A/N: So, in the last chapter, I really struggled because I didn't want to portray Daryl out-of-character. Nothing sucks more than going along in a story, reading about characters that you're already intimately familiar with, [like we all haven't slept with Daryl Dixon in one nighttime jaunt or another, come on ;)] and then feel the story come to a screeching-ass halt because all of a sudden, something so ridiculously outlandish happens that the character reacts equally as ridiculous to, and then you're left going, "Pfft.. like THAT would ever happen.. He'd NEVER do that!" …It just sucks. So in the last chapter, I warred with whether Daryl would just be livid and angry and throwing shit around.. maybe. Totally plausible. Would he break down? I wasn't so sure. But I really re-evaluated how his character had already developed so much on the show by the time Merle got himself turned into a walker that Daryl had to put down.. and in that episode, he definitely lost his shit. And it was because Merle was his brother; he cared about him, and he was a big part of Daryl's life, even if he wasn't always a good influence on him. I felt like Beth already fit that criteria for this story; she's already wormed her way under Daryl's skin, gotten into his head, and has him re-evaluating his whole life. He cares about her, even though he hasn't been ready to admit it. So would he break if he found her in a position like that? Then I knew my answer; it was yes. Yes, he would. So I hope none of you felt like Daryl was too over the top with his emotions, or out of character. I used a lot of the imagery from Merle's death episode to really get the feel for the chapter, the crying and falling over was all part of Daryl's reaction in the show. Therefore, I felt like his reaction in the last chapter was a natural progression and justified to the extent of the situation. Anyway, that's all =)
Loooving all of the reviews. I'm glad you're all as stressed out by this as much as I am. But, even better news is: I totally had another brainstorm late last night and came up with more material, so… this is definitely not nearing the end. I have a lot of other stuff from the show that I want to slip into this thing one way or another. It's going to get crazy. Hopefully to your liking, though.
Thank you to all of my followers, favoriters, and reviewers. You're the only reason I've tried as hard as I have. This is my first fanfiction, but I have an original book I've been working on for years that I've been too fearful to finish or send to anyone; but a lot of you have commented on how much you love the way I write, and I feel like it's given me such a confidence boost that when I'm done with this story, I'm going back to my original work and attempting to get published. I'll definitely let you guys know if I do that because I think it'd be right down your alley. I'm a sucker for tortured, broken protagonists.
Lastly, the person I dedicated chapter 12 to e-mailed me afterward and was like "I get the violent rape chapter dedicated to me?!" Jeez, you're so sensitive, J. So, fine, I'm dedicating the LAST chapter to you, the one where Daryl saves the day like Spiderman. How's that? You picky asshole. 3
Anyway, sorry for the long note! Onward to…
Chapter 14
She was breathing fire.
Every breath she pulled in, the oxygen burned its way down her throat like it had been ignited. All around her, strange noises poked at her consciousness; mechanical beeps and whirs and drips prodded her further out of her blackness. She felt like she was rising up through a body of water, everything around her getting lighter and lighter. Just before she broke the surface, she lingered, and two pale blue eyes swam up in her view while sad, broken voices echoed all around her.
"They've come t'save you. You're gonna be fine, y'hear me? They're here, Beth. They've come t'save you. They've come t'save you. You're gonna be fine. They're here, Beth. Beth. Y'hear me? They've come t'save you. Beth. You're gonna be fine…"
Her eyelids twitched; they felt heavy and bruised, and she had a hard time getting them open. When she finally did, everything was pitch-black, until the darkness receded and her surroundings came into focus. She was staring up at a ceiling. The fluorescent lights above were oddly dim; the corked panels that made up the ceiling were a shade of off-white, some rectangles stained beige in the corners from prior water damage.
Beth began to turn her head to the side, but an intense pain shot up and down her neck, causing her to cry out. When she did, her voice was nothing but a muffled croak, and even that small noise felt as though she had shards of glass scraping the inside of her windpipe. She put a hand to her mouth, feeling the smooth plastic of the oxygen mask strapped to her face. She tried to swallow, but winced at the sensation; a tube was going all the way down her throat.
She raised her arm up slowly, getting a feel for the rest of her stiff body; eying the IV drip embedded in her wrist. She looked around at what she could see with just her eyes; even if there hadn't been pain in her neck, the brace around it would have kept her from moving her head too far from side to side. To her left was a cart with an IV strung to it, dripping clear liquid into the tube leading down to her wrist. Behind it was a collection of monitors, all humming and beeping, every wire leading to her. Beyond that was a large window with the curtains drawn. Through the cracks, she could tell it was dark outside.
Beth closed her eyes again, willing herself to regain her bearings. Why on earth was she in a hospital bed, hooked up to a bunch of machines?
