Daryl was very happy that he didn't have to work the next day and he knew that Merle wouldn't be working either. Merle would be calling in sick, and from the looks of it, it wouldn't be a far cry from the truth.

What was definitely clear, Daryl thought as he sat on the counter in the kitchen while Merle somewhat paced about the confined area carrying a whisky bottle as a security blanket, was that neither of them were getting any sleep at all, and neither of them were getting much of anything else.

Andrea was pissed. That much would have been obvious to a blind man and Daryl thought the whole thing was ridiculous. She'd stormed home when they'd been trying to walk both her and Carol home from the Water Ho, and before either Merle or Daryl knew quite what was happening, Andrea had made her way out of the apartment with her arms full of clothes and other random items and had stormed right into Carol's apartment, slamming the door.

Daryl knew that there had been some kind of fight, though he hadn't been privy to the details. Andrea had asked to see Merle, and she'd escorted him around back of the bar, taking it outside. Daryl had stayed firmly glued to his barstool, deciding that his brother could handle his own disputes, especially when they were disputes between himself and the woman that he claimed to have no genuine interest in.

During Merle's absence a couple of biker type men that Daryl hadn't seen before stumbled into the Water Ho, announcing loudly, probably given to the fact that they'd already been drinking prior to their arrival, that there was some hell cat behind the bar running some poor asshole ragged. A typical dispute, clearly, between some drunk cuss and his old woman.

Daryl had simply sat at the bar and smirked. He had nothing else to do really, at the moment, besides smoke cigarette after cigarette and watch as Carol made the rounds, trying to hold down all the tables. The other waitress, the girl Merle was trying to shove into his face, had left just before Andrea had had forced Merle outside to have his earful.

And now, as a result of whatever took place behind the Water Ho that night, an event that would likely go down in the history books of Sweet Junction, Daryl knew that he wasn't sleeping. Merle was wound up tighter than the strings on a nickel and dime guitar, and he was storming back and forth around the kitchen spitting out phrases and words that didn't go together and which Daryl wasn't trying to make any sense of anyway.

What Daryl knew was that Andrea was pissed at Merle and Merle was pissed at Andrea, though he imagined they could very well be pissed at each other for very different reasons. He knew, also, that Carol was apparently feeding off Andrea's overall mood for some reason and had been dismissive of him when he'd tried to separate them both from the disputing lovers on the sidewalk. Now Andrea was in Carol's apartment for the night, and Daryl wasn't really sure how he was going to get back over there to try his hand again at what they'd done the night before if he couldn't get Merle to calm down and go claim the blonde that had him singing the praises of Jack Daniels a little louder than usual.

"Stupid fuckin' whore," Merle spat. He took a drink from the bottle, no longer bothering with all the ceremony of a glass. Daryl eyed his brother and wished he knew how to get the bottle from him. The last thing he really wanted Merle to do was pass out cold before any of this had been put straight.

"Stop your fuckin' bitchin'," Daryl spat. "What the hell's got her so damn twisted up anyway? Ya fuck somethin' up?"

"She's pissed 'bout that damn little number down at tha bar, Daryl. The pussy I was tryin' ta fuckin' tree fer ya 'cause ya ain't got tha damn balls ta get'cha none fer ya'self!" Merle roared, turning toward Daryl. Daryl was somewhat glad that the card table was between them. He had no doubt that they would end up going a few rounds before Merle was calm about this, but at least for the moment there was a barrier between them.

"Well maybe if ya weren't so damn worried 'bout my dick an' ya spend more damn time worried 'bout ya own, then we wouldn't be in this fuckin' situation in the first place," Daryl responded.

He realized that he was in just about the same mood as his brother. He was pissed, but for different reasons altogether. He knew he liked Carol, and he'd certainly liked what they'd done together. The one thing he could say his brother had ever been right about was that he would like pussy if he tried it, but his new problem was that he wasn't really anxious to take the route of his brother and run around finding one after the other to try out. He was simply interested in getting another shot at the one he'd already had, and because of his stupid prick of a brother who couldn't admit that he was just as fucking interested in the other woman across the hall, all Daryl's chances had probably been ruined for at least the night, and maybe longer if Merle couldn't manage to dislodge his head from his ass and see the clear light of reason.

"Blondie's fuckin' crazy," Merle spat. "I ain't havin' no bitch runnin' 'round makin' demands a' me! I'll do whatever I fuckin' please an' if I wanted ta fuck that lil' girl down there at tha bar ya can bet'cha damn blue balls that's what the hell I'd do."

