Behind Bars


When he finds her again, she's gingerly holding the end of her blade with a cloth and cleaning the shaft with another on top of the table out in the courtyard.

She does this religiously every morning. He's only been here a few days and he's already noticed that. She'll do this, then go on sentry duty, then work out about mid-day, grab a bite, head back out on sentry duty…

God, he really needs to find something to do. Fast.

He walks up and, of course, she acknowledges him with silence, completely focused on her katana and not on him. Merle grins, sitting down at the bench. "Good morning, my Nubian princess." If it was any more possible, the scowl on her face deepened. "You know, this is the part where you say hi back."

She swipes the cloth up and down the blade at an agonizingly slow pace. A lesser man wouldn't be near her right now, sitting below her no less. He's seen her with that sword. It's wouldn't take her but a second to end him. And no one here would miss him, except maybe Daryl.

"How'd you sleep last night?" He continues undeterred. "Slept like a baby myself, though that morning wood was a bitch and a half. But all I had to do was give was hand out some good ol' TLC to get the blood flowin'," he chuckles as if he said something particularly funny. "You ever had to do that, Mi-chonne? Give yourself a little release?"

The katana wielder sitting in front of him frowns, huffs through her nostrils.

"Ain't no shame in it, you know. Looking for some release, that is." Merle says. "Gal like you looks like she's had it rough this past year, fightin' for your life e'ryday. Must be pretty lonely."

Michonne stops wiping her sword and bites her lower lip. He knows she's thinking about what he just said. Good. She shouldn't be so damn sure like she doesn't come like any other gal with a cock up her pussy. "Well, I'll just leave you to it then, you know, since you obviously don't feel like movin' that pretty little mouth of yours." She looks up at him in alarm when he strokes her arm from her shoulder to her elbow.

And when he walks away, she finds herself looking after him with narrowed eyes.

Officer Friendly gathers everyone around, lets everyone know about that settlement that got overrun outside of town. Apparently, the guy that's still there is the one who helped him when he got out of his coma (Merle makes a note to himself to thank him for doing that, and hey, if he gets roughed up in the process, it was an accident). This guy is also batshit crazy now, killing off people to feed his walker son.

Point he's trying to make is that there may be other communities up north like Woodbury. Communities that aren't overrun by walkers – yet.

The chinkboy frowns. "We're not leaving this prison."

"We may have to, Glenn." Rick sighs. "Prepare for it. We got walkers out in the front field again, an opening through the back. It's a matter of time before this place gets overrun."

"Yeah, we'll be lookin' at another Crawford situation," Merle drawls from the back, leaning against the wall. Everyone looks up at him, shocked by his presence this close to the group.

"…What's Crawford?" Rick asks.

Merle chuckles humorlessly. "Survival of the fittest colony up in Savannah. They took the strongest men and women – cast out all the children and the elderly. Had a chick from there named Molly come to Woodbury for a bit, said the whole place was overrun faster than a hooker runnin' from her pimp."

The group exchange glances and maybe that little anecdote wasn't going to get spirits up, but dammit if everyone in the group was so damn naïve. They had kids, a damn baby for Christ sake. The Governor had a damn army in the makes. If he wasn't so damn stubborn he probably would've waved a white flag by now. "Now, you wanna bring in some crazed asshole just because he saved your life once upon a time?"

"Brought you in," Rick all but growls, and Merle scoffs with a smile.

"He has weapons," Michonne speaks up, and everyone turns their attention to her. "Lots of them." She refuses to make eye contact with Merle, paying attention to Rick instead. "If you could get him to lend over his armory, we could actually pull this off."

"If he could," Merle drawls slowly, not taking his eyes off of her.

Rick sighs, not having noticed. "Morgan's a mess right now, but if I know anything it's that the man sees reason. He'll help us," the former sheriff finishes confidently. "I know he will." He looks over at Michonne, "You gonna head out with me again?"

And before she can say anything, Merle opens his big mouth. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size, pretty Ricky? Take me. We can have some good ol' fashion bonding time together; stop at a kink shop and grab a pair of handcuffs."

