Thank you for continuing to read, and THANK YOU to those who have left reviews. They have helped SO much! Hearing from you on this last chapter has really helped me shape the direction of this next segment of chapters; I can feel people getting restless, which, 1. Confirms some concerns I myself have been having, and 2. Affirms how vital hearing from you all is. So, I have very specific visions for each of these new characters, but I totally get the resistance to having to get to know a whole new batch of OC's (I loved the Lost Boys, but I hadn't intended them to occupy so much real estate in the story; nor did I originally intend for one of them to outlast the camp with B&D) so I may not end up fleshing them out as much as I'd intended. For the sake of moving forward, and maybe to balance out some of the painfully minute details in this story, you might be seeing some time jumps in the coming chapters. I know the other issue humming around the story is the unanswered question of whether our protagonists will ever meet up again with Rick & the others. I *can* but won't say here whether that is going to happen; like the past question hanging over Beth's pregnancy, I feel strongly we can't know things before our characters do. I will however say this: back in December, without intending to, I drafted the final chapter to this story. Since it's early expansion past the first 4 chapter story arc I'd started out with, I've always known where/how I expected to close the story, but driving one night a scene popped into my head that I hadn't thought I was going to write - I pulled over and jotted it down. So the ending (while some ways off) is now secured, and I would point readers to the title of the story. Hopefully this helps. I wholeheartedly thank you for your readership, and for your active participation in this odyssey. Beth and Daryl still have some distance to cover and I humbly ask for your patience as we journey with them. With love and gratitude. ~ Jody
The blackout curtains, tucked-up the night before once all sources of light had been extinguished, now pose no impediment to the rays of light streaming through the blank, uncovered windows. Beth startled to wakefulness all at once when in her slumber she heard noises in the outer room. Her body started and grew rigid as it tightened in the anticipation of action. But then she listened, and she remembered: They are no longer alone. The muffled sounds from the other side of the bedroom door signal neither aggression nor an attack, only the starting of a new day. So pacified, and still inert, she remains abed, curled snuggly against Daryl, wrapped up in the brawn of his unconscious arms. Cocooned there under layers of blankets and quilts, Beth listens to the mundane sounds of people stirring, people rising, stretching, and shuffling about. Beneath that, more constant, is the deep, steady, influx of breath through Daryl's chest as it rises and expands in his heavy slumber.
"Think they must be up," Simon says from his nearby place on the floor. In answer Beth breathes in deeply. Not yet ready to speak, or even to pull herself from the comfort of her blankets or her bed companion, Beth trusts this will be enough. "Feels weird, some, don't it?" he asks, his head still nestled in his own pillow. "Knowing there're others out there?" Here Beth makes no reply at all — he of any of them is the gladdest for new company; Simon needs no reassurance here. In direct contrast to Daryl, and even now sometimes herself, Simon sorts things out by talking – he negotiates his realities through conversation, and that is all this is. When his feet touch to floor he'll be enthused and as amiable and affable as ever. "Do we go out there?"
Again Beth breathes in; she scrunches herself in closer to Daryl, presses a kiss below the scruff on his neck, then another beneath his jaw, and a third directly on his ear, then with effort to not disturb, she slips out from under his arm, pushes off the heap of covers, and braces herself for the chill in the air. "Mornin'." Beth rises, smiling at Simon who's sitting up now, scratching at his disheveled head. Pulling on the bulky cardigan she'd yanked off in her sleep during the night, Beth silently side steps over blankets and packs and boots and makes her way to the restroom, a trip she takes more and more these days. The majority of the water they haul goes toward drinking and to cooking, but a portion is used to flush the toilet on the occasions when it needs it. It isn't the setup they'd had at the prison, but for as often as her new body calls her to this act of nature, she is gratefully satisfied with the relative amenities of the apartment in comparison to the lives lived in woods or on the road.
When she reappears Simon nods in the direction of the double bed. "We getting him up?" Simon asks, tugging his jeans on over his long johns.
Knotting tightly the drawstring to her sweatpants, Beth looks to Daryl still sleeping soundly where she'd left him. "Think he must've been up most the night. I don't know at what point he came in."