"But you don't wanta fuck her," Daryl growled back. "That's what this whole damn fight's about an' what'cha don't fuckin' realize is ya both fightin' on the same fuckin' side! She don't want'cha ta fuck that girl an' ya don't want ta fuck her, but now ya gotta fuckin' fight about it 'cause ya ain't got the balls ta tell her that ya weren't puttin' ya dick out there for no damn body else ta sit on!"

"This whole damn thing's yer damn fault," Merle said, starting to make his way around the card table now. "If ya weren't such a damn princess she'da seen that you was the one s'posed ta be rubbin' up on that lil' number an' then right about fuckin' now ya could be gettin' ya rocks off in the backseat a' that lil' girl's car an' Andrea wouldn't be tryin' ta boss my ass around."

"It's my fuckin' fault?" Daryl asked, coming off the counter to land on his feet only inches from his brother. "I didn't want ta be in the fuckin' back seat a' that girl's car no damn way. 'Cause a' you an' ya fucked up ideas, I'm stuck here in this nasty ass kitchen listenin' ta ya snort an' snarl when I'd much rather be 'cross that fuckin' hall right the fuck now!"

Merle stopped for a minute and sucked a moment on his bottle. As soon as it was away for his lips for a second, Daryl snatched the bottle from his hand and threw it at the sink. It landed with a loud clatter. Merle's fist made contact with the side of Daryl's face and Daryl wasn't surprised. He couldn't have expected it more if they'd discussed that it was going to happen beforehand.

Daryl didn't respond in any way to Merle's right hook. He'd taken it more than enough over the years that it was a nuisance more than anything. He stood firm in front of his brother, Merle's chest heaving, and waited for the next reaction.

"Don't'cha fuckin' snatch a damn thing outta my hands ever again, boy!" Merle spat. "I ain't fuckin' taught'cha ta act like ya don't got no damn respect. Ya best be rememberin' that it was always ole Merle that drug ya ass around an' kept ya from spendin' the rest a' ya fuckin' life behind some damn bars somewhere."

Daryl didn't apologize. He wasn't going to apologize, and up to now he never had. When Merle got drunk he had these thoughts of self-grandeur. He was a hero, Daryl's fucking knight in shining armor, when he was like this. In his mind he'd saved Daryl from every bad thing that could have happened to him. His imagination wiped clean the reality of all the times that Merle had run away when shit got bad, all the times that he'd ducked out on Daryl and left him to deal with their parents. He forgot, even, that it had been Merle more times than Daryl that had gone rounds with public officials, and it was Merle that had always been more likely to rot in a jail cell if one of the Dixon boys was going to find their demise there.

They stood there a moment longer and Daryl felt the anger dissolving within him. He was pissed, that much was true, but more than anything he felt sorry for his brother right now. He felt sorry for him now like he had so many times in the past. They both had their demons and they both had a lot of shit that they had to battle out. Each had fought their own fight and each had their own scars to show. They were different scars, but all scars ran equally as deep.

"Why the fuck ya gotta do this, Merle?" Daryl asked, his voice much calmer than it had been before. "Why the fuck is it so damn important ta ya that ya don't give a shit 'bout nobody?"

Merle stared at Daryl for a moment, the rise and fall of his own chest slowing. He looked down a moment, at the floor, and then back at Daryl, swallowing and raking his hand across his face. Somewhere behind the alcohol clouded judgment, Daryl knew that his brother heard him.

"Ya don't know shit," Merle said, his voice containing less venom than it had earlier.

Daryl growled, the frustration growing.

"I know that since we fuckin' moved to this piece a' shit town ya ain't been away from that damn woman hardly a couple a' hours," Daryl said. "I know she just fuckin' happens ta make lunch on the days that I ain't workin' an' decides she might as fuckin' well drive ya somethin' to eat out ta where ya workin'. An' I know ya pissed as hell right now an' it ain't 'cause she yelled at'cha an' it ain't 'cause she's bossin' ya around. Ya pisses 'cause she ain't fuckin' here!" Daryl said.

"I ain't no pussy, Daryl, an' I ain't crawlin' my ass 'cross no damn hall ta beg no damn woman. Merle Dixon don't beg," Merle said, jamming his finger into Daryl's chest.

Daryl sighed.

