Chapter 7: Bad News (I don't care, I like you)
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Before he came to his senses, drifting in and out of some semblance of consciousness, Rick thought he was already dead.
Would have been a no-brainer, but there was another voice, somewhere within the backdrop of his fuzzed thoughts.
...you ain't gonna die, you ain't gonna die...
Repeated over and over, like a disparate mantra. It should have been irritating, but Rick found himself clinging onto it.
When he properly awoke, he was still pretty sure he was dead.
"He lives,' said Carol, just to confirm it.
And for a little while she was like a ghost, because Rick had gotten into the habit of presuming that people who disappeared were dead. It'd become easier that way. Some imagined sense of closure, maybe.
There were a few hacking breaths in-between those thoughts. Death's sense of humour must've gotten crueller, if it was going to let him suffer physical pain in the afterlife too.
"...Merle?"
Shit. But that wasn't supposed to be the first word he croaked out.
Carol didn't seem to mind. Her mouth was still moving occasionally, saying something that might have been soothing or important.
"No, I'm not Dixon. Very relieved to say."
Rick coughed again and tried to regather his thoughts. To ask more appropriate questions.
Why aren't you dead? Where are we? Is Merle okay?
"...you're lucky to be alive. That dummy actually came through. How about that?"
Something pressed against his stomach, and he wanted to look at it. But it was taking all his strength just to keep a focus on Carol's face, and the odd rustic backdrop behind her that he didn't recognise at all.
It wasn't really a concern in the moment though. He was still too busy worrying about other things. Other people.
Just had to keep coming back to Dixon, didn't he? Damn it.
Carol smiled, as if she knew all about that.
"He's okay. He just went back to Alexandria."
"...oh," and Rick pretended he wasn't disappointed.
It wasn't like he'd expected Merle to stick around. To be the sort to wait diligently at his bedside every hour, wrought with worry until he woke. Then maybe some emotional and far too clichéd embrace that might've sealed their feelings for each other (whatever they were supposed to be).
Of course not, that was bullshit.
But he had hoped that Merle would be there. That was all.
"Those Dixon boys are all the same," Carol said, as if she'd read his mind. "Run away. Seems like the easy option, sometimes."
"Is it?"
Carol looked to the side, smiling wryly.
"Not always, no."
And they left it at that.
"It wasn't Merle's fault this happened, you know," Rick told her later, when more of his consciousness had come back together, and the burn in his torso wasn't so terrible anymore.
"Oh, I know."
She tapped the kettle that was heating on a tiny stove, then poured out a couple of hot drinks for them both.
Rick took one with an apprehensive feeling.
"What did he tell you?"
"Nothing, really. But Dixon's poker face leaves something to be desired, so it wasn't difficult to figure it out."
Rick raised a brow. "We were..."
"Together?"
"No. Well, yeah-"
"I guess it makes sense," Carol took a small sip of her drink, as if she hadn't just rocked Rick's mind with her deductive skills. "First and only time I see Merle Dixon look at anything like he's been cutting onions? Something is seriously wrong there. I think you might've broken him."
Rick wanted to protest, but the ache in his chest, something as painful as that damn bullet wound in his side, distracted him far more.
He smiled feebly.
"Wish I had an excuse. I don't. It just...just happened. Messed up, I know."
"We all have our own ways of coping, Rick," Carol looked away, and her gaze settled out the window, where the sky was diluted blue and far too bright. "And what about my Dixon? How's he holding up? Does he still hate me?"
A flurry of questions, all spoken around a tight lipped smile. Rick tried to return it.
"Daryl doesn't hate you. But I think you might've broken a Dixon, too."
"We're terrible," Carol's smile became sorry. "I suppose you'll tell them all I'm here?"
Rick started to nod, and then realised she had no idea what had happened to Glenn and Abraham.
It was easy to forget.
Not that they were dead. That little detail was a constant and torturous headache permeating the back of his mind. But time was stopping and starting like a stuttering old car lately, and only seemed to allow itself to be measured by who'd died.
Rick took a braced breath, but there was a knock at the door in the same moment.
Carol rolled her eyes as she stood up.
"Suppose that'll be the King."
Rick thought about questioning her sanity. Then wondered some more about his own. Or if he really was dead.
...you ain't gonna die, you ain't gonna die...
And then he realised that old mantra, still sometimes replaying itself in the back of his mind, was Merle's voice.
Bloody and wide eyes and furrowed brow, and a single dirtied hand clutching at his own, much too tightly.
But of course it was him.
Strange, recalling Merle so afraid like that.
As Carol opened the door, Rick decided he might as well welcome whatever came next.
Seemed everything (and everyone) was full of strange surprises these days.
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"Carol needs to be told."
Ezekiel didn't lecture Rick. He didn't seem like that kind of person anyway. He just made a statement and let it hang above Rick's head, allowing him to figure out whatever he wanted to do with it.
