Everybody's eating breakfast when Rick gets downstairs in the morning. Most everybody, anyways. Carl's out with Michonne on watch; seems he took a real shining to her after yesterday. And Daryl and Merle are nowhere to be found. The latter's not all that surprising, what with the way the older Dixon likes to keep to himself, but considering they got that meeting with the Governor today, he kind of figures Daryl should be around.
"Anybody seen Daryl?" he asks as he joins them all in their little indoor camp. It's just a bunch of boxes all circled around a Coleman lamp, but it's a place to come together. They need that.
Beth hands him a bowl of oatmeal when he sits down and smiles brightly when he nods his thanks. "I haven't seen him," she says, which is odd, because Beth's usually got this sort of sixth sense when it comes to knowing who's where doing what at any given time in their little group. It's uncanny.
"I think I saw him a little while ago heading into Cell Block B with Merle," Glen says. The way he spits Merle's name like it tastes something awful, Rick reckons it's safe to say the air's not any clearer between them. Makes him wonder if leaving them back here together's such a good idea.
Then again, having Glen anywhere near the Governor's an even worse idea by far.
Does raise questions, though, and apparently for more than just him. Carol looks up from her own bowl and frowns. "What's he doing with Merle?"
But before anyone can reply, something echoes through the cell block. Sounds like voices. Angry ones, yelling, and Rick's already sitting his bowl aside and getting to his feet by the time the first round stops. "Asked and answered," he says, and then he starts off towards B-Block. The others are behind him, least some of them, but he's more focused on the sounds of an argument heating up to bother much with them.
In hindsight, he kind of wishes he'd told them to stay back.
"—raise you to be no twink!" It's Merle's voice, booming loud and clear even before they get out of their cell block.
"Fuck you, bro!" And that's Daryl's, a little quieter, but Rick can tell he's whistling Dixie just the same as Merle. "You don't know nothin' about nothin'!"
"I know you got no place playing house with Officer Friendly! You think I'm blind, little brother? I lost my hand, not my damn eyes, and don't you forget whose fault that was, neither!"
"That's on you. Not Rick, and not me, neither! You did that!"
"The hell I did. Your fella Rick handcuffed me to that roof and left me to the biters! And then you go riding off into the sunset with him like some goddamn fairy princess. The hell's wrong with you?"
"The hell's wrong with me?" Daryl's voice is angry, but it's got that backed-into-a-corner quality to it that Merle's so damn good at getting out of him. "The hell's wrong with you?"
Rick's heart's thundering in his chest, now, because he thinks that this is it. This is what Daryl's been afraid of, what he's been looking out for. All those sideways glances, all the sneaking around….
Merle's figured it out.
And any doubt Rick might have that that's the case gets shot down, dead, next time Merle opens his damn mouth.
"How 'bout 'my good-for-nothing little brother's bending over for a damn cop?' That wrong enough for you, princess?"
There's a long pause after that, and Rick's stomach's in the soles of his boots. He makes it into B-Block, then, just in time to see Daryl shoving Merle's hand off the front of his shirt like it's burned him. "Go to hell," he snaps, and then he turns and makes for the stairs.
Merle's not ready to let it end there, though. "I'll see you there, little sister," he calls after him, this mock-friendliness to the words that's even worse than anger. It's the kind that's meant to cut, meant to dig. Meant to hurt.
The vicious son of a bitch.
"Don't you walk away from me!" he hollers at Daryl's back, and he starts after him. "Darleena! I said don't you walk away!"
But Daryl ignores him – pretends to, at least, because there's no way he can really ignore the shit Merle's throwing at him – and keeps right on walking, all the way to the stairs and down the—
He stops dead.
Up to that point, Daryl didn't know he and Merle weren't alone. Either the angle was no good from where he was standing or he was turned away from them completely.
Coming down the stairs, though, it's a straight shot. Daryl's looking right at them, this expression of surprise on his face that's damn near morbid. And shit, it'd be one thing if it was just Rick standing there. If it was just him hearing what Merle just said. It'd be bad, but Rick Reckoned it would be bearable.
But it's not just Rick standing there. A quick glance behind himself, and Rick realizes Carol and Glen both have followed him in.
And then, after a long, awkward second in which Rick can't even bring himself to breathe, the world starts moving again. Daryl drops his head, less in shame and more like a running back headed straight for the defensive line.
"Well would you look at that, Darleena," Merle calls after him, that same snide, sneering smile that's as much in his voice as on his face. "Looks like we got ourselves an audience." He's right behind Daryl on the stairs, close enough to reach out and nudge him on the back, which he does. Except it's not really a nudge. Nudges don't make someone as steady on his feet as Daryl stumble forward, and it's a damn miracle he manages to keep upright and moving.
Merle doesn't seem as relieved about that as Rick.
He goes to grab him, only soon as he gets his hand on him, Daryl jerks away like Merle's a walker aiming for a bite. It's so sudden and violent, not at all like the way Rick's used to seeing him moving, and Rick can only watch as his feet go out from under him and he falls the last two or three steps and hits the unforgiving concrete. Hard.
