MERLE

Dr. Stephens, as it turned out, had already turned in for the night, so Milton was left to raid her supplies in search of the tools he needed to tend to Merle's cuts. When Milton approached Merle with a needle, Merle put his hand on his pistol.

"Boy, don'tchoo step any closer with that thing. I know how you are with needles, an' I don't need you fuckin' up my face any more'n it already is. Just gimme a wad of gauze t'slap on an' I'll be good t'go."

"If you leave that exposed, it'll become infected," said Milton. "I know how to stitch up a wound, Merle, and I can take care of yours if you'd just sit still."

Merle backed up as Milton advanced with the needle held out like a weapon of mass destruction. "You hate needles, son, how'd you ever get t'be good at sewin'?"

"I don't mind the presence of needles as long as they're not being used on me," Milton explained. "Whereas it's different with blood. I can stomach my own blood, but the gorier it gets with other people, the queasier I become. Your cut is just deep, so I can manage it and I will manage it. Sit down and let me—"

Merle made a dash for the door, but then Milton called him off with a threat.

"If you don't come back here, I'll tell the Governor what happened in the lounge and then you and Crowley will be sharing jail time."

Never one to back down from a direct threat, Merle marched back in and came within half a foot of Milton's face. He expected Milton to have backed down in his cowardice, but Milton stood his ground, though with a shallow gulp.

"Say what now? Lemme hear ya say it again, Miltie, and we'll see what happens."

"I am well-versed in medical emergencies such as these and am perfectly capable of controlling my fear of needles to patch someone else up. You need to trust that I can do this and not be so prideful as to refuse help. By stitching you up, I can provide a reason as to why you needed me to help you in the first place. I'll tell the Governor that you broke something in the lab and it cut you, and since I was there with you, I took it upon myself to see to your wound. There's a ready-made alibi for you, which I know you hadn't yet thought of."

Merle wanted to argue, but in truth, Milton was right; he hadn't thought of an alibi for this cut on his cheek yet, and if the Governor found out that he'd been in a brawl with Crowley again, well, Merle was rather attached to the concept of living, and he wasn't exactly eager to give up on that. He sat down in one of the visiting chairs and Milton switched on a lamp beside him to see his cheek better.

Milton set to work on sewing up the cut and Merle only flinched when the needle would poke through his skin. He could see the concentration on Milton's face that was normally only apparent when Milton was going over his notes or performing an experiment. It was interesting to see how absorbed Milton could be in his work because it brought forth an entirely new expression to his face to replace the look of cowardice that occupied it ninety percent of the time. In addition to this look of attentiveness, Merle had also seen one of furious focus when he fired the shot into the air in the lounge. That was a side of Milton he'd never seen before, not even when out hunting for Michonne. If Milton displayed more of that bit of his personality, Merle probably wouldn't find the need to give him hell for having made it this far. Probably.

"Y'know, that's a nice alibi y'thought up for me, but what about Crowley?" asked Merle when Milton stopped to adjust the light.

"His face already looked like shit before he came into the lounge," said Milton, turning Merle's face slightly to pick out the next spot to stick the needle.

"He ain't gonna stop comin' at me every chance he gets," said Merle. "I done everythin' but kill 'im for everyone t'see, an' he's got my number. One've us's goin' down."

"It won't be you," Milton assured him. "There are witnesses to what happened on the wall and Crowley will be punished for them. He'll be quarantined or cut off from the rest of the town with limited rations—I'll make sure of that. Besides, the Governor values you more. If it comes to it, Crowley will be turned out of Woodbury."

"Think that's gonna keep 'im out? He's after my blood now, Miltie, an' by stickin' your neck out back there, y'just painted a red 'x' across your back."

"I wasn't helping you out in there. You're perfectly capable of getting yourself out of situations like that, especially if you're the one who got yourself into them in the first place."

"So that was all for Andrea, huh? She's grown on ya, hasn't she, Miltie? Startin' t'have impure thoughts about her?"

Milton stopped sewing to glare at Merle.

"You're despicable, you know that?"

"So that's a yes, then? I don't blame ya, Miltie, she's got that effect on people."

"Whether or not I am attracted to someone is none of your concern, and I'd appreciate it if you dropped the subject altogether because we've had this conversation before and I was no more eager to talk about it then than I am now. Consider it closed."

"I'm not sayin' it's a bad thing, Miltie. If she can getcha t'actually contribute some much-needed balls 'round here, I ain't stoppin' either've ya. In fact," Merle stood up to examine his cheek in the mirror as Milton finished off, "I'm inductin' you into Woodbury's army."

Milton looked terrified of the very idea. "Only the Governor can—"

"He will. God knows we need better specimen that the shit stains we've currently got guardin' the wall. An' the Governor don't care if whatcha do's dangerous, does he, Miltie? Sentcha out as Michonne bait, didn't he?"

