"They just left you?" Maeby wondered if maybe the awe was tainting her mind, she was eating up his words, caught in an open eyed spell. Mystified. This man was incredible, not only had he been abandoned and left for dead by the people he'd sworn to protect, but he had cut his right hand off, completely. No matter how much she hated it she was impressed, the wound itself was horrific–a cauterized, purple and bloody stump that reeked of dead flesh and iron–but Merle himself seemed harmless, he was just lying on the couch letting her try to salvage the stub, his good hand lazily covering his face. She could only guess he didn't want her to see him cry, his voice betrayed nothing, a steel tone had crept into it, but that was nothing different than how she perceived he normally spoke. She could see the tears however. What bugged her the most was the ever present question; was he crying over the pain or his lost family? The answer would define what kind of man he was, how trustworthy he was.

To cry about the horrible pain would be human, normal. Hell to cry over the rejection and utter dismissal of the people you lived with would be normal. But she wanted him to be crying over both the pain, physically and emotionally. It would just mean he was an average guy that put up walls and barriers to protect himself, she wanted him to be mad at them or feel hatred, but all she could get out of him was a cold disdain. And that worried her.

"Ye, they just left poor ole Merle handcuffed to the fuckin roof. Officer Friendly just did what 'e thought was best fer th' group" He didn't really speak very loudly, but his voice, however low, was commanding. Like nails on a chalkboard, it drew the attention of everyone in the room. She was definitely captured in it. She felt intimidated and relieved at the same time; he was such an imposing presence, he seemed to occupy the very air, suffocating her, but on the other hand this formidable man could be her ticket to safety. Merle could definitely handle himself.

He looked at her, his pale eyes peeking out from under his hand, "Well? You gonna take care a me or you just gonna ogle me?".

She hadn't realized she'd been staring, his tattered wrist resting softly in her bloody hands. Ducking her head and hiding her blush she steadied her hands and applied pressure to the wound, trying to stop the slow trickle of blood that leaked from it. He had done an excellent job cauterizing the wound, given the time and materials he had, but had missed a spot, and it was still fresh and bloody, the tender meat exposed and vulnerable.

"Look at me," This time his voice wasn't so harsh, still undoubtedly a command, but it wasn't unkind.

Maeby glanced at him, parting her hair with a red finger and replied, "What? You yell at me when I look at you and when I don't? Make up your mind, friend,"

Merle had to laugh at that, the little mouse girl was putting on a brave face for him, her cheeks rosy and her eyes wide, in what he could only surmise as a mixture of fear and curiosity. He put his hand back over his eyes, it was nice to be able to rest a bit, even if the fire on his arm hadn't gone out and he kept imagining curling his fingers.

Daryl would have known what to say to make him feel better. Daryl should have been there, Merle couldn't help but feel some residual anger towards his brother and the group, though he knew Daryl had nothing to do with what happened. For the most part he was pissed the fuck off that he might never be able to see his baby brother again. How dare that uppity newcomer do this to him?! Sure he had been off his rocker, high on speed and pot, a winning combination really. And sure he'd gone a little Confederate on T-Dog, he understood that what he had done was wrong, but he was childish in his pride. He had been verbally and physically punished in front of everyone, he knew he deserved what he got, but he couldn't live with the embarrassment. He really couldn't blame anyone else but himself for what happened, and thats what pissed him off. At least finding this girl had been opportune: he was being redeemed. Mark 5: 29 and 30, "If your right hand makes you stumble, cut it off and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to go into hell. He had the chance to prove himself and change the wretched man he was, this was his new leaf being turned over. And this girl was going to help him become better.

There's no point in lying. Merle had thought about raping her and robbing her blind–the idea of her tight body pinned underneath his, and forced to take his cock, was intoxicating–but when he woke up, feverish and called out, she had been by his side quicker than he had anticipated. His guess was she hadn't slept a wink. She was remarkable. Kind and patient, polite to a fault. Waiting on him hand and foot, trying her best to salvage his hand. Cooling his brow when he overheated and feeding him since his left hand was clumsy and untrained. He was ashamed by how turned on he'd been, hell maybe if he was nice to her maybe she'd wanna screw around.

