Chapter Two

"Please Rowley, I have to go," Andrea begged again, "It's important."

Rowley frowned, no doubt suspicious and puzzled as to her motivations, but at least he wasn't hostile. "It'll be getting' dark soon, time fer curfew. Better ta go in tha morning. Can't do nothin' tonight."

"It can't wait."

"Shupert ain't back wit' cha friend. He'll wonder where we gone," argued Rowley with a slight whine, "Gov'ner won't like it if we're payin' calls after curfew…"

"Merle's the Governor's second in command, isn't he?" Andrea interrupted, becoming desperate, "He could bring me back, couldn't he? Then you could come straight back after dropping me off and tell Shupert." Rowley scratched his chin in thought, still looking dubious. Andrea played her last card. "It's important I tell him what I've remembered about the group I was with."

"I reckon," said Rowley, slowly, still frowning. He sighed and picked up his rifle, gesturing towards the corridor. "Git along then. An' quick!"

…

He led her to what had been a bakery, which seemed a little more luxurious than the place she and Michonne had been settled in, though she couldn't put her finger on why.

Rowley led her through the front shop and into the living space behind. They went up a few flights of stairs to the top floor. Despite the limited light from the occasional candle, she was struck but how normal it felt, to see wallpapered walls and hear the soft hush of carpet beneath her feet.

God, was it really only two days ago I was dying in the woods?

Rowley walked up to the door at the furthest end of the darkened corridor and glanced back over his shoulder, as though checking she wasn't going to leave him ringing the doorbell alone like a naughty schoolboy. She came and stood next to him, and he gave a couple of sharp knocks on the doorframe. She heard the tread of feet across a carpeted floor, some fumbling with the handle, and then the door opened to reveal a medium sized room poorly lit by one candle, with a large man silhouetted in the doorway. He was tiredly rubbing his forearm against his face, but as their eyes met his whole body went taut. When he spoke, his tone was dry.

"Lil' late fer social calls, isn't it, Blondie?"

…

She had noticed it when they talked in the makeshift hospital, but as her eyes grew accustomed to the low light she was once again struck by how exhausted he looked. She would have thought living in a place as wonderful as Woodbury appeared to be would see him looking healthy, but it didn't appear to be the case. He'd been heavier back at the quarry, his face less thin and drawn.

Still, it was well over a year since she'd seen him, and God knows he hadn't had it easy. Neither of them had.

He didn't look like he got much sleep, though he was clearly getting ready for bed despite it being quite early. He wore only a wife beater and cargo pants, and the buckles holding the cover to his stump were undone save for one, the straps hanging loosely down. His feet were also bare, something Andrea found strangely intimate. She didn't think she'd ever noticed his feet in the nights they spent to together at the quarry.

She looked up, and realised the dryly amused expression on his face was because he was still waiting for her to speak. Realising she'd been holding her breath as well, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head.

"Can we talk?"

As soon as it was out of her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. Though his face became neutral a muscle worked in his jaw and anger flared in his eyes. "Ya wanna talk now?" His voice was tight.

Fortunately for Andrea, Rowley misunderstood his resentment. "Sorry 'bout this Merle, she said she had ta come see ya. Tell ya somethin' about tha group. Figured it made more sense bringin' her to ya rather'n botherin' the Gov'ner… ya know? D'ya wan' me ta bring 'er back in tha mornin'? It's nearly curfew see'n Shupert don't know we're gone…"

"Tha's fine Rowley, ya did right. Y'all take off now, ya hear? I'll take Miss Andrea back ta her place, or if we don't make curfew she can stay here on tha couch. Let Shupert know, so he don't start hollering up a storm, an' then go see if ya talk tha' sweet lil' Chink girl over tha antique shop inta lettin' ya stay the night."

Rowley grinned ruefully. "Can't keep a damn thing secret in this town…" he muttered before setting off smartly down the corridor.

Merle stood back from the door. "Well, ya coming in or ain't cha?"

…

As Merle shut the door behind her, Andrea looked round Merle's home. There was a double bed, an old fashioned brass one that had no doubt come with the room, since the décor including the sheets was chintzy stuff from the fifties or sixties. There was a small ensuite that looked more recent. There were no personal statements, though as they'd left Merle with nothing but the clothes he stood up in, it was hardly surprising. Then she noticed the leather cuff he'd always worn on the table under the window, along with some hand guns that had obviously just been cleaned. He must have done it before the light faded. Now the window was covered in dark heavy cloth, no doubt to stop the weak candle light from the elevated room attracting walkers.

She turned. Merle was watching her, arm's folded. He was clearly waiting for her to speak. Everything she had so carefully prepared since he'd come back with the National Guard supplies died on her lips. "I suppose sorry isn't enough."

