Disclaimer: A nod to the genius Robert Kirkman for creating this wonderfully dark, post-apocalyptic world. I do not own or have rights to any of the characters/plot of this series. I'm simply a fan indulging in my post-apocalyptic fantasies.

THANK YOU Nicole for getting BOTH chapters edited in one day for me! You're amazing!

A/N: I am especially proud of this chapter! I kept it as realistic as possible so I hope you enjoy!

...

Morgan had been walking for hours, following the markers carved into the tree trunks that led him to some unknown destination. He was alone, as he had preferred to be back then. The weight of Duane's death haunted his every waking moment and invaded his dreams. No parent should ever go before their child, and yet it was Duane's own mother who had taken their son from him. So with nothing left, he'd begun to 'clear.'

After his encounter with Rick, he'd started to come back into his own. Rick had lost his wife, but he still had his boy, and he had taken in people at the nearby prison. The ex-sheriff deputy was trying to make a place in this world for people to live. That was something worth fighting for. However, when he had finally decided to accept his friends' offer to join them at the prison; he'd stumbled across the burned remains of a warzone.

He had taken a moment to bid his farewell to the noble man and his son, believing no one could have survived such a horrendous scene, and kept moving. Travelling for several miles he'd come across a map beside the railroad tracks that marked the location of a place called Terminus, thus he set his next destination. However, a few days later, on the last leg of his journey, he'd seen a sign marked 'NO SANCTUARY.' At a loss for what to do next, he'd stood staring into the woods for an uncertain amount of time. It was while staring into the distance that he'd noticed the markings on the trees and with no end goal in mind; he was content to just keep moving.

He'd first come across what had once been an elementary school. Finding nothing of use outside the building, not bothering to enter in order to avoid hearing the ghostly echoes of children's laughter that his brain might conjure, he'd approached the doors and stopped in front of a dismembered walker. Crouching down by the once female human being, he'd deduced it was missing its lower half from being cut in two by the glass window as it had tried to climb through the opening of the sealed doors. He'd effortlessly jabbed the knife through its temple and then his eyes had searched the trees, finding more markings, allowing him to continue on his way.

His next stop was a fortified church. If the shattered doors and demolished front steps were any indication, their fortifications had failed. The bloodstains on the floor painted a picture of tragic deaths as yet another group or individual that had fallen to the walkers.

After a quick prayer, leaving the few items he'd been able to spare in an attempt to tithe, he'd smiled and laughed at himself for still believing 'the man upstairs' was looking out for mankind. As he stood he had noticed a tattered map on the floor. The moment he'd picked up the map, his entire way of life had changed.

Rick Grimes was alive…or he had been fairly recently.

The state of the church had him wondering exactly what had gone on in these four walls that would leave so much blood and a map with Rick's name written in the bottom corner abandoned on the floor. He'd frantically searched the interior of the church for any signs of life, that the group may still be nearby, but he found nothing.

Walking around the church, he had hoped to find a fire pit of some sort that might've given him more of an idea how long ago the group had passed through, but stopped his search when a distortion on the church caught his eye.

"You will burn for this," he'd murmured to himself as his fingers traced the words carved into the siding of the church, "We're all gonna' burn for what we've done."

Thou shalt not kill was a commandment he'd broken more often than not. He had wondered, one night when he was left with nothing but his thoughts, if killing walkers added to the list of death's he carried on his shoulders. Walkers were clearly not human…but they had been at one point. People died in some manner or another, and if they came back they craved the flesh of their fellow man, but what were these things that rose from the ground? Abominations was the only fitting term he could come up with, however, there had been plenty of humans he had considered monsters as well. Those were the ones he'd been forced to kill. It was either kill or die…or die and kill anyway.

Shaking himself from his thoughts he continued around the church when a spot of color in the tall, green grass caught his attention. After further inspection he'd realized it was a person and rushed over to help. It was only when he was upon them did he understand exactly what it was he'd seen.

A girl, no older than twenty, lay with her torso sprawled over the grass, buried from the waist down. By the looks of her, she'd been completely buried and in her reanimated state had managed to claw her way out. Pulling out his knife, he had squatted down next to the corpse, intent on ending it before it harmed anyone else passing by.

