MERLE

As Merle suspected, Andrea needed very little instruction on the proper handling of guns, not that he didn't try to give her pointers to improve on her stance and positioning as she practiced in the small blocked-off section of the town specifically set up for training. The Governor had allotted for Merle to spend the whole day training her, but by nine o'clock, there was little left to teach her in the ways of regular artillery. She would need to climb to a higher rank if she wanted to handle the big toys.

Still, he kept her on shotguns until he was satisfied that she could shoot at waist-level, eye-level, and one-handed. She had a habit of locking both of her legs forward when using the one-handed technique, and Merle kept having to prod her hip to make her step up slightly so that her back leg could take the recoil. When she failed to follow this instruction for the third time, Merle stepped in behind her, put his hand on one side of her waist and the flat side of his metal shell on the other, and moved her into the proper position, holding for at least ten seconds to be sure that she got the message.

"Y'don't give yourself that extra step, y'gonna knock y'self flat on your ass an' then all that fancy shootin' won't count for nothin' when the biters getcha."

"Thanks, I got it, you can let go now," said Andrea, nudging his hand off of her hip with the butt of the shotgun.

"He just can't resist," said Guerrero, lumbering into the training area with the twins behind him. All three of them had dark circles under their eyes and were rather pale in the early summer sunlight, but they were whole and unscathed.

"Took ya long enough," Merle observed. "Stop for a coffee break on the way back?"

"Had to run 'em out another four miles past where we thought we could lose 'em," said Wes, the buzz-cut one and taller of the twins. "They kept wanting to turn back. We finally managed to shake 'em at the turnpike, but by then, we knew the engines would just attract 'em back with us, so we turned the bikes off and waited it out in the trees."

"You spent the night up in the trees?" said Andrea, sounding both impressed and sympathetic.

"Well, it wasn't like we had a lot of options," Guerrero reasoned. "Tate ruined any chance we had in trying to get into the gas station right off the highway. He bumped the damn alarm system and Wes had to distract the biters while I dismantled it this morning, otherwise another horde would've gathered by now."

"It was hard to see; he didn't know," Wes defended.

"He had the headlights right over the door!"

"Honest mistake," said Wes.

"Why don't you let Tate speak for himself?" asked Andrea, and in the uncomfortable silence that followed, Guerrero shook his head.

"You need to brush up on the townsfolk, dude," he told Andrea. "Tate don't talk. He's a mute; got his tongue cut out when he was a kid."

Andrea looked embarrassed, but Tate waved her mumbled apology off. His ponytail had loose strands of hair coming out, giving him the appearance of an exhausted and disheveled puppy in addition to his droopy eyes and pouty lips. Despite this, he was a rather optimistic man with the mannerisms of a child sometimes. When the situation called for it, he could hold his own in a fight, but other times, he acted as innocent and young as the other set of twins in Woodbury, Nathan and Nina.

"We communicate by sign language sometimes, but for those people who don't know how, he has a small whiteboard he carries on him so he can write down quick messages," explained Wes. "It's not the best solution, but it's all we've got."

Tate signed something to Wes and though Merle had only known the twins for some eleven months, he had picked up on some of the signs they used. This one he recognized, though he didn't feel threatened by it because Tate was too childish and naïve to match up with Andrea.

"He says you're very attractive," said Wes and Andrea beamed. It wasn't a forced smile, either, but one that Merle understood to mean genuine appreciation.

"That's real cute," said Guerrero. "You two wanna pull your heads outta your asses and come make the report with me?"

When they had gone, Andrea was still smiling and Merle snapped his fingers in front of her face to bring her back to reality.

"Whatchoo smilin' at?"

"Nothing," said Andrea, not troubling to hide the beam plastered to her face.

"Don't tell me y'fell for the mute's doey-eyed act."

That wiped the smile right off of Andrea's face and she reserved a scathing look for Merle before she returned to her defensive shooting stance. "I thought it was cute. He seems like a good person and I'd like to get to know him better."

"Y'best leave 'im alone. He's not big on talkin' to other people."

"You're an asshole, you know that? I know he's not big on talking to other people, and I don't care. I've dealt with mutes before and he's the nicest one I've met."