The even tone was gone completely, drowned out by bitter sarcasm. "Goddamn, a sorry and a thank you? I must be dreamin'. And since ya ask, no, it fuckin' ain't. Anythin' else?"

She forced herself to continue. "I know…I know you must still be angry with us…with me…especially me…"

His lip curled in disgust. "Especially you? Damn straight, especially you. Ain't I gotta right ta be?"

"Yes." What else could she say? The others had left her at the farm; wasn't she angry at them? Didn't she have a right to be?

He was right in front of her in seconds. "Yes?" he hissed in her face, his breathing harsh and unsteady. "Yes? Three days. Three fuckin' days lyin' in my own sweat an' piss an' shit, waitin' fer ya ta come before tha geeks got me. But ya didn't! Ya fuckin' didn't!"

She started to speak, but he wasn't done.

"D'ya know how long it takes ta cut off ya hand? Can ya guess, darlin'? Mebbe i's not tha' long really, mebbe it just feels like fuckin' hours. Tha's assumin' ya don't pass out like I did. The bone, ya see; the bone was the tough part…" Andrea gagged slightly, but he didn't stop. "Don't even know how long I passed out fer, but ya wanna know why I didn't die? Didn't bleed out? 'Cause I was so dehydrated my blood wouldn't' flow right. Ya'd left me so long I was too fuckin' sick ta even die! An' ya didn't even come back."

"No."

"Yes. No," he said bitterly, turning away from her. "Tha' all ya can say?"

God this was all coming out wrong. "I'm not the person I was then. I wanted you to know I've changed since… because of what happened…"

"Is tha' right, sugartits? Well, ain't we all?! Though I can't tell ya how fuckin' overjoyed I am tha' me sawin' off my own fuckin' hand was instrumental ta ya journey of personal fuckin' growth."

There was nothing to be done now; she had come to reap what she sowed, and all that had grown by her actions was Merle's rage and loathing. "You're right, you're right to hate me. I just… I just wanted to come and say sorry."

He snorted in disgust. "Aww, just couldn't say it in front a ya little mute friend down there? An' ya said ya fuckin' changed…."

"No!" He raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I know you hate me. I don't blame you. I can't. But it wasn't that I didn't apologise in the hospital because I was… ashamed to be associated with you… for people to think there could be anything between us. And it wasn't because of Michonne."

She drew a shaky breath, repelled by what her next words revealed about her. "If I had apologised then, while I didn't know if you were… if you were out for revenge… if we were in danger, you might not have believed me. You might have thought I was just playing along, trying to bargain in some way."

He still looked angry, but his eyes were now intent on hers.

"That's why I came here tonight, when I know we're safe. So you can know it's the truth, even if it's nothing to you now, even if you don't fucking care. So it can mean something because I have nothing to gain… and… I suppose nothing I'm afraid to lose anymore. So you can know that I thought about you so many times. That it made me sick inside, thinking what we had done. What I had done. So…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish you could just know how much."

He continued to stare at her for full minute, dark blue eyes searching aquamarine. His voice was hard when he spoke. "Ya say yer sorry. Tha' ya mean it. But I don't think ya do, not yet." He leaned towards her, anger seeping into his voice again. "I wan' ya ta know wha' ya sorry fer. Tha's when I wan' ya ta look me in tha eye an' tell me ya mean it."

She nodded, and he gestured at the chair by the window. "Sit down." She turned it round and sat facing the bed, watching as he sank onto it, facing her. For a moment he sat stiff, the anger seeming to come off him in waves. Then suddenly, all the fight that was quintessentially Merle deserted him, and he slumped, looking smaller. "Shit," he muttered to himself, rubbing his hand over his face as though uncertain what to say.

Merle tilted his head down, so his face was in shadow as he removed the cover from his stump, slotting it onto the brass bedpost. He stared at the stump, cradled in his lap, before looking directly at her, pinning her eyes with his own. He spoke so softly, Andrea could hardly believe what he said.

"I dreamed about ya. On the roof. I thought ya were there."

…

"Dunno if I was still high or dehydrated, mebbe sunstroke; don't matter. Meant I could handle tha days anyway," Merle continued. "I saw my pals, my army buddies. Swopped stories. Tha heat, it brought it all back. Sometimes I'd think I was lyin' on tha soft sand, sun in my face, jus' waitin' fer new orders. It wasn't so bad."

He paused, and Andrea realised that she'd only known he was in the military because Daryl had mentioned it once to Shane in her presence. She'd never asked Merle about it, never wanted to listen anytime he'd tried to talk about his past, so she had no idea where he had been deployed. A sick feeling began to build inside her, but she forced it down as he started to speak again.

