A/N – My MB (What Evil Lurks) suggested to me a while back when I started writing Merle's Women that I should do Patricia as well. I had forgotten about her character which is remiss of me and when she suggested Patricia, MB also suggested a 'Mrs. Robinson' (showing my age there) type scenario. She was joking, both about Patricia and about the scenario.

But, when she suggested Patricia, a scene literally exploded into my brain. I wrote the synopsis directly on my kitchen whiteboard where I usually put the grocery list. It's been there for a several weeks, just waiting for me to put my fingers on the keyboard.

It is not for the faint hearted, though if you're reading Merle…

The farm has fallen, Patricia is bitten on the arm but Andrea managed to save her from being bitten elsewhere.

They were running together, but Patricia has left Andrea, not wanting to slow her down.

Merle frowned. The footsteps were hesitant, uneven but not stumbling as a zombie usually was. He stopped, hiding himself behind a tree as they drew closer. The sobs he heard certainly weren't from a zombie, but better safe than sorry.

He couldn't make out words other than the occasional pleading word of 'please'. Were they praying? Shaking his head, Merle silently unsheathes the machete at his side, The hinge on his prosthetic had broken off earlier.

It was still in its experimental stages, he was going to need a better hinge that was for sure. When the footsteps stumble to a stop just before they pass his hiding place, Merle gives in and steps out, sweeping his prosthetic up and across the heaving chest.

When he backs them into the tree, the machete is leaning lightly on their jugular.

"Well well, what do we got here?" He questioned lightly as he looked at his prize. "Bitten are you then?" He asked her as he smelled the rancid death surrounding her.

"Yes, please, please help me, it hurts." She whispered up at him.

Blonde, she was blonde and petite, older though, his age at least, maybe more. Skin freckled and leathered from the sun. The hand digging into his shirt was callused and nicked with scars from a lifetime of physical labour.

"Ain't got no help darlin', if you're bit you're dead, I got no use for you." Merle stepped away even as he felt his gateway to heaven close just that bit more. There was truly nothing he could do.

"Stay, I don't want to die alone." She begged him. "The other one I was with…I left them, I shouldn't have, I don't want to die alone." She whispered now, "I'm so alone, please." She is almost rambling, gasping for breath.

Cursing himself for a fool, Merle steps back, after a look around he shrugs off his backpack and pulls out his water bottle. He directs her to sip the water, not gulp it, takes the bottle and controls her when she ignores him.

Looking down at her arm, he sees the missing flesh, the poisoned bite, blood drying and caked everywhere. "You got any other bites?" He asks her abruptly. He has first aid stuff but isn't going to use it. Nothing can be done for her anyway.

"No, no. They…stopped the others." She speaks haltingly, breathlessly. Almost as if trying to remember what had happened. Looking into her glassy eyes, Merle realises she's probably in shock now that she's stopped her stumbling excuse of a run to nowhere.

"Well, let's get you settled then and I'll be on my way." He said as he took her unbitten arm and moved her toward the shack he'd spent last night in. He'd been on his way back to Woodbury when his vehicle had quit.

Hiking overland had seemed like the way to go, cut off a good number of miles, he'd been checking any vehicle's he came across but so far no luck.

She didn't protest his leaving this time, to be honest Merle was wondering if he should just shiv the back of her brain and be on his way.

But a voice in the back of his head was telling him to just wait with her, ease her toward the end and when she was there, end her properly.

But fuck it, he'd been gone too long, the Governor would be pissed enough as it was. Still, he'd never killed a woman before, didn't really want to now either if he didn't have to.

Shaking his head at his own foibles, Merle muttered to himself as he practically dragged the woman up the couple of steps and inside the shack. Pushing her down on the dusty couch, he was already in the kitchen when she sneezed.

It stopped him in his tracks. Fuck, how long was it since he'd been alone with a woman no matter the circumstances? "You okay?" Merle asked her as he turned back to her.

"I'm, cold." She said in a voice barely above a whisper. And there was the infection raising its fucking ugly head. Because she was sweating worse than he was.

"Plumbing still works here, let me run you a bath, get yourself clean. Ain't no shower." He pre-empts her when she opens her mouth.

Merle watches her sigh and nod and collapse into the couch again. He can see the bite wound, yellow pus oozing from it.

Turning on the tub, he lets it fill, not bothering with trying for the hot water he already knew didn't work.

Going back into the living area of the shack, he picked the woman up in his arms, ignoring her squeak as she woke up. Taking her to the bathroom, he deposited her, clothes and all into the filling bathtub.