The small figured had groaned so loudly that he'd had to close his eyes to keep the overwhelming sadness of yet another young life lost to this cruel world at bay. In the same way he'd ended the walker at the school, he'd reached around, ready to press his blade through the creature's temple when it groaned once more.

"Water…"

He'd been so confused in that moment that he had literally just sat there; waiting to make sure what he'd heard had been an actual word and not some intangible gurgling.

"Please…water…"

Glancing up at the cross staked at the head of her 'grave,' he'd read the name Beth, carved into the right side of a tree limb. Next to it had been another grave, unmarked, with two sticks tied together with twine.

"I'm gonna' help you," he'd said quickly, "It's a miracle walkers haven't got t'you."

Then again, it was a miracle she was even alive, he'd thought while reaching into his pack. He had pulled out his only water bottle and gently lifted her high enough to be able to drink. It was that moment that had been forever burned into his memory. The girl greedily drinking the water he'd offered had been shot, a through and through if the blood in her hair was from an exit wound.

She was young, helpless, and left by her group, believing the girl they had placed in the grave to be dead. He hadn't blamed them. He, himself, had trouble believing she had survived. It was while he'd looked into her confused, unfocused blue eyes that he began to understand why he'd taken the path that had led him here.

He was meant to find this girl; meant to help her.

Glancing up at the sky, he'd furrowed his brows and gave a firm nod in acquiescence.

He would save this girl…he would save Beth.

…

She'd slept for days after he'd dug her out of the ground. Sometimes her pulse had been so weak, and her breathing so shallow, that he was sure she wasn't going to make it. He'd soon learned not to underestimate her. This girl was a fighter. With each breath she took, she continued to fight and every day that she had survived, his respect for her had grown.

He'd stayed at the church, having nowhere else to go that would be any safer, and nursed her back to health. The elementary school hadn't been pillaged and while searching the nurses' office, he'd found a few meager antibiotics for children no longer of this world and healing ointments that would help in her recovery. He had done all he could in aiding her recuperation, keeping the wound clean, bandaged, and administering whatever medications he could that were appropriate for her condition, but it had ultimately come down to sheer luck and Beth's will to live that had accounted for her survival.

Although once she had regained consciousness, he'd realized she hadn't come out of her injury completely 'whole.' For the first year or so, her speech had been slurred, but as time continued to heal her, her speech had gradually returned to what he'd assumed was 'normal.'

There was also her problem with telling right from left. She knew there was a right side and a left side, but her brain couldn't distinguish the difference. He'd also noticed how quickly her moods changed, as if she had no way to regulate how she felt. Not being from a medical background, he'd only been able to assume these issues were because of the internal damage she'd suffered from her wound. However, after two years, she'd learned tricks to telling the difference between each side and seemed to have her emotions under control.

She'd also had trouble moving around, unable to walk entirely at first, but she had refused to give up. After a few months of rehabilitation she had been unsteady on her feet and unable to make certain parts of her move the way she wanted, but after three years, she was fending off walkers and moving as quickly as he did. She had recovered so much that he trusted her completely to have his back.

If not for the circular blemish on her forehead, he would have never known she'd been shot, save for the fact that she had no memories. She didn't know who she was, where she'd come from, or who she'd been travelling with. He'd known her name was Beth only because of the courtesy someone had taken to mark her grave. She was able to create new memories, retain information, but anything that had happened before her fateful encounter was lost. She still struggled from time to time, but she was probably as 'healed' as she ever would be.

Staring at her through the flames of their campfire, Morgan let a small smile cross his lips. She was an impressive one, this girl, and she had a stubborn streak like no other with an iron will to match. There were some days that he felt like she had been the one to keep him going.

"When d'you think we'll reach D.C.?" She asked, completely oblivious to his reminiscent thoughts.

"Shouldn't be too much longer," he answered her quietly.

"You really think this 'Rick Grimes' person is still alive?" She raised an eyebrow defiantly, "It's been what? Three years since you found that map?"

Morgan gave her a flat stare, "Well if I hadn't stopped to help someone who had decided to crawl out of the grave they'd been put in, I'm sure I'd have already caught up with him."

