AN: This story came about from sheer panic. It came about from a yearning so deep for someone to understand Carol's motives, and let's face it, Daryl is going to struggle with it. The only person I figured might get her, get why she did what she did, was Merle, and as I'm still devastated at the decision to kill him off, I felt the need to bring him back to the fold, and wondered what it might have been like if he'd still been here for Season 4. So, I bring you this. Blatantly MAROL, I make no excuses because as much as I love Caryl and Daryl, these two also make me hot!
Chapter One
"These people treat Daryl like a damned rock star and me like I'm invisible. Damn short memory some of these assholes have," Merle grumbled tetchily as he took a bowl of food from Carol, tucked it into the corner of his arm and started eating with the fingers of his good hand. She swept a glance across him, her expression curious about his sour mood, then turned a far more cheery visage his brother's way as Daryl strutted up to them amidst the morning calls of greeting—the ones that hadn't been so forthcoming for good old Merle, he acknowledged with a sneer—and Carol handed out a second bowl.
"Mornin', Jesus. You finished walkin' on water yet?" Merle eyeballed his brother, ignored the amused chuckle of the woman in charge of the grill, and didn't even bother trying to hide his irritation at Daryl's almost God-like status amongst the natives. And Carol. Fucked him in the head that this woman followed his brother around with warm eyes and gentle smiles, while most of the time she threw scowls his way that damn near chilled him to the bone.
She was watching Daryl now, showering the boy with beaming approval as he waded through the many greetings shouted at him across the little cantina and Merle growled with irritation. Her damned eyes were sparkling with humour and he just knew she was about to start to teasing Daryl. He groaned inwardly, dreading watching his brother flounder amidst compliments he was ill-equipped to deal with and the flirting he was even worse than a stunted runt about.
"Just remember," she said as she squinted through the bright sunlight at his baby brother, making Merle want to kick Daryl's spindly legs out from under him so he hit the deck before she said what he just knew was coming. Nothing he could do but wait for confirmation of what a damn hero his baby brother was and how, no matter what he did for these people, he was still the shit that didn't stick to their boots. "I liked you first." And she didn't like him at all. She'd made that blatantly obvious again and again, even without slitting his throat like she'd promised. Not that he'd ever given her good reason—as if he was ever going to fuck shit up if it meant separating from his brother again—even if the little prick was turning into the damned Messiah or something.
Merle snorted at that. Daryl brushed off her flirting but Merle saw it for what it was—a crumb from a woman that would have eaten Daryl alive if he gave her half a chance. From where Merle was sitting, his dumbass brother was still to work that shit out so's he had even half a clue, but Merle...Merle knew what to do with that shit. He wouldn't sit like a stunted jackass if she threw her pretty words in his direction. He'd serve them back with molasses, spread that honey on thick so she slid out from under her cute little bravado and landed right square in his lap.
"Yeah, an' you best remember, bro, I never liked ya at all."
Daryl snorted a laugh, squeaked out a slim grin and Merle couldn't help but sigh away his bad mood. As much as all this hero worship bullshit pissed him off, he knew Daryl deserved it. Deserved a girl, too, if he was on the path of truth. Didn't mean he had to like the possibility of him getting this one. A little bloodthirsty thing like her weren't suited for someone like Daryl, but for him, he'd teach the little firecracker how to spark out all over the place. This one, he just knew, would set fire to his world.
"Don't go getting all jealous, Merle. I didn't spit in your breakfast this morning." She shot an impish grin at him then went back to her cooking while Merle's jaws came to a grinding halt. Huh. Well, he'd be damned if it didn't look like Carol had retired her usual scowl this morning. It made him feel all kinds of special.
"Guess that means you want me to get into your pants, then." He flashed a grin that displayed his perfect teeth before tucking his head down and scoffing the contents of his uncontaminated bowl, smirking at her raised eyebrow. Daryl was staring between them like he was uncomfortably out of some kind of loop, and he didn't approve in the slightest.
"Why, Merle, however did you guess?" She actually batted her eyelashes at him and he laughed, truly tickled at the effort. It was a long ass time since a girl did that to him, and back then it had come off only slightly more wicked than when she did it.
"I know your type, sugar tits."
"Merle." Daryl growled a warning but Merle ignored it. His eyes fell to the exact area where her breasts filled out her top and he was gratified to see her perky nipples appear. He licked his lips and then slowly cased her sweet curves back up to her eyes.
"And what type is that, Merle?" she pushed with nary a blush and he felt his insides heat up uncomfortably. He knew what type she was exactly. The type where if he could ever get her naked he'd be able to teach her how to come all night long. He'd bet his brother's crossbow that that asshat she'd been married to had never found her sweet spots. Never given her reason to scream in anything but pain. He could change that—if she ever learned to trust him.
"The type that's all prim an' proper in the daytime, but when the lights go out, turns into a proper hellcat."