"Ya ain't gotta beg, Merle. Andrea don't seem like the kinda woman that would take ta no beggin' no damn way. All ya gotta do is go over there an' explain that ya weren't tryin' ta hit on that girl. Fuck, Merle, just admit that ya ain't fuckin' interested in hittin' on nobody. Hell, ya ain't even tried ta score no drugs since ya been here an' if it weren't for suckin' on that bottle like a damn baby she'd have ya damn near clean by now," Daryl said.

"She knows where tha hell we live," Merle said after a second, obviously choosing to ignore everything that Daryl had just said. "She can bring her ass back over her when she gets off her damn high horse."

"Fuck, Merle!" Daryl said. "Take ya ass over there now an' explain this shit an' we can all call it a damn night. An' ya might point out while the fuck ya over there that sickin' that damn lil' girl on me was ya own damn idea an' I ain't wanted no damn part a' it!"

"What'cha so damn worried about?" Merle asked. "Ya actin' like ya got somethin' ta prove here."

Daryl knew that he'd all but confessed that he had been with Carol and he'd all but confessed the feelings he had for her, feelings he wasn't comfortable with in the slightest, but they were there. He stared at Merle and Merle stared back at him. Finally a half smile crawled across Merle's brain and Daryl silently congratulated his sloppy ass brother for catching on.

"Ya fuckin' the mouse, boy?" Merle asked.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Merle but didn't respond. Merle chuckled a little.

"We-ell," Merle drawled. He pushed around Daryl and made his way to the sink plucking the bottle out of it and holding it up to see what was left in there. He took another drink, though it wasn't the same kind of long and lazy pull that he'd been taking earlier. "My baby brothah finally decides ta stick his dick in somethin' an' wouldn't'cha know he ain't got the good damn since not ta go fuckin' with no married woman."

"She's divorcin' his worthless ass," Daryl said, not knowing really what to say to his brother. Merle turned to face him again. "An' don't talk about her like that. I weren't runnin' 'round tryin' ta stick my dick in somethin' an' just fuckin' fell in, it weren't like that."

"Damn, Derlina," Merle said. "I knew ya'd get hit hard when got'cha first taste, but I ain't never imagined ya'd get hit this damn hard. Ya gonna tell me ya didn't fuck her? What the hell'd ya do? Sit up an' whisper sweet nothin's in her damn ear all night?"

It was Daryl's turn to respond then, and without even knowing what swept over him he let his fist make contact with his brother's face. Merle snapped back almost instantly, his hand over his jaw where Daryl had hit him.

"Fuck is wrong with you?" Merle growled. "Ya fuckin' gone soft already, boy? Punch ya own damn brother in the face over another man's piece a' ass?"

"Ya shut ya mouth!" Daryl responded. Merle lowered his eyebrows at his brother.

"Ya really got it bad, don't'cha?" Merle asked. "Ya serious 'bout this?"

Daryl chewed at his thumb nail, not knowing yet if he trusted Merle to behave or not.

"Maybe ya oughta give that lil' girl a try after all, boy," Merle said. He put his hands up for a second as though he expected to try to deflect another punch from Daryl. "Ya ought not fall so damn hard for the first piece ya get. Ain't good for ya. Gotta try a couple more on for size 'fore ya just go decidin' ya done found what ya like."

"So I can be like you?" Daryl asked. He turned, moving away from his brother's sickening breath. He crossed the kitchen and leaned against the counter on the opposite side. "I don't fuckin' wanta be like you, runnin' 'round knowin' I found somethin' I fuckin' like but too damn chicken shit ta admit it."

Merle pulled out one of the chairs at the card table and sat down, still rubbing his jaw a little. He tipped the bottle in his hands into his mouth again and seemed to contemplate the flavor of the whiskey.

"Shouldn't be tryin' ta talk about shit ya don't know nothin' about," Merle said. "Just 'cause some little mouse let'cha go sniffin' 'round don't mean ya know shit 'bout women. Last damn thing ya want is ta end up gettin' tied to one." Merle turned to face Daryl then. He looked tired, all the anger seemed to have run out of him for the moment. He pointed his finger at Daryl. "Ya mark my word, brothah, ya don't want ta get tied ta none of 'em. I ain't never lied ta ya, an' I'm tellin' ya the truth now. Ya let one of 'em think they got the reins on ya an' the next damn thing ya know ya ain't even gon' recognize 'em an' they'll fuck ya lives up. Ole Ed's a damn asshole, an' I don't think he oughta go hittin' on that woman, but I bet'cha she ain't what tha hell he thought he was gettin' when he put that ring on her finger. Don't'cha go gettin' ya ass tangled up in that."

