AN: Here we are, another chapter here. (Thanks to Macy for the nudge at just the right moment to get this one out.)
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111
The Chambers could be downright silent if Merle wanted it that way.
Tonight, the place was his. He was sharing it with Negan, who figured that everyone simply had something else they needed to be doing. That was partially true, of course, since Merle had helped every damn body who couldn't find something to do to come up with something to occupy all their time.
Merle had invited Negan to the bar for drinks and conversation—male bonding and the reconnecting with someone he'd known forever—or at least all of Negan's life. Negan had come as a show of good faith and to show interest in rekindling what had once been somewhat natural between them.
The jukebox played music to keep the place from being completely quiet, and Merle held down a spot at the bar with Negan—one stool between them so nobody felt crowded—and matched him drink for drink with the beer and whiskey that neither of them minded mixing. Both of them, too, were smart enough to keep the pitcher and water glasses in close proximity.
Getting fall down drunk might be inevitable before the night was over, but there was no need to make it come sooner than it had to.
Merle was enjoying the relaxed feeling of the evening. He lit a cigarette from the carton he'd picked up on his way to the bar, wanting to make sure that neither of them felt there was any shortage of things they wanted tonight. Negan helped himself to one when Merle put the pack on the bar between them.
They'd talked finances. They'd talked about how well Negan's Saviors blended with the Judges. They'd talked about Negan's consideration of opening up a Liberty chapter of the Saviors and passing his Presidency in Union to one of his top men there while he took over as the Liberty Chapter President. They'd talked about the restaurant that a contractor would start work on soon—still unnamed as long as Mouse hadn't picked a title for it—and the hotel that still needed work but was already a hopping attraction. They'd talked about the fact that it would soon be properly listed on the highway "accommodations" sign with Carol's little restaurant on the food sign—and the fact that they were considering springing for a billboard of their own, for at least a couple of months, after the restaurant was up and running.
Now, Merle was ready to steer the conversation where it interested him to go.
"Seems to me you're puttin' down roots again where you didn't really have no damn business yankin' 'em up in the first damned place," Merle said.
He faced Negan and held the man's eyes. He wanted it to be clear that he wasn't issuing a challenge. He wasn't trying to start something. He was only trying to discuss something that needed to be discussed.
But he wasn't backing down from shit, either, if that was the way in which Negan found himself inclined.
Negan relaxed. He wasn't looking for a fight. Maybe, like Merle, he was tired of carrying around the weight of all the years. He was tired of holding onto shit.
"You know why I had to leave the Judges, Merle," Negan said. There was no bullshit to his tone. No pretense. He sounded relaxed but, also, he sounded tired. "You know why the fuck I had to leave Liberty." He lit the cigarette he'd taken from Merle's pack a few minutes earlier. Until now, he'd been simply twirling it in his fingers. Now, he took a long draw from it.
"I know turnin' your back on your family—pretendin' you hated every damn one of us—didn't bring Lucy back," Merle said. "Did it help you sleep better at night, Negan? Did curlin' up with your anger keep your ass warm?"
"I thought my family turned their backs on me," Negan said. "Took the only damn thing from me that I had left. The only thing that—fucking mattered. The only fucking woman, Merle, that I ever fucking loved." Merle held his eyes on Negan. He didn't look away, and he didn't scold, in any way, the volume of Negan's words as they practically echoed around them in the empty bar. Negan slammed his hand on the bar, but Merle felt no threat from the action. "You don't know what the fuck that feels like Merle. You don't know what the fuck it feels like to have them say they identified her by her fucking teeth—her fucking teeth, Merle—because that's all the fuck that's left of her that can be used for a positive fucking identification. Shit…fuck…"
Merle tipped the whiskey bottle to refill the shot glass, and he pushed it toward Negan. Negan swallowed the shot without tasting it and Merle refilled it.
"I don't know what the fuck that feels like. You right about that. It's one of the few fucking things that I consistently pray for. Down on my fuckin' knees. Every fuckin' night. Please, God—don't take her from me. And if you do? Please don't take her like that." Negan was contemplating the whiskey in his shot glass like he'd never seen the amber liquid before. He looked at it with deep focus, like it might hold the answer to some mystery of the universe. Merle didn't care that his eyes looked damp. He had no intention of mentioning it and, if someone were to come in, he would have insisted, himself, that it was nothing more than irritation from the cigarette smoke. "Shit hurt enough when it was Lucy. Hurt us all. If it was fuckin' Andrea? I don't know what I'd do. Bein' damn honest, I'd just as soon they throw me in the hole with her than to think of livin' without her."
