AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
This one comes with a Negan and Merle warning. LOL
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"Old ladies are off-limits," Merle said, accepting the bottle of Coke that Negan passed him over the bar where guests, eventually, would sign in to the motel. Daryl thanked Negan when he returned to the mini-fridge, produced another bottle of Coke, and passed it to Daryl before helping himself.
The lobby of the motel wasn't in bad condition, really. The worst thing about the whole place was that it needed to be what Daryl would have called "refreshed." It was dirty. It had been closed up for a while and it hadn't been cared for too well before the doors had been closed.
Negan must have seen him looking around because he laughed and responded to Daryl's unspoken words before he even said anything to Merle's declaration.
"Whole fuckin' place could use a coat of paint," Negan said. "Ceilings are yellow in all the rooms from smoking and sitting up. People who had it before tried to make it an entirely smoke-free fuckin' facility. Cigarette burns in everything. Figure we divide the place into smoking and non-smoking. That damn way people don't have a reason to lie about what the hell they're doing in their rooms. Whole place ends up fucked up when you go tryin' to tell people they can't do what the hell they're going to do any damn way."
"You won't hear shit from me on that," Daryl mused. "I'd be pissed if I paid for a room and couldn't smoke it in. You cleanin' the whole place up?"
"Salvaging what the hell we can of the linens that came with the place," Negan said. "Got someone doing inventory on that shit now. Figure out how much we'll need to just get the place runnin'. We're figurin' in a coat of paint everywhere and we got someone out of Union that owes us a pretty decent debt. He's gonna work that shit off by shampooing the carpets, drapes, and anything else that'll hold still. Then we'll get someone out here for final inspections. Place is pretty much up to code as far as that goes, we just need to make it a little nicer for any damn body that might want to stay here."
"Done this before?" Daryl asked.
"Halves in a Bed and Breakfast in Union," Negan said. "Halves in a couple businesses in Union."
"Because people owe you shit?" Daryl asked.
Negan laughed to himself.
"Because I got a fucking head for business," Negan said. "And because people owe me shit. I get their fucking business out of the fucking toilets and they repay me by putting me into the business for a cut. Nothing like this, though. This here—this is about to be a lucrative fucking partnership."
Negan laughed to himself and leaned on the bar. He was clearly making himself at home there in the lobby. The mini-fridge was a nice touch. He also had a computer already set up for his work, books laid out, and a working phone from which he could begin to do the work that needed to be done. All around them, the place was already buzzing with brothers, old ladies, and whores that Negan had brought to strip beds, take inventory, and clean the old motel from top to bottom.
Daryl let his eyes settle on the wall behind Negan. There were framed papers there—declarations of codes and inspections—but that wasn't what caught Daryl's eye. What caught Daryl's eye were the two framed pictures.
The first he'd seen a thousand times in Hershel's study. He didn't know if the picture was a copy of that same photo, or simply one snapped at the same time that had come out almost identical.
The second, Daryl hadn't seen in many years, though he vaguely remembered when there had been one of those framed in the study as well.
Negan followed Daryl's eyes and smiled to himself when he looked at the photos. Then he looked back at Daryl and hummed.
"Thought it might go a long way to fostering community—like a big, happy, fucking family."
The bottom picture was one that Daryl vaguely remember having made. It had been taken at the lake. Daryl's own face smirked back at him. It was back when his hair was practically white. He was thin enough, then, that he looked like little more than a skeleton, but that was back at a time when he could devour four or five sandwiches without hardly breathing. Wilma had worried that he'd had worms or something until Teeter had promised her that all teenaged boys could eat like that.
Negan was a little older than Daryl and, as such, had already started to fill out more in the picture. He'd started to look more like a man. Merle, a good bit older than the both of them, had clearly been focused on something else. He'd turned back just in time to look at the camera—just in time to offer little more than a confused, and slightly annoyed, expression to whomever had snapped the picture.
"Long damn time ago," Daryl said. "Things change."
"Who are you fuckin' tellin'?" Negan asked.
