MERLE:
No part of the prison was stamped and certified property, but Merle thought that this one room could be his, shut away from everyone when he needed space. Only Daryl and Hershel had come down here to talk with him because everyone else had deemed it "Merle's Space" without actually saying it aloud. At the moment, however, Mere's Space was occupied by someone other than Merle.
Milton was stabbing the table in the corner repeatedly with his knife. Apparently he hadn't summoned the courage to retrieve the more useful weapons he had dropped out by the perimeter but the force he put into each stab made it appear that the table had done him a personal wrong. He didn't even look up as Merle approached and only stopped when Merle dropped his automatic in front of him, making an echoing clang in the confined space.
"How goes it, Mystery Man?"
Milton looked nonplussed, twirled his knife around between his surprisingly steady fingertips. Normally when Merle saw such focus from Milton the latter was tinkering with something complicated and uninteresting in his lab back at Woodbury. Weapons made him shaky, made his concentration slip, so what made the knife so special?
"Mystery Man?"
"You're givin' everybody whiplash up top, man. No one can figure you out and with the Governor pitchin' his new threat, this ball game just got a whole lot more interestin'. Everybody's gotta take your word for it that he just spared you death so you could come runnin' in t'tell us that the kids have a 'get-outta-jail-free card'. I ain't buyin' that bullshit. The Governor knows damn well t'was you who helped Andrea escape and if he ain't sore with you right up there 'long with me'n her, I'll eat my other hand."
"He never said he wasn't angry with me," Milton interjected. "And he didn't have to. I could read clearly enough on his face."
"Makes no difference. How's the rest've the group s'posed t'know if you'n him made some sorta deal and you're just lyin' through your pearly white teeth?"
"I don't think they share in that sentiment quite to the amount that you do," said Milton a bit boldly. "If I had made a deal with him, wouldn't it make sense for me to go back to Woodbury with him and not involve myself in the dirty work? And even if I had gone with him, there's little information I could give him that he doesn't already have for himself. Phillip has washed his hands of me, or is the bandage on my head not evidence enough? My priorities are to fight back and ensure the safety of this group, not to tuck tail and run."
"Yeah, and when your buddy had me'n Daryl pitted against each other in a fight t'the death, what'd you do, huh? What'd you do, Milton? Not a damn thing. Y'stood there and let it happen."
"What was I supposed to do? Michonne had just killed his daughter and he was in a mad rage. He wanted your blood because you lied to him about Michonne and you know damn well that my voice wasn't going to sway him in that decision." Milton's voice had only risen slightly, but that blank-slate expression was the last straw for Merle.
"The hell's wrong with you, man?" he blurted out, sick of talking to a man with all the facial gestures of a brick wall.
"I have autism spectrum disorder."
Merle blinked.
"In a nutshell it means that I have difficulty relating to people," said Milton in a bored voice as if he had had to explain himself many times over.
"So you're sayin' that you'n people don't click," Merle summarized.
"I'm saying I know I'm not worth the time to stress over for anyone. I know that you still think I'm wishing I had stayed in Woodbury, but because of your deception, Phillip started this war and people have gotten killed. He's going to take out his revenge on this entire prison because of it and you'll be responsible for everyone's death, including your brother's."
Merle came within three inches of Milton's face, using every ounce of self-restraint to not pummel his ass into the ground. "Keep my brother outta this, man. Y'don't give a shit 'bout no one in this prison. Y'may have 'em all convinced that you'd take a bullet for 'em, but I know better."
"I think you're jealous that they accepted me as a stranger more willingly than they accepted you the second time around," said Milton coldly.
Managing a very sarcastic and dangerous smile, Merle shook his head. "Even with that disorder've yours, I can see it in your eyes every time y'look at Andrea. You'd bang her hard if y'had the balls to. But she might still be harvestin' feelins for the Governor and she don't give a damn 'boutchoo in that aspect. She's leadin' you on, Miltie, and you're fallin' head over heels for her bullshit."
Milton shoved Merle hard in the chest, fury and hatred burning in his eyes the likes of which Merle had never seen before. Merle laughed, though he felt strangely sick for doing it. "Now, that's more like it. Little fight in ya when someone insults your girl."
"Shut up," Milton snarled.
