AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl directed Merle to the stack of clean dishes that he'd set out on one of the picnic tables. He poured Merle a cup of hot coffee and offered it to him. Merle took a seat on the ground to join the picnic breakfast that Daryl had arranged for him and Sophia to share.
"That milk's fresh," Daryl said. "But we ain't got no sugar. Maybe some in storage."
"Don't bother, brother," Merle said. "Coffee tastes like shit no matter what'cha put in it. Like dirty-ass water."
"Not this coffee," Daryl said. "We got a decent supply right now. We found some seeds an' a couple little half-dead shrub-lings that claim to be different kinds a' coffee at a lil' agricultural tech school we raided lookin' for vet meds. We're tryin' our best at lovin' them things into producin' something for when it all goes to shit an' we run outta what's left to find."
"Even if it's weak ass coffee that tastes like shit," Merle mused. "I'd be sore to lose it for good." He tasted the coffee that Daryl had brewed in the small metal pot. "Shit—this is real coffee, brother."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Told you," he offered.
"Don't even taste like you run the grounds through a filter ten days in a row," Merle said.
"Don't," Daryl said. "Have in the past, but don't right now, at least. Throw the grounds out on the gardens to help the soil."
Sophia sat on the ground, picking her breakfast apart with her fingers, her mouth smeared with strawberry jelly, and ate. She stared at Merle while she did so in the same way that children might have once watched television. She licked her lips and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, but her efforts to clean her face really only added more jelly to the mix since her fingers were coated with it too.
"Soph—you 'member who this is?" Daryl asked.
Sophia looked at Daryl and then stared at Merle again.
"She got some kinda brain trauma?" Merle asked. "Don't remember shit?"
"She's fuckin' three, Merle," Daryl said. "If she's even that. We don't know. Hell—you can't remember everything an' damn near every single thing you come into contact with ain't new to you."
Merle laughed to himself.
"Simmer down, brother," Merle offered. He looked at Sophia. "You know who I am?"
Sophia practically looked bored as she worked on carefully chewing the bite of food that was in her mouth. She swallowed it down, wiped her face again, and picked up another bite of food off her plate.
"Mull," she offered. All that was missing was a dramatic sigh and a shake of her head to go with the tone of her voice.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"That's Uncle Mull, Sophia," Daryl said. "Don't be rude."
Sophia repeated Merle's name—or her variation of it—with the title that belonged to him, properly, more than it really belonged to anyone else that had been given the title. Of course, when Sophia said it, she really declared Daryl's older brother to be something along the lines of Untamull, but she was doing her best.
Merle furrowed his brow at her.
"We'll work on it," he told her.
Sophia looked at him, blinked, and pushed the bite of food into her mouth before she stretched her arm out in Daryl's direction to point at his plate. He knew she wanted the bit of cooked rabbit that was there since she'd finished hers.
"What'cha say?" Daryl asked.
"Please," she slurred, spitting bits of food accidentally.
Daryl passed over the hunk of rabbit, and Sophia started to put it in her mouth.
"Ack!" Daryl barked. "Wait'll you swallow that cake! You gonna choke to death. You 'member what happened the last time you was chokin'? You got scared. Made ya Ma cry. An' I damn near pissed myself. Swallow that down an' you can have all the rabbit you want."
Sophia held the rabbit in her hand instead of resting it on the plate, but she didn't try to put it in her mouth. The choking incident wasn't too distant and it was still somewhat fresh in Daryl's mind. Perhaps it was fresh in Sophia's mind, too. It had been caused by nothing more than an accident. Sophia had simply tried to put too much into her mouth, pushed the food too far back toward her throat, and then she'd neither been able to swallow comfortably nor move the food around to give herself a better option. Daryl didn't know the Heimlich, and apparently nobody there did, but he'd held her upside down against him and dragged the food out with his finger. It had lasted a matter of seconds, but it had felt like his heart had worked overtime for a few hours. They tried to limit how much they offered her at once, now, to keep her working her way through her food slowly.
"She eats a lot," Merle commented. Daryl wasn't entirely sure if it was a statement or a question.
