time they reached the front door. Apartment 3A was just as they'd left it, dark and silent, undisturbed. Daryl unlocked the door and Mal was the first to shove his way through and rush inside. Eager for a hot shower and a long nap in her soft, warm bed, Beth had to admit that she was just as excited to be entering the stale air of the small space she called home.

Daryl gave Mal instructions to take his own things to his bedroom for unpacking, then Beth helped them both unpack and organize the aftermath. She unpacked her own bag in the privacy of her bedroom afterward, taking her time to sort out her dirty and clean clothes before returning her daddy's pocket watch to its safe spot under her pillow. She pulled out her phone and resisted turning it on as she set it on the bedside table and stepped away. There was still a hint of mountain air lingering in her lungs, and she didn't want to ruin the faint haze that remained in her head by reading news articles or validating the sense of dread that had been nagging at her all weekend.

Whatever bad news there was to be found, it would still be there in a few hours. And it would make no difference what time she read it, because she was still powerless to do anything about it. It might've been selfish of her, but she was giving in and fulfilling her desire for a peaceful Sunday morning with Daryl and Malachi. What was the point of being free if she couldn't enjoy it, anyway?

Daryl had been talking about giving Mal a bath as soon as they'd unpacked and organized, so Beth moved about her bedroom leisurely as she slipped off her boots and put her things away, expecting them to be occupying the bathroom for a while. After a decent amount of time, she gathered a clean outfit and headed down the hall, eying the bedroom at the end and half-expecting to find the boys still struggling to undress. But it was empty, and then she could hear the boys' voices coming from inside the bathroom, though the door was open and she couldn't hear the bathtub faucet running. She approached the open door and peeked inside curiously.

" – ow! Dad, that's a mole!"

"Huh? Since when ya had this mole? I need t'take you ta the dermatologist, boy."

Beth couldn't suppress the smile that appeared on her face when she spotted Daryl kneeling on the bathroom floor and Mal standing impatiently in front of him, wearing only his Paw Patrol underwear, while Daryl thoroughly checked him for ticks.

"What's a derbatotajiss?"

"'S a skin doctor."

"Aww, man – 'nother doctor?!"

"Quit yer whinin', jus' be glad we got insurance. When I was a kid, all I got was soup an' cough syrup. Wasn't no such thing as seein' a doctor."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yeah-huh. Now hol' still, we're almos' done."

The toddler's back was turned to Beth and he didn't turn around as she stood and watched, smiling with amusement. But Daryl must've heard her stepping into the doorway because he turned his head and met her gaze through his dark hair.

He smirked at her and before she could make any comments, he announced, "An' yer next!"

Beth raised her eyebrows in surprise as Mal turned his head and spotted her. He grinned.

"Dad, yer gonna check Rosie fer ticks, too?" He asked, twisting around to look at his dad. "Are – are y'gonna take her to a um, to a derba-tong-a-fist?"

Daryl chuckled and Beth suppressed a quiet giggle as he replied, "Nah, bud, she's a grown-up – she's got 'er own doctor. But I sure am gonna check 'er fer ticks, jus' like I'm doin' with you.

Beth was still smiling as she asked from the doorway, "Oh – you are, huh?"

He glanced over at her and gave her a smile that made her stomach flutter giddily. He grunted assuredly in response, "Uh-huh."

She rolled her eyes, clutching the clean clothes in her arms a little tighter as Daryl gave Mal a light pat on the shoulder and ruffled his hair, instructing him to go pick out a clean outfit to wear after his shower. The toddler rushed past Beth and out of the bathroom, disappearing inside his and Daryl's bedroom.

"C'mon, then – yer turn," Daryl gestured for her to walk over, still kneeling on the bathroom floor.

Beth laughed and shook her head, "Yer serious? What, you think I can't check myself?"

He chuckled and waved her over once more. "'S just routine around here – ya can't see yer back, at leas' lemme make sure ya ain't gonna get Lyme Disease this week. 'Sides, I need ya ta check my back, too."

She giggled and felt a deep blush rushing up her neck and cheeks as she gave in and appeased Daryl's paranoia. She set her clean clothes aside and pulled off her shirt, allowing him to inspect the bare skin of her back and neck with his rough fingers, chills running down her legs as he teasingly fiddled with her bra straps. His touch left goosebumps down her arms as he moved her hair aside and checked her neck and behind her ears, then searched through her hair and peered down closely at her scalp. She couldn't help but think of the tent in the Catskills, the sleeping bag, the back of the Explorer, and the blanket beside the campfire.

When he'd decided she was all clear, she put her shirt back on and they switched places. And when Mal returned to the bathroom with clean clothes clutched in his small fists, Beth was carefully inspecting Daryl's bare back and neck for sly parasites. The toddler laughed and quickly ran over to join, which turned into a tickle fight between the three of them when Mal wouldn't stop poking Daryl in the armpits.

Daryl and Mal finally regained their composure and once Beth had set her clean clothes on the counter and left the bathroom, the boys hopped into the shower together. She wandered into the living room and opened up the windows to let in the cool, fresh air. Then she headed to the kitchen and and began brewing a pot of coffee with a relaxed smile on her face. She listened to the faint sounds of Daryl's and Mal's voices coming from behind the bathroom door down the hall, as well as the sounds of the city waking up and coming to life outside.

Once again, it was an unusual Sunday. But somehow it still felt more normal than any Sunday she'd had in a long time.

Sipping hot coffee and standing silently in the kitchen, she was tempted to retrieve her phone and turn it on, or to turn on the TV and check the news stations. But just as the urge was becoming too difficult to resist, she heard the shower being turned off. A moment later, the bathroom door opened and she stepped into the hallway to watch as steam rolled out and evaporated. The smell of bubblegum shampoo and Irish Spring soap filled her nostrils, mixing with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee to create an oddly nostalgic scent.

A few minutes later, the boys' voices louder as they drifted out from the open bathroom door, Beth watched with amusement as Mal raced excitedly down the hall. She didn't see much more than a flash of wet, blond hair and a black-and-yellow striped sweater, but then Daryl appeared. All the dirt, grease, and grime had been scrubbed away, freshly-washed hair plastered to his forehead and small beads of water still tracing paths down his bare chest as he paused in the doorway. He was wearing sweatpants and holding a T-shirt in his hand, and Beth's smile turned bashful as their eyes met, trying her best not to stare at his exposed torso.

He flashed her a flirtatious smirk and nodded toward the bathroom behind him, "All yers." Then he disappeared down the hall and into his bedroom after Mal.

The desire for a hot shower overshadowed any other desires that may have been crossing Beth's mind. She quickly finished her coffee before entering the bathroom and shutting the door tightly behind her. The floor was still wet and the mirror was fogged over, but there was plenty of hot water left and she wasted no time stripping off all her dirty clothes and tossing them into a pile on the floor. She untied all the braids from her hair and ran a brush through the dark, greasy tangles. Then she brushed her teeth vigorously before stepping into the shower.

She replayed the entirety of the camping trip inside her head as she went through a leisurely routine of washing, shaving, and exfoliating nearly every inch of her body. The particularly intimate moments with Daryl sent a pool of need rapidly gathering between her legs, no matter how many times she reminisced on them. The memory of his deep growl in her ear sent shivers down her spine, but that was nothing compared to the bursting fireworks she felt in her stomach as she recalled the palpable vulnerability in his low voice when he'd told her that he was in love with her.

She caught herself smiling over absolutely nothing at all as she stood beneath the hot shower, feeling a glimmer of confidence and assurance. Like maybe she'd finally figured it out – maybe she'd known more than Maggie ever had, maybe she'd always been destined to outgrow her big sister. To outgrow and overcome all the foreboding potential futures that had loomed over her family. To escape the path that had been designed for her. Maybe she'd always been meant to leave the farm and never return, because that was the only way she could find the determination to forge her own path.

