Work Text:
Driven to the end of his rope, Daryl Dixon is so angry that his hands are shaking. He had worked so hard to make something better of himself, to be worthy. He'd even made a point to do it the difficult, slow way (the opposite of how Merle would have done) on the right side of the law. All for naught. He grips the edge of the chipped counter and takes a deep breath in through his nose, calms his rage and tries to settle his nerves. He knows this will end badly, but he's out of options. He ain't just going to take this lying down. She deserves a stronger man than that.
He pops the seal on a small vile and pours the mixture into a glass of water. Swirling the glass, he watches the powder dissolve and then throws the drink back in one gulp. Slams the glass against the counter so hard the empty bottles and wash basin rattle and a fine dust rains down from the ceiling. Staring at himself in the cracked mirror he waits to feel the concoction hit his blood. Eventually an artificial calm washes over him.
Rubbing a squirt of brill cream between his palms he slicks his long hair back. Splashes tepid water on his face and washes the worst dirt from his hands. His ablutions complete Daryl turns and surveys the small room before him. He can't help but compare it to the house he should be standing in. The one he built with his own two hands. There should be two stories, glass windows, 3 bedrooms, crisp white walls and all the wood finished with a glossy dark stain. Instead he's in a shack, one room, uneven floors and cracks in the walls that let the light and weather in. The worn strap of his gun belt is slung over the lone rickety straight back chair. Both pistols laid out on the table with his last box of bullets. He straps the belt low around his hips, loads both guns and slides them into the holsters.
He steps outside and eyes his buckskin mare hobbled and grazing in the small patch of shade provided by the only tree in the barren yard. Once she's saddled he doesn't waste any time looking around, this place never was his home. He mounts up and rides north to the dirt road that leads straight into the cluster of wooden buildings making up the town of Woodbury.
XXXXX
Beth Greene sighs and stares into the mirror above her vanity. She pinches at her cheeks, bringing a blush to the pale skin to match her painted lips. Turning to the right her fingers prod at the tiny braid starting at her temple and running back to where her blonde hair is pulled into a loose chignon. She pulls at the yellow cotton of her dress. Fluffing the full skirt, smoothing the waist, and tugging at the neckline that seems to barely contain her slight décolletage.
She picks up a framed tintype from among the tonics and salves and scattered hair pins and holds it to her breast. One of her most treasured possessions. Not because of the delicate silver frame, but because of the subject. Piercing pale eyes, the left one turned down slightly with a scar, thin lips showing just the hint of a smirk, a short rough beard and long hair hanging down to his coat collar.
Beth knows their feelings are true. She loves him completely, and while in the past he's foolishly thought he was, somehow, not enough for her, Daryl has made it clear he feels the same. Beth knows their love is real, but she doesn't know how they can continue to live apart like this. Daryl had said he wanted to start a life with her, to live as husband and wife. But how can Beth ever get the chance to love him now that he never is around? He had tried so hard, but everything has come apart. She's still living with Rick and Lori, and while she is grateful for the Grimes's generosity she feels her life has stalled before it's gotten a chance to truly start. Daryl's been driven from the home he's just finished building. He's deeply concerned for her safety after the things that awful man has said and done. Left so dispossessed her love refuses to let Beth even see where he's been staying. The young woman is furious and she's not going to let this continue without putting up a fight.
XXXXXXXXX
Sheriff Rick Grimes is sleeping. Feet up on his desk, legs crossed at the ankles. Wide brimmed green hat resting in his lap. A sharp rap on the frame of his office door, roused him from his nap.
"Afternoon Sheriff, package came through on the coach for ya." Glenn doesn't wait for a response before he enters the office, "Looks official, something from out east."
Glenn is employed by the post and freight outfit, just two doors down from the Sheriff's station on Center Street. Whether he's accepting packages to be shipped at the store front or out delivering things to the town's residents Glenn, like most of the good folk of Woodbury, is always eager for any interesting gossip. This particular afternoon proves no exception.
"Any ideas what it might be?" Glenn doesn't hesitate to ask, he's not subtle, but he means well.
