August 29-30, 2010
There was a time when Merle wouldn't have given two shits about coming to bed and finding the woman he shacked up with had cried herself to sleep. Hell, he'd have just about patted her on the back for not involving him in whatever emotional upheaval she was in the midst of. Somehow taking responsibility for his little troop of soldiers managed to sprout his long dead empathy into something viable again.
The timing everything sets his teeth on edge. Telling Princess he's good with her sticking around and finding her asleep, fully dressed down to her boots, curled around his pillow like some damn teddy bear? He's immediately suspicious, especially since she didn't show up for supper. They may not be joined at the hip like his brother and his lady, but he does pay attention to where Princess is in the evenings.
She wakes instantly when he touches her calf, but once she recognizes him, she's pliable as hell when he unlaces those heavy combat boots of hers and eases them off her feet. Those big brown eyes just watch him, staying half closed even as he shucks her out of the denim overshirt and jeans. He kicks his own boots to one side, dropping his clothes beside them. She doesn't mind his habit of sleeping nude, although if they don't screw around before they sleep, she tends to sleep in panties and a t-shirt.
"Wanna shower with me, sugar?" he offers.
As sleepy as she looks, he figures she'll say no, but she sits up, tossing her shirt and bra to the overflowing basket in the corner. Her panties follow, flipped with a quick flick of her toe. He watches the show, just like he always does if she gets naked in front of him. It's like a self unwrapping present, seeing all that skin appear bit by bit.
One thing about the island's summer heat is that they don't need to wait on hot water to shower. She presses against his back quickly under the lukewarm water, a clever hand going to cup his family jewels just the way he likes. He grunts softly, still a little on edge, and captures her hand. When he moves it away, she sobs behind him, leaning against him, and he feels guilty for that, but something's wrong and he needs to make sure it's not him before sex is back on the table.
Despite forty years of practice at ignoring feminine tears, a skill initially learned to save his own sanity, Merle turns. She looks so young with the shower wetting down her dark hair, and she stuffs a fist against her mouth to muffle the sound of her crying. The sight chills him, because he knows why someone cries like that.
"Hey now, Princess. I ain't gonna tell you not to cry if you need to, but there ain't no reason to hide it from me. That wasn't a no, just a not right now." Sending her back into tears hadn't been his intention at all in stopping her quick shift into something sexual.
When she drags the hand away from her mouth, he really needs to know it's not because of him now, so he reaches for her. She melts into his arms as easily as she ever has, shaking against him but still almost soundless as she sobs. Their skin is pruned and chilled despite the heat by the time she stops crying.
"Lo siento," she says, voice hoarse and raw from crying. There's a bit more Spanish, some of which he can loosely translate, but it's on the same theme. She's sorry, and he doesn't have the first fucking clue why she's apologizing.
"Sweetheart, I'm only understanding about every fifth word. Most of my Spanish ain't the sort for polite company." Considering the source of most of his vocabulary is the Georgia prison system, it certainly shouldn't be anything the usually bright, cheery Princess would be saying right now.
She blinks up at him finally, shaking her head a little. He isn't entirely sure she realized she wasn't speaking English. It's natural enough, he supposes, since she's always had just enough of an accent to tell him English wasn't her native tongue. "You must think I've gone crazy," she mutters.
"Nah. Just not sure if someone hurt your feelings, or if some bad memory crept up on you today." He sighs, still not sure what the hell he should do, if anything. "Maybe we need to finish up in here?"
Princess nods, reaching for the bottle of strawberry scented shampoo she seems to favor. Merle knows there's a variety down in the little commissary, and he's rather glad she doesn't like anything floral or that makes her smell like she's smeared sunscreen in her hair. It takes her longer to finish than him, because all that wild hair of hers needs conditioner, and his hair is still cut so short he just runs the soapy washcloth over his head before washing the rest of him.
He likes being done sooner, because he normally can watch her soap up her dark skin. Tonight, on impulse, he steals her washcloth away, smirking when her eyes widen. But she lets him, watching with interest as he slowly draws it across her body. As rapidly as she's blinking, he realizes this is a turn on for her and files it away for future reference.
"C'mon. Get dried off, and I'll finish what I started, if you want me to."
