9/10.

**Author's note; **Author's note; thank you so much for all of your patience, guys. I know it's been a bit of a wait, but Christmas is over and done and I've caught up on the sleep I missed out on during that manic period with work. We're nearly done. Enjoy. xxx

Sam watched as the sun slowly rose over the mist covered grounds. For three months now he had lived within the concrete walls of the prison with his wife Natalie and his children Mikey and Lisa. He had been wary of joining the group, but his van had broken down and Daryl had found them while on a supply run. The gruff offer of refuge had been made and Sam silently thanked God that he'd ignored Daryl's rough appearance and had taken the man up on his offer. From where he stood, he could see Daryl – eyes wary as he watched the walkers that were shuffling along the fence line and his crossbow held in a deceptively relaxed grip as he stood within the watch tower. Yet tension seemed to seep from every pore as Daryl shifted his stance slightly to slip a smoke between his lips. His lips moved slightly as smoke curled around his face and Sam's eyes widened in surprise as Carl shifted from within the shadows and appeared at Daryl's side. Daryl gestured with his head and Carl nodded once as Daryl lifted the crossbow that he held and peered down the sight line.

Sam's eyes darted along the fence. When he saw the cluster of walkers leaning against the fence, he saw the danger they presented immediately. The fence seemed to sag against their combined weight, but before he could take a single step to raise the alarm, he heard a soft pop and one of the walkers crumbled. Another pop and another walker fell. It took him a moment to find the source of the noise, but when he saw Carl shift his stance slightly, Sam heard the soft sound once more as Carl pulled the trigger of the riffle he was using. Sam's jaw dropped – he couldn't help it. There was a homemade silencer fitted to the end of the riffle and as Carl pulled the trigger a final time, Sam mentally applauded the boy as the final walker fell. It took real marksmanship to hit a swaying target at that distance, but Carl had done so without missing a single shot. The boy was lowering his rifle now, and his lips moved slightly. Whatever he had said caused Daryl to grin, and Sam watched as Daryl clapped Carl lightly on the shoulder before returning his gaze to the fence line. Watching them, Sam was reminded of the first few hours he had spent within these walls.

XXxXxXxXx

He had walked with Hershel, listening intently while the older man explained the rules and the layout. Where Sam and his family could – and couldn't – go. How the group ran things, and why they ran it the way they did. If Sam and his family could understand that, then they were welcome to stay for as long as they wanted. Standing on the rise with Hershel, Sam had nodded. He could see Daryl – half under the van, and cursing up a storm as he began the laborious task of trying to fix the aging motor.

"This is a really nice set up," Sam offered at last, and Hershel nodded.

"We've fought for it," he said quietly. "We've fought the dead and the living. There are days where we mourn the dead so fiercely we can taste it. But it was worth the loss, Sam; this is a safe place, in a world that wants to annihilate us."

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly.

"I just want my children to feel safe," he said finally, and Hershel smiled in understanding. Sam was a father first, a survivor second, and in the past, he had been a top ranking psychologist.

"My girls live here with me," Hershel said gently. "They're all that remains of my once vast family. But in losing the rest of my family, I gained these people. Maggie gained a wonderful man in Glenn; I know that when my time is done, I'll go to my grave knowing she's loved."

"And Beth?" Sam asked softly, and Hershel smiled slightly when he realized that Sam had figured out that Daryl and Beth were together.

"Beth even more so," he said quietly. "I know what it looks like to an outsider, Sam; the age gap between them and the fact that they come from worlds polar opposite in many ways. But don't go judging. I have all the time in the world for that man; as crass and as uneducated as he appears, I still couldn't have picked a better man for my youngest."

"But he is a man," Sam said, and Hershel shrugged as he gestured towards where Carl was standing in the tower with his riffle.

"That's Carl; Rick's son. I met Carl when he was nearly twelve. He's sixteen now, nearly the same age as your Lisa. Yet while Lisa retains her childlike innocence, Carl is all man. Daryl once told me that in a fight, it would be Carl he wanted at his back. That young man has seen and done more than one his age should have. While young in age, it's the experiences he's endured that have made him a man. My Beth is the same; young, yes. But so much older than she should be. Again; don't judge, Sam. You don't know the people, and you don't know the circumstances that brought them together. Daryl has my blessings, as does Glenn. If I were you, I'd pray that your daughter finds someone in the future that loves her half as much as those men love my girls."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

