Maggie's wrung out by the time they're putting Georgia behind them. She's hardly let go of Beth since Daryl led her out of the hospital, shaken-looking but whole. As soon as they met in the middle of the hospital's courtyard, she pulled her sister into a hug and cried all over the poor thing. The story of everything that happened inside came out over the next few minutes: stabbing the woman in charge, a bullet that nearly grazed Beth's ear, a deadly change of power that happened in a breath. Beth doesn't tell it, just hugs her tight, her face buried in Maggie's neck like she's five years old again.
No one explains what Beth was doing, trying to kill the woman, and Maggie doesn't ask. Some things take longer to tell. What matters now is that they have Beth back, squashed comfortably between her and Glenn on the long drive north.
A few days later, when she can think of more than we have Beth, Beth's safe, we're gonna be okay, she sidles over Daryl's way when they've stopped for the night.
"Wanna tell me how my baby sister ended up with a tattoo?" she asks, leaning back against the side of the fire truck.
It's hard to find any peace these days. He's pretty sure all that went as well as it possibly could go-- they're lucky as hell that there wasn't more bloodshed, that Beth and Carol made it through, that any of them did. But since the prison fell.. For a while, there were moments you could believe maybe you were safe, maybe safety was a thing you could aspire to, at least.
They've lost that. Probably for good, he thinks, but he doesn't know.
Still, they've got each other and that's plenty to be grateful for, and the further they get from Grady the brighter things look.
So he's in high enough spirits, at least, to give her a surprised huff of laughter.
And obviously, it must have been--Daryl's not the kind of person who forcibly tattoos a teenage girl--but it seems like it's out of nowhere. Maggie hasn't bothered grilling Beth about it yet; she just touched the wobbly letters and said it looked good, and Beth shrugged like it had always been there.
There are a lot of things she hasn't asked Beth yet. The whole time, Maggie's been thinking of her own return to the prison after the Governor had her and Glenn under his thumb--a time when Beth had hugged her, wordless, and never pressed. She owes that to her sister now, to let things come out when they will.
Daryl, though--she doesn't mind giving him the third degree. Not at a time like this, when he seems basically okay.
Well, she can't be all that mad. Beth made it through-- she even seems to like the damn thing, wobbly and amateur as it is, which gives Daryl an odd sense of pride. His own isn't nearly so noteworthy, but he's still pleased with it--the yellow dots still vibrant now that the bandages are off.
No one's asked about it, he doesn't think anyone's said much to Beth, either, except maybe Maggie.
"Found a town, a couple days out. Tattoo shop was the only place worth holin' up."
Maggie glances over toward her sister. She's sitting with Noah at the edge of the road, and whatever they're talking about, they're doing it heads together. For the moment, she seems relaxed--happy, even--and there's nothing left to worry about for the next five or ten minutes. Her attention shifts back to Daryl.
"And out of nowhere, she wanted a tattoo." At least she was out there with him; he's no stranger to ink and needles. Got her through the healing process pretty cleanly, as far as Maggie can tell. "Just like that."
Okay, okay, that's not the half of it. He huffs again in spite of-- well, everything. What's the use of any of it if they can't laugh. Shaking his head a little he follows her glance. It's good, seeing her in good spirits.
"She tell you the rest of it?"
He doesn't quite know how much he's ready to share. A lot of it leaves him vulnerable, truth told, and he's not sure he's quite ready to tell Maggie he got her little sister piss-drunk on moonshine. But she deserves some sort of explanation. To not have to worry, at least.
Maggie can nearly hear the way a completely different story lies under his answer, like words erased and written over. Whatever adventure they were having out there, it must've been something...and like it or not, she can't wring it out of Daryl. From the way he lit up at the mention of the tattoo, it's nothing worth worrying about.
And that's all that matters, right? As long as they were okay out there, Beth can keep all the secrets she wants.
"No," Maggie admits. "Not yet. I think she needs some time."
We all do. After a moment or two, she nods toward the thin-lined flower on his arm. "She do that?"
If he thought she needed to know it, he wouldn't hesitate. But whatever Beth needs to tell her, she'll do in her own time. Everything they shared out there-- the ugly shit's easier to brush away already, leave it behind like she said they ought to.
Maybe the tattoos weren't such a bad idea after all.
Nodding, he twists his arm a bit so she can see it better. For someone who'd never been near a tattoo needle before that day she did a decent job. He can't quite muster a smile but it comes close; like it touches his eyes but not his mouth.
"She did all right out there," he says, softly, seriously. Maggie oughta know that much-- that Beth was a help out there, not a burden.