"Wasn't too late," Simon sniffs, shuffling barefooted through the the room to take his turn in the john. "M'ybe an hour — no more — after you came in."
Knocking lightly on the bedroom door with the knuckle of her index finger, Beth waits momentarily then undoes the locks Daryl had clearly decided to still make use of, and opens the door. "Mornin'," she says softly, stepping through. The air in the outer room touches her as a few degrees cooler, the space being larger and more open.
"Good morning, Beth," Walter nods from his knees where he's rolling up his bedding for the day. "Simon," he adds, when the boy appears behind her in the doorway.
"Quiet night," Bonnie greets them both.
"Bathroom's open," Simon offers. "Daryl's still sleeping though, so—"
"I'm up—" a graveled voice grunts from the inner room.
At the unexpected sounding of his voice Beth twists backwards into the room. In doing so her cardigan splits open, and free from the bulk of layers and the constraints of her jeans, Beth's full form takes its shape before their eyes. Though still compact, still more elongated against the length of her torso rather than forming an actual protuberance in her silhouette, and though still more than coverable by loose fitting shirts, sweaters, and winter bulk, it is there, observable and unmistakable; Beth's otherwise slim and lean frame clearly would not round in front as it does excepting for one singular causation.
"Uh—" Bonnie cuts off her startled reaction and wrestles some composure. "Oh."
Not just she but the full extension to the group had caught the glimpse of the still inconspicuous but definitely-there heavy curve in her abdomen. The man and the two women stare: this trio they'd trailed and studied in the woods seems never to run short on means to confound their expectations. They had not bargained for this, had not counted on taking on an ally in this condition.
Beth turns back round, pulling close her sweater as she does. The countenance she bears is not one awaiting the reception of this unintended reveal, rather it conveys a stalwart presentation of the facts: she is expecting a child, and every move and action she takes is made in consideration of that. Beth Greene does not seek congratulations or expect expressions of wonder. Neither does she intend to suffer challenges or accusations; nothing's changing the state of things now, nor would she any longer wish them changed.
She remembers though, as she looks at these still unfamiliar faces looking back at her in this way and at what she's taken on, words she once spoke. As long ago as it was, and as foreign as it feels, Beth still remembers the cold words she'd first spoken to Lori when news of her condition first spread. "'How could you do that?'" she'd said, questioning if such a thing would make any kind of difference. So unjust, and blind, that sentiment had been. She remembers too the arrival of Sasha and Tyreese to the prison, and their sheer amazement and reverent awe at first seeing Judith. She remembers how that day she'd been taken for the mother. That day, not so very far back when counting in days and months, for Beth now feels half a lifetime ago. She was still a child then; a babysitter, nothing more. Judith was Rick's daughter, and Lori's; she had been her sweet young companion, sometimes in very dark times, but never anything more. Judith had never been hers. But this child is Beth's. And for it she will neither apologize, mitigate, placate, nor justify. Life continues, even amidst death; it is a lesson the world has always taught itself, each generation uniquely learning it anew from the degradations of their own times. Beth has learned it; with no other choice she's embraced it, learning too that where Life treads Hope is not long to follow. She believes this. She holds it close in its flickerings and sparks, cherishes it like she does the child she carries. Faith lives this way. "Yes," is her answer to their unspoken question.
For some time this one word dispelled all other initial responses, but in a few moments more the quiet of the room turns unnatural and so then Bonnie, in her brusque and smiling manner, disrupts the silence. "How far along?"
Beth looks from them to her waistline; she can't be certain. Like most things from the old days, Time has altered from what it was. She feels it and sees it both, but the measuring of it passing eludes her, and this is a sort of accounting never asked of her before. "Four months. I' think." Again the three newcomers withhold remarks.
