AN…Can you believe it? Another one. Hmmm, hoping that being a Sunday OS is where everyone has gone, though I can't work out what is better than reading fanfiction, LOL. Except for writing it maybe? Anyway, hope this one mixes it up some more….
Guest2—how wonderful to see you here. You must sign up! I am humbled that you risked the fic and ended up enjoying it anyway!
Part Eleven
Daryl is ignoring him. He's not college educated, but he doesn't need a degree to see that Daryl is pissed and hurting and avoiding Merle like he's caused it all. He might have reacted badly to this, might have acted out with a fist to the jaw or a kick in the ass—if he didn't know why Daryl was hiding.
Merle sits in his room, facing the wall and staring hard at the white stick that tells more secrets than he bets are hidden within these prison walls. He found it on the floor in the bathroom, pulled there with the sounds of Carol first sobbing then laughing as if her soul was about to crack. As soon as he saw it, as soon as she went quiet as he picked it up, he knew. And now Daryl is finding anything to do around the place that will take him out of the prison or deep within so he doesn't have to face anyone. Doesn't have to face Merle, or look at Carol.
Merle is concentrating so hard on the white chunk of plastic in his hand, hypnotised by the pink plus sign, that he completely misses the tell-tale sound of a man on crutches approaching his cell. He's too late to stash the test back under his pillow where he's had it hidden since the previous day, but he grinds his teeth and shoots the farmer a cold look as Hershel hobbles further into the cell. Hershel's gaze widens with comprehension of the pregnancy test Merle grasps tightly then switches to glance longingly at Merle's plain, prison-issue white walls.
"I see you didn't molest your own walls with a bit of colour," he says dryly and Merle smirks in appreciation of Hershel's humour.
"Peach ain't my colour, Farmer Joe."
"I'd say your interpretation of peach isn't anyone's colour, Merle." Hershel smiled knowingly before sitting himself down in the plain chair Merle has in the corner of his room. The one that Daryl has so far been the only one to sit on.
"The ladies seem to like it."
"Oh, you mean Carol?" Hershel's face is surely splitting with humour now and Merle just growls in warning. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to talk about Carol—not with these people. He knows what's coming…he's already been on the receiving end of a few of Hershel's sermons, but today is not the day he'll suffer another. Not the day after he's found out he's going to be a daddy after all. Not the day he's realised he's going to have to fight his brother for something they both want.
"Woman has taste. What can I say?" He just dares the old man to deny it.
"Oh, that she does. Carol is a fine woman."
There is a message in Hershel's tone that has Merle whipping his head up and shooting the man with a narrow-eyed glare.
"What? You wanna piece of her, too? Weren't two wives enough for you, old man? End of the fuckin' world and you want a piece of her ass as well?"
Hershel chuckled. "Sadly, that line is already far too long for her to handle and I know better than to try and stand in the way when the poor woman is as conflicted as she already is."
"What are you tryin' to say? Spit it out already. I got things to do."
Hershel is having a great old time if his big-assed grin tells the story, and Merle is debating with himself whether to pop gramps in the nose or crack his own smile at how fucked up the situation is.
"Daryl's a good man," Hershel starts, sitting still even as Merle rears back and squeezes his hand into a fist.
"You don't gotta tell me about my own brother." Decision made, the smile wiped completely from his thoughts.
Hershel ignores the outburst, his amused expression not even faltering.
"Those two share something special—a bond forged through a common ground, common experiences. But… There's a reason you got there first, son."
Eyes bugging, Merle stares at the old man, incredulous.
"Well, yeah," he admits as if Hershel is more crazy than Rick knows how to be. "It's called opportunity."
"Look around you, Merle. Plenty of places in a prison to find opportunity. An' the past year…we weren't always livin' on top of each other. Where there's a will, there's a way."
He's feeling a little like he's slipped into the Twilight Zone.
"What exactly are you tryin' to tell me? She's my little brother's woman. She loves him. What the fuck chance have I got, and why're you even encouragin' me to think I got one?" Merle's angry, frustrated, wants to declare to everyone that he's going to be a daddy and tell Carol herself how fucking over the moon he is at the prospect to change himself, to change for her and their kid, and knows that no matter what he wants, his fate has already been decided.
