So, yeah. I was playing around with my Walking Dead OC Rebeca's back-story, and then this idea wouldn't leave me alone. So, I'm writing it out. Basically my take on what would have happened if Rebeca met the Dion brothers prior to the apocalypse.

I have an idea for a more angsty, slow- burn story, (the story I promised in Killing Loneliness) but right now I am deliberately making this lighter, for fun, because I don't wish to make this into a difficult story to chew through with suspense, suffering and emotional themes. I've read a lot of amazing Daryl/OC fics that have him all damaged and hurt, and I get that part of his character, and will tap into it too, but this is also the man who fed a baby and called her sweetheart in 'public', brought flowers to a grieving mother, saved a group of survivors down at Yellow Jacket Creek because he heard a crying baby, and practically 'begged' Glenn to forgive Merle. And that is the Daryl I want to focus on. Yes, I know that all those events were the result of his character development and growth, but this is fanfiction and I will try to make it worth your while.

And as the title suggests, there will be Merle in this fic, accompanied by my OC Rebeca, because I like her and I've decided that Daryl likes her too.

Enjoy!

PLAYLIST INCLUDES:

"Fix You" - Coldplay

"I Knew You Were Trouble" - Taylor Swift

"Skyfall" - Adele

P.S.: no apocalypse though. But there is blood, sweat, Merle's Clap, and possibly flirtation.

x.X.x

CHAPTER I.

Sex, Drugs and Surgeons in Distress

"Ya okay there Darylina?

From what Daryl could see, his brother's lips were puckered into a grimace of mock and mild concern, but Merle's eyes never once left the road. One of his elbows was slung casually out the window while the other tapped on the steering wheel, and occasionally moved to crack the volume up.

"Just fuckin' peachy."

If there was ever a time that Daryl wished he could shoot his brother this was it. But the douchebag was behind the wheel, and as far as he could tell, his brother was higher than the fucking Empire State Building – that was probably the reason why Merle was so damn cheerful – and Daryl had no intentions of kicking the bucket. Also, his crossbow was stored in the backseat, and Daryl was bleeding.

Keeping the makeshift compress, which mostly consisted of torn and jumbled pieces of his shirt sleeve, to his chest, Daryl tried to shift into a more comfortable position in the front seat of the car. There was a bolt lodged deep inside the junction of his left shoulder and collarbone, and Merle's driving was doing nothing to help him with the cause.

"Don't worry, lil' brother, ol' Merle gonna take real good care of ya," the elder Dixon announced with a smirk, making a sudden turn to the right.

"Fuckin' hell, Merle!" Daryl bellowed, as the motion of the vehicle threw him roughly against the window, sending jolts of electric, white hot pain through his shoulder. "Where'dya think yer goin? Git me home."

Merle didn't even flinch. If anything, his smug smile widened.

"Now, now, baby bro. 'm takin' ya to someone who can blow on yer owwies." Merle's eyes glinted lewdly. "Blow other things too, ya play yer cards right."

"... asshole" was all Daryl could manage to grit through his teeth. He would never admit it in front of his brother, but the wound had started hurting like a mother half way to where ever the fuck Merle was taking him, when the effects of Merle's Vicodin stash started to wane, and the pain was only getting worse. The intensity of it made it hard to breathe, let alone tell Merle how much of a goddamn bastard piece of shit he was.

A small compound of buildings was coming to view and it took an incredible amount of effort for Daryl to turn his torso enough to glance out the side window. The complex was tiny, strangely familiar... and pink.

"The hell," Daryl scowled. "Ya can't be serious. That's a woman's clinic!"

Merle's eyes flashed warningly, but Daryl ignored it, so he went on to say, "Lucky for ya, baby brother, cause from all that bitchin' I've been hearin' from ya today, ya ain't got no balls to speak of."

"Ya mean from when ya shot me?" Daryl shot back over the ACDC blaring from the speakers. "'Cause that's th'way I r'member it."

"Hell, why you always hav'ta be such a damn pessimist?" Merle asked without a sprinkle of remorse, while pulling their car into the driveway leading to the clinic. Completely disregarding the empty parking spots, he stopped directly in front of the entrance. "There we go. Gonna get ya fixed up, baby bro, and get me some damn fine happy pills too. 's what I call a win-win situation."

"That's what yer really here for?" Daryl asked, unsure whether to be pissed or incredulous, so he chose a mixture of both, while he struggled to get out of the passenger seat without further damaging his shoulder. "Drugs?"

"'course not." Merle walked over to Daryl's side of the car and slunk Daryl's good hand over his shoulders to help him stand. From the corner of his eye Daryl could see Merle's devilish smirk. "I also came here for the pussy."

He paused to use his free hand to adjust the front of his pants suggestively. "Sweet, young, pink scrubs wearing pussy."

x.X.x

There were days when Rebeca Pierce loved being a surgeon. Those were the days when she got to save lives, deliver babies, and bring smiles to families' faces. Then there were bad days; shitty-as-fuck days; days that just kept getting worse by the second; days you kept hoping would get better, but they just don't.