Would she have even been able to do it without Daryl, though? Maybe she wasn't anywhere near as self-sufficient as she was beginning to think she was. She could certainly admit that she wouldn't have been able to get this far without Dale and Irma, or Carol, or Dr. Dana… She was well accustomed to accepting the harsh truths by now, but it was difficult to admit that she was the combined, selfless, hopeful effort of several strangers, rather than the molded Greene girl that she was bred to be. When it came to facing reality, this handful of random people she'd happened upon had ended up helping her in more ways than her family ever could have. They'd ended up showing her more about pure love and self-acceptance than she would've thought possible. Somehow, they'd all gotten under her skin in a way that was difficult to escape.

But fuck, what did it mean that they were all interacting with "Rosie" and not Beth? Just like Daryl, they'd all fallen for a fake persona. Even Mal had fallen for "Rosie." He'd never met Beth, and he would probably be terrified of her, anyway – messy blonde hair, scarred wrist, black eye, cut lip, smoking gun in her hand. Anyone would run in the opposite direction if they met the real Beth. Especially Daryl. He'd know she was trouble just by looking at her.

The soap and hot water proved to wash away all the accumulated dirt and oil, but not even the soothing steam could clear the poisonous thoughts clogging up the inside of Beth's head. She managed to pull herself from the darker parts of her mind with the anticipation of spending the entire day with Daryl and Mal, who were just down the hall, waiting for her. But that deep sense of dread that had been haunting her all weekend was making its presence known in her gut again, and she didn't have the willpower to ignore her urge for an answer. She wouldn't be able to fully relax for the entire rest of the day if she didn't reassure herself of what to expect, or what was happening – what could have happened while she was hiding away in the mountains.

Beth exited the shower and dried off quickly, running a brush through her damp hair and dressing in soft sweatpants and an oversized shirt. Then she gathered her dirty clothes and left the bathroom, heading directly into her bedroom and setting the clothes with her other dirty laundry before walking over and picking up her phone. It was still turned off, sitting on the bedside table where she'd left it.

She didn't bother sitting down on the edge of the bed as she stood beside the nightstand and turned the phone on, silently planning to do a brief check of national headlines – just to reassure herself. Just to silence that nagging, worrisome voice that had been at the back of her head for the past two days. It would only take a couple of minutes, she told herself. Just a brief skim of the headlines. Then she could go into the living room, where she could hear the boys watching TV and playing, and she could join them and have a peaceful Sunday in their safe bubble.

Her phone took a few long seconds to power up, the screen slowly coming to life as the service bars reappeared in the corner. Almost instantly, the notifications began to appear. The phone vibrated in her hand repeatedly and sent a jolt of fear through her body each time as she watched the bright red notifications appear: 5 new emails, 13 new Google Alerts, 2 new text messages, and 1 missed call.

Beth's heart was racing and she fought to keep her hands from trembling as she tapped on the most important notification first. The text messages were from Clem and Tara, but the missed call was from an Unknown number. She opened up her email app and found that all five of the new emails she'd received were from Jesus. They began at 12:09 a.m. – mere hours before Beth had returned to the city. And the most recent one received had arrived in her inbox at 7:42 – less than two hours ago.

Oct 1, 12:09 AM
Mary Magdalene

Oct 1, 2:12 AM
He is Risen. Answer the call.

Oct 1, 4:28 AM
Refuge at risk ?

Oct 1, 5:59 AM
Have you forsaken Him?

Oct 1, 7:42 AM
Final chance. Respond by 12pm. All contact will be broken.

Beth fought to keep her hands from trembling as she realized that Jesus had tried to call her and she'd missed it. And now he was about to cut off all contact. She checked the time and reassured herself that it was barely past ten a.m., but that didn't alleviate the fear spreading through her body as she frantically typed out an email in response:

Went out of cell service for 2 days. Call again, I'm still here. No risk. Still waiting.

And then she hit Send. Once she was positive that her reply had gone through, she didn't waste time opening her Google Alerts. Instead, she opened the internet browser and rapidly tapped her way to the national news sites. Her heart thumped so hard in her ears that she couldn't even hear the faint sounds of the boys in the living room anymore. The only thing going through her head was the image of Daryl waiting for her on the couch with the TV in front of him, a news station showing her picture while an anchor went into gruesome details about all the awful things she'd done. She was imagining the look of shock and horror that would be on his face, quickly followed by the look of absolute abhorrence. It made her stomach turn, threatening to heave up all the coffee she'd recently drank.

Cursing and praying under her breath, Beth scrolled through all the major national news headlines, searching for mentions of her family or herself or, more notably, Rick Grimes. She knew that whatever had happened had to involve Detective Grimes somehow. Why else would Jesus have worded his email that way?

But there was nothing about the Greene Family or Rick Grimes or anyone else involved in Beth's case. It was all politics and foreign affairs and the usual nonsense that always seemed to be going on. She began to slightly relax, slowing her racing thoughts and pulse, forcing herself to think reassuringly. This was already good news – the fact that she hadn't gone national yet. That meant she wasn't about to walk out to the living room and find her senior photo being shown on every news network. However, it didn't mean she was out of the woods yet. There had to be a reason that Jesus's messages sounded so frantic.

She navigated her way to the Georgia news headlines, inadvertently holding her breath as she scrolled down the page. And just as she'd feared, Detective Grimes' name was glaring up at her in bold, bright red font. It was the fourth headline on the page, and one of the most viewed links so far. Beth's stomach dropped down to her feet when she saw the date and realized that the article had been published 'one day ago.'

Rick Grimes had been awake for an entire day and she'd had no fucking idea.

She could feel the blood rushing to her face as she clicked the headline: "Detective Rick Grimes Wakes From 34-Day Coma." Any ounce of relief that Beth might've been grasping onto was rapidly slipping out of reach, and her muscles tensed in anticipation.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, she thought. What does this mean – what does he know?

She tapped the headline and began to read the article, trying her hardest to continue breathing normally:

ATLANTA (Sept 30 5:39 PM): According to various corroborating reports, Detective Rick Grimes has miraculously awoken from a 34-day coma. As we reported earlier this month, Det. Grimes was severely injured during an undercover operation to apprehend Hershel Greene and the entire Greene Family, ending a decade-long drug empire. On the night of August 26th, Det. Grimes' partner, Detective Shane Walsh, was killed instantly with a Beretta 92 fired by the youngest Greene Family member, Beth. The eldest Greene sibling, Maggie, left Det. Grimes with a traumatic brain injury courtesy of an antique lamp.

Earlier today, September 30th, Rick Grimes became responsive for the first time since his near-death experience on August 26th. According to numerous sources at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta, where Det. Grimes has been recovering, Rick became fully responsive early in the morning. He has shown no signs of deterioration and his brain trauma seems to be healing miraculously, with reports of little to no side effects.

Wife, Lori, and young son, Carl, were spotted during a visit this afternoon, reportedly "very emotional." Det. Grimes remains under intense care and observation. When reached for comment, Dr. Steven Edwards, head of Grady Memorial Neurology Department and the physician assigned to Rick's case, was unavailable.

At this time, the Grimes Family has requested privacy and respect in their time of healing. Hershel Greene and daughter, Maggie Greene, remain in custody with no set bail while they await trial. Beth Greene remains missing and wanted by federal law enforcement agents for the alleged murder of Detective Shane Walsh. When reached for a remark on how Det. Grimes' testimony could affect the Greene's sentencing, the District Attorney refused to comment at this time.

Stay tuned to WSAV for updates as information becomes available.