She does want him to, but it's definitely not the athletic hijinks they normally get up to. He finds he doesn't mind, either, but he hadn't really expected her to stay interested this long. If she wants soft and slow, he can manage that, too.
Afterward, she curls against him, hand over that scar she likes to pet. "Your brother thinks I'm too young for you."
Out of all the things he expected to hear, Daryl's name in conjunction to dissuading Princess away from him was not one of them. He clears his throat. "Huh. Always thought it would be Michonne or one of the other ladies who warned you I was bad news."
Princess stills so suddenly, he knows Daryl isn't the only reason she's upset.
"Look at me, darlin'." He recognizes the emotion in her expression all too well. She's afraid, not of him, but of whatever everyone's saying. "Who messed with you, and what did they say?"
She repeats her two encounters, and it's nothing he doesn't expect, at least as far as Michonne. They've got a friendship going, but he knows the woman is still wary of him. He doesn't mind, most days, because he met the bastard that was supposed to be Andre's father. Maybe Merle wasn't made of any better stuff before the world ended, but he never dragged a woman and kid along into all his shit.
But his baby brother undercutting something decent in Merle's life? That's certainly a new one. Maybe it's payback for the times Merle's hellraising meant Daryl never broke free of their past. Boy had potential, back when he was young, and the more Merle's around his soldiers, the more he realizes how different Daryl might have been if he'd just stayed sober long enough to give the boy a chance in the world set against them.
The problem is that Merle wouldn't have a single goddamn problem if Daryl came to him and told him to back off. But cornering Princess after she already told his woman to piss off? That's just uncalled for.
Merle's not going to add to her troubled thoughts tonight, though. He sighs, running his hand along her skin. The scars she thinks make her ugly soothe him in a way. It's part of who she is, just like his are part of him. "I won't claim to be a good man, Princess. A good man probably would have considered all those things they're telling you and never let you get your hands under my towel that first night."
The fact that a pretty girl her age looks at him at all is a warning sign, really. Knowing she's been abused, he is probably taking advantage of whatever mental hangups the abuse left her with. But like he told her, he's not a good man.
Princess squirms, angling so that she can raise up to look at him without dislodging his hand off her. "A bad man would have fucked me and sent me on my way," she says, gaze intent on his. "Not let me stay and use him to ward off nightmares."
"You haven't had any nightmares." That would have woken him, he knows. Hell, he's surprised he hasn't woken her with his own. He's got plenty of material, and in the past, when he's been sober, nights are usually the reason he would end up giving in again.
"No, I haven't." That damn smile she's giving him makes him feel like he did something special, instead of just being a willing bed partner. "Maybe you need to quit thinking so poorly of yourself."
He reaches up to pull her down in a kiss that makes her whine and wiggle her hips against him by the time they're done. "Maybe you should take your own advice, sugar. Don't let asshole do gooders throw you off balance like this."
The smile's even fucking bigger now, bright and cheerful like he likes seeing on her. It's like his own slice of sunshine, and he's man enough to admit he wants to keep her brightness in his life.
It dims just a little, though, and she worries at her bottom lip until he puts a stop to it by rubbing his thumb along her lip. Normally, she'd nip at his thumb, giggling, but tonight, it's a kiss. "I gotta tell you something, before you say I can stay. Something I should have told you last night."
"Alright. Can't be nothing I haven't heard before." Honestly, Merle really can't think of a damn thing the girl could say that would have him show her the door. The one thing that would have been a breaking point once is the thing he knows already, because she can't hide the color of her skin.
"I think if I was older, they wouldn't be so gung ho about warning me off you," she admits. "But Michonne knows how old I actually am."
"I'm guessing that's older than eighteen, or they would have had my balls before they ever spoke to you." He'd guessed her to be close to Michonne's age, but hell, he would have guessed the lady lawyer to be in her mid-twenties if she hadn't made a comment about graduating high school back in 1994.
"I'm twenty-three." She's worried when she says it, and he thinks back to the offhand comment about her being twenty years younger last night. He'd been off by a full decade.
"If you think that's going to dissuade a dirty old man out of your bed by admitting you're younger rather than older, it's the wrong argument. You ain't jailbait, and that's all I gotta know." Her laughter is exactly what he wants to hear. "Listen to ole Merle right now, sweetheart. One day you're gonna wake up and realize there's better choices that me for a ripe young thing like yourself to be making, and I'm good with the fact that day will come. Until then? I got no plans on bailing on you."
