AN: This is just a little one shot for entertainment value.
I own nothing from the Walking Dead.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Merle gave the truck more gas than it needed to send it hopping down the road once more. Rather than dodging the pot holes that most people cursed, or suggesting that the county needed to get the hell out there and finally pave the damn road, Merle swerved to hit every bump he possibly could. Beside him, Andrea rode with her hands on the ceiling of the truck, trying to keep herself from slamming her head into it with every lunge and rise of the vehicle.
Merle knew, when he heard the deep sigh she let out, that she was tired of the activity. When he reached the end of the road, rather than turning around and surging down it again, he simply stopped the truck, checked in both directions for oncoming traffic that, most likely, wasn't coming at the late hour, and steered the truck toward home.
They rode in silence, though every now and again Merle turned to glance at Andrea. He didn't need much light to see that she was sitting there, staring straight ahead, looking like she was fighting tears over the greatest disappointment of her life. Trying to silently offer some sign of solidarity, Merle reached his right hand over and rested it on her overly-swollen belly. She rested her hand on his, squeezing his fingers, but she didn't say anything to him.
When they reached the house, Merle got out and walked around the truck. Andrea had already opened her door and had turned her body like she intended to crawl out of the truck herself, but she hadn't made it to the ground. Merle stepped in front of her and leaned lightly against the body of the truck.
"Nothin'?" He asked.
Andrea frowned at him and shook her head.
Merle chewed his lip and nodded, humming his understanding.
"Wanna—walk down the road a piece?" Merle asked.
Andrea let out another of the deep sighs that made it sound like she had sucked in half the air in the atmosphere and then it let out.
"I'm tired of walking, Merle," Andrea said.
Merle nodded his acceptance of that. She was, probably, quite tired of walking. He felt like they'd done enough walking in the past few days to wear the bottoms of their shoes out.
"Tacos?" Merle asked.
"It's got to be close to midnight," Andrea said, some hint of whining coming through in her tone.
"Closer to two," Merle corrected. "But I seen you eat tacos at three or four in the morning."
"That was probably drunk," Andrea said. "And it was probably your idea."
Merle laughed to himself, sure she wouldn't appreciate any real show of joviality from him, but still hoping it might help to improve her mood.
"If it'll help," Merle said. "I can go in and get drunk. And you can still hold out that it was my idea."
Rather than making her laugh, though, his joke only seemed to make Andrea look more miserable. She was on the verge of tears and he knew, by now, that if he didn't do something soon, she was going to break into one of the sobbing fits that he didn't have the power to stop.
"I don't want tacos!" Andrea declared loudly.
Merle hushed her. Their neighbors were a decent distance away, but Merle still didn't want to take the chance that they were going to disturb them.
"Then we'll go in and we'll fuck, Andrea," Merle said. "We ain't outta tricks just yet."
What he said, rather than making her feel better, just pushed Andrea over the proverbial edge. The crying she was doing these days was more a pathetic and miserable sob than the tear-rolling crying that she'd done, before, over toilet paper commercials featuring puppies and happy babies.
"I don't feel sexy, Merle," Andrea said. "There's nothing sexy about me."
"Plenty sexy about you," Merle insisted. "You the—the..." Merle stopped because he wasn't sure where to go with the compliment that he'd started before he'd thought it through. He did think Andrea was sexy. He considered her one of the sexiest damn women that he'd ever met in his life—that was one of the reasons that he'd married her—but he still wasn't sure how to finish the statement. Hesitating a moment, he finally finished what he'd started, even if he wasn't a hundred percent pleased with his choice of words. "You the sexiest damn pregnant woman I ever seen."
"Shut up, Merle," Andrea declared.
But it broke through the sobbing. And, for just a moment, something that was at least related to a chuckle bubbled up in her throat before the sobs drowned it out.
"You are!" Merle declared, not caring about the neighbors at the moment and deciding to ride this wave if it might change her mood even the slightest bit. "Damn—I didn't even know I could think bein' pregnant was sexy until I saw your ass do it."
"There's nothing sexy about this," Andrea said.