"He ain't worth your time if y'wanna be headin' up that military ladder, Blondie. Puttin' aside time t'spend figurin' him out ain't worth it when y'gotta conserve all your energy for your trainin'."

Andrea lowered her shotgun slightly. "What do you mean he's not worth my time?"

"He's like a golden retriever, sweetheart; he's loveable and he aims t'please, but when it comes t'actin' his age, he's stupid."

Andrea blasted her target and then shoved the shotgun into Merle's hands. "Well, if he's been hanging around you for the past eleven months, I can see where he gets it from."

She stomped off toward the infirmary and Merle waited until she was out of sight to kick the wall in frustration. Andrea might be one hot piece of ass, but her mood swings gave Merle whiplash and what had started out as a constructive morning had ended in a heated argument on account of Tate the Human Retriever.

/ /

Merle had the nine to midnight shift at the back wall and spent his time pacing, going over his argument with Andrea in his head and wondering what he might have said differently to get a more favorable outcome. He hadn't meant to make Tate look like a complete moron, but of course his words came out that way because even puppy-dog-eyed Tate could make Merle jealous when the former made Andrea smile so warmly while she still regarded Merle with exhausted tolerance at best. Not that Merle thought Tate and Andrea would ever amount to an item, but the mute was more successful in getting people to like him without even trying and here was Merle a year after meeting Andrea with still no luck on moving past the dugout on his journey to make a home run.

And if he was completely honest with himself, it hadn't felt good putting Tate down to try and make himself appear as the better candidate either because Tate was exactly what Andrea had said he was: a good person. The kids adored him, the adults respected him, and the Governor admired him because Tate was always busy contributing somehow. He would take Mrs. Nedemeyer's dog for a walk on days where her old legs couldn't take the strain; he would get up early even on days where he didn't have a morning shift and water the flower beds, prep the coffee bar, restock supplies and weapons, clean the windows, dust the front porches, rinse out the bedpans in the infirmary, or play his banjo on a bench in the middle of town. He was a bright, sunny presence on the dreariest of days and Merle should have been happy for Andrea that she'd been subjected to Tate's cheery personality.

But he wasn't because Tate managed to do naturally what Merle had struggled to do all his life and that was make people like him.

"Lonely back here, isn't it?"

Merle turned to see Becky, the town's most flirtatious woman (and privately, Merle and the other soldiers would call her the town's prostitute) climbing the ladder to join him on the wall. She had wavy raven hair that came halfway down her back and even in the apocalypse, still insisted on wearing gobs of black mascara and eye shadow. She had most recently left Crowley's bed after about two months rooming with him and it was a known fact that she was on the prowl for someone else to take her in.

"Ain't lonely if y'don't want no one around," said Merle, in no mood to flirt with her.

"So Andrea's joined the army, then?" asked Becky, pretending not to hear him.

"She's in the rotation, so I'd take that t'mean duh. She's s'posed t'relieve me in about fifteen minutes."

"Even after she found out that the Governor sent you to kill her friend?" said Becky slyly.

Merle rounded on her. "Who toldja that?"

"Crowley."

"Who told him?"

"No one. He overheard it when Elliot and Fletcher were talking."

Merle didn't see what harm it would do in having Becky know about the Governor's true methods; it didn't affect him. He turned back to watch the street below.

"I saw you training Andrea earlier," said Becky when Merle was silent for a whole minute.

"She don't need no trainin'. I's just showin' her the right way t'hold a shotgun."

Out of the corner of his eye, Merle saw Becky step in closer to him. "You were mighty touchy-feely with her just to show her how to position a shotgun. You should be ashamed of yourself." But she said it with a grin that Merle could actually hear since he was still partially ignoring her by not acknowledging her presence beside him. "Why don't you show me how to shoot properly?"

"Y'wanna join up with the army, y'gotta ask the Governor. Ain't my call."

"I don't want to join the army; I want lessons on how to shoot so that I'm prepared for disaster," said Becky and Merle felt her arm against his.

"Crowley knows how t'shoot, go ask 'im."

"It's not Crowley I want to learn from, though," said Becky, and she grabbed Merle's crotch.