Regular sex is damned nice, but he's old enough to know the nearly every night thing they have going isn't something that will last. He invited her to make her sneaky little move in permanent because he found he likes having someone to end his day with. They have their own routines during the day, and knowing that in the darkest part of the night he can roll over and wrap himself around her? He's not going to admit it out loud yet, but it's better than spilling himself inside her willing warmth.
Princess is happy again, making that soft sound he'd call a purr if she was a cat, and draping over him as if it wasn't hotter than hell outside. He doesn't try to dissuade her one bit. His brother and Michonne can both go fuck themselves if they don't like it. He makes a promise to tell Daryl as much, tomorrow. Tonight he's not leaving her to work herself back into the state she was in when he found her.
Morning marks the first time she hasn't scampered before he wakes. Merle chalks it up to the emotional upheaval of the evening before. She's groggy and hides under the pillow when he slips out of bed. He gets dressed, stuffing their shared laundry into his duffle, and drops to a knee on the bed beside her.
"Gonna give me a goodbye kiss?" he drawls. He isn't surprised when that gets her to peek out from under the pillow, eying him curiously. Claiming the kiss, he drags a hand down her bare skin, cupping her ass cheek and squeezing. "Take the day off and be lazy, sunshine. Ain't no one gonna begrudge you a day in bed."
He thinks she'll refuse at first. She's been pretty regimented in putting in all the right appearances, but yesterday may have broken her angelic good girl routine. "Maybe I will. Might go exploring on the river side again, if I get bored."
"Might as well. Everyone's obsessed with seeing the ocean. River's got more life to her, but that's probably the mountain boy in me talking."
Merle snags the lanyard from around his neck, settling it over her head instead. All that shit yesterday over a key, so he'll draw his own line in the sand for her. She eyes the key as it falls to rest between her breasts, and he knows he's going to miss breakfast when she rolls to her knees to yank at his waistband.
She's on her belly and snoring lightly when he leaves, ass bare to the world. He admires the view for a few heartbeats and smirks lightly to himself. His brother expects him to get bored of Princess? Good fucking luck with that.
Dropping off the laundry doesn't take long, and the woman who starts sorting it never bats an eye when she spills out a woman's clothing along with his own to sort for washing. Princess's outfits are fairly distinctive, since no one else braves long sleeves in this heat. By nightfall, any secrecy they had is probably going to be gone. It's a good thing. Girl's not his dirty little secret.
Missing breakfast means most everyone has scattered to their daily routines. He stops by to tell the skinny chick in charge of the kiddies that Princess is taking herself a personal day, and the brunette nods absently. "Send 'em down to the range," he offers.
That gets Lori's attention, but it's not the judgmental sort he would normally expect from a woman he knows is one cop's widow and hooked up with another cop even now. Lady's got herself a type, obviously. "Some aren't old enough for the range."
"They can bring their fishing gear. I'll spare someone to make sure none of them get the bright idea to swim to Spain or something equally foolish."
She laughs. "Keep the closest eye on Carl, then, because he's the one that would come up with that idea."
"I'll do that." He's heard tales of the teenager in question, because Princess thinks the boy's the most hilarious kid she's ever met. She adores Carl best of all the kids, although he's not entirely sure why. Maybe he'll ask her, one of these days.
He's halfway toward the lobby, with the range slotted in for his day anyway, when she calls out his name. Glancing back, Lori's fidgeting with the shirt she'd been mending when he approached. "Do you want me to look in on her?"
Thinking it over, he shakes his head. "Nah. I'll be back by lunchtime. Gonna check on her myself then, if she hasn't ventured out." Three steps closer to the door, and he stops himself. "Thanks for offering." The look of shock on Lori's face at the gratitude makes him chuckle all the way to the damn range.
The good mood holds, and he doesn't mind the rugrats being underfoot. They follow him back like he's Princess's sort of pied piper, grimy, muddy, and laughing their little asses off. He's not going to admit to how many of the little pests he ended up dunking when he declared the range closed and sent everyone to splash in the water. He's probably trashed his asshole reputation completely now, at least for the population under legal drinking age.
