A/N: Wow, this chapter POURED out. Thank goodness, because it was a lot of shit to cover.
After the last chapter, I got a PM from Dixon's Asskicker, asking if I had a FB page for the story; I didn't, so she asked to make one. I thought it was a really cool idea! So, [since this site doesn't like links in our stories,] the page is on Facebook, and it's /groups/896639193700827. I'll post a full link in my bio sometime tomorrow for you guys to get to. Thanks again, Dixon's Asskicker! I'm so honored =D
And jeez, if you guys are that into it, maybe I'll have to share a link to my art page at some point later down the road. I'll be getting a table in the Artist's Alley at a horror/sci-fi convention in my city sometime this year, (Emily Kinney and Steven Yuen will be in attendance, along with a lot of other Walking Dead cast members that have been killed off. Joe, Amy, etc. So it should be fun!) so there will be lots of Walking Dead art to look forward to. Hmmm.. ;)
The reviews, guys! The reviews! They've all been so wonderful. I love reading about where you guys are when you're catching up on the chapters, too! Some people have been on trains, others have been up all night or late for work the next morning. You all sound like me; we're a mess. 3
Anyway, since I've had dozens of great reviews this morning from chapter 14, I am rewarding you with chapter 15, instead of going back to bed and sleeping all day like I really, really wanted ;) I wanted to thank everyone who has followed and favorited myself and the story, as well. You're all awesome and fantastic. I appreciate the love.
Alright, are we ready for the beatdown?
Chapter 15
Daryl paced.
It had been days. Three, to be exact. He'd been trapped behind bars for three days.
He couldn't help but think of Merle as he paced back and forth, running his fingers across the bars absentmindedly. Daryl had never been in jail before; Merle had been the one to spend most of his youth in and out of the system. Sometimes, Merle could be a shit brother, but for the most part, he cared about Daryl and what happened to him. Any time some shit had gone down, Merle had always gotten Daryl out of the crossfire and taken the brunt of the punishment onto himself; with cops and criminals alike.
Merle was doing time in the pen currently, for a drug raid on their apartment a few months back. He and Daryl had fought that day, so Daryl had left their tiny, shitty-ass place to go for a walk and cool his temper. When he got around the block and neared the building again, it was covered in SWAT cars and flashing lights. All of the guys that had been crashing at their place were being escorted out in handcuffs, his brother included. Merle had grinned and winked at him right before he was stuffed into the back of a police cruiser and driven off. During the raid, the stash of money Merle had kept hidden in the apartment had been found and seized, and Daryl didn't have a dime leftover for rent. So, he loaded Merle's bike into the back of his truck and took off.
There hadn't been a point in sticking around the area anyway, nor heading over to stay close to the prison Merle had been transferred to. Merle never really cared for Daryl to visit him anyway.
What're you, my damn momma? I don' need yer pansy little ass in 'ere checkin' up on me like I'm some kinda pussy e'ery time I end up intha pen, y'hear? Merle had blathered the last time Daryl had gone to visit him during a different stint he'd been doing over car theft. So, Daryl had quit going back.
He'd written a letter to Merle as soon as their dad died, letting him know that he'd be crashing at their da's trailer since he lost their apartment after Merle was hauled off. He'd never heard anything back from him, though.
Now, locked away in a cell the size of a shoebox, Daryl couldn't imagine how his brother had managed to stay sane after so many of his trips to the bullpen. Well, as sane as Merle could be, anyhow.
He continued pacing back and forth across the 5 feet of his cell, occasionally stubbing his slippered toe on the leg of the bed, but never slowing; never sitting. How could he possibly rest anyway?
The one thing truly driving him to the brink of his sanity was the complete and utter absence of any kind of news regarding Beth and her condition. Rick Grimes had taken Daryl's statement in the interrogation room the first morning after the incident had occurred, but then Rick threw the notes of Daryl's account in a folder and whisked out of the room, and Daryl hadn't seen him since.
Three.
Fucking.
Days.
Since the town was somewhat small, they had a couple of holding cells and drunk tanks, but that was all; most of their criminals were shipped a town over until they appeared before a judge or their case went to trial.
Daryl didn't know what to think of the fact that he was still locked away in the cell that was furthest from the front, neither being released, nor being charged with anything more serious than breaking and entering, resisting arrest, and assaulting an officer. He thought "assault" was an exaggeration; all he did was kick the asshole. At least they'd given him that one phone call the next morning, though. He'd used it to phone up to the shop to let Ron know he'd be out until next Monday.