"Stick up for y'self, Miltie. You're angry, that's good. Feels nice t'feel, know what I'm sayin'? Careful on how y'use that anger though, it might getcha into trouble."
"You're the last person in this world to lecture anyone on anger. Back off and leave me the hell alone. What fun do you get out of tormenting me?"
"Hell, I don't do it for fun, man. I'm tryin' t'help ya, see. Y'keep whatcher feelin' bottled up for too long and it'll backfire on ya. I'm givin' ya a chance t'let it out now. Scream'n bitch at me all y'want, it'll do ya some good."
"It won't solve anything and the only person I'm angry at is you, but I won't resort to violence just because you goad me into it. I'm not going to throw a punch because you're a simple-minded bully."
"Then you'll be quick bait f'your pal when he comes knockin' on our door. Who's gonna watch your woman's back then, huh?"
Milton swung at Merle, catching him in the ear and making an odd ringing sound go off so that Merle was temporarily dazed. He jabbed his elbow into Milton's stomach, caught his wrist and twisted it to breaking point so that Milton was forced to drop his knife. Merle grabbed a fistful of Milton's hair, and slammed him into the wall with his blade attachment at his throat.
"Hit me again, Mamet, and this blade's goin' right through your Adams apple."
All the fight was gone from Milton's face, wiped clean as if it had never been present.
Damn, you're good, son.
"Well? Ain'tcha got nothin' t'say?"
"Not to you. After what I did today, I don't have to prove myself to anyone, least of all you. Your opinion in this matter is of no consequence."
"Is that a fact?" Merle pressed the blade harder against Milton's jugular, drawing blood. "Big talk for someone who ain't got the guts t'shoot the man out for his blood."
"Go ahead," Milton prompted. "You're not hurting this group by finishing me off."
"I ain't spineless enough t'kill an unarmed coward."
"That's not what Glenn would say."
Merle didn't know how Milton had found out about his skirmish with Glenn, but for once he was not avoiding eye contact and it made Merle uncomfortable. The intensity and accusation in that stare was abnormal and jarring enough to make Merle release his hold. Milton didn't move.
"Milton, are you down here?"
Andrea strode in through the open door but stopped in her tracks at the sight of the two of them standing close enough to throttle each other and it didn't help that a trickle of blood was seeping into Milton's shirt collar. Her mouth dropped open in shock and with a quick glance at Milton, Merle took charge of the situation.
"Step out for a few, wouldja? I need t'finish a private conversation with m'buddy here."
"Why is he bleeding?" Andrea demanded.
"Everyone bleeds, Blondie, now git."
Andrea's hand went to her side where she kept her Walther P99 but Milton spoke up at the last second. "No, Andrea, it's okay. I'll be out in a moment."
Shooting Merle a look that promised him a slow and painful death if anymore harm befell Milton, Andrea backed out, but Merle dropped his voice to a whisper for safety.
"What'd the Governor tell you 'bout her?" he asked Milton.
"I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Yes, y'do. Fess up, boy, or whatever you're 'fraid of's gonna happen to her will. Y'know y'can't protect her on your own."
A fleeting moment of stubbornness later, Milton relented. "I was encouraged to kill her before Phillip gets to her. He implied that death by my hand would be merciful."
"That son've a bitch," Merle snarled. "What's your plan, then, Miltie? What d'you think your chances are?"
Milton shrugged, though it was a hopeless gesture. "I'll do what I can."
"Yeah, 'cause that'll keep her safe. Look here, I got nobody but my brother t'look after and you ain't worth a red piss t'me, but somethin' we got in common is her. She tried t'help me get back t'Daryl and if I ain't nothin' else, I'm a man who pays back in kind. I'll keep an eye on her on account've two things: one is thatchoo step up your game 'cause, son, it's weak as hell; and two, y'stay the hell outta my way and don'tchoo never swing at me again."
"Fair enough."
"Good. Y'can start by clearnin' out and don't let me catchoo down here again."
Milton needed no second urging and Merle sent him on his way but not before handing him back his knife.
He could stick ya with that, Merle told himself. If Milton had proved one thing it was that he held more stock in that seemingly useless weapon than anything or anyone else in the prison besides Andrea and a man loyal to his weapon could do unspeakable things with it if prompted to.
