Almost there. Those two words, like a prayer, muttered under Morgan's breath again and again. DC had been a bust - the map had been a bust. Rick was no where to be found; she couldn't say she was surprised. She looked over at Morgan, trying to find something comforting to say. She could feel him slipping into darkness, into what it was like before her - before she knew him. The long years he talked about like a fever dream - clearing, and not much else.

"Drink," she said, handing her water bottle over to him.

She had been expecting a fight, but he took it without comment, downing half the contents recklessly. The plastic crinkled dismally. Another run, she thought to herself. At least he was drinking though, and talking - though, if only to himself. At least he hadn't given up or shut down.

"Now?" she asked. When he looked at her questioningly, she tried again. "What... what now?"

"Find Rick," he answered succinctly.

"Maybe... gone," she pushed out.

"He's not here, but he's somewhere, P," Morgan said, handing the bottle back to her. "You just have to have a little faith."

"So?" she asked, pointing at the map sticking out of his coat pocket. "Where?"

"Heard about a place with walls some time back. Alexandria. It's not far from here, we could make it before sun down. Knowing Rick, that's where they were headed."

She wanted to say, Look around you, Morgan. All of these buildings have walls. And all of those walls now contain walkers. You think this place will still be up? Still be safe? You think walls can keep the death out? Instead she nodded grimly, not wanting to upset him further. As they walked, she wondered what would happen when they arrived there - when there was nothing, or no one, or what was left was less than he expected.

Walls hadn't begun to describe Alexandria. Miles before they reached the place, she could see them towering in the skyline, seemingly endless. Sprawling on and on. Protecting. Holding. Containing. Of course, there was no telling what was inside of them - walkers or people - or which would be worse.

They stood outside of the walls, finding no signs or people. She brandished her knife, always ready, always waiting. She didn't have to look to know Morgan had done the same, even in his flagging mood. For a moment, a long moment, they just stood there. Not moving or speaking. Staring. Morgan, hoping - and her, dreading. The weight of sick weighed heavily in her stomach.

"Knock?" she asked breaking the silence.

"Don't see any door," he said, huffing out a tired laugh. "Thinkin' we mighta came up on this place at the wrong side."

"Holler?" she suggested.

"Just... be ready. Stay behind me. Cover me. And try to use full sentences when you speak. We both know you aren't weak or slow, but no one else does, and painting a target on your back would be a mistake. Even if you can get out of it. Better to just... not. Okay, P?"

"You got... it," she said, doing her best.

Suddenly a head appeared over the wall, looking down at them, gun pointed. It was an older man with dirty blond hair. He looked shocked to see the pair of them standing there. Morgan shielded more of her body with his shoulder, and she found it hard to get a look at the man on the other side of the wall.

"Thought I heard voices," the man said.

"We don't want any trouble," Morgan responded. "We've been looking for a friend. Thought he might've found his way here."

"Right," the man said. "And does this friend have a name?"

"Rick," Morgan bit out, annoyed. "His name is Rick Grimes."

The man stopped for a moment - stopped talking, stopped moving, maybe even stopped breathing. Her heart sped up. He knew Rick. It was obvious. The man ducked down behind the wall, whispering to someone else, and then looked back up.

"Who are you?" the man asked. "Your names."

"My name is Morgan. This is my friend. She goes by P."

"You can't talk for yourself?" the blond man asked, directing his question at her.

"My name... is Phoenix," she ground out.

"That's a weird name."

"That's why... the nickname," she responded.

"Come to the side, over to the left. You'll see the gates. Drop your weapons by the front. If that doesn't mesh with you, then you're free to walk outta here and not look back, okay?"

Morgan nodded but didn't speak. She followed him around to the side. It took them at least ten minutes to get to the gate. They laid down their weapons, both having others strapped to their bodies, hidden underneath clothes. Still, it was the gesture. A show of good faith, and if that's what the man needed for answers, than she knew that's what she'd be doing.

When the gates opened, two men were standing there, with several other people a few feet behind them - men, women, even a kid or two. Neither of them were the blond. She peeked over Morgan's shoulder trying to get a better look. The man lowering his pointed gun had a shocked smile on his face, the corners of his lips kept twitching upwards. The other, with longer hair, kept his loaded crossbow up and ready. Waiting. Dangerous.

"God damn, it is you. Never thought I'd see you again, friend! Though I guess I shouldn't be surprised you're still alive," the smiling man laughed. Then, to the people behind him, watching and waiting, he said, "He is who he said he was. Morgan. This man saved my life."

"I told you, P," Morgan said to her, not looking back. "I told you he'd make it."

"She can come out from behind you there," Rick said. "You guys are safe here. I'm sure Morgan's told you about us. We're good people. We won't hurt you."

She stayed rooted where she was. Her glance kept the other man in her eye line. His crossbow still hadn't lowered, and she had a feeling if he shot something, he hit the mark every time. He was making her nervous. If they were good people, why was he still aiming at Morgan?

"Daryl," Rick said, "put your crossbow down. I think you're scaring her."

"Right," the other man drawled sheepishly, lowering his weapon. "Sorry."

"You don't need to mind him," Rick vouched for his friend. "He's a good shot, that's for damn sure, but we've been through a lot. Lost a lot of people. He just wants to keep everyone here safe."

"Wasn't... scared of him," she said, stepping out from behind Morgan.

She heard a gasp, then another. Whispering. Shouting for a woman named Maggie. Everyone looked shocked, except for the bowman. Daryl looked... betrayed. It was only when he glanced to everyone around him, that his eyes widened on her own with disbelief.

"Beth?" he asked, hands shaking, weapon fallen to the ground. Suddenly he was charging towards her, all limbs moving fast, "Beth!"

She grabbed the knife from underneath her shirt fluidly, holding it up at him. Morgan got to Daryl before she could though, holding him back with a hand on his chest. The man stopped when he saw the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty.

"God damn it, let me go," he said, "I ain't gonna hurt her. Beth, tell him I ain't gonna hurt ya!"

"I don't know him," she said to Morgan, voice flat and small.

"She was with us," Rick said. "We thought... she was shot... in the head. There was so much blood and no time. There was no time, we got overrun. We had to go."

"Beth," Daryl said again, blue eyes showing his hurt so strongly it threatened to take her breath away. "We didn't mean to leave ya there. We were... I carried ya out."

"She was half-buried when I found her," Morgan said. "The walkers were swarming her."

Her head was swimming, trying to take in all the new information. She had known these people - they said they knew her. They were there when she was shot and left for dead - they left her for dead! And they kept calling her Beth. She rolled the name around, feeling no attachment to it.

"We didn't... bury her," Daryl said, hands fisting at his sides. "There wasn't time. We all thought ya died and we didn't even get t'say goodbye."

"Could've been the people at the hospital," Rick said. "Everyone there... they were real fond of you, Beth. You always had that way about you - of makin' people take to you."

"Why would... doctors... when I was... not dead?" she asked. "I was not... dead."

"It wasn't a regular hospital. There was only one doctor - the nursing staff were just patients they had managed to save and forced to work there. Like they did with you," Rick said, coming to stand next to Daryl who had not taken his eyes off of her, not for one second. "You and Daryl were together before the hospital. They took you, against your will - we had just... we had just finally found you. I'm guessing the doctor had someone else bury you - either the patients or the staff. They wouldn't have known you weren't... they wouldn't have thought to... you looked... even we thought... Beth, we're so sorry."

"I don't... remember anything... before," she said. "No point... in sorry. Not Beth. I'm not."

"Y'are Beth," Daryl said to her, anguish lacing his voice. "You are."

"I'm not... anyone," she responded evenly.