~+~Author's Note~+~

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.

Hi, everyone! Thanks for reading. Remember to skip to the bold word if you don't want to read my note, hahah. I really just want to thank everyone for your continued support, whether you're reading or favoriting/following (me or my story), and I want you to know your reviews are really compelling to get back to work! I'm not going to be as perfectionist about the editing on my story for now, so I'm sorry if it's less polished than normal. I'd rather you guys have the story than for me to continually freak out over misplaced commas and incorrect verb tenses, hahah. But I've tried to do a good couple scans, just not going to do the fine tooth comb a million times before and after I do post... EED—Excessive Editing Disorder. I have some big plans for this story and the sequels (yes, sequels). Hard to believe this was supposed to be a one-shot. Anyway! I hope you enjoy the story. Thanks for keeping up with me! Next chapter will have more Bethyl feels, and beyond that, it gets real.

Her heart throbbed in her chest, and she grabbed at it again as though to slow it; that action was quickly becoming an unwelcome habit. Fearful eyes turned to Daryl's steeled blue ones, but his gaze was locked on to the wicked being standing in the near distance. His hands seemed to itch for his crossbow, so she placed her own against his and warned him with her eyes. Once his blue orbs finally turned to hers, she shook her head and motioned back to the vehicle.

Trying to stay under the cover of trees, shrubs, bushes—whatever else in the area—they walked as quickly as they dared back to the SUV, Daryl covering their tracks as much as time allowed. They made it to the car without evidence of having attracted notice; however, her thoughts were hovering around the idea that the scene they left looked recently tampered with, and worry filled her. Her breathing was ragged as she leaned against the door of the car and was mainly forced out of her by the fear she felt as opposed to the exertion of running away. She was seeking an answer to their newest quandary in her companion's eyes, but he seemed lost in another world for the time being.

"Daryl," she called gently, regaining her breath. "Daryl, what do we do? What if he knows we were there? Or that we're here?" No answer was forthcoming. "He had at least two vehicles with him—full of people, you think?" His lack of reply seemed to fuel further suspicion and worry within her. "You know what he's capable of more than I do; could he know we're here? ... What if we can't get home? What do we do?"

The anxiety in her tone brought Daryl's attention to her, and he pulled himself out of his mind to embrace her swiftly before opening the door to the vehicle and ushering her in. His bike was far too noisy to even think about starting, so with some effort, he pushed it into a canopy of overgrown bushes and kudzu, abandoning his trusty vehicle for the second time in one day.

Once he took the driver's seat to the car, he closed the door behind him. He paused with his fingers over the key to the ignition, and his hesitation showed that she was not alone in her worry. She took a deep breath and exhaled, repeating the process once more before she turned her head to look at Daryl. Grasping his hand that held the gear shift, she gazed into his eyes.

"Can we wait him out? He may not stay long, just get some tires and leave, you know?" she suggested.

"He ain't one to leave a stone unturned. One mark left, one whiff we were there, he'll come lookin'," he answered without offering another suggestion.

"We just killed a bunch of walkers," she spoke, upset at the realization that the scene couldn't look untouched. "He'll know."

The only chance they had was to make a getaway; even she, green as she was with war strategies, could piece together that much.

"This vehicle isn't really that loud when it starts," she whispered hopefully.

When gunfire was heard, Daryl took the chance and fired up the engine. At least, that's what he had planned to do, but the engine wouldn't turn.

"Shit," he growled under his breath. A few more pops of a gun were heard, and he tried again.

She felt her heart still kicking against her chest as her breath caught, but the gentle hum of the running vehicle reassured her to an extent. At least now they stood a chance to make a getaway.

"Gonna head out a different way 'n hope they stay where they're at," he said through gritted teeth with a careful eye to his rear-view mirror.

Beth physically turned herself around to gaze back at the store, but they had parked well enough out of sight and earshot to not really have the need for concern; at least, that's what she was going to keep telling herself.

Even as they rounded a few corners on the road, she felt fear rip through her again at each abandoned vehicle around the bend until she realized it was stopped and without occupants (live ones, specifically). When she felt like her heart couldn't take any more, they finally came to a stop. Their destination was a fairly beat-up, rundown corner store that seemed like it had been ransacked more than a few times. Any hope for remaining supplies seemed feeble at best. Still, if that were the case, it might be easy to hide at such a location without fear of discovery.

One lone walker inside a bathroom stall was all they had found in the area, and Daryl actually told Beth not to end its second life. He led the figure outside and kicked it into the car, closing the door behind it and locking the vehicle. Beth stared at him like he was insane until she realized that he wanted the car to also appear abandoned. It was a small hope, considering the tires lay in the not-so-inconspicuous back of the vehicle where even she could see them readily. How long was he expecting them to stay, anyway?

