A/N – I am really enjoying Merle and Sophia and I hope you are too. Merle's conflicted on so many levels so it's fun to write that struggle. Here's a brief update before the weekend. I'm going to a ball game this weekend a few states away so it'll be an all day "no computer access" affair on Saturday. So if I can't update again before tomorrow, I'll try for Sunday. :) Please read and review! Hope you like.

Chapter 4

Merle woke briefly sometime in the twilight hours. There was an unseasonable chill in the air. He crossed his arms and rubbed his hand up and down his right arm absently to create some friction, some warmth. He glanced over at the sleeping girl next to him. Sophia had managed to curl up in the seat a bit. Her legs and feet were tucked underneath her, and her head rested gingerly on the door panel.

Soft snoring sounds came out of Sophia's mouth. Merle sat up a little straighter in the seat and leaned over to peer at the girl. Her tiny mouth had popped open as she slept and her breath exhaled in puffs, visible in the chilly air. Her arms were clenching her sides and her body shivered slightly as she slept. She was clearly cold.

Merle couldn't recall what month it was, but he was pretty sure it shouldn't be this cold in the evenings yet. It was hard to gauge how much time had passed since the world went to shit.

He wriggled in the seat cautiously, he didn't want to wake the girl, and turned to reach with his hand into the back seat. There was an old leather jacket that he had picked up in a town when he'd first left Atlanta. It reminded him of a jacket he'd had once. It even smelled the same… musty with an intermingling of tobacco, booze, and just a haze of bodily fluids.

He carefully maneuvered himself to drape the jacket over the girl without waking her. He watched as she unconsciously snuggled herself into the makeshift blanket, pulling her body inward even more until all he could see was the top of her head poking out of the brown leather.

Watching Sophia sleep, Merle could remember a time long ago. When his Ma was still alive and he was just barely the girl's age. He remembered late evenings while Pa was out getting drunk and ass, and Daryl was too little to stay awake. It was just him and Ma on those nights, snuggled up on the couch watching documentaries and national geographic shit on the tiny black and white television. He remembered how he'd always fall asleep before the show was over, and she'd drape a blanket over him to keep him warm. "Keepin' the ghosts away," she called it. Ma had always equated the cold with ghosts, so if she kept the cold away, she'd keep the ghosts away; and if she kept the ghosts away, her boys would have sweet dreams. And then she'd kiss his cheek… she always smelled clean, like dish soap, and her lips were always warm and soft on his cheek before she pulled away and turned back to her show. Merle imagined he'd had sweet dreams while Ma was around, but he couldn't really remember anymore.

It was easier to remember after Ma, after she'd died, and it was just him and Daryl and Pa. And Pa's habits. And Pa's temper. And Pa's fists. But he didn't like to remember that.

He glanced away from Sophia, and stared out the window at the brightening sky in the distance. It would be morning soon, and time to head off. And he'd have to figure something out. Have to make a decision about this tiny bit of a girl on the other side of the seat. He'd done fine on his own so far… now, and hell, practically his whole life. Merle had been alone and on his own more often than he could figure. Except for having Daryl around. He'd raised his brother up the only way he knew how – Pa's way. But even then, Merle had been in and out of the can – jail, prison, hard time – almost as much as he'd been in and out of Daryl's life. He'd wanted to change that, intended to change that after the world went to hell and it was just the two of them. The Dixon brothers against the world. But somehow something always got in the way of Merle's intentions. Drugs, cops with cuffs on rooftops, more drugs, and Merle. Merle always got in his own way.

He had always kept to himself, kept himself walled up and away from others. Merle did better on his own, he knew that. Not that he'd never needed companionship, and a tight ass sometimes to relieve some tension, but there were ways of getting that without letting down the walls, without sticking around long enough for people to get attached.

He couldn't let this girl stick around. She'd slow him down. There was danger written all over her. So he'd drive her away… get her to leave on her own. Merle had a lifetime of practice in driving people away. Or he'd help her… get her to her family again and be done with it. Find her family, dump her off; grab Daryl and beat feet out of this fuckin hellhole.

The girl on the seat stirred, whimpered quietly. Merle's heart constricted at the sound. He looked at her again, tried to force himself to glower at her and not to gaze. Dixons don't gaze, Dixons glower. In his head, he told himself he had to get rid of her, that it was best that way. She'd be better off on her own, finding her family herself. She wasn't his problem anyway. He could find Daryl or not find Daryl and he'd be fine either way. But somehow he couldn't quite connect the idea of dumping this girl somewhere with the other feelings he felt deep inside; feelings, not thoughts in his head, but feelings maybe somewhere else… in his heart, if he still had one. He couldn't quite get a handle on them, these thoughts and these feelings, and he couldn't quite force himself to figure out a way to do whatever it was he needed to do.

He settled back again into the seat, figuring a few more hours of rest wouldn't hurt before he made any decision one way or the other.