Daryl bows his head, scratching the back of it, Hershel and Glenn frown, and Carol's face flushes of its color.

Rick, however, stays calm. "Because Michonne knows how to keep her mouth shut. And you don't. It's called 'self-preservation', something you can learn from her."

He'd like to learn a lot of things from her, but a closed mouth ain't one of them. "I'm sure," Merle smirks.

It makes everyone uncomfortable, as if Merle knows some deep dark secret that they don't. Michonne scowls at him.

The group soon disperses again, Glenn heading out to the tower to give Maggie a break from guard duty.

Merle walks up after him, falling into step after a moment. "So, I hear you're Korean."

"And I hear that you're a sonofabitch who has no problem with torturing people." Glenn grits out curtly. "Stay away from me, and especially Maggie."

Merle steps into his line of vision. "Easy now," He says holding his arms up. "I'm sorry, okay? For doing that to your face," He says, gesturing to the residing bruises. "For almost killing you, and for putting your girl in that position. I didn't even see her, and from what I heard, he barely even touched her, but it still don't make it right."

"You're damn right it doesn't make it right!" Glenn yells.

Merle purses his lips, shrugs. "Daryl and I came from the same stock, did you know that? Same mom, same asshole father, everything. And yeah, I'm an asshole too, but don't forget that I was the one left up on that damn rooftop, and I was the one who lowered my gun when I saw you again. So don't pretend like you're the only one who was wronged in all this." Glenn huffs, clenching his jaw. "Now I may be a sonofabitch, but I'm tryin'…I'm tryin' to do the right thing, dammit!"

Merle starts breathing hard, wipes the side of his mouth and brow. Damn natives, getting him all worked up.

Glenn frowns, looking at him warily, and then nods. "…Okay. Fine. Whatever. Just –just don't do it again."

And the few moments after that are significantly lighter –awkward, tense, but lighter. "So, uh…" Merle frowns, scratching the back of his head. "You and your girl must be close…but she ain't exactly preggers, now is she?"

"What's your point?" Glenn grits out, not wanting to talk about Maggie or his love life with the likes of Merle.

"You, uh…you wouldn't have any condoms, would you?"

Glenn grimaces, "What do you need them for, it's not like…" Glenn suddenly bristles, "Who? Carol? No, she wouldn't. And you stay away from Beth!"

"No, no, it's not them, no need to get your panties in a twist," Merle sucks in his cheek.

"Then who?" Glenn asks again. "The only other woman here is…" He stops himself when Merle doesn't make eye contact. "Michonne?" Glenn blurts out, his eyes going wide despite the pull, and Merle shushes him.

"Keep it down, Korean." The biker looks around, sees if anyone's heard. "So, you got any, or not?"

"But why would she…you know what, I don't want to know," The former delivery man states, trying to not think too hard about it. "In our cell, there's a bookbag on the lower bunk, there should be a few there. You take anything else, and I mean anything, and I'll know." Glenn parts with that as a warning, and walks off in the direction of the tower.

And as he leaves, Merle thinks that the chinaman ain't so bad.


It's almost the whole day again before they make it back. Not that he was twiddling his thumbs or anything just waitin'for her. This time they come back toting in various sizes of knifes, guns, and real ammo. Junior in the sheriff's hat is holding a crib and a picture.

Michonne, however, along with a crossbow Daryl's been eyin' since the second she walked in, has the most oddball item of all.

"What in the Hell?" Merle frowns, staring at it.

She unloads a satchel from her shoulder and her katana. "What?"

Merle walks over, picks up the colorful cat sculpture from the bunk. "What are we gonna do wit' this? Beat the Governor's head in?"

She frowns. "You obviously have no taste. Drop the cat."

"I got a taste for things that are good, real good," He murmurs that last part, eyes glinting over her frame in the dark as he sets the sculpture back on the bunk.

"Ass," Michonne mutters, but it's half-hearted. She sighs. "You know, Rick really keeps taking me because he wants to keep us away from each other."

Wrapping his good arm around her waist, he saddles up to her. "And how's that working out for good ol' Officer Friendly?" His grins, his pearly teeth visible in the shadows. His hips align right up to her thigh and he knows she could feel him straining through his jeans.

