Merle looked at Sinclaire when she slid out of the box truck, but he could tell by the way she moved as she went up the steps and into the bar that she wasn't in the mood for a chat. He started to go after her anyway, but the truck door was yanked open again before he'd taken more than two steps.

Daryl looked pissed off. That would probably be more interesting. At the very least it should be more entertaining. Merle sauntered after Daryl as he walked into the woods.

"Can't a person piss in peace?" Daryl asked when Merle's shadow fell over him.

"Not if that person's you," Merle answered. "What'd ya do to her?"

"Nothin'."

"Liar."

Daryl sighed and zipped his jeans.

"I kissed her."

"I don't think ya did it right. She looked pretty mad. Women ain't supposed to look like that after ya kiss 'em. What'd ya do?"

"I ain't talkin' about this with ya," Daryl said firmly.

"Sure ya are. She's my friend. Yer my brother. And I don't want word goin' around that the Dixon's don't know how to handle a woman."

"I don't think—"

"I'd believe it."

"That it's got anything to do with ya," Daryl finished doggedly. "Ya already told her I was a virgin. Then ya told her I was gay-"

"I never said ya was gay. I said I was worried ya were gay."

"How the fuck is that different?"

"Just is. Trust me. Now. Fuckin' tell me what ya fuckin' did!"

"I did tell ya! I. Kissed. Her."

Daryl's jaw was clenched so tight that Merle was amazed any words could get through at all. He studied his brother for a long moment. Daryl shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Ya have kissed a girl before haven't ya?"

"Yes."

"Any of 'em slam a truck door in yer face?"

"Susie Richards."

"So at least yer used to it. Point is, yer doin' it wrong."

"Oh fuck you." Daryl started to walk away.

"Get yer ass back here," Merle snapped. "Ya wanna kiss her again or was that close enough to fuckin' for ya?"

For a long moment Daryl didn't say anything. Merle waited patiently.

"I want to kiss her again," he admitted finally. "But it don't look good fer me."

"I'll talk to her."

"What are ya gonna say?" Daryl asked suspiciously.

"Ain't decided yet," Merle said with a grin. "I reckon I'll have to wait and see."

"Merle!" Daryl called after him. "Get yer ass back here and tell me what yer gonna say!"

Merle kept walking. He didn't want Daryl to see the grin on his face.

Sinclaire looked around the bar for someone to talk to and came up with nothing. Everyone looked busy. Even if they hadn't looked busy, they didn't look like people she wanted to talk with about her fucked up love life anyway. And she wasn't even sure that one kiss qualified the term "love life." Merle walked in. Merle! Maybe she could talk to... He gave her a knowing grin and she sighed. Damn it, Daryl had already told him. Suddenly talking to Merle didn't seem like it would be a good idea.

"Ready to go zombie huntin' Yank?" he asked.

"No. How about we-"

"Where were you last night?" Tiffany asked suddenly.

The tone of her voice stopped all the extraneous chatter in the room. Merle shrugged unconcernedly.

"Slept in the truck," he said. "What's yer problem? Ya got a room all to yerself."

"I was worried about you! And now you're telling me that you spent the night with her!" she flung her arm out at Sinclaire.

"And his brother," Sinclaire pointed out dryly.

"I'm not talking to you!" Tiff answered haughtily. "This is between me and Merle!"

"Seems like it's between us and the whole damn bar," Merle snapped. "I'll talk to ya when I fuckin' feel like it, how 'bout that? I don't owe ya a goddamn thing."

"This is all your fault!" Tiff said, turning back to Sinclaire.

Sinclaire was not in the mood. She stood up, her bar stool scraping back over the wood floor loudly.

"One more word and I will juice you like an orange," she said flatly. She knew her voice carried to all corners of the bar, but she wasn't shrieking like Tiff had been.

Tiff opened her mouth, but the look on Sinclaire's face shut her up. She turned back to Merle instead. He was laughing, so she flounced out of the bar.