But for the meantime, she would be his muse, he would become good for her. Hell, he didn't know her full name or anything about her, but in Merle's mind if he could convince her to be his new group, and get her to never want to abandon him, he'd do okay in God's eyes. She would be his new group, and he would never make her want to leave.

She wasn't so bad on the eyes either, that was if she'd look him in the eyes. Mouse girl afraid of her own shadow.

He scoffed again and took his hand off his face, awkwardly putting it on her shoulder, "Sorry 'bout that, guess I'm still a lil rough around the edges," pointing at where his right hand had been. He had never been one with a quick wit, but when push came to shove he could be funny, a dark, wry humor that bordered on black.

Maeby looked down nervously, she couldn't tell if he was feverish or flirty.

Merle humphed, and turned over, taking his stump out of her hand and moving so his back was to her. So much for his attempt at camaraderie, she either was too insipid to get it or didn't care.

Understandably, Maeby, who was kicking herself for realizing too late that he'd made a joke, and giggled tensely.

"That's a good one, Merle. I've gotta give you a hand for that,"

She wanted to appease him, she still didn't know if she could trust him, what if she hurt his feelings and he hurt her? It was an awkward minute between her lame joke and when his shoulders started to shake.

Fuck I made him cry. Fuck, he'll be so angry! Maeby's mind racing, she put her hand on his shoulder blade and pushed a little.

"Hey? You okay? I didn't mean it," But he just turned to face her, a swift movement that sent her falling back in shock, landing on her ass, hard.

He was laughing, his sunburned, middle aged face scrunched up in joy. His blue eyes mere slits as he let out long belts of hearty chuckles, this time they even sounded sincere. Slowly, as his laughter started to deepen, Maeby found the courage to laugh with him. Soon the both of them were cackling like fiends, hands clamped over their mouths to limit the noise. It lasted maybe three or four minutes before Maeby had to stop, she was getting lightheaded, but it felt nice to be able to laugh again. Even if it was with a complete stranger, if she felt safe enough to laugh with him he couldn't be all that bad.

–

After their fit of giggles, Merle and Maeby went back to being awkward, neither one knew what to say, Merle wanted to compliment her on her wit, and ask for some food and maybe a drink, but he knew this was thin ice. He didn't want to come across as over bearing, or demanding. And he wanted her to feel comfortable enough to laugh with him, but he couldn't let her know he wanted these things. Merle had to remain strong; vigilant, a formidable mystery that represented hope and protection. He had to play nice, but didn't really know how.

Maeby was just having trouble being around another human being after so long, she'd been on her own long enough that she didn't really know what to say to ease the tension or to introduce herself. Before all of this, all of the shit with the dead people, she had been an average social butterfly. She had had dates before, with different types of men, some mean, some con-artists, some hacks and some diamonds in the rough. She'd gone through the dull game of twenty questions before, over and over, with varying results. But in this new environment, where death loomed over everything, it felt weird asking about his family and what schools he went to, and what books or movies he enjoyed.

She didn't know what to say, so she said the only normal thing she could think of.

"I'm hungry, what about you?"

Dammit this girl must be psychic, Merle brooded sarcastically. Of course he was hungry, he hadn't known a full stomach for a few months. Everyone was feeling starved and neglected nowadays.

"Ye, what'd'cha got?"

She had to think for a bit, she'd given him her last pack of Saltines the other night, and the water she'd drawn from the bathtub was getting a little stagnant. It was a survivor's tip she'd learned from her old group; stop up a bathtub and draw as much water as you can collect, it'll be treated water, not great, but as good as water goes.

"I have some sardines, and a can of peaches. A few dinged up cans of beans. You have your choice of lima, pinto, kidney, or garbonzo. A feast for kings,"

"Humph, a feast fer th' dead,"

He's just such a grouch, he was fine a moment ago, and now grumpy again, Merle was getting tired of his mood swings, Must be pms-ing, She thought bitterly. A man as big as he was and he was so temperamental, it made her wanna laugh.