Merle stepped back and shoved her hand away, but she followed him, smirking at his reaction. As close as three weeks ago, Merle might have taken her up on that offer in a heartbeat after going so long without any sexual relief, but now he just found it revolting. He couldn't say why, but the thought of sharing the same bed as a woman who'd been with Crowley and Martinez was not an appealing thought at all. He'd never set standards for himself—a woman was a woman—but in the past, his one-night stands had seen him wake up to a morning of snorting coke and if there was one thing he didn't need reminding of, it was narcotics.

He didn't want a woman just to have a woman; he wanted it to be worth his while. His abstinence in the past year had caused his desires to need something more fulfilling than just a body to stick his dick in. What he wanted was something that felt familiar in a positive way, something that promiscuous, silver-tongued, clueless Becky didn't have. Now that the end of the world had come, Merle had unknowingly set the bar and he wanted a woman who wasn't looking to hide behind him or cower from the biters. He wanted a woman who could hold her own and not rely on him to protect her; someone who could be his equal in battle. Someone who knew who he really was underneath this façade the Governor had manufactured for him.

"Jumpy, aren't you?" said Becky teasingly, taking one step forward for every step back of his. "You know, all the men in the army have someone to warm their beds at night except for you, Merle. And since your shift ends in just a few minutes, I was wondering if you'd like me to be there for you tonight to keep you warm."

"It's summer—already fuckin' hot 'nough in my room. Sorry, but no thanks."

"Then we won't need the blankets, will we?"

Becky had backed Merle into the wall and put her hand on his crotch again, rubbing it tantalizingly, but Merle found that he was not even slightly aroused. It was not lust he felt, but the same feelings he always had when people he didn't particularly like touched him against his will: terror and anger. He put his hand out to push her away, but she took it and brought it down between her legs.

Alright, that's fucking enough.

Merle shoved her and she stumbled back, all sense of play gone from her face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Dixon?"

"Fuck's wrong with you? I toldja no, now back the fuck off."

"Don't tell me you've gone celibate. I know you still want a nice, long, dirty fuck, so what's holding you back?"

Merle didn't have a ready answer, but as he glanced off to the side, he saw Andrea walking toward the wall to take over his shift. Becky followed his gaze and if ever a woman had a resting bitch face, she did as she saw what Merle was looking at.

"Really? That's who you want to fuck?"

"Y'know what she's got goin' for her, she ain't you," said Merle, hoping his words stung.

"Fuck you, asshole," said Becky, flipping him the bird as she went to the ladder and started to climb down as Andrea was climbing up. "Move, bitch," she snapped at Andrea.

Andrea stepped aside so that Becky could reach the ground and storm off. Wide-eyed in bewilderment, Andrea climbed up and nodded in Becky's direction. "What was that all about?"

"Skank couldn't take a hint," said Merle, relieved that he hadn't had to resort to physical violence to get her to back off.

"You turned her down?" said Andrea incredulously. "Well, that doesn't sound like Merle Dixon at all. I thought you weren't particular about your fuck buddies."

"She's hit every bachelor in town," said Merle, plopping down on a tier of tires that doubled as a shield against snipers from below. "Ain't my type."

"I thought your type just needed to have a vagina," said Andrea, sitting on the tier next to him.

"I ain't lookin' t'get STD's in the apocalypse. Gimme more credit than that, Blondie."

"Then give her more credit. Maybe she wasn't always so floozy before the outbreak, maybe she was. Maybe that's how she learned to take care of herself, by offering up her body. If that's what she's had to do to survive, don't judge her based off of it."

"I ain't judgin' her for that. I turned 'er down 'cause she's a bitch. Moody, selfish, sexually harassin' people—"

"So the female version of you," Andrea guessed.

Merle opened his mouth to retort, but closed it almost instantly. She had him there, only, from his perspective, it had seemed like an acceptable thing to do as long as he was the one doing and not receiving any of those negative qualities. Leave it to Andrea to bring up feminism at world's end.

"You did more than just turn her down, though, didn't you? I saw you push her."

