A/N: Thanks to Lady Ingenue for her suggestions for this chapter.

Chapter 4

Halfway down the hills to the back of the prison was a single plane tree. Its branches spread wide and its leaves had burst out only two weeks ago with the coming of spring. Underneath its boughs there was a hushed quiet, even in the wind. Beth walked back and forth in the shade, too restless to wait in the prison.

A few minutes ago the Council meeting had begun, the meeting which would decide the fates of Tara and the Governor. She couldn't understand why she felt so keyed up. It was a different feeling to the one she was used to. Whenever Maggie drove outside the prison walls on a supply run she felt a deep anxiety in the pit of her stomach that wouldn't fully ease until Maggie was back safely. And then there had been the months of being constantly on the move before they'd found the prison, when death threatened every second of the day as they were pushed from place to place by walkers and hunger.

This feeling wasn't about the constant threat of death, or fear for her loved ones. This was more like the restless feeling that would build up hour by hour when waiting for exam results. But this was more personal than any exam result had ever been.

She stared down the hill into the woods, not seeing the walkers crowded along the fence. The minutes crept by until at last she turned and headed back up the hill, needing to find something – anything – to keep her occupied. She set to work mucking out the shed that did for a stable. The smell of horses was comforting, taking her back to the days when her father had taught her to ride.

Whatever decision the Council made – whether they stayed or went – it wouldn't affect her. Her life would continue as it always had, whatever happened. She knew the Council would make the right decision. And yet as she imagined the two figures walking back down the hill, into the forest, the young woman leading the blind man, she felt shaken – almost angry. It would be sending them to certain death.

As she carted out soiled hay, she went over the previous day's events in her mind. Rick had sent a scouting party to Woodbury to check that it was still unclaimed, and to assess how they might lure out or evade the walkers with which the former community was now overrun. Beth had worked alongside Maggie, digging a channel inside the fences which would eventually be part of a pump system providing clean running water for the prison. Maggie looked as though she hadn't slept well, and she was quieter than usual, but she greeted her sister with a smile that fully reached her eyes. After a few minutes of digging in silence, Maggie leant on her spade and spoke in a low voice.

'Glenn still isn't taking it well. He volunteered to clear the fences on his own.'

Looking down the hill, Beth could see Glenn at the outer fence, driving his iron bar into one walker skull after another.

'Have you asked him about the vote tomorrow?'

'Not yet.'

When midday came they went back up to the main yard for a brief rest and food, then carried on digging.

At about two o'clock, Herschel appeared on the path. He called to Beth, who reached for Maggie's hand.

'Are you sure it's ok?' She watched Maggie closely. If Maggie didn't want her to go, then she wouldn't. But some secret part of her wanted to go with Herschel.

'Go on,' Maggie said, digging forcefully. 'Don't keep Daddy waiting.'

Beth was only halfway up the hill when she heard running feet. She stopped to let Maggie catch up with her.

'I've been thinking about the woman. Tara. I want to talk to her.'

Herschel looked at his eldest daughter's raised chin, the fierce green eyes so like her mother's. 'All right.'

The door to the cell block opened. As if from a great distance Philip heard Herschel's heavy, lopsided footfall and Beth's lighter tread. Then he frowned as he listened more closely. There was someone else with them.

'Tara,' said Herschel in greeting. 'I've brought my elder daughter, Maggie. She wanted to meet you.'

Philip did not hear Tara's reply. His fingers were gripping the frame of his bed so tightly that the metal edge cut into his palms. How could Herschel bring her here? A wave of nausea made his head swim. The intermittent pain of his eye throbbed badly, pulsing through his skull and jaw.

'Beth?' he heard Herschel say.

As Beth undid the bandage and Herschel examined the wound, Philip could not block out the low murmur of Maggie's voice, too quiet for the words to be made out. When Herschel questioned him about his levels of light perception, and the pain, it took an effort to understand the questions, let alone answer them. Beth's gentle hands washing the wound were a kind of torture. With her sister sitting just outside he was reminded more than ever how little he deserved Beth's tenderness. It was nothing more than she would give any patient in her care – but he wanted none of it. When she and Herschel had come to treat him that first day, he'd known at once who they were – and their kindness had left him more wretched than ever.

'You'll both be called before the Council tomorrow morning. Someone will come and take you to the right place.' Herschel hesitated. 'I'll check your eye again afterwards, regardless of the decision reached.'

The words sunk into Philip's pain-hazed mind. He felt at sea. There was so much he wanted to say – and so much he could never say. In the end all he said was, 'Thank you,' conscious of how hoarse his voice was from disuse.

In the silence that followed Beth retied the dressing, her fingers quick and careful.

'Until tomorrow,' she said. Then she and her father left the cell, and a few minutes later were gone, Maggie with them.

Hours later, while sitting with Tara eating the food Rick had brought them, Philip asked what Maggie had wanted to know.

'She asked me how I met you, and what brought us here. And she asked why I stayed with you after you were blinded.'

He could feel her eyes on him, as they so often were.

'She didn't talk about Woodbury,' Tara said at last, and he turned his face away.

They finished their meal in silence.

