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 write this after I got a delightful little anon prompt on tumblr 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. The main pairing is Tara/Beth – minor pairing is Carol/Daryl. *Contains: adult language, references to PTSD and possible sexual/physical abuse/assault (regarding Beth's ordeal after getting 'kidnapped' in late season four), adult content, mild sexual content, fem-slash, religious references and season four spoilers.

One for the Money (two for the show)

Chapter One

She'd like to say that things had changed after Terminus, after she'd gotten free from the men who'd taken her and met the others on the road. But she'd be lying if she tried to sugar coat it.

They'd survived. They'd made it. But she had a feeling Daddy wouldn't have agreed with much of it – with what they'd had to do to keep each other alive. It kept her up sometimes, when everyone else had gone to bed – praying that wherever he was, he'd forgive her, forgive all of them for the things they'd done.

She didn't like to think about it. About the messed up legacy they were creating. But the others didn't want to hear it. They were too far gone for that, even Maggie seemed different somehow, harder. So she'd said nothing, figuring that the nightmares and the guilt were just the Lord's way of getting even.

Daddy would have probably called it penance.

The timing had been one in a million, but when Rick and the others busted out of the compound, she'd popped out of the brush about twenty yards away. She'd been exhausted when she'd stumbled out of the ditch and onto the road. Filthy, blood-splattered and only half-dressed, with the bottom half of her shirt torn clear off. They were mementos of the moment where she'd managed to break free, cutting through her bonds with the little boot knife her kidnappers had missed before making a run for it.

She hadn't stopped running. Not when her lungs started to burn. Not when she ducked around the outstretched arms of a walker. Not even when she nearly fell, tripping over a tree root. She knew what would happen if she stopped. They'd catch her. They'd catch her and-

She'd stood, shocked in the middle of the road as a double-cab truck, all over-sized tires and rusty rims, bore down on her. She blinked, a deer in the headlights as a window rolled down, the glint of a gun barrel flashing in the high Georgian glare. She remembered the sudden flush of panic when she realized what they must have thought – what she must have looked like.

Her hair had been in her face, falling over her eyes in frizzy, blood-matted curls that stuck to her chin and cheeks. She whipped around, sore muscles screaming. Broken out of her daze as whoever was driving panicked, burning rubber as they rounded the corner, barely ahead of the main pack as a horde of walkers poured out of Terminus's mangled iron gates.

The train yard, or Terminus, as Rick had called it, looked like a dug up ant hill. Half the compound was on fire, a squirming mess of walkers and fleeing survivors too busy trying to outrun the worst of the herd to pay any attention to the truck and SUV making tracks down the deserted back country road.

They didn't recognize her until it was almost too late.

As it was, she swore she felt the air when Michonne unsheathed her katana, the truck practically on top of her before someone – Maggie maybe - let go of a shrill cry. The scream of metal grinding against metal had been deafening as Rick stamped down on the brakes, nearly clipping her as the wheels locked and someone loomed, grabbing her by the armpits and wrenching her up – vicious and hurried as she strangled a startled cry.

The taste of copper flooded her mouth. Red. There was too much red.

There had been no time to stop. No time for gentleness as sun-warmed metal seared across her exposed belly. There was a flash of ginger hair and a wash of unfamiliar sweat as her knees slammed against the wheel well. The man – Abraham – tried to steady her, his wide-palmed hands tightening around her hips, trying to keep her grounded as the truck lurched and spun.

Her throat tightened. The men who'd taken her, who'd stolen her while Daryl tried to buy them time, had told her they'd just been trying to help. That they thought Daryl was trying to hurt her, keeping her weak and wounded so she wouldn't leave. They'd told her they'd take care of her. But their smiles had been unkind, more teeth than anything as they'd leered at her through the rear-view mirror.

They'd promised.

They'd lied.

She wrenched herself away when the weight of Abraham's hands became too much – strangling. She didn't realize she was panicking until she found herself beating his arms away, wild and squalling as her bloody toes slipped across the divots, throat burning as a scream tore from her throat, echoing into the confusion as Abraham dropped her like a sack of hot coals.

She balanced on her own for a handful of beats before she was falling again, a slumping dead weight as she melted into the closest set of arms – soft and sweet-smelling as the curve of a breast hushed across the small of her back.

But more than anything, she remembered pressing her face into the curve of the woman's shoulder, so grateful, so shaken that she hadn't even thought twice. It didn't matter that she didn't know her. It didn't matter that the woman's arms were wrapped around her loosely, uncertain, making an awkward noise of distress as Maggie fell on them both. It didn't matter that the others were closing in – suffocatingly close as every jerk of the wheel and muffled curse made her stomach churn.