She nodded and if she noticed his lack of answering her directly, she didn't comment.

A tense silence settled between them and Morgan knew she felt guilty. None of it was her fault. She'd been left for dead, albeit unknowingly, and he'd been the one to find her. He was convinced it was what he was destined to do, a sort of way to redeem himself for Duane's death, and he never once blamed her or resented her for anything. It was quite the opposite.

He'd decided to hold off on his trip to Washington until she was capable of taking care of herself. Staying at the church and then later moving around to other places after she'd been able to walk. In truth, he could have probably made for Washington a year or two ago, but he was no longer desperate to find Rick…or not find him. When he'd found Beth, she'd become his priority, and it was only because of her insistent nagging the past six months that he'd finally given in and decided to seek out his long lost friend…if he hadn't died in that church three years ago, which was another reason he was in no hurry to make the trip. He wasn't even sure if Rick Grimes was still alive.

"Hey Morgan?" She interrupted his thoughts once more.

"Yeah?" He looked up at her.

She was chewing on her bottom lip, a clear indication that she was nervous or upset.

"I'm sorry…for…ya' know…" she quietly apologized.

Guilt; that was the reason behind the lip chewing. She was feeling like a burden, as she often did when mention of their first encounter was brought up. She blamed herself for him not being reunited with a friend he was already sure was dead. He'd told her over and over again that he'd chosen to help her and he could have easily ignored her pleas for help, but Beth was nothing if not considerate. She had a heart ten times the size of his and could be just as gentle as she was fiercely protective.

"Don't be sorry," Morgan firmly replied, "Don't ever be sorry."

Because just as much as he had saved her, she had saved him.

…

"I told you that you've got t'be careful," Morgan scolded as he removed the machete strapped to her arm in order to inspect the wound.

"I try, but it's kinda' hard to know you've been hurt when you can't feel it," she argued.

Yet another long term effect from her brain damage was the loss of the ability to feel pain. She could feel sensations on her skin, touch, heat, cold, etcetera, but she couldn't respond appropriately to pain. It no longer existed to her. The discovery had been made last year when they'd been jumped by a guy intent on taking their belongings; believing an older man and younger girl to be easy targets. The man had managed to land a good hit on his face, knocking him off his feet, and just as their attacker had made the move to end him, Beth had jumped into the fray.

By the time he'd gotten back to his feet, Beth had been pinned to the ground with a knife aimed at her chest. The more disturbing part had been that Beth had fended his assault off by holding the blade of a knife as if she were holding its handle. She'd managed to knee him in the groin and trade positions, using the man's own weapon to ensure he wouldn't reanimate. She never flinched while he'd stitched the deep gashes in her hand back together and when asked; she'd said she 'couldn't feel a thing.' Her lack of pain during her recuperation suddenly made perfect sense, though he wasn't sure if her condition was a blessing or a curse.

"You feel when you get cut," she went on to say, "I just feel like I bumped into something."

They'd been searching through an abandoned house for supplies when she found a locked door. Locked doors always carried the prospect of untouched items inside so she'd busted the glass of one of the French doors and ultimately caught her arm on a remaining jagged shard while reaching through to unlock the door. It wasn't until Morgan noticed the trail of blood that was dripping down her arm that she'd realized she'd hurt herself…again.

"I know hun," Morgan sighed, "But that's why you gotta' be extra careful."

Beth stared at him for a long moment while he finished cleaning off the gash on her upper arm.

"I'll try t'be more careful," she said to him; her tone genuine.

"That's my girl," Morgan accepted with a smile, "You're good t'go. Let's get back on the road."

With a few useful items they'd looted from the untouched office, a letter opener, cigarette lighter, and a notepad to use as tinder, Morgan followed behind Beth as they exited the house and resumed their trek towards Washington.

…

They had woken up early and decided to get moving. If they made good time, they would be in Washington no later than noon, so long as they didn't have to take any more detours. While the line on the map was a straight shot, they had been forced to find alternate routes around the walker infested areas. They would have to go through a small part of Virginia to get back on track, but he felt like they were making good time, all things considered.

"Morgan," the tone of Beth's voice immediately sent up a red flag.

