I always come back. Please note this story is rated M due to copious and creative Dixon mouth, a dubious art form in its' own right. AMC and Kirkman owns it all yatta yatta, except for OC and AU moments. Rolling Stones own the line from "sympathy for the devil" which a very fitting song for Merle to listen to. This is written for not for profit but for my enjoyment and that of others (sticks tongue out).

My life is crazy but my Merle muse still grabs me by the hand and sits me down at the computer, he doesn't type all that well you see. Merle still has a lot to say, but sometimes Skya wrestles him to the ground and pins him so she can get a word in too. I have a lot of mundane work stuff coming up so I might be absent for a couple of weeks to a month. I'm going to continue being behind the scenes canon with a few details changed (umm like Merle didn't die. My OCs are there).

Pardon the slowness of my story I do like to look into the daily life of the characters, I mean how exactly do you prepare a rat for food. What does it taste like in stew.Most importantly a prison echos does it feel like the worst slumber party ever? I'm going to leave you to read thanks for my loyal few who are still reading. I've said it before I'm a very quirky writer many people are not interested in the minutiae of daily life with Merle, Daryl, Skya and Hershel. How much a pain in the butt would they really be or would they become more tolerable with time and whose broken nose snores the worst. Enjoy peeps. Thanks for reading this quirky (not so) little story of mine. any reviews are like gold to me. I sure could use some it's been awhile. ~Lefty~

Officer not so Friendly (but trying to be)

Skya:

Today I've been practicing with a recurve bow in the field shooting the dead from about 30 yards. I have found a finger protector to help me pull the bowstring; luckily I can wear it like an overly clunky ring. I have about 15 arrows and I'm practicing half in the target and half in the herd. It sounds like thwack! Mush. Thwack! Mush. Thwack! Mush! The target sounds so much healthier than their pathetic rotten heads. I've been focusing on my targeting for an hour prior to shooting the walkers. I'm an unusual archer in that I've never even tried a compound bow and I've never used a sight or a stabilizing bar. I'm also left-handed, even though I write right handed, I've always for some reason been left handed in every sport that I have ever tried.

My shoulders are getting tired so I finish using my arrows in the rotten heads. My right forearm is stinging from a couple bowstring slaps and the bruises are already rising. I consider the 'deadheads, having missed about 20%, so I'm still a work in progress. I like my bow; it's a takedown recurve, but not what I'm used to. If you have the luxury of building it before going outside for the day it can be helpful; but maybe not the weapon in choice in an emergency survival situation. I'm still going to rely on my bearded hatchets and my pistol. I will have to get cover from Daryl or Glen to retrieve the arrows later. I'm becoming a much better shot. Now I just have to learn to hunt, hopefully this will help me in that skill set.

I settle down to take apart my bow. I watch the fields as I prepare to unstring, jamming my stringer onto the ends pulling it into shape with my feet to unnock the string for storage. I finish taking my bow down and lose myself in watching my kids and Hershel garden together.

Three heads are bent over the plants in the field, fingers digging through the fertile soil, showing the parts of the plant, the roots, the stems, and bulbs budding off of the parent plant. I can almost hear them; one teaching the others, the little ones absorbing the knowledge of the older man; much as their clothing absorbs the dirt in the field. Mother Nature is their new curriculum as well as their classroom in the University of Survival Skills.

I've been hovering on the outskirts of the group since Merle was well enough not to be my patient anymore. This is a big change and I'm struggling to find my place here as more than Merle's caregiver or the mother of Liam and Mya. Since I've somewhat joined this group I spent most of my time with Merle trying to help him heal. My kids and I are finally now having the opportunity to settle into life in the prison. However, I feel that our days here are numbered and there is a sense of urgency to the depth of my being. I count every breath as a gift, every day that my children and I get to spend together as a family; is one additional day that my husband, my friends and my in-laws didn't get to have. I am determined that we will learn our lessons well; there are no other options, if we don't live in every moment we might hesitate at the wrong time and will then and forever number among the dead. I will not let that happen to my children; nor to myself.