"What are we gonna do?" she asked as he arranged part of the store to look like the shelves and furniture had caved in to the area behind the counter that she anticipated he wanted them to hunker down in.

"Wait," he replied with a shrug, pulling one last dilapidated shelf into place. A cozy, if not dark and eery, corner was created by the mess of items, and Daryl was pulling out two paper towel rolls he found to use as pillows.

What seemed like hours to Beth passed before they relaxed enough to lie down. Even though they had been in a bed side by side together before, this was different—not only were they both awake, but they were both hiding, seeking shelter for their lives. This moment was when the thought struck her that she verbalized to Daryl.

"What if he's about to attack the prison?" she said with a jerking motion to face him. "Do you think he will?"

"Already done it once," he stated solemnly. He didn't seem to want to entertain the idea, either, but his words left it not outside of reason to assume the worst. "Didn't seem like he had his whole group together, though. He ain't stupid enough to think he can take it down with jus' a couple cars' worth o' men."

Rough laughter was heard out in the distance, and Beth clutched Daryl's chest tightly as she turned in toward him. He sat up, holding her up with him, and scooted them further into the darkness of the makeshift cubbyhole to remain out of sight, even though they were rather well covered as it was. While his track-covering skills were indeed impeccable, he still was not without flaw. Or, rather, they could not assume him to be. His crossbow left his back to be held at the ready. Beth's hand shot to her gun impulsively, and she pulled it out just to be safe.

"We already got that place jus' last week!" she heard a faint voice say.

"Turned it over, got everythin' left worth gettin'," another chimed in. "All shit, if you ask me."

"Not late 'nuf to call it a night. Le's move on," a third voice gave its user his say in the matter as well.

"I agree," yet another spoke. "We'll probably head on over to that one neighborhood with all the fruit trees. Ain't been by in a couple months; might have somethin' worth nabbin' out there."

She heard a gun discharge followed by an echo of the word "claimed" as more banter and laughing ensued, fortunately growing more and more inaudible as the distance apparently grew between them and the building. Still, neither she nor Daryl would be put at ease. This was another reminder that they were not the only people out there, and she didn't have to be told that not everyone was good. The Governor was evidence enough for that.

The men's voices had originally seemed to come from the back of the building, the group probably still behind the hairline of the trees, and thus, she presumed, were unable to see the car parked up front. That was her conclusion, at least. Considering they had been there before, the vehicle's presence would have likely raised their suspicion—especially with the place now torn up further. That was one situation neither she nor Daryl took into account. She didn't know, nor did she care to know, whether the group was friendly or not, but she wasn't about to take any steps to find out. Not that they sounded particularly friendly anyway.

What felt like hours passed, and the sound of a running vehicle across the main road alerted them once more. When a second similar sound was heard, followed by a third, all passing outside hearing range, Beth breathed a small sigh of relief. No doubt that was whom they had been waiting out the entire day, and now it was growing dark.

"It was them, right?" she asked, trying to push away any sense of doubt. "It had to be. They were coming back from that way."

She pointed in the direction of the place they had also come from, but Daryl was not responding. Instead, he shifted some of the piles aside to let them both exit again. When she met up with him outside, she found him pulling the door of the car back and letting the walker stumble out until he ended it swiftly with a bolt to the brain.

"Better hope it was, or we're traveling in the dark," he finally answered. "Or fightin', or runnin' away."

He retrieved his bolt the same time she felt a shiver hit her spine. Daryl was certainly not one to mince words or beat around the bush—or sugar coat things. He nodded to the door, and she shakily pulled it open and took her seat. Once he was in and kicked the engine on (she let out another relieved sigh that the engine turned), he lowered the windows slightly to help alleviate the smell their temporarily volunteered passenger imbued the vehicle with. With his hand on the gear and hers over his, they began their journey through the rays of the afternoon sun as it slowly began its descent. Her stomach betrayed her hunger to Daryl, and she hugged her other arm around herself in an attempt to silence it, albeit ineffectively.

"Snacks in your bag," Daryl advised, and she meekly accepted his offer.

Although not her favorite, she was grateful for the protein promised in the can of sardines with mustard sauce. If nothing else, the hunger pain would be ameliorated for a little while. She held one out to him with her fingers, and he intentionally bit her as well as the decapitated fish—not hard, but definitely intentionally.

"That hurt!" she scolded. "You don't get any more if ya wanna bite."

"Stingy," he spoke through a mouthful of sardine before showing off his already-mauled bite of food.