For the rest of the afternoon, Beth had set herself to read yet another chapter of her textbook. But it was impossible to concentrate. Carol came by to drop off Judith. She looked down at Beth thoughtfully. 'You're thinking about the vote tomorrow. It's on everyone's minds.'

Beth looked up at her in silence.

'It would be a shame to turn Tara away,' Carol said after a pause, stooping to restack Judith's tumbled pile of red cups. 'Given time, she could be a real asset to our community.'

'Did you vote to take them in, the first time?'

Carol glanced up sharply, her pale eyes moving across Beth's face. 'I didn't.'

Beth's expression remained unchanged. Then she nodded. 'And now?'

Carol 's thin mouth pursed, her voice hard, on the defensive. 'I'll just have to see what they say.' And Beth knew that the conversation was at an end.

As she sat with Judith, her thoughts went back to the cell where Blake sat, alone and desolate. At some moment – she hardly knew when – she had stopped thinking of him as the Governor. Today, as she'd tended to him under her father's watchful eye, she'd been almost taken aback to see how Maggie's presence had affected him. Self-loathing had rolled off him in waves and he'd cringed when she'd touched his face. She'd almost said, 'I'm sorry' – but she'd bitten her tongue just in time. What had she to be sorry for? Blake deserved every ounce of discomfort Maggie's presence gave him. But he had felt that discomfort – unfeigned – and she could no longer think of him as the Governor.

If Tara and Blake were allowed to stay, things at the prison would become more complex than ever. Rancour and grievances which had been grudgingly suppressed while Blake was kept out of sight were not likely to stay buried when he was allowed to leave his cell block. She thought of Glenn stabbing walkers through the fence. He'd been avoiding her and her father since yesterday. If Blake was allowed to stay would Glenn ever forgive them?

And what about Tara? So far she had been stubbornly loyal to Blake. If they stayed, this loyalty would make her just as much a pariah as him. Would she be safe inside the prison, when so many people wanted to do him harm – and she refused to leave his side? But whatever might happen inside the prison, it had to be safer for Tara than outside the walls, where she would be alone, guiding a blind man. If the Council voted to cast them out it would be Blake's death sentence – but it would be Tara's too if she refused to abandon him.

That night she lay awake for hours, too restless to sleep. When at last she gave way to exhaustion, she slept fitfully. She dreamt that she was sitting by Blake, taking off his bandage, to find gaping black holes where his wounded eyes were. 'Why did you keep the heads?' she asked. He said, 'I liked to look at them. They kept me sane.' His expression grew pensive, complacent. Something was wrong with her vision: she was surrounded by a strange greenish light that sifted back and forth, filtered through glass. He regarded her fondly, a smile on his lips. 'You were always my favourite.' And she realised she was in a fish tank.

She woke with a cry, sweating and trembling. It took a long time to rid herself of that dream. When she next woke grey light fell across her bed as dawn paled the sky.

She was sent to bring Tara and Blake to the library. As she walked to Cell Block A she was painfully aware of the people watching her, knowing where she was going – and she couldn't forget her dream, as hard as she tried to.

When she emerged into the cell block she found Tara and Blake standing in the middle of the gallery. Tara's arm was threaded through Blake's.

'Hey,' she said softly to Beth.

Beth smiled back. 'I'm to take you to the library, where the Council's waitin',' she said. 'Are you ready?'

'As we'll ever be,' said Tara somewhat grimly.

As they crossed the yard a few people muttered along the walls. Blake's expression remained unchanged, but Tara looked pained.

At last they reached the empty corridor where the library was.

'Here we are,' Beth said, and reached towards the library door. Tara moved forwards, then stopped when Blake stayed where he was. His expression was inscrutable.

'You go ahead,' he said.

Tara glanced at Beth in surprise. 'Ok.' She went into the room, closing the door behind her.

They stood alone in the passage. Beth felt her heart speed up. Her dream pushed at the edges of her mind, but she forced it back, her hands clammy as she pressed them together.

He spoke, his voice low. 'When Rick sends a group to Woodbury, ask him to check out the library.' He hesitated. 'I know you're training to be a nurse. The doctor there, she had a collection of textbooks.' Then he was silent.

Whatever she had expected it hadn't been this. She looked at him standing there, his height and broad shoulders seeming to fill the narrow corridor. She realised with a start that she felt no fear of him. He waited, his features impossible to read – and yet his wariness was like a physical thing, making her feel that she was less vulnerable than him. Without thinking, she laid a hand on his arm, tentative and shy. 'Thank you. I won't forget.'

He was still, his head tilting very slightly towards her hand, considering it in silence. Then she withdrew her hand, feeling her cheeks burning – glad that he couldn't see.

She stepped to the side and he moved past her, his hand running lightly along the wall until he found the doorway. He paused, half-turning towards her. He seemed about to speak – but then his lips tightened and he opened the door and went in, closing the door behind him.

The stable cleared out, she was left with nothing to do but take refuge in her textbook. The next hour was the slowest she'd ever known. She read the same sentences over and over without registering them, her indefinable anxiety creeping and tightening with each passing minute. At last, her breath catching, she heard her father's tread in the corridor.