Going on runs is just as terrifying as Milton had always imagined it to be. It doesn't get any easier, no matter how many times he goes out. The knife at his side brings him no real relief; his hands shake every time he holds it. The only bit of real safety he feels that he can grasp at is that Daryl always makes sure he stays close to him, saving his life on more than one occassion. They go out like this for hours every day, changing up Glenn for Rick, Sasha for Carol, until it adds up Merle being gone for nearly two weeks.
It's on the thirteenth day that they go back to the prison early. Daryl's caught a deer and wants to make sure it's there in time for dinner. As usual, he takes Milton with him, feeling more secure knowing that he's got his eyes on him. He trusts Rick and Carol, but he also knows that shit happens, especially if you're not on the top of your game-and Milton needs sleep. He looks like death, in Daryl's opinion (and everyone else's, but Andrea's the only other person really telling him so).
He's also smart enough to know that something's going on between Milton and his brother. He's not quite sure what yet, but it's there, whatever it is. It's gotta be something big if Merle's staying gone this long. They've found proof of him in the near-by bars, so he knows that the older Dixon is alive and planning on coming back eventually. He figures that if Milton is trying so hard to find Merle, it would behove him to make sure Milton's still alive when Merle gets back. He scans over his tired face; he's sure Merle's going to get an earful whenever he does show his sorry hide.
"I'm going to go check in with Glenn, see if everything's goin' okay. You go get some rest, man. You look like someone beat your ass with a stick."
He's expecting an argument. For such a weak looking man, Milton can put up a fight, at least with words. Daryl's found himself wondering more than once if that's why Merle's taken a special interest in him, why he's noticed his brother chatting with him more than anyone else: someone to rile up. It sounds like Merle, in his opinion; he does get bored.
The argument never comes. Milton nods and lets out a quiet 'okay' then heads in the direction of his cell. When he gets there, he takes his shoes off by the door and practically stumbles into his bed. It takes less then two minutes for him to fall asleep, out like a light and ignorant to the world around him.
It's night fall by the time he wakes up again; he would have slept through to the morning, but someone is in his cell, rustling through his things. He's groggy as he sits up and searches for his glasses. He inelegantly puts them on his face and stares at the sight before him: Merle sitting on his desk.
"What. . ." His gaze moves over his paperwork, scattered on the floor to the side of the desk. It then snaps back up, meeting the blue eyes waiting for his own. "What are you doing in here?" It was the only thing he could think of to say.
Merle shrugs, a grin on his face as if he hasn't been gone for days, as if everything is okay. By the looks of him, it is all okay. There doesn't seem to be one bruise on him.
"Heard you were lookin' for me."
Milton gets out of bed, calmly pushing the covers back and standing. He isn't self-concious of his appearance; he's forgotten, for the moment, what he must look like, more focused on what Merle looks like-no bites. "Shouldn't you be in a bar somewhere?" His relief is short-lived though. The calm is quickly leaving him. Every word he takes, his anger becomes more apparent. "Shouldn't you be out there, living it up? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, off doing something stupid, not for one second taking into consideration the people who are worried about you?" He's been taking steps closer to the other man as he's been talking without really even realizing it. On the word 'worried', he hit Merle's shoulder; Merle's sitting there, not trying to say a word, watching Milton with a frown. "Isn't that how you are?" He hits his shoulder again. "Huh?"
On the third hit, Merle grabs his hand, stopping him. He lets go of it but otherwise makes no move, sizing Milton up. The man definitely isn't prone to violence, so this is a surprise. Any other time, Milton would have pride in throwing Merle off of his feet, metaphorically speaking. Now though, now he just wants a reason, just wants something he can hold onto, something real. Merle obviously wasn't injured, which Milton is grateful for, but it's pushing him towards believing what everyone had told him: Merle was just off somewhere being Merle.
Grabbing his hand having snapped Milton back into reality, they stand in silence for a while, staring at one another. Finally, Merle breaks it, giving Milton what he was looking for: an explanation.
"I went lookin' for the Governor. I do that on occassion without takin' anyone else out with me. But this time I got holed up in a warehouse."
They're still watching each other. Milton doesn't know if he believes him. He has questions. How Merle ate, why he was gone so long, how he finally got out if it was that bad. The shock is wearing off though, letting the full force of his emotions, and exhaustion, wear him back down. He chooses to just be relieved for the moment. He'll sort the rest out later when his brain is actually functioning more than half force. For now, he gives in and does what he actually wants to do without much thought or rationalization behind it.
His arms were just hanging at his sides. Now that he's let go, he wraps them around Merle's neck, leaning his body weight against his stronger chest; Merle's legs were open and he fits between them in a way that he's going to overthink later. His head rests on Merle's shoulder and he sighs, his eyes closing. He rests like that for a moment, vaguely realizing in his sleepy haze that Merle doesn't smell only of tobacco like he had always imagined, before he can feel one arm wrap around his waist. A hand is on his hip and he idly wonders where the other one would be if the ex-soldier still had it.
Milton dozes off, so he's unsure of how long they stay like this before he's moved to his bed. When Merle puts him down, he wakes up enough to grab the man's wrist, holding tightly onto it.
"Will you stay?" He isn't sure what made him ask, other than the fact that he's scared that when he wakes again, he'll realize it was just a dream, or Merle will leave the prison again while he's asleep. "The top bed, no one uses it. . ."
His glasses are off and he's slightly disoriented, but he thinks that he sees Merle nod. He can hear an 'alright'. He lets go of Merle's wrist, relaxing back into his bed but making sure to stay awake until he knows that for sure Merle is on the top bunk. After that, he's out cold again.