"She's a good eater," Daryl said. "Caused some trouble 'fore we got settled."
"What'cha mean?" Merle asked.
"People bitchin' 'bout her eatin' too damned much like whatever her stomach could hold would be the reason we all starved to death," Daryl said. "Damn near caused Carol to starve to death to try to keep Sophia fed an' everybody else quiet."
Sophia put her plate down on the ground and held her hands out in Daryl's direction.
"Daddy," she said, "help."
He knew what she meant by her request.
"You done?" He asked. He knew she was, but he wanted to check. He was already dipping the cloth he'd brought for this very reason into the cup of water that he'd set aside for washing her up. He used it to wipe her face first and then he mopped her hands clean before he dragged her over to him and accepted that she used his shirt to dry her hands and face before she gave him a cold kiss on the cheek. "Was your breakfast good?" Daryl asked. Sophia hummed and rubbed against him. "Make up for me not bein' here yesterday?" Sophia sat up and eyed him, brow furrowed, and Daryl laughed to himself. "Long as I don't do it again today?" He asked. She accepted that. She must have, because she softened her expression and slipped off his lap.
Merle looked at Sophia as intently as she'd looked at him earlier. It was clear to Daryl that neither of them knew what to do with the other. They would have to work out their relationship for themselves.
"What'cha eat there, kid?" Merle asked.
Sophia picked up her plate and offered it in his direction. On the plate there was half a strawberry jam covered Daddycake and a half chewed on hunk of rabbit. To Sophia, offering it to someone else to eat would seem perfectly normal. In fact, nine times out of ten, Carol's breakfast consisted almost solely of what Sophia had left behind—even if Daryl argued against the practice. It was only very recently that Daryl was actually winning at forcing her to eat something more than Sophia's scraps.
Merle frowned at the heart-felt offering.
"It's good," Sophia said, pushing it in his direction. Daryl laughed to himself.
"Soph—sometimes people don't want your slobbered on bits," Daryl said. He served another of the Daddycakes onto a clean plate and traded out Sophia's plate for the fresh plate. Then he put a hunk of the rabbit on the plate that neither he nor Sophia had chewed on previously. "Here. Give 'im this one."
Sophia walked to stand straight in front of Merle. She held the plate out to him.
"It's good," she repeated from earlier. "You gon' like it," she added, clearly remembering what Daryl told her almost any time he was trying to convince her to try something new that she was skeptical about eating.
"Yeah—thanks," Merle said. He took the plate from Sophia and examined it. "What the hell is it, brother? Some kinda hoecake?"
"It's a Daddycake," Sophia answered for Daryl. "Go on. Go on now. It's good. You gon' like it. Go on now."
Daryl nearly chewed a hole in the side of his cheek to keep from laughing. Sophia wouldn't understand why he thought it was funny. She was being sincere. She was doing her best to feed her new uncle, and she was doing it the only way she knew how—the way that Daryl had taught her new food needed to be introduced.
"She serious?" Merle asked, looking at Daryl.
"Daddycakes is a specialty around here," Daryl said. "Come up with 'em on the road. Like a hoecake. Gritcake. Pancake. But not a damn thing like any of 'em." He laughed to himself. "Come outta tryin' to stretch what supplies we had. Makin' these cakes made ingredients go farther. Easier to carry around, too, than a big ole bowl of somethin' when we packin' food to carry with us. If they sit up, they ain't as nasty as some shit, either. Make 'em with damn near whatever we got. Cornmeal for dinner. But these is mostly oatmeal for breakfast. They good if you got somethin' to put on 'em. Soph—you share a lil' of your jam with your Uncle Merle?"
Sophia nodded and reached for the jam. Daryl kept his hand on the jar while he let her pretend that she was the one manipulating it and moving it around. She served it to Merle and he eyed her suspiciously as he slathered some of the red jam onto the Daddycake he'd been served.
At least he thanked her, though, and she looked pleased with that. Daryl wiped her hands for her again when she put the jar down and, discovering they were sticky, held them out to him with her fingers splayed.
"It ain't bad," Merle said after he'd bitten it.
"It's good," Sophia assured him.