Beth didn't stop to think about what she'd just read. She'd expected it, so it was more like watching a predictable movie play out. Of course Detective Grimes had fucking woken up, of course they'd found something to get new interest in the case. Of course there was something else pushing the story closer and closer to national attention, pushing Beth closer and closer to being revealed. What else had she really expected?

She knew it was only a matter of time until the news began speculating and digging their claws into every theory that might pertain to how Rick Grimes' survival would play into the sentencing of the Greene Family. Would he go up on stand, head wrapped in bandages, and beg the jury to put Hershel to death? Would he wrap an arm around his wife and yell at the news cameras, demanding that they lock up the whole Greene Family for life? Either way, he'd be there, avenging his dead partner. Telling his heroic story, crying his crocodile tears about how the little blonde girl shot Officer Walsh dead right then and there without a moment's hesitation. Painting her as the ruthless killer they all thought she was. Beth imagined that Rick Grimes would probably want front row seats to her daddy's execution. Or his Life sentencing.

Because Hershel would be the only vengeance he could get. Because he'd never get the satisfaction of seeing Beth in that position. She'd never let him.

"It's all part of God's plan," her daddy used to say. Was he still saying it now, while he sat behind bars and waited to die?

Her jaw was clenching reflexively as she navigated to the Atlanta news site and scrolled through the headlines. As expected, "Officer Wakes From 34-Day Coma" was one of the top updates. When she clicked the link and read the article, though, she found it to be much more vague than what the other news station had reported, even though both stories were posted around the same time and contained about the same amount of information.

And momentarily, Beth wondered what kind of "sources" the Georgia news station might have that the local Atlanta station didn't – or what sources they might have that the Atlanta station disagreed with.

She read the brief article, the repetition of news in a slightly different delivery making it all seem that much more real as the apprehension set in:

September 30, 5:24 PM: Early this morning, Detective Rick Grimes of Atlanta awoke from a 34-day coma in Grady Memorial Hospital. As was reported last month, Det. Grimes and his partner, Detective Shane Walsh, were both injured in the line of duty late on the night of August 26th. While Det. Walsh did not survive his injuries, Det. Grimes was unresponsive but breathing when authorities reached them at the site of their undercover drug bust operation on the Greene Family Farm outside of Senoia.

After over a month in a coma, Det. Grimes is reported to be conscious and alert with little to no side effects. The staff of Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta is under strict orders to maintain privacy for Grimes and his family while under their intensive care.

The prosecution and defense working on the extensive Greene Family case has refused to comment on the news of Det. Grimes' condition, citing confidentiality in the upcoming trial. Meanwhile, kingpin Hershel Greene's eldest daughter, Maggie Greene-Rhee, and her husband, Glenn, have pleaded Not Guilty to multiple felonies, including Assault with a Deadly Weapon and Attempted Murder of an Officer of the Law.

The youngest Greene daughter, Beth, is still missing and wanted by federal law enforcement agents for the alleged murder of Detective Shane Walsh. She was last seen fleeing north or northeast of Senoia on the night of August 26th. Sources have disclosed that Beth Greene may be operating under a false identity or disguise. Authorities warn that she is armed and dangerous.

The FBI is currently offering a $50,000 reward for any information that could lead to Beth Greene's arrest.

Beth's eyes lingered on the final sentence of the article and she swallowed hard, struggling to process the realization. A thousand separate memories were silently playing, leaving her with fragments of warnings and veiled threats.

A reward? She thought. Fuck. I'm on the FBI's Most Wanted list. Just like Jesus said I'd be. I have ta be – there's no doubt about it now. Why else would they word it like that? Why else would they offer so much money just for a hint of where I might be?

Her hands trembled but there was no use trying to still them. Her head was vying with dozens and dozens of contradicting thoughts, fears, and plans. She tried to focus on breathing in steadily through her nose and letting it settle in her lungs. But her heart was racing uncontrollably and it was the only sound filling her ears. They'd included her senior photo and a toll-free hotline at the bottom of the page, and her eyes began to blur with tears as she exited the browser and tried to force the image out of her head.

She let out a deep breath and checked her new text messages. Tara and Clem had texted her about the self-defense class while she was in the Catskills, which only gave Beth a very brief sense of relief. She couldn't stop herself from wondering how much longer she had before they would be texting and asking why her face was showing up on their TVs and social media feeds.

Beth braced herself and checked the Google Alerts: two of the alerts had been for the articles she'd just read. However, that left eleven others from outside news sources. She scrolled through the list and began clicking on links, navigating news websites and skimming over articles that were even more brief and inconclusive than the Georgia and Atlanta reports. There was one from a news outlet in South Carolina, one in North Carolina, two in Tennessee, two in Kentucky, two in Pennsylvania, one in West Virginia, and one in Washington, D.C. None of them seemed to have much information, and though it wasn't likely they'd garner a lot of attention, it was enough to keep her from ever returning to the south or any of its slightly bordering states.

The farther north that the story seemed to reach and the more that she read about Rick Grimes' "miraculous" recovery, the more dread Beth felt building up in the pit of her stomach. And just when she thought her heart couldn't possibly beat any more erratically, she found that the final Google Alert was for a national news outlet that she hadn't thought to check during her initial frantic search – a news outlet that had never crossed her mind as a potential threat to her current disguise… Fox fucking News.

At the bottom of Fox News' website, past a long list of right-wing political, overtly biased, and theocracy-driven news reports, was a highlighted link. It was the last link in a short list labelled "Editor's Picks" and categorized under "U.S.," for a headline that read: "Undercover officer injured in Georgia drug bust wakes from 34-day coma while slain partner's murderer remains missing and wanted."

She clicked the link and fought to force back the bile that was rapidly rising in her throat as she skimmed through the article. It had no information that she didn't already know, though it certainly painted her and her entire family in a much darker light than most other news sources. The author didn't hesitate to put heavy emphasis on Grimes' "miraculous" recovery and Walsh's "untimely" demise, nor did they resist from mentioning the deep emotional turmoil that both officers' families were currently facing. There were even a few references to other similar cases in which officers were killed in the line of duty across the country and the murderers were never apprehended or "brought to justice." Despite the faux empathy resonating throughout the poorly-written article, Beth could clearly read the deep resentment and desire for her blood within the words. These people wanted to see her in an electric chair, or lying on a table with a needle in her arm. They didn't actually give a shit about Rick's family or Shane's itchy trigger finger.

What's more was the description of her family's business – their illicit activities were more than enough fuel for the "War On Drugs" fire that seemed to be burning under this author's ass. With scattered mentions of how the Greene Family had supplied the greater Atlanta area with top-grade meth for the better part of a decade, what good person in their right mind could read this news report and not want to see Beth apprehended and put behind bars? She could already picture the horrified faces of middle-aged white women all over America as they clutched their pearls and read about the terrifying and dangerous Beth Greene, the 18-year-old blonde girl who'd disgraced everything her religious beliefs and wholesome appearance had ever stood for. The little girl who'd obviously been raised as a cold-blooded killer by a heinous drug lord, following in the footsteps of her felon older sister while the trail of their mother's and brother's blood dripped behind her. The young woman with no moral compass, no sense of right and wrong, no heart.

The last line of the news article mentioned the FBI's reward for information, and below that was a high-resolution photo of Beth's senior portrait alongside a toll-free hotline, email address, and a link to a website that contained the full list of the FBI's most wanted fugitives. And, clutching the phone with both trembling hands, Beth scrolled slightly farther down and found a comments section that connected to social media.

She struggled to begin reading the first comment in a long list, but the tears quickly blurred her vision and filled her eyes to the point that she had to shut them tightly. Everyone wanted to see her head on a pike, especially the general public. She couldn't bear to read more than two sentences of the stranger's comments. The guilt and dread and absolute fucking terror had somehow joined together and combined to form a hard, painful stone that nearly filled the entirety of Beth's gut. She couldn't decide if she was about to vomit or faint because both sensations were suddenly overwhelming her.