The last thing she remembered was driving home from Sasha's diner on Tuesday afternoon. After that, her memory drew a complete blank. Any more than that, and it just felt like she was walking into a dark closet with no windows; she was grasping blindly for some sliver of memory, but nothing was there to find.
Had she gotten into an accident? The weather had been getting a lot colder, with threats of sleeting and freezing in the forecast. She remembered planning to grocery shop and stock up in case she got stranded in the cabin; she was sure that she'd never made it that far, though. Surely she wouldn't have gotten so injured in her Jeep; it was sturdy and had roll-bars and everything.
Opening her eyes, she scanned what she could see of the room on the other side of her bed, and was shocked to find that the table next to her was covered in flower arrangements, balloons, and a couple of stuffed animals.
Just how long had she been there?
Her whole body was sore, but she was thankful that she seemed to be able to move her feet and legs; nothing seemed too worse for wear, except for her neck and chest. Breathing was painful, and the sensation of air entering and leaving her body without her effort was uncomfortable and strange.
Just then, the door to the hallway opened up, causing her to squint against the brightness.
"You're awake," a nurse said, walking over to peer down at her. "Your family will be relieved."
She smiled courteously, marking down a couple of things on Beth's chart and checking her watch to note the time. "Before you get back to resting, there are a couple of Sheriff's Deputies who need to ask you a few questions about what happened. We tried to tell them that it wasn't the time for that yet, but they insisted that it was a matter of urgency. Do you feel up to that?"
Beth frowned; why would Sheriff's Deputies need to speak to her? Had she hurt someone else in the accident? She panicked slightly, trying to remember what happened after she left the diner; had she picked someone up? Was there another person in the car with her when it crashed?
With Beth unable to answer anyway, the nurse turned and left the room, not bothering to offer her any explanations whatsoever as to why she was there. Beth tried focusing on the clock hanging from the wall by her door. She thought it said 5:14, but it was definitely dark outside. So, it had to be 5 in the morning; and the nurse was getting the deputies right now?
Beth was a strange mixture of exhausted and antsy; her mind and body at odds with each other.
Not too much time passed before Rick Grimes entered Beth's room looking groggy and disheveled. He was wearing his brown uniform pants, but the shirt he had on was a plain white undershirt. His hair was messy like he'd just woken up.
The fact that he'd been asleep at 5 a.m. didn't surprise Beth; it was the speed in which he got to her room. Not more than a few minutes could've passed since the nurse left to get him. Was he sleeping at the hospital?
Her blood ran cold as another thought hit her. Had Lori been in the car with her?
Rick walked over to her bedside, smiling at her kindly. It wasn't the expression of a man whose wife was lying in a hospital bed, and Beth felt a glimmer of hope.
He glanced up at her monitor, noting the increase in her heartbeat. He paused a few feet from her bed, holding his hands up. When he looked back at her, he seemed different suddenly.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Beth," he said gently. "You don't have anything to fear from me, okay?"
She frowned at him; why on earth would she think he'd mean her harm?
"Do you remember what happened?" he asked carefully, noting her confused expression.
By force of habit, she jerked her head in an attempt to shake it at him, but as soon as she used the muscles in her neck, more pain radiated throughout it. She made a sound that was like a weird gargle, even to her own ears. With a tube down her throat, though, she didn't have a good range of motion on either her neck, or her involuntary noises.
Rick, a step ahead of her dilemma, slowly grabbed a pad of paper and a pen out from the drawer next to her bed. He wrote on the spiral and then stepped closer and held it within reach of her. She looked at the pad; he'd drawn two large boxes on it. The one on the right contained the word "NO" and the left contained the word "YES."
Looking back at him, she awaited his first question.
"Do you think this will work alright?" He asked.
She raised her sore arm and tapped her finger on YES.
"Do you feel up to some questioning right now?"
YES.
"Thank you," he told her genuinely, smiling down at her. "Do you remember what happened?"
NO.
Nodding, he rubbed his thumb on the paper uncomfortably. "Okay, we'll ease into it then. To be honest, Beth, no one is quite sure what happened to you, either."
She frowned. How could they not know what had happened to her?
His eyes lit up in alarm at a new idea and he blurted out, "Do you remember who you are?"
YES.
He breathed a sigh of relief. "Good… that's good. The doctors said they didn't know how much damage to expect; you came in with a pretty severe concussion."
Rick grabbed the chair near the door and scooted it over to sit in it, propping the spiral up on a spare pillow so that Beth was more comfortable tapping it without her hand being in the air. She was thankful for that; she was so weak that even holding her arm up had been draining her energy.
"You were at your cabin when we found you," he told her. "Do you remember being at your cabin?"
NO.
"Today is Friday," he told her. "We found you around 10:30 p.m. on Tuesday night. Do you remember Tuesday at all?"