"Ever' damn thing about it's sexy," Merle said. He reached his hand into the truck and rested it on the back of the seat so he could lean in on her. He kissed her lips quickly and purposefully pulled away fast enough that she'd come after him. He was trying to leave her hanging. He wanted her wanting more. She did lean forward a little, coming after him for more of the kiss, and he smiled at her. She was pretty unpredictable at the moment, but he could still predict some things about her. "Why don't'cha come inside with me?" Merle asked. "Let me show you just how damn sexy I think you are."
"You really think this is sexy?" Andrea asked.
Merle could tell by her tone that she wasn't teasing him. She was looking for reassurance. And right now? With their first child entering the world at any minute? Merle could muster up any amount of reassurance that Andrea might need from him.
"Sexiest damn woman I seen," Merle said, as sincerely as he possibly could.
A slight hint of a smile—the first that Merle had seen all day—played at Andrea's lips.
"Good," Andrea said. "Because—I think we're going to have to face the facts, Merle," Andrea said. "You're going to be seeing this a lot because—this baby? She's never, ever coming out. I'm going to be pregnant forever."
The frown returned with her assertion that their child would never be born.
And it might have concerned Merle that she was right since they'd been trying to coax the child out in every way imaginable for four days, but he had the doctor's promise that he'd never had a single patient that had continued to be pregnant for her entire life and, one way or another, the newest Dixon would make an appearance.
Merle took one of Andrea's hands and worked it in his own.
"Come outta the damn truck, Andrea," Merle said. "Unless you wanna go another round?"
Andrea shook her head at him.
"What use is it, Merle?" Andrea asked. "Nothing happens. I spent my whole damn pregnancy scared to death that something was going to make the baby come early and now I know that nothing will make her come at all!"
"You at four days," Merle said. "Doc said three more days and if she don't come on her own? They gonna get her out. Gonna give you somethin' to get her out. And if she don't come then? They goin' in after her. So all we doing right now? Is tryin' to keep you from gettin' cut open to go after her. That's all. Come on inside, Andrea. I ain't done tryin' yet and you look like you could use at least a lil' bit of loving."
Merle tugged on Andrea's hand and she finally made a move to get out of the truck. She didn't need his help, and he knew that, but he offered it anyway. He helped her out of the truck and wrapped his arm around her to guide her toward the house. He closed the truck door, helped her inside, and locked them inside the house for the night.
"You want somethin' to eat?" Merle asked.
"I have the worst heartburn of my life," Andrea whined. "I don't want anything else hot."
Merle laughed to himself. They'd been trying to practically burn the kid out by forcing Andrea to eat everything coated in a thick layer of hot sauce and the hottest peppers they could find. Now Andrea would swear that she could breathe fire, but the baby hadn't budged.
"How about nothing hot?" Merle asked. "Anything you want. Somethin' for that heartburn?"
Andrea nodded her head at him.
"Something for the heartburn," she said. "That's all I want."
Merle went to the counter—because he'd stopped putting the things that she required most often in the cabinet—and selected what he thought would be the best combination of things there. Andrea thanked him and dosed herself according to her own suffering. Then Merle made her a glass of water and pushed her toward the bedroom.
"Come on, sugar," Merle said. "Let's go to bed and I'll show you just how damn sexy you are."
"It's not going to work, Merle," Andrea insisted. "She's not coming out."
Merle laughed to himself.
"Then I guess we'll just have to do it for all the old fashioned reasons," Merle said. "And, hell, if she ain't ever comin' out we'll just be warming up for the rest of our damn lives."
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Andrea's eyes were closed and Merle waved his hand in front of her face twice to see if she would blink and give herself away as being awake. She didn't flinch, but it wasn't a full proof guarantee to say that she was really sleeping.
Merle rested on his side, facing Andrea. She slept on her side most nights now. Their daughter allowed her very little choice in the matter. The tiny Dixon also dictated when Andrea could sleep and when she couldn't. Merle didn't figure that would change any time soon—since the baby would surely keep them awake once she'd made her debut—but he figured that getting her out of there would at least let Andrea enjoy what little sleep she did get more than she was currently enjoying it.