Fox News, she thought. Her head throbbed, sending a painful ache down the length of her spine as the nagging voices overtook her consciousness. Fucking Fox News – the goddamn media. Eight states and one national network – which means it's basically the whole fucking country. I'm so screwed. I'm done. Everyone will know. It's only a matter of time until it picks up and everyone is reporting on it. And then Daryl will find out, Carol will know, all the girls will find out. I'll never see Malachi again. I'll have to leave. Or they'll turn me in – and then the state of Georgia will execute me before I turn twenty-five.

Beth roughly wiped the tears from her eyes and struggled to keep her hands steady enough to continue grasping the phone. She managed to exit the news website and check her email again, praying that Jesus had responded so that she might feel the slightest hint of hope. But it had been nearly ten minutes and there was still no response. Still no call. Still no reassurance whatsoever. She refreshed her email inbox a dozen times for at least a full minute before she angrily locked the screen and slammed the phone down on her bedside table with a hard thunk.

She blinked away more pooling tears and looked up, her gaze drawn to the ornate crucifix hanging above the dresser a few feet away. The crucifix that resembled the same one hanging in the dining room of the farmhouse, and the stone-carved cross that marked Momma and Shawn's graves. An odd and slightly out-of-place thought crossed her mind as she felt her entire skull become inexplicably weightless and she silently wondered, What the hell am I doing here?

In the back of her head, she heard the echo of her daddy's faint voice: "It's all part of God's plan, Bethy."

And suddenly, her hands were trembling again – no, they were outright shaking uncontrollably. Her heart had already been thumping hard against the inside of her chest, but now it was rabbiting erratically, as if it were trying to escape the confines of her sternum. An icy cold rush began at the top of her head and dribbled down the back of her neck, through her shoulders, like someone had just poured a cold glass of water into a hole at the top of her head. Or maybe all the blood was draining from her brain. She didn't have a chance to wonder because her ribcage was constricting inside her. An invisible hand was wrapping its long, spindly fingers around her lungs and squeezing tightly.

Beth quickly looked away from the cross and down at the darkened phone sitting on her nightstand, but the hand tightened its grasp on her lungs. She forced herself to remain still and draw in a deep breath, repeatedly told herself that she just needed to calm down and take a goddamn breath, but it simply wouldn't come. Her lungs wouldn't expand, her chest wouldn't rise, and the air wouldn't fucking fill her body. She began to gasp, heart racing faster, head rushing with blood and fear and terrible thoughts. A million tiny needles formed beneath her skin, starting in her limbs and spreading upward, as if her entire body was losing blood circulation.

Fuck, okay – breathe, breathe, Beth told herself, looking around frantically, avoiding the cross on the wall. This ain't the farm, I'm not in that closet right now, I'm not watchin' anybody die – but why's it feel like I am? I made it out, I can keep goin'. No, but I can't. No, it's okay, I just gotta keep goin'. If Jesus – fuck. He's done. He's given up on me. I'm all alone, I don't have anybody. No one knows who I really am an' if they find out, they'll turn me in. It's over. I'm stuck in America, I'll never escape – shit, the cops are gonna find me. The news is going national. Daryl and Mal are probably in the living room watching it right fucking now. They're gonna leave me and I'm gonna be alone with nowhere to go, no plan, absolutely no fucking chance.

Black spots were quickly filling her vision. She tried to blink them away but they only intensified, creeping up from her peripherals until she was looking down a long, dark tunnel. She blinked again and then she was looking through the slats of a closet door. Her limbs grew lighter, more numb, tingling with a painful static sensation, and the more she gasped for breath, the worse it got. Her heart was beating so hard that it felt like a sharp stabbing inside her chest. The tears poured down her cheeks but she barely noticed them. Her hands were at her neck, grasping for the noose that wasn't there, desperate to rip her own throat out just for the chance at a full breath.

This is it, I'm dying – it's over, I can't breathe, I'm dying, everyone is leaving me and now I'm fucking dying and they'll all celebrate because I'll finally be fucking gone, she thought. The maniacal voices filled her head and effectively drowned out any other sounds around her.

She could feel herself slowly losing consciousness and was desperate to avoid it, silently telling herself that if she just sat down, she'd be fine. But she was too frantic and weak to step over to the bed and sit down, and then she blinked and found herself on the floor, on her knees. She was so focused on her struggle for air that she hadn't fully realized how dizzy she'd become until her legs were giving out beneath her and she was collapsing beneath her own weight. Her head simultaneously weighed a million pounds and nothing at all, and the sensation of static and needles had filled her skull just like it had filled her limbs.

The panic enveloped her, swallowing Beth whole and pulling her down into its deep, dark, hopeless abyss. As she continued gasping for breath and clawing at her neck and chest, the abysmal thoughts grew louder and more intense inside her head, until they were all she could hear, all she could focus on. She was convinced it was the call of Death Itself ringing in her ears.

This is it. It's over. This is how it ends – and Maggie an' Daddy will be so goddamn disappointed. Daryl and Mal and everyone else will hate me. They'll spit on my grave. Daryl will be scarred forever, he'll never trust another person again. Everything Momma and Shawn died for was pointless. It was all pointless. My whole life lived like that jus' ta die of suffocation, or a heart attack, or whatever the fuck is happening ta me right now… an' I deserve it. I killed a cop, I'm the reason Jimmy is dead, and I killed my unborn baby. This is it, this is the fucking ending I deserve.

She hadn't realized that she'd dropped to her knees so hard until she felt someone beside her, reaching out and grabbing her. But it must've made a loud sound when her knees hit the carpet because she'd attracted someone's attention and they had entered the room. She was confused and couldn't quite remember where she was or who she was with. She turned and looked up in bewilderment, still gasping for breath, waiting for the inevitable darkness of either death or unconsciousness to consume her.

And there was Daryl, crouching down beside her, reaching out and grabbing her wrists firmly, pulling them away from her throat. Her eyes wouldn't stop moving, searching around the room in panic, but when they found Daryl, she focused in on him and her vision cleared just enough that she could see his familiar face, the concern in his eyes. She could also see his mouth moving, and she could hear his voice, but the words sounded all mumbled together – like he was trying to talk to her underwater.

Beth gasped harder, hands shaking as Daryl grasped her wrists and stared intently into her eyes, urging her to focus on him. There were tears gathering in his eyes and the look of fear on his face sent a fresh wave of panic collapsing over her. She could see it in his expression – he knew she was dying, too. And he had no idea how to help. And now he'd have to watch her die and she would have to make him go through another horribly traumatic experience.

Finally, his words broke through the loud sea of rushing blood that had filled her ears – his low growl of a voice was frantic but much calmer and steadier than she'd expected. "Babe – babe, talk to me, please! What's goin' on? Is it asthma? Rosie! Do you have asthma? D'you need an inhaler?!"

Beth's mouth had gone just as numb and tingly as the rest of her body and she didn't think she could form words when she was struggling so hard for air. But she managed to answer, her voice unrecognizable in her own ears as it came out breathless and frantic, "No, I – n-no, no asthma – I think – I-I think – I'm dying. Daryl, I'm dying!"

She'd tried not to, but a sob escaped her throat, stealing more precious oxygen from her struggling lungs. A fresh batch of tears poured down her cheeks and she suddenly realized she was grasping at Daryl's arms, digging her nails into his skin like he was a lifesaver in the open ocean.

