MERLE
Since the combined efforts of Hershel, Beth, and Andrea seemed to be just enough without overcrowding Milton's room, Merle waited across the hall in his own room. He disassembled, cleaned, reassembled, loaded, and arranged his weapons and even made his bed out of boredom as he waited to see if Milton and Parker were going to pull through, or if they were beyond hope and now all those exposed to them had to pop every pill he, Andrea, and Maggie had brought back to avoid dying.
Over an hour after he had finished wiping the last of the dust away from his windowsills, Merle was just about to crawl back into his newly-made bed to take a much-needed nap when Maggie knocked on his door, summoning him to Milton's room.
"Milton wants to talk to you."
"Tell 'im I said hi too," said Merle, pulling down his covers and preparing to kick off his shoes.
"My dad says he and Parker are outta danger, but that there's a chance the symptoms could come back. Milton wants to tell you something in case they do and he doesn't make it," said Maggie stiffly.
Last requests. Glenn's had been to save Judith and Merle performed, but only because he needed the baby to get back into the group's good books. He didn't owe Milton anything, especially after he had just risked his ass and his cleanliness to get the man's medication.
"Should I tell him you're comin', or you just gonna stand there?"
"You can tell 'im whatever y'want. I'm goin' back t'bed."
"But if you go to bed, you're going to wake up. Milton might not."
"For Chrissake, I'm comin', I'm comin'—"
In Milton's room, Beth was dabbing Parker's forehead as she sang softly beside him while Andrea was spoon-feeding Milton a mixture of broth and some herbal something-or-another that Hershel had concocted. Merle cleared his throat to let Andrea know he was there and then, squeezing Milton's wrist, she left the two of them alone, instructing Beth to take a small break as well.
Milton's head was slightly propped up against his pillows, the covers were pulled up to his chest but one arm still stuck out, and he smelled like a mixture of something gone sour overnight and old people, which made no sense to Merle because the only old person around was Hershel and the old man smelled like butterscotch. It looked like Milton had lost some serious weight in his face and dark, bruised-looking circles hung under his eyes. His exposed hand almost looked skeletal. The change that had overcome him since the day before was alarming; so much so that Merle had to wonder if Milton was actually bitten instead of suffering from the flu. These drastic alterations to Milton's body were what people looked like when they were coming down with the fever of the dead.
Just to reassure himself, Merle started checking Milton for bites, running his hands up and down Milton's arm, then pulling back the covers to check his other arm, his legs, and finally his chest and shoulders. As if just noticing Merle's presence, Milton spoke up in a frog-like tone.
"Merle…what are you doing?"
"Y'ain't bit, are ya, Miltie?"
"Unless a biter got in between now and four minutes ago, no."
"Y'look worse'n shit, y'know."
"Lean closer; I can't talk very loudly," said Milton as Merle threw the covers back over him, accidentally covering his face in the process.
"What's up, Miltie?" Merle asked as he readjusted the blankets so that at least Milton could speak clearly. "I'm kinda busy—"
"I'll make it quick so you can go back to your nap," said Milton with his eyes closed. For someone who apparently took zero interest in anything Merle-related unless it threatened the group, Milton knew Merle too well. "Hershel says that there's no more danger, but I can't ignore statistics. I could still die from this illness and if that happens, I need you to be the one to put me down."
"Oh, you ain't dyin', son, suck it up."
"Look at me," said Milton angrily as his eyes fluttered open to reveal the bloodshot quality of his irises. "I just threw up half of my body weight in fourteen hours. I could still die. You know it; you saw Rhett Stoddard die of something very similar back in Woodbury. Remember how he almost bit Mrs. Peterson because we didn't know that the dead reanimated? We know that now, and I need you to promise me that you're going to be the one to take me out if it happens because I can't be the cause of death to anyone here, especially not that baby."
"I ain't sittin' over you, waitin' for you to kick the bucket."
"You don't have to. But if Hershel comes to you and tells you that I'm on my way out, you have to do it."
"Andrea could, y'know. Or Hans, or the ol' man; he's got it in 'im. Hell, anyone but Parker could do it right now."
"In the moment, yes, they could do it, but after, it'll hurt them. It won't hurt you; killing people—or what they become—doesn't affect you."
Merle would have loved to come up with a witty remark in response, but Milton's comment caught him off guard. Did Milton really think so lowly of him that he figured that Merle's soul wouldn't be damaged in killing Milton's corpse because Merle had no feelings to give about the dead? That he didn't give a shit about anyone's death as long as it didn't impact him? Was this how they all saw him? An impassive brute who could do the dirty work because he was so emotionally bottled up and caved in that killing people had no effect on him?
"Well?"
"Y'ever consider that askin' me t'do this would make the others think that I put y'down just 'cause we don't get along?"
"I already told Andrea that I wanted you to do it. Merle, don't make me beg you."
"So don't beg."
"Could you please, for once in your life, have some empathy? Could you drop the sarcastic shit and just take the situation seriously? This is my life we're talking about; my life hanging in the balance right now. I could die at any moment and not from a biter or a human being, but disease, and I think that if I can't choose the way I die, that I should at least be able to choose how I stay dead." A few tear droplets escaped Milton's eyes, but he was too weak to wipe them away and he looked ashamed of that fact. "You understand, Merle? It's my life—worthless, overly-critical, pathetic life that it is—it's mine and all I'm asking is for someone to do something for me because I'm physically incapable of doing it. I just need someone to help me, that's all. Is that too much to ask? One stab of your blade or a bullet. That's all I'm asking from you. Can you please do that for me?