Ron said it was fine, thankfully, but Daryl had the bad feeling that he wouldn't be making it back there by Monday. Once he was booked, he'd be going away for awhile, and everything he'd worked for would be up in smoke; his apartment, his job, his new take on life. But then, that was the luck of a Dixon; couldn't catch a damn break.
Regardless, he hadn't been charged for murder so far, which told him that either Beth and that asshole were both still alive, or Rick and his crew weren't 100% sure that they could effectively pin the whole thing on Daryl quite yet.
At that point, he could care less what happened to him, though. All he wanted was an update on Beth's condition. The first morning, all Rick could tell him was that she was stable, but hadn't regained consciousness yet. He wouldn't go into detail as to what all of her injuries were; no doubt they were going to wait and use that kind of knowledge against him during trial.
But the not knowing was killing him.
As he paced back and forth like an animal caught in a cage, he could feel the tension coiled around his heart like a snake, squeezing, slowly draining him of energy and life. He hadn't realized how much he hated small spaces until he'd found himself trapped in one. It didn't help that he'd probably only managed to accumulate 4 or 5 hours of sleep in the last three days he'd been in there.
Every time he drifted off, he dreamt terrible things that sent him spiraling back into reality; Beth being attacked, Beth being beaten, Beth being mauled by that red beast in the forest. Each time, he couldn't really get to her in the dream. Either his feet were stuck in mud, or he ran so slowly that by the time he'd gone 10 feet, her death had already occurred while he'd watched it happen, cursing himself for not being able to run faster.
The dream he'd had early that morning had been particularly gruesome. Beth had been battered and bruised, but alive, and being held captive in a hospital. He'd gone in to save her, but during a tense stand-off, before he could move to protect her, she'd lashed out at a dark-haired woman in a police uniform, who'd reacted by shooting Beth in the face. The back of Beth's golden blonde head had exploded outward in a shower of blood, brain matter, and skull fragments; all splattering across the front of Daryl, who'd been standing only feet behind her.
He'd shot straight up on the cot that morning, vigorously rubbing his hands all over his chest and face, searching for evidence that it had been real. Even when he found none, he'd been too worked up to try for more sleep.
He finally paused and leaned his forehead between a gap in the bars, letting them cradle his skull for a minute. He was fucking exhausted.
Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Beth as she had been the night he'd gotten dragged away from her. At that point, he wasn't sure if she'd really been as bad off as he remembered, or if his imagination was torturing him with worse images that were far removed from what she'd actually endured. He really hoped he was making most of it up.
His thoughts kept traveling back to the asshole who'd attacked her, too. If Daryl was going to go down for a crime he didn't commit anyway, then he regretted not killing the fucker outright. Surely, when Beth woke from her coma, she'd set the record straight. He wasn't too worried about that. The idea that the asshole might slip away in the meantime, though, kept Daryl's blood boiling. He didn't want Beth to ever be constantly looking over her shoulder, scared because that prick was loose in the world and might come back for her. Fuck that.
Daryl's temper flared and he grabbed the bars to his cell, pulling and jerking at them, just to burn off the inferno coursing through him. He'd already tried upending the bed the first day he was there and hurt himself stupidly; the damned things were bolted into the concrete.
It didn't take very long for him to wear himself out; he was definitely weakened in his sleep-deprived state. When he finally let go of the bars and fell back onto his cot, he realized that he'd managed to tear the healing skin of his knuckles; the blood was seeping out from the bandages wrapped around both hands.
He put one arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He hoped that Beth was doing better than he was; that she was healing, surrounded by her friends. Daryl hated the thought of her lying alone in a sterile hospital room, covered in injuries, while he was unable to do anything for her. His most recent dream about the hostile environment in that hospital tickled his memories, and he shuddered.
Just then, he heard the squeal of the door separating the cells from the guard's office, and sat up in his cot. Raised voices echoed down the short hallway and he knew that they were there for him; there had been two men in the drunk-tank last night, but they'd been released that morning, so Daryl was the only person left behind those bars. The footfalls stopped as the door clanged closed again, and he waited, listening.
"You can't be fucken' serious," Shane hissed, his voice carrying throughout the empty space.
"I'm very serious," Rick responded defensively. "I got confirmation from Carol, too, even. There's not a doubt in my mind."
"You don't have any proof that you're right, though," Shane argued. "You saw what I saw when we entered that cabin, Rick. He had his hands on that girl, and the blood on his crossbow belonged to the other guy. Hell, Dixon shot the kid through with a crossbow, for fuck's sake. Doesn't that tell you enough?"