"I had to go," Negan said.
Merle hummed.
"We'da all hurt with you," Merle said. "We mourned her. You mourned her. Hell—we'da done that shit together. As a family. The way that—the fuckin' way that shit's supposed to be done."
"Looked like…shit I'd seen before. Like a fucking calling card," Negan said.
"Bore some resemblance to what the hell happened to my old man," Merle agreed. "Maybe there's been a wreck or two in the county that mighta looked the same damn way, but never no woman—you know that. Why the fuck would we have ever hit Lucy? Every damn one of us loved her."
Negan shrugged his shoulders. Merle knew the answer that was rolling around inside his brain—maybe there was no actual good answer, but he'd been hurting badly, and he'd been young, and he'd felt alone and like nobody could possibly understand him. He'd misjudged things, perhaps, but he'd been so bound up in his anger that he couldn't see that.
"I was always pissin' someone off," Negan said. "Doin' some stupid shit. Getting my ass jacked up by Teeter or Hershel—told to get my ass in line and that my Daddy wouldn't have tolerated that shit. There were threats that if I didn't get in line, someone would get my ass in line."
Merle laughed to himself.
"Who ain't been jacked up by Teeter or Hershel?" He mused. "Bigger than that, which one of us shits never deserved it? Hell—even more'n that, I remember Reynold Mabry jackin' my ass up as quick as Rooster Dixon would, too."
Negan laughed to himself and nodded his head. Few people would remember getting their ass beat with any fondness, but the truth of the matter was that, for some of them, those early ass-kickings were as close as they ever got to affection.
"I just thought—I pissed someone off good," Negan said. "They wanted me gone. Wanted to warn me. Yank a knot in my chain or whatever."
"Even if that was so, they wouldn't have killed Lucy," Merle said.
Negan looked at him.
"You see red, and reason doesn't exactly come into play," Negan said. "You thought it was me who ordered a hit on Andrea."
Merle set his jaw. He could stare Negan down, but what would be the point in lying? He inclined his head just enough to nod slightly.
"I love Andrea," Negan said. "Always have. I still—when I look at her? I see her like I remember her. Baby-faced fucking knobby kneed little cunt she used to be." He laughed. "Fucking—like a little kid trying to wear an Old Lady's leathers."
"She fills 'em out alright now," Merle offered.
"I wouldn't hurt Andrea," Negan said. "Get pissed off…call her a cunt…tell her that her pussy's worn the fuck out." He laughed. "What's a few words of affection between friends? But I wouldn't hurt her."
"You oughta know—I was the one who went down there and volunteered to try to help ID Lucy," Merle said. "I knew you couldn't handle that. Didn't want you to have to see it, and I told 'em to tell you that they recommended you didn't see her. I went down there, though. I wanted her—treated with the respect she deserved." Negan nodded his head at Merle. It was all that he needed to say. "She'da been happy you're back here. She loved the hell outta Liberty."
"Home is home," Negan said.
"And with all your damn success around here, it's time for you to move back," Merle said. "All that money you're making, your ass could buy the whole damn trailer park where you're renting, but why not put money down on a nice little place around here? Hell—I'd give you somewhere to stay, but every damn thing we got is tied up right now. My brother and Mouse is still in Andrea's old place at least until their house is done. That trailer we got could be moved out where you please, but not until our house is done. Teeter's place ain't in bad condition, really, but we put Maddie out there so she could have more to her name than the drunk tank in the back where everybody too piss drunk to move on sleeps shit off. She deserves a little more than the damn closet where Teeter lived when he couldn't remember that his ass had a home to go to."
"What the hell do I care about where I live?" Negan mused, obviously thankful for the change of subject and the lighter topic of conversation. Merle, too, was thankful for the change that allowed the knot in his chest to start untangling itself a little. "That shitty ass trailer is good enough for me. I sleep at the hotel if I want a break."
"Or some company?"
"Whores are only good for one thing," Negan said. "But they're usually good at that."
"It's their business," Merle said. "But I know you, and I know you don't like whores—or tarts."
"You adapt," Negan said. "You ever get tired of fucking the same piece of pussy?"