"Son of a bitch," Daryl grinds out. He's already starting to push himself up, but he's not too quick about it.
"You did that," Merle retorts innocently. Rick knows he's mocking him. Mocking Daryl.
Rick's already moving forward to help him, but he's coming from the far side of the room. Merle's closer, and gets down close enough to snatch up the back of Daryl's collar like he was trying to do before and haul him up onto his knees by it.
"Come on, now, on your feet. That was barely a love tap." And then Merle looks up and flashes Rick a smirk. "Wasn't it, Officer Friendly?" he asks. The way he says it, though, it's pretty damn clear he's talking about something else.
Rick grits his teeth. Merle wants a rise out of him; he's not gonna get it. "You best take that hand off him," Rick says, his voice dead level. And just in case there's any confusion about that being a request, Rick lets his hand fall to the gun at his hip. When Merle's fingers don't loosen their grip – despite Daryl's twisting and wrenching this way and that, trying to turn himself loose – Rick actually draws it and rests his thumb on the hammer. "I ain't asking you again, Merle." And he means it. Merle's got about three seconds to let Daryl go, or he's putting a bullet in him. Daryl'll just have to understand.
'Course, it doesn't come to that. Rick only gets to two before Merle lets his brother go, and he's still wearing that damn smile as he does.
Rick's got to admit that there's a part of him that's disappointed he let go. He doesn't much care what sort of dysfunctional family loyalty there is between them; a man doesn't do his brother that way.
And no one does Daryl that way.
He's got half a mind to fire off a round on principle, but he manages to restrain himself, if only outta respect for Daryl. He focuses on him, instead, even though he's still got his eyes on Merle. "You okay?" he asks.
Daryl's pushing himself up again, a little quicker this time. Carol's come over to help him, but when she reaches for his shoulder, he jerks it away. "Get off 'a me," he snaps, and pushes himself the rest of the way to his feet all by his lonesome.
Carol, for her part, doesn't try to stop him. She looks sad, angry, but not at Daryl so much as for him. Rick knows the feeling. He doesn't think he's ever wanted so much to beat a man bloody in his life. Not ever.
He settles for a solid right hook. It's not as much as Rick wants to do, and certainly not as much as Merle deserves, but it does make him feel a little bit better.
Least, it does until Merle spits out a wad of blood on the floor and opens his damn fool mouth again. "Well shit, Officer Friendly, we was just talking, weren't we, little brother?"
Maybe it's sidling along the lines of over-protective, but Rick has half a mind to deck Merle again for having the balls to even look at Daryl after that shit he's just pulled, much less talk to him. And dammit, he's still got that oily, snakeskin smile.
Rick wonders, if he hits him enough times, if he could still smile like that.
"Didn't look like talking to me," he says. He's trying real hard to keep his voice steady, and he thinks he manages alright. Years of staring down fellas he'd rather see six feet under and keeping himself in check. Should come in handy later with the Governor, he thinks.
"That's just how we communicate," Merle says. And Christ, it's like he actually means what he's saying.
"Not here it's not." He steps in closer, hand still on his gun at his hip, and as much steel in his eyes as he can muster. It's a threat, and it ain't an empty one. It's not coincidence, either, that he's standing between Merle and his brother. He's done standing by, letting Merle do whatever he feels like. Letting Merle screw with Daryl's head. He'll protect what's his.
Merle must notice. His eyes flick back and forth between Rick and Daryl, and after a second, he lets out a chuckle. "Looks like I might 'a got it wrong, little brother," he says after while. "Thinking Officer Friendly here had you whipped like a little puppy dog. Seems to me it might be the other way ar—"
Rick sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and he scarcely has time to blink before he's throwing out an arm and catching Daryl when he lunges at his brother.
"Shut the hell up!" Daryl shouts, and he throws all his weight into trying to get at Merle. There's a fire in him; Rick knows if he let him go, they might have one hell of a fight on their hands. And although Rick'd be more than happy to see Daryl beat some sense into his brother – or at least give it a good shot – he's seen what happens when the two of them fight. The whole point of this exercise is keeping Merle from doing any more damage than he already has. If that means Daryl can't do any in turn, then he reckons he'll just have to accept that.
Mercifully, Glen steps up. He's got Daryl's arm from behind, holding him back from taking a swing at his brother. At this distance, he'd probably hit. In the meantime, Rick's got his other side, and he's got an arm around his waist trying to manhandle him back a few feet. He wants to put as much space between the two of them as he can.
Daryl's not making it easy for him, though.
Merle, neither. "That's right. Down, boy," he jeers. "Listen to your buddy Rick."
"Fuck you!" And damned if Daryl's not the squirreliest bastard Rick's ever tried holding back, because even with Glen and Rick both holding him, he manages to get loose. He ducks his head down and lunges as his brother, catching him in the gut with his shoulder and tackling him back onto the stairs.