Reliably, Simon breaks in with the offering of a far less sobering prospect: "There's rice," he smiles. "An' a little applesauce if you want. An' cinnamon." He seems to have made that last offering especially for Hadeel's benefit. Currently she sits upright in her nest of blankets on the sofa, holding her knees and very quietly, and intently, studying the pregnant girl before her. Simon does not know her story but anyone can see she's lost — probably been robbed of would be closer to the truth — far more than what any person should have to endure. Something in him, though she at the very least surpasses him in age by ten years his senior, compels him to reach out to her in kindness, in small and gentle acts that amount to little more than momentary minuscule distractors from the darker places her mind seems ever to be pulling her.
This news of theirs now broken, Daryl here rises, and those who'd changed to nightclothes dress for the day. They eat quickly, they wash and relieve themselves, and thus their first day as an united group begins. "There's a veterinarian's clinic in town," Daryl tells them. "Could have meds; could have more. You up for it?"
Walter looks up from lacing the work boots that surely never had been his before the turn. "It must be overrun if the three of you haven't done it on your own already."
"Nuthin' six can't handle."
"You mean five," Walter amends.
"She's got it," Daryl grunts.
Looking away from the brief obligatory glance towards Beth, Bonnie fixes again on Daryl. "So how bad is it?"
"C'n be done."
"We have any reason to think what we're after's still going to be in there?"
"We have a good feeling," Beth answers.
"If we do this, tell me," Walter asks, not aiming at confrontation, "how are we meant to know the difference between what we can use, and what would be, used for worms?"
"She'll know." Daryl takes up the crossbow and checks the sights.
"You a nurse? A med student?"
"Her dad was a vet." Daryl tests the resistance in the pulleys.
"I worked with him a little," Beth speaks up, surprised a little by the casual ease with which she's speaking of her father. "I can read labels. There'll be a book. If it's not picked over, we'll get antibiotics. There'll be antiseptics, bandages, suture kits."
"Sold?" Daryl grunts.
"Should we be expecting the return of our firearms today?" Walter questions.
Lifting his head from tightening the bolts on the crossbow Daryl looks at him, steadily. "Gunfire draws 'em on."
"We're not alive by chance, you know," Bonnie points out dryly.
Daryl eyes her squarely, then the two others; wordlessly he pulls Walter's pistol from his waistband, balances it level in his hand, then gives it over. "Just so we're straight."
"We're straight."
Armed with blades and restored guns, six figures descend the rigged stairs, pass through the building's reinforced door, and step out into the light. Blocking the door behind them they move into the road and spend some time clearing the roaming dead from the streets, making their way to their target destination.
Positioned outside the vet's, making a plan to clear it with their doubled numbers, Daryl stands motionless, his hands fidgeting while he formulates a strategy. The others modtly pace or wait; Hadeel steps off to dispatch a walker moving in on them.
"Back entrance's got an iron gate." Simon announces, returning from the alley. "Locked tight."
"Crowbar?" Beth asks.
Simon's scruffy head shakes. "Won't make a difference. We go in loud, we lose the surprise we needed. Can't bust in at both fronts, won't help any."
"Why not reverse it?" Walter speaks up. "Use the front as the back way? That door will break in easily."
"Right," Daryl grunts. He waves a finger at Walter, "You get the service door open; you an' Beth take 'em out in the alley one at a time. Rest of us go in behind 'em through the storefront."
"What if there's a block in there somewhere?" Beth interjects. "A back office, kennels, exam rooms; opening the back door doesn't mean they'll get straight through to it, may be no cleared path. You could be goin' in there with no reduction at all."
He looks at her, listening to her words. "Give it some time, if none come through, clamp it closed and come 'round."
"And if they do come?" Walter questions. "And they come too many and too fast? No way we two control the door just us. Give us Hadeel, even out the numbers." Daryl hesitates, going in with only three puts them back to where they'd been before these three arrived. In thought his lower jaw juts to the right as he measures and calculates, negotiating the odds they'll face inside and what'll most help Beth outside.
"We can do it with two," Beth assures him.
"If we can control the door."
Daryl hesitates, shifting the weight he stands on. "Yeh," he grunts with a wave, "take 'er." He says it this way, but his eyes meet with Hadeel's. The trio moves off, Beth already handling her blade as she makes with them to head for the alley. "Hey," Daryl calls, and when the three heading for the back entrance pause, he leans in some with an earnest grunt, "You hear the signal you make for the street. They come at you too quick you run."