As if her mind were retreating to a safe place locked far away in the back of Beth's head, she was suddenly overcome with the desire to go home. She was terrified and weak and completely alone. She was dying in a city where no one knew her real name, and this wasn't at all how she'd wanted to go out. She wanted to be back in Georgia, on the farm, in her own house. She wanted to be in her familiar bed, the blankets wrapped tight around her, with Daddy and Maggie and Glenn just across the hall. She wanted to feel her momma's comforting arms around her one more time.

She didn't want to do this anymore. She couldn't do this anymore. She wasn't strong enough to do it all alone. She wanted to go home.

The tears continued to pour freely from her eyes as she blinked them away, gazing back at Daryl through blurred vision. He was furrowing his brow and studying her, searching for any signs of a physical wound that he could fix. His hands were still grasping her wrists, but Beth could barely feel them. She knew he was the only thing keeping her upright at this point, though.

"Babe – yer not dying, yer having a panic attack," he said firmly, leaning in close and staring intently into her eyes, enunciating his words slowly and clearly while audibly struggling to remain calm. "Listen t'me – breathe. Alrigh'? Look'it me – I'm right here. Jus' breathe, it's okay, ya ain't dyin'."

But his words didn't register properly in Beth's ears. He was talking nonsense and she knew he was wrong because she couldn't breathe, couldn't even get her lungs to expand enough to accept the oxygen she so desperately needed, couldn't seem to figure out how the hell to successfully perform the most natural instinct she'd possessed for her entire life. And her vision was going black and her heart was about to explode and she was fucking dying right here in front of him. He had no idea what he was talking about, he was just being comforting because he didn't know what else to do. She was sure of it. It wasn't as easy as "just breathing" – she'd been fucking trying that and it hadn't worked.

"No – I-I'm dying, I can't – I can't breathe, it won't work!" She gasped, tears dripping from her chin onto her sweatpants and the carpet. "I-I wanna – Daryl, I wanna go home. I don't wanna die, I'm not ready t'die…"

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force herself to inhale again, barely getting enough oxygen to sustain the sob that was escaping her throat. She was ready to let the darkness envelop her, ready to let the taunting voices in her mind have their victory. She could no longer feel Daryl's hands on her wrists or his skin beneath her fingertips.

His voice was pain-stricken, a tone that Beth had never heard before and could barely recognize. But it filled her ears and drowned out all the ominous thoughts crowding her head and pushing her closer to the edge.

"Home? Sweetheart, you are home."

Then she felt a heavy warmth wrapping around her shoulders and his familiar smell filled her nostrils and she allowed him to pull her in close. His arms had encompassed her and were holding her tightly, sitting on the floor beside her, grasping her reassuringly and prying her death-grip loose from his forearms so he could pull her in against his body and hold her.

But she was shaking her head, every single nerve in her body on edge and sending pain through her muscles. She was still gasping for breath, fighting to inhale deeply like Daryl had instructed. Her head was so light she thought she might lose consciousness at any moment, and she was almost positive that she wouldn't ever wake up. There was pure fear coursing through her veins, pumping straight into her heart and constricting everything within her sternum and ribcage.

"No – no, yer gonna leave me, yer gonna hate me," she sobbed and sputtered uncontrollably into his shoulder between breathless gasps, the words pouring from her mouth in waves of grief. She faintly felt the warmth of his large palm against her back, his other hand grasping her upper arm. "I-I don't wanna die here, I wanna go home."

Then his hand was cupping the back of her head, tangling in her hair, warming the chill that had formed at the base of her skull and giving her a solid foundation to lean against. He carefully pulled her away, just enough that he could see her face. Her eyelids fluttered open and as she met Daryl's unwavering gaze through tears, the panic slowly began to recede. For the first time in what felt like forever, she inhaled and partially filled her lungs. The foggy blackness clouding the edges of her vision was gradually dissipating.

"Hey – 's alright, okay? I'm right here, I ain't goin' nowhere, I promise," his voice was a slow drawl, calm and soothing, penetrating Beth's skin and seeping into her sore muscles. "I could never hate you, an' yer not dying – I promise. Jus' breathe, like that… it's a panic attack. Nothin' more'an that." His tone grew softer, quieter, and she could feel his fingers massaging the back of her head comfortingly. "Yer gonna be fine, babe, I'm right here, yer okay. Everythin's okay…"

As Beth stared back at Daryl, she noticed the way he was accentuating the action of breathing in and out deeply, and reflexively, she attempted to imitate the motions. Within seconds, her lungs were filling with fresh air, inhaling and exhaling in a deep, slow repetition. The tears had settled in her eyes and were drying on her cheeks, and all the feeling was rapidly returning to her limbs. The most relieving sensation was the return of normal blood flow to her brain, which was immediately followed by the return of her balance and self-awareness.

And then she was finally accepting the fact that she was not dying, and that it had been nothing more than a panic attack, just like Daryl said. But how was she supposed to know that? To her knowledge, she'd never experienced a panic attack before. She'd never been unable to breathe, nor had she ever felt her heart beating so impossibly fast. It had legitimately felt like death was at her door.

Yet as quickly as it had come, it seemed to be gone. Her breathing steadied, her heart quieted, the aching pain receded, and the tears stopped forming. Daryl wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in closely once he realized she'd caught her breath and stopped shaking, and the warmth of his embrace seemed to anchor her back to Earth. As the fear and panic disappeared, it was replaced with embarrassment and shame. Beth buried her face into the crook of Daryl's neck and continued inhaling deeply, exhaling with insurmountable relief.

She felt like an idiot – a complete buffoon. She could only imagine that Daryl must think she was some kind of drama queen, or just a total nutcase. The nagging voices that had convinced her she was on the verge of death hadn't silenced, because now they were reminding her that Daryl had plenty of his own problems to deal with, and seeing her having a mental breakdown over seemingly nothing at all on her bedroom floor definitely wasn't the most appealing thing she could've done. They were also reminding her that he was probably doubting ever saying that he loved her because clearly, he hadn't realized how crazy and fucked-up she actually was.

And how much longer could she continue living this lie until it completely debilitated her with panic attacks and overwhelming anxiety?

Would it even matter once they all saw the news and recognized Beth's face?

She shivered when she felt Daryl's hand moving to stroke the side of her head, brushing the hair away from her face and ghosting his fingertips across her cheek. Then she felt him pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, keeping her held tightly against his body with her face buried in the crook of his neck.

"Ya alright now?" His low voice filled her ears and erased any remaining tension in her muscles.

She nodded against his shoulder, still hesitant to lift her head or face him. She was silently trying to make sense of what had overwhelmed her, but it was becoming a blur of fear and stress and unbearable pressure. It was terrifying. She'd never experienced anything like it – at least not that intensely.

She felt obligated to explain herself, to apologize for being so needy. She mumbled against his neck, "'M sorry – I'ono what happened. I've never – I only felt like that one time before, but not… like that. I thought – it really felt like I was gonna die."

She bit down on her lower lip and buried her face deeper into Daryl's warm shoulder, swallowing back the small confessions that wanted to pour from her lips. But she wouldn't allow herself to think about that 'one time before' right now. She refused to let that memory surface in her mind again, even for a second. That slatted closet door wanted to make an appearance in the blacks of her eyelids, but she quickly breathed in Daryl's comforting scent and leaned into him a little more. The haunting scene faded away before it could begin playing.

He stroked the side of her head meaningfully and hummed in reassurance, deep and low, the sound vibrating in his throat. Then he whispered, "Don't be sorry. I love you, okay? Don't matter what happened before, it can't hurt you here. Yer safe now. I'll make sure of it."

A knot formed in her throat and she quickly swallowed it down, along with the sparse tears that threatened to form in her puffy eyes. His words permeated her skin and sent the guilt reverberating loudly through every bone in her body. She sniffled and pulled her head back to face Daryl, meeting his concerned gaze.