My kids are learning from Hershel what edible plants look like. I see him now in the garden showing them how to harvest the pumpkins and squash. I smile gently as I remember in Ohio that we used to throw the jack o lanterns into my garden. We would get a mix of big and little. Always a fun surprise for October to see what variety would grow. I can smell the winter in the air as strongly as I recognize the shift of the light. I remember how I as a city girl transplanted into the lakeside vineyards; I planted a dozen strawberry plants. I naively marveled how quickly they took over a small field and the next year I harvested 10 gallons of strawberries. I traded them for wine and had strawberry slushies for a year. My whole family will never look at another strawberry without laughing.

I hear the click of boots somewhere and look around for the source. Being deaf in my left ear I can't echolocate worth a damn and have to be extra vigilant to prevent others from surprising me. I see Rick approaching as I watch Hershel teaching my kids. Rick oddly enough is looking proud but scruffy with his wild hair and growing beard, his clear blue eyes squinting in the late November sun, his breath smoking from his mouth like that of a miniature steam engine.

"Hey Skya"

"Rick what's up?"

"You did great with Daryl's brother"

"It was a pleasure to help them. Nice to use my medical skills on someone who really needed it."

"You got along with him well. How did you do it?"

He looks at me sideways, sizing me up, weighing my strengths and vulnerabilities. A crazy judge determining if he wants to invite me to his mad hatter blood soaked tea party. Sigh I miss my mint tea in the morning. I close my eyes as the scent memory filters teasingly through my brain. I subconsciously call the memory an evil tease of a crack whore. I am not a morning person and it takes a while for me to be civil, the tea helped me to contain my filterless personality and adopt a cloak of civility before going to work. It's a pleasant memory from another life so obsolete in the here and now; still the routine of comfort is so deeply missed.

Rick looks at me questioningly with a half smile plastered on to his face; the crazy judge prodding his newly found subject. He is not yet sure if he has found a diamond in the rough or a psychotic mother grizzly, cold and calculating until she snaps in a red rage.

Oh yeah I guess he wants an answer.

"I happen to be fluent in profanity and sarcasm, with a side helping of reading between the lines & not rising to Merlish insults cleverly designed to push people away". I rattle away not being able to help the sarcasm, and then I smile sweetly and follow it up.

"Not a problem if you have a thick skin. If you give him his space and the benefit of the doubt he can be surprisingly good company".

Rick snorts and shakes his head clearing the cobwebs of confusion left by my bullshit "You seem to actually like him even though he is an asshole."

"Really Rick? Aren't we all assholes now? No-one is squeaky clean anymore; besides I was married to an asshole for 12 years. He never hit me but we went through some tough times due to his mental illness, drug use and PTSD. Still he was a wonderful father even if he was a shitty husband sometimes. I just taught myself how to remain happy, I stopped depending on him a long time ago." I sigh watching the ex sheriff fiddling with the hem of his shirt staring hard at his boots considering what to say. He smiles with a touch of warmth nodding like a pigeon.

"I like how you keep him inline."

"Uh Rick I think you are way off base. No one keeps Merle in line except Merle. I think he is keeping to himself and choosing to not be around people that refuse to give him a chance. I hope people understand how he put himself on the line and nearly died."

"For his brother"

"Yes of course for his brother. But you all benefitted from it and so did your kids. How about a little forgiveness and move on to face the real enemy. Who is still out there planning who knows what? But you already know all that crap. Anyway what do you want Rick".

"Nothing"

"I don't believe you"

"Well Skya. That's your right; I just wanted to talk to you a little. I just wanted to say you're an asset. Daryl is a good friend of mine and I appreciate what you have done to help him and his brother, even if you DON'T believe me it still needed to be said. I'm glad you're here and I hope you will stay. I have some questions for you."

He turns back to me searching my face for answers to questions he can't express or maybe can't acknowledge even to himself. He mumbles to himself "its okay you can ask her"

"Yes and . . .?"

"How many walkers did you kill" he drawls his accent so much softer than Merles thicker mountain accent.

"More than I can count. I went in a van with my kids in the back when they were sleeping. That's how we would go on runs. Just at dawn. I put walkers down only if I really needed to. I camouflaged myself in walker funk and kept a dead stinker in the driver's seat when I was "shopping"

"How many people".

"Just one"

"Why"

"He was trying to steal my van with my kids asleep in back. I caved the base of his skull in with my hatchet. I would kill again to save my kids"

"You will have to" Rick finally nodded with an honest smile as he watched Hershel and the kids working in the garden, hoeing and digging up the harvest.