"There's detergent under the sink, that'll work." He says as he leaves her there and heads back out again.

When he comes back, she's bare to the waist and wiggling half-heartedly at her underwear, pushing that and her dress down over hips.

Her wet boots were already on the floor as were her socks. "You got a name darlin'?" He asked her as he handed her the detergent bottle and bent to pick up her boots and shake them as dry as possible though why he didn't know. Wasn't like she'd need them soon.

"Patricia." She says as she opens the detergent and squeezes out a handful. She rubs her hands together and then starts at her face. Watching to make sure she was okay, Merle nodded to himself and left Patricia to it.

He tossed in some of the clothes that belonged to the previous owner and went outside to set up some snares around the shack. Back inside, he saw that Patricia had changed into them, her blonde hair was scraggly around her face and tears were streaming from it as she looked at something in her hands. A locket.

Looking up at Merle, she spoke. "I'm going to die like Otis did. Alone and bitten, we thought the government would find us, help them, we kept them all in the barn but no one came to help, and then they were shot. But they kept coming." Patricia's voice is plaintive.

Assuming that Otis was her husband, Merle shook his head. "Don't know Patricia," He said using her first name instead of the blanket darlin' or sugar that he usually called women. She was dying, she deserved better.

"I wish I could tell you. But you're right, you'll be joinin' him soon enough." His blunt words choke off her tears.

"Why did God allow this to happen?" She asked him now. Looking at him like he was the second fucking coming himself.

"How the fuck should I know?" He answered her irascibly. Fuck, he should have just shived her and left her he thought as she lowered her head and began to cry again.

##########

She cries silently into the night, only the odd snuffling sound giving her away. The next day, she is pale and drawn, but still getting around. Merle steps out early and checks everything. He relieves himself as he thinks again about leaving. But he retraces his steps back to the shack again.

When he closes the door behind him, he sees her look over at him. She'd slept on the couch and he on the bed. When he'd left, she'd crawled into his bedding.

"I thought you'd left." She said as she sat up and made to leave the bed.

"Stay there, ain't usin' it again until night." He said as he went to the kitchen. Making use of a few things he plated up a breakfast of fruit and jerky.

Patricia pushed her food around on her plate and Merle shook his head wondering why he'd bothered to even get her to eat something. Her body was shutting down, she was going to die in a day or two, food was the least of her problems.

"He your husband, Otis?" He questioned her quietly.

"Yes, we were married for over twenty years."

"He treated you right then?" Merle asked her now, to keep her talking. He took the plate from her hand and put it aside, if she didn't eat it, he'd eat it for lunch.

"Yes, we had our moments, but most couples do I expect." Her drawl is sleepy, slow and kind of sexy now that he thinks about it.

Shifting uncomfortably at the thought, Merle pushed it away. She was very nearly a fucking walking corpse and not his type anyway with her coarse hair and freckled skin.

"How long's he been gone then?" He asked Patricia now.

"Oh about three months or so." Fuck, not long at all then, she was still grieving for the man and now she was going to join him. "I'll be glad to see him again." She murmured now.

Snorting at the thought of heaven existing in these times, Merle stayed silent. He could debate religion with the Governor when he got back to Woodbury. "No kids then?" He asked her to keep her mind going.

"No, we weren't able." She defies Merle's hope and lapses into silence. The day fades away and Merle doesn't have the heart to tell her to sleep on the couch again.

He can tell the infection is still making slow inroads, the bite that she's bandaged has bled sluggishly off and on throughout the day. It was also beginning to smell more.

Re-bandaging it with a shirt sleeve soaked in metho that he'd found under the sink to try and dry it out and override the smell, it had stung like hell when he'd put it on her he knew, but she'd shuddered silently through it, earning more respect.

When he goes to the couch, her voice drifts to him, husky and intimate in the small room. "Stay with me Merle, please."

Turning to her, Merle looks over at her, the lantern casting a pool of light across her cheekbone and neck and décolletage. She looked softer in the night, prettier, almost beautiful.

"I'll stay." He said as he turned to the couch again. And he would, he could no more leave a woman to die alone than he could leave an animal wounded. He'd put the animal out of its misery and he'd so the same for her before she could rise again.

But for once in his life, Merle Dixon was shocked.

"No, I meant stay with me, in the bed, sleep with me, be with me. You're so warm." She whispered the last sentence but Merle heard her as if she'd shouted from the rooftops.