Merle reached a hand over and rested it on Andrea's belly. There was movement there, but it wasn't the same as it once had been. The nighttime stirrings of the baby had calmed lately. Merle assumed she was just running out of space. Andrea, after all, looked like she was running out of space to store the child.
Shifting himself enough to rest his face close to her belly, Merle decided to talk some sense into his offspring.
"You up in there?" Merle asked. "Or you just movin' around in your sleep?" Of course he got no response, but he hadn't expected on either. "Listen—I get it. It's comfortable in there. Your Ma's worked real damn hard to make you the nicest home in there that she could. But the one out here's pretty damn nice too. You ain't even seen your room, but she's got it all painted up nice for you an' everything. I mean—it ain't what I'da picked, but you a girl. You gonna appreciate what the hell she's done. Kicker is—you gotta come the hell outta there. You gotta come out here. And—whichever way you come out? It's gonna be hell on your Ma, but she's up for doin' it however you want. If you up for listening to your old man, though? I'da heap rather you come out on your own. Scare my ass to death them talkin' about sawin' your Ma damn near in half to get you outta there when it don't make no sense and you could just—come out like you was intended to do. So—if you makin' the decisions in there? Come on outta there. If you do? Hell—I'll get'cha something good. Whatever you want, OK?"
Merle jumped when he heard Andrea laugh. He turned his face up to see that she was awake, and she was smiling at him. She moved her hand and touched her fingertips to his face. He caught her arm and moved her hand to his lips to kiss it.
"Bribing her already?" Andrea asked.
Merle laughed to himself.
"Whatever the hell gets her ass out," Merle said. "Ain't that been the motto these last couple days?"
"Come here, Merle," Andrea said. She pulled her hand free from him and Merle rearranged himself so that his face was near hers. She smiled at him softly. He might not have figured out how to get the baby out yet, but at least he'd managed to put a smile back on Andrea's face—no matter how temporarily. "You know—if they have to do a C-Section? You know I'm going to be alright, right?"
"I'd rather they didn't," Merle said.
"I would too," Andrea said. "But—if they do? I'll be alright. She's hardheaded, after all, just like her Daddy."
Merle felt his face run warm. It was still hard for him to believe that he was married to Andrea. It was hard for him to believe that the life he was living every day was his. It wasn't the kind of life he expected for himself. Not in the slightest. But he loved it. And that, more than anything else, made it hard for him to believe that it was really his to keep. And that made him afraid that it was too good to be true. It made him afraid that he was going to lose it. Somehow. Now he had a baby girl on the way, so Merle had even more to lose that he was sure he wasn't willing to part with.
"Still think we could bribe her out," Merle said. "Hell—they ain't made a Dixon yet that can't be bought with somethin' they really want."
Andrea laughed quietly.
"What are you going to bribe her with?" Andrea asked. "What do you think she wants?"
"Don't ever' little girl want a damn pony or some shit like that?" Merle asked.
"And where are we going to keep a pony, Merle?" Andrea asked.
Now it was Merle's turn to laugh. He wasn't serious, and Andrea knew he wasn't serious, but they weren't sleeping anyway.
"In the fuckin' garage, Andrea," Merle said. "That's where the hell Dixons keep ponies. Don't you know shit?"
"Not about ponies," Andrea said. "But I know plenty about Dixons." She winked at him. "Inside and out."
Merle nodded his head gently and Andrea puckered her lips at him. To save her the effort of moving, especially once she'd seemed to have found a position that made her comfortable, Merle leaned over and pressed his lips against hers. He accepted the kiss she offered him in exchange and returned to his pillow.
"She's not coming tonight," Andrea said with a sigh, rubbing her hand over her belly.
Merle hummed at her, not wanting her to work herself up again and spend the whole night awake and worried over something they didn't seem to be able to change.
"No," Merle said. "But sleep. She's comin' tomorrow. I got me a feeling."