"No," Merle said. "You ever—want to fuck the same piece? Get to know it. Feel like it's yours. Familiar. Comfortable. Fits you just damn right."
"Someone took that option away from me," Negan said.
"Lucy would have said you'd mourned long enough," Merle said. "She never would have wanted you to do without everything you ever wanted. It's not too late, Negan. You can have the shit I got. A good woman to keep your bed warm—make you a home that'll have you stoppin' sayin' that shit about you don't give a shit where you live. I know you wanted that shit. Hell—even a couple damn rugrats runnin' around you can teach bad habits to and shit. If you got on it right quick like? You could plant you a seed for one before we ring in the damned new year."
Negan smiled to himself.
"Good Old Lady's hard to come by," he mused. "Tarts and whores are a dime a dozen, but that's the shit you kick outta the damn bed come mornin'—if you let their asses stay that fucking long."
"You won't hear no disagreement from me on the fact that there's hardly a whore or a tart that's fit to be made into an Old Lady," Merle said. "And I'll admit the good quality woman is a rare breed, but she ain't died out entirely. Not yet, at least."
"You know where they runnin' wild or somethin'?" Negan teased.
"As a matter of fact," Merle said. He let the words hang, unfinished, until Negan looked at him and urged him on with the raising of his brows. "Madison's prime Old Lady material, Brother. She ain't no stranger to the club life. She ain't never been no tart, and she ain't been no whore. She's the wifin' type. The long-term type. She's smart—ain't fried her brain like half these bitches. Clean. Good damn lookin', too. You'd do good to bed her ass. It wouldn't be no scrapin' the bottom of a barrel kind of shit." Negan looked slightly intrigued. Merle had half expected him to shoot the idea down before Merle finished getting it out of his mouth, so he was pleased that he hadn't yet. "She's a blonde, too. Nice tits. Pretty eyes."
Negan laughed to himself.
"You sure your ass isn't looking to swap out Andrea?" He teased.
"Fuck you," Merle said, not putting any bite behind the words. "I'm tryin' to help your ass out. A woman like Maddie? Her ass ain't gonna be on the market long around all these fuckin' brothers. You mark my word. Whether it's Savior assholes or Judges, they gonna be lined up around the damn block as soon as she gets settled—all of 'em with one damn though in their head: to bed and wed that woman 'cause, like you said, there ain't no real abundance of true Old Lady material."
"And you think I've got some special chance with this prime example of a MC Madame?" Negan teased.
"You got a President's patch," Merle said. "And I've known your ass to be at least a little charming if you quit trying to be such a surly fucking asshole. If you weren't, Lucy would have never given your ass the time of day."
"And all the…baggage…my life has given me? You think she wants all that?"
"Long as you understand she's got her own damn U-Haul full of sorrow," Merle said, shrugging his shoulders.
Negan laughed to himself, but he looked truly intrigued. He also looked slightly more energized, as though the very possibility was giving him a little more will to live than he'd had when he'd come dragging his feet into the bar earlier.
"She's been running around her with her tail tucked tight," Negan mused.
"New girl in town," Merle said. "If she doesn't keep it tucked, they'll fuck her the minute she stands still."
"What the hell makes you think she'd be willing to relax a little? Untuck that shit around me?"
"Just so happens—the new girl in town always needs the lovin' touch of the Queen Bee. And, as luck would have it, I'm in real good with the queen. In fact—she's the one comin' to drive both our drunk asses back to my place tonight."
"I'll sleep it off in the back," Negan offered.
"You'll sleep it off at my place," Merle said. "Andrea done made your ass up a bed, and I ain't gonna hear shit about it. All I fuckin' wanna hear is—you want a shot at that sweet piece, or you wanna turn her out and let the first asshole with some common sense move in there and get him a grade-A Old Lady?"
"Tell the Queen Bee to get my ass an edge," Negan said with a quiet laugh.
"She's gonna tell you not to fuck with her, Negan," Merle said. "If you want her—for keeps? You know Andrea. She'll back your ass up every step of the way. She'll damn near spread the rose petals on the fuckin' bedspread for you. But she ain't gonna like you fuckin' with her just to fuck her and toss her."
"I've got whores for that, Merle," Negan said.
Merle smiled to himself. Negan didn't really need to say anything else. Merle understood him perfectly.
"Lemme refill these beers," he mused. "Night's still young, and Andrea ain't gonna start bitchin' to get us home and go to bed for at least another two hours."