Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. (If I did, we wouldn't be waiting until February for more!)
This is just a little ficlet that popped into my head this morning.
"He's my friend!" Andrea pleaded with the Governor.
"It's too late," he said over the crowds' murderous chant. "It's out of my hands."
"You're the Governor! Nothing is out of your hands! Phillip, if you feel anything for me at all, you've got to help Daryl. Please! I owe him."
"What the hell's he got on you?"
"I shot him once. It was an accident."
He couldn't stop the smile forming on his lips. "Thought you were good with a gun."
"I was just learning then," she explained defensively. "I could've killed him, and all he ever did was try to help. He's a good man. In spite of his brother."
The Governor sighed. "All I can do is stall."
"Then do it! Phillip, please!"
The Governor motioned with his hands to quiet the crowd.
"Friends," he said, "I have a much more entertaining idea. We don't have to kill them."
The crowd started to boo.
"Hear me out now," he shouted. "Wouldn't it be more poetic to make them kill each other?"
Back on his side, the crowd began cheering.
"Let's let these brothers rest up a bit, and tomorrow at sundown, we let them fight it out right here. To the death."
The crowd roared.
Merle and Daryl were placed in adjoining cells in what was once the town's old drunk tank.
"Well this is a fine fuckin' mess you got us in, little brother," said Merle.
"Me? The only stupid thing I did was stay here in Mayberry tryin' to find your sorry ass."
"That's what I mean. Shoulda high-tailed it outta here when you had the chance. Gone back to your little butt buddy Rick."
"Are you really the one that fucked up Glenn?"
"Who?"
"Glenn. He said you tortured him and you was gonna execute him and Maggie. That true?"
"You mean the Chinaman?"
"His name is Glenn. And he's Korean."
"Damn, you really have turned into a pussy ass motherfucker without me around."
"Forget Glenn—would you really shoot a fuckin' chick in the back of the head?"
"World's changed, Darlena."
"But you haven't. Least not for the better."
"Oh—you the better man now, Darlena?"
"Always was. When I was 12 years old I was a better man than you."
"What're you talkin' 'bout?"
"Mama's funeral. They let you out of juvie for it. And you went off and got high instead of sayin' goodbye to your own mama. Old man was off buryin' his misery in some whore. I was the fuckin' man of the house. I was the one standin' there listenin' to some dumb ass preacher talkin' over her like he knew any goddamn thing about her. I was the one tossin' handfuls of dirt in a fuckin' hole. You were off doin' what you've always done. Thinkin' o' nobody but your damn self."
"Well, now—you feel better after your little speech?" Merle smirked.
"No. You know when I started to feel better? After you fuckin' left."
"You mean after your boyfriend Rick left me on that roof?"
"No. You left. We came lookin' for you. I came lookin' for you. You left. Took our fuckin' van too."
"I saw you, ya know."
"When?"
"Saw you with them assholes."
"You knew I was lookin' for you and you still left?"
"Hell yeah. A real brother woulda taken those fuckers out for what they did to me. But no, there was Darlena hangin' out with 'em like they was your damn family."
"Family?" Daryl spat. "You don't know the meanin' of the fuckin' word."
"Oh—you in the fuckin' Waltons now, John Boy? Rick your pa now? That gray-haired chick your ma?"
"You shut your fuckin' mouth about Carol."
"Oooo-weee! Carol now, is it? Darlena has a tell. Damn boy, I thought I taught you poker better than that."
"Fuck you."
"So does her husband know you're fuckin' her?"
"She took an axe to his skull, which is what I plan on doin' to you tomorrow."