If it weren't for the hunger, the sight of the rolled-up wad of fish flesh in his mouth would have made her push the prospect of eating away. But she was hungry, and she was going to eat. She scarfed down another one of the little squished-in fish with the image of Daryl's bite mushed on his tongue pushed somewhere into a neglected crevice of her mind so she could stomach what otherwise wouldn't be a particularly great meal anyway. Then, she allowed him the rest of the can but made him feed himself. Her fingers would have no part in his nutrition today.

"Wait, we're here again?" she gawked at him when their car slowed to a stop in the same location they had just fled from.

"Job ain't finished. You wait here," he warned as he left the SUV.

"Daryl, not again," she rebutted, opening her door, but he sprinted around to her side and kept her from stepping out.

"I'll scope it out first. Then ya can help," he said.

Now, he was negotiating with her. Either she could agree and sneak by anyway, disagree and fight with him, or actually make that arrangement with him and follow through with it. While the first sounded great in her head, she didn't want him to distrust her—well, more so. She shook her head from that thought's path, and he exhaled in agitation, thinking she was about to argue with him.

"Fine," she replied, to his surprise, and locked eyes with him. "Fine, but you better be back here in a couple minutes. Otherwise, I'm going after you."

"Five," he bartered. "I'll get another batch o' tires over here in that time. Governor mighta done us a favor; if he had his say, the place'll be clear of them walkers."

She looked down and picked underneath her thumbnail for a few moments. There wasn't much time to argue or think about it, though, since she was wasting daylight. Her stomach growled in protest at her prolonged answer, so she gave another quick "fine" and watched his figure disappear through the trees in the direction of the tire shop.

How long was five minutes supposed to feel? She was counting up the seconds in her boredom—lost count twice and started at the previous thirty second mark she remembered—and grew more and more agitated the closer it got to the time. By now, it should have been five minutes, and that was without taking into consideration the seconds she dropped in miscounting. As she opened her door to make her exit to scold him, a loud knock against the back passenger's side window made her jolt backward, knife drawn.

Alarmed eyes met a pair of amused blue ones, and Beth frowned at Daryl's new-found amusement in scaring her.

"Seriously?" she complained as she exited the car. "And that was more than five minutes."

"Coulda come then, couldn't ya?" he replied.

She bit her lip but couldn't help but notice Daryl was empty handed.

"Coulda brought something back, couldn't ya?" she countered.

"Ain't nothin' to bring back," he said in his defense.

After the thought settled on her for a few moments, her brows creased in curiosity.

"What do you mean 'nothin'?" she asked, her second question following shortly after. "Why would they need all those tires?"

With a stare full of knowledge hidden to her, he replied after a moment, "I don't think they did, Beth."

Her heart fell into a steady, fast rhythm as she deciphered this new information.

"He... You think they've been watching us? At the prison?" she asked with a great deal of uncertainty in her voice. "Daryl, that means..."

"We need to go back, now," he asserted, firmly pressing his palm against her shoulder to have her sit back in her seat properly. "Git in the driver's seat."

He shut the door behind her and made his way over to where his bike was hidden, and Beth watched him anxiously as she hopped to the other side. Although the habit was something she had broken long ago, she found herself nibbling on her fingernails in frustration. If the Governor knew about their vehicle situation, he easily had the upper hand on them already. The only benefit was that they had at least collected enough wheels to try to evacuate most everyone at the prison, and they now knew that the man was still alive and kicking—and probably planning a way to take them all down. A warning of his presence was better than nothing, especially considering the recent halt in the search for him.

Beth figured Daryl's mind had to be turning over the same thoughts hers was, but no solace could be found when it came to that mad man, the Governor—not by his description or what he was capable of. Even if they came up with a fool-proof plan of escape or defense, there would be some way that he would break or slip through or pick them off as they fled. At least, that was what she interpreted from what she heard of him. Maybe she was giving him too much credit?

Her thoughts were wandering too far, and her concentration on the road lessened until she almost plowed through a group of walkers. Nearly turning the vehicle on its side, she jerked the wheel. She had almost made a big mistake there, but her mind was back to the here and now and she had avoided smashing into the wandering corpses, and she waved at Daryl when he looked back—he was probably glaring, but the sun kept her from seeing his face.

It was the heat of the day now while they traveled back to the prison, and although there was nothing else out of the ordinary on the return trip, Beth's heart was still beating forcibly against her chest, each beat felt almost in her throat. This definitely had turned into a far different trip than anyone had planned, and she knew that even though some of the group would be very unhappy with their extended stay outside the walls that the information they had would far outweigh the issue of their temporary disappearance.

