How long had he slept? Merle's lids waved open rapidly, eyes darting in all directions as if he were being closed in on by a pack of rabid animals. The eldest Dixon turned his gaze instantly to the still body of his brother - as though the most impatient part of him was expecting Daryl to be awake and glaring at him with some expression that said "get up 'n help my ass outta here". Much to his chagrin, Daryl's form remained in the exact same position Merle had fallen asleep watching him in.
The eldest Dixon's thoughts drifted to the touching moment he had shared with Nora. Though Merle would hardly consider it his strongest moment, he found a certain amount of closure with the Mick. She was strong - a fighter. As much as Merle himself loathed admitting: she showed almost as much love for his brother openly as he himself did in his heart. There was a certain respect that developed in discovering that when he watched her weep helplessly over the unconscious Dixon's form in the infirmary the night before - when he watched the pain overflow. Merle felt for the girl, though he didn't want to. He shared a story with intent to put her wandering mind at a sort of ease.
He was almost positive it barely worked. Lenora still seemed shut-off. Merle couldn't say he blamed her. This had been the only open moment he'd offered to anyone since he had dragged Daryl back to the prison so begrudgingly. It made sense to share it with someone who had put so much at risk just to get his brother back to safety. Still, he understood the meaning behind her actions in leaving him to his thoughts that night. Lenora still felt as though she failed Daryl. They both did. Merle felt so, for having been under the Governor's thumb so long, he didn't even notice that his brother had been taken into custody. Lenora felt so for not realizing he was gone until it was too late.
Though Merle wished to blame her out of all the others, he couldn't. Brannigan had defied Officer Friendly's orders, blatantly proved his ideas of a group attack wrong and made a legitimate effort to ensure Daryl's safe and secured rescue. Hell, she had even dared to fight Merle (under the impression that he was some kind of threat) in order to keep the one she loved most out of harm's way. In spite of Merle's lack of care for the thought of love being a strong emotion - it made the Irishwoman insane enough to go to unimaginable lengths and turn herself into some sort of sadistic animal (just like him) in order to get the job done.
Merle's jaw flexed at the thought, eventually beginning to chew gently on the inside of his cheek. His stomach growled in hunger, which made him concern himself with the last time he had eaten a decent meal. Oddly enough, he almost missed the cooking from the old camp. Carol had always made the best home-cooked food, even if he'd never admit such a thing. Guess it was the price of being an abused, domesticated woman.
As if on cue, footsteps echoed along the hallway. Heavy and intent. Merle pulled himself from those overwhelming thoughts and focused his attention upon the entrance to the infirmary, which Rick Grimes stepped through with a plate of food in hand. The eldest Dixon eyed the food as if it were some kind of savior, his stomach growling again - louder, this time. The moment Rick held the plate before the outcast's face, Merle hesitated but a second - then his lone hand reached out to grasp the edge of the metal plate, his knife-hand steadying it as he guided it to his lap.
It was then that Rick reached behind him, startling the redneck enough to stiffen skeptically… until he realized the Sheriff was producing a bottle of whiskey from the waistband of the back of his pants to give to the redneck. However, he had taken the bottle, moved to the other side of the room, grasped a chair and dragged it over to sit across from Merle. He was at a closer proximity, so he could still have enough room to pass the bottle to him and not strain himself, but just far enough where he maintained a respectful distance.
Rick settled the Jack Daniels beside his left foot in a mute way of saying he would wait patiently and respectfully until Merle finished his meal before he cracked the beloved bottle open.
Merle, unable to say any sort of thanks in regards to the shocking kindness, bowed his head and proceeded to eat at a quickened pace. Hell, he hadn't realized just how hungry he was until the first fork-full. It felt like seconds and the plate was suddenly empty.
"Sorry there ain't more." Rick announced almost solemnly. "Last run we made was when Daryl..." Rick cut himself off, trailing slightly as he changed his thought process and tilted his head in shame towards the bottle of whiskey. Soon, his calloused palm clenched around the neck of the bottle and lifted it, gesturing the lid to Merle as if to clarify if he wanted some as well. Merle said nothing, merely offering a curt nod of approval as he set aside the plate next to his own feet.