Daryl stood, anxiously beginning to pace again. What did Rick mean, he got confirmation from Carol? Confirmation of what? She hadn't been there that night. Maybe she'd told Rick how Daryl had threatened to beat her husband's ass just a week ago. Quite a character witness they'd found.
Why were they speaking to Carol in the first place, though? What was going on with Beth?
His chest constricted as he unintentionally imagined the worst. Maybe they were both dead. Maybe that's why the cops were finding anyone they could to give them dirt on Daryl. A lump formed in his throat, and he fisted one hand in his hair as he paced. She wasn't dead, he told himself. She couldn't be dead. She was too good for that. Beth was all laughter and kindness; he'd never seen anyone embrace life the way she seemed to. For her to leave the world by way of violence while he and Merle were still breathing air; it wasn't right.
"I have all o' the proof I need," Rick responded sternly. "And for that matter, it ain't your call, Shane. It's mine."
Before Daryl could manage to work himself into a panic with his dark thoughts, Rick continued on until he was stopped right in front of Daryl's cell.
Anxiously, Daryl shifted his weight from foot to foot, biting his thumb nail as he glared at Rick from under his long bangs.
"Any word on Beth?" he said, before the Sheriff could say anything. Whatever it was they were going to do to him now, he didn't care. He just needed to know that Beth was alright.
Rick nodded to him solemnly. "She wasn't healin' properly. Her throat's in pretty bad shape… They put her into a medical coma this mornin'."
Daryl clenched his jaw, feeling the tangy taste of copper as his teeth broke through the skin on the inside of his cheek. He thought not knowing was hell, but imagining her lying in a coma with a crushed throat was just as terrible.
At leas' she's alive, he reminded himself. The girl's a fighter; he saw evidence of that Tuesday night. She's a fighter, and she'll pull through. She had to.
His eyes dropped and focused on the lump Rick had tucked under one arm.
Rick cleared his throat and pulled the items out in front of him. It was a stack of Daryl's folded clothes and an envelope that said "Daryl Dixon" on the front in marker. Using his other hand, Rick pulled keys out and unlocked the door to Daryl's cell.
"I was at the hospital this week, keeping an eye on Zach and Beth. They were both in the ICU for awhile. She finally regained consciousness around 5 this morning; a nurse came and got me. She was coherent, and even though she couldn't remember anything about what had happened that night, she assured me that Zach had been the aggressor. She seemed surprised that you'd even been there at all."
Daryl exhaled and let out a chuckle that sounded embarrassingly close to a sob, but Rick didn't comment on it as Daryl took the pile of clothes from him.
"So… she's gonna be a'right?" Daryl said slowly. "She's talkin' an'… an' everythin'? Why're they puttin' her back into a coma, then?"
Rick looped his thumbs on his gunbelt, frowning as he looked up at the walls behind Daryl, choosing his words. "She's not speaking, really," he said. "She's on a ventilator until her throat is healed enough not to collapse on her again. I wrote words on a spiral and she used it to answer yes and no questions. But she looked shocked when I told her Zach's name, and when I asked if he'd ever hurt her before… Well, anyway. We have our guy, and he ain't you."
Rick's pause in reference to Zach left a lot unsaid, but Daryl could fill in the blanks plenty fine on his own. I asked if he'd ever hurt her before… The thought of that fucker laying his hands on Beth once was enough to almost get him killed; but for Daryl to find out that this hadn't even been the first time? The prick had better pray for a life sentence. If he ever stepped foot outside a prison, Daryl would make sure no one could identify the body except his dentist. And, judging by how many teeth he'd lost the last time Daryl had gotten a hold of him, even that method wouldn't be easy.
"O' course it ain't me," Daryl snapped, "I done tol' you tha' all fucken week. All you cops ain't got ears or some shit." He felt livid, knowing that Beth had been kept alive by machines for days while doctors wasted their time working to save the life of her aggressor in the ICU. That asshole deserved nothing more than to be thrown into the hospital's incinerator fully conscious.
"I had'ta know for sure," Rick told him calmly. "If it had been reversed, with Zach in here and you in a hospital bed, you'd have wanted me to know before I just let him free, right?"
Daryl heard him, and in time, he'd admit that Rick was right. But for now, all he could think was that Beth had been on the brink of death while he sat around in a cage for days. His anger had rendered his thought capacity for reasoning useless.
"Seems like your police work isn't wha' it usedta be. Didn't any o' you see the damned scratches on tha' fucker's arms?"