Milton dropped his gaze as he responded with, "We've discussed that privately and put it behind us. My efforts go toward helping to find a cure."

"Ain't gonna happen, Miltie. The dead're dead an' they stay that way an' no cure's gonna be found in a second-rate makeshift lab. Y'wanna contribute, you're gonna start carryin' a gun."

/ /

"The hell happened to your face?" asked Martinez the next morning as Merle climbed the ramp to join him and five others on gate duty.

"Shit," said Merle dully.

"It's obvious it looks like shit, but how did said shit happen?" asked Benson and Merle shot a warning look at him to not put Merle's patience to the test this early in the morning. Benson knew damn well what had happened to Merle's face—he'd been the one to do it too—but Merle couldn't very well tell the rest of the guards that. Resigned to the fact that he had to use Milton's suggested alibi, Merle briefly explained how he'd accidentally knocked over some lab equipment and caused a vial of something flammable to explode so that the beaker cut him across the face as it shattered.

"I thought you weren't allowed in the lab on your own," laughed one of the other guards.

"Yeah, well you're not allowed within ten feet of it, so shove it up your ass," said Guerrero, joining Merle on the wall. He had something that looked suspiciously like powder on his lower jaw and Merle suspected that Erica had helped him cover the bruise he sustained during the scuffle last night so that he too wouldn't need an alibi.

"Dixon's always full've surprises, though, isn't he?" Kendall pointed out, egging Merle on. "Exploding lab equipment, beating the hell outta Crowley, refusing the company of the good ladies of Woodbury."

"I heard he even turned Becky down," said Martinez. "Hell, Merle, we've all had Becky at some point; what stopped you from nose-diving down her pants? Couldn't get it up?"

"Naw, he's got a hard-on for the blonde one," said Kendall. "I don't blame 'im neither. She's a fine piece've ass. I'd bang her hard."

The other soldiers began to try and outdo one another by listing the sexual things they would do if they had Andrea to warm their beds. Merle had partaken in this sort of banter before regarding other bachelorettes of Woodbury, but this time, he didn't find it remotely amusing. Maybe it was because he knew Andrea to some extent and knew that she'd never be so submissive as to allow the men to handle her in such a way and the thought of her being belittled to a plaything when she had built up such a strong presence was actually quite infuriating to Merle.

He was actually considering using Benson as a punching bag to further let out last night's frustrations when he felt something digging into his ribs and turned to see Guerrero pressing the nozzle of his rifle into Merle's side.

"What?" asked Merle.

"You look like you're about to commit murder, dude. Get outta here; go pick up Michonne's trail and follow it out as far as you want, but don't come back 'til you're cooled down."

"I thought y'all ran her outta Georgia for good?"

"We thought so too, but Benson said it looked like she might've doubled back. In any case, we don't get to forget about it until the trail goes cold. But I'm more concerned about getting you off the wall and outta Woodbury for a few hours. Go on, dude, I'll cover your shifts."

Merle started to go, still hearing the guards debate on whether or not Andrea was into multiple partners at once, and he started to double back, but Guerrero blocked his way.

"You pull another Crowley and the Governor's gonna feed your ass to the biters, dude. They're not worth it, alright? It doesn't matter what they say about your girl; they can't put their hands on her."

"She ain't my girl," said Merle quickly.

"Well, they don't know that, so keep up the ruse. Hell, dude, they still sexualize Erica when she's not around to hear it, and I've been with her for eight months now, but I don't go picking a fight every time one of them starts talking about fucking her to make his dick seem bigger. You just gotta learn to walk things off, so go walk it off. If you don't look for Michonne, keep an eye out for CJ's group because they should've been back yesterday."

Merle heard Benson mention something about bedposts and chains and Guerrero shoved him the rest of the way down the ramp. "Go. Now."

/ /

Merle didn't see why Guerrero cared if Merle decided to go on a rampage atop the wall toward everyone who'd talked about banging Andrea. Guerrero wasn't phased by anything; it was easy for him to tell someone else to walk away, but the fact that he'd actively prevented Merle from losing control was quite interesting. It wasn't often that the men of Woodbury's army showed any compassion for other people at all since the Governor had a habit of choosing men who had little to no emotional ties to anyone else, only that hadn't worked out so well since Guerrero and Erica had indeed been together for quite a while and then there was Tate and Wes to consider…

But then again, if the soldiers had any emotional ties, they were to other soldiers and not civilians, which was why Guerrero, Erica, and the twins managed to stay on as soldiers. If Merle ever found Daryl as he hoped to, Daryl would become part of the army, but that was only if they chose to stay in Woodbury rather than try to make it on their own like Merle had intended from the start. He didn't want Woodbury to see him as he really was, and that side to him would certainly come out once he was reunited with his brother. After all, this was all for Daryl, or until he found Daryl, wasn't it? Befriending Andrea, looking out for the best interest of Woodbury's citizens, putting Crowley in his place, asserting his place as the beta of the town only beside the Governor (for the time being)? It was all just for show until he found Daryl, wasn't it?