Lori takes one look at the kids and points at the outdoor showers, but she's smiling even as he passes her on the way to the stairs. The door's unlocked and Princess nowhere to be seen. Her pack's gone, so he expects she decided to take his hint about a river jaunt. He cleans up, putting on dry clothes and thinking over what he'd decided while putting some of the newbies through their paces on shooting.
It doesn't take him long to grab some food he can carry along with him. He's got a radio on his belt, so he just leaves word with Noah that he's to be considered out of pocket for the afternoon. The boy glances around the tables and gives him a knowing look. His soldiers got the hint this morning, when he suggested a few changes that needed to be made.
Crossing paths with his own baby brother is perfect timing. He'd promised himself to find Daryl today, and here Daryl found him instead of him having to go looking. When he closes a hand around Daryl's bicep, he makes it just firm enough that Daryl's eyes widen. It's easy to read from his brother's narrow eyed wariness as he allows Merle to tow him into one of the old hotel offices that Daryl knows something's up.
Part of Merle wants to make Daryl squirm a bit, some payback for Princess being so upset. But he's had months of being clear headed and watching his brother creep out of his protective shell. He's not enough of a bastard to be his old vicious self to Daryl… not yet.
"We need to have us a man to man conversation, baby brother, about why you aren't man enough to come to me when you got a problem with who I'm fucking."
Daryl's eyes go wide, even as he yanks his arm away from Merle. He puts space in between them, and Merle's earned that wariness, he knows, but it still rankles. They've brawled plenty as adults, and Merle started ninety-nine percent of those by being drunk or high, but he's never crossed that line sober. Jesus, like that's a fucking justification. So he never imitated Will Dixon completely? Still makes him a fucking major part of why Daryl's always faced the world like a feral dog, just waiting for his next beating.
It's a realization Merle isn't sure he's ready to completely face. That lady shrink could probably write a book just on all the shit Merle needs to own up to.
"Ain't good, what you're doing with the girl, Merle," Daryl says. He doesn't mumble it like he once would have, and Merle can see it's taking a conscious effort for Daryl to hold his shoulders steady and not hunch them protectively.
"Everything we do is by her lead and her choice. She wants it over, it's over." Merle takes his own step backward, giving Daryl some extra space before he speaks again. "Something needs to be said, let your woman do the talking, Daryl, because you make her cry like that again, and I'll beat your ass stone cold sober."
His brother jerks to attention completely, eyes scanning Merle's expression with more intent than threat assessment. Merle's never threatened him over a woman before. Hell, in the past, Merle's always been happy to share any woman willing to fuck them both. Daryl hadn't been interested in many women, so Merle had always just been happy to see glimpses that his brother wasn't broken beyond repair when it came to associating with people.
He'd never been especially particular if it was before or after Daryl'd gotten his rocks off, either. Being honest with himself in a way he usually isn't, Merle can admit the majority of the interest he'd developed in Michonne before Daryl finally manned up had been curiosity about why she intrigued his brother. That's another good one to make Denise's pretty head short circuit, he thinks.
Daryl clears his throat, and he looks downright ashamed. "A'right. Didn't mean to make her cry, Merle. Never that."
Merle hums thoughtfully. "I figured as much, Daryl. Pissing off women ain't never been your habit of choice. It's why we're having this conversation with our words and not our fists."
If they were in some stupid TV movie, this would probably be the point where his brother asks him about his unexpected defense of Princess, but neither of them have changed that much. Instead, Daryl predictably asks about Princess. "She okay?"
"Seems to be. Probably wouldn't say no to an apology." Merle's not very good at those, but Daryl can probably figure one out that works.
Daryl just nods, sighing deeply. Merle pushes away from the wall and closes the distance between them. His brother doesn't flinch away this time, so he curls a hand around the back of Daryl's neck and drags him in for a hug. Daryl stiffens at first, but then relaxes in a way that unleashes guilt Merle's spent a lifetime ignoring.
Still, he's not so much a changed man now that he doesn't cackle when his brother scrubs at his forehead and bitches after Merle kisses his forehead like he's a toddler all over again. With his self-made promise kept, he leaves Daryl sputtering in the office and goes to see if he can track down Princess and propose an entirely different solution than they were pressing on her about that goddamned key.
A/N: Next chapter may run a mixed POV for the first time, as an experiment on how to run the two couples' stories concurrently in the same story.