He was a benevolent sort of leader, so far as Rick cared to hope. He wasn't the Governor or Terminus or Negan, and he didn't lead anyone through fear or by nefarious means.
Obviously, this was what made him such a success. And the tiger at his side couldn't have hurt, either.
"I'll tell her," Rick decided. "But we need your help."
It wasn't planned, but the sight of the Kingdom rekindled something close to hope within him. A thriving community, and within its walls Rick could imagine how the world might start to grow into something functional again.
Oh, but if Alexandria could see this.
"Your friend left in quite the hurry," Ezekiel said.
Rick blinked. "Friend?"
"Yes. The one with the interesting arm attachment."
"Oh, Merle? Yeah. He ain't exactly the sociable type."
"I gathered. Even so, he told me to tell you he was sorry."
Rick tilted his head.
"For what?"
Ezekiel shrugged. "I'm not sure. For leaving, I suppose?"
88
Rick returned to Alexandria a couple of days later, all without fanfare.
Michonne and Daryl were waiting for him at the gates, more stoic than usual. Carl stood a little further back with an unreadable expression. Rick would later translate that as pissed.
Merle was nowhere to be seen.
A couple of weeks after that, framed against cool mid-autumn sky, Rick watched as Michonne swung her katana and stabbed it into the decomposed head of a stray walker.
"I just don't know if we can trust them."
Rick smiled faintly. "You sound like Merle."
"Don't give me that much credit. I wasn't half so worried about you."
She sliced the katana through the air again, then pointed it toward the yellowing field ahead. Merle and Carl were there, the undetailed outlines of two figures swinging sticks at each other. Every so often Merle raised his arm in a stopping motion, then Carl would nod and start swinging again.
It'd become a regular routine, apparently.
Rick secretly smirked. Wild that Merle Dixon resembled a responsible guardian, sometimes.
"Coincidental, don't you think?" said Michonne. "You two go off on a 'supply run', and some sniper comes along to take you out like that?"
"You thinkin' it was a Saviour?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe someone who's been following you."
"Maybe," Rick sighed and rubbed a hand over his brow. "It was a supply run, by the way."
"Right. You two just went looking for supplies all night long."
"Could've happened," Rick leaned back against a gutted-out car, then pressed a testy hand to his injured side. "He's barely spoken to me since I got back."
Michonne swung her sword again with scowl.
"Don't take it so personal. Merle's all business these last few weeks. I kinda miss his bullshitting," she looked mildly disturbed by her own words. "Jesus. Don't tell him I said that."
"Secret's safe."
But Rick missed it too.
There was something decidedly neutered about Merle lately. He'd visited Rick's house a few times in the first couple of weeks of his recovery, but only to relay walker reports and drop off random supplies. He didn't look Rick in the eye the entire time, and he didn't stick around long enough for Rick to question it.
To be fair, in those first couple of weeks other things had taken immediate priority; such as making sure that Carl and Judith were okay, and then the sorry business of being cooped up and waiting for a bullet wound to heal.
Tara had volunteered looking after Judith (in-between reassuring Rick that the community wasn't actually falling apart), and by the time Rick was feeling much better he had discovered that both Merle and Michonne were playing combat trainers and surrogate parents to Carl.
Rick was just relieved that Carl was sometimes smiling again.
"So, you think we can trust them?" Michonne probed.
"The Kingdom saved my life. They didn't have to do that."
"Merle saved your life. He found the damn place."
"And yet he's still pissed at me."
Michonne looked at him in some despair. "You really don't get it, do you?"
She raised a hand, beckoning to the two figures in front of them. Carl returned a wave, and Michonne nodded to the gates, before turning back to Rick.
"He's not pissed at you, you dumbass."
Then she looked across the field again and gestured for Merle to come over. He seemed hesitant, even at a distance.
Michonne left without any elaboration, and Rick was left to watch as Merle began to turn into something detailed and terribly missed as he approached.
"Hey, Friendly."
His good arm was raised in some half-hearted attempt at a greeting, the other shielding his eyes against fierce sunlight. He turned and leaned only slightly against the hood of the car, parallel to Rick.
"You doin' okay?" the words were alarmingly earnest.
Rick nodded. "Yeah. Better than a couple weeks ago, to be sure."
Merle didn't return his smile, and Rick noticed the way his arm tensed. Fingers scrunching at rusted metal on the car.
It looked painful.
"You okay?" Rick asked.
"Uh huh. Sure thing."
"Good."
It was stilted, like a rehearsed conversation between them. Small talk that shouldn't have existed anymore.
Rick knew it, because he could see the flutter in Merle's throat when he swallowed, and the unnaturally deft way he kept his gaze ahead, as if looking at Rick for too long might turn into his most fatal mistake.
Rick decided to test it.