"I'm sayin' Daryl's a good man, but you're not a bad one—despite what you try to make us all believe. Carol obviously sees something in you or you wouldn't be holdin' her pregnancy test. It is hers, isn't it? Timin' seems about right for when you two went and killed the Governor to save us all."
There is a yearning so deep inside Merle that it causes him physical pain. He is no longer young, but he knows he still has enough vitality to be something, someone to a woman if she chose to care, and he wishes right in this moment that Carol does care. That she thinks of the babe forming in her belly and thinks of him in the same moment, a happy smile fluttering around her lips. A warmth in her heart.
"I've done some evil shit in my time," Merle admits, but Hershel's hand arcs in the air as if to sweep it all under the rug.
"Haven't we all?" he drawls and Merle wonders what kind of evil a man that looks like Santa's long lost brother could possibly have done in his life.
"My barn was full of walkers," he admits quietly and Merle launches to his feet in shock.
"Holy shit, Hershel. That's fuckin' crazy."
Hershel is nodding, and sadness has finally wiped the humour from his face. "When my wife and step-son turned, I believed there'd be a cure. We kept them in the barn, just waiting it out. There were others—Otis would go out and bring them in before they wandered onto my land. Otis…was a friend, but was killed trying to…well, it's a long story. Ask Rick or Glenn about it sometime," he orders Merle, obviously not up to the challenge of it himself, and Merle sits back down, listening intently, impressed as well as horrified. "Shane eventually got fed up and busted my barn open, an' your brother, Glenn, all of them except Rick shot all those…walkers. Made me own up to my own stupidity." He paused, as if it took immeasurable courage to admit the final thing on his mind. "Carol's daughter was in that barn."
Merle froze, recognising a moment of guilt for what it was and wondered if that was fuelling this touching moment of support or if Hershel really did believe Daryl wasn't the better man for Carol.
"That woman deserves happiness. I've been watchin' her this mornin'." Hershel stops, dabs at a bit of moisture in his eye and then he's back to smiling like nothing has ever happened. "She's happy, Merle. She's been singin' lullabies to Judith, rubbing her own belly, like she's hopeful. She deserves this chance and…well…as damaged as Daryl is, don't you think if it was going to happen, God would have pushed those two together long before now?"
"What's God got to do with it?" Merle asks, more curious at the old man's course of action now than ever.
"Everything happens for a reason," he says with unshakeable confidence and Merle nods, knowing this with a certainty he'd never have revealed to anyone. He knows there is a reason he was locked on that roof, why he'd been able to reach that saw and it was only sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone and not metal. He knows there's a reason why he found himself allied with the Governor, ended up back with his original group and his brother, and now he sees, there's a reason Carol came to him before he'd managed to clock Michonne on the head and taken her to exchange her life for theirs. There's a reason that woman slapped his bottle of booze from his hands the way she hadn't slapped his face away from hers when he'd kissed her, and he knows there's a reason why she's now knocked up with his youngin' preparing to do battle with her insides. He knows there's a fucking reason—he just doesn't know what the hell it is.
"Those two love each other, I don't doubt it," Hershel admits, his voice now intently trying to drive his point home. "Don't mean they're in love. Thing is, with their pasts, neither of them might know the difference."
He pauses, watches Merle as he thinks hard, eventually shaking his head at Hershel, more confused than ever. "The hell makes you think I know any different? Love weren't 'xactly thick on the ground where we came from."
"Guess that's up to you to work out. I have faith in you to do what's right—for all of you."
Merle is suddenly terrified. He's never had anything so important weighing on him before—relying on him to do what was right. He never did was right—not on purpose anyway.
Hershel uses his crutches to push himself upright and shuffles back toward Merle's door. He pauses before he leaves, blocking the light from bouncing off the little white stick Merle has once again in his open hands.
"And Merle, while you're out on your next run, look up some other colour for these walls. I can't be livin' out the rest of my days surrounded by pink. A nice, soft yellow might be nice." Hershel chuckles along the walkway to the rhythmic staccato of his crutch hitting the floor as Merle huffs out a dry laugh. He has to agree. The shade of peach he's painted everywhere was baking his eye sockets, not that he's going to admit it to anyone.