Rick nods and stretches. He rises from his chair and thanks Glenn, but doesn't pick up the package until he's alone again. It is a tube, addressed to the Sheriff of Woodbury. He cracks one end open with the knife strapped to his belt. He can't help but frown as he pulls out papers, unrolling them to find several copies of the same wanted poster. A hand drawn likeness of Daryl Dixon staring back at him.
He sighs, dragging his hand down his face. He loves Beth like a daughter, Lori and himself practically raising her after Hershel's death. Her Daddy would not have been pleased to learn his youngest daughters sweetheart was wanted by the Pinkertons. However, Rick also knows that Hershel Greene valued dedication and hard work above all else. He would have seen these claims for what they were. A blatant attempt by a sleazy bank man to use his power and influence to cheat a man out if his money, land and future. All because he was jealous.
Everything had been fine until the banker had realized they were in competition for the same young woman's affections. Things only got worse when Beth saw absolutely no competition. After all she'd been in love with Daryl Dixon since the first time she laid eyes on him when she was barely 15. Dixon had been new to town and the Sheriff had invited him for supper with the family. Both he and his wife had noticed the way their young charge had looked at their guest. Lori had said if you had looked closely you would have seen actual hearts floating in her eyes. Rick had thought the same could be said of his old compadre.
Daryl was rough around the edges, but his word was his bond and in all the years Rick had known him he'd never met a more hard working man. They had ridden together for a few years back before the war. They'd worked as wagon masters moving big lines of wagons west. Daryl had always taken the job seriously, working hard to deliver the people in their care across the harsh country safely. He even saved Rick once, took a bullet meant for the Sheriff and then talked them out of hot water with the fella who had been doing the shooting.
Then during the war the Sheriff had heard Daryl became a bandit of sorts. Stole from the army on both sides. Food, supplies, munitions, horses, gold. Rumour was Daryl and his brother Merle took it all and made a small fortune, yet they never took from a working man. Only stealing from the army, from the government busy making their own people fight to the death. Over the years Rick had heard plenty of talk and Daryl never shied from his reputation. Through he had always maintained that he had not continued with that line of work after the war ended.
When he had showed up in Woodbury (alone with no Merle in sight) he'd had a nice sum. A nest egg he used as down payment to setup a large ranch. He worked tirelessly for more than a few years. Built his barn and started raising up a nice herd of cattle, then eventually building the big house. He even attended the local church on Sundays. Though every member of the congregation would happily tell you he always spent the entirety of the service staring slightly moon-eyed at Beth Greene and likely didn't hear a word the preacher said.
It was once the house was finished and Daryl had come to ask a newly 19 year old Beth for her hand that things went wrong. First the Sheriff had been in the bank making a deposit when Dale Horvath had congratulated him, having heard of Beth's engagement. She was practically Sheriff Grimes daughter after all. The banker, Mr. Blake, had startled at the news sending his ledger and ink crashing to the ground as he exclaimed.
"That sweet girl, promised to marry the Dixon man?" He had sounded outraged, "Who would have let that happen?"
Mr. Horvath had been eager to add to the gossip as only old men in small towns can. "Well, he'll have no problem providing for her. I hear Daryl's got gold buried all over that place. King of thieves that one was."
Just the next day there was a big commotion in the store. Rumour was Beth had slapped the banker, announcing loudly for all in the vicinity to hear that her beau would be most displeased to learn how handsy Mr. Blake was being. Glenn had relished in relaying her exact words to the Sheriff, barely able to stop himself from acting out the entire scene.
"Mr. Blake! You presume too much. In the future you will do well to keep your hands on your own person. Mr. Dixon would be outraged to hear of such behaviour." Glenn had offered a surprisingly accurate impression of the young woman.