"Yeah," Rick admitted. "I made note of them, and Beth had skin under her nails that we sent off to labs in Atlanta. I knew it was him, but I didn't have the proof in hand, yet, Daryl. I needed something concrete."
"What room is she in?" Daryl said, bored with the Sheriff's excuses. Not bothering to wait for Rick to leave, Daryl started pulling off his orange inmate clothing, replacing it with his own.
"302," Rick told him, crossing his arms over his chest. "And Daryl… Zach is under 24-hour watch. He ain't goin nowhere even if he could, and you will not be permitted anywhere near his room, you got me? Don't be doin' nothin' stupid that'll land you right back in here, or worse. Just focus on Beth."
Daryl grunted at him, but made no promises.
As he was in the front signing out, he caught Shane out of the corner of his eye, glaring at him from across the lobby. Daryl flipped him off as he handed the clipboard back to the lady behind the glass. He chuckled darkly as Shane began striding in his direction, only to be intercepted and reamed by Rick. If he never saw that fucker again in his whole life, it'd still be too soon.
"Asshole," he muttered, pulling his jacket closer around himself as the door to the courthouse closed behind him. In the three days he'd been locked up, the temperature outside had dropped exponentially. Suddenly, Rick appeared from the door behind him, clapping a hand on the back of his shoulder.
"Come on, I'll give you a lift t'your place."
Daryl's first instinct was to refuse Rick's help; after all, it was his people's shoddy police work that had gotten Daryl thrown in there to begin with. That is, until a burst of wind slammed into him, chilling him to the bone; then he decided it wasn't the worst idea. He'd take Rick up on his offer, just this once.
He grunted and followed him to the squad car.
They drove most of the way without talking, although the low volume of the radio blended with the sound of the engine to keep the ride from being completely silent.
"Back there," Daryl said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "you said somethin' t' Shane about Carol; 'bout getting' confirmation from her…?"
"Ah," Rick said. "Well, the scene looked really bad on your part, but with Beth unconscious, I couldn't figure out where the other guy fit into all of it. Carol is the one who pulled me into the hallway at the hospital and told me about Beth's ex, Zach. We knew his name from his ID, but that was about it. Nothin' else was pulling up anything for him in the system, and Lori and the other girls hadn't ever seen or heard about him before. Carol told me she didn't think it was you. She said you'd never hurt a single hair on Beth's blonde head. I knew that it was Zach; I just needed Beth's verification before I could justify letting you out."
Daryl nodded briefly, his head swimming with all of the information he'd been granted that morning after days of not having any; sort of like when he was a kid, he'd get so dehydrated from being outside in the heat that he'd grab the hose and drink down a ton of water, but then got sick off of it, even though it's exactly what he needed.
So the prick he'd taken out had been Beth's ex. Not just some jealous stalker or anything; she'd actually been in a relationship with the jerk at one point. Daryl frowned as he looked out the window, letting the idea sink in. It kind of explained the way she acted toward him, now that he thought about it. She'd never been afraid of him, never backed down when he'd tried to intimidate her, and didn't ever take his anger very seriously; why would she cower to Daryl's pissy moods when she had survived the likes of that rotten bastard?
Finally, Rick pulled into Daryl's driveway. "Thanks," Daryl mumbled to him as he got out and slammed the door behind him, not bothering to wait and see if Rick had anything else to say.
He went straight into his trailer to grab his truck keys, and then he headed for the hospital a town over; the only one that'd be equipped with an ICU. Room 302, he reminded himself as he drove.
The hospital she was in wasn't huge, by any means, not like an inner-city hospital. But it was built with the intention of being the go-to hospital for the smaller surrounding towns, so there were still plenty of floors and commotion when Daryl walked in the entrance. He followed the signs and elevators up to her floor, searching for the right room number. He turned the corner and immediately recognized which room in the hallway was hers, based on the sheriff's deputy that was seated outside the door in a lobby chair, reading a magazine.
Daryl's nerves had started in on him while he was driving, and the closer he got, the more anxious he was. Now that he was twenty feet from her door, he was jittery; practically trembling in the anticipation.
He placed one foot in front of the other until the cop noticed him and looked up. He had been frowning until he looked Daryl over, seeming to relax a bit.
"You Daryl Dixon?" he quipped, standing and setting his paper aside on the chair.
"Yeah," Daryl responded, narrowing his eyes at the officer. He wasn't about to be turned away now that he'd made it this far, even if he had to take the guy out and piss Rick off something awful, he wasn't turning back.
"Rick called ahead and said to let you in. I just need t'see some I.D."