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Merle stood to the right of the nurse, just as she'd directed him to do, and watched as she carefully shampooed his daughter's hair at the small sink. The baby was already clean and wrapped up, except for her head. She'd cried when they'd pulled her away from Andrea, but her crying was done now. She was enjoying herself too much, it seemed, to bother with tears. Instead she pursed her lips at the young nurse and stared at her contently.
"She loves being pampered," the nurse commented.
Merle laughed.
"Just like her Ma," Merle said.
"Is she OK?" Andrea called from the bed.
"Just fine," Merle promised. "Gettin' her head washed. Likes it as much as you do." He looked back at the baby. "Just fine. She's lookin' pretty. Like a kid now."
The nurse laughed and finished up what she was doing. Merle watched her as she gently dried his daughter's head and combed what hair she had with her fingertips.
"You want her, Daddy?" The nurse asked.
Merle nodded his head and she gently placed the baby in his arms. Taking his steps carefully, not wanting to jostle her, Merle carried his daughter back to the bed where Andrea was waiting on them both. When he got there, Andrea was resting with her eyes closed, but she opened them and offered him a smile as he reached her side.
"She's all clean now?" Andrea asked.
"Spic'n span," Merle said. "Looked her over real good."
"She looks wonderful," the young nurse offered. "She should be ready to eat soon."
"She already tried," Andrea said. "But—I don't know if she really got anything."
"Keep trying," the nurse encouraged. "She'll get it. We'll be back in a few minutes, but feel free to buzz someone if you need anything."
Merle moved the bar on the side of the bed out of his way and gently sat down on the edge of the bed next to Andrea. He started to put a hand on her, but thought better of it and pulled back just before he did.
"You can touch me, Merle," Andrea said. "You can touch both of us. I'm not going to break, and neither is Ava."
Merle swallowed and nodded his head.
"I know that," Merle said.
As if to illustrate her point, though, Andrea reached for his hand. He met her to keep her from moving too much. He didn't know, after all, how sore she might be after everything she'd been through. Everything that he hadn't been able to help her with in the slightest. He hadn't been right about Ava's arrival—at least not to the day. She'd come a day later than he'd thought she would. But she'd come on her own.
And once she'd decided to come? She'd decided to come much quicker than the doctor had figured she would. He'd told them to prepare to be working on getting her out for a day—possibly more.
Ava had come four hours from the time that Andrea had first let Merle in on the fact that she thought something might be stirring in there.
Holding Merle's hand in hers, Andrea placed his hand on her belly. It was empty now, but just by looking at her he couldn't tell just yet. She still looked pregnant. Her belly, though, felt different when his hand rested on it. He laughed to himself.
"Feels weird," Merle said. "Different."
"No baby in there anymore," Andrea said.
"No," Merle agreed, shaking his head. "Not no more."
"I have to admit," Andrea said, "I really didn't know if she was ever going to come. Your little talk with her must have done something to change her mind, though. Because—here she is."
Merle laughed to himself.
"I ain't had a damn thing to do with it," Merle said. "That girl done what she wanted right in the minute she had a mind to do it. She weren't listenin' to you, me, or the doctor."
Andrea laughed.
"We might have our hands full," she asserted.
"Sure as hell we do," Merle agreed. The baby in question had closed her eyes to the both of them. She had decided that it was the proper time to sleep now that she was clean—even though the nurse clearly thought it was the proper time to eat. "We got our hands full. But..."
"But?" Andrea asked.
"I think we gonna love every single damn minute of it," Merle said.
"I already do," Andrea promised him. She sighed. "But—I wish she would eat."
Merle laughed to himself.
"Oh, she's gonna eat," Merle said. "When she's good and ready to."
Andrea sighed.
"She's hardheaded. She's a Dixon," she said. It was something she was growing used to hearing. The only thing that saved her from being entirely frustrated with the statement, Merle knew, was that he'd declared more than once that it was more than blood that made you a Dixon. And, by those standards, Andrea was every bit as much Dixon as he was—so she couldn't argue with his assessments about what exactly that meant.
"She is," Merle said. "Inside and out." He winked at Andrea. "But at least she come by it honest."