"I know"

"You can join our group if you want".

I can't explain my reluctance. I've been here for almost 3 months without any thought of permanently joining after hearing about his sacrifice of Merle and Michonne. About how he admitted that he was no longer a fit leader and he would take suggestions. He still seems very unstable and I don't know if I can trust him with our lives, especially that of my kids. Still I would put myself on the line for his kids as well as the other kids here some orphaned, some not.

"Does this have to be a formal thing? Can't we just be here side by side learning to trust one another day by day?"

Rick smirked. His greasy curly hair falling into his eyes.

" Is there a reason you don't want to join. I thought you get along well with everyone even our resident dumb as shit redneck" Rick chuckling to himself

I turn to him and take a step inside his personal space so he will take me seriously and I smile as sweetly as I can. –only Merle and my dead husband would know that spells potential disaster- I take his shirt in my hands and fix a grime soaked button, smelling his sour odor mixed with the aura of craziness that I remember from my husband's own struggles.

"You're a southern boy don't you know that 'stupid is as stupid does'. You sure pulled a doozy when you sacrificed them to a known psychopath. How would you feel if the tables were turned? I'm sure you wouldn't be so accepting. I want to trust you, but in this world that is at a premium. And let's not forget under what conditions I met you".

My anger is flaring up and I begin pacing as I relive the fear of my long year of isolation and when I thought it was over; the crazy ex sheriff throws me and my children into a cell for the simple reason that we were strangers.

"Daryl had found me and the kiddos at an abandoned school and offered us sanctuary 3 days before Daryl brought Merle back with his life hanging in the balance, bleeding to death. You put us in a cage until you needed my skills and my type O- blood. You isolated me and the kids with Merle who you think is a vicious dickhead and never checked on us personally again. I know you have a lot of loss and misery too. But don't forget we did not exactly have a happy beginning. I don't mind so much about me and hopefully you only did that to keep your own children safe, but don't forget it was your decision that put my kids in a cage for 3 days".

I notice he has a nice smile and must have been handsome back in the day when one cared about things like that. He isn't too much bigger than me. But I've always been a man sized woman. Slightly bigger than average and always way stronger than average. But then I always had active work to keep me fit Too bad we no longer really care about our appearance.

Rick and I both become silent considering the garden; He turns and looks me in the eye smiling slightly

"You know we have to do things we don't like to survive right? I didn't WANT to put your family in a cage. I did that to make sure my children and our entire family here survived. These are all good people and I have to protect them. I HAVE to protect them. Dont you understand that? I think you and your children are good people too and you are survivors. That is why you can have a place here if you want it"

"I'm still trying to figure out your angle Rick. I'm still learning to trust you. I want to like you and take you up on your offer but let's be direct here. I don't like what you did to Merle offering him up as sacrifice along with Michonne. The others must really have a great connection to you because I still don't get how they can shrug it off and let bygones be".

"We trust each other and we have been through a lot. I stood by them and now they are standing by me. I know I was wrong and I'm trying to be a better leader now"

"Merle has a hole through the chest because of your decision. It's amazing he even survived much less lived to recover. You weren't there to watch him work through his pain and readjust to the damage in his hand. You didn't sit up with him at night along with Daryl while he wore himself out from coughing as his lung healed. He is still working through it and he will have to for a long time to come. We came damn close to losing him to infection a couple of times. If Dr. S bless his spirit didn't bring all those medical supplies from Woodbury including the antibiotics that saved him; you would be explaining to his brother why you thought Merle should be sacrificed".

Rick looks at me raises an eyebrow like he wants to respond but instead he sighs, nods and walks away. I'm not sure if I won or lost but I felt like he was trying to manipulate me and failed because I wouldn't badmouth Merle. Maybe he truly is impressed with me being able to get along with Cranky pants McNaughty.

Officer not so friendly wants something and isn't so subtle. I just haven't worked out what. I just can't trust him not by a long shot. Plus he is crazier than a shithouse rat. I've been around crazy before and it's never pretty; in this world it's lethal to those in the blast zone when the crazy bomb blows its' top.