"Rick," Daryl called when he parked his bike. Now, safely tucked away within the gates, the two were leaving their respective vehicles and rushing to tell the news. "Rick!"

Rick came almost as though on call, likely having waited for any sign of their return, and Beth felt a pang of guilt about having neglected to mention their plans to him at all. Currently, however, there were more pressing matters to attend to.

"What happened?" Rick almost growled, evidently frustrated at the late arrival but also concerned that Daryl was shouting for him.

"We saw the Governor," Beth breathed out in answer, and she looked at Daryl who caught her glance. Maybe she shouldn't have blurted it out so quickly. There was a palpable tension in the pause that followed, and Rick narrowed the gap between the two so he could look them straight in the eyes.

"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked, punctuating each word.

"Sure as I'm seein' you standin' here," Daryl said before his admission. "We were out gettin' tires," (Daryl would not allow Rick to interrupt, although he had a stern look when Daryl mentioned that part), "an' when we came back from our second haul, he was there with a new group—maybe not all of it, but he had some numbers there. We left the place, 'n I don't think he noticed us. We came back when the coast was clear, but everythin' was gone."

"Which means," Beth started but stopped herself. Another pause ensued, and her throat constricted tightly so that she couldn't swallow. Her dry mouth was probably also to blame. Rick almost looked like he had seem a ghost upon the revelation of this information.

"Means he's watching us. Means he has to know what kind of position we're in," Rick voiced what Beth and Daryl had already concluded. "We need to call everyone together. You two, go find the rest of the group. Sasha and Tyreese are on watch, so I'm gonna get those two and Carol."

They quickly fanned out in their separate directions as instructed, and Beth let her thoughts wander as she went to collect her family members.

Just like Rick appeared to believe, Beth had been inwardly hoping that the farming and foraging would have been the only worries outside of weather and walkers—but the Governor had shown his face again, and plans were obviously underway for something dreadful. It was crazy to her how much fear one man could strike into an entire group. Her father was easily found, and she advised him of the immediate need to go to an emergency counsel meeting and asked for the whereabouts of the other two. Hershel had not seen them, and she didn't stop long enough to give him a better explanation before she raced off to find them.

While it did take an irritatingly long time to find Glenn and Maggie, and Beth wasn't too thrilled with how she found them (fortunately, she only heard what was going on rather than saw), she finally did collect them as well. By the time they had made their entrance, everyone else was already gathered in the room. A few judgmental or critical stares were aimed in their direction, but Beth only rolled her eyes as she took her seat. It wasn't like it was her fault.

"Okay," Rick began, "Now we can tell you why we called you here. We had to make sure we had everyone present before I said anything. This is serious, and I didn't want to start a massive panic in the room or throughout the prison beforehand." Beth noticed many of the others exchanging worried glances, although a few rolled their eyes, probably assuming it wasn't as big a deal as the words Rick was about to state. "The Governor was spotted by Beth and Daryl on their run."

The silence following was only a second before questions erupted, but the tension was clearly palpable.

"How?"

"Was it really him?"

"Where was he?"

"Did he follow them back here?"

"You know what happened last time, right? He's going to do it again!"

"We can't survive another attack, Rick!"

A chorus of panicked questions and exclamations filled the air, and Beth's loud exhale was swallowed up by the sound of the voices carrying on until Rick finally silenced them.

"Not right now! We can't do this now. We gotta remain calm and think this through. Yes, it was him, and no, he did not follow them back. Everyone would've known by now if he had.

"Right now, we have to figure out what his motive is—what he's after. There's no time to sit here worryin' about this or that or the other, the whys and hows. We have to figure out a way to keep ourselves safe."

"We only have a motorcycle and one SUV, if they got it back safe. We could hardly even go for supplies with just those two vehicles on hand. We don't have a leg to stand on with our tiny stores as is," Carol gave her input with a shake of her head.

"We did," Daryl spoke up, "and we got a couple sets of wheels while we were out. Tha's how we found him—'n then he stripped the place bare."

"Okay, so, what, two vehicles and a bike? That's not enough to evacuate everyone!" Sasha interjected vehemently. Beth understood her worried anger, but shouting wasn't going to get anyone anywhere.

"That would be three and a bike, actually," Glenn said. Beth was sure Daryl was thinking of an Asian joke about his counting skills, but she forced her mind to pay attention to the conversation occurring outside her head.

"Who said anything about leavin'?" Rick countered. "We are staying put. We're going to have to fortify our defenses and—"

"With what?" Sasha badgered him, but Tyreese grabbed her arm and gave her a stern look.