He placed a hand on his knee. Light enough, but also enough to make Merle tilt his head down, and stare at it like it might be a foreign creature.
"What's up?" he asked.
Rick tried to smile at him again.
"Just kinda upset. You didn't even have a get-well-soon card waiting for me."
The corners of Merle's mouth tugged, but that was all. "I don't remember you ever gettin' me one, either."
"We weren't really friends then. Also, you were an asshole."
"I'm still an asshole."
"Mm. Not so much anymore. Only sometimes."
"Yeah?" Merle turned his head, finally, to look at him.
His glare wasn't typical, and it was verging upon something else. The harsh sunlight made his skin look rougher and paler, and Rick noticed the darker circles shading his eyes for the first time.
"Merle, what's the matter…"
"It's nothin'," Merle said, and his smile was as forced as his words.
His gaze wandered slowly down Rick's body, and it wasn't leery or anything suggesting that. His eyes froze upon a single spot, and his mouth moved into an uneven line with it.
Rick realised he was staring at the bullet wound. The bandaging there was still visible through fabric, as were the fading stains of blood.
Merle turned away. "I'm goin' on a run later. You need anythin'?"
"It's already sunset."
"You need anythin'?" Merle reiterated, as if he were asking the field.
Rick debated a more truthful answer.
Yeah, I need you, you dummy.
But that would have been too sentimental for either of their tastes, perhaps.
"…no," he settled on, and clutched at his knee instead.
Then he searched for a lax hand in his own. Merle's fingers were dirtied and warm as usual, but they didn't move and lock between Rick's this time.
Instead he made a shaken sound as he pulled away, as if the touch might have stung him.
"You okay?" Rick asked.
Merle nodded and stood up in a rush.
"I gotta go," he said. "...gotta...got shit to do. You know."
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"I got some shit for us to do," Rick told him, a couple of days later.
Merle glanced up from what looked like a motorbike autopsy. Tools and mechanical parts all laid out in Daryl's garage, and Daryl's hunched form inspecting what looked like the skeleton of an old bike. Merle knelt nearby, occasionally passing him the appropriate component.
He exchanged a glance with his brother before standing up, looking Rick over with a curious face.
"What's the problem, Sheriff?"
"We're goin' to Hilltop. Need to convince them that the Kingdom is a good idea."
Merle scoffed, but not for the reasons Rick suspected.
"You got shot barely three weeks ago. 'Member that shit?"
"Yeah. And I'm all good now."
Merle's smirk was considered.
"Yeah. That's what I figured," he shrugged. "Who am I to talk, anyways?"
"That's the spirit."
It was their first proper run together since the shooting incident, and it showed.
It wasn't difficult, noticing the cautious way Merle led them out of Alexandria; the way he held his assault rifle, posture rigid as Rick got into the car. He'd always been pretty good at that sort of thing. Rick guessed it was the ex-military side coming out, but now it was all so prominent and procedural.
Merle gave a backwards glance and a wave, before Michonne and Daryl were following them into the vehicle.
Carl hung back at the gates with a soured expression.
"Kid'll get over it," Merle said, then looked at Rick with a warier face anyway. "You sure 'bout this?"
Rick nodded. "We can't waste any more time."
88
Maggie was waiting for them at the Hilltop gates, having already been alerted by some scouts of their arrival.
Her face was hardened, and though her rifle hung loose at her side Rick didn't miss the armed guards flanking the edges of the site.
"It's been a while," Rick greeted, and she nodded and invited them all in.
"It has."
She didn't say another word until they were behind the closed and grandiose doors of Hilltop's Manor house. Jesus stood at the entrance, back to the door, like some propitiated bodyguard.
Merle leaned back against an oaken desk.
"So what's all the hooplah, Bo-peep?" he asked what everyone else was wondering. "We under house arrest or what?"
Maggie scowled, but not at anyone in particular.
"Gregory tried to kill me."
She went on to tell them about his betrayal, and the fact that he was currently incarcerated, awaiting an unconfirmed death sentence.
"Holy shit. Bo-Peep the executioner. I like it."
"Shut up," Michonne said automatically.
"It isn't like that," Jesus said. "Nothing's been decided yet."
Merle sneered at him. "Let me guess, you're all about saving his sorry ass?"
"And I'll hazard a guess you're not?"
Merle didn't seem interested in disputing it. He smiled and raised his hand in short defence.
"I'm just sayin', might not be the best way, is all."
"I agree," Maggie's voice was clear and decided, and everyone stared at her as if she'd already done the deed. She didn't look fazed. "He needs to die."
Merle laughed. "We're really on the same page here, ain't we, Bo-Peep?"
"Shut up, Merle," Michonne said, and then looked at Maggie in some concern. "Maggie, you can't-"
"I can do what I think is right. And this is right for my people. Gregory wants to sell us out to the Saviours. Then he tries to kill me. How many chances am I supposed to give him?"