Daryl rolled his eyes and turned away without saying anything. Merle was drunk and probably didn't even know where the fuck he was anymore. When he got this drunk, especially if something was bothering him, and Daryl didn't give a shit what Merle said, he knew this whole situation with Andrea was bothering him, Merle had a tendency to start spouting shit. He never remembered it when he was sober, but it was always the same old shit in a different package. You couldn't count on anybody in the world, not a damn soul. Daryl slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He washed his face first, with cold water, and looked at his reflection in the mirror.

Daryl shook his head at his reflection. He needed to sleep, and nothing was being resolved tonight. He could hear Merle still in the kitchen, the clanking of glass ringing through the tiny apartment. He would likely drink every damn thing they had in the cabinet tonight and he'd regret it in the morning. Daryl had seen him in some pretty bad spots before, but it was different this time. Merle was preaching, even now he was still babbling as though Daryl were listening, but there was no conviction in his voice. Whatever Merle was battling with, and whatever he thought he needed to convince Daryl of, it was obvious that Merle was working harder to convince himself.

Daryl brushed his teeth quickly and went into his bedroom, closing the door. His bed, or rather his mattress and the nasty worn blanket and flat pillow that constituted what he called a bed, was disgusting. He flopped down on it with no other option, remembering that just the night before, in a state that was too good to be reality, he'd fallen asleep with Carol's warm body pressed against him, the smell of peppermint and some kind of fruity shampoo filling his nostrils, the taste of her still in his mouth. Now he was falling asleep on this nasty excuse for a bed while his brother tried to drink himself into oblivion in the next room. And all of it was in the name of that damned Dixon pride.

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The noise from across the hall was difficult to ignore. The walls in the building might as well be made out of pasteboard, and the sound of the Dixon men drifted right into Carol's living room. Carol sat, her feet drawn up under her, on one end of the couch while Andrea lounged on the other end, her head resting against the back of the couch. They couldn't make out what was being said, but it was clear there was some kind of argument taking place.

"You don't suppose they're going to actually fight, do you?" Carol asked.

"They might," Andrea said, yawning a little. "I don't give a damn. Let 'em wail on each other a little. Might do 'em some damn good."

"What did Merle say, when you confronted him?" Carol asked.

"Fuck him," Andrea said. "And fuck Mary Ann Walsh too. Damn Walsh family is nothing but trouble, every damn one of them, and just because they've got a little fucking money and some kind of 'family name'," she raised her hands, making air quotes at Carol, "they get away with whatever they want in this town and everyone turns a blind eye to it. Well I can see it, even if Merle Dixon can't."

Carol stifled the chuckle that rose up in her throat. It was obvious that Andrea still hadn't come down from the annoyance she felt at the bar.

"So he said he was interested in her?" Carol asked.

"What?" Andrea asked, looking at Carol as though she had no idea what they'd been talking about. "Oh…no…he didn't really say anything," Andrea said. She ran her fingers through her hair and focused her attention on picking a knot out of a few strands. "You saw how he was looking at her, and how she was acting."

"I saw it," Carol said, "but I also saw her rubbing her tits all over Daryl. Maybe it wasn't Merle she was interested in."

Andrea sucked her teeth and continued trying to separate the tangled strands of hair with her fingers.

"She's too damn young for Merle Dixon anyway," Andrea said. "She'd only be doing anything with him to piss her parents off…wouldn't matter anyway because no one in town would dare their run their mouths about the precious little bitch."

"Do you think she's too young for Daryl?" Carol asked. She wanted to know if Andrea thought that Daryl had paid the girl any extra attention, but it was becoming markedly clear that Andrea hadn't so much as paid an ounce of attention to the interaction between Mary Ann and the younger of the Dixons.

"What?" Andrea asked. "Daryl? I don't know if she's too young for him. Hell, I don't even know how old either one of them really is, but I do know that Mary Ann Walsh is barely legal to be working at Loretta's. She probably still needs a babysitter to make sure she doesn't choke on hard candy."

Carol chuckled.

"So are we still pretending that you don't like Merle?" Carol asked.

"I don't like Merle," Andrea said.