"We're gonna have to find a way to hold down the fort," he said to try to calm his sister. "If the Governor's after us, he's got some sort of plan, and we're gonna have to stay a step ahead."
"We are two steps behind. He has to know we needed those tires," she argued, and the entire room shifted. Bleak expressions were noted by Beth, and she honestly felt a little hopeless at the prospect, despite the fact she had already made that connection.

"Wasn't one set for the bus?" Beth asked gently, not wanting to incur Sasha's wrath but also wanting to instill a little hope into the stifling room.

"Yeah," Daryl replied. "Thought we'd have enough time to get enough to run all our vehicles, but tha's better than nothin'."

"He's probably going to try to attack us," Glenn stated miserably. "We're screwed."

"Well, if he does come, he ain't gonna come knockin'," Hershel added. "We all know that from the last time. We don't have enough time to sit in self-pity, nor do we have enough vehicles to make a run for it, even with the bus. So let's listen to Rick—we have to formulate a plan to keep ourselves safe. This is all we got here, this prison. We have to keep our home protected. Now, let's hear Rick out and try to get something accomplished besides arguin' amongst each other."

Beth smiled at her father; even though they had had their differences recently over certain issues, he still had the ability to turn the tides within the group. She was very grateful for his presence.

The meeting seemed to drag on, and she really had no experience in ambush or defensive strategies that may be employed by the enemy or themselves, so she slipped out after a while to grab a snack from their meager supplies. Carol was right; they were pretty low. They had enough for maybe a couple more days without doling out insufficient rations to make it last longer.

She grabbed enough to feed herself and Daryl and was about to step to her room when she felt a face full of cloth and muscle. Instantly, she jumped back, but she wasn't allowed to escape since a hand held her in place.

"Not gonna stop doin' that, are ya?" Daryl asked her with a smirk, his rumbling voice echoing inside her head since he had her pressed close. "Don't go slinkin' off, ya hear? I wantchoo to stay within eyesight."

She was a little annoyed that she couldn't hug him back since her hands were currently occupied, but she hummed softly as her gaze met his. He might not have resolved his trust issues with her just yet, but it was definitely obvious he cared.

"Promise?" he mumbled in her ear.

"Okay, Daryl," she sighed. She wasn't exactly thrilled about his watching her like a hawk all over again, but neither was she keen on the idea of being separated from him if psycho man (number two in her book of psycho encounters) decided to show face. "I'm still gonna go to the bathroom on my own. You better not follow me there."

He let her go and smirked at her with her release, but he didn't say a word when he turned and led the way over to her cell. She wasn't sure if that was acknowledging her stipulation or not, but she hoped so. Honestly, she would probably throw something at him if he went so far as to follow her to the bathroom—and then kick him out of the room for at least the night, again.

"Try watching me then," she mumbled to herself, just out of earshot, and smiled at the idea before catching up to Daryl.

"Well, I'm alive. Alive and really scared about what's happening right now. The Governor's showed up in the area, and he took every tire in the nearest tire store but eight—and those were the ones Daryl and I managed to get before he showed up. I'm really worried, and everyone else is too. It can't be coincidence—as if the Governor would need that many tires. Turns out that my first run was more eventful than I think anyone would have guessed.

While I know that our would-be assailant should be my main focus and concern right now, what I've been pushing down all day is now coming to the forefront. I can't stop thinking about what transpired earlier. Daryl is so deeply hurt by his past, and I can't get him to open up to me about it. I guess this is a better way to phrase it: he won't open up to me about it. I'm not going to keep pushing him or anything; I just want him to trust me enough to tell me. It's depressing not knowing how I'm supposed to earn that—his trust. There's that part of him that's so cute and sweet, so childlike sometimes, and then his sarcastic, I-don't-give-a-crap side, and I guess there's this other part of him that's so hurt and damaged, he recoils if it gets touched. Maybe our relationship was kind of rushed anyway. I don't know; in this world, tomorrow is never guaranteed. Norms are pretty much out the window since there isn't any sense of normalcy.

At least we're in the same room tonight. I don't know if I could sleep without company, considering current events, although I'm still not used to his and don't know if I really will sleep anyway. And it's not just because he takes up so much room; it's also that I'm attracted to him, obviously, so I get nervous knowing he's there.

I haven't seen Mika yet, but I miss her. I'll have to remember to keep an eye out for her and Judith in these upcoming days. We all thought the Governor had slunk back into the shadows or disappeared like a bad nightmare, but here he is again, and he's been watching us. He's like an evil Santa Clause with presents of disaster and death.

I really need to sleep. I'm comparing the Governor to Santa Clause.

Good night, diary."