The quiet horror in his gruff voice was almost unbearable.

"Tha nights though…tha nights were bad. Ya know geeks are more active at night? I could hear 'em moanin', pushin' at tha door, tryin' ta get ta me. But I couldn't see em. It was so cold, I couldn't sleep. My army buddies didn't come at night neither. Tha' whole first night I was alone, lyin' in the dark, listenin' ta tha dead, waitin' fer 'em ta break through. Tha' was…tha' was a long night."

Andrea said nothing, but she could feel the tears begin to come. She tried to hold them back; she had lost her right to cry for him.

"Then mornin' came, an' then tha heat, an' my friends came wit' it. I was okay again. Tha' evening, I asked… I fuckin' begged 'em not ta leave me, but they did. Yeah, they did. I was lyin' there in tha cold an' tha dark, alone again, but there was a moon tha' night. Dunno if they could see me better, but the geeks seemed more riled up than before. Tha sound of 'em…I thought I was gonna go mad. Then I saw ya."

His eyes blazed into hers, and she wondered how a man like Merle Dixon could look like he saw salvation in her, even for that one delirious moment. "Ya always looked amazin' in tha moonlight. I ever tell ya that? Must be tha' blonde hair or somethin'. Ya came an' ya sat with me, put yer arms around me, kept me warm."

She couldn't stop them any longer, and Andrea felt hot tears run down her face. It didn't matter; Merle wasn't looking at her anymore. He was looking past her now, back to that night and an Andrea that had been worthy of him.

"That wasn't all. My Andrea…," as he paused, reliving his memories, she was surprised to find his words stung.

"…she talked ta me. She listened." Merle shocked her by suddenly chuckling to himself. "Can't remember wha' I said, think I must'a talked all kinds'a shit in tha' state. War stories, mebbe stuff from when I were a kid, or lookin' after Daryl. Must'a been borin' as fuck for her, but she listened, she talked. She was there."

She found a world of judgement in that single word; it was something she had never been. Not for Amy… and now not for Merle.

"She was there tha' whole night, stayed till mornin'. Must a dozed off, 'cause when I woke she was gone an' my buddies were back. But it didn't matter, 'cause now I knew. Now I knew ya were comin' back, tha' ya wouldn't let 'em leave me."

Andrea bit back a sob, but Merle continued, his voice almost reverent.

"So I tried ta get some sleep tha' day, jus' ignored tha geeks. An' that night ya came back. Ya came back an' ya sat with me, an' I asked ya not ta go. Ya didn't go Andrea, ya were still there when tha sun rose; I remember ya was all coloured pink and orange by tha light, curled up next ta me. I'd never been so close ta ya in the daylight before. I told ya tha others would be comin' tha' day, tha' you'd be comin' fer me, an' we waited t'gether. I kept talkin', tellin' ya anythin' I could think of so ya'd stay. An' then, one time… I looked up… an' ya was gone." He drew a shuddering breath.

"I thought tha' first night…thought i'was bad. But when ya left, an' I could hear 'em still pushin' on tha door, louder than ever… I had nuthin' left in me. I prayed ta God, ta Jesus ta save me… but there was nuthin'. An' tha' was tha moment when I realised tha truth." His eye's slid back to hers, and their emptiness cut at her.

"Tha's when I realised how fuckin' stupid I'd been. Tha' there wasn't anyone ever comin' after ol' Merle, never had been, never would be… tha' he had ta look out fer himself, had ta be strong fer himself, just like always." He sighed, and rubbed his remaining hand over his head, dragging it back and forth across his scalp in some instinctive gesture of comfort.

"Now d'ya see, woman, why ya gotta be sorry? It ain't 'cause ya left me. It ain't even 'cause ya didn't come back. It's 'cause ya made me forget tha' i'was wha' I should'a expected. Ya made me forget wha' I was, wha' it means ta be Dixon. Ya see…," he broke off in frustration, as though searching for a way to make her understand something so fundamental to his existence that he had never questioned it, never needed to explain it to another.

"Dixon's… we're born shit outta luck. We got nuthin'. We don't get given nuthin'. We die being nuthin' ta anyone. But we're tough; we survive 'cause we don't need nuthin' from nobody. Tha's our pride. Ya made me forget tha', an' forgettin' it damn near got me killed."

…

Andrea covered her face with her hands, sobs wracking her body as she finally surrendered to her guilt and grief.