Rick swears and hurries forward just as quick as Daryl did. He grabs him, gets a hand under his arm and around his shoulder and grabs his belt with the other, but Daryl holds on tight. He's digging his feet into the ground, and he's got Merle around the middle, punching his sides. Merle's not just sitting and taking it, either; he brings his balled-up fist down on Daryl's back hard enough that Rick can hear the thud.
He does notice Merle doesn't use his knife. Maybe he'll appreciate that later. Right now, though, he's too bent on getting Daryl as far away as possible to pay it much mind.
"Daryl!" He wrenches him back, and Glen helps. They manage to pull him off, except he gets loose and sets right back on Merle again. "Dammit, come here!" The second time goes better, and together, he and Glen manage to drag Daryl back off his brother and onto his feet. Daryl starts towards him again, but Rick catches him with a hand on his chest, holding him out, and he can hear Merle getting up behind him.
"Still got some fight left in ya after all, huh, little brother?" Merle says, and Rick turns and shoots him a warning glance before turning back to Glen.
"Get him out of here," he tells him, and Glen nods. Truth be told, Rick knows that if Daryl really wanted to stick around, there wouldn't be a whole hell of a lot Glen, or hell, probably even Rick, could do to stop him. Not without things turning nasty. But thankfully, as Glen starts pushing Daryl back for the door to the cell block, he lets him. He keeps his eyes on his brother, and if looks could kill, Merle'd burst into flames. But he goes, and Rick's grateful for that. "Carol, go with them." She's got as good a shot as anyone at getting Daryl settled back down, and Glen could use all the help he can get.
Soon as she's clear, Rick turns back to Merle. He's smiling, and Rick feels his gut clench. He's trying so hard not to finish what Daryl started. "You're a real piece of work," he says.
"Mouthful coming from you, Officer Friendly." The smile falls, then, replaced with a scowl. "I shoulda killed you on that rooftop when I had the chance. 'Fore you screwed my brother up."
"You never had a chance," Rick says humorlessly. "And there's nothing wrong with your brother. Not a damn thing." He can see the argument forming on Merle's lips, and he doesn't want to hear it. If Merle can't see what's right in front of him, then that's on him. Rick's done putting up with it. "You stay here in this cell block 'til I say otherwise. You set one foot inside A-Block, I'll shoot you on sight."
And that's all he's got to say to him, so he leaves. He's got shit to do today, not the least of which's smoothing Daryl's ruffled feathers.
Speaking of….
Carol's waiting for him in the main room between the two cell blocks, her arms crossed and a frown on her face. Rick's about to ask her where Daryl got off to – he's not there – but she beats him to it. "He's already out by his bike. Hershel, too. They're ready to go."
Rick's not so sure about that, but he nods his thanks, anyway. It's time they got going, anyhow, so he makes sure to check his pistol, and then he heads out to join them. True to Carol's words, Hershel's already waiting for him in the car. He sees him first, but then Hershel nods to something behind him, and Rick glances over his shoulder to see Daryl standing over by his bike, crossbow already slung over his shoulder.
Rick turns back to Hershel. They don't exchange words; they don't need to. Hershel just nods, and Rick leaves him for a minute. He needs to talk to Daryl.
Daryl's pacing when he gets over to him, staring at his bike and chewing on his thumb nail like he's thinking real hard about something. It's the look he gets when there's something the matter with it, except it was working fine last night, so Rick can't help wondering if maybe it's not the bike that's got the problem.
"You okay?" he asks when he makes it over to him.
Daryl glances up at him, but then looks right back at his bike. He doesn't stop pacing.
It's gonna be like that, then, Rick realizes. Alright. He can deal with it.
He waits until Daryl starts his next round and cuts him off, a hand on his shoulder, and when Daryl tries to flinch back, he doesn't let him. "Hey," he says, "I need you right now, alright? This thing with the Governor – I need you with me."
"I got it," Daryl mumbles.
It's not his most convincing performance.
Rick sighs. "Daryl, what Merle said…"
"Leave it, Rick."
"No."
Daryl frowns. "It ain't a big deal, alright? He figured it out. Who the hell cares?"
Except Rick notices he's making a point of looking anywhere but at him, and even though Rick's holding him in place, he's shifting from foot to foot. He's worked up, miserable.
He's upset.
Merle really is a son of a bitch.
"He'll come around," Rick says.
A dry chuckle forces its way out of Daryl's throat. "You don't know my brother."
Rick thinks he knows him well enough. More than he'd like, for damn sure. But that's not what Daryl needs to hear right now. "Listen…I know he's your brother, and I understand that. But you need to understand that just 'cause he's your only blood, that don't mean he's your only family. Remember that. We're family, too."
Daryl doesn't say anything to that; Rick's not really expecting him to. But after a good long moment, he feels a little bit of the tension coiled in his shoulder ease up a little, and that's a start.
He sniffs, brushing his nose awkwardly with the thumb he's just finished chewing on, and Rick knows that's about as much of this line of conversation Daryl's gonna stand for. He thinks it's enough, though.
"So, we gonna do this thing, or not?" Daryl says, voice gruff as it ever is.
And Rick smiles, because even after that shit with his brother, he knows Daryl's with him.
