Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: I was inspired to this write after I got a delightful little anon prompt in my tumblr inbox that went as follows: "I have a sudden desire to read a fic pairing Tara and Beth. Know what I mean? Eh? Eh? Do you think you could work your magic?" – This is my attempt to do that prompt justice!

Warnings: This story is meant to fit in after the season four finale, during some point in the distant future when Beth has been reunited with the rest of the group and a handful of years have passed. *Contains: adult language, references to PTSD, depression, possible sexual/physical abuse/assault (regarding Beth's ordeal after getting 'kidnapped' in late season four), adult content, mild sexual content, respiratory illness – treatment, mentions needles and etc, fem-slash, blood, religious references, pointed allusions to suicide and some vague season four spoilers.

One for the Money (two for the show)

Chapter Seven

"I won't fit." Tara pointed out, standing up on her tippy-toes as she eyed the vent with clear distrust.

She scrunched her nose. She was right, obviously, she could barely fit herself. She took a deep breath and rested her head on the edge of the vent, resisting the urge to drum her feet as she tried to think. They had to be close to some sort of exit. Had to be!

She hadn't been able to believe it when she peered through the slats of the vent and found Tara stuffed in a supply closet on the opposite end of the warehouse. She'd barely been able to make her out in the gloom, ignoring the hot throb of her arm, but what little she could see – her dark hair slick with a spray of blood, right cheek shining, promising a fresh bruise come morning – was enough. She was whole - safe.

The relief – relief that she'd made it, that she wasn't alone - had been damn near crippling.

Tara managed to unscrew the grate with her multi-tool, and within a matter of minutes she was straining to brush fingers with the woman below. Getting the low-down in hushed whispers as the restless shuffling of walkers could be heard just outside the closet door.

She'd been cut off, out of bullets, just a few corridors shy of the store front – Maggie, Rick, Carl and Glenn ahead of her – when a group of walkers had busted through the safety glass and forced her to backtrack. There had been too many of them, Rick and the others hadn't had any other choice but to run, hoping she'd be able to hole up somewhere until it was safe to try a rescue.

She bit down on a dry cough, dust tickling the back of her throat as she listened to Tara talk, hearing the odd word, like 'hunker down' or 'game plan' before she forced herself to pay attention. They weren't out of the woods yet.

"You go on ahead, take my screwdriver and find a safe grate, somewhere near the exit where there's no walkers and make a run for it. Find Rick and the others, they won't have gone far, maybe-"

But she wasn't listening – in fact, leaving was the last thing on her mind. She knew what Tara was trying to do, and sweet as she found it, she wasn't having any it. She pulled her knees up, kicking a bit as she eased herself out of the grate feet first, waiting until her arms were trembling with the strain.

"Hey, wait, what are you do-"

She dropped down, catching the back of Tara's heels with her boot. She would have stumbled into the line of mops hung up on the wall if Tara's arms hadn't curled around her waist, pulling her in until they were flush together.

"What are you doing?" Tara hissed, voice barely above a whisper as her palms settled across her hips, slung low and lingering as her grip tightened a fraction.

"I'm not leaving," she returned, the 'not leaving you' was silent. Even now she couldn't bring herself to say it, too afraid that she'd choke on it as Tara expelled a breath that raised the little hairs on the back of her neck. Unable to stop thinking that if she moved just an inch to her right she'd be able to-

"Two people are better odds than one," she insisted, fighting the urge to pant as a strange sort of awareness prickled down her spine – fledgling and new. Because Tara was right there, inches away and all but plastered across her back and she wasn't moving away.

"We can do this. I know you can-"

She hesitated, losing her train of thought when Tara moved, thighs rubbing up against her ass, accidental – maybe – before the woman made to speak. She cut her off before she could start, desperate to get that much out before one of the walkers on the other side of the door rattled the handle.

Her breath caught in her throat. Behind her, she swore Tara stopped breathing.

The door didn't have a lock.

They waited in silence for a few heart stopping seconds, waiting for the knob to turn. They waited for the tumbler to unclick, the door to swing open. Anything. Only nothing happened. The walker moved on, uninterested.

They sagged against one another, their relief a palpable living thing that shuddered and quaked just underneath their skin.

"We wait for some to leave before we make our break. It's together or nothing," she whispered, going for reassuring only to fail somewhere in the follow through. The words sounded angry, committed – and while the first one confused her, the second one seemed only natural.

"We'll figure this out."

For a long moment Tara didn't say anything, but when she did, giving her a shallow nod before straightening, she didn't miss the way the action caused her to nose right up into the curve of her collarbone. Close and sweet as their breathing evened out, watching the shadows of the walkers warp and shift through the slats in the closet door.