That same night at home, after dinner his wife had pulled him aside while Beth got baby Judith ready for bed. Lori had been agitated, stressing that Beth had not said anything to her directly, but rather that Carl had brought the situation to her attention. Their son had been distressed, Beth had been several minutes late picking him up from school (the young woman was always punctual, and took her duties caring for the Grimes children very seriously) and when she did arrive she had been disheveled, dress torn at the sleeve and a large bruise forming on her arm beneath. Carl found her demeanour on the journey home to be just as troubling. She hurried, constantly looking behind then as though someone might be following. Carl, nearing 14 and incredibly protective of Beth, had pressed the young woman to explain what had happened. When she refused, insisting everything was ok, Carl had simply told her he would have to alert his father if Daryl Dixon was hurting her. Beth had apparently exploded, stubbornly lecturing him on Daryl's nobility and love for her. When Carl was equally stubborn she finally relented and admitted that Mr. Blake had pulled her off the street and accosted her. She made him promise not to tell his father, apparently worried about what Daryl might do if he found out. Carl had agreed to her terms and promptly told his mother instead.
Rick had known then he was going to have to intervene. He didn't want anything to do with the banker from out east. The man was slimy, Rick had met many men like him during the war, capable of anything. Unfortunately, sitting out wasn't an option. If he didn't get involved the whole situation was likely to explode all over the small town. He left Beth be, she was already upset enough and he understood why she had kept this from him. He went to Daryl instead.
He found the man pacing his shiny new kitchen, staring at his rifle and muttering under his breath. In all the years they had known each other Rick had never seen the man angry like this.
"Grabbed her off the fucking street. Imma kill the cocksucker." Daryl seethed when he finally stopped to look at Rick.
"She told ya?" Well, Rick hadn't expected that.
Daryl chewed his thumb and nodded, "I went to see her late this afternoon. She looked so sad. As soon as I asked what was wrong she burst into tears. Couldn't hardly tell me what he'd done, she was so upset."
"Ya can't kill him." Rick tries to sound firm, to impart the authority of his position.
"The fuck I can't."
"We are going to keep a close eye on Beth, he won't get near her again. No one in this town wants the trouble that little man could bring here. We'll get you two married, just like planned. Blake ain't gonna be happy, but he'll get over it or he'll move on."
"Grimes, I can't let this go unanswered. You know that."
Rick sighs and rubs his temple. He knows Daryl is due something in this situation. He would demand the same if it had happened to Lori.
"A warning, Daryl. That's all. Ya can't shoot this asshole." Rick had relented, hoping that might be the end of it.
A few days later Mr. Blake had shown up at the station with a busted lip looking for assistance from the Sheriff claiming Daryl had defaulted on his loans. Rick had ignored his request, instead taking the opportunity to lecture the banker on the proper way to comport oneself with a lady.
"I need you to understand that, in this town, we do not manhandle women. All of the women here are free to choose whom they talk and interact with and not one of them owes you anything. The behaviour you displayed both in the store and on the street this week with Ms. Greene is not something that will be tolerated." The sheriff pushed himself up from the edge of the desk and crossed the room, holding the door open in a clear sign they were done, "If you have a complaint against Mr. Dixon we will need to see all supporting documentation as well as a request for action from the banks head office before the Sheriff's department will be able to offer assistance."
Rick had not counted on the Banker being so willing to work around both the local law and the policies of the bank itself. A few weeks later Daryl had shown up at the Grimes house in the in the middle of the night. Grazed by a bullet to on his arm he had been ousted from his own ranch by a crew of armed men hired by the banker. Then started the been whisperings that Blake was threatening the loans and mortgages of the towns people if they continued to serve Daryl at any of their business. Now the Pinkertons were coming as if Daryl had robbed the bank. This wanted poster would further complicate things for both the town and the young lovers, but Rick was certain it would never sway their devotion for one another.
XXXXX
Philip Blake rubs his sweaty palms against his pants legs and then turns the dial on the large safe. He wrenches the heavy door open and grabs the stacks of bills and nuggets of gold. He lines them neatly in the bottom of his traveling case. Folded shirts and pants and under garments are placed on top, hiding the bills from view. It was time for him to leave this God forsaken place. Every dollar belonging to these stupid cowpokes he could get his hands on was coming with him.
There was nothing left for him in this town. Now that his true love, his golden angel, had been stolen by that outlaw. She was so pure and beautiful he had known when he first saw her, walking the Sheriff's son to school, that they were destined for each other. He had been pinning; unable, after almost two years, to engage her in anything more than polite conversation in passing. When suddenly the entire town seemed to burst with excitement over her engagement to that horrible man.
