By their third meeting, Milton begins to think that they may actually not hate each other after all. When Andrea brought it up to him, she very sarcastically asked him if they had become 'friendemies'. It's because she caught on to the stuff appearing in his room, he's sure. She tried to get him to ask Merle about it, but he refused, saying he didn't want Merle to take it the wrong way and end whatever truce they're beginning to form. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, he was always taught. He held her off for now, but he's sure her curiosity will get the best of her eventually-assuming his doesn't get to him first.

Merle is telling him a story about when him and Daryl were younger, something about Daryl with a lighter and some pantyhose. Milton wonders as he laughs if it would be such a bad thing, the two of them becoming actual friends. He doubts it could happen though; Merle still likes to take jabs at him. He would think that it is just the man's personality if it wasn't for the arguments they have. Granted, it's been a while since one has happened. He's starting to think that being around Daryl has greatly lifted Merle's mood, even towards him. Still, they're complete opposites. How could they possibly ever be friends, even in a world that brings people together?

Milton doesn't know how he feels at this moment about the law that opposites attract. He doesn't know how he feels about Merle. He knows that it isn't hatred though. He's almost . . . happy, he thinks. It's certainly something he has to put more thought into.

". . . He might puncture your throat if you mention it to him. I'd hate to have to whoop him for it."

The last statement having caught Milton off guard, he isn't sure if he heard Merle correctly.

"And why-why would you do that? 'Whoop him,' I mean."

Because who else would you verbally punch, Milton thinks. He keeps it to himself, awaiting Merle's answer.

"If he did that, who would I have to talk about him with?"

The older man winks at him, and he's sure he's imagining the whole conversation now. He pinches his arm to make sure.

"Ow. . . I mean how. . . How can you say that? You'd still have both Carol and Beth, along with whoever else has their eyes on him these days. The list is growing rapidly. Just ask any of the new people Rick brought in. I'm sure they'd all love to hear his baby stories."

Merle sizes him up with his eyes, acting as if he's really considering the statement. Milton supposes that in a way, he could be. Surely someone at the camp would talk to him? Other than his brother, that is.

Milton begins to wonder if Merle actually considers them friends, if he thinks that this is how friends treat each other. He considers voicing this thought but then decides better of it. Merle would have to know that friendship doesn't involve degrading the other person.

I probably really AM the only person who will give him the time of day.

Andrea seems to be coming around to him too though. This bothers somewhat Milton, though he isn't sure why.

"He sure was a wild cat, my baby brother. What about you, huh? You ever get up to trouble?"

The question takes Milton by surprise, though he isn't sure why; maybe he had just assumed Merle would think he already knew the answer to the question. He clears his throat and averts his eyes, obviously uncomfortable. That was his downfall; he's never been good at deception.

"Oh, yeah, there's somethin', I can tell."

Merle looks like he's the cat that's ate the canary, and Milton knows that the older man isn't going to want to give this up now.

"I'd rather, uh, not talk about it." He cleans his glasses with the cleaner he found in his cell a few days back. "It's really boring. You wouldn't want to hear about it."

Merle obviously doesn't believe him.

"I'll get it out of you." He's pointing at Milton, and somehow, the shorter man knows that he's right. "Just give me some time." Merle straightens; he had been leaning against the tower wall. "Come on. You won't learn how to shoot just by sittin' there lookin' pretty."

Milton has a history of putting his foot in his mouth, he'll admit. He can rationalize his abrupt irritation as being set off from the uncomfortableness of being asked about something he'd rather not think of, but in truth, he knows that it's because Merle had the gall to describe him as "pretty." Coming from someone else, he might not mind being feminized so much, but Merle using the word makes him feel like it's a tactic to belittle him, to make him feel ashamed of his appearance. He realizes later that maybe he should have just ignored it, that for the sake of their truce the occassional remark should be let go. Later is later though, and Milton has always had a bit of a temper; it and his wit are really the only self-defense he's ever had. Unfortunately for him, both have also gotten him into a lot of trouble over the years.

"You know, I don't appreciate that. What you just said." He moves to his feet. "I'm not-I'm not pretty. Men aren't pretty." He realizes after he's said it that he's just given Merle more ammo against him. Not wanting to hear the next comments to follow, surely something with fake pity about his 'self-image issues', he opts to cut the practice short for the day. "I think that we've done enough for now. I'll see you tomorrow."

Milton turns to the door, takes two steps towards it. His arm is grabbed before he can get any farther though, stopping him. He snaps a hateful 'what' at Merle; when he turns his head to look at the man, he wishes he hadn't. Merle is looking him over with something that's definitely not disappointment, but it's an expression Milton would say was almost similar to it if it was on anyone else. There's a seriousness in Merle's eyes that makes Milton confused and already he is starting to regret his reaction to the simple comment.

"Yeah." He lets go of his arm. "Maybe that is enough."

They let the conversation end there even though both of them are fully aware of the fact that there had been no actual practice done. Milton leaves first, heading back to his cell with really no where else better to be. He doesn't see Merle at dinner; he overhears someone mentioning that the man went on another run, one by himself. That, along with the thought that he really could've been the only person Merle really felt like he could talk to, since Daryl's always busy these days, keep him awake all night.