YES.
"Good," he said, seeming pleased. "If you remember earlier in the day on Tuesday, then your lapse in memory might just be temporary."
She tried to quirk her lips in a smile, but it was too difficult.
"Do you remember having a visitor to your cabin on Tuesday?"
NO.
"Was anyone from out of town staying with you at your place?"
NO.
"From what you recall, did you talk to Daryl Dixon at all on Tuesday?"
Daryl? What did any of it have to do with Daryl? Then, vaguely, she wondered if she'd foolishly gone out into the woods again and injured herself out there somehow. If Daryl had to put up with her during another one of her shenanigans, he was bound to be pretty displeased with her. Especially after the way she'd treated him in the supermarket on Saturday afternoon.
NO.
"Is there any reason Daryl would have to be angry with you?"
She thought back to her low-blow that day in the tampon aisle, and a number of other things she'd done to irritate him over their short time together.
YES.
Rick frowned at her answer, eying her intently; she could see that he was choosing his next question carefully. A bad feeling came over her as she stared at the expression on his face.
"Can you think of a reason that Daryl would choose to do you harm?"
Beth scowled at the question. Was he asking if Daryl would physically hurt her?
NO.
Rick nodded at her answer choices, contemplating. "So even if Daryl was very angry at you, or say… jealous. You don't think he would ever try to hurt you?"
NO.
She didn't like where this line of questioning was headed.
Rick wet his lips, seeming nervous at the answers she was providing him. Something was definitely wrong.
She tapped the blank part of the page with her finger to convey that she needed more questions to answer. What he was asking her wasn't making any sense at all.
Finally, he looked her in the eye and asked, "Do you know anyone by the name of Zach Gallner?"
Beth's eyes widened and the blood in her veins ran cold. Momentarily, she forgot Rick was waiting on an answer. The way his expression changed into something darker, she could tell that he could already guess her answer. Determined not to have any confusion between them, though, Beth dutifully tapped her answer onto the paper, although slightly harder than she'd intended.
YES. YES. YES.
"Are you and Zach friends?" Rick asked carefully.
NO. NO. NO.
"Would Zach have any reason to be angry with you?"
YES.
"Do you think Zach would do you harm?"
YES. YES. YES. YES.
Rick nodded, and Beth could tell he was trying not to look relieved, but he was failing at it.
"Were you and Zach ever romantically involved?"
YES.
"Has Zach ever lost his temper with you before?"
YES.
"Has Zach ever turned violent?"
YES.
Rick's tone of voice gentled as he put the puzzle pieces together, and Beth could tell that whatever was left for him to ask only needed her answers to confirm what he already suspected.
"Lori had mentioned to me in the past that you'd moved down here rather suddenly and without many possessions. Is Zach the reason you left Chicago?"
YES.
Rick nodded, sitting back in his chair, running his hands tiredly down his face. "I knew that was more likely," he said.
At Beth's questioning gaze, he finally decided to catch her up on what the hell was going on.
"On Tuesday night, around 10 p.m., there was a phone call received at the 911 switchboard, from your cabin. In the transcript, you told the operator that 'he found you,' and that he was trying to break into your bedroom. You never said who, though. The operator lost the connection with you, and your line was busy every time they called back. By the time they notified us and we found the damn cabin, well… it was a bloodbath in there. You were beaten and unconscious with Daryl crouched over your body as soon as we entered the house. Zach was unconscious, too. He'd been shot through the shoulder with an arrow from Daryl's crossbow, and he was messed up so bad that he's already undergone two surgeries this week to try and piece his jaw back together. We weren't sure what had happened, but it looked bad for Daryl. We booked him and put him in a holding cell until we could get some answers from somewhere. I didn't think he was capable of hurting you," Rick said, wincing as he prepared for his next words, "but honestly, if I'd come upon a scene like that with complete strangers; it looked like you'd brought a date back to your place and Daryl broke in and attacked you both in a rage. That's what everyone else responding to the scene thought, too."
She tapped NO very pointedly. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!
"I'm still waiting on Zach's prints to come back from the lab to see if he has any priors; as well as the report on the fingerprints lifted from the kitchen knife and the crossbow."
He paused, sitting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You're absolutely positive that Daryl wasn't the aggressor, correct?"
YES.
"I'd like to release him from jail, then, since he's not our guy. Daryl insisted all along that Zach was choking you when he got there and he was just defending you both. I wanted to think that was the truth. I'm glad to hear my intuition is still sharp," he said, chuckling a bit. "Besides, only minutes before we showed up, there is a transcript of Daryl calling 911 and requesting an ambulance."
YES, she tapped. Yes to all of it.
She might not have remembered any of what had happened, but she damn sure knew that if something like that had gone down, then she had Daryl to thank for her life.