The banker had apparently been the only resident of Woodbury unaware of the budding romance. Suddenly he heard about them everywhere. At the saloon, in the barbers chair, eating his supper in the hotel; even the whores couldn't stop speculating over how romantic the proposal must have been. Absolutely everyone preening over how soon there would be a beautiful family to fill the beautiful new house Dixon had built.
Phillip tried to talk to her several times. To make her see reason. When he'd grabbed her wrist in the mercantile she'd gone frightfully still before striking him across the face with the flat of her palm and hissing angrily until he's released her and she'd fled. He'd found her later heading towards the school to retrieve the Grimes boy. He's waited until she passed where he stood in the shade between two houses and then he'd grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back into the alley. She had kicked and fought, but he'd held her tightly against himself, one arm around her waist and the other over her mouth, and demanded she listen. Had told her of his dreams for them, of the depth of his feelings, of their destiny. She had settled, so he removed his hand from her mouth eager to hear what she thought.
But the words that can or if her mouth were horrid. That she didn't know him and had no want to. That her future was belonging to another and he would have no party to it. In his shock she had pushed away from him. She had insisted she loved that awful Dixon man before fleeing from him once again. He had reached out grabbing her wrist, trying to stop her. Beth had flailed wildly and then stumbled back, her dress ripping at the cuff and her slight body seeming to bounce off the wall beside them. Then she ran, from the alley - from him as if he were the monster. She actually wanted this proposed marriage, to be bound to and touched by that criminal with lank hair and dirty hands.
Dixon had found him the next day. Storming into the bank brandishing a pistol and demanding Ms. Greene be left alone. Threatening to pull the trigger if the banker dared to so much as speak to her again. The banker had been left slumped over the counter, gasping for breath with blood pouring from his lip. However, he'd recovered quickly, before Dixon reached the door. He hadn't planned to speak, the words just seemed to pour forth.
"Do you think she's going to want you when you lose that fancy house? You have no land, no cattle, no money without me."
"Ya take my land it'll be over my dead body." Dixon had proclaimed before storming out.
Phillip had intended to approach her again, he would not give up. However, Beth was never alone after that. Whenever he saw her the Sheriff's wife or someone else was glued to her side. It was then Philip Blake knew he would have to rid the town of the pox that was Daryl Dixon if he was to have any chance courting Beth.
Turned out Phillip hadn't needed to actually kill him. He'd been able to chase Dixon away from the property with only a few notices forged on the bank letterhead and 5 hired soldiers. It had cost him all he had in savings, and Beth had still refused to talk with him. The hired men had left on last weeks stage, unwilling to stay once his money had run dry. Philip Blake had used the last thing of value he possessed, calling in the marker he held with a senator from New York State. Getting a promise for a warrant for the arrest of the outlaw Daryl Dixon and promising to send 2 Pinkerton agents out to retrieve him.
Now it had been over a week and the agents weren't arrived here yet. The town's people were getting angry, questioning the integrity of the bank. A few had drained their accounts and taken their cash home. He'd seen Dixon around town watching him from across the road, glaring and chewing on his thumb. Looking like he's plotting something. When last he'd tried to talk to his love the Pelletier widow had banished him from the church hall with a knife, promising to gut him if he breached the sanctity of the women's sewing circle again. Beth, whom he'd only barely seen, could be heard behind the crazed woman, pleading to be left alone. He'd tried everything he could to intervene, to save her from a horrid fate. Yet Beth Greene could not be budged, she so totally loved the wrong man. Now Phillip knows it's time to cut his losses and head back east before the pot boiled over.
XXXXX
Beth casts her gaze around, happy to see the street mostly deserted. Her palm is damp when she reaches out and grabs the heavy metal handle, pushing the door open. At first she thinks the bank is empty. She has taken only a few tentative steps across the shiny atrium floor when a door to the left of the counter opens and Mr. Blake hurries out clutching a suitcase. He's clearly surprised to see her, stopping suddenly, opening and closing his mouth and awkwardly waving his case around.
"Beth!" His voice is excited and his face settles into a wide smile.