His fingers worked their way around the cap and twisted, cracking the seal open and allowing that fresh aroma of the strong liquor to waft into his nose. He took a quick swig of the alcohol, wincing slightly as it burned its way down his throat, before he moved to offer the bottle to the redneck. There was a surprisingly pleasant calm that filled the room as they passed the whiskey between each other. Once Merle had taken the bottle off of his hands, Rick rested his elbows upon his knees and laced his fingers together. A pensive expression worked itself upon his features as he turned his crystalline eyes upon the younger Dixon. This was the first time he had really looked at Daryl since he had first arrived. And now that everything had settled down and people had resumed to carry on with things as normal, Rick could finally soak in all of the damage that Daryl had truly suffered. And it felt like a punch in his gut. His stomach twisted and turned into all sorts of terrible knots that made him queasy.
The Sheriff inhaled deeply as he averted his eyes and decided to focus on his hands, settling his attention upon the shiny silver ring that fitted snug to his finger. A look of pain filtered across his eyes and his right fingers moved to gently brush over that symbol of commitment he had made to his wife all those years ago. His fingers began to fiddle with his wedding-band, slowly turning it around his ring finger as he continued to swim in a sea of thoughts. "A lot's happened since Atlanta…" Rick started, not really sure where he was going to get with this. He just knew that Merle needed to know where he was coming from.
"For what it's worth, I didn't know you'd been left on th'roof that day when we escaped the city." His eyes lifted to meet Merle's, feeling as though he owed the man to look him directly in the face as he admitted this. Merle's attention instantly fled from his brother the moment Rick's voice carried to his ears, allowing the man his full compliance - for the moment. "There was so much goin' on that I didn't really have th'time to think properly. But, as soon as I did find out - I went back for ya. Daryl came with me. N' Glenn, too. Even T-dog." Mentioning that name caused more pain to surface that Rick forced back with a clenched jaw. He swallowed and inhaled deeply. A brisk sigh slipped past his lips as he tore his gaze from Merle's blank, contemplative expression, returning his full attention to his hands as he carried on, "but, by the time we made it back, you'd already gone."
There was a long pause before Rick pressed on, "After that we managed t'make it to the CDC. I stupidly clung onto the hope of a possible cure. I thought maybe they'd have answers t' everything. But I was wrong. There was no cure. No hope." He shook his head, disappointment heavy in his worn eyes as his jaw worked in frustration. That was what had started his downward slope. The first of many bad choices that were yet to come. Merle stole another swig of whiskey to tide himself from speaking out ill-manneredly.
Rick's left hand lifted to dry wash his face, running over his gruff facial hair before he added, "after that, we came across Hershel's farm, because Carl got shot. It was an accident. Hershel patched'im up, n' after that we kinda merged with his people. And things were good for a little while…" He trailed off, the gentle look of calm that had graced his face quickly fading as the bad memories flooded his mind. "Shane lost his mind. He became unpredictable and violent...I ended up havin' t' kill him. My own best friend." He sniffed lightly, his eyes moving to look at his wedding ring once more.
"Soon after that, we found this prison...and my wife Lori, she…" His eyes began to sting at the thought, causing him to blink hard a few times. He couldn't allow those tears to come - because the second they did, he would be incapable of pulling himself back together again. "She passed away last week after the baby..." He exhaled a heavy breath and lowered his head. His eyes squeezed shut and his fingers immediately moved to the bridge of his nose. A sharp intake. His jaw flexed as he struggled to keep those tears at bay that wanted so badly to spill over. His hand moved from his nose, and he pressed his clenched fist tightly against his closed lips and stared across the room. A glimmer of those tears twinkling in his eyes.