For the next few days, Sam sat back and observed; at first glance, Rick appeared to hold the reins of leadership. But as the days crept past, Sam came to realise that it was Daryl who was reluctantly in charge; the man was an enigma. He trusted few, and kept his council close to his chest. Carl was indeed Daryl's left hand; Carl seemed to simmer slightly as Sam watched him. His appearance was youthful at first glance; yet his body was hardened from the life he led. It was disconcerting to see one so young with a rifle strapped over his back and a gun strapped to his thigh. It was around Daryl that Carl would relax; the anger that simmered in him seemed to die down, and Sam could see the young boy Carl might have been if the world hadn't ended. And around his tiny doll of a sister, Sam finally saw what had turned Carl into a man, when he learned of the circumstances of Judith's birth. It became normal to see Judith walking along on sturdy legs as her brother held her hand firmly in his. Judith would babble away at a mile a minute, while Carl listened silently and nodded his head gravely as Judith stared up at him; her bubbly laughter would echo out across the prison when Carl would swing her up onto his hip, or crouch down to give her a piggy back ride. And in watching Carl, Sam would later admit that he missed the moment that his daughter stopped watching Liam and started watching Carl instead.

Then there was Beth; sweet, and kind, and she belonged to Daryl in a way that Sam was hard pressed to dismiss. They weren't open in displaying their affection for one another. That, it seemed, was kept private. But there was closeness between the pair that was blindingly obvious. There was intimacy, in the casual way that Daryl would skim his fingers across Beth's lower back as they walked together. There was trust in the way that Beth would ride on the back of the bike that Daryl owned without a helmet or protective gear. There was love, in the way that Beth would curl between Daryl's thighs on the catwalk in the library; her voice would rise and fall in quiet tones as she read out loud to her lover, while he skimmed his knuckles gently along the bare length of her arm. And in witnessing these moments, Sam saw the moment when they had their first real argument, and the fear inside Daryl that threatened to tear them apart.

It wasn't a public argument; no, it showed in the way that Daryl's anger seemed to ride on his back like a demon. Sam saw it in the way that Beth seemed to shrink into herself as she put some distance between them. And it became glaringly obvious when Carl turned on Daryl in the yard one morning, and jabbed his finger into the older man's chest, while his snarl of "you broke it, now you fix it!" echoed in the early morning air. Whatever had caused the fraction between them caused unspeakable pain. Everyone felt it; Hershel looked like he was torn between comforting his daughter, and comforting the man he had come to call friend. Michonne on the other hand had no problem with that – Sam saw the anger the woman carried as she sat close to Beth during dinner three days after Daryl had Beth had fought; the look she aimed Daryl's way promised a world of pain, a look the Daryl acknowledged with a lowered head as he scowled while Michonne skimmed her hand comfortingly over Beth's lower back.

It was the following day that Sam finally learned what had caused the fight when he inadvertently over-heard a private conversation between Daryl and Hershel. Hidden in the upper stacks of the library, Sam heard the door open and collide with a loud bang as footsteps stalked into the library. Peering around the edge of the stack he was in, he caught sight of Hershel as he sank onto the couch. Daryl was pacing restlessly and as he paced back and forth in frustration; his voice rose and fell as Hershel sat there silently and listened to him as he ranted and gestured wildly with his hands.

"After everything we've been through, and it ends like this?" he muttered. "Fuckin' bullshit, that's what it is. She won't even look at me!"

Hershel sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, and when Daryl paced past him again, he reached up and gripped Daryl's vest in his hand. With a non to gentle tug, he forced Daryl to sit down, before he spread his hands and shook his head.

"When are you going to learn, Daryl? Beth don't look at you like that. She never has. Those thoughts are your own private demons, ones that present themselves to you in the form of sheer stupidity."

Daryl's jaw dropped in shook, and Hershel shook his head as he reached out to pat him shoulder.

"Beth isn't like your brother, Daryl. Her offering to teach Judith wasn't a slap at you. She didn't mean it as an insult. She probably realized how much you enjoy listening to her read, and wanted to offer you the same chance to share with Judith the escapism that she finds within her books. She wasn't calling you stupid, or dumb, or uneducated. It was an offer made by a young woman in love with a man whose head is as hard as a concrete block. Besides, this is a conversation you should be having with her. Now; are you really going to sit there and tell me that you and Beth having seemingly split over her teaching Judith to read, or are you going to tell me the real reason my daughter looks like you told her that Santa doesn't exist?"

Sam's lips parted in surprise as Daryl blew out a frustrated breath and scrubbed his hands down over his face. The silence between them was thick, and when Daryl finally spoke, it was as if he had to force the words out past his lips.