With shaking hands, Daryl pulled his wallet out and handed the whole thing to the officer for him to flip through, relieved that there wouldn't be any trouble. The cop briefly glanced at the driver's license and then handed it back, motioning for him to go in.
Daryl entered Beth's room as silently as possible; feeling his stomach flip over once the noise of the machines hit his ears. The electric beeping of her heartbeat was jarring; along with the occasional whooshing from the iron lung that was continuously filling her body with air. He'd only ever been inside of an actual hospital once before as a kid, when Merle had taken a spill on his bike. Daryl's dad hadn't ever taken them into the doctor for anything less than a broken bone, so Daryl had just never frequented them.
The antiseptic scent of everything made him lightheaded.
As soon as he was a couple more feet into the room, a short-haired brunette perched in a chair near the bed looked up at him. Her eyes were green, rather than the vast endless blue of Beth's irises; but the shapes of their eyes were the same, as well as the stubborn jaw.
Daryl froze, not having expected anyone to be there. Which was stupid, he realized. Everyone loved Beth; of course there would be someone sitting with her night and day. Awkwardly, he turned to leave.
"Wait," the girl said, coming around the bed towards him. "Don't leave on my account. I was getting ready to head back to the hotel for the night anyway; the doctors got mad at all of us trying to sleep in her room when there's no sense in it. We know she won't be awake until next week anyway," she laughed a little, humorlessly, glancing back at her sister on the bed.
Daryl hadn't been brave enough to actually look at Beth yet. He couldn't; not yet. He wasn't ready.
"I'm Maggie, by the way. Beth's sister," the woman said, gathering up her jacket and purse from the empty chair near the bathroom door. "It's nice to see that even though Bethy hasn't been here very long, she has made a good impression on a lot of people."
Not sure what she wanted him to say, he just nodded briefly.
She pressed her lips together, looking like she felt as awkward as he did. Finally, she just took her leave, glancing briefly back at her sister before shutting the door behind her softly; leaving him alone with Beth.
He paced around her room a bit, looking over at her bed where he could see the shape of her under the blankets. The whooshing of the iron lung still had his nerves on edge. Thankfully, the lights in there were dim, since it was pretty late in the evening; Daryl felt more comfortable under the cover of the dark. The only bright spot in her room was from a lamp near her bed that was on. The brightness streamed over her bedside table which was covered in vases that were overflowing with flowers, along with various balloons, and some stuffed animals sprinkled throughout.
He hadn't even thought to bring her anything for when she woke up.
Biting his thumb, he finally advanced on her bed and looked upon her for the first time since Tuesday night.
He was slightly relieved to see that his imagination had in fact worked overtime to produce a much bleaker picture of her. Her face was still pretty bruised, but the worst of it had already begun turning yellow, so she'd at least been healing while he was locked up.
He couldn't see her throat because of the brace around it, and she had an oxygen mask covering the entire lower half of her face. He stared, surprised at how different she looked with all of her features relaxed. He'd heard of the notion that people looked younger when they were asleep, but to him, Beth looked older. Her skin was translucently pale compared to the dark discoloration of her bruises, and even the light splattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose seemed more pronounced than he'd ever remembered. Her features looked peaceful, but somber. She didn't look like herself without a big grin plastered across her face, or the stubborn scowl that was aimed at him quite a bit.
Daryl couldn't ever remember looking at her for such a long period of time before; generally he took her all in through quick glances. He didn't want to stare and creep her out before, but now he found that he couldn't look away.
He swallowed, feeling nervous around her, even though he didn't buy into the notion that coma patients were aware of everything going on around them while they were out.
Finally, he pulled up the chair that her sister had been occupying, and sat down in it, scooting it so that he was up against her bed. Seeing how weak she looked made him feel helpless and useless.
He leaned forward softly, leaning his arm on the mattress next to her, and propping his chin on it. He used his other hand to gently reach out and touch her arm. He ran his fingertips up and down her soft, warm skin, being careful not to bump any of the IV tubes plugged into her wrist and hand.
"I'm sorry," he whispered quietly.
Daryl felt like he wanted his hands all over her, to be pressed against her, just to be closer to her; to share her warmth and listen to her heartbeat. He settled for slipping a few of his calloused fingers underneath her hand.
He frowned when, instead of the soft, warm skin of her palm, he encountered the smooth, flat texture of paper. Sitting up, he gently lifted her hand and pulled out a small folded square of white. His breath caught when he flipped it over; his name staring up at him in her feminine, delicate handwriting.
He glanced at her as though her expression would give something away; if she were awake, she'd probably be grinning one of her trademark smiles that lit up her whole damn face.
