AN: So this request was made by an anon on Tumblr for Valentine's Day. I'm a little late in getting around to it, and it might not be as fluffy as they'd hoped, but this is what I came up with.

I own nothing from the Walking Dead.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Andrea woke up early on Valentine's Day. She eased out of the bed so as to not disturb Merle and made her way to the linen closet in the hallway. Merle never looked in there, mostly, because he didn't have to. When Andrea had moved in, every towel that Merle owned was filthy and he continued to use them. When he did take the time to wash them, every now and again, he simply used them out of the dryer until they were all dirty again. The closet had been empty. Now it was full of their clean linen, but it was also the best hiding place in the whole house.

Shifting some towels around, Andrea pulled out the bundle she'd created with one of the towels. It was perfect camouflage and it had been waiting there for weeks. She carried it into the kitchen, untied it, and smiled to herself as she unpacked the ridiculous items inside: a card, a small bear because she jokingly called Merle her teddy bear even if he hated it, a box of four probably disgusting chocolates that were there for the simple fact that it was Valentine's Day, and the one thing that he would probably like the best.

Red and white, Andrea was a little afraid that she'd come off looking more like something from a Candy Cane nightmare than a Valentine's Day gift, but the lingerie was the style that Merle most liked. It left hardly anything to the imagination and it wouldn't take him long to get it off of her. That's what Merle liked—after all, imagination wasn't his strongest point.

In the bathroom, Andrea worked her way into the lingerie and adjusted all the bits and pieces. She checked her reflection carefully, from every angle that would matter most to Merle, and decided that it wasn't the best offering in the world, but it would do. Then she slipped back to the bedroom and circled around to Merle's side of the bed.

She woke him with a kiss, but a single kiss wasn't enough to wake Merle entirely. She nuzzled the side of his face—enjoying how soft Merle could be when he was first waking—and kissed him again before he even cracked open his eyes the slightest little bit and groaned at her. She smiled to herself and rubbed her hand across his chest and down his body slowly—curious to see if other parts of him might be far more awake than his mind was at the moment.

Merle caught her wrist.

"Headin' into dangerous territory, there, angel," Merle said, his voice gruff with sleep.

Andrea laughed to herself and leaned her face close to his, not bothering to try to free her wrist at the moment.

"Mmm," she hummed. "That's exactly where I was hoping to go. Open your eyes...all the way. I was thinking about a little appetizer before breakfast?"

Merle sat up a little, picking his head up off the pillow, and Andrea saw the exact moment that he realized what she was wearing. There was something like a moment of shock there, and then it dissolved into a smile that spread into a grin. He hummed at her.

"What the hell'd I do last night?" Merle asked, yanking her arm a little harder than she might have liked in an effort to pull her toward him. Andrea didn't correct him, though. Sometimes he simply wasn't aware of his own strength—the action hadn't been deliberate. "'Cause I wanna do that shit again."

Andrea raised her eyebrows at him.

"We can do whatever you want," she said. "Your call. Completely. But—I don't know if you want to waste your Valentine's Day gift on what we did last night..."

Merle perked up a little.

"Valentine's Day? Gift?" He asked. Andrea nodded and smiled at him. "What the hell you get me?"

Andrea made a face at him. She backed off of him some.

"This," she said. "All of this."

He hummed, feigning disappointment even if his face couldn't comply with the joke.

"I've already had that," Merle said. Andrea frowned at him and he reached the other arm out and caught her behind her back. He pulled her toward him this time so that she toppled onto his chest. She stayed there, just rearranging herself enough to look at him. She touched his lips and he kissed her fingertip. "But hell if I don't want it again," he said. "Hell of a lot better'n fuckin' Folgers," he added, smirking at her.

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Merle smirked at Andrea as she went about making breakfast perhaps a little more stiffly than she normally did. He sat at the table, just as she'd told him to do, and waited for her to bring him his plate as she promised she would. He'd accepted her offering of chocolates, a bear which he'd end up handing right back to her, and a card in which she'd written some sloppy shit about the little over a year that they'd spent together in this fast-paced whatever-it-was.

This time last year they'd just really met. Now she was living with him. Merle wasn't quick to put words to things, not at all, but he could at least admit to himself that he liked the way he was feeling this year a hell of a lot more than he'd liked the way he was feeling the year before.

Maybe there was something to all this having-just-one-woman shit that his brother crowed about so much when he'd gotten himself settled down with Carol.

"You look a lil' saddle sore there, sweetheart," Merle said with a chuckle.

Andrea looked over her shoulder at him and frowned.

"Sometimes, Merle—what you choose isn't very nice," Andrea said.

Merle hummed at her.

"Didn't hear your ass complainin' in the bedroom," Merle pointed out. "Don't be sour just 'cause shit you liked catches up with your ass later. Don't stop drinkin' just because of the hangover."

Andrea hummed.