This was one of them.

Usually Rebeca enjoyed her work at the free clinic. To be honest, it felt like a vacation from her overbooked surgical schedule. True, it involved seeing numerous cervixes, the majority of which harbored quite heinous infections; handing out free condoms and writing prescriptions for painkillers and antibiotics, but at least she had the time to eat lunch. But today was different.

Today Rebeca lost a patient.

The pregnant woman had been rushed to the clinic by a panicked husband. They didn't have the money to afford going to the fancy hospital in Atlanta, so when the man came home and found his wife bleeding and writhing from the force of her contractions, he acted on impulse. He brought her in, begging Rebeca to save her, save them.

Rebeca could deliver the baby with an emergency C-section, but it was too late for the mother. She did everything she could, fought for the woman's life with all she was worth, but it was pointless. The woman bled out, and there was nothing Rebeca could have done to stop it.

She didn't even know the woman, but it broke her heart regardless of her medical training, and the thick skin she was supposed to have developed during it. Losing patients was an everyday occurrence in the medical world, but it hit Rebeca hard every time. Although death was only a feet or two away from very operating table, for some reason, nobody ever expected it. And even if one did, nobody was ever ready for it.

Despite the fact that a new life had emerged from the tragedy, it still felt like a very Pyrrhic Victory when she had to tell the husband that his wife was gone. He didn't want to see his baby girl, and Rebeca could see he was a broken man. There was nothing she could do, but watch him walk away, and then do as much damage control as she could.

Rebeca was exhausted. She wanted the day to be over. She wanted her bed, a cup of tea and something to numb her headache, but she was hardly half way through her shift. So all she could do was slip out the back door of the clinic to get some fresh air.

With a sigh of pure frustration, Rebeca leaned her back against the wall. The rough surface dug into her back through her thin shirt and scrubs, but it was nice and cool in contrast to the humid summer air, so she was willing to overlook the discomfort. Furiously she rubbed her eyes in the hopes of massaging away the pounding in her head, but her actions remained fruitless. If anything, her head hurt worse.

Yes, this was definitely one of those days when it would have been more productive to stay in bed, but what Rebeca didn't know was that it was about to get worse before it got better. If it got better at all.

Her pager went off almost at the exact same time that her favorite nurse Irena rushed through the doors. It only took one glance at the woman to tell Rebeca something was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. The woman's eyes were wide and panicked, and she was struggling to get her breathing under control, indicating that she must have ran all the way from the front desk.

"What happened? What's wrong? Talk to me!" Rebeca grabbed the woman's shaking shoulders, trying to snap her out of her shock.

"Two men," Irena gasped, "blocked the driveway, one's shot, the other one's bat shit crazy. T-they had a crossbow and I think I saw a gun."

"What?!" Rebeca's breath caught.

This was a simple, little clinic. The personnel consisted solely of women, mostly nurses and a few doctors like her. The patients were adolescent girls, pregnant women who couldn't afford a fancy doctor and children. Innocent, frightened children. There was no real security to come to their aid, no one to protect them, and the closest police station was out in the city. Due to a tight budget, the clinic only had one security guard, but Earl was an old, overweight man, who had probably never fired anything more dangerous than a paint ball gun. Now there were two armed men parked on their doorstep, They were all in danger, and Rebeca was in charge.

Irena was shaking. "They strode in, started barking orders. One... one knew your name. Kept saying to call Becky. I'm scared, everyone's scared. What do we do, what do we do?"

"Okay, okay," Rebeca said, more to give herself courage than to calm Irena. "I'll go see what they want... Do something. Anything. Stall."

"No, no, you can't."

Irena's hands came to clutch at Rebeca's sleeve. "

"Irena, I have to. There are pregnant women there, children. This guy wants me, there's not much we can do to stop him." Rebeca took a deep breath, prying Irena's hands away. "Best give him what he wants."

The nurse tried to hold her back, but Rebeca's grip on her wrists was surprisingly strong. She tried to pull off a reassuring smile, but it probably looked like a painful grimace. "Call the police. I'll be fine."

"Rebeca, no!" Irena cried, but the young woman was already sprinting for the door.

Rebeca's heart was beating in her chest, and her every nerve felt alive with fear, but she would not let that stop her. She was not abandoning her patients. She was the daughter of a member of the National Guard, her brothers were trained marines, she could handle this. As she skidded around the corner leading to the reception, she was braced for the worst, but nothing could have truly prepared her for what had awaited her in the lobby of the clinic.

Or rather: who.

x.X.x

Well this is part 1. It's short, I know. But I wanted to end it here, if not for the suspense. What is Merle up to? And how did Daryl get shot? Will anyone else get shot? Or am I planning something else? And the most important question: did I completely fuck up Merle's characterization?

Also, the name Irena is a little tribute to my little sister, because she's the one who urged me to write this, and she's the one who always reads and encourages my stories. And she's an awesome little potato, and I love her.

Anyway, tell me what you think, I appreciate the feedback. Really I'm just a sucker for reviews.