It took him a second to open it, since his hands were still pretty unsteady. He glanced at it briefly in its entirety, realizing that her penmanship was shaky, and her sentences were slanting completely off of the pre-printed lines on the paper. She must've written it this morning when Rick said she'd regained consciousness. He leaned back in the chair, biting on the tip of his index finger as he began to read her letter.
Daryl,
I awoke this morning to strange noises and pain. My breath is like fire in my chest, and I feel like the world has gone on without me. Rick was in here asking about an attack that I don't remember. Zach, the very thing I left Chicago to get away from, is now merely a floor away from me in the ICU.
And then there's you… caught in the middle of whatever this was. Thrown in jail.
I can't begin to imagine how you got tangled up in all of this, or what you've been going through this past week, but I'm so sorry.
I'm sorry that I kept pushing at you when you wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I'm sorry that I ruined your hunts and interrupted your breakfasts. I'm sorry that I broke my promise to leave you be after you spent all night being coddled by me against your will. Mostly, I'm sorry for what I said to you on Saturday. I regretted my words the moment I stepped out of the store, and this morning, waking up in the hospital, I hated the idea that I might've died and left you to spend the rest of your life thinking I meant those terrible words; I didn't, and I'm sorry.
But, I'm not sorry that you came to be in my life. I'm not sorry about the way you make me smile, or even how mad you can get me. I'm not sorry that I shared pie with you, and I'm not sorry you showed up on my doorstep after you fell into a river. I'm not sorry I teased you about your groceries, or got to hang out with you at the bar. I'm not sorry that I've seen you blush or that you yelled at one of your coworkers just because he was trying to ask me out. I'm not sorry that you're my neighbor or that I catch you staring at me like I might mean something to you, too. I'm not sorry I kissed you in the rain; I'll never be sorry about that. I'm not sorry about the way you make me feel, and I'm not even sorry that I'm not sorry. You'll have to get over it.
I'll see you when I wake up.
-Beth
He re-read her letter multiple times; he sure as fuck hadn't seen that coming.
He jumped up from the chair, abandoning her letter at the foot of her bed, and left her room.
The guard at her door asked, "Leavin'?"
"Air," Daryl said. "Jus' need some air."
"Alright," the cop responded. "If you're planning on coming back tonight, I wouldn't wonder too far, though. You have special permission to stay all night, but the nurses on the other floors don't like unidentified personnel wandering their halls after visiting hours; you're likely to get escorted out."
Daryl walked down the hall without responding. He wandered the halls, just as he was warned not to do, just trying to keep his head clear of anything. He didn't want to think about what was in her letter.
It had been a mistake, he finally decided. Beth was probably all loopy on pain medicine for her injuries, and she'd written him a crazy letter that she hadn't meant for him to ever see. He'd just have to get rid of it and pretend like he'd never laid eyes on the damned thing. Maybe she wouldn't remember writing it, or would assume one of the nurses had thrown it away. He'd never speak to her about it. It was for the best.
Once he'd made his second circuit around the hospital, he stopped a nurse to ask where the gift shop was. "It's one floor down, just follow the signs. I'd hurry if I were you, though; they close in like 3 minutes."
He found it finally, with only a minute or so to spare. As soon as he walked in the door, the little bell jingled merrily, and the lady behind the register looked at the clock and frowned at his bad timing.
Ignoring her rudeness, he walked around looking at all of the little stands filled with flowers, balloons, candy, and stuffed animals. He felt really awkward and out of place, surrounded by so much color and well-wishes. And why the fuck was he in there anyway? Beth wouldn't want anything from him.
He'd been on his way out the door when a strange color caught his eye. He paused and backed up a step, searching the overflowing shelf of stuffed animals. Finally, Daryl spotted the tuft of russet-red and reached in to pull the animal out of the pile on the shelf. It was a grumpy looking little dog with an under-bite and turned-down eyebrows. It looked exactly like the stupid ass mongrel in the forest that had caused him to fall into the river; the same russet colored mutt that had chased Beth into a thorny bramble. He smirked at it as he held it.
Beth would think it was funny as shit, too, he knew.
Before he could over-think his decision, he went and set it on the counter, digging out some money. The lady rang it up and threw it in a bag. After getting his change, he left and went back upstairs.
The cop nodded at Daryl briefly as he passed by to re-enter Beth's room.
Once he was back in there, he felt better. He pulled out her mean little stuffed animal and shoved it in with the rest of her get-well-soon collection. He wanted her to have it, but she didn't need to know that it was from him. After all, he hadn't exactly told her that he'd fallen into the river because of the same hellhound that he'd given her crap about not existing. She'd never let him live that one down.