All three of them froze at his daring but if Merle was back to that truth-telling game, he'd almost completely forgotten Daryl was even present as he watched a flush spread prettily from the woman's cheeks down to her chest. Her eyes should have been ice cold, but there was a fire there he wasn't sure he'd ever noticed in her before.
"Damn," she said at last when the quiet was starting to get uncomfortable and he noticed the rhythm of her breaths seemed a little off. "I didn't realise my claws were showing."
He leaned his elbows on the outdoor stove and stared straight into those baby blues and wondered how on earth one woman got every shade of blue in one pair of eyes.
"Only to me, sweetheart." He winked, handed her his empty bowl and started walking away, tossing a "gonna go kill shit on the fence. Lemme know when it's time for the run," over his shoulder and leaving Superstar Daryl to it. He chuckled as he walked away, images of hellcat Carol not for the first time visiting him at his happy place, altering his body chemistry until he felt like squirming while trying to reign in little Merle's enthusiasm.
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"Come on, I need to show you something."
Daryl stood back as Carol passed her egg flip over to the kid with glasses—the kid that gushed all over him and wanted to shake his hand to the point where Daryl thought he should either flip the kid off or toss him to the ground and kick dirt in his face. She headed away from him, not even waiting or looking back to see if he followed. Not that she'd had to for a long while now—wherever she led, he followed, like a trained little puppy that would piss himself without her little bouts of affection to guide him toward the right thing.
She picked up his jacket quickly as she sped by his bike, helping him into it one arm at a time as he kept shovelling down his food, and then they were staring out at the fences, at the larger number of walkers that were crowding against it.
"We had a pretty big build up overnight." He heard her voice, could understand her concern, soaked up her report and swore at the need to keep bodies on the prison grounds instead of doing the run to the Big Spot, but none of it was processing, too busy trying to make sense of the little interaction from before between her and his brother.
"The hell was that, anyway?"
She frowned and he wanted to reach out and smooth the little crinkle of lines created between her eyes.
"The hell was what?" she asked, obviously confused.
"Merle always speak like that to you? You don't have to put up with his shit. Just let me know an' I'll tell him to back off." He sucked his fingers clean, enjoying the salty tang of the meat and the sweet sour broth it was soaking in.
"I don't need you to fight my battles for me anymore, Daryl. Besides, Merle's little more than a big, overgrown pussycat."
"I think you got your metaphors all screwed up," he said, feeling a bit sulky. "Thinkin' it's you s'posed to be the pussycat—claws an' all."
Carol grinned, looked across the yard at Merle and then looked contemplative. "Maybe you're right. You don't need to worry. I can handle Merle."
"Pffft. You think you can handle Merle. Handlin' Merle's like tryin' to wrestle a damn rattle snake."
Carol shivered and she seemed to zone out for a second, her eyes glassing over as she stared down into the yard where Merle was enthusiastically thrusting his knife through the fence while boisterously offering a running narrative to whoever would listen.
"Sometimes, Pookie, what a woman needs is to wrestle with a rattlesnake."
She'd gone before he even worked out what she'd called him.
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He was like a kid in a damned candy store. Merle had his list, just like everyone else, but it didn't mean he wasn't drawn to specific areas. The Big Spot was a treasure trove previously untouched and Merle was pleased as punch as he snagged up fistfuls of chocolate bars and girly mags. He was heading toward the booze when Hell started raining down on all their heads. In amidst all the fucking chaos, he lost sight of Daryl, but then the little prick popped up on a stacked display of beer cartons and Merle whooped loudly in appreciation. No point keeping on the down low when walkers were literally dropping from the sky. It was the look on Daryl's face as he looked up into the chasm in the roof, Merle following his line of sight and clashed with a huge motherfucking helicopter, the grin sliding fast from his face. The ceiling shifted, the bearings swaying ominously as everything weakened and he started screaming.
"MOVE!"
Daryl gracefully vaulted from the stack and jumped right into the middle of a bunch of walkers. Merle fought through his own growing pile of decayed skulls, one thrust at a time, shoving the corpses out of his way and trying his best to stay out of the line of the multitude of gunshots flying around the store. Most of them found targets in rotting heads and he was grateful that, even while farmer Joe was armpits deep in pig swill and bean shoots, the council had seen the value in continuing weapons training, otherwise he was sure as shit there'd have been a bloody massacre in the Big Spot that had nothing to do with a herd of walkers falling on their heads.
The young kid, Zack, was especially gifted with a gun, and Merle took a fleeting second to admire the size of the kid's balls as he shot a walker about to chomp on Daryl before guiding the rest back to try and wrestle Bob out from under a shelf. Merle added in some muscle, looking with loathing at all the shattered glass and spilled booze, inhaling deeply in the vain hope that fumes might give him enough of a buzz to get through this fucked up shit storm of a day. He was almost dazed, salivating, and luckily still standing by the downed shelving, vaguely watching as Bob the dumbass limped away, probably thanking his lucky stars the gutsy young kid reminded everyone he was still pinned down. Zack made to follow but then jerked back with a walker claw clasped around his ankle. Merle saw the biter crawling out from under the shelf, its brittle, half broken teeth on full display in the opened jaw. The fear in the kid's eyes spurred Merle into action, his knife flying through the wet skull so fast he ripped the head from its flimsy neck. Zack jumped out of the way as Merle flung the filthy brain bag off his blade, spitting after it in disgust, then dust and debris started coming down on all of them and they ran, a mother fucking helicopter suddenly slamming into the shop's floor right where they'd all been standing. Merle panted, grabbed Zack's shoulder to spin him around and check the boy hadn't soiled himself, then roared with laughter.