"Well, we are the walking dead, Merle," She figured light jokes and using his name a lot would make him warm up to her faster. Even if they were gonna have to face starvation together, at least she'd have someone by her side this time. She wanted, so desperately, for someone to have her back.

"In that case why don't we have some pinto 'n fish, wit' some peaches? Sound good fer ya, Peach?" He grinned slowly, a wolf licking its chops. He made a move to stand up, put his 'hands' down on the couch as if to push himself up, but to Maeby's dismay he forgot about his right arm. With a grunt and a growl, he fell back on the couch. Maeby stood up quickly and wrung her hands.

"Please don't move so much, try not to exacerbate the wound, I tried really hard to get it to stop bleeding," When he averted his eyes and grunted, she leaned down and pulled a blanket over him, "C'mon you sit tight I'll get the food, that sound good, Peach?"

With a hearty sigh and light smile he waved her off, and Maeby took the hint and scurried off to the kitchen. Merle pushed himself up into a sitting position, drawing his feet under him and dragging the blanket up to his chest. It felt awful for him to be rendered so useless, here he was relying on this girl's sympathy to even move. God what would happened if he needed to dress himself, or hunt for them, or heaven forbid defend her? Either she'd have to learn how to defend herself and hunt for the both of them, or he'd be on his own soon. Whichever way it went, he'd have to adapt fast, or forget getting out of the city.

He peered through the early morning light–she had been smart to draw the blinds and barricade the windows, but some light still fought its way into the apartment–into the kitchen, where Maeby was riffling through drawers. He could hear her grumbling to herself, something about a fucking can opener and its approximate location. He had to give it to Maeby, she had a kind heart and was feisty, it took a bit of prodding for her to lash out or defend herself, but that was because she was a decent person. He pitied her. Only the cruel and the dying lived in this world. He was proof of that at least. Though that did bring an interesting thought to mind; if she had survived this long she was either an anomaly or more proof of his theory.

Only time would tell.

Merle leaned back and closed his eyes, the slight sunlight felt good on his sweaty brow. It was hot in the room, poor ventilation, but he kept getting feverish and had frequent cold flashes. It fucking sucked. He gave himself a few minutes to worry about his brother.

Daryl wasn't known for his ability to handle grief, he'd noticed his brother self-harming after their mother died in that awful fire. He himself had been twelve years old and away, locked up in Juvenile Hall. But Daryl was one of the first on scene.

Their mother was a chain smoker and a depressive, abusive drunk, she became so passive to the world when she was in her cups. Merle wouldn't be surprised if she had noticed the fire around her and just decided to let it smother her, not giving a care as her son smelled her body burning outside. It was a hard reality, but Merle had always been adept at dealing with the harshness of the real world. Daryl had been tricked and conned over and over again all his life, he was never prepared for death or sadness or betrayal, and probably never would be. When he was a kid, Daryl had these big blue eyes that looked at everything and everyone with the same love and affection that Merle had saved only for his brother. Merle had tried to teach his little brother how to survive in this world, even before the virus, but his little brother was the sweet one.

He was lost in thought, trying to remember Daryl's face throughout the years, grimly wondering if he'd ever see his brother again, when he felt her lower herself onto the couch. She was quiet on her feet, tip-toeing everywhere like it was a game of hide and seek. He resented her silent power, he was a hunter he should have sensed her getting closer, but it was a powerful gift for an ally to have.

Without opening his eyes, Merle complimented her, "It's not many who can sneak up on me, I'm a real good hunter, so kudos ta you,"

She shifted her weight, settling into her seat, and whispered a word of thanks. He turned his head and looked at her, really looked. She was calm, collected, but he could sense by the way she moved that she had a rage inside her; she walked on egg shells, but he figured it wasn't because she was afraid of his fury, but because she was worried about what she was capable of. Dark times call for dark measures, and she just wasn't prepared to be a survivor yet, and all that entailed.

She was going to fight for her humanity, fight tooth and nail to hold onto every scrap of human dignity and morality she possessed. It was an noble cause, ultimately worthless and in vain, but noble nonetheless.

"Well? You gonna eat this five star meal, or you just gonna ogle at me?" Merle had to give it to her, she had a way of twisting his words. She was entertaining to say the least.