My kids come running up covered in healthy dirt. "Mom! Hey Mom! Look what we found; wild raspberries just like home! Liam throws himself at me knocking me hard on my tailbone, Mya trailing him holding Hershel's hand.

I crawl to my feet, laughing hugging my kids reveling in their smells of earth, and need-to-be-washed-kid, rubbing myself on my butt, having landed surprisingly hard.

"Liam you're getting way too big for that, you should warn me first. Honey I'm glad that you like learning from Hershel. Mya, I think you look like a walking mudpie".

"Your kids learn fast for city kids. I'm teaching them to look for good soil and how to plant things with others, like how to keep certain bugs away from your tomatoes by planting protective plants nearby".

Hershel smiles looking for all of the world like a limping Santa Claus after going on a diet.

"There may not be much time and you may have to find plants to eat. Your medical skills are wonderful but they won't feed you. Then only the people who can grow food or forage food will make it. Be sure the Dixons teach you how to hunt and fish. We have a duty to these kids, to teach them how to survive and also teach the city folk the basics of farming and living wild."

"Skya you know I care for you and I feel the need to say some things that have been percolating in my mind. Merle Dixon is a good man, but no one sees it not even himself with the exception of his brother and me. Merle won't open up and tell you what he thinks. He is too damaged from far too young an age. I know whereof I speak because I'm like him in more than the obvious limb deficiency. I was abused by my father and pushed the pain away with alcohol and allowed me to lie to myself with the truth was staring me straight in the face but I worked hard to become that numb and I locked up my feelings well and good"

"I don't know if Merle can give you what you deserve or what you would want. He deserves a chance but don't be surprised if he doesn't know how to reciprocate. He likes you more than he gives himself credit for. Don't give up on him too soon. He is still telling himself that he is not different than before his injury. He will need a good friend in addition to his brother".

"I know you have left him to his own devices for the last week, but don't back away too much. I've seen him watching you. He still needs you but won't admit it; he still hurts badly but won't even admit that to himself. When he figures all of this out he is going to need a good friend to be there in the way he needs".

Merle

We drive back in the piece of crap stink mobile after my first hunting trip after my injury; and coincidently the first day I was able to tolerate lil' Merle on my aching swollen stump. I was able to stab with it and straighten it partially but it's still aching and throbbing like a pounding drum of hell. We have been sorta successful with multiple species of forest rodent. I got a possum and Daryl picked off a ropeful of squirrels and even a rabbit. Enough that there is plenty for a stew; a vile, misbegotten stew but I've eaten worse in bed and out. I feel the bumps of the potholes vibrating through my healing ribs and the tight scars on my back. I softly grunt to myself, trying to focus on the scenery as the leaves flutter in the November wind, watching walkers staggering after us. I lean out of the window banging on the side of the old dented truck with my metal covered stump.

"Come on Dickweed, ya got it in ya to follow ol Merle home. Ya need to take off yer high heels and grow a pair son. Merle is still here ya son of pig fucker and yer a rotting fly bitten piece a stinking worthless dogjizz."

Daryl looks at me out of the corner of his tired eyes laughing a little of the stream of creative insults "Come on man yer being stupid wha tha hell, dumbass fuckwad"

I lean out of the truck angling again to get my left hand awkwardly out of the window to take a shot at the trailing walkers. Daryl sees me and swerves to throw me off of my shot. "

"Come on idiot save it for the fence" Daryl snorts, "we gotta get back and dress this shit".

"What the fuck ever" I settle down in my seat. Thinking about how I'm going to dress my Possum; disgusting little rat.

I look through the glove box and find some music, finding some Rolling Stones cueing up "sympathy for the Devil" and close my eyes, wincing slightly with the bumps reverberating through my ribs.

"Please let me introduce myself ; I'm a man of wealth and taste . . ." (music blares)

I will have to use those stupid clamps to hold the rat down as I prepare it. I'm damn sure that I'm sick of "borrowing" a hand because mine are fucking damaged. I've gotta learn how to do this since I ain't gonna sprout extra fingers anytime soon. I close my eyes guiding myself through the process and thinking of how I have to do it differently not realizing that I'm drifting off to sleep. Next thing I know I wake up while Daryl drives up to the prison; with Carl- I swear the little shit is getting taller everyday- opening the damn noisy gate with an almighty screech of metal and nodding us through.