Carol rolled her eyes and stretched her leg out, kicking Andrea gently on the thigh. Andrea smiled a little and rolled her eyes toward Carol, not moving her head.

"Stop it, I don't," she protested. "I don't care what he does. Fuck him! What the hell am I supposed to do with an asshole like Merle Dixon anyway? My life's fucked up enough as it is without adding that level of difficulty."

"What do you want out of life, Andrea?" Carol asked.

"What the hell do you mean?" Andrea asked. "Look around you, Carol, what the hell else could a girl want out of life that I don't already have? I've got an amazing job working at fucking Buckingham Palace. My Rolls Royce is always shiny and gassed up for wherever the hell I need to go to show my face. I practically live in the penthouse of the Beverly Wilshire…what's there to want?"

Carol snickered a little.

"I'm serious, Andrea. I don't believe for a minute you're living your dreams right now. What do you want? Close your eyes…picture your perfect life. Not your bullshit life, your perfect one. Tell me what you want out of life," Carol said.

Andrea rolled her eyes.

"I don't know," she said, picking at the cover on the couch. "OK? I don't fucking know what I want. Nobody's ever asked me what the hell I want," Andrea said.

"You should think about it," Carol said. "Maybe if you had a goal…then you'd have something you felt like you were working toward. You know, something you could see yourself achieving instead of just feeling like you woke up every day to relive the same shitty existence you lived the day before."

Andrea smirked a little.

"Me…achieve anything? You've got some delusions, don't you? My biggest achievement was graduating high school without having a kid," Andrea said. She was quiet for a minute. "And no, if you were wondering, I didn't get knocked up in high school. That was just another lie cooked up in the gossip crockpot of Sweet Junction."

Carol nodded her head in understanding. She'd never asked Andrea if half the things that she'd heard about her were true, and now she knew for a fact one more thing was a lie.

"Why do you let them do it?" Carol asked.

Andrea looked at, raising her eyebrows in question.

"You let the people around here talk shit about you," Carol said. "I know you hear it. Why don't you put a stop to it?"

Andrea shrugged.

"What's more exciting in a town like Sweet Junction, Carol? The reality or the scandal? No one would listen if I told them the truth, they never did. Besides, it's kind of freeing, actually. Doesn't matter how bad I fuck it up, you know? No one bats an eye when I do fuck up because they figure I've done it all before," Andrea said.

Carol wasn't sure how to respond. She had her own reputation in the town, though the roles they played were very different. The setting was the same, though.

"What do you want? What's your dream?" Andrea asked, yawning.

Carol shifted her weight, sliding down on the couch some. She ignored the fact that they'd both wiggled into position so that they were almost on top of one another, one of them with a head at one end of the couch, and one with a head at the other.

"My dream's the same it's always been," Carol said.

"Well I know it wasn't being Ed's punching bag," Andrea said, "so what the fuck did little Carol Ann McAlister dream about?"

Carol giggled.

"My dream isn't very special, and it really isn't all that popular," Carol said.

"Well hell fuck," Andrea said, chuckling. "Give it a try anyway, impress me."

"I always wanted the cheezy fifties' housewife dream," Carol said. "Some small little suburban house, a husband, a dog, five or six kids…the Leave it to Beaver type life."

"Sounds more like Yours, Mine, and Ours with six kids, Carol," Andrea said.

"Well that part's negotiable," Carol said with a snicker.

"And a real working dishwasher?" Andrea teased.

Carol nodded.

"And a real working dishwasher," she said.

"You might as well come in black and white," Andrea said. Carol hummed her agreement. "It isn't a bad dream, though, you could do worse."

"I have done worse," Carol said.

"There's that…" Andrea said.

"Do you think Merle Dixon is part of your dream?" Carol asked Andrea. She didn't dare to think what Daryl's response might be to hearing hers.

"I don't know that it's even patriotic to use the words Merle Dixon and dream in the same sentence, Carol," Andrea said, chuckling.

Carol shrugged.

"Just because it doesn't fit in someone's dream, doesn't mean it doesn't make the dream for someone else," Carol said.

"You might be right," Andrea said. She got quiet and Carol did too. Carol considered getting up and moving to her bed, but she didn't feel like moving. She closed her eyes, deciding to stay there for just a while before Andrea finally kicked her off the couch. The noise across the hall had died down now. Whatever had taken place over there was finished, at least for the night.