Daryl's stomach twisted a little at Negan's words. There was no warning in them. There was none of Negan's normal asshole behavior. He was being sincere.
And everyone there knew how much shit had changed for Negan in all those years.
The thought of it jarred Merle back to his original point and he repeated the words he'd presented to Negan before. At the moment, they had a bit more impact than they had when Merle was just randomly spouting his expectations as the Saviors and the Judges found common ground together.
"Old ladies are off-limits," Merle said.
"That's the general fucking consensus," Negan said. "Far as I knew, it was always supposed to be that way."
"Always has been with the Judges," Merle offered sincerely. "But I mean—off-limits to everything. Don't fuckin' harass 'em. And if I hear of anybody tryin' to take somethin' they ain't fuckin' willin' to give? I'ma nail the asshole's dick to that wall right there with a fuckin' sign that says this many spineless assholes is now dickless, too."
Negan jokingly raised the Coke he was nursing in a toast.
"I told 'em hands off or the shit is personal," Negan said. "But that goes both ways. We gonna get ours to wear vests—just until everybody learns the faces an' the fuckin' names. You wanna sample the goods we got, you pay like everybody else. But the old ladies are untouchable." He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Still, though, it's best to remember that this ain't a fuckin' MC of boy scouts. A couple of ass pats or a suggestive fuckin' word of appreciation for a nice pair of tits is a little hard to avoid."
"Our ladies got thick skin," Merle offered, "but make sure these assholes know that there's lines." He smiled to himself. "Your men oughta know that if an ass pat is considered just one of the hazards of the job around here—so the hell is a knee to the damn groin, and our old ladies's gonna know that."
"I hear you," Negan said. "Loud and fuckin' clear. I'll pass the word along."
Merle hummed.
"And we'll get vests on everybody for the first couple weeks," Merle said. "Make it clear to the Saviors which ones of the women strollin' through here are old ladies an' who the hell is comin' in as a tart." He laughed to himself. "It's open season on tarts."
"Always is," Negan offered.
"Lemme make it a clear—an' I mean crystal fuckin' clear—reminder that our House Mouse ain't no ordinary House Mouse," Daryl interjected. "She's my fuckin' old lady and that ring on her finger? Means she is more'n fuckin' off-limits to any asshole that saunters in that damned door."
"Easy brother," Merle crooned in Daryl's ear. He rested his hand on Daryl's shoulder.
Negan smiled at him.
"I'm hearin' ya," Negan said with a laugh. "Loud and clear. Hands off the House Mouse. Of course—that's barring any consensual agreements. I don't police my men and tell 'em who they can and can't fuck if the pussy is willing."
"There ain't gonna be no willin' pussies wearin' vests," Merle said. "And that includes my Sergeant-At-Arms. She's every bit as much of a patch-wearin' member as anybody else. And please don't think that she won't fuck you up on a level you never even imagined possible before."
Merle lit a cigarette and Daryl followed suit. Negan laughed to himself and held his hand out in the direction of Merle.
"Hell, boys, when in Rome. You mind?"
Merle passed him a cigarette and a lighter. As a show of solidarity, Negan produced a flimsy tin ashtray from under the counter and put it on the end of the bar so that all three of them could use it.
"I know all about your Sergeant-At-Arms," Negan said. "Or should I call her your fuckin' Surgeon-At-Arms. Pretty damn smart in your line of work, Merle. Find you someone that can damn near stitch up a carotid artery before an asshole can bleed to death." He puffed on his cigarette. "You gonna tell me—partner to partner and all—how many suicides in Liberty weren't exactly unassisted in the past five years or so?"
Merle laughed to himself.
"I got no clue what the hell you talkin' about," Merle said. "Every suicide I've heard of around these parts is a damned tragedy. A cryin' fuckin' shame."
"And you don't know shit about 'em," Negan offered.
"Hell, no, I don't know shit about that," Merle said. "Why? Do you?"
Negan hummed and shook his head.
"I don't know shit about anything that isn't pussy," Negan said. "Now pussy? That's something I know. How much do you know about pussy these days, Merle? Good quality, Grade A pussy?"