When Merle had had to kill off companions before because they had been bitten or were dying from something or another, they had begged Merle to not kill them so that they could reunite with their families in the world of the dead. They spoke of life-changing epiphanies and how they realized that life was so precious when there were few people left to share it with, but none of them had ever told Merle flat-out that they knew their lives meant nothing. Who the hell did that sort of thing? Who said, "I'm a worthless piece of shit, shoot me when I die,"?
"Merle…"
Merle realized he had been sitting in silence for a few minutes and after a brief nod, he went to leave the room, but Milton had one last favor to ask of him.
"And if I'm gone, Parker won't be far behind, so you'll need to see to him as well."
I do not understand you at all, Miltie.
/ /
Contrary to what he had been hoping to do before Maggie interrupted him, Merle did not go back to bed. He sat at the foot of his bed, mindlessly messing with the buckle on his attachment as he ran over Milton's words in his head. Hearing Milton beg for Merle to kill him before he reanimated so that the weight wouldn't hang heavy on the others was just about the most selfless thing Merle could imagine anyone asking. It was at the point where Merle felt like a complete and utter ass for cutting Milton off at every chance he got. He didn't like the man, but there was something to be said for an individual who was still thinking of other people who he hardly knew when the apocalypse demanded that every man fend for himself. That sort of self-sacrificing attitude demanded respect.
"Merle, I need to speak to you alone, if that's okay," said Andrea, standing in the doorway and looking wiped out.
"Can it wait, Blondie? I'm flattered and I know it's long overdue, but I'm dead-tired right now."
Andrea came to him and put her arms around him in a grateful embrace. He didn't hug her back, but neither did he push her away. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have allowed the physical contact, but since it was Andrea who had been helping him adjust to that sort of thing, he felt that it was okay.
"Thank you for helping me."
"I didn't really have a choice; y'called me out and no Dixon ever lets a challenge go unmet."
"No, you came with me because you know how valuable both Milton and Parker are to the group and how their deaths and illness could eventually affect us all. Even if it was a selfish reason in trying to help the group survive so that we can help you survive, you still went, and that's something I never would have thought you were capable of doing. Not only that, but Milton is extremely important to me; he was the only sure friend I knew I had in Woodbury once Phillip was exposed for what he really was. Losing Milton now…it would feel like my staying in Woodbury to defend the people there was worthless. I managed to save one person and that's Milton and in this life for what it is now, that's more than I could hope for."
"Then y'better keep 'im under lock'n key, 'cause that boy's got no clue what he's doin' with a gun half the time and the other half, he's just lucky."
"He's trying."
Merle stopped before he could tell Andrea what Milton had told him. Should she know that Milton had no idea that he meant so much to her? Should Merle tell her that Milton was ready to make his exit, stage right, at this very second?
"Y'know he asked me t'put 'im down if he dies."
"No, I didn't know that," said Andrea.
Whoops.
"Well, then, forget I said anythin'."
"Is that what he wanted to talk to you about? He wanted to ask you privately if you'd put a bullet in his head?"
"Well, don't sound so hurt. If y'wanna shoot 'im that bad, I'll letcha."
"Tell me what he said," urged Andrea.
"He said…" Now, that's a major invasion of privacy and confidential information. "He said…" Milton asked to tell you this alone, didn't he? Why else would he have Andrea leave the room? "He said…uh, that's it. He just wanted me t'do it."
"Why would he ask for someone specific to do that?"
"I'm thinkin' 'cause he knows I don't like 'im, so when he dies, he's finally givin' me a chance t'blow 'is ass sky-high like I've been wantin' t'do since I met 'im."
Andrea slapped him across the shoulder. "Be serious."
"That's my serious answer. Either that, or he just knows that I won't have any trouble with it when the time comes."
"Won't have any trouble?" Andrea echoed.
"Y'know, Blondie, when y'repeat things I say'n tiltcher head like that, it kinda grates on my nerves. Yeah, ol' Miltie knows that I can take out his brain, no problem, and go on with my day."
"Why, because you aren't emotionally attached to him? Does he think that since you're such a hardass that you don't feel anything when you kill people?"
So accurate it's scary.
"What if you had to shoot Daryl, Merle? And don't say that you could do it easily, because he's your brother and you went through hell to get to him. He's all you care about."
Merle shrugged. "Well, I said goodbye to 'im once before, didn't I? Won't be hard t'do it again."
"That's bullshit and you know it."
"Hey, why're you gettin' mad at me? I'm not the one who asked me to shoot my brains out. Go blame your loyal pet Labrador with glasses."
"I'll get to him when he wakes up, but you—"
"Nope, nope, stop right there. This ain't a therapy session, you ain't a shrink, and I'm not fucked up. No talkin' about feelins or what I'd do if it came down t'cappin' off my brother. I'll cross that bridge when I reach it, if I reach it, and that's one thing I don't need you buttin' into, alright honey?"
"I need to know if you're prepared to put your own brother down because if you can't, someone else will."
"If Daryl dies, that's my responsibility, same as it is his if I bite the bullet. Ain't nobody gonna put us in the ground but each other, and don'tchoo forget it, now shoo, I'm dog-tired."
He would be lying if he said Andrea coming to him in his bedroom didn't get him a little excited, but the way she left had him feeling much worse than he had at any point while talking to Milton.