Looking up from the map Morgan could make out several walkers who had forced a man and woman into the bed of a dilapidated pick-up truck. He knew what she planned to do the moment he realized the stranger's predicament.

"Beth…now let's think this through," he tried as she unlatched her machete hooked to her pack, abandoning the backpack on the ground, and strapped her weapon around her arm.

They'd struck gold when they'd found her blade. Rummaging through the remains of a pawn shop, he had heard a racket, assuming walkers had entered the building, and rushed to the front where Beth had been scavenging. He was pleasantly surprised, if not a little shocked, to find her sifting through years old trash. He had been ready to question her when she'd pulled out a few weapons from the bottom of the trash bag. Someone seemed to have stashed them in the trash in the hopes of keeping them from being stolen, but by the stench in the fabric of the forearm machete, that person had long since abandoned their stockpile.

It had taken a few days of airing out to get the smell out of the material, but once the seventeen inch blade was attached to her arm, Beth had taken to her machete like it was an extension of herself. A uniquely shaped blade had caught his attention as well and he had soon found himself quite attached to his own weapon.

"Don't have time. You can sit this one out if you want?" She smirked over her shoulder.

It was times like this that he regretted how much time he'd spent working with her, ensuring she could defend herself, teaching her everything he had learned in regards to combatting the monstrosities, living and undead alike. After a year to heal and two years of constant sparring, she'd been able to pin him down more times than he'd care to admit.

With a relenting sigh, Morgan unsheathed the Kopis machete hanging from his hip. She knew there was no way he would let her handle the walkers on her own, not because he thought she couldn't, but because he would do whatever it took to keep her out of harm's way.

"We flank them. Draw them away from the truck. You come to me if they start surrounding ya'. We stay back t'back if we get stuck," he said in an authoritative tone.

"Like we always do," Beth replied with a smile.

He had initially thought that as he and Beth cleared away some of the walker's, the man and woman would jump down and assist them taking out of the rest, however, it wasn't until they were knee deep in walker guts that they realized the pair in the truck were weaponless. They deserved to die for their stupidity, but Morgan knew Beth would never stand by and allow such to happen, and he would feel guilty knowing he'd ignored someone who was in dire need of help.

He kept her in his peripheral at all times, gauging the number of walkers purusing the streak of blond that bobbed and weaved between them. If they could get inside the bed of the truck, they could easily end the monsters from their height advantage. It would've been like shooting fish in a barrel, but the closer they got to the truck, the more walkers they attracted, and thus they were left luring the walkers away in order to behead them in smaller clusters.

He plunged his machete into the neck of an approaching walker. The idea had been to keep the oncoming monster at arm's length while he stomped the head in of a particularly stubborn walker he already sliced in half, now clawing at his feet. With the walker on the ground taken care of and the one in front of him pinned at the hilt of his weapon, he turned to check on Beth. Finding her nowhere in sight, panic began to ebb in his stomach as his eyes darted around where he had last seen her. A sudden pressure on the side he was turned away from immediately grabbed his attention and he found his target. Pressed with her back against his side, Beth was using the metal brace of her forearm machete to block the gnashing teeth that would likely have been taking chunks out of his arm had she not intervened.

Flipping the blade of his weapon over within the walkers neck, Morgan yanked his machete in an upwards direction, vertically slicing the walkers head in two. He then turned, keeping Beth's back in his chest to support the weight of the walker bearing down on her, and reached around to impale his machete into the side of the walkers head. The teeth chomping at her brace immediately ceased movement as the abomination dropped to the ground.

They didn't have a moment to appreciate the fact that they were both still intact, with more walkers heading their direction, but Morgan did take the time to note how thankful he was to have someone like Beth watching his back. After traveling and being alone for so long, finding Beth and the years they had spent together had changed him. He couldn't bear the thought of not being nearby to help keep her safe and he definitely didn't want the silence that she filled with her witty remarks and relentless badgering about his wellbeing to return.

"That's the last of them," Beth remarked, stumbling over her feet a bit.

While she generally had complete control over her body, there were times such as these, after a particularly intense situation, where she reverted back to how she'd been a few years ago. He could only guess it was attributed to the adrenaline leaving her system and her brain trying to keep up with her commands because after she calmed down she would be fine.