The argument was only uncomfortable because it was compelling.
Rick had become used to such moral dilemmas. They were endless and had become part and parcel of the world they lived in now, but it still troubled him to see someone like Maggie dealing with that.
She seemed to realise it.
"You don't think I'd do it, do you?" she looked at Rick. "But I would. I'd do anything now, to keep my baby safe. And I can't risk anything else, not after what happened…" her voice faded, because everyone knew what she was referring to.
Michonne turned away, and Daryl looked impartially out the window, as if he'd detached himself from the entire conversation.
Merle hauled himself away from the desk.
"I'll do it. Kill him, I mean."
He spoke plainly, like he might be suggesting a trip to the shop. He looked expectant too, as if Rick or Maggie were supposed to nod and tell him 'yeah, that's fine.'
"Okay," Maggie said. "I can go with that."
Rick stared at her.
"No. We're not doing that."
"Why not? It solves the problem. And Merle wants to do it."
"Of course he'd want to," Jesus said. He pulled away from the door and frowned between all of them. His glare rested on Merle. "That isn't how we do things round here, anyway."
"That's funny," said Merle. "Coulda sworn your leader were sayin' somethin' else."
"This community is still a democracy."
Merle scoffed, and Rick moved unconsciously closer to him.
An arm stretched out, as if catching his wrist was actually going to make him shut up.
Merle did shut up, but he didn't look at Rick at all.
Maggie looked warily between all of them.
"What did you lot come here for, anyway?"
8
They left the Hilltop on a tenuous note.
Rick wanted to be pleased that they were considering the Kingdom a useful ally. Another string to their bow against the Saviours, at the very least.
But all he could really think about was Merle and all the dumbass ideas that seemed to follow him around.
"You're not a damn assassin for hire, you know."
They stood just outside the gates of Alexandria. Merle was leaning obnoxiously against the roof of the car, looking far too interested in the state of his bladed hand.
He glanced up at Rick as if he were boring him.
"What're you gettin' your panties in a bundle for? I'm just offerin' a favour, is all. An' that Gregory asshole deserves what's comin' to him."
"That's not the point. You don't have to get your hands dirty like that anymore."
"'Hands'?" Merle said wryly. He raised his mutilated arm, like the punchline to a bad joke.
Rick scowled. "You know what I mean. You don't work for the Governor now."
"No. I just work for you now, right?"
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Sure you didn't."
Rick bit back a curse. Usually he could deal with an antagonistic Merle. Hell, it was his default setting most of the time anyway. But this was different, and Merle's smirk looked strange and bitter.
He rolled his eyes, slinging a rifle over his shoulder. He appraised Rick like he might be humouring him.
"Y'know, you act like you know what's best fer people, Rick. But you don't know everythin'," his brow twitched. "Or we wouldn't be in this shitty ass Saviour situation in the first place, would we?"
The words didn't contain any bite, but that only made it much worse.
Rick felt nauseous. And it was weird too; watching the way Merle just stood there, sneering at him. Goading for a reaction.
Rick didn't want to disappoint. And he was pissed.
He swung a fist. It was hampered by emotion and little sense of direction, but it was still enough to knock Merle back and onto his ass.
He sat there and laughed like he'd expected it.
"Least yer still got that neat right hook," he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grin splintering with a thin thread of blood.
Rick didn't feel any better for it.
88
He felt much worse upon telling Michonne, who listened as if he was telling a story she already knew the disappointing conclusion to.
"He'll kill Gregory," Rick said. "Whether Maggie wants him to or not."
"You think so?" she sounded doubtful, for whatever reason.
"Of course he will," Rick glared at the ground. "I just don't know what to do with him."
It wasn't true at all, because he knew exactly what he wanted to do with Merle Dixon, and most of that stuff involved shaking sense into him or getting far too intimate with him these days. But that was also what made it so infuriating.
Because at this point it was getting tiring, pretending like he didn't care. Pretending he didn't care whenever that dumbass disappeared for too long on some mystery run. Or whenever he eventually came back, with suspect scrapes and a bloodied knife hand, then barely said a word about it. Or just wore a stretching grin, as if that were supposed to suffice.
"He won't kill Gregory," Michonne said, drawing an idle line across the table with her finger. She looked up at Rick. "Merle's not like that anymore, and you know it."
"I don't," Rick wanted to believe himself, even as his throat narrowed with the lie.
Michonne looked to the side with a sigh.
"You remember back at the prison, right? When I first met your group?"
"Of course."
"Back then you looked at me like I was a wild animal. Like I couldn't be trusted," her voice became hushed, eyes narrowing like an accusation. "You remember that too, don't you?"
Rick nodded slowly, unable to meet her gaze. "Yeah. I remember."
"Well. You looked at Merle exactly the same way. But for a long time. You just kept waiting for him to screw up. Only because you knew that he would."