She had done this; it didn't matter that she hadn't meant to. She had given him a dream of something more, something beyond self-reliance and survival, and when he had reached out for it, and trusted himself to her, she had trampled on it. A line from an old poem Dale had quoted came back to her… Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams…

She was surprised to feel the touch of his hand on her shoulder; Merle's voice was stern, but gentle. "C'mon now, stop tha'. Can't stan' women cryin' all over the place. I ain't dead. Ya didn't break me…though I know ya gave it ya best shot." She gave a rather watery chuckle and looked up, her eyes red and puffy, still streaming. He was grinning slightly, and for a moment he looked like his old self. "Least ya look like shit when ya cry; I was startin' ta think ya weren't human."

She understood now why her earlier words had not been enough. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse with crying. "Merle… oh God, I'm so sorry."

His grin faded a little. "Merle? Not Dixon?" She nodded; it was the first time she'd ever called him by his name. "Huh. Figures," he said cryptically. He walked past her to the window, twitched back the curtain carefully and sighed. "Ain't quite dark yet; c'mon, I can get cha back before curfew."

Andrea stood as he walked across the room to open the door, but the idea was already beginning to solidify in her mind, and her determination along with it. As he reached for the handle, she committed herself to the deed.

"I think you're wrong, you know."

He turned back to her, his eyes guarded. "I think I did break you, Merle, just a little. And I never meant to."

Those blue eyes… She watched them shift to pained to angry to resigned, but when he spoke his voice was merely tired. "Don't matter now, jus'…"

"It matters to me," she interrupted calmly. She walked to stand in front of him, and gently took the stump of his arm in her hands. Merle flinched but she held on, and sliding her hands down to his truncated wrist, she forced herself to really look at it.

It hadn't been a clean amputation, the mangled remains of flesh and bone, twisted skin and ropey muscles telling their own story. She ran the tips of her fingers, torturously slow and feather light, against what had once been a raw wound.

"Don't…" She heard it, though most wouldn't; the hint of pleading, begging in his voice. She was right; the old Merle would never have begged. She had broken him. Andrea released the stump gently, and taking his hand led him gently to the bed, trying to pull him down with her.

"Ya don't have ta do tha'," he snapped angrily, irritation seeping into his voice, "Ya apologised, jus' go…"

"Talk," she said, holding his eyes.

He stared at her, uncertain what she meant. She took advantage of his indecision and tugged him down beside her, pressing him down to lie crosswise across the bed with her. She took both his hand and his stump in hers, and her eyes never left his.

"I'm listening. I'm here. Talk to me."

He hesitated. For a moment, she was sure he would refuse. She knew she was asking a lot of him; to roll the dice once more and risk everything on her again…

Merle rolled away, and blew out the room's solitary candle.

…

She would never be able to remember exactly how it happened, or what was said. She only knew that somehow she found herself wrapped in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, while his lips murmured the pattern of his life into the delicate skin of her temple.

She saw all the ragged pieces of it, some hateful, some terrible, some parts damaged beyond repair, but the whole still comprising a man who was worth more than a life full of nothing. Eventually his voice stopped and there was silence between them, except for the distant thud of his heart somewhere beneath her ear. Shifting, she propped herself up on her elbows and stared down at him, though in the blackness she could see little more than the outline of his head. Judging the distance carefully, she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead. There was nothing sexual about it; it reminded her of a benediction, though any absolution from the gesture was his to give.

Slowly, so he could turn away, reject her if he chose, she placed a butterfly kiss on his grizzled cheek; when he didn't react, she moved across and kissed the other, his stubble prickly beneath her lips. Stopping again, she lifted her head and tried desperately to read him, to get a sense if she should proceed. But she couldn't, and he made no effort to help her.

Then she realised; this was her turn to roll the dice, to risk it all in the face of possible rejection.

There was a time when she would have walked away; they both knew that. But she wasn't the woman he had known, the Andrea that hadn't been there for the people that needed her.

Perhaps she still wasn't the Andrea he had dreamt of on the roof… but she wanted to be, for them both. And she was going to try.

She lowered her head and kissed him.

….

Well, I wasn't sure whether to extend this, as I worried it might ruin something I was quite happy with as a one shot. However, following the rather subdued reunion between Merle and Andrea in episode 3 and then the chemistry in episode 4, I thought I'd give it a go.

This will now be three chapters, so one more to go. If you enjoyed it, please just take a few seconds to review – it's much appreciated.

Update: One of the reviewers raised this and since it's a completely fair point I thought I'd better address it. On the show itself it does seem as though the group went back for Merle the next day. However, both Michael Rooker and Frank Darabont have said that Merle was left there for three, maybe even four days, hence his being extremely delirious at the start of episode 3. I went for roughly three days, simply because beyond that point without water in the heat he'd just be unconscious, never mind being still able to get the saw, cut off his hand and escape. I think this is just one of those not infrequent occasions where the shows jumps around with their timeline a little, hence the confusion. Hope this helps!