"You're welcome, by the way," Andrea said.

Merle frowned to himself. Was he supposed to thank her for sex? Sex that she offered him? Sex she told him was a gift?

From her sour expression, maybe things had gotten a little more out of hand than she'd expected. Given her sour expression, maybe she thought he was supposed to thank her. It had been pretty good—and she'd kept her promise of not putting a stop to things he normally wouldn't get away with—so maybe a thanks wouldn't hurt.

"Thanks..." Merle offered.

Andrea sighed and brought over his plate. She put it in front of him and put her own plate on the table before she sat at the chair across from him. She sighed again and put her chin in her hand.

"It almost sounded sincere, Merle," Andrea said.

Merle reached across the table and touched her face. He directed her, with his hand, to look at him. She did.

"Best damn morning," Merle said. "Like I'm a damn king or somethin'."

Andrea smiled at him. It was the first sincere smile since she'd started breakfast. In hindsight, maybe he should've insisted that she let him make breakfast or something. It was too late for that now, though.

"So?" Andrea asked, straightening up a little.

"So?" Merle responded, echoing her words.

"What'd you get me?" Andrea asked. "Come on—it's my turn. I've been avoiding all the most obvious hiding places in this house for two weeks. Where is it?"

Merle's stomach rolled. He knew he should've done something. He cleared his throat and shook his head.

"It's a stupid ass holiday," he said. "We talked about it before. Said it was dumb. Just some shit for big damn companies to sell more shit."

He didn't want to look at Andrea. He could feel the expression on her face and it was burning inside him.

They'd talked about it. That was true. And they'd both agreed it was stupid. It was a made up holiday where, one day a year, people put it all out there to show how much they cared about someone instead of giving a damn all year long. It was more about putting on a show than anything else and it was just to help rich people feel richer while making everybody else enter into some desperate competition to buy the best shit or risk making someone they cared about feel about as low as a body could get.

Merle had missed the part where they were still participating in this ridiculous practice.

And he knew, even without looking at her, that Andrea was currently feeling about as low as a body could get.

"Dumb ass holiday," he said. He was trying to make himself feel better. There wasn't any making her feel better. He wouldn't get out of this hole. Not right now and not with any words he might pick out. "Just—stupid shit. Pick a damn day to be doin' what the hell you shoulda been doin' all along."

Even he wanted to hear himself shut up, but he just kept going. He just kept digging the hole deeper and deeper.

When Andrea got up, her breakfast untouched, and left the kitchen without saying anything, Merle didn't bother to ask her what the hell was wrong with her. He finished what he was going to eat of the food that he'd mostly lost his appetite for and he made his way to the bathroom. She'd closed herself in there and, despite the running water, he could hear that her main reason for being in there wasn't a shower.

He'd fucked up. In his life, honestly, there'd been a great deal of fuck ups. This one, though, was possibly one of the worst.

The worst part about it was that Andrea would've been happy with anything. A drugstore box of chocolates and some half-dead flowers and she'd have acted like he'd crowned her queen of the world.

Now, though, he knew that wasn't going to do a damn thing for her.

Merle went into the bedroom, got dressed, and stopped by the bathroom door. He knocked at it, but Andrea didn't respond from inside. He cleared his throat.

"Promised Daryl I'd—finish up on some shit at the shop," Merle said. "Ain't gonna take an hour. Two. I—uh—hey—get'cha ass dressed. I'll take you out. Tonight. Somewhere real nice like you always talkin' about."

No response. But Merle didn't expect one. He wasn't too sure that he deserved one.

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Andrea was a "big girl" and she knew what she was getting into, full-well, when she got involved with a man like Merle Dixon. His reputation preceded him. He'd called her back, and over time? She'd moved in with him. That, for Merle, was something huge.

And, in many ways, he'd become almost domesticated. She jokingly told Carol—who had married the softer and more manageable of the brothers—that she'd almost gotten Merle trained to the point that he wouldn't piss on the floor.

She should've known more than to expect him to make any grand gesture for a holiday he didn't even believe in and had never celebrated before. She should've known not to get her hopes up that there would be something—anything—that he'd offer her to make her feel special.

So she told herself to get her act together. She told herself to accept that the look on his face, when he realized how bad it hurt, was enough. It told her what she needed to know. He hadn't done anything for Valentine's Day, but he'd never meant to hurt her. That was never his intention.

She'd told herself that taking her out to dinner was a grand gesture all its own. After all, it required Merle to shower after work and get dressed in clothes that she knew he didn't care for. It required him to give up an evening doing whatever he pleased to take her out to a restaurant where he would feel uncomfortable. It required Merle to be pleasant in a place where he felt entirely out of place. And those sacrifices, coming from Merle, qualified as a grand gesture.