Rick felt his lip curl.
In this moment he almost longed for a time back at the prison. A time when he'd hoped Merle wouldn't make it back from one of those runs. Maybe he'd get caught off-guard by a rogue walker. Or shot in the head by another terrible human because of his smart mouth.
Oh, but Rick used to count on it.
Anything to get rid of their black sheep.
"Could you blame me?" he muttered. "Things were…different then."
Michonne stood up, levelling him an uncompromising stare.
"Right. And things are different now. People are. Some people changed for the better…some for the worse," there was a deliberate pause, and her gaze eased just a bit. "Merle changed. But only because of you."
"He..."
Rick felt his stomach clench, but before he could consider a more coherent response, Carl was walking into the room.
"You talking about Merle?" he looked only mildly interested in the conversation. "I think he's pretty cut up about it all."
"…about what?" Rick was confused.
"Uh, about you getting shot?" Carl opened a cupboard door, debating between the luxuries of two candy bars. He settled on one before turning back to Rick. "I think he still feels guilty. Or something."
Rick exchanged a glance with Michonne.
"Why would he?" Michonne asked slowly.
Carl frowned through a mouthful of candy, looking at them both as if they'd been recently concussed.
"Er. Because that supply run was his dumb idea, right?"
And then he left the room, like he hadn't just solved the puzzle that had been eating Rick alive for the past few weeks.
Michonne smiled at Rick through a shrug.
"Who knew teenage boys could be so enlightening?"
88
Rick walked to Daryl's house with intent.
It was very late, but the porch light was still on, casting a harsh spotlight on the motorbike that had become a strewn-out staple on the lawn. There wasn't much point in leaving it in the garage, since Daryl was more often out than he wasn't.
Tonight he wasn't, and he stood in the doorway looking at Rick with some apprehension.
"Is he alright?" Rick asked at once.
Daryl's shrug was non-committal. He gestured for Rick to follow him inside.
Daryl's house wasn't much for guests; the scant décor, consisting of the odd dead or dying plant that some thoughtful Alexandrian (probably Carol) had given him many months ago. Muddied footsteps, both old and fresh, tracked the beige carpets, and the walls were stripped bare of everything but the default magnolia.
The kitchen countertop was covered in cigarette ends and emptied whiskey bottles. Bags of trash that probably contained more whiskey bottles littered the floor, like a drunken gang of raccoons had had their way there.
Daryl looked at it all with a disdainful face.
"He's doin' pretty shit, in case you hadn't noticed."
Rick cleared his throat. "Look. I punched him cos-"
"Cos he's a piece of shit? Yeah, I guessed," Daryl didn't sound surprised at all. He might have looked regretful about it though. "What'd I tell you? Merle ain't good at relationships. Only good at screwing 'em up."
"It isn't a…" the words dried up within Rick's throat.
Tired of pretending.
Daryl's face became curious.
"Where'd you two go that night, anyway? Merle ain't said a damn word about it."
Rick looked away, feeling the heat crawl up his face.
"Hell. Never mind," Daryl rubbed the remnants of dirt off his hands and onto his jeans. "Ain't said more than ten words to me since he got back today. And most of 'em were tellin' me to fuck off. Maybe you'll have better luck."
He stepped back. It was an unspoken admission, because of course Daryl Dixon wasn't about to tell Rick to go and fix his consistently broken brother.
"Go easy on him, alright?" he said instead. There was something imploring in his voice.
Rick nodded. "Of course."
But he felt heavy as he walked up the stairs and entered the nearest bedroom.
The first thing he noticed was the thick stench of cigarette smoke, snaking about near the ceiling. Then another empty whiskey bottle, languishing on the floor with more cigarette ends. The cannister that acted as a makeshift arm attachment was set aside there too, long-dried blood caking it's bladed end. It looked cruder than usual.
It all should have been a repellent sight, but Rick's legs moved in an instinctive rush to reach the bed.
The outline of Merle's back was softened by moonlight, and as Rick sat down he noticed the amber glow of another cigarette, precariously hanging in his good hand.
Rick leaned over, chest pressing to the other's back, as he took the cigarette away.
"One day you'll burn this damn house down, Dixon."
Merle's back rose with a sharp exhalation.
He turned his head, looking at Rick with a groggy face. He rubbed his eyes as if he might be trying to get him into better focus.
"...the hell you doin' here?"
"Just checkin' you're still alive."
Merle grumbled. "...feel dead," and then turned his head back away.
"Not surprised. You look like you've been drinking for three or four. At least."
"…get outta here."
Rick was undeterred.
He moved properly onto the bed, feeling hotter skin prickle through fabric and onto his own as he shifted closer. Legs entwined around legs, and then the gap between them disappeared.
There was a heavy and persistent pound against his palm, as he reached his arms all around, to meet again at Merle's chest.
"Any better?"