And like a sick reminder that he was alive and kicking and she was heading toward never breathing again, his cock rose in his pants. Filling and sliding up over his thigh, pre-come leaking like warm treacle against his hip as it slid up to push against his pants, and stick out of the top of them from where he'd pulled his belt off preparatory to going to sleep.

"Please Merle." Her voice whispers on the dank, warm air of the shack, quivering across his skin like a warm tongue, both wet and arousing at the same time.

Closing his eyes, Merle shook his head and turned toward the bed. Ignoring his cock, he climbed in beside Patricia and let her settle her still-sweating body against his side. "You remind me of Otis, he was big too, not so tall though, and he didn't stay so fit, but still."

Patricia slowly moved her bitten arm across his torso. Hesitatingly almost, waiting for Merle to reject her he supposed. "It's okay, I don't got any cuts or shit." He murmurs.

"Thank you." Patricia says to him as she breathes in deeply and then slowly lets it out, her body relaxing as she did so.

Feeling his cock throbbing in his pants, Merle determinedly ignores it. He was an idiot, he should have made use of the bathroom before he'd gotten into the fucking bed.

Focussing on the throb of his cock, Merle let it lull him to sleep, a heartbeat at a time. And he dreamed.

A soft body slithered down his side, a warm wet mouth took his now soft cock inside and then began to suck softly. Moaning a little, Merle spread his legs for them, he felt their hot body move over his legs, pulling his pants down and off.

His hands fisted in rough hair and his hips rose. Eyes still close, Merle felt himself stir in the woman's mouth. Hazily he tried to remember who he'd gone home with. One of the strippers? Maybe a waitress from somewhere?

Why couldn't he remember? Work roughened hands stroke up his thighs and fondle his balls, making them ache and draw up.

And just as he comes, Merle's eyes shot open in shock. "Fuck! Jesus!" He shot back in bed, Patricia's teeth scraping harshly against his orgasming cock as he drew away from her. They pinch on the head of his cock and he curses again, his left hand taking himself in hand protectively.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He asks of Patricia even as he shudders as his orgasm finishes rolling through him.

He watches as Patricia wipes her mouth, her fingers wiping his sperm train back onto his bedding. She doesn't look at him as she fidgets, but Merle won't let her get away with what she'd done.

Jesus, what if she'd fucking died with her mouth on his cock? His skin crawled at the thought. "I'm out of here, you sick cunt." He says to her as he draws back and gets off the bed. As he bends down for his pants he hears her begin to cry.

"No fucking way is that working on me again." He says to her bent head.

"I wanted…you're so warm…like Otis…one more time…be loved." Her words are disjointed, he can barely make out one in every half-dozen or so. But he gets the gist. And he feels like shit for what he'd said to her.

But fuck? Could he do that? Did he even want to do that? He had no fucking idea. With a put upon sigh, Merle gets back in bed and pushes Patricia over on her side. Spooning behind her, he holds her firmly. "No more fuckin' takin' me when I'm asleep. I'll think about it." He says even as he wants to do nothing more than run in fear.

But Dixon's don't fucking run. Huffing, Merle's thoughts continue to whirl around in his brain like a merry-go-round. He feels Patricia finally fall asleep and finds himself joining her some time later.

When he wakes up in the morning, the infection has truly set in, she is shaking and sweat is streaming from her body, drying her from the inside out. She looks drawn and her breathing is ragged.

She looks up at him mirthlessly. "Guess you dodged a bullet then." Her voice cracks on the word bullet, her lips are dry and cracked from dehydration now, her tongue thick in her mouth from the sound of it.

"If you think so darlin'. I still ain't leavin'." Merle answers her as he gets out of bed. Taking up his water, he offers it to Patricia.

"Don't waste it on me Merle." She says as she pushes it away.

Pursing his lips, Merle drinks. Then, he releases the straps on his prosthesis, letting it fall to the table with a dull thud. Making sure the bandage on his wrist is secure, he moves back to the bed and reaches for Patricia's legs, jerking them apart, he climbs in between them and keels there looking at her.

Then, shaking his head, he leans down and his mouth takes hers. As soon as Patricia opens to his invasion, Merle lets the water he'd kept in his mouth pass to her.

Jerking back with a gasp, Patricia swallowed the water making Merle smile triumphantly.

"You…" She trailed off, words stopped against Merle's mouth again as he took her hair and pulled her back in. His mouth cruised over hers now, deliberately taking his time, though he knew she really didn't have much left.

But he'd be fucked if her last memory of sex was a hard brutal fuck.