"This isn't a good idea," Tara replied finally, thumbs tangling in her belt loops as they tried to navigate the close dark together. Trying and failing to separate as the stack of mops behind them shifted dangerously. Truthfully, neither one of them seemed to be trying too hard.

"Shut up," she sighed, forcing the woman to take the majority of her weight as she bent down and peered through the slats, trying to figure out just how many walkers they were dealing with as Tara bristled behind her – indignant but with remarkably little heat.

"You shut up."

The stalemate felt ridiculously close to full out laughter. Like it was euphoria rather than fear that was tugging at the corners of her lips, threatening to pull a laugh from deep in her throat as Tara tucked her head into her chin, lips brushing across the arc of her throat as she pressed a smile into her skin.

And in that moment she was forced to consider what she wouldn't give to keep it there.

"Well, now what?" Tara huffed only a smidge on the snippy side as their hips bumped, grinding in the close space. Heat thrummed in the pit of her belly. It was an unexpected sort of sweetness, something that demanded she seek it out and tease every last tendril to its limit and hunt it back to its source. Something she was sure would make her sing so sweetly if only she could-

"You got us into this mess. Do you even have a plan other than sitting here and-"

She'd like to be able to say that she'd thought about it before she did it. That she'd carefully sussed out exactly what she wanted to do and when, that she had a plan for the here, the now, the five minutes from now, five years and so on.

"Yo, earth to Beth? Maybe we can-"

As it was, it just kinda…happened.

"Dude, don't think I won't shove your ass back up there, because I will and-mmmph!"

She figured it was pretty safe to say that neither of them were expecting it when she got up on her tippy-toes and shut Tara up with a desperate, sloppy and completely unrepentant little kiss. Overriding words in favor of a completely different form of communication as Tara spluttered wetly against her lips.

And frankly? She reveled in the quiet.

Soft. That was what registered first.

Tara was a mess of soft curves, soft lips all wrapped up in miles of smooth skin that glided – all but electric – against hers. It was perfect and rushed and awkward and from start to finish, she couldn't get enough of it.

She should have done this ages ago.

It took her a moment to realize that she was whispering, murmuring wordless hums and pleads for more between kisses as Tara slid a knee between her legs, hiking her up so she could grind down – nearly crying out from the delicious burst of friction.

Christ, she wanted-

She shuddered, pleasure burning high and bright on the inside of her skin. Grinning into the woman's lips when she realized that their fingers were tangled, gripped tight all the way down to the webs and neither of them appeared to have any intention of ever letting go.

It'd been a long time since anything had felt this good. She'd almost forgotten it could be like this – so good, pure and right. Because it was right, she knew that now. Just like she knew that getting to this point, to the moment where their lips met and rational thought fled, had been nothing more than a slow trot to the finish line – an inevitable progression of moments she'd fought off right down to the very last pitch.

It was still a risk, something she knew the world would probably rub her nose in later. But she was done with regrets. Done with only half living. She'd said it once before and she'd say it again. When you care about people, gettin' hurt is part of the package. The risk was give and take. You couldn't have one without the other.

Besides, Tara was worth it.

At the end of the day she figured that had to be the difference.

She nipped at the woman's lips - in thanks or maybe retaliation - before she pushed her against the door. Her pulse was thrumming, resounding between her ears like a second heart beat, as she buried her free hand knuckle deep in the woman's hair and brought her down to trail sloppy kisses across the curve of the woman's ruined cheek.

Tara tasted like expelled shot and exposed metal. Like the salt-tang of old sweat and sun-warmed skin.

She panted, heat rolling off her in waves as the tiny closet grew warm and stifling. Now that she had her, she barely knew what she wanted to do first. Finding the decision between choosing to follow the jut of a chin down the length of her neck or exploring the curve of her shoulder blade to be a truly insurmountable choice. Suddenly struck by the realization that this was actually happening, that she could actually have this, that Tara wanted her to-

She didn't over think it or second guess herself, she just – well – let go.

Their lips were spit-slick and puffy-red by the time they were forced to pull away for air. She inhaled, determined to make it last. Coasting along on a high ranging from bonelessly warm to euphoric, she was forced to catch herself, nearly overbalancing before her hands found some piping above their heads – holding on for dear life as Tara slumped back against the door, breathing hard.

Tara just blinked. The expression on the woman's face enough to make her choke on a laugh before the woman masked it, nose scrunching as if she sensed she was being made fun of. She cocked her head, considering. Still, sloe-eyed and panicked made for an interesting combination as the group of walkers paused, restless and confused as they tried to figure out where their prey had gone.

"You have the shittiest timing, you know that?!" Tara hissed, panting between kisses.