Merle mumbled something unintelligible, but the beat against Rick's hand moved faster.
Rick circled it in slow and considered motions, then kissed the nape of a dirtied neck. It was happily familiar, and dusty curls of hair tickled at his nose.
"Dummy. Why'd you tell Carl it was all your idea?"
The silence was long enough for Rick to be able to imagine a furrowed and annoyed brow.
"…I don't remember," Merle said at last.
Rick wanted to tell him he sounded like a bad liar.
"Never mind," he said instead. "Anyway. I'm sorry I punched you in the face."
"…I was askin' fer that."
Rick would have argued that too, but it was easier to laugh and kiss skin again.
"Right."
"...I'm serious," Merle said, and he sounded like he was.
Rick felt the tension pulling at limbs underneath his arms, and the shake of another breath against his palm.
Rick sat up, just enough to see a profiled gaze.
"Why would you want me to punch you, Merle?"
Merle's mouth curved, like a bad attempt at a smile.
"...ain't nothin' but bad news for you, Friendly. You know that, right?"
"How'd you figure that?"
"Damn near got you killed…couple of times, now."
Rick snorted. "No. You saved my ass a couple of times, is what you did. And a shitload more times besides that. You forget all that or somethin'?"
"I didn't…" Merle started.
Then he twisted slowly around, onto his back. A begrudging gesture that seemed to melt away when he looked at Rick again.
"…ah, shit. Guess I jus' never figured...how much I didn't want you to die on me..."
His sneer was spoilt by the crack in his voice.
Rick felt himself smiling, perhaps inappropriately.
"Well. Good to know you don't want me to die, you jackass."
"Hey, screw you."
"No," and Rick caught his chin, tilting his head up just a bit. "I'm touched you'd even give a damn about me. After all the shit I've pulled with you."
"You do pull some pretty mean punches," Merle licked his reddened lip, as if to demonstrate the point.
"I am sorry about that."
"Don't be."
"No. I am."
And Rick didn't hesitate; his fingers smoothing across jawline and then reaching and grazing the line of Merle's lip, all with very delicate precision.
Merle blinked, his mouth parting just a fraction. Like an implied invitation.
"Nah," he muttered. "I'm sorry. Fer bein' such a goddamn shit all the time."
He didn't say anything else; mouth only moving and then shaping around a finger.
His smirk stretched around another, and then Rick felt the heated twist of tongue all around them, as Merle dipped his head, cheeks hollowing significantly with the motion. His eyes became hooded, but never left Rick's gaze.
Rick swore softly.
"…damn tease, Dixon."
A grin scraped around his forefinger, then covered the tip in a kiss.
"Dunno what you're talkin' about, Friendly."
Merle's innocent tone wasn't up to much, and Rick laughed.
"Jackass."
His free hand wandered down, prying impatiently at covered flesh, and Merle's mouth moved into a muffled moan around his fingers. Then Rick felt skin arching and shivering beneath him.
"…hah...yer a bigger tease, Friendly…"
Rick's smile broadened and melded into a messy kiss. Merle tasted of a terrible concoction of cigarettes and alcohol, and his skin was already sheening with grimy perspiration. It wasn't any kind of deterrent, though.
"You're a mess," Rick said, and kissed him harder. "What am I gonna do with you?"
"Ah…whatever the hell you want?" Merle laughed shortly.
Rick mirrored it, pulling at buttons with more haste.
"Gladly."
"Wait," Merle spoke through a rushed breath, and his gaze was suddenly alight on Rick's side. His hand touched the corners of bandaging more carefully. "…don't it hurt yer, still?"
Rick shook his head.
"No, not really," he smirked. "Damn. But you're cute when you're all concerned. Did you know that?"
Merle pulled a face.
"Shut up," but didn't deny another kiss, nor a few more, before he was tilting his head away again.
"What's wrong?" Rick asked.
"Nothin'," and there was something roguish in his eyes, as he pushed his hand to Rick's chest.
Rick tipped to the side and then sunk back onto the bed, all in curious amusement, as Merle clambered clumsily on top of him, into a straddling position.
"...shit…" he held his head for a moment, like he was trying to temper a dizzy spell.
"Hah, you're so damn drunk, Dixon."
"Yeah," Merle didn't seem to care. He swayed a bit, grin verging on the coy. "…but I'm still pretty good at this."
"What's that?"
"Uh. Some bullshit way of sayin' sorry."
Then he slid the rest of the way down, in obvious explanation.
Rick felt fingers tapering and tugging at his belt buckle, along with a couple of choice curse words, before it came undone.
Then a warmth, coupled with a muffled groan between his legs, that swallowed him up all at once.
"Ah, shit…" said Rick.
And for a while his fingers were stroking and then coiling tightly into curls of hair. Then he was humming and moaning and clutching at them.