Morgan placed his hands on Beth's shoulders, silently steadying her. Once she had nodded that she was 'okay' he allowed her to move from his grasp. She turned to the two people jumping down from the truck, faces expressing awe at the mass of undead bodies littering the ground, and addressed them in a flippant tone.

"You shouldn't use an axe," Beth commented from a short distance away.

"There weren't supposed to be this many walkers this close by," the man replied briskly.

Morgan smiled. He'd been on the receiving end of Beth's ability to emasculate the male gender and would have sympathized with the man if not for his detest of their stupidity.

She was struggling to yank the axe from where it had imbedded through a walker's head and into the ground, and in a thoughtless moment, he had moved to assist her. The glare Beth sent him had Morgan holding up his hands in mock surrender and remaining where he stood with an amused expression. After the third tug, she pulled the axe free of the earth and stepped over the bodies littering the ground to hand it to the man with her weaponless hand.

"What d'you mean there 'weren't supposed to be so many walkers'?" Morgan asked once Beth had settled beside him.

"Means the herders ain't doin' their job," the stranger's reply came out sounding bitter.

"Alex," the woman quipped beside him.

Morgan glanced down at Beth who gave him a look of confusion that mirrored his own.

"Herders?" Beth asked with a tilt of her head.

"It's fine Anna," Alex pacified, "We owe these people our lives."

"We don't know them," Anna said through gritted teeth.

Morgan watched the two bicker, wondering if he should be insulted for the two strangers not considering he and Beth a threat after they had witnessed them handle so many walkers. Then again, he supposed they just assumed them to be decent enough considering they'd stuck their necks out for them when they had no reason to help. They could have just as easily let the walkers have them and stole their possessions after the smaller herd had left.

"It's fine. You should thank them. If not for them you wouldn't be makin' it to see your beau," there was a teasing tone to Alex's voice.

"Leave Carl out of this," Anna focused her attention back on Beth and himself.

The name, Carl, suddenly struck a chord with Morgan. He knew that name, but couldn't place why it was of such importance.

"We got us a few communities set up. They're walled…safe…people aren't just surviving, but we're thriving. Herders are in charge of leadin' the bigger groups of walkers away from the trade routes and the general population," Alex explained before continuing, "They interview people t'see if they're…good. If they can fit back into society. I can't guarantee they'll take you in, if you're lookin' for sanctuary, but if you tell Rick what happened here, he may give you a chance."

"Carl…Rick…" Morgan murmured to himself.

"We're on our way to Hilltop, but just mention that you met Alex and Anna and that should be enough to get Rick to see you," Alex elaborated further.

"Rick Grimes?" Morgan suddenly connected the dots, "Rick Grimes is alive?"

Alex eyed him skeptically before nodding, "Yeah. He's in charge of Alexandria. It's just a few miles down the road. You can't miss it."

Morgan took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. He'd been wrong, back at the church, when he had doubted if there was someone still up there who cared about them. Obviously Rick Grimes had him a guardian angel, his boy too, because for so long he had believed them to be dead. He held no hope that he would find the man who had been so lost and confused when they'd first met, just after things had went bad. He had thought that he and Beth would get to the location marked on their map, find it infested with the dead, and continue on their way.

"Looks like we're goin' to Alexandria," Beth's smile could be seen through the lilt in her voice.

"Looks like," Morgan replied contentedly.

…

Parting ways with Alex and Anna, Morgan and Beth had walked with greater vigor in their step, covering the distance to Alexandria in record time. After so many years on the road, he was finally going to reunite with his long-lost friend. He could finally help Rick the way Rick had helped him. He would be able to repay his debt.

Alexandria was a sight to behold. It was a few miles from Washington, located in Alexandria, Virginia, and he could see why people were surviving. The strong, intimidating walls seemed to reach the sky, protecting the houses within. The enormous metal gate was guarded by watchtowers and patrolmen. They were organized and a sense of security radiated from the community.

Approaching the walls, voices began yelling at them to stop where they stood, but Morgan felt undeterred. The smile on his face, marveling at what lay before him and how close he was to finally finding a place that would keep them safe, reached all the way to his eyes. Beth however, hadn't seemed as enthused as she cautiously strapped her machete back on her arm. He knew it was more to give her a sense of security, but he felt as if they had nothing to fear. If Rick was in charge of this place, then these were good people.