"I… love you, too," Beth said softly, her voice cracking. "But I'm not safe. I dunno if I'll ever feel safe. Even with you."

Deep, swirling pools of blue were studying her, seeing right through her. His brow creased and his lips parted, and she could see that he thought she was still delusional or confused. He was growing more and more concerned. "Rosie, he ain't comin' ta get you all the way out here. Nobody's comin' fer you."

Yes, they are, oh God, they are – all of them, and you have no idea, she thought, inhaling deeply and holding it for a long second. She could see flashes of men in dark suits, sunglasses, and heavy boots. Men with faces that resembled Simon and Randall. Shiny black Dodge Chargers and brand new BMWs with darkly-tinted windows.

Another voice piped up from the back of her head: Tell him. Tell him. Tell him.

But then it was silenced by a louder voice, screaming at her: He'll leave you! He'll turn you in! You'll never see him again, you'll never be free again!

As Beth slowly exhaled, the words tumbled from her chapped lips and she watched the countless questions forming behind Daryl's confused expression. "Daryl, I lied about where I'm from – I'm not from Alabama. I'm from Georgia, like you."

He smirked at first, like maybe he really did think she was still confused, or maybe she was making some kind of weird joke. But then it faded when her stoic gaze didn't falter, and his brow furrowed. She expected him to reel back in disgust, and she was trying to prepare herself for the burst of anger that was bound to explode from him. Yet his gaze softened and he frowned, and then she felt his large hands wrapping around her wrists, settling in his lap comfortingly while he studied her.

"Ya are?" He asked.

It was a simple question, and his tone implied that he was looking for no more than a simple yes or no answer. But even the tiny bit of remorse that had been erased with her small confession couldn't compare to the larger mass that resided within her stomach. There was still a part of her that wanted so badly to pour it all out before him, right here on the bedroom floor. But her logical side told her that it would be too much at once, too overwhelming to process. Daryl could never handle it, he could never understand. Not yet, anyway.

She nodded, flicking her tongue out across her burning lips. Her voice came out quiet and hesitant, "I'm sorry I lied… I had to."

He blinked and shook his head, squeezing her wrists lightly. "'S alright… I mean, ain't hard ta understand why ya felt like ya had to, but…" He glanced away, down at his hands wrapped around her wrists. She felt his thumb stroking the soft skin of her forearm and watched him worrying his lower lip as he decided what to say. Then his eyes flicked back up and met hers, and something about the way he was looking at her sent a painful jolt of guilt through her whole body.

Yes, there were mountain-sized urges inside her that pushed and fought and insisted on telling Daryl the truth – the whole truth, every last disgusting detail. But Beth had spent years learning how to keep things inside, and she wasn't about to risk the only bits of good that remained in her life by forgetting that hard-earned lesson at the wrong time.

It's too soon, she assured herself. He won't understand yet. I can't risk being caught after coming so far.

Daryl hesitantly continued, voice growing softer as he stared back at her expectantly, "It don't matter what happened before no more. It's you an' me now. You can trust me… I gotta know that you know that."

Beth pursed her lips, fighting back tears and nodding, refusing to break their intense eye contact. She felt his hands give her wrists a light squeeze. She managed to choke out past the knot in her throat, "I do – I trust you."

His shoulders barely lifted, as if a weight had been removed from his back. He nodded and raised his eyebrows, still gazing intently into her bloodshot eyes. "So you – if ya felt like ya had ta lie, you don't. About anything…"

She swallowed hard and nodded again. She could see the question in his eyes, unvoiced but clear as day: What else have you been lying about?

She blinked and cleared her throat, finding more strength to put into her voice as she replied softly, "I know."

Daryl's concerned expression gradually softened, and the hard lines and creases of worry in his face faded away. His shoulders visibly relaxed, the corners of his mouth tugged upward in a weak half-smile, and he slid his hands down to grasp Beth's. He squeezed her small hand in reassurance.

"Need some water or somethin'? I can make ya somethin' ta eat, if ya want," he rumbled, studying her face as she continued frowning and fighting back tears.

Beth shrugged, then shook her head and looked down, slowly pulling her hands from his light grasp and using her palms on the carpet for balance as she lifted herself from the ground and stood up on wobbly legs. Daryl quickly hopped up and reached out to help her balance, one hand on her arm and the other placed tentatively on her hip. She huffed and straightened up, relieved to find that her head wasn't becoming weightless and that she definitely had not lost the ability to stand or walk like she'd feared.

"Thanks," she mumbled as he pulled his hands away. He grunted in response. She quickly glanced toward the open door and asked, "Where's Mal?"

"Fell asleep on the couch," Daryl replied quietly. "Barely made it halfway through Mulan."

Beth chuckled and her chest filled with warmth at the thought of Daryl and Mal watching a movie together on the couch. But her legs were still weak and her hands were trembling sporadically, so she turned and slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, measuring out long and steady breaths. Her stomach turned and she thought she might need to eat, but food didn't sound even the least bit appealing at the moment. She could probably use a glass of water, but she could get it herself. She didn't want Daryl waiting on her hand and foot.

"Hey – you sure yer alrigh'?" He asked, and she looked up to see him gazing at her with concern again.

She put on a weak smile and nodded. "Yeah – I jus'… still feel a little weird."

"Yeah, that'll happen," he rumbled, hand moving to his jaw as he scratched at his stubble thoughtfully. "You should really eat somethin', or maybe try ta take a nap."

She frowned and shook her head. "Nothin' sounds good. An' I dunno if my mind'll slow down long enough ta let me sleep right now."

"Hm." Daryl paused, then offered, "Might have somethin' that'd make ya feel better. Works fer me, anyway."

Beth furrowed her brow, trying to figure out what he was referring to. "An' what's that?"

He raised his eyebrows and muttered, "Weed – er, medicinal marijuana."

She smiled and let out a light laugh, assuming he was joking at first. But then she remembered the familiar smell from that night she'd lay awake in bed and overheard him in the bathroom, and her personal experience at Rosita's party, and all the cigarettes Daryl smoked and the alcohol he drank. Of course he was being serious. Her smile faded into a faint smirk and she rolled her eyes. "Ain't tryin' ta get high after feelin' like that…"

He scoffed and shook his head, chuckling lightly as he explained, "It ain't the kinda weed that gets ya high – it's the kind that makes yer head shut the hell up fer a little bit so you can get yer shit together, or get some sleep."

Beth frowned as she stared back at Daryl and realized he was making a serious offer. At this point, she wasn't sure that it was the best idea to turn him down. Because if she did, she would just end up sitting on the couch with an aching stomach and a head full of intrusive and demeaning thoughts. Or lying in bed with the same thing. Which would most likely lead to a fitful sleep full of nightmares and horrendous flashbacks. Or, if she stayed awake, she might think herself into another random wave of debilitating hopelessness. How much more back-breaking guilt could she endure, how many more self-admonishing fears could she handle before 'panic attacks' became a regular nuisance in her life? How many more times could her heart handle beating uncontrollably and pumping furiously with more blood than her body could produce before it finally gave up and exploded inside her chest? How many more traumas and regrets could she lock away in her brain before it finally hemorrhaged, or all her clenched muscles and pent-up stress caused an aneurysm to burst and end her life before her body even hit the floor?

"Well," she shrugged. "S'pose it would be nice if my head would shut the hell up fer a little bit." She managed a small smirk and Daryl immediately mirrored it.

A few minutes later, after a brief check on Mal to make sure he was still sleeping soundly on the couch while Beth got herself a glass of water, she and Daryl were sitting together in the bathroom, on the fluffy bathmat, backs leaned against the bathtub with the door tightly shut and the ventilation fan turned on. She slowly sipped from her glass of cold water and watched Daryl pinch a hand-rolled joint between his fingers, holding a lighter to the other end until it was burning steadily. Her phone sat on the floor beside her, still dark and silent, still empty of any response from Jesus. Then Daryl was putting the joint to his lips like one of his cigarettes and inhaling deeply, igniting the other end to a bright red as the excess paper burned away.