She looks over the design. A Cherokee rose--it reminds her of home before anything else, and all the flowers coming out when spring started in earnest. For Daryl, she's sure, it's something else, but for Beth...who knows? It's pretty good, considering who did it. Where she did it, for that matter.
Maggie glances back up when he speaks again, nodding slightly.
"She had you." If Beth had run off from the prison alone, Maggie's not sure they'd have had this chance. Daryl gave her the chance she needed, and maybe an opportunity to do more than just survive the elements. They came back alive, but more than that, they're both changed. Setting a hand lightly on his shoulder, she adds, "Thanks."
In a sense she's not wrong; the flower on his mind came from the grounds around her farm. It's everything that ended and everything that started there. He'd chosen it thinking of loss; it's luck, maybe, that he was wrong about the scale of it. That so many of them got out, pulled through, found each other. It still suits him-- he's still glad for it. Everything it could mean, even if it doesn't mean what he thought.
Relieved it's not all he has to remember Beth, and the rest of them.
"Glad I had her," he murmurs, quiet again, flat and factual. He'd come far too close out there to giving up, and he knows damn well if he hadn't had Beth to look after-- well, who knows. He might've pulled through. Surprised himself. But he credits his survival to her as much as the other way around, at least.
But he doesn't wanna drag it down so he picks up a bit, juts his chin back in Beth's direction.
Maggie snorts. "I'd be more impressed if you screwed it up. Only one way to spell it."
It must've taken a long time, sitting there and doing one dot at a time, and that's nice to think about, in a way. They had a couple hours out there when they were happy. They must have--they'd have shown up with half a tattoo, not two of them, under worse circumstances.
Well, true. It's strange to look on anything after the prison fell with such fondness, but they had been happy. As happy as anyone lost could be, he figures; still alive, and that's what it always comes back to.
He halfway wants to say he's sorry for having lost her, but the words dry up before he can put them into the right shape. No point focusing on that. She knows, anyway. He'd have done anything to keep Beth safe-- to keep any of them safe. Should've done more.
"Let her get us drunk," he admits, and doesn't have the grace to sound particularly guilty about it. She'd probably find out eventually anyway.
Maggie's brows shoot up, something tightening in her chest. Drunk. It's the kind of thing they might have argued about, under better circumstances. After every story Dad told you, you went off and got drunk in the woods?
But these aren't great circumstances, and if anything's screwed her sister up lately, it's nothing that happened with Daryl looking out for her. If Beth had to get drunk, she could've picked worse company.
She's silent, taking the measure of Daryl's expression, and then she shrugs. "How'd that happen?"
Yeah. Knowing their father, it's not a surprise that she's so taken aback. If Hershel Greene were alive-- well, that's the problem.
"She was grievin'," he murmurs, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. Makes perfect sense to him. Sometimes that drives you to dumb shit, leaves you a little crazy. She'd lost goddamn everything, she needed a break from being who she was. Maybe both of them did.
With any luck both of them came through it stronger.
They all had their moments of lunatic determination after the prison's fall, she suspects, even if they only happened inside their own heads. Can she really begrudge Beth hers? It was stupid--really damned stupid--but at least she wasn't doing it alone.
And it was living. It's not what happened at the farm. Even if it was risky, it wasn't about trying to die. For that much, Maggie can be grateful.
"Mm," she agrees, glancing over at her sister again. What matters is that they've got her back. If her little adventures with Daryl become a problem in the future, that's when they'll handle them. In the future. The smile she gives Daryl is soft-edged, a little on the tired side. "We all will be. Just need some time."
Really damn stupid, but they needed it. Same with-- well, everything out there. Maggie had her chance at teen rebellion before everything went to shit; it's not the same, but it is in a way.
She's not just one of the kids now. Not to him, not to herself.
"Some time and some place," he murmurs, a shadow passing over his features for a moment. It's hard to imagine starting over-- building a home from scratch again, trying to find some semblance of safety.
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No one explains what Beth was doing, trying to kill the woman, and Maggie doesn't ask. Some things take longer to tell. What matters now is that they have Beth back, squashed comfortably between her and Glenn on the long drive north.
A few days later, when she can think of more than we have Beth, Beth's safe, we're gonna be okay, she sidles over Daryl's way when they've stopped for the night.
"Wanna tell me how my baby sister ended up with a tattoo?" she asks, leaning back against the side of the fire truck.
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They've lost that. Probably for good, he thinks, but he doesn't know.
Still, they've got each other and that's plenty to be grateful for, and the further they get from Grady the brighter things look.
So he's in high enough spirits, at least, to give her a surprised huff of laughter.
"Her idea."
Yeah, that's all the defense he's got.