But then Merle had always been so good with his mouth. Especially when he wasn't so busy running it off with his usual bullshit.
88
88
"Apology damn well accepted."
Merle's laugh crackled with sleep. "…well. My damn pleasure, Friendly."
The affection in his voice was startlingly unashamed, and Rick grinned and kissed damp, curling hair.
"How'd you get so good at that, anyway?"
The bed was tangled sheets and limbs, and earliest dawn was streaming through the window, bathing everything in a sedate pinkish glow. A warmth nuzzled into the hollow of Rick's collarbone, and then he felt Merle's blissed-out sigh against his skin.
"…secret," he murmured, and nothing else.
Rick pressed another kiss to his forehead. "I see."
It was a surreal sort of moment. Something that could've tricked Rick into thinking he was in a world that was 'normal' again. Just for a little while.
Sure, he'd shared a bed with Merle plenty of times before, but it'd always been a snatched moment, here or there. The in-between times on a supply run, when the domesticated rules of Alexandria didn't apply to them anymore, and the bed had always belonged to a stranger who was probably dead or dead-walking now.
Rick had never stared through the window at the sky, watching it move so gradually from fading blue into orange sunrise, with Merle right there.
"…yer still here…?" Merle sounded sleepier and more surprised.
"'course."
"Just checkin," and then he yawned, head pressing to Rick's chest some more. "…wondered if I was dreamin' or somethin'…"
"Turning into quite the sap, ain't you, Dixon?"
"…yer just a bad influence on me."
"I'm sure," Rick's smile quivered. He realised he'd have to leave before the sky got much brighter. "Negan'll be here later."
"Mm. Asshole," Merle muttered.
"So you're gonna have to lay low."
"Would prefer t' bash his brains in."
"Another time," Rick said, like a promise. He sat up, with some regret.
Merle was barely disturbed by the motion. He turned onto his stomach with a softer sigh, and the welts on his back were suddenly exposed and severe, set against the dawn like that.
Rick deliberated, hand hanging over them, fingers barely dusting the scarring. Merle didn't seem to notice.
"Gonna get you some water first," Rick decided. "Before you die of alcohol poisoning or something."
"…mm."
Rick wandered downstairs with a strong inkling that Daryl wasn't there. Doubtful that he would've stuck around long enough to risk hearing whatever was happening in the bedroom. As if the poor younger Dixon hadn't been through enough traumatic experiences lately.
Rick smiled as he picked up the post-it note on the kitchen countertop.
Gone to see Carol. Back tomorrow, you animals.
Rick had never really wondered too much about the enigma which was Daryl and Carol's relationship. The end of the world was just pretty good at bringing together some odd couples, he guessed.
He guessed he knew it better than most.
He was pouring a glass of water before he noticed Merle padding down the stairway, clothes creased and face flushed with the obvious notes of a hangover.
It made Rick smile and wonder about early mornings together. Sugar in coffee, maybe tea. Cereal or toast. Dumb domesticated couple shit like that which nobody could afford to think about anymore.
Most likely Merle would've opted for none of those things, anyway. A bandolier of squirrels fresh out the forest seemed more likely, even pre-apocalypse.
"…ah shit...my head..."
And he clearly wasn't a morning person.
Rick smiled. "How're you feelin'?"
Merle slouched against the door frame.
"…head hurts…throat hurts..."
"Yeah, sorry about the last one," and Rick walked across the kitchen, raising the glass of water to Merle's lips. "Drink up."
Merle looked sceptically amused. "No you ain't."
"Drink."
"Alright, alright," he drank messily, before resting his head against Rick's shoulder with an appreciative sigh.
"Better?" Rick asked, idly stroking his back.
"…yeah. Is Daryl around?"
"No. Lucky for us."
Merle took a teetering step back anyway. "Reckon I owe him an apology."
"What else is new?" Rick hovered a hand near his arm, because Merle still looked delicate, even as he hauled himself onto the kitchen countertop. Legs dangling and heels kicking the cupboard, like a hungover hooligan.
"Was pretty wasted. Think I hurled on his shirt."
He stretched out an arm, picking up a cigarette packet. He pouted when he realised it was empty.
"I'm sure he'll forgive you."
"…an' pretty sure I hurled on his bike too."
Rick winced. "Eventually. Eventually he'll forgive you."
Merle didn't look so convinced, but he still smirked when he looked at Rick again.
"Don't you need to get back, Friendly? People gonna talk."
Rick turned back to the sink, washing up the glass with a shrug.
"Not likely. Anyway, Carl seems to enjoy babysitting duty. Especially when Enid's around."
"Oh, man. Kid's got game."
"They're only babysitting," Rick reconsidered. "I think."
He turned back round to see Merle's grin, brighter than usual, even in the fairly dim kitchen.
"You ain't given him the birds n the bees yet, Friendly?"