Nipping down her neck, Merle winces as he smells her. She smells like death. Breathing through his mouth, he pulls back a little. He has to do this for her, he didn't know why, but he knew he needed to. Maybe he just needed too.

Sliding his hands into Patricia's hair, he pulled on it, her head tilted back and Merle leaned down and kissed down her neck to her breasts.

Taking a breath, Merle closed himself to the smell of Patricia, he closed himself to everything except that the body beneath him was female and willing.

She was petite in his arms, soft but still a little angular. Her breasts were small, the pink nipples tight and already beaded in anticipation. Having never breastfed, they were still in good shape, not pert but by no means saggy either.

Palming them, Merle pushed them together and took both nipples in his mouth, sucking strongly, making Patricia arch from the bed, her freckled skin flushing now in arousal more than due to the infection.

"I didn't expect…" She trailed off and Merle looked up.

"Ain't no reason you can't enjoy your last fuck is there?" He asked idly as he pulls off her breasts and nips at them flesh surrounding the nipples, leaving red welts on her skin and making her shiver.

"No, I just, it's wrong. Otis…" She trails off again as Merle kisses down her stomach. He can't risk sucking her though he thinks probably it would be okay. But there is doubt, so he'll be safe.

Fingers though, he can use his fingers. Determined to do this right, now that he'd decided to go ahead with it, Merle meandered his fingers down Patricia's body.

He glided the rough pads of his fingertips over her skin teasingly, alarmed at the heat of it but not allowing her to see it. She didn't have long. But, he'd decided it was the right thing to do.

And so do it he would. He figured if the big guy existed, this would put him several steps closer to those pearly gates people raved about.

Dipping his head, he swirled his tongue around her belly button, scraped his teeth over her hipbone and played havoc with her body. He knew it was working from the way Patricia was moving restlessly underneath him.

Taking himself in hand, Merle thought of how hot and wet Patricia's mouth had been last night. She'd made him come in his sleep for fucks sake. The way she'd tongued his slit, mouthed at his balls, stroked his cock, his pelvis.

Jerking himself, Merle got hard, then he pulled back, pushed Patricia's legs apart and moved in between them. Hesitating one last time he looked up her sweating body to her pale face, hair tangled across her cheeks.

Her eyes were open wide and eyeing him off, she looked like she was in shock again. "You sure 'bout this sugar?" He asked her for the last time. His thought of calling her by her name out of respect dying as he looked into her eyes.

Merle hadn't yet met a woman who'd ever be more than sugar or darlin', given the way the world was, he doubted he ever would now.

A brief nod is all he gets from her, followed by a hacking cough. Fuck, she really didn't have much time. He'd be lucky if he didn't end up fucking a corpse himself.

Pushing forward, Merle prayed to whatever deity existed if anything still did, that he could stay hard.

But Patricia took care of that for him. "Fuck…" His eyes roll in pleasure as he slides into the furnace of her body.

She was hot, burning hot, and moist and wet as she wrapped her pussy around him invitingly. Pushing all the way in until he bottomed out. Merle looked down into Patricia's glazed eyes. She ran her dry tongue over her even drier lips and nodded at him though he didn't speak.

And so Merle fucked her. Long, slow, sliding strokes of his cock through her burning heat, he wrapped her trembling legs around his waist and began to pound into her.

The back of his mind was screaming at him to let go, get out and to run, but he ignored it, caught up in the heated pleasure that was this infected woman he'd met not even two days ago.

Holding her wrists in his hand, Merle imprisoned them on the bed and then began to work his hips faster. His cock was streaming inside her he knew. Leaking his seed. "Can you come?" He asked in a rasping whisper as he kept thrusting into Patricia's welcoming heat.

"No." Her voice cracked, just on that one word. Merle began to slow, not wanting to use her that way. But she forced herself to speak again. "Don't want you to sto…" Her voice trailed off and her head lolled to the side though her eyes didn't close.

And Merle shouted as his balls drew up and he came in her body. Patricia had clenched down on him, holding him tighter than a fucking rubber would have. Spurting inside her molten depths, Merle emptied himself and collapsed on Patricia's still body, grateful he could still feel her heartbeat on his cheek, where he rested his head on her chest.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He muttered to himself. "Fucking sick Dixon." He said as well.

"No, I needed you." Patricia's words are so soft, they're barely spoken at all. And maybe they're not, maybe Merle imagines them.

Rolling off to the side, Merle flung his arm over Patricia, determining to stay with her until she passed. It was only right.

What he didn't count on was drifting to sleep.

Waking to birdlike movement against his abdomen, Merle opens his eyes. Milