A/N: This chapter sort of back tracks a bit to get Daryl's POV on the whole thing. Also, I'm going to take a moment to thank all of you that have reviewed, favorited, and followed this story. It really means a lot to me. I meant to have this chapter out sooner, but my brain has jumped around to a bunch of different chapters, so I've got a bunch of random things saved here that hopefully make their way to you. Again, thank you! I appreciate every single one of you.
Daryl cursed under his breath, kicking at the dirt with the toe of his boot. The feel of Carol at his back propelled him into hunter mode, his eyes sweeping the ground, but it was too dark to catch sight of any prints from where they were standing. God fucking dammit. He'd missed his opportunity to get Carol away safely because he'd wanted to hold onto that sick little fantasy that Beth had found her way back to him – to them. And his track record for keeping the women safe wasn't exactly something to write home about.
He nodded his head back to Carol, speaking low so only she could hear. "Think they're comin' up the side here." His head jerked in the direction of the cluster of trees and thick brush. "Keep lookin' 'at way in case they ain't alone. I got 'em over here." He felt her nod her understanding and kept his eyes to the trees, listening for any signs of company. He heard nothing, but boy his blood was boiling. He could feel it, knew they were hunting him. The hunter being hunted. It would have been almost comical if it didn't burn his ass ten ways to Sunday. "Man, can't see nothin' with this damn sun," he mumbled angrily under his breath, toeing at the dirt again.
He held his crossbow at the ready, the feel of it firm against his chest, as he craned his neck to listen for any sound of movement. He knew what he'd've done, but he also wouldn't've been this stupid in the first damn place. His finger hovered over the trigger, just itching to send a bolt straight into the skull of the prick with the nerves of steel. He could feel his muscles tense in his shoulders and he took a deep breath to ease the tension. He was a lousy shot when he let it get to his head, so he cleared it, looking over his shoulder at Carol. "Anythin'?" She shook her head and he let out a low growl. They were asking for a fight and he was just itching to give them one.
It seemed he didn't have to wait long, however, as a silhouette peered around a tree (close, too close) and he didn't hesitate a moment to send a bolt flying at their head. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath as he heard the unmistakable sound of his arrow lodging itself nice and tight in the bark of an old slash pine. Missed.
He clenched his jaw as he reloaded, spitting angrily at the ground with a sniff. Carol was half turned to him and he met her gaze. "Next time they ain't gon' be so lucky."
His crossbow was back against his chest, ready and aimed . Now he was pissed and a mix of a bunch of other emotions he decided not to care enough about to give names to and the price was that son of a bitch's head with his bolt sticking clear through the back of it.
With his crossbow aimed at the tree, he shot a quick glance around. He hadn't heard much else from that direction, but he kept his bow trained anyway, eyes making quick rounds through the thinned out parts of the trees, shifting his feet with annoyance as he came up empty handed.
And then it happened.
It was almost too predictable. One of his own moves he'd used countless times. The difference was, it worked on the walkers. Not so much the people. 'Specially not as skilled as he was.
The sound came from a couple of feet back the way they'd come, the sound of crunching damp forest floor, but it was too clipped, too light, too sloppy to be footfalls. He was expecting them when they came flying from the tree, though he'd been looking in the wrong direction. He caught his attacker by the wrists, hard, the glint of the knife on the evening sun catching his eye as it fell to the ground. He wrestled with the smaller statured woman – hadn't been expecting that one – with the wild golden hair yowling like a wild animal.
She fought and wrestled and he had to swing his head to push the too-long hair from his eyes to get a better look. His face went white, the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh of a breath as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. He only gripped her tighter as she fought against him. Her eyes were wild, pulled wide and panicked, glazed over as if she were working on instinct alone.
His chin trembled, his vision blurry as he blinked desperately to will it away. No, there was no way. There was no way. All this time he'd been trying to find her most of him had believed she was really and truly dead.
He hated how his voice shook when he said her name, feeling Carol whip around and fall to her knees behind him. "Beth?"
Her head snapped up, but the familiarity didn't settle over her sapphire gaze. There was just a moment of no fight, no movement, as they stared each other down. A pain he couldn't quite name gripped his heart so tight he nearly lost his grip on her. Desperate now, he shook her. "Beth! Beth!" Even Carol came around to her side, though the ghost Beth hadn't even acted yet like she'd seen her.
The anything-but-calm calm that had surrounded them was broken at the sound of an ear piercing scream. Beth's scream. The sound caught Daryl off guard, his grip slipping only a second, but long enough for her to wriggle free from him. She sprung back from his grip, too far out of reach, but his quick thinking had his foot stamping down on the knife below her just as she made a grab for it. Weaponless and frightened, he watched the look of an animal cornered flicker across her face and it stopped him short a moment. She truly and honestly hadn't recognized them. The panic swelled in his chest as he pulled himself up, her knife in his hands. Carol was standing then too, poised with her hand on the sheath at her side. "Go back to camp and grab Rick. Maybe Michonne too. Let 'im know what we just seen. I'mma go after her." He didn't wait for her to agree, pointedly ignoring the way his voice cracked and shook, and took off on Beth's heels. He knew Carol would do what needed to be done and he couldn't waste another moment. He wasn't letting her get away this time.
He entertained the thought that perhaps this wasn't Beth. Just a wild girl with the face of a dead one he used to know.
I know you look at me and just see another dead girl.
He dismissed the thought immediately. There was no way. No. This was his girl. A growl ripped through his throat as he gained on her. Girl was fast, he had to give her that. She turned a sharp left and he cursed as he zoomed past and had to reroute to follow her. She never looked back, just kept her head slightly cocked to listen. He would've been impressed if it weren't for the cold and fast way his blood rushed through his veins. "Beth!" he called again, but she didn't turn back.
His feet pounded against the packed earth beneath him, willing himself forward just a little faster until he was right on her heels. He knew her next move before she made it, the twitch in her hands that he shouldn't have been able to see but somehow still did, tipped him off to another sharp turn and he cut her off as she took a sudden left. His arms circled her waist, pulling them both down. Mud covered and kicking, he held her tight and close. Her desperation to get away from him, the way she cried out just made him hold her tighter, his breathing heavy and ragged. "I ain't gonna hurt ya." She fought halfheartedly then, as if the fight had gone out of her like a light. He wasn't convinced she believed him, but at the very least it was something. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. As comforting as Daryl Dixon could manage. "I ain't gonna hurt ya."
With Beth still wrapped tightly and securely in his arms, he looked around, hoping they weren't too far from camp and that Rick would be coming up soon to help because now that he had her, he didn't have half an idea what to do with her. Surely she'd run if he let her go. He wasn't gonna let her go. He wasn't gonna be responsible for it a second time. Damn near killed him the first.
She was shaking and his attention returned to her. He craned his neck to look at her, but her eyes were shut tight. She was tense and rigid and he had to look away. There were too many feelings, too many things he didn't have a name for, just knew that he hated them. He'd have to sort it all out. The relief, the confusion, the pain. But not right now. Right now he was holding Beth in his arms and he was flat out ignoring the way his heart lurched painfully at the thought of her not having a damned clue as to who he was.
It wasn't much later when he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching, too slow for his liking. "It's about damn time-"
When he looked up, it wasn't Rick or Michonne or Carol. He should have known by the pattern of the footsteps, but his head had been too full of everything else.
In the clearing maybe ten yards out, twenty or so walkers were making their way towards them.