Rick snorted. "It's not been a big priority in recent years, got to say. Too busy trying to stay alive. You know, that kinda stuff."
"Ain't that the biggest part of stayin' alive? Gettin' busy?"
Rick rolled his eyes. "You trying to get rid of me or something, Dixon?"
"'Course not. Just didn't figure you'd stick around so long, is all."
"Hm. That the usual story with you?"
It was supposed to be an easy taunt, but Merle responded rather too quickly.
"Usually. Hell, be lucky to get a goodnight kiss, before I'm out on my ass."
There was nothing piteous in his voice. He even laughed. But Rick felt it anyway.
He took the few short steps to meet him; hands clasping at legs, keeping them planted to the countertop.
"That so?"
Merle nodded. "Mm hm. One-night stands, no strings attached. That kinda thing."
"You prefer 'that kinda thing'?"
Merle looked vaguely conflicted. "Dunno," he shrugged. "…easier, right?"
Rick leaned in, close to his ear. He could feel the thrum of heat between them as he hooked an arm around the other's back, drawing him in.
"I think this is easier."
"…hah," said Merle, and his grin blurred away with Rick's kiss.
Then another and another, before they were breaking apart and Merle looked flushed and breathless.
"…what the hell's 'this', anyway?"
"I don't know," Rick admitted, and kissed his throat. "But it's almost morning. And I kinda like waking up with you."
Merle looked perturbed by the idea, maybe even uncomfortable.
His smile thinned out, and he shook his head at the ground.
"There's that crazy talk again, Friendly. An' you ain't even drunk no more."
"I must really mean it, then," Rick considered. "That, or I am crazy."
The possibility didn't bother him too much. Merle's oddly concerned face bothered him far more.
"You need to stop lookin' at me like that, Dixon. I might get used to it."
Merle blinked wearily to the side.
"Ain't lookin' at you like nothin', now," he said.
"Hah. True."
Rick nudged at his legs, and Merle took the hint, curling them around Rick's back with a hitched breath.
"Anyway, I need to apologise, too," Rick told him.
Merle's better arm clung to his back, and Rick felt a grin forming against his shoulder.
"…apologise fer what, Friendly?"
"Punching you in the face, of course."
Merle's laugh became easier, and then he turned his head, granting Rick easier access to his throat.
"Hell, when you put it like that…"
Rick turned the rest of his words into wanting moans and heavier sighs. A bottle or two rolled across the countertop and smashed onto the floor, but they weren't distraction enough.
That only came in the form of a bang on the door, and then another voice;
"Daryl, I can't find Rick…I think he's…holy shit…"
It was Tara's voice.
"Shit," Rick and Merle chorused together, and then again as their foreheads bumped together too.
"…shit," Tara said again, entirely unhelpfully.
Rick reeled back from the counter, almost pulling Merle with him. Disentangling limbs, he tightened the loosened buckle round his pants and tried to ignore the heat creeping up his face.
"Tara," he attempted, even more unhelpfully. "This isn't…"
"Dammit, woman," Merle said, rubbing his head with an irritated face. "No-one ever teach yer how t' knock?"
"…uh, I was…" Tara blinked a couple of times, taking a marked step back, as if she might be reassessing the situation. "It was just…it's Gabe. I mean, he's gone. So have a bunch of the supplies."
"The crackpot priest? The hell you talkin' about?"
"He's gone. I think someone took him."
Rick looked between them both, and Merle nodded as if he'd read his mind. He slid off the countertop, walking past Tara with a sheepish grin, then picked up a discarded knife.
The three of them ran outside into the early morning light, where Alexandria's gates were still swinging open. Merle started toward the nearest car.
"Do you want to come with us?" Rick looked at Tara.
Tara stared between them.
"I'm sorry…it's just…Gabe is gone…and you two were making out. I'm kind of losing my shit, here."
Merle grimaced.
"Well hurry up and find it again, then get your ass in the car if you're comin'."
Tara looked a cross between compelled and distraught.
Rick put a hand on her shoulder.
"I know everything's been kind of crazy for a while now. This is just another one of those moments, right?"
Tara's nod was short, then she shrugged.
"…sure, why not? You and Dixon…not the craziest thing I've seen in the last year. Not by a long shot, actually."
Rick carried the sentiment with him as the three of them rushed to the car.
But crazy things might have been an understatement. In the same way Carol was actually still alive, or a King and his tiger existed in the same place as a baseball bat wielding maniac. Or in the same way Rick still found himself caring too much about someone he wasn't supposed to. Or at least had never intended to.
Not in the beginning, anyway.
Michonne was right. Things really were different now.
"You ready?" Merle was already tapping impatiently on the dashboard, looking at Rick with that face again.
And Rick really did want to get used to it. And see a few hundred more sunrises in bed with it too, maybe.
He nodded and reached over, briefly clutching Merle's hand.
"Yeah. Let's go."