Merle is left not knowing what to think. Not knowing how to feel. In a moment of wisdom he knows it doesn't matter what he thinks or feels, it's all up to Carol. It's how she feels that will decide them all and then Hershel's observations won't mean a damn.
He's been particular to let things take their course for his baby brother, but it looks like Daryl is squandering his chance. The boy has barely made an appearance since he and Carol had been gone days together, and Merle is sure the idiot has barely laid a finger on her. Merle only has three fingers of his own but by fuck he makes them count.
He grins wickedly as he recalls exactly the last time he used his fingers to make Carol squirm and then squirms himself as his pants tighten around him. Maybe Hershel is wrong and those two do love each other in a way deeper than anyone knows, but maybe, just maybe the old man is onto something and it's this possibility that decides him. All's fair in love and war, and Merle thinks it's high time he gave love a real go. He's known war his whole life and he doesn't relish the idea of facing off against his baby brother, but this is his child, his blood and the kid deserves for Merle to step up and show people who he can really be. Merle deserves to find this out for himself as well, as in the dark about the outcome as everyone else will be.
This time he hears boots on the stairs and he slips the test stick under his pillow before Rick appears at his door.
"Got a job for you, if you're interested," Rick starts. No hello, good morning, howdy-do, just launches himself into leader mode and that shit amuses Merle like nothing else.
"Sure thing, Officer Friendly. I live to serve." Once upon a time he'd wanted to take over leadership of this ragtag little group—so much bigger back then, and his visions of grandeur had got him handcuffed to a pipe. Looking at Rick now, often kicked repeatedly in the ass by fate, looking like a good sleep and a hot meal might be the thing to do him in, Merle is happy to have sacrificed his hand for it.
Rick stares at him like he's got walker guts splattered all over his face and that the vision makes him sick. Merle straightens, comes to stand a foot away from Rick and then smirks as Rick backs a step away.
"I was thinkin'," Rick covers quickly, "now you've painted the whole place to look like a girl's nursery, maybe you could go out baby shoppin'. Get some real furniture for Judith: clothes, toys, baby bath. Take Carol. She'll know what to get."
Merle likes this idea, thinks again that everything happens for a reason, and nods even as a thought comes crashing down on him.
"Why're you not askin' Daryl? Where's the little shit disappeared to, anyways?" He wants to know how much damage he's going to have to wade through if he takes Carol out anywhere.
"He went out huntin', left this mornin' and said he might be gone a few days." Rick's already losing interest, now he's handed Merle a job to do, his distraction irritating Merle beyond reason.
"Nowhere 'round here with baby shit. Woman at Woodbury was expectin' so just about everything worth takin' is gone. We might have to go on a longer trip, too. You gotta map?"
Rick nodded, then as he started walking away, he shouted that he'd give it to Carol before bounding down the stairs out of sight. Merle hung over the railing and saw their leader high tailing it after Michonne as she headed out for watch, her katana bouncing against her tight ass. Merle chuckles, dirty images taunting him of Officer Friendly buried balls deep inside that ebony goddess, though his mirth chokes in his throat as Carol comes up the stairs with baby Judith cradled in her arms and the songbird skipping along behind her.
Carol hands the baby to Beth, takes several deep breaths—and he's honoured he has that effect on her—before she glances up and catches hold of him with a hot stare that decides him anew. She wasn't immune to his charms, not at all, and he wasn't angel enough not to use them if it might reel her in.
"Rick wants us to go on a run for baby shit. Better grab your stuff an' prepare for an' over-nighter. I'll meet ya out at the truck." He strides past her and she almost scorches him alive as his arm brushes against her. He wants to kiss her hard, give her a taste of what he has planned, and might have done if the songbird hadn't been right there watching the whole damn thing.
Carol's mouth drops open and she stares after him. "Now? But I just got back from a long run with Daryl."
"Sweetheart," he calls back, loving the blush that steals across her cheeks. "That was days ago. Now move your ass. I ain't knowin' how to choose baby shit on my own."
More notes: Just a quick explanation in case anyone thinks this is OOC for Hershel…I actually think Hershel would understand Merle more than he would Daryl. They have all come from abusive homes yet Hershel turned to alcohol—paralleling Merle's drug addiction. I hope you all can see it and I didn't kill any of your belief in me reading the characters.