"She was gropin' me," said Merle defensively. Andrea raised an eyebrow in an unasked question that clearly said, And that didn't get you off? "And no, it didn't. I told 'er t'leave me alone'n she came at me despite it."

"Sound familiar?"

"Don'tchoo accuse me've bein' a rapist, woman," said Merle, standing up in fury. "I may be rough in the sheets an' downright mean with words, but I ain't somebody who goes 'round feelin' people up or puttin' my hands on 'em after they say t'back the fuck off. I don't hit people unless they deserve it."

Andrea got to her feet, slow to rise and come up to his eye level with a look that suggested that she was trying to read him…again. "I never said you hit her, Merle. I never said you were a rapist either. I only suggested that your sexual innuendos don't stop when someone doesn't show interest. What did you think I meant?"

"It don't matter," said Merle dismissively. Andrea was trying to get him to spill more intimate details and he wasn't in the mood now or ever to discuss that.

"You know," said Andrea, dropping her gaze to look out at the woods beyond the walls, "When I was on the farm, Daryl got hurt looking for Sophia. He needed stitches and the man who owned the farm, Hershel, patched him up. I saw Daryl's back then and I can shoot for an accurate guess on what happened to him."

"What was wrong with his back?" asked Merle swiftly. What had Andrea seen that Merle never had? Come to think of it, how had Merle never seen his brother's bare back and whatever was there for Daryl to hide?

"You mean you don't know?"

And suddenly, Merle was afraid for his baby brother for something that Merle suspected had happened long ago. Here at the end of the world, so much worse could happen to Daryl than could have happened before, but Merle was fearful of what Andrea was about to tell him because if it was the same thing that Merle thought it was, he had failed ten times over as a brother.

"Someone beat him badly," said Andrea, watching Merle for reaction. "He has scars and old welts like someone took a belt to him when he was young."

Oh, god.

The bastard had done it to Daryl too. Daryl, who was only eight years old, nine years Merle's junior when Merle left. Merle had taken it for eight years of his own, too weak and small to fight back or even think of leaving, but when he did, he thought Daryl at least would be safe. The old man never showed such hatred toward Daryl as he did for Merle.

"It happened to you too, didn't it?" asked Andrea. "Whoever it was, they hit you hard enough to leave marks and you spent however long it was being terrified of anyone's touch."

"Don't do that," Merle snapped. "Don't act like a goddamn shrink."

"You reacted to Becky groping you by shoving her and almost knocking her on her ass. If you'd done anything else, she'd be reporting you to the Governor. You were willing to do it, though, because your brain is hardwired to defend yourself when someone puts their hands on you. It doesn't matter if it's a woman trying to seduce you or someone clapping you on the shoulder to tell you that you did a good job; everyone's touch reminds you of what happened to you."

"I'm closin' this down right now," Merle warned. "We're done talkin' about it."

"You can trust me, Merle."

Merle held up the metal shell attached to the stump of his right arm. "Can I, Blondie. Can I?"

Andrea deliberated a moment, but then found her rebuttal. "Yes, you can, because I know who shot Elliot and why, and I haven't told the Governor about that or the fact that you're planning on dumping this place to look for Daryl as soon as you find out what you need to from the farm."

Merle should have been furious with her for not only figuring out the part about Elliot, but also because she would use that information against him, but instead, he found himself impressed against his will.

"Y'blackmailin' me, Blondie?"

"If you mean that I'm trying to help you not be such a dick by reminding you why you can already trust me to help you, then yes, I am," said Andrea stoutly.

"Not bad."

Merle handed her his rifle and she slung the strap over her shoulder.

"I guess I'll see you in the morning, then," said Andrea, but as Merle went around her to get to the ladder, he reached under her shoulder to set the rifle more comfortably in the crook of her arm. Andrea frowned slightly at him.

"I'm goin', I'm goin'," said Merle, starting his awkward descent one rung at a time.

"What did you say to her right before she walked off?"

"Huh?"

"What did you say to Becky?"

"She wanted t'know why I didn't perk up when she touched me. Wondered why her charms weren't workin'."

"But what did you say?"

Merle looked up at Andrea and smirked. "I told her I had my eyes on somebody else."