He didn't pull her chair out for her, but as soon as he saw the waiter going to do it, he got to his feet to show that he realized his mistake. He apologized, quietly, for the faux pas and Andrea waved it away. It didn't matter. She was more than capable of seating herself.

He told her to order whatever she wanted off the menu—the price didn't matter. Nothing, not even the surf and turf if she wanted it, was too good for her dinner tonight. And coming from Merle? A man who sometimes made her split meals with him that he got with coupons? That was a grand gesture.

He ordered wine—he even asked for a suggestion from the waiter as to what he would serve a lady such as Andrea—and he accepted the waiter's suggestion without asking him how much the wine might be. Andrea knew, and she was grateful to the waiter, that he'd made a selection on the low end. He was, no doubt, not entirely ignorant to the fact that they weren't accustomed to going out for very fine meals.

And once they were settled with the wine and the complimentary bread that was brought to each table, Merle reached his hand across the table and took Andrea's. He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.

"You like this here place?" He asked.

Andrea looked around. The place was packed. It was a popular choice for the evening. She could see the "romance" on the faces of everyone else that was there to celebrate the winding down of their Valentine's Day.

"It's nice, Merle," Andrea confirmed. "It must have been—a lot of work to get a reservation here."

Merle hummed. He contemplated his cloth napkin with the other hand. The closest they ever came to cloth napkins were the damp rags that Andrea put on the table when they were eating something like hot wings and she knew a paper napkin would do nothing for either of them.

"I didn't get you nothin' for Valentine's Day," Merle said.

Andrea sighed.

"Yeah, I know," Andrea said. "We covered that. And—it's OK. It doesn't matter. I don't want to ruin this with that."

Merle looked at her, his brows furrowed. He shook his head.

"No," he said. "I mean—when I left the house? I went out lookin' for something to get'cha. Figured—come home offerin' you something would be better'n just sayin' I didn't even try to do nothing about it." Andrea shook her head at him. "But I didn't get you nothin'," Merle continued. "Even after. Because everywhere I went I coulda picked up a damn card. Picked up—some flowers they were sellin' in bunches. Chocolate. I looked at all that shit."

Andrea swallowed and looked away from him. She focused on everyone else around them. She tried to imagine, just to distract herself from the ache in her throat, what the other people were talking about at their tables.

"Didn't get none of it," Merle said.

"I know," Andrea said. "We covered that, Merle."

Merle pulled at her hand.

"Would'ja look at me?" He asked, his voice coming out louder than she wanted it to be in a place like this. Andrea looked at him. He shook his head at her. "Didn't get you none of that shit because—it was damn leftover shit. Bringin' it home would be just saying—I fucked up. And here—I got you this leftover shit because I fucked up and didn't get you nothin' worthwhile."

"It's OK," Andrea offered again.

Merle shook his head.

"It ain't," he said. "Reckon—you been gettin' enough of my leftover shit for a year now. I weren't gonna give you no more."

"It's just a stupid holiday, Merle," Andrea said. "It doesn't matter. Not really. And—my gift wasn't that great. Just—leftover shit. Remember? You've had it before."

Merle looked like he was sick, and Andrea felt more sorry for him at the moment than she even felt for herself. She turned her hand and squeezed his.

"There's only one thing I can give you," Merle said. "Just—one damn thing I could give you and—hell—it ain't even worth nothing."

Andrea shrugged and shook her head.

"I don't want anything," she said. "It's OK. I don't want anything anymore. This is enough."

He looked progressively more like he was going to be sick and Andrea started to worry about the future of their meal in the fine restaurant. He shook his head at her—no doubt fighting demons that frightened her in his mind. She knew just enough about them to know that she didn't want to know much more.

He worked her hand roughly, misjudging how much pressure he needed to put on her fingers as he worked them in his own.

"I'ma give you this one—even if it ain't—worth a damn thing," Merle said.

Andrea sighed. She reminded herself that he'd never meant to even hurt her feelings that day. She reminded herself that it was important to accept whatever it was and to accept it graciously. In the grand scheme of things, and if this was going to be something that worked between them, her acceptance of his gift would matter long after the gift was forgotten.

"What is it, Merle?" Andrea asked.

He looked at her, still roughly working her fingers in his until she bit her lip not to point out the discomfort in the action, and he visibly swallowed a few times.

"Just—just—to tell ya ass, I reckon...I love ya. And—thanks for, ya know, just—thanks for bein' there. When I wake up of a mornin'," Merle spat. He stared at her. "I love ya. Thanks. And I know it ain't no kinda damn gift."

Andrea's stomach flipped and she leaned a little closer to the table. Words, especially words like those which terrified a man like Merle Dixon, were worth more than anything he could buy. Saying it—and clearly meaning it? It was the grandest gesture that Merle could make. She smiled at him and worked her hand free to hold his in a much gentler fashion.

"It's the best one you could give me," she promised. "The very best one. And—don't be too upset—but, I love you too."