Her mind was still racing, though the nagging and berating voices had descended into a lull that was gradually becoming quieter and quieter. Her nerves were burnt out, her fingers itched to continuously refresh her email inbox, and her throat was sore, but the cold water was beginning to help. Admittedly, so was Daryl's presence. As he leaned forward and reached up to lightly flick the ashes from the tip of the joint into the sink across from them and then relaxed back and leaned over closer to her in order to offer the joint for her taking, the warmth of his body radiated out to hers and sent a comforting upsurge through all her limbs.

He met her gaze through strands of shaggy, dark hair and offered a soft half-smile. The warmth bloomed larger, fully encompassing. Beth couldn't help but smile back, her eyes flicking away and focusing on the joint that she'd taken between her fingers as a light blush filled her cheeks. It was getting harder and harder to understand why she'd been so terrified, especially when he was making everything feel so easy. And okay.

Everything was fine, she just had to look into those oceanic depths hiding beneath heavy eyelids and remind herself every now and again.

After a few generous puffs of the burning marijuana smoke, Beth could barely remember why she'd been so upset in the first place. The remaining anxiety drained from her muscles and though her head wasn't swimming or becoming foggy like her prior experiences with weed, the look in Daryl's bloodshot eyes made her feel high in a way that no intoxicant ever could. They sat in silence for a short time, enjoying the peace and exchanging silent gestures and reassuring smiles, leaning closer against each other every time they passed the joint between their hands. Stealing brief brushes of skin against skin.

A wispy cloud of smoke hung over them in the small bathroom, wafting around in the air of the fan, and the off-white paper of the joint had burned down to half its original length when Daryl's low voice broke through the silence.

"How ya feelin' now?"

Beth's smile widened and she wasn't exactly sure why. She met his gaze and replied, "A lot better."

His small smirk grew into a smile and he took a long hit off the joint, exhaling it slowly and watching the smoke float up above his head.

She watched him for a moment, then added softly, "Thank you." His eyes flicked over to meet hers in surprise and she added, "Fer everything."

He briefly furrowed his brow and shrugged, offering over the joint for her turn to hit it. He mumbled casually, "Don't mention it."

She took the joint and placed it between her lips, inhaling another lungful of thick, sweet smoke. And when she pulled it away, slowly exhaled, and handed it back over, he asked nonchalantly, "So what part a Georgia you from?"

No point in lying now, she thought. That sounds like too much work anyway.

"Around Atlanta," Beth replied. "Kinda south of the city."

Daryl grunted in response as thick smoke escaped his mouth and he offered over the diminishing joint. "Oh, out in the boonies. A farm, huh?"

She nodded and took her hit, focused on pinching the small paper wrapping between her fingers as it continued to burn away.

"My pa had a li'l shack out around there – pretty deep in the holler, though. Pro'lly nothin' like the place you grew up," he concluded, voice low and drawling with distant recollections. "Wasn't nice or nothin'."

He wasn't saying it, but she could hear it in his voice: his silent awe at the fact that they were both from the same part of the same state and had stumbled upon each other in such a large city, so far away from home. His quiet curiosity, the dozens of unvoiced questions about how she'd grown up, where she'd originated from, and just how vastly different their upbringings could possibly be. He was reaching out for more common threads, a deeper and more palpable connection. But she had to resist giving him any obvious clues that might lead him to the very dark truth about her real identity.

She handed over the rapidly diminishing joint and stilled as he carefully plucked it from her fingers. While he took the last good hit that was to be had from the small roach of a joint that remained, Beth smirked and gazed at him with complacency and lazy eyelids.

"Where'd you get medicinal marijuana, anyway?" She asked light-heartedly. She wasn't intentionally changing the subject – but at the same time, she kind of was.

He chuckled lightly from his throat as he exhaled a faint cloud of smoke. Then he leaned forward and reached up to extinguish the last burning bits of the joint into the sink, and he leaned back again to relax as he explained, "Denise helped me get a prescription. I only really use it a few times a year. When shit gets… overwhelming. Or when my head starts workin' against me. Helps level me out. More fer Mal's sake than anything."

Beth's smile faded and she nodded, slightly leaning into him as they settled into place without the presence of the burning marijuana being passed between them. "What d'you mean?"

Daryl shrugged and mumbled, "Jus' – shit gets ta be too much sometimes. That dying feelin' you had a li'l bit ago – I've had it, too. More'an a few times. It sucked. Scared the hell outta me. I can't be breakin' down like that when I got a kid relyin' on me. Sometimes I need a little help keepin' my mind quiet so I don't… freak out or somethin'."

Her eyes glazed over momentarily and she gazed off in thoughtfulness, humming a quiet understanding, "Hmm."

Once again, she was forcing herself not to think about the only other time she'd felt a terror that was anything comparable to her first official panic attack. Instead, she thought of what she'd seen since she'd been living in Daryl's home, what she'd observed during his small bouts of vulnerability and transparency. And she couldn't help but think of the deep grief he'd been hiding this whole time, discovering the tiniest bit of satisfaction in the realization that he, too, struggled with emotions that were too complex to understand. Not because it brought her any sort of joy to know he suffered in any way, but because it was comforting to know that he'd been fighting a silent battle similar to the war that had constantly been waging in her head since the moment she met him. It was relieving to see that someone who seemed so much older and more experienced than her could still feel those bouts of weakness and helplessness – so maybe it wasn't just a flaw in her own personality. Maybe she wasn't just weak. Because Daryl certainly wasn't weak, and he still felt like he was sometimes. He still felt those inner conflicts, and he heard those same nagging voices that haunted Beth's every step. He still had a mind that wanted to work against him at every turn. Yet he fought through it, defied it every chance he got, and kept moving forward. For more than just his own sake.

Once again, they were connecting on an unseen, unspoken level. Sharing something that was far deeper than words or kisses or sweat-soaked skin.

The sweet smoke was still lingering above their heads, gradually dissipating as it swirled in the moving air amongst the hum of the ventilation fan, and it brought a brief memory to the surface of her mind: the first Friday night she'd spent in her new home with Daryl and Malachi. Lying in bed and overhearing Daryl in the bathroom, hearing the steady hum of the vent, smelling the familiar, skunky scent of weed drifting through the walls. Curiously wondering what exactly he was doing in that bathtub before discovering that he was struggling with a personal milestone of grief. Sharing a drink and a palpable silence on the couch, which evolved into an unspoken understanding within a matter of minutes.

She spoke with dry lips before the hesitation could stop her, "Like that night – the anniversary of her death. You mean times like that…?"

His mouth was a thin line and he nodded, blinking lazily.

It was completely inappropriate and Beth couldn't understand why her mouth suddenly upturned into an irresistible smile, but then there was a stifled giggle in her throat and she felt herself blushing as she looked away and confessed, "I heard you from my bed that night… whatever you were doin' in the bath."

She felt his eyes on her as he huffed out in soft amusement and asked, "Eavesdroppin' on me?"

The quiet giggle finally escaped her lips and Beth shook her head, turning to meet Daryl's mischievous gaze as the smile widened across her face. "No – this apartment's got some pretty thin walls. I smelled the weed, I wasn't tryin' ta listen to… you. Or what you were doin'."

Daryl chuckled softly in amusement and she watched his hair fall over his eyes, obscuring them from view. He looked down at his hands, smirking and lightly chuckling. "Yeah, well – sorry 'bout that. Guess ya had the misfortune of hearin' my stress relief. Ain't used ta havin' roommates."