"Same as I've always known about it," Merle said.
"Inquiring fucking minds want to know, Merle," Negan said. He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Genuine fuckin' curiosity. I heard that shit got straight up boiled. Done. Nothin' left but scar tissue."
Merle laughed to himself.
"I don't know where the hell you're gettin' your information from," Merle said, "but your sources are dead ass wrong. For one thing, my old lady is loyal as fuck, so ain't nobody even seen that pussy—and it's better that she is that fuckin' loyal. Because even if she tried to just give a lil' taste of that shit away? I'd be kickin' assholes off my porch like starvin' ass dogs after steak. And for the other thing? Still the best piece of pussy in Georgia. Don't you worry about that." Merle winked at Negan and flicked the ashes off his cigarette into the ashtray. "Of course, my brother might wanna argue about it—he's pretty damn fond of his lil' piece."
"I don't wanna talk about it," Daryl said quickly.
Negan laughed.
"You ain't too damn fond of it after all?" Negan asked. Daryl bristled.
"I just don't want you talkin' about her," Daryl said. "That's all. You're a fuckin' asshole and I don't appreciate you talkin' about my woman—and you keep my kid's name outta your mouth, too."
Merle squeezed Daryl's shoulder again.
"My brother always was the sweet one," Merle said. "And then he up an' got him a fuckin' family. Now he'll kick your ass for lookin' at 'em cross-eyed. Easy, brother. We're just havin' a friendly conversation."
Negan thought all of it was humorous. He repeated his earlier action of mock surrender.
"Old ladies are off-limits," he said. "You called it. I was makin' conversation. Gettin' to know my new partners and their preferred fuckin' partners. That's all. Sincere fuckin' conversation for that proverbial male bonding that's supposed to help us all find a happy fucking union together."
"You called her a geriatric pussy," Daryl growled at him.
"I always did have a way with words," Negan said with a laugh. "Can't we let that be water under the bridge? Turn over a new leaf? Turn another cheek? Let bygones be bygones? I'm sure if I got another look—with a fresh pair of eyes that's seen how much money this new partnership is going to net for all of us? I'd see just how damn irresistible she is. So much so that you were willing to take her and that kid you're boasting about having these days. In fact, it's probably a good damn thing we had this conversation before she got here—otherwise? I might not have been able to control myself. Around these parts, there isn't much a man likes more than a good piece of strange."
Daryl narrowed his eyes at Negan.
"I mean it," he said.
"Off-limits," Negan repeated.
"In every damn sense of the word," Daryl said. "You so much as hurt her fuckin' feelin's? If anybody does? I'll take fingers 'til they feel as fuckin' bad as she does."
Negan smiled at him.
"Holy shit," Negan said with a laugh. "And I always thought you were the most possessive fuckin' asshole there was over a piece of pussy, Merle. But baby brother here has you beat."
"You might wanna tread easy, Negan," Merle said. He wasn't at all stirred up. Daryl could hear it in his voice. Merle couldn't be calmer if he was at home watching television, with a beer in his hand, while Andrea snuggled up with him in the recliner. "Men who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones—and I think you know as good as anybody that even the mention of a man's pussy can piss him off if the way in which it's done ain't right."
"And you won't let me forget it, either, will you, Merle?" Negan responded.
Daryl saw the little exchange between them, but both men accepted the other's warning. They both ended it with a nod.
"Here's to every man having exclusive rights to the pussy that fits him best," Negan said with a laugh. "For a long damn time, if he's lucky."
Merle hummed.
"And to findin' what the hell he needs," Merle offered, without clarifying any more on the fact that, perhaps, it was something of an olive branch—a hope for a better future for those who had known some pretty shitty pasts.
"And to the start of a beautiful fuckin' partnership between the Saviors and the Judges," Negan said.
"I'll drink to that," Daryl said. "Now—enough damn talk about pussy. Show me the plans you two already got for this restaurant before Carol and Andrea get here."
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AN: Just a reminder that this is not TWD, so Negan is an asshole, but he's not really exactly the same Negan as we see in the ZA.
I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know what you think!