Merle remained in a sort of stunned silence for a long moment. His eyes were traveling repeatedly from the bottle of amber liquid back to Rick's expressions and reactions. The man had been through much, Merle wasn't too stupid to realize that firsthand. However, for a man to manage keeping any amount of cool over ferrying his injured son to safety, getting forced from location to location, having to kill his best friend and then losing his wife on top of taking on the responsibility of a newborn child… Merle couldn't imagine just how strong Rick had to be for that. Then, to have his righthand man incapacitated and to have one of the strongest women in his group lose her damn mind… it was unthinkable, how the poor bastard didn't just burst into tears at that very moment. Hell, he was astonished that Rick hadn't lost his damn marbles after going through all that.
Merle wouldn't have been able to blame him if he did. However, instead of saying anything, since he knew it would be some snarky, defensive comment, Merle caved. The redneck sat upright, hunching his shoulders as he curled his relaxed frame forward. An arm outstretched to Rick, holding the bottle of whiskey before the Sheriff's face. There was an understanding in the eldest Dixon's gaze - almost a glimmer of forgiveness. Nothing was said, but still… it was there.
Rick eyed the whiskey blankly for a moment, drinking in the concept of Merle's silent acceptance of the offered truce. In Merle's eyes, Rick could see that he had kept to his word and offered a better foot to start a second chance on. For a moment, it almost seemed comical. In response to such a heartfelt story, it almost seemed as though Merle were saying "drink up". The Sheriff scoffed slightly in response to his own overwhelming drama, reaching up to take the base of the bottle gently. He tilted the neck in Merle's direction as if to say "thanks", taking a long swig to drown out the wad of sadness that tempted those tears further. After a few gulps, the sting made the pain subside.
Merle leaned back into his chair, looking back to his brother.
For a moment, the men sat in a simple silence, allowing the comfort of their shared sorrows and wiles to lay waste to their resentment.
That was, until Merle decided to make a true peace. He owed Rick that much.
"Y'might wanna think a li'l less on th'past fer a second, Friendly." His voice drew Rick from such contentment, forcing the Sheriff to draw his eyes from Daryl's form. "Cuz right 'bout now, y'got some bigger problems." There was a long pause. "Gov don't take kindly t'bein' outsmarted." Rick offered the Dixon a swig of the shared whiskey. Merle took it and nodded in thanks. "When 'e finds us - 'n b'lieve me, he will - it ain't gon' be pretty." He took a swig, considering his words. "He'll tear this place apart, brick by brick, lookin' fer yah lovely ladies. In the meantime, he'll cut down every last one'a us. Let Nora'n them watch as we get carved int' slow 'n steady. 'Til there ain't nothin' left. Carol 'n the weak ones… they'll get raped. Prob'ly t'death, if he has anythin' t'say 'bout it. N' Nora an' th'others...they'll get that n' then sum."
Rick pondered a moment, taking in the formation of Merle's words with a wince of the imagery that followed. Merle offered him the bottle for a sick sort of comfort. "We can't let that happen." He said softly before taking another swig of the amber fluid. Merle froze on the word - 'we', craning his head again to face the Sheriff almost curiously. Rick didn't single his group out from him - he indicated that he was now part of the group.
Merle scoffed almost comically. "Yer people won't take kindly t'me helpin' out."
"Ain't about how they take it." Rick responded, his voice a bit more firm. "S'about keepin' us safe. I'll deal with them. We'll cross that bridge when we get t' it." There was a pause - another understanding. "For now, you jus' look after your brother and we can discuss this Governor business another time…" Rick announced as he got to his feet, his hand moving to extend the whiskey over to Merle - offering it to the redneck to have to himself now. Merle took it and leaned back in his seat, somewhat content with the way this conversation had come to an end. But it wasn't quite over. Rick still had his last piece to speak. He stared into the face of the older Dixon as he said, "I'm gonna need ya in this…"
Merle paused a moment, considering Rick's words before he simply nodded in his direction. The gesture alone was a larger effort than any empty words he could offer. The truce was closed - assured and firm. He would be there.
This group had more worth than the Governor, anyway.