He threw the paper gift shop bag and the receipt into the trash bin near the door. He grabbed her letter off of the bed and walked it over, intending to trash it, as well. Instead, he folded it up and stuck it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He told himself that he'd throw it away later; at home, where it was safe from other readers.
He walked back over and looked down at her, chewing on the inside of his lip. She still fucking smelled like coconut, he realized. It was faint, fighting against the other chemical scents in the room, but it was there just the same.
Pacing around her room a bit more, he warred with the decision to stay or leave. He shouldn't be in there for too much longer, but at the same time, he wasn't quite ready to leave her. Look at what had happened last time he fuckin' left her. Not that she wouldn't be safe in the hospital, or like he had any hope of helping her even if something did go wrong, but guilt was funny like that. He couldn't just abandon her again.
With his mind made up, Daryl sat back down in the chair next to her bed. Exhausted and weary from the week's events, he pillowed his head in his arms and laid them on her mattress next to her. Turning his head to the side, he stared at her delicate hand, still sporting the bright red nail polish from Halloween night. He slid his hand on top of hers, rubbing the tops of her fingers gently with his thumb. He closed his eyes for a second, fighting against falling asleep and reliving more of the nightmares that had been plaguing him.
Suddenly, voices roused him from sleep. He opened his eyes, blinking at the brightness of the room. Who the fuck would turn all of the lights on in the middle of the night?
He sat up stiffly, still squinting, and froze as the faces of Beth's friends all stared back at him in amazement. Standing there was Lori, Rick's wife; the waitress from the diner who hated him; Carol; and the girl who was married to the waitress' older brother, Tyreese.
Daryl turned around to look behind him at the window, shocked to find that sunlight was streaming in from behind the curtains.
He'd slept the entire fucking night away.
Standing hastily, he started walking away when he realized the IV bag next to Beth's bed was being pulled his direction. He looked down at the cord that was loosely tangled in the button on his jacket sleeve.
"Fuck," he hissed, checking to make sure he hadn't jerked the fucking needle right out of her arm. Everything looked like it was where it belonged, though, so he gently wrestled the cord away from his sleeve, feeling his face burning in embarrassment.
Then he stalked toward the group of women, glaring at them defiantly from beneath his hair. Let one of them talk shit, he thought. He had just as much right as any of them to be there.
Instead, they just stepped back out of his way and watched him leave with their eyebrows still up in the air.
Daryl made it out to his truck and was thankful it hadn't been towed in the middle of the night; he'd accidentally parked in the two-hour parking section. That would have sucked since, if anything, it had gotten even more cold and windy out than it had been the night before.
He glanced back up at the hospital before he put his truck in reverse, vaguely wondering if any of the windows he could see had Zach lying on the other side of them. He still hadn't decided what he was going to do about that prick. He began his drive home.
Upon arriving on their street, Daryl began to pull into Beth's driveway, but saw that parked behind her Jeep was another car; definitely not the same one that had been there Tuesday when he'd walked by her house. This one was different. He figured they'd probably towed Zach's car; Rick would have been smart enough not to leave it in her driveway, even if it was just the bastard's rental. Daryl assumed that the little red rented Passat probably belonged to Beth's sister.
He'd come over intending to collect his crossbow and clean up all of the glass and blood in her house; maybe replace the window so that the cabin wasn't frigid by the time she got sent back home. However, as he sat there, he felt like an idiot. Surely his crossbow was sitting in the police impound as evidence, since he'd used it to shoot Zach. If he ever saw it again, it wouldn't be for a very long time.
Briefly, Daryl wondered if Rick would have released him from jail yesterday if he'd known that Daryl had been aiming the arrow at Zach's head that night. Daryl's perfect shot had only been ruined by the fluke of one tiny piece of glass getting crushed carelessly under his damned boot. If it hadn't been for that, the fucker wouldn't be up in ICU right now, wasting a perfectly good heart monitor.
With Beth's sister, and possibly other family members around, he figured they'd manage to clean up the damage left by the attack, if they hadn't done so already. He wasn't needed there after all, so he reversed out of her driveway and headed for the trailer.
By the time he pulled into his da's driveway, the clock on his dash read 10 a.m. He certainly felt like the day had already been a lot longer than that.
He got inside of the trailer, shutting the door behind him and dropping his keys into the shallow bowl perched on the small stand in the kitchen.
