Well hey ya'll! Here's a new Merle/Michonne fanfic! No walkers!AU this time, folks.
Not much to say, other than the usual disclaimer.
I do not own The Walking Dead. The title comes from Katy Perry's "Circle The Drain", which inspired this fic.
Circle The Drain
Merle Dixon had never been that perfect boyfriend. He was brash, rude, a racist and part of him would never be able to accept the fact that he had been with a black woman for years now. But, somehow, he had fallen in love with her.
Michonne was a scary woman. She had been the only woman that he was even remotely intimidated by. Merle became fascinated with that intimidation, and it grew into something more. It had grown into love. And, even though Merle was a drug abusing, drunken bastard, Michonne stayed right by his side. She knew from day one that there was something different about him. There was something soft underneath that tough exterior.
As the years went by, though, both of them found it hard to keep their relationship strong. Merle had no complaints about his girlfriend. She was always there for him, even if she ought to have better sense not to. But that was just where the problem lay. She would tell him if he was being an ass, but she would never leave him for it. Merle knew that his girl could have better. He was worn and torn from the inside out.
Eventually, Michonne noticed that her boyfriend had just stopped caring. Every night would end up with him popping a couple of pills and downing it with a bottle of whiskey. He was going down before her very eyes. He wanted her to leave; the signs were all there. The question now was: Would she do it? Would she really leave him, knowing how far gone he was?
o—o—o
"Git outta 'ere, girly!" Merle slurred, tossing an empty whiskey bottle towards the bedroom door. The drunken redneck sat slouched in his armchair, another halfway full bottle of whiskey at his left.
Michonne, who had just dodged the glass by a hair, wasn't giving up so easily, however. "And do what, Merle? This is my bedroom too, you know," she hissed. "Do you really think that you are going to get rid of me so quickly?"
Merle just cackled and chugged down more whiskey. As it burned its way down his throat, he just shook his head. "You are dumber than I originally thought, woman!" He got up and tossed his bottle aside. Michonne's eyes widened as he stormed over to her, pressing her slim against the door.
"Go ahead. Try me," the woman seethed, "but don't think that I won't fight back."
"Fight?" Merle asked, surprised laced in his voice. "Well, shit, sugar, I ain't talkin' about fightin' with ya," he brought his arms around her curvy frame and burrowed his face in her chest. "Not when I know that ya have somethin' else in mind…"
Michonne growled from deep inside her throat and pushed her boyfriend off of her. "Merle, just look at you!" She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't even know who you are anymore."
The redneck had always done drugs and drank an awful lot, but he would always sober up whenever she came home for the night. If he happened to be in one of his high or drunken moods when she came home, it had never really bothered her much. But now that he was always this way, Michonne had had enough.
"Don't even think that you can fix this just by wooing me into bed. It hasn't worked for the last few weeks that you've pulled this bullshit, now has it?" the woman confronted.
Merle just scoffed. "Fine! I don't need ya, anyways. I can go down to the bar and find me someone who'll be willin' to fill my needs. Somethin' that yer black ass could never do!"
Michonne flinched back at his words. She knew that he was just saying it. He never really meant anything that he said when he was high or drunk. The young woman had dealt with that far too many times to count. He would come back to senses eventually. Even if it was taking him longer than normal…
When things went sour with their relationship, Michonne was quiet and logical. She voiced her opinions, but she never let them get out of hand. Unlike her companion, who was loud and volatile when he was confronted. Together, they made a pretty good team. But if something went sour, a war was liable to break loose.
"You go, then. Get all of this out. Because you and I know that I'm the only one that you want in your bed at the end of the night," Michonne told him. Their eyes locked fiercely tight as the redneck went to leave the room.
"Fuck you, woman!" Merle swore stubbornly. He stumbled down the hall and towards the front door. Some stupid bitch wasn't gonna make a fool out of Merle Dixon. No sir!
His girlfriend just stood there and waited for the sound of the front door to slam. "I love you too," she murmured, tears sliding down her cheeks. Michonne was never much of a bawler. She cried a stream or two of silent tears, but that was it. She had lost her two small children back-to-back. The woman had her fair share of practice with controlling her emotions.
o—o—o
It was about three in the morning when Merle stumbled back into the home that he shared with his girlfriend. The rooms were dark, not that this surprised him. For the most part, the redneck had sobered up. He felt bad for the way that he had treated Michonne, but it was way too late for him to say anything now. Merle shut the front door behind him and headed towards his and Michonne's bedroom. She felt him when he slid into bed next to her. He wrapped his arms around her and just held her. For the past few weeks, he hadn't bothered coming back to their bed. He would crash on the couch and wake up that next morning with whiskey and pills on his brain. While he was at the bar, he realized how good that he and Michonne had it. No matter what Merle thought of himself, she saw something that he couldn't. And that much was the key to making him snap out of his trance. She loved him for who he was, and nothing less.
The last thing that Michonne remembered before dozing back off was feeling Merle's lips press against the back of her neck and a murmur of apology. He really didn't mean to be like this. But, by nature, he was just a brute. Merle just needed a hell of a woman to deal with all of his habits—the good and the bad.
In the morning, though, the redneck was surprised to wake up to a packing Michonne. He flipped over in bed to get a good look at what she was doing and, sure enough, she was packing the very suitcase that he had helped her pack when she was leaving her controlling ex-boyfriend.
"What're ya doin', Nubian Princess?" Merle asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.
"Packing," Michonne sighed and turned to her boyfriend as she put one more shirt in the bag. "Merle, I can't take this much more."
"Sugar, what do ya want me to say? I'll say anything. Just please—don't go, okay? I've been a real ass lately, but I want to make it up to you. What—what can I say?" Merle's voice was crackling, something that Michonne rarely ever heard.
The young woman whirled around to face him. "I want you to stop this drinking and pill-popping. The things that you do… and the stuff you say…"
"I can do that," Merle told her. He sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed to grasp her hands in his own.
"You don't have to stop drinking, but no more drugs. At all. If you want this to work, there will be no more of that," Michonne proposed. She watched him carefully, waiting for him to disagree at any moment.
"What about the drugs in my motorcycle trunk? Those are some good meds to be throwing away like that!" Merle smirked up at her, squeezing her hand lightly.
"Those you can keep. But only for medical emergencies," the young woman explained, her expression turning serious again. "Merle Dixon, this is your last chance, you hear me?"
"Hey, sugar," the redneck reached up to cup her face, "I won't let you down. Not again."
Those words were sealed with a quick kiss, which quickly escalated into more. Merle would be glad to help his girl unpack her things again. After the make-up sex, naturally.
So, how was this new 'verse? Let me know if ya'll want a follow up!