"They one of Soph's favorite things," Daryl said. "Soothes over bad feelin's in the morning. Soph—why don't'cha go see if we don't got us no eggs?"
Sophia nodded her head at Daryl and darted off across the yard without another word.
"The chickens gonna peck her," Merle pointed out.
"It don't bother her," Daryl said. "But she's pretty good at slippin' in the coops an' slippin' out. They don't bother her as much as they do some of us. Besides—huntin' eggs is one of her favorite things."
"She don't break 'em?" Merle asked.
Daryl shook his head.
"Keep her busy all morning," he said. "She'll bring 'em to you one at the time. You see that basket right there? If them hens is layin' good, she'll fill the whole thing up. Haulin' 'em up here from the coop one at the time. I mean—hell, she's dropped a couple an' they got broke, but she don't break no more than anybody else would just havin' an accident every now and again."
"Where's your mouse?" Merle asked.
"She's got a name, Merle," Daryl said.
Merle laughed to himself.
"I reckon I know that," Merle said. "But I'ma still call her Mouse. Carol—if it makes you happy. Where the hell is she?"
"Asleep," Daryl said. "Or I hope she is. Same as everybody else. She don't hardly get rest in the morning."
"So she just sleeps an' leaves you out here to—to cook the breakfast an' babysit?" Merle laughed to himself and Daryl felt warmth bubble up inside his body. His cheeks ran warm.
"It ain't babysittin'," Daryl said.
"What you call it?" Merle asked. He let his eyes trail over to where Sophia was coming, practically trotting, with one solitary egg in her hand.
"Here, Daddy! Here!" She called out as she approached.
Daryl reached out his hand and accepted the egg.
"That's a nice one you found!" Daryl said, praising the egg with as much enthusiasm as he ever would. Sophia didn't need to know that his brother irritated him. "Bring me that basket, Soph. That one. The wicker one. Soph—there ain't but one basket over there. That's it. Thank you."
Sophia happily brought him the basket and Daryl gently placed the egg in it. It would be there for when the rest of breakfast needed to be prepared to feed the members of their little family.
"It's real big, Daddy!" Sophia declared.
"From them fat-worm eatin' chickens," Daryl agreed. "You got more or that was it?"
"There's more, Daddy. So much more!"
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Go get 'em for me. Bring 'em here."
Sophia nodded her head and brushed her hair out of her face before she turned and trotted back toward the coops. Daryl looked at his brother, took out a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it.
"It ain't babysitting," Daryl said. "It's bein' Sophia's old man. And I'm a good Daddy, Merle. You ask Carol. Hell—you ask Soph. I do alright. Doin' the best I can to be the kind of Daddy she deserves."
"You ain't her old man, though, lil' brother. That kid was put in her Ma's gut by some asshole you left dead somewhere."
"You ever say that so she can hear you," Daryl warned, "and I'll bust your nose for you, brother."
Merle laughed.
"It's the truth, brother," Merle said. "She's gonna know it someday."
"Someday she is," Daryl said. "But that'll be one day when she can understand that it don't mean nothin'. Right now all the hell she knows is that I'm Daddy. Been there for her since she can remember. Gonna be there for her long as there's breath left in my worthless ass body. That's all the hell she needs to know. The rest don't matter no way."
"I'm sorry, brother," Merle said. "Ain't meant to—piss ya off."
Daryl shook his head.
"I ain't," he said. "Just—don't hurt my kid, Merle. 'Cause—she might not be my kid but...I love her."
Merle nodded his head.
"Understand," he said. He cleared his throat. He ate a moment and Daryl smoked his cigarette. Finally Merle spoke again. "You like this? Gettin' saddled with this kid an' all?"
Daryl laughed to himself. Merle didn't fully understand it all, but eventually he would.
"Yeah," Daryl assured him. "One of the best damn things that ever happened to me. Hell—second only, maybe, to meetin' the woman that made me a damn Daddy to start with. Kind of a chicken an' the egg, thing."
"I bet it is, brother," Merle mused. He tore a large chunk off his piece of rabbit and worked on chewing through it. He didn't bother to swallow the whole thing down before he finished speaking. "I bet it is."