Reaching for his phone on the table, he was surprised that it still had about 50% of its battery left. He hardly ever used it for anything, so he didn't download all of the games and other bullshit onto it that other people seemed inclined to. The upside of it was, his battery lasted a long time.
He only had a couple of missed calls; two from Oscar, one from Ron, and a fourth from a local number that he didn't recognize. He opened his voicemail, setting the phone to speaker and laying it down on the counter as he dug through his fridge, trying to find something that looked even remotely appetizing.
"Hey, you fucker! Where have you been, Holmes?" Oscar screeched through the speaker. "Damn, you like fell off the face of the planet or something. Did you get lost in Tijuana with some hookers, or what, dude?! Call me back for drinks."
Unlikely, Daryl thought, snickering at the idea of him in Tijuana. He didn't have a thing with banging random chicks that the other guys in the shop seemed inclined to enjoy; he'd have no use for the place. Getting a beer with Oscar just might be needed after the week he'd gone through, though.
Ron's voice was next, "Daryl, I just wanted to check up on you and make sure everything was goin' alright. If I don't hear back from you, we'll see you in the shop Monday morning. Bye."
Daryl felt relieved that, somehow, miraculously, all of the shit that week hadn't managed to cost him his job. He threw some meat, bread, and slightly moldy cheese onto the counter to make a sandwich out of, when the next voicemail made his blood run cold.
He heard a broken sob, and then Beth's frightened voice rang out in his kitchen. "Daryl, I need you. He… he found me… I didn't know it was him, and I opened the door… he's in my house," she rambled, occasionally pausing to gulp down air. "He's going to kill me, Daryl, I can see it in his eyes… I need you. I need you so bad right now…" her voice cracked along with Daryl's heart, and he sank to the floor, unable to hold himself upright.
Brokenly, she whimpered, "Daryl, please…"
There was a thump, and then the unmistakable sounds of her crying softly, her breath hitching every so often. He grabbed the phone off of the counter, handling it like it might explode. He sat back against his cupboards, staring at the time and date on the phone.
She was in the hospital right now, he reassured himself; he'd just left her in the hands of her friends. She wasn't there right now; this was from Tuesday night. The information at the top of her voicemail said 10 p.m. , he realized, which meant that she'd called him a whole 30 minutes before he'd gotten to her. He felt sick to his stomach, listening to her hopeless sobbing on the other end of the phone.
Suddenly, there was a loud noise in the background and Beth cried out, "No!" There was shuffling, and then Beth's voice, screaming at the top of her lungs. Daryl flinched, dropping the phone onto his floor. He curled in a ball against the corner of his fridge and cabinets, fisting a hand in his hair, wanting like hell to turn his phone off, but unable to. He would be there for her this time, even if it'd happened days ago. He hadn't been there for her when she needed him most; so he would suffer through her darkest hour now. He owed her that much.
Daryl began to realize that he almost hadn't made it to her at all. What had been the fucking chances of him wandering around near her cabin that late at night, just happening to see the window break as something was thrown through it?
He wiped at his wet face, imagining how fucking terrified she had been, thinking he wasn't coming for her. Probably convinced no one would be coming for her. Her cabin was so far out in the middle of nowhere, and her only fucking neighbor hadn't answered his goddamn phone…
"You thought a door would stop me, you stupid fucking cunt!" a man's voice screamed near the receiver. Then Beth cried out as Daryl heard another thud followed by the sound of breaking glass. His heart was pounding in his throat, and he heard two sets of footsteps running further away from the phone, and then in the distance, more glass shattering. A scuffle. Beth's voice, barely audible from the other room shrieking, "Get off of me!" Zach said something muffled that Daryl couldn't make out, but then Beth screamed again, sounding terrified.
"Fuck," he huffed, right before he leaned forward and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. There was more yelling and crying, something being thrown…
Just as Daryl thought he couldn't take any more, the voicemail cut itself off at the 5 minute mark, and it was as if the whole world had gone deathly silent.
Parting A/N: So, when I had Beth write the note in the last chapter, I was literally thinking it would be something simple and sweet. I wanted it to just say, "Stay with me," or something to that effect. But then the reviews came in, and everyone was expecting something a little more… juicy. So, I hope I did right by all of you and your wishes! I tried not to make it too corny or sappy. And honestly, if I'd actually planned on having something heartfelt written out for him to read, I'd have had her tear out a page from her journal that talked about him, to leave for him to read- just to tie in her journal entries from the show when they were running after the prison fell. Oh well, too little too late! Anyway, I hope this chapter met your Daryl quota. I made sure it was nice and long.. ;)