Just then, the nurse came back in. "Deputy, are you finished with your questioning? Her medication will wear off soon and we need to get her sedated to prevent further damage to her throat."
"Yeah," Rick said, glancing briefly back at the nurse. He stood, putting his hand in Beth's and lightly squeezing her fingers. "Thank you, Beth. I know this wasn't easy, but you gave me what I needed to set Daryl free. Zach isn't going anywhere for the foreseeable future, and by the time he's well enough to get out of this hospital, I promise you that I'll have a tight case against him. He won't be allowed the chance to do this to you again, or to any other woman."
Beth felt tears swell in her eyes at the seriousness of Rick's face as he stared down at her. She knew Lori's husband was a good man and a great father; it appeared that he was an amazing officer, as well.
"Rest up," he said. "I'll tell Lori and the girls you said hi. They've been itchin' to come sit with you all week. We just couldn't allow it until we'd gotten a statement. Your sister and father are here, too. They'll be back tomorrow morning for visiting hours, I'm sure."
Beth gave him a thumbs up, even though she didn't feel very well, and wasn't really in the mood to have visitors fawning all over her. She loved her sister dearly, and would enjoy seeing her again, but just wished it could be under better circumstances. She'd never quite gone into detail with Maggie about just how psychotic Zach had gotten before she left him. Beth had lied to her whole family and blamed half of the reasoning for her sudden move to an inclination of wanderlust; her big sister hadn't approved of Beth's unusually hyper spirit.
Once Rick had gone, the nurse changed out Beth's urine bag, attaching a new one to her catheter, and checking over all of her various cords, tubes, and IVs to verify they were all in place.
"Alright, Beth. I'm glad to see you're coherent, but I'm going to have to ask the anesthesiologist come in here in a few minutes. Dr. Thurman, your attending physician, has instructed us to put you into a medically induced coma for the next couple of days. During the last CT scan, your throat showed signs of more tearing and inflammation than when you'd gotten out of ICU; probably restlessness caused by your body's irritation with the breathing tube."
Beth grabbed the pad of paper and tapped it a few times so the nurse would look.
NO.
"I'm sorry," she said, even though she didn't sound it. "You'll barely notice it. You'll wake up next week and feel a hundred times better. Hopefully at that point we can remove your breathing tube and everything. Dr. Thurman wants to see you make it home by next Thursday."
Beth understood all of that, but she needed something else. She mimicked writing on the page with a pen. Luckily, the nurse caught on, and pulled a pen out of the pocket on her scrubs, handing it over.
Scribbling with her weak, unsteady hand, Beth wrote, "Give me 5 minutes to write a note?"
The nurse leaned over to read the sloppy question, but nodded as she straightened up. "Sure thing, sweetheart," she said. "Five minutes. Then I'll be back in here with the anesthesiologist and we'll get going, okay?"
YES.
As the nurse left, Beth struggled weakly to rip Rick's questionnaire page out of the spiral so that she had a blank sheet to work with. She was flat on her back still, and could hardly move her upper body, so she knew that attempting to write anything too lengthy would just end up illegible.
As slowly and carefully as possible, she wrote a short note. She carefully ripped that page out too, doing her best not to tear her words. After getting it off, she let go of the spiral and focused her energy on folding the piece of paper. Her throat was beginning to worsen, and she could tell that the nurse's timing on when the pain killers would wear off was nearly spot-on.
Her hands shook with the effort of it, but she finally got the paper folded halfway decently. She picked up the pen one more time, slowly drawing a single name across the front of the paper.
Just as she had finished, the nurse came back into her room followed by a taller man in light colored scrubs.
Beth handed the pen back to her nurse, as the anesthesiologist introduced himself to her and began explaining their next few steps so she would be prepared for it. She gripped the folded note tightly in her hand, laying it onto the bed next to her so that when she went under, the note wouldn't be lost.
As he moved to insert a smaller tube into the plastic oxygen mask strapped to her face, Beth looked up and focused on the stains in the ceiling, and the feel of the paper clenched tight in her fist.
She didn't have the time, the strength, or the energy to dwell on what had happened to her Tuesday night. As her eyelids began to get heavy, she compelled herself to imagine Daryl the way he looked when she'd seen him last. She'd been so angry with him, and hurt, that she'd managed to injure him in return with her callous words.
If everything had gone down the way Rick suspected it had, though, Beth had a lot of reconciliation left ahead of her when it came to Daryl Dixon. Her eyes slid closed, and she imagined his face above her, lanced with fear that she'd never seen on him before, his tears falling onto her face.
"You're gonna be fine, y'hear me?" she heard him tell her roughly, his voice cracking. She hated that he sounded so lost; and looked so broken.
Come into the dark with me, she coaxed him. Let's be lost together.
And then they were.