To his surprise, she doesn't push him away. "I don't like being manhandled." She pauses. "I can be civil, for now."

"And after?"

She smirks. "You may not like me after." Her hands rest over his chest and it feels like last night all over again, except not as urgent this time around. He leans down and he can feel the grin on her face when he flat out misses and kisses her cheek instead.

"Oh, I see how it is," Merle murmurs against her cheek, his whiskers nuzzled up against her face.

"See, I told you." Michonne shrugs with her head craned. "We should take this somewhere else," She adds seriously.

"Not if we're real quiet," Merle singsongs against her temple.

"That'll be hard for you, since you never shut up." It takes him a minute, it really does, but by the time he realizes it, she was already heading out of the cell. She's teasin' him. Playing, really. Her face was serious, but her eyes. Like it was fun for her to leave him here blue-balled.

Probably was.

It's almost dark by the time she heads out, walking past the courtyard. Walkers get more active after dark, so their growls and moans fill the night air, not that it deters him.

In fact, when she walks past that table in the courtyard, ass swaying as the tips of her fingers trace over the top, he considers bending her over it one day and taking her from behind. A little exhibitionism never hurt nobody.

But she keeps going. Through the side enclosure and into the guard tower.

He knew there was a reason why he liked her. Merle damn near skips up those stairs, all excited and shit, grinning beyond all belief. In the dark it seems sinister and lecherous but truth be told it's really that chance of release she's giving him. Thoughts of her being negro, or the amount of men she's fucked in her lifetime, don't even occur to him. That little voice in the back of his mind demanding that he be an asshole because who the fuck does she think she is, blowing hot and cold at the drop of a dime, is tamped down when she reaches for his khakis.

He doesn't bother aiming for her lips this time, learning his lesson. Instead, he peppers her jawline with kisses, aggressively reaches down and squeezes the juncture in-between her legs. Her fingernails bite into the skin over his shoulder blade and he answers by nipping the crook of her neck. He doesn't really mean to but he inhales and instead of death or dirt, she smells like flowers. Daffodils.

She slips his belt off and he's already dropping her zipper down her fly, reaching in and massaging her already damp panties. Her lips part as she takes a breath and it's at this moment that he wishes he still had his other hand so that he could brush her dreds away from her cheek.

She wishes it hadn't been this long since she's felt this.

She used to be happy, giddy even, when she spoke to Mike, even when it wasn't possible for him to speak back after the onset. But she still kept taking, and he'd listen, Terry too. She guesses that must have made her a bit crazy, but there was no one around that knew. She even kept her mumblings down to a whisper when Andrea was around.

Truth is, she just wanted someone she could talk to, even if it was for a short while. So those eight months on the road with Andrea was the best she felt since her boyfriend turned. And it made her betrayal hurt all the more.

She tries to keep her mind and body active, always thinking. But she leans her head back, parts her lips, and just lets go under the pressure. She guesses that this makes her weak, but there's no one around to know.

By the time she comes back down from her momentary high, she notices an odd flash of light when Merle reaches for something in his back pocket and it's not until it's in front of her that she realizes what the foil square is. "How long have you had that?"

He smiles, "Not long."

She takes the package in her fingers. "Wishful thinking?"

"Man's gotta hope, right?"

Michonne smiles despite herself, rips the foil open with her teeth as she loosens his trousers. Rolling the condom over his shaft, he lifts her up with his left hand and holds her up against the wall next to the window. Her legs cross behind his back to keep herself upright and she wraps her arms around his neck for leverage when he eases himself in-between her legs.

He starts nipping at her neck again when he thrusts in, and she bows her head forward, lowering her hips to hit his.

"You know, you should take off your shirt," Merle grits out, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead.

"You should take off yours," Michonne groans out when he changes the pace and she's practically riding him.

"Hand's kinda full," Merle points out when he feels her clench around him, and he shuts his eyes savoring the sensation.

Michonne leans back against the wall Merle has her thoroughly pressed against and pulls her tank top over her head, unhooking her bra from the front. "You know your shirt can't come off without us ripping it."