Merle turned off the road to enter the gas station Guerrero and the twins had set off the alarm to, figuring he'd scan the place over for any supplies he might have missed on previous runs. The door was ajar, so he brought out his pistol and leveled it on his metal shell, preparing to take out the odd biter that might have wandered in. As he moved toward the counter, he heard a rustling from the other side and knelt down to listen for a moment.

The sound didn't seem to be uncoordinated, but deliberate, which suggested that whatever was on the other side of the counter wasn't dead. He poked his head over the counter and came face to face with the tip of a sword point.

"Well, ain't that a bitch," said Merle, watching the sword's owner rise with him as she pointed the tip of her katana at him. "And here I was hopin' you'd gone for good so we wouldn't haveta huntchoo no more."

"You admit you're still hunting me, then," said Michonne stonily.

"If by huntin', y'mean steerin' ya outta the state, then yeah. Y'weren't worth the trouble then, an' y'ain't worth it now, so fuck it. I ain't fightin' t'day, sweetheart; too damn tired an' distracted."

"I see someone cut you good," Michonne observed. "I hope it hurts like hell."

"I got it protectin' your girl," said Merle, relishing the look of surprise on Michonne's face at this statement. "Oh, yeah, we're gettin' along just fine." He flicked out his tongue and licked his lips seductively at her because he knew it would infuriate her in not knowing if Merle was telling the truth or not.

"You stay away from her or—"

"Look, hot stuff, whatever me'n Andrea done together ain't none've your business, huh? You're the one who left her an' she's adjusted real well. Protected the town when a biter horde came through an' she's makin' new friends, but she got herself a position up on the wall snipin' biters an' one've the guards took advantage of that. I put myself out there for her, an' she appreciates that, but she ain't stupid, so she knows when t'keep quiet an' play nice, unlike you. Y'couldn't keep that scowl off your face."

"Because I know what's going on behind the scenes like how you murdered those soldiers and how the Governor's a sick, twisted son of a bitch," said Michonne. "And you who follow him are just as bad."

"Define 'bad'," said Merle.

"You," Michonne responded.

"Well, fuck it," said Merle, and he put his pistol down on the counter. "I ain't here t'convince you've nothin', honey. I'm just out doin' my rounds, lettin' off steam, an' lookin' for m'brother, so unless you can help me with any've them, we'd best be on our ways now. Take that there pistol, you'll need it."

"I don't do well with guns," said Michonne, eyeing the weapon suspiciously. "And the second I reach for it, you'll pop off a bullet in my head from the second one you've got stored in the back of your belt."

"Naw, you're thinkin' of Guerrero, honey. Ol' Merle's only got the one. Lemme show ya, easy now, alright?" Merle lifted his overshirt and then put his hand and metal shell atop his head, revolving on the spot so Michonne could see that he'd only come with the one pistol. When he turned back around, Michonne had lowered his sword slightly.

"Why're you toning down your level of asshole-ness now?" she asked.

"Like I said, me'n Andrea get along just fine, an' she thinks you're alright, so y'ain't no bother t'me s'long as the Governor don't know we had this conversation, which means y'better skidaddle. But if we cross paths again an' I'm with other people, I'mma look out for my own ass—y'know what that means."

"Why not just kill me now so you don't have to worry about the possibility of coming across me later?"

"'Cause there ain't no reason t'kill ya now. Ain't no gain in it and you'd be a waste've a bullet. An' honest t'God, I'm so sick've killin' people just 'cause the Governor gives the word."

Merle picked his pistol up, stored it in his belt, and started for the door.

"There's a faded green car in front of Woodbury," said Michonne. "Starting tomorrow, look in the glove compartment every five days for a message from me. There won't be any information that you or the Governor would be able to decipher, but it'll be for Andrea if you find something there. It won't hurt her if she never gets it, but if you're feeling more like you are now and less like a dick, give Andrea that message."

Merle said nothing, walking through the doorway and back out into the sunlight. He followed the road back to Woodbury, wondering if he might have just signed his own death warrant in allowing Michonne to go free. If the Governor ever found out that Merle had not only seen her, but been close enough to kill her and didn't, Merle's head would be on a spike at the front of the gate.

You dumb fuck, he thought to himself. Of all days, today had to be the one in which he'd chosen to feel merciful after going eleven months without having an inkling of the stuff for anyone outside of Woodbury and not that much for the people inside Woodbury either. Now was not the time to be feeling—

He heard shouts coming from up the road and broke into a jog, rounding the corner just in time to see a gaggle of biters fall upon two men just outside the gate.