"If you keep that up you aren't going to get lucky again," Sinclaire said as they walked into the woods a bit later on for their zombie hunt. Merle had let her finish her breakfast in silence, but he'd forced her out of the bar as soon as she was done.

"Hell, I can fuck her whenever I damn well please," Merle said. "That's the kinda woman she is."

"Then why'd you sleep with her in the first place?"

"I like sex. She's willin' to give it up; I'm sure as fuck willin' to take it."

"Noble."

"If noble's what keeps ya from fuckin' then my brother must be a damn king."

She sighed. "Here it comes. Go ahead."

"What'd he do to ya?" Merle asked, determined to have the question answered.

"He kissed me. I know he told you."

"Yeah. But he didn't say how he did it. Ya must not have liked it."

"How do you know I didn't like it?"

"'Cause yer out here with me 'stead of in that truck underneath him."

"It takes more than one kiss to get me on my back, Merle."

"Not if he'd have done it right. How many kisses ya think I hadda give Tiff?"

"None. She was throwing herself at you. That's different."

"Can't nobody accuse ya of bein' over eager," Merle admitted. "Neither of ya. Tell me 'bout the damn kiss."

"He...it was just a kiss. Normal I guess. His...uh...lips...on mine."

"Tongue?"

"Oh for...Merle come on! Let's not do this okay?"

"No tongue. Damn it what the fuck's wrong with him?"

"Nothing's wrong with him. He knows I hate to be touched that's all. Hey, is that a zombie?"

"No," Merle said after a quick glance. "Quit distractin' me. Ya gonna kiss him again? Even though he don't know what the fuck he's doin'?"

"I don't know."

"He'll get better at it. He's a Dixon. We're damn good at everything we do."

"So you're a good kisser?"

"Hell yeah."

"How do you know?"

"Never had no complaints."

"I didn't complain to Daryl," she pointed out.

"Hey! Ya insinuatin' somethin'?"

"Just an observation."

"Want me to prove it?"

"No. I don't think I want to watch you kiss Tiffany."

"Hell, I meant I'd kiss ya. Then ya could compare us and see that ya picked the wrong one."

"I am not kissing you less than an hour after I kissed your brother. It's all too Jerry Springer. Anyway, I didn't not pick you. You crawled into bed—sleeping bag—with Tiff."

"I got needs. And ya always turned me down. I offered to let ya blow me I don't know how many times." He faked a hurt look.

"This conversation is getting into a weird area," Sinclaire said. "Where are all the zombies?"

"Don't know," Merle said, letting the conversation rest. For now.

They walked along silently for awhile, and then, to get her off her guard, Merle said, "That "juice ya like an orange" thing ya said was funny as hell. Where'd ya hear that?"

"It's my own invention," Sinclaire said in relief. At least this wasn't about Daryl. "As far as I know anyway. I've never heard anyone say it before."

"Me neither."

"What do you say in moments like that?"

"I stick with imma kick yer ass. Sometimes I say that I'll stomp a mudhole in ya the size of Texas."

Sinclaire laughed. "I like that. I might use it sometimes. You can use the orange thing."

"I don't know. Sounds better in a Yankee accent."

She punched his shoulder.

"I can't believe we're workin' this hard to find a zombie," Merle grumbled. "Ain't we supposed to be trippin' over 'em?"

"More proof that Glenn's right. The cold makes it harder for them."

"So we all oughta move to Alaska," Merle muttered. "Wouldn't have a damn thing to worry about. Ya'd keep me warm right Yank?"

Sinclaire remembered the warmth of Daryl's body against hers and shivered.

"Cold?" Merle asked.

"Always," she answered wryly. "I'm not sure Alaska is for me whether I have you to keep me warm or not."

"Hey," Merle grabbed her arm and stopped her. "Look."

"There's more than one."

"I got eyes."

"What should we do?"