"Well, shit," he said, staring after the ruined building in disappointment. "There goes all your condoms, boy."
"Shit's right," Daryl agreed, kicking the outside of the building in a fit of surly temper.
"At least no one's dead," Sasha offered, joining them in commiserating over the loss of such a great range of supplies, leaving Tyreese, Glenn and Bob to stare miserably at the mess.
Bob looked guilty under Merle's intent stare, and Merle nodded, making it known he'd seen what had happened. Not that he could judge. He'd been there and done that with addiction, not that he'd managed to kill anyone with it yet. "An' that's more due to luck than common sense." He turned his evil eye onto the boy, and lifted his bloody blade, showing the grunge that had slid down it to stain his arm. "Never leave your back turned or your damn ass exposed. Biters don't always go for the throat." The advice was accepted with a quick nod and the kid expressed his gratitude by relaying the heroic tale all the way back to the prison. By the time Merle finally made it to his cell, his belly more full after a surprising offer of seconds at dinner from Carol than it'd been since he'd left Woodbury, his heart thumping a little faster with her secretive smile and blatant wink, he'd managed to be hailed a true hero by just about every able-bodied soul in the prison.
Merle lay back on his cot, one arm slung behind his head, knees bent and stared at the ceiling, a big ass grin stuck to his lips. Fuck, no wonder Daryl kept on doing the right thing. Feeling like a damn superstar was addictive. There was a soft clang against the bars of his cell. Enough to catch his attention, and he twisted to check out his unexpected visitor. He didn't usually get those—only Daryl or Officer Friendly when he wanted a favour regarding his precious crops. His favourite visit would always be when Carol came and threatened to slit his throat, He actually dreamed about that one most nights and it weren't no damned nightmare, neither.
"That's quite a smile, Merle Dixon. I think I might like it." Carol seemed to slink into his cell, taking a seat beside his bed and his gaze followed every fluid movement of her body as she settled so close to him he could sense her warmth. He found himself licking his lips without even thinking of it, his pulse speeding up as he settled back on the bed, imagining in his head her forgetting how much she hated him as she climbed right on top of him and straddled his lap, hands braced against his chest.
"I can think of plenty o' other things I can do you might like, darlin'."
She didn't shoot him down in flames, instead she raked her gaze up and down his body so thoroughly he felt like he was either naked or soon going to be and as excited as a damn adolescent getting his first hard on while he flicked through a skin mag too scared to get to the centrefold.
"Is that right? I was under the impression you were a 'wham, bam, thank you, ma'am' kind of guy. Can't say I see the appeal when I'd probably get more satisfaction out of a mechanical toy."
Merle sat up fast, feeling his dick suddenly flood with blood and the result of that was the last thing he wanted this woman to see. Wouldn't do for the prison to start hearing gossip that one little taunt from those plump, pink lips, made him stand taller than a damn flagpole. Daryl would never let him hear the end of it.
"Don't go believin' everything my dumbass brother says about me," he said, and then suddenly felt uncharacteristically shy when she gazed deep into his eyes, catching a yearning there he was too late to hide. A gentle smile was his reward for being emotionally naked in that one unguarded moment and then she leaned forward, placing a hand on his knee while the front of her top dipped so low that she revealed an eyeful of her luscious curves. It was all he could do not to bury his face in her chest, the need almost overwhelming as it tugged at his gut, and while he was distracted with flyaway lust, she was murmuring something about his bravery and how grateful the group was he'd been there to save Zack.
"I bet Beth would even kiss you for it. I'm sure you'd get a hug at least." Her smirk was infectious and he shared it, though it floundered a little while he tried to nut out why she thought he'd give a shit about getting kisses or hugs from that little blonde girl what always had Officer Friendly's kid stuck to her hip.
"The fuck I want a kiss from her for?" He was genuinely confused, barely even thinking of the girl unless she started singing a song he recognised, though her too sweet tones usually killed the rawness he remembered from the originals.
Carol seemed to brighten right before his eyes. While he watched her carefully, baffled by this new attempt of hers to be a little more friendly, she leaned in further and shocked the shit out of him by kissing him swiftly on the lips.
She pulled back before he knew she'd been there, licking her lips thoughtfully and watching him with some new air of surprise. His heart felt funny, loud and thumping extra fast and his lids felt so heavy he could barely push them open.
"Because every hero deserves a kiss, Merle."
And then she was gone and he was left with a raging need for something he didn't even recognise.