And while she had no idea what she was doing, hands fluttering from the jut of the woman's hips to thumbing the curve of her unscarred cheek, she figured out pretty quickly that she really didn't care when Tara managed to yank her shirt clear off.

Though, she couldn't deny the spark of curiosity and wonderment when Tara cursed and fumbled with her bra clasp, thumbs brushing against the hard peaks of her nipples through the fabric. But pretty soon the woman's lips closed around her nipple, all teasing suction and just the hint of teeth, and everything else suddenly become singularly unimportant.

The closet smelled like mothballs, ammonia and old rot. And she surprised herself by wishing, however fleetingly, that they could stay in there forever. But before she could even think about replying, Tara wriggled her hand down the front of her jeans and not five minutes later she had to bite down on the spread of Tara's hand to keep from screaming.

It was sometime later, after they'd managed to escape from the mall and reunite with the others, that they finally had the conversation they should have had months ago.

"Well, what was I supposed to think!?" Tara trumpeted, indignant between kisses as she let herself get backed into a corner – both physically and metaphorically - as her fingers tangled in the older woman's belt loops.

"Maggie said you had a boyfriend. Boyfriends! As in plural!"

"Never assume, ask," she stated primly, ruining the image of the perfect southern lady striking an air when she darted down, stealing a kiss that tugged at the pouting jut of the woman's lower lip before teeth, hands and tongue moved on to their next target.

"Oh yeah, who?" Tara shot back, surprisingly lucid for someone who was in the process of getting kissed silly as she aimed to give her behind a swat, missing by a mile as she danced out of the older woman's reach.

"Mama bear Maggie? Our fearless leader? Who, not so coincidentally, is still rocking his 'grief' beard?! Or you? The pretty preacher's daughter from down the fuckin' lane!? Jesus shit, I'm already going to hell, no need to make it official!"

She could feel her flesh melting like butter, senses hazy with the pleasure of it as the feeling centered – radiating out from the spot where her skin opened to take her in, riding the gentle press of the woman's finger as it worked its way inside her.

There was a warmth extending across her chest, a liquid heat rushing over her limbs, burning where Tara's mouth opened above hers, lips slick and pulling, chasing after every breath she exhaled as the finger slipped out and became two. Pressing more and more intently until she had to tear her mouth away and bite down her lower lip to keep herself from keening.

Her whimper was thick, clotted and high strung as Tara tumbled her over, spreading her thighs and licking a messy stripe down the length of her. She laved her lower lips with long, slow licks designed to frustrate rather than please. Her hands scrambled in the blankets, tearing up bits of fluff and stuffing as she struggled not to make a sound.

Her clit was a high, sparking bundle of pleasure and pain and she'd do almost anything if Tara would just-

Oh god, please.

It wasn't until Tara chuckled and did exactly that, that she realized she must have said it out loud.

If she regretted anything, it was that it was over too quickly.

Luckily for her, Tara was more than willing to display the benefits of previous experience and happily put her through the paces. She sat funny for the next two days and laughed more than she swore she had in years.

Life stayed unexpectedly good for a long time after that.

When she looked back on it, Jimmy had always reminded her of harvest season. Of sun warmed peaches ready to pick, all fuzzy skin and soft spots from where the fruit had brushed up against the branches. He reminded her of new growth trees and saplings on the rise, of adolescent branches reaching unsteadily towards the sun.

Zach reminded her of winter, of drooping evergreens salted with a skiff of fresh snow - the first of the season. He was the dew freezing into pearl-drops across broad leaves just after dawn, an unexpected, but not unwelcome change in the season.

But Tara? Tara was the spring. She was new life starting again. She was the smell of freshly mown grass and damp soil. She was a clean slate, a chance to start over. She was the opportunity to remake what had been wrought and create something new - something better - in its place.

Part of her, the small blackened bit that still held on to the way things used to be, hated the uncertainty. That she couldn't map it out in the back of her head, and plan for things to be like they were today, a week from now, a month, a year. But that was the iffy part about Spring – you didn't know whether it was going to rain or shine. Only that sooner or later, it was bound to do both.

If she was continuing with the metaphor she couldn't deny that Tara fit it – hook, line, and sinker.

So perhaps that's what they'd do. They'd take a leaf out of Mother Nature's book and try just living for a change. Not surviving. Not 'just getting by,' but living. And while experience told her otherwise, she found herself willing to risk it. Because whether it meant only two morning lie-ins or two-hundred, she knew, deep down, what they had was worth it.

She figured that if anything, Daddy would have been proud of her for that.

A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete. Thank you for all your support and enthusiasm. This pairing definitely has that 'new car' smell, so it was a roll of the dice for me to see how it turned out! Thank you for making it a memorable one!