Wrapping his hand around Beth's much smaller one, he gave it a gentle squeeze before stepping forward and addressing the men pointing guns at them.

"My name is Morgan Jones and I'm a friend of Rick Grimes. We mean you no harm. We've been on the road and just want to rest our feet," he said calmly.

One man in particular, one side of his face scarred and mangled, lowered his weapon and replied, "You know Rick?"

"I know Rick," Morgan nodded and felt his chest swell with satisfaction.

They had finally caught up with Rick Grimes.

...

A/N: The line "Don't ever be sorry" is from season 3 episode 12 'Clear' when Carl apologizes to Morgan for shooting him. The line "…kill or die…or die and kill…" is from 4 episode 16 'Welcome to the Tombs' by the Governor to Milton in regards to making him turn so he could fulfill his order to kill Andrea. Just FYI : )

The Kopis machete is name for the style of the blade. Not an important detail but I get bored with the lack of imagination put into weapons sometimes. I'm a sucker for details!

Alex is from The Hilltop colony in the comics. Anna, also in the comics, originates from Alexandria.

Chapter 2 will pick up where the prologue left off! Backstory was necessary so we could understand the relationship between Morgan and Beth as it is presented to Daryl (and others). 3 years is a long time to be in only each other's company so Morgan has become a father figure to Beth, and she has filled the Duane sized hole in his heart!

A few facts…. Okay! So I felt it was more important to hear Morgan's perspective here because I honestly don't think Beth would have much of a 'thought process' in the beginning. Sleeping and healing wouldn't engage in much storytelling and we needed to know where Morgan had been to get him to finding Beth at the church. The story I depicted here is actually what happens to Morgan. Through snippets Kirkman has revealed and the two minute video (the full scene of what was aired at the end of the MSF…you can watch it on YouTube) I was able to get him from 'clearing' to finding Beth. I'm sure in the show they'll bury her somewhere outside of Atlanta, but according the map that Morgan finds, Atlanta is south of the church and the route Abraham marked is north…so he would have had no reason to go south to Atlanta, then back north past the church, towards D.C. Also…I didn't want her or Bob to be alone… : ( So I'm going with they went back to the church so she could be given a proper burial.

This is also going to be focused on outsider's perspectives on Beth (mainly Daryl's POV), but I will be having Beth's thoughts in appropriate scenes.

I did a TON of research on possible outcomes to being shot through the forehead. There are a lot of variables such as exactly where the bullet penetrates, trajectory of the bullet, gauge of the bullet, and each person's individual ability to heal. People are in face capable of surviving being shot at point blank range, but they are never completely the same. From watching where Beth gets shot (and I could only bare to watch a few times) I guesstimated that she would suffer damage to her Frontal lobe and Parietal lobe (which would possibly cause the issues she has due to each lobes function). Now I am NOT a doctor nor am I in the medical field, but after reading numerous websites, I learned that in some cases, the brain is capable of healing itself. I won't bore you with the facts, but it basically comes down to whether the neurons are able to create new passageways to replace the damaged ones because once one passageway is cut off, its gone…forever. At least that's my understanding. Therefore, everyone is different and it takes some people years (hence why I placed such a long time gap between the MSF and #Team MorBet…couple resist! The name made me chuckle…getting to Alexandria) to get to a point where they can function normally, if ever at all. Taking into consideration that THIS IS FICTION, I tried to keep it as 'realistic' as possible, having Beth come out with internal scars that will never heal, while essentially keeping her character intact. I would've loved to have made her completely fine…but realistically she wouldn't be and there's only so much you can do before a story becomes too farfetched. I worked really hard on this so I'm hoping what I've imagined here is to everyone's satisfaction. I certainly hope it's better than that garbage Kirkman and Gimple fed us. -_-

So please let me know! I have no idea how long this story will be, but it pretty much depends on the kind of response I get! So spread the word and get #Team Morbet going! LOLOL! Hope everyone is recovering from the MSF and if not, I hope this lifts your spirits a bit! XOXO