All that mattered was that she was home – safe.

She felt guilty about the flinch when Maggie tried to pull her close, unconsciously gripping the dark-haired woman all the tighter as she forced herself to breathe, blinking back bloody tears until the woman – Tara – said something. It was only a quiet rumble of sound, but it caused Maggie to pull back immediately, a horrified sort of understanding blossoming in the back of her eyes as the roar of the engine echoed - tinny and distant in her ears.

She'd taken one look at Maggie's expression before she had to turn away, hiding her face in the curve of the woman's shoulder, gritting her teeth as bright spots danced across her vision. Her breath started coming in shallow, off-center pants. Distantly she was aware of her skin prickling, fever-hot as someone, a man she didn't recognize, closed the gap. There was a handful of awkward beats before the back of a hand – deliciously cool and inviting - pressed against her burning forehead. She tried to follow it but her head was too heavy.

The woman smelled like gun oil and regret.

It was the last thing she knew before darkness finally took her.

She knew she thought about that day more than she probably should. There'd been something about Tara that she'd immediately liked. There was an openness to her, an eagerness that'd appealed to the youthful side of her, something she figured she'd long since left behind.

It'd been refreshing.

And Tara had never once questioned her about it.

Maggie tried her best. But no one really knew what to say. What to do. They'd been just as lost as her. Daddy would have known, he would have been able to fix it – fix her. She was sure of it. But he was gone. The lord had taken him home. He was with Mom now, Shawn, Patricia, Otis, Jimmy - everyone. Eventually she'd had to make her peace with that. With getting left behind.

She'd made her choice after all.

She'd thrown herself into the first thing that'd made sense, Judith. It was blissfully familiar, soothing even when she considered that sometimes, all she had to do was close her eyes and she could imagine they were back in the prison. That Daddy and Rick were outside, fiddling around with the crops and Zach was-

She shook her head.

She didn't want to think about that.

It took a few weeks before the others stopped treating her with kid gloves. And honestly, she wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. It felt like her own words were coming back to haunt her. We don't get to be upset.

She felt muted. Washed out and overlooked.

Just another dead girl.

She wondered sometimes, when things got quiet - when they weren't running, fighting, scavenging and going hungry - if she'd remember how to smile again. She put on a mask for the other's sake – so Maggie wouldn't worry – but inside she knew she was breaking.

In the end, it was Tara who reminded her.

"Urgh, budge over," Tara ordered, flopping beside her with an undignified snort a few evenings later.

"I have never seen two people so disgustingly perfect for each other, yet so obviously not boning," she remarked, pinching a bit of dirt between her thumb and forefinger before tossing it into the coals. Gesturing across the fire to where Carol and Daryl were sitting shoulder to shoulder, watching Judith play with one of her dolls.

Startled, she looked up from her sewing – halfway through mending a tear in one of Glenn's jeans. She blinked at the sudden shift, wondering if she'd lost track of time again as the woman smiled at her expectantly. She followed the crux of her finger with polite curiosity, watching the couple in question from under the veil of her lashes.

Oh.

Her tongue curled in her mouth, parched yet anticipatory. She hadn't spoken unbidden in days, yet now in spite of herself, her heart quickened, all but surging with the need to tell the woman about the farm and the thousand stolen glances that had spanned out between.

She wanted to tell her everything, the nighttime whisperings between her and Maggie at the prison, playfully wondering when one of them was going to make a move. Making bets with chores – desperately stifling giggles – nudging each other whenever they happened on the two of them alone, watching with bated breath as they talked, quietly bumping shoulders or just drinking in the silence, wordlessly urging them to just kiss already!

"Seriously, though. Tell me why they're not a thing? This is literally painful to watch," Tara groaned.

Judith squealed, trying to squash her doll into one of the plastic cups they'd found on their last run. She winced as the sound carried. The open clearing they'd decided to call home for the next few days threw the echoes back as Carol hummed, hushing her gently. The smile Daryl leveled at them both, the one neither of them could see, was nothing short of the sunrise.

It was only when Tara started talking that she tore her eyes away.

"Either way, he better get a move on or I just might. She's not exactly my type, you understand. I am all about the sassy brunettes with deep-seeded attitude problems, but with a woman like that you gotta strike while the iron is hot; you know what I'm sayin'?"

It took her a few minutes to figure out what she'd said and even longer to realize what she meant by it. But by that point the woman was already fast asleep, passed clean out beside her on Maggie's bed roll and didn't see her blush.

A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be a few more chapters, so stay tuned!