The blush deepened in Beth's cheeks and she stifled another giggle, shrugging and keeping her eyes steady on him as he avoided meeting her gaze. "'S alright. Not like I heard anything – jus' kinda… imagined it, maybe."

He grunted and teased sarcastically, "So you was fantasizin' about me."

She shook her head and looked up toward the ceiling, leaning her back flat against the side of the bathtub and grinning at his joke, her cheeks burning red. "Yer ridiculous," she muttered.

And then Daryl was letting out a laugh. And she wasn't exactly sure why, because just a few minutes ago she hadn't felt like she would ever laugh again, but she was joining him. And their combined, genuine laughter filled the bathroom, growing thicker than the clouds of swirling smoke.

The sound had just barely died down and Beth was catching her breath, still grinning and gazing over at Daryl with amusement and admiration, when she felt the familiar vibration beside her leg. Her face immediately fell and she reached over to pick up her phone, unlocking the screen and quickly checking her notifications to find a new email.

She tapped on the screen and opened it. Her heart skipped when she realized it was, in fact, a response from Jesus. As always, brief and discreet but easy to decipher:

2nd ring – refuge
4th ring – danger
11:27.

She checked the time: 11:14. Then she let out a deep breath and willed herself to relax again. Her heart slowed and she set her phone aside, glancing over to see Daryl leaning the back of his head against the edge of the bathtub with his eyes closed. But as soon as he felt her gaze on him, his eyelids fluttered open and he barely turned his head to meet it.

Beth knew that joint she'd shared with Daryl was mostly to thank for her ability to continue remaining calm at this moment, especially during the next ten minutes, when it would become absolutely crucial for her to answer the impending phone call. But she also knew that being able to turn and find him sitting beside her with the same reassuring look on his face was helping quite a bit, too. Something about his face, his voice, his presence… it had all become comforting and a place of solace.

She felt the corners of her mouth tugging upward in a weak smile, stomach fluttering as the bathroom light reflected off the deep blue of his eyes.

She didn't dare admit it to herself, but Daryl was starting to feel like four sturdy walls and a roof built atop a strong foundation; he was starting to feel like home.

His hoarse voice cracked the silence, "How long we been in here?"

She shrugged, glancing back toward her darkened phone screen.

"I better check on Mal," he said, grunting as he pushed himself up and slowly stood to his feet.

Beth nodded in agreement, looking up to find Daryl turning around and reaching his hand out to help her up. She took it and he helped lift her to her feet with one arm, like she weighed nothing. Then she reached down and scooped up her phone and half-full glass of water before following him out of the bathroom.

He paused in the hall outside her bedroom door and turned around to ask, "You wanna come sit on the couch with me while it's still peaceful?"

She immediately nodded and smiled, but then she felt the weight of the phone in her hand. "Yeah – in a minute. I gotta make a phone call."

A flicker of confusion crossed his expression and she felt a lightning bolt of guilt shoot through her body.

I don't have to lie about everything, Beth thought, almost bitter at herself and her entire situation as she stared into Daryl's questioning gaze. I can tell him some things – it'll make the whole truth easier once it's time. I can tell him enough. Just not too much.

She could tell that he didn't want to seem overbearing, and he began to agree, "Alrigh', well – "

"It's that family friend I told you about. The one that's helpin' me out," she burst out, her voice erupting softer than she'd intended but clear nonetheless.

Daryl reeled back just slightly and furrowed his brow in brief confusion, then his expression relaxed and he smirked. He nodded and a deep relief flowed through Beth's stomach – like they were both realizing, at the same moment, that she was beginning to let her guard down. That she was beginning to allow herself to trust him with the truth.

Although he had no idea just how much that actually meant to her. Or how dangerous it could really be.

"Okay," he said quietly, eyes set intently on hers, searching for something. But he seemed satisfied with what he found. "Whatever you gotta do. Jus' don't keep us waitin' too long."

Beth managed a smile in return, then he was turning around and heading into the living room and she was forcing her legs to carry her back into her bedroom. She closed the door and tried to avoid looking at the cross above the dresser. A light chill ran through her arms and she was momentarily worried that she might have another attack like before.

But her surroundings gradually softened and she eased herself down to sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand as she stared at the screen and watched the time. She thought about Daryl and the lightness in her body that still resided. She thought about sitting with him on the couch, about the way he'd said "us" like she was an integral part of their exclusive, tiny family. She thought about the way he'd looked in the dim morning glow of the woods, and how his piercing stare seemed to warm her skin even quicker than the rising sunlight had. She thought about that spot on the couch that was waiting for her, soft and inviting beside Daryl and Mal.

She didn't think about what she might say to Jesus once he called.

And then it was 11:27 and the phone grasped tightly in her hands was beginning to vibrate, right on schedule. The screen lit up: Unkown Calling.

One long, deep vibration through her palms. Her heart skipped and hesitated. That was one ring. Another long, deep vibration. The breath hitched in her throat and her pulse barely thumped. That was the second ring. She waited until the vibration had paused before tapping the Answer button and placing the phone to her ear with a trembling hand.

Before she could say anything, a deep voice on the other end asked, "Password?"

Beth quickly swallowed and licked her lips, speaking into the phone, "Mary Magdalene Refuge."

There was a beat. Then the voice responded, "You're in danger. Wait for three messages. We'll see you soon."

She barely had a chance to process the words when she realized there was nothing more than dead silence in her ear. He had hung up. She wasn't even sure it was Jesus. But she understood the directions and her heart thumped in anticipation of whatever guidance the "three messages" would offer.

And what kind of "danger" was she in, exactly? What else could he possibly be referring to besides the news of Detective Grimes waking up, like the emails had suggested? And what was she supposed to do about Rick Grimes clear back in Atlanta? How could him being awake possibly put her in immediate danger?

Maybe Jesus was just being extra cautious. Or maybe there was something going on that she had yet to be informed about.

She swallowed hard. Shit, he probably wants to meet up again, she thought, gripping the silent phone in her still-trembling hand.

How would she tell Daryl about this? How was she supposed to sneak away in the middle of the night like before without being noticed? What if Jesus had something to tell her that would change things? Or what if he wanted to try and force her to relocate? What if he knew something that she didn't and was trying to warn her?

How could she possibly explain any of it to Daryl when she didn't even have all the answers herself?

Beth forced herself to stop and take a deep breath, willing her mind to slow down and her pulse to regulate. She couldn't let herself slip this far again, she couldn't panic. Absolutely nothing was going to relieve her until she was able to talk to Jesus. She just had to be patient – she had to wait for the messages and figure out where he wanted to meet this time. And then take it from there. One step at a time. She just had to continue laying low through every step.

And, shit – she almost forgot… she'd also have to avoid news channels at all costs while she continued laying low in the apartment with the boys. Because, of course, it was only a matter of time until her story began leaking from Fox News to the rest of the networks.

Her head was growing light and she took another long, deep breath. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought back sobs of fear. A flash of moonlight through a slatted door appeared behind her eyelids. She clenched the phone in her hand so tightly, she thought she might break it.

"It's all part of God's plan, Bethy," her daddy's voice ghosted through every one of her senses. "You just have to trust Him. He knows the way."

And then Beth silently asked the question that had never occurred to her before: But what if God's just makin' it up as He goes?

to be continued…

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A/N: Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. The holiday season has been especially brutal to me and I've had very little time or energy to write. However, I have a short chapter that will also be posted this coming Sunday, only about 5k words and all flashback. So please let me know if you liked this chapter and maybe what you thought of it and thanks for your continued patience!
As always, there's a companion photo to this chapter on tumblr and pinterest. If you're curious for hints about what's to come in the story, check out the "Most Wanted inspo" board ;)