He answers her with a silent grin. "Ass," she says, shaking her head, but her head scrapes up against the wall when he thrusts again without warning, her insult becoming a moan. Her fingernails bite into his shoulders when he takes her nipple in his mouth and she arches her back off against the wall.

Merle speeds up the pace and she's got that look in her eyes again, except it's wholly different this time around. It's warm instead of cold, and soft instead of steely, but still determined all the same. He hits that spot right below her clit again and she's telling him not to stop and he wants to hold out as long as he can until he feels her come apart around him.

They both recognize what this is, just two people looking for some release, but she's not all sharp edges like that sword of hers –just soft curves. He has to be careful not to slip because his bayonet is still attached, not that she treated him any different. He's more than thankful for that.

A minute later, he feels her body lock up, and then her pussy tightens uncomfortably around his cock, and he groans out against her skin, a fresh sheen of sweat coating it. His arm trembles from the effort of holding her so long, and before he knows it they're tumbled out on the floor with her on top. He feels her shudder and then he realizes that she's laughing, and its only now that it really hits him that it must be the end of the world because it's like pulling teeth just trying to get this woman to smile, let only laugh.

"What in the Hell is so funny?" He huffs out, trying to seem stern and put-off, but damn, even in the dark, she has a nice smile.

"You," she chuckles. "Me. This."

"You mean, us?" Merle drawls, a pleased grin forming on his face.

"Yeah," she says, laying on his chest. "Us."

So here they lay in the afterglow, sated with the howl of the wind and death below them. He was never really good at pillowtalk, unless it dealt with a few dollar bills on the nightstand. And she's usually so quiet and calculating, that he's come to expect the silence from her.

So it shocks the Hell out of him when she starts talking.

"Why didn't you come after me?"

He doesn't ask what she means because he already knows. "Wanted to see if you could make it on your own, I guess." His voice sounds scratchy, even to his ears. Then again, his throat is extremely dry too, like the air was being sucked right out the room. "Didn't really want to kill you, I told you that."

"We would've killed each other," She surmises, tracing a scar down his torso.

"And that would've been a damn shame." Merle purses his lips. "He was scared of you."

She doesn't ask who because she already knows. "I know. He should've been. Something was...off about him from the start."

"Saved my life," He says, absently squeezing her firm ass.

"Killed many others," Michonne counters quietly, gaze far away in the dark. Merle doesn't disagree.

Instead, he continues his one-handed exploration of her body, and on her thigh there's an odd divot there that makes a ripple on her smooth cocoa skin. "What's this?"

"Gunshot."

Damn. "Did I do that?"

"Mm-hmm," She nods.

"Heh. Always did make an impression on women." Merle's lips quirk upward, but it's more exhaustion guiding his movements than humor. There's a scar on his side that she notices, runs her index finger down it. Her brow furrows, and he chuckles. "Admiring your handiwork?"

"I'm sure there is some other angry Black woman out there that did this one," Michonne murmurs.

"Nah," Merle drawls with a yawn. "Just you."

She rests her chin on her hand over his chest, dreadlocks framed around her face, "And what about you? You always go around shooting girls?"

"Only the pretty ones, sweetheart." Merle smirks, "You know, this is the most I've ever heard you talk."

"I'm surprised you're not talking more," Michonne lays her head to the side. "You never shut up."

"Aw, you know you like my voice, Mi-chonne; I'm a certified sweet talker." Merle teases, a wide smile spreading his lips thin.

"Stop talking," She groans.

He grabs the back of her right leg and pulls it up so that the juncture of her thighs reaches his hips. "Come over here and make me," He buries his head in her neck, nipping at her collarbone as he flips her over.


First, wow, thanks for all of the reviews, alerts, and the fav! I was rushing to get this one out, so if there are any major mistakes, or even minor ones, sorry about that. In case anyone is wondering, Crawford is part of the Telltale game for the Walking Dead, which Kirkman also helped with so I'm considering it canon and that's why I included it.

It may take a little longer for the next update, but I do update this faster on the twd kink meme, so...

DAC