Merle whistled. Sinclaire punched him. The zombies, about ten in all, turned slowly their way. Their shambling walk wasn't much faster than a gentle stroll, even though their hands reached eagerly forward and saliva dripped from their open mouths.

"A fuckload slower than they was," Merle commented as he raised his gun.

"Thank God. I swear sometimes I think you're insane. Try to leave one of them alive."

"Okay, how 'bout the one at the back? In the camo?"

"Sounds good."

It was pretty easy to put the zombies down. Sinclaire's head shots had improved and Merle had always been good.

"Now, what're we gonna do with him?" Merle asked as the last remaining zombie shambled closer.

"I brought rope." Sinclaire dug around in her jacket pocket and yanked out a tight coil. "We need to get it tied up so we can make some cuts."

"The fuck ya gonna do? Lasso it?"

"Yes. Annie Oakley at your service," Sinclaire said with a tip of her imaginary hat. "Obviously not. I'm going to distract it; you're going to get the rope around its arms."

"Oh I am?"

"Sure."

She stepped sideways once the zombie's clouded eyes fixed on her. It followed. She smiled when Merle's rope dropped around it. The rope tightened until the zombies arms were pinned at its sides. It growled and tried to turn as it snapped its teeth at Merle.

"This thing stinks," he said. "Next time yer on rope duty."

"Hopefully there won't be a next time. And why do you think you ended up on rope duty this time? Is the rope tight?"

"Yeah."

"Then let it go."

Merle did as she said and stepped to the side. Sinclaire swept the zombie's legs out from underneath it and it fell onto its back.

"I think it's mad at ya," Merle said when it snarled and snapped at the air near her leg.

"It's not going to learn to like me better in the next five minutes," Sinclaire muttered as she knelt beside it.

"Ya look kinda funny," Merle said after a moment.

"I'm having biology class flashbacks," she admitted. "I was never really good at this. I don't mind watching...it's just the feeling you know?"

He sighed and pulled out his knife. He knelt and pushed the blade into the zombie's neck. A thick sludge of black, congealed blood slipped down from the wound.

"There ya go," Merle said, yanking the knife out. "Shoulda been a fuckin' fountain of blood."

"You're sure you hit the carotid?" she asked.

"Fuck yeah I'm sure."

The zombie snapped at his fingers as he pointed indignantly.

"And fuck ya too," he said, plunging the knife down through the top of its head.

"So we learned something today," Sinclaire said. "Zombie blood is gross."

"Hell we already knew that." Merle wiped the knife off in the short, dry grass. "Next time the chink can do his own science experiments."

Sinclaire sighed.

"He knows that's what I call him. We got whatcha call an understandin'."

"Whatever. I've got what you call hunger pains. Do you think the turkey's done?"

"We been gone for awhile. Oughta be. Hope they let Carol cook it."

"Why Carol?"

"She looks like she knows more about cookin'. I don't trust Lori and Andrea's a fuckin' feminist. Everybody knows they can't cook worth a shit."

"What about me?"

"Ya ain't a feminist."

"Would you eat my cooking though?"

Merle gave her a silent appraisal and then said, "Nah."

"Why not?"

"Ya don't look like the type to cook. Ready to head back?"

"No. I'm insulted. I might be a damn good cook."

"When ya've got a mind to try it ya let me know."

"So you can run?" she questioned darkly.

"I don't see why yer so mad about it. Daryl still wants to get in yer pants whether ya can cook or not. Where ya at on that by the way?"

Sinclaire stared at him, amazed that he's brought the conversation back around exactly where he wanted it.

"Are you really that eager to get rid of me?"

"No. If yer with Daryl yer where I know yer safe. I can't watch ya all the time."

"I don't know what to do with that," she admitted.

Merle grinned.

"I mean what you just said! Not...the other thing."

"Sure Yank."

She stood up and began walking back to camp.

"Get the rope," she snapped over her shoulder.

He gave her a salute and began untying the zombie.