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And obviously, it must have been--Daryl's not the kind of person who forcibly tattoos a teenage girl--but it seems like it's out of nowhere. Maggie hasn't bothered grilling Beth about it yet; she just touched the wobbly letters and said it looked good, and Beth shrugged like it had always been there.
There are a lot of things she hasn't asked Beth yet. The whole time, Maggie's been thinking of her own return to the prison after the Governor had her and Glenn under his thumb--a time when Beth had hugged her, wordless, and never pressed. She owes that to her sister now, to let things come out when they will.
Daryl, though--she doesn't mind giving him the third degree. Not at a time like this, when he seems basically okay.
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No one's asked about it, he doesn't think anyone's said much to Beth, either, except maybe Maggie.
"Found a town, a couple days out. Tattoo shop was the only place worth holin' up."
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"And out of nowhere, she wanted a tattoo." At least she was out there with him; he's no stranger to ink and needles. Got her through the healing process pretty cleanly, as far as Maggie can tell. "Just like that."
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Okay, okay, that's not the half of it. He huffs again in spite of-- well, everything. What's the use of any of it if they can't laugh. Shaking his head a little he follows her glance. It's good, seeing her in good spirits.
"She tell you the rest of it?"
He doesn't quite know how much he's ready to share. A lot of it leaves him vulnerable, truth told, and he's not sure he's quite ready to tell Maggie he got her little sister piss-drunk on moonshine. But she deserves some sort of explanation. To not have to worry, at least.
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And that's all that matters, right? As long as they were okay out there, Beth can keep all the secrets she wants.
"No," Maggie admits. "Not yet. I think she needs some time."
We all do. After a moment or two, she nods toward the thin-lined flower on his arm. "She do that?"
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Maybe the tattoos weren't such a bad idea after all.
Nodding, he twists his arm a bit so she can see it better. For someone who'd never been near a tattoo needle before that day she did a decent job. He can't quite muster a smile but it comes close; like it touches his eyes but not his mouth.
"She did all right out there," he says, softly, seriously. Maggie oughta know that much-- that Beth was a help out there, not a burden.
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Maggie glances back up when he speaks again, nodding slightly.
"She had you." If Beth had run off from the prison alone, Maggie's not sure they'd have had this chance. Daryl gave her the chance she needed, and maybe an opportunity to do more than just survive the elements. They came back alive, but more than that, they're both changed. Setting a hand lightly on his shoulder, she adds, "Thanks."
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Relieved it's not all he has to remember Beth, and the rest of them.
"Glad I had her," he murmurs, quiet again, flat and factual. He'd come far too close out there to giving up, and he knows damn well if he hadn't had Beth to look after-- well, who knows. He might've pulled through. Surprised himself. But he credits his survival to her as much as the other way around, at least.
But he doesn't wanna drag it down so he picks up a bit, juts his chin back in Beth's direction.
"Least I spelled it right."
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It must've taken a long time, sitting there and doing one dot at a time, and that's nice to think about, in a way. They had a couple hours out there when they were happy. They must have--they'd have shown up with half a tattoo, not two of them, under worse circumstances.
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He halfway wants to say he's sorry for having lost her, but the words dry up before he can put them into the right shape. No point focusing on that. She knows, anyway. He'd have done anything to keep Beth safe-- to keep any of them safe. Should've done more.
"Let her get us drunk," he admits, and doesn't have the grace to sound particularly guilty about it. She'd probably find out eventually anyway.
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But these aren't great circumstances, and if anything's screwed her sister up lately, it's nothing that happened with Daryl looking out for her. If Beth had to get drunk, she could've picked worse company.
She's silent, taking the measure of Daryl's expression, and then she shrugs. "How'd that happen?"
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"She was grievin'," he murmurs, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. Makes perfect sense to him. Sometimes that drives you to dumb shit, leaves you a little crazy. She'd lost goddamn everything, she needed a break from being who she was. Maybe both of them did.
With any luck both of them came through it stronger.
"Ain't so bad. She'll be all right."
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And it was living. It's not what happened at the farm. Even if it was risky, it wasn't about trying to die. For that much, Maggie can be grateful.
"Mm," she agrees, glancing over at her sister again. What matters is that they've got her back. If her little adventures with Daryl become a problem in the future, that's when they'll handle them. In the future. The smile she gives Daryl is soft-edged, a little on the tired side. "We all will be. Just need some time."
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She's not just one of the kids now. Not to him, not to herself.
"Some time and some place," he murmurs, a shadow passing over his features for a moment. It's hard to imagine starting over-- building a home from scratch again, trying to find some semblance of safety.
But they can't stay on the road forever.