"Yeh," Beth promises.
"You break the door open, you whistle, we move in. Keep control of the door."
"Yeh."
In the alley, dim under the cover of the close set buildings, Walter grips the crowbar. Clutching tightly he leverages the bar to pry open the security gate. Beth, leaning against the dirty cinder block wall as they wait, lets her eyes find their shadowy silent third. Beth wets her lips. "You were testing him," she says evenly. Those dark cumin eyes flash to her. "Last night, in the game." Beth's lashes flutter over her large blue eyes. "You took the extra piece — not for us; he wasn't playing, but you took it to test him, see what he sees." She didn't much expect an answer — it really hadn't been a question, and Hadeel makes no reply, but Beth knows she's correct in her conclusion. She's certain this woman sees all, and realizes she must have seen the same in Daryl. Beth does not feel it as a threat.
As the tall man leans his weight into the tool and pushes and pulls, he looks back at Beth who's at the ready with her blade. "How old are you?" Bracing himself he pushes again.
Beth's clear eyes meet his. "Nineteen." She feels Hadeel's silent, ever present eyes on her. "'r nearly."
Walter huffs from his labor. "You ready to be a mother?"
Beth looks at him coolly. "I'h don't believe in 'ready.' There's no such thing."
He nods. "That may be true." He regrips the bar for leverage, and he looks at her before taking another try. "You're all right?"
Her dimples appear in her earnest. "Mm,hm." Again she feels Hadeel just watching her, viewing her through the life of those mute almond eyes.
"All right then," Walter nods, reminding Beth in this some of a guidance counselor — concerned, paternal, removed, and bromidic; she does not mind it. With a final push of his weight the door jars open. "All right," he says again, this time wiping his wetted brow and chuckling with satisfaction. Then the noises from within come, and his feet ground him to the asphalt. The broad man with the sharp eyes leans in, looking first to Hadeel, then to Beth. "Ready?" The two women secure their footing, ready their blades, and grimly nod. Beth whistles the signal and behind the door the shuffling and snarling sounds. Walter braces his weight in the anticipation of having to slam it closed after letting through the first one or two, then swings open the gate.
On the other side, having broken through without much clamor, Simon, Bonnie, and Daryl press in in stealth, hacking into the disoriented dead. They clear with active, voracious efficiency. Furiously they strike and slash, feeling the want for an extra hand but compensating for it with purpose. The hoard in the waiting room thins and they push forward, navigating their way past reception and through aisles of filed charts. It's clear there'd been a struggle here, not a standoff so much as a mob. Maybe just a community descended into panic.
"Hey—" Bonnie nods through a heavy breath.
Daryl turns to glance at her. "'Daryl,'" he names himself for her with a sort of rough and jaunty pause in his labors.
"Yeah," she nods satirically. "I can learn three names." Solidly she jams her six inch blade into the head of a female left with only half of what had been her scalp. Daryl's brow shoots her a sort of nonplussed look. Nobody really speaks to him this way. Even when Beth sasses him, it's something different. Bonnie retracts her knife and moves on; to her left Simon stomps the skull of one he's tackled to the ground, and Daryl swings the base of his narrow bow directly into the face of something that used to be a doctor. They press on, moving stealthily towards the distinct sound of closely confined walkers, somewhere up ahead in the darkness. "...So," she starts again, her husky voice lowered for their surroundings, "yesterday, in the woods— how're you able to tell we were living, and not one of them?"
Daryl glances at her briefly. "How c'n ya tell a gator from a dog?"
She looks at him, then nods wryly, suppressing a chuckle. "All right then."
"Com'on; we here for a job? 'R a symposium on whut makes a thing itself?" Not unkindly, Daryl rolls his broad shoulder forward and leads them onwards, in deeper into the hospital, to the stainless steel supply cabinets, and the mob pushing at the back door, out to where Walter, Hadeel, and Beth await them, blades brandished and deadly.