"Maggie's pregnant," was all he said, and Hershel hummed softly as he crossed his arms and sat back.

"Hmm… so let me get this straight. My eldest daughter is expecting a baby, and this caused you and my youngest daughter to split up?" he asked, and when Daryl jerked shoulder in response, Hershel shook his head and sighed.

"So which of you wants the baby, and which of you doesn't?" he asked softly, and Daryl shrugged.

"I don't want one," he finally said and Hershel's lips pressed into a thin line for a moment before he spoke again.

"And Beth does?" he asked gently, and Daryl shrugged.

"I dunno. She said she don't want one, but then she's offerin' to teach Judith to read, and it's not that far of a stretch, Hershel," Daryl spat out as his anger tangled in his blood again, and Hershel snorted in response.

"Daryl, you of all people should know that when my daughter makes a statement like that, she don't normally say one thing and mean another. Is it really over her offerin' to teach Judith to read, or is it you havin' those second thoughts about a baby?"

Daryl shook his head as he stared down at his hands, and when he spoke, Sam could hear the fear underlying the man's every word.

"Who'd have a baby durin' these times anyhow, Hershel? Why risk bringin' a baby into this world, when the danger is as high as it is? Look at lil' asskicker; growin' up in a fuckin' prison, surrounded by barbed wire, and things that wanna suck the flesh from her bones. The monsters under her bed do exist, Hershel."

Hershel nodded slowly, and then he reached out to grip Daryl's shoulder in his hand.

"They do exist, Daryl. But the ones we kill in reality are the only ones we should fear. The ones that lurk in our mind? Those we can destroy, once and for all. The ones that tell us we aren't fast enough, or strong enough. The ones that tell us we just don't deserve to be happy and to be loved. The ones that tell us that we belong in the gutter, because we've got dirty hands. The ones that say you have no right to be touching someone as pure and gentle as Beth. Those ones we can destroy, Daryl; it's because of those seemingly dirty hands that I can say I have two daughters. Did you know that Beth finally opened up to me, and told me that it was her that killed the Governor and not you? That she told me that she had shared with you months ago that he had bathed her, and redressed her in his dead daughter's clothing? You saved my daughter's life, Daryl, yet by her loving you, you seem hell bent on tossing it away. Why? Do you really think that you don't deserve her love? That you don't deserve to love her in return? Because you do deserve her in every aspect of life, Daryl."

Daryl blew out a harsh breath and gestured helplessly.

"What would I know about being a father?" he finally asked. "Mine was a mean assed drunk who beat me for sport, Hershel. The only thing my Pa ever did right was teach me how to dodge a fist."

Hershel shifted his weight and reached out to lightly touch Daryl's knee as he spoke quietly.

"He taught you more than that, Daryl; he taught you how to not treat a woman. He taught you how to not treat a child. He taught you not how to speak to the woman you love. He taught you the evil nature of alcohol, which is why I can honestly say that in the four years I have known you I have seen you drink it once. The scars your father put on you go deeper than the skin on your back, my boy; they go deeper than bone. It's the mental scars that you need to deal with, Daryl, not the ones you can see in the mirror. And unless you let Beth all the way in, she'll never know just how much you truly love her. If you don't let her all the way in, Daryl, you'll never know just how much she loves you. Stop being so scared…go to her. Tell her the truth. And stop letting your father and brother win."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam had managed to escape the library without Daryl knowing that he'd overheard such a private conversation. And in the hours that followed, Sam had watched Daryl walk back and forth along the fence line and kill the Walkers. From the set of the man's shoulders, Sam knew that Daryl was mulling over Hershel's words. It was during the last of the evening's meal that Sam saw Daryl slip inside the building and crouch down beside Beth; he rested his hand on her thigh, his fingers in slow motion over warn denim as he spoke quietly. Sam would never know what was said between them; he would never know the words spoken or the touches they exchanged. But for two days Daryl and Beth locked themselves away in their shared cell and talked. Hershel or Carol would take them food during meal times and the others all stepped up to cover Daryl's guard tower duty. And on the third morning, as Sam sat on the bench and watched the sun rise, he heard the low roar of the bike's engine. Glancing towards the sound, he watched as Daryl swung onto the bike, and he smiled as Beth settled onto the warn leather seat behind him and wrapped her arms around him. And as the bike rolled down the hill and disappeared through the gates, Sam finally realized what Hershel had meant all those weeks ago when he spoke about not judging. Hoping for the best and wishing them well, Sam smiled as he watched them ride out of sight.