He's clearly shocked but incredibly happy to see her. She hadn't thought it possible but that response makes her, somehow, even angrier. She finally understands that this isn't some awful mistake. This wretched man, he just wants to control and dominate and he'll never be reigned in. Her voice is like ice as she pulls the small pistol from her soft cotton purse.
"Mr. Blake."
Before she can deliver the scathing speech she has been practising, to convince him to leave or she will shoot, the door bursts open behind her. She doesn't think, she automatically turns to look around. Daryl is standing in the doorway looking like rage incarnate.
XXXXX
Daryl has never wanted to take a life. It had happened, more than once, protecting his brother and himself during the war but he had never planned to kill. Now he's nearly certain that is exactly what is going to happen. He doesn't relish the prospect, but he will do everything in his power to protect Beth. For some reason he doesn't fully understand she wants him, wants a life and a family with him, and he will do whatever it takes to give her exactly what she wants.
He hitches his mare to the post in front of the bank. Checks his weapons and glances around to make sure the street is empty. He hurries to the door and slams it open forcefully, hoping to catch the banker off guard. That is not how it goes, Daryl is the one caught off guard by the sight in front of him.
She's breathtaking. Hair, like cornsilk, laid in a spiral on the crown of her head. Soft yellow dress such a contrast to the hard metal of the pistol clutched in her grip. She turns at the sound of the door. Her pale face is flushed with pink lips and huge shining blue eyes. He can't help the smile that pulls at his lips or the way his heart jumps. He has never loved anything in his life the way he loves Beth Greene.
Daryl's smile doesn't last long. The banker doesn't hesitate to take advantage of Beth's distraction. He grabs her gun and roughly hauls Beth's small body in front of his own, presses the barrel of the pistol to her temple.
"I'll blow her to Kingdom Come" The vile man announces.
Daryl's mind starts spinning. He can see exactly how this could unfold. He makes the slightest move towards his gun and a bullet rips through her head splattering brains and blood all over the shiny bank floor. Daryl kills the banker, but it's too late. He picks her up, cradling her limp body and walking out into the sunlight in some horrid mockery of how he should have carried his bride across the threshold of their home.
He won't let that happen. It goes against every urge and instinct, but he doesn't move a muscle. He stands his ground, praying to a God he doesn't believe in. So his shock is immense when that prayer is almost instantly answered.
The bullet comes through the windowpane to right of the counter. Makes a small hole above one eye and then lodges itself down in his brain. Mr. Blake is killed instantly. His eyes locked on Daryl he never saw a puff of smoke, no flash, no fire, no sound.
Daryl lunges for Beth. Bundling her into his embrace almost before the body hits the ground. Quickly he pulls her away from the window and closer to the door. He figures that the gunfire had come from Andrea's place. Located across the side street from the bank the whorehouse was one of the largest buildings in town. Two stories tall with a colourful sign reading 'The Quarry' and a balcony running along the front and side. Daryl is sure the shot came from that side balcony. And he has a pretty good idea about who fired it.
"We gotta go, Beth." He urges her towards the door, "We gotta go."
Outside he glances at The Quarry, and sees Rick descending the stairs that run from the balcony down to the boardwalk on the ground floor, rifle over his shoulder. He holds Daryl's gaze for a few seconds and then Rick glances to Beth and nods firmly. It's up to Daryl from here on out.
He lifts Beth into his saddle and then mounts up behind pressing his full body tight against her. Offering comfort and wanting to keep her secure. He kicks the mare and they gallop out of town headed away from this mess and towards the still wild frontier.
XXXXX
Sheriff Rick Grimes was fast asleep. Feet up on his desk, legs crossed at the ankles. Wide brimmed green hat pulled down over his eyes. A sharp rap on the frame of his office door, wakes him from his nap.
"Afternoon Sheriff, letter for ya." Glenn, like usual, doesn't wait for a response before he enters the office.
When Rick sees the precise penmanship and lack of return address he hurriedly rips open the large brown envelope. There is a letter, happy if a bit vague on details and a picture. Sweet Beth in her wedding gown. Bright white dress, made of delicate lace and covered in shiny looking beads, she has flowers in her hair, and a smile so wide she seems to radiate happiness. Beside her stands Daryl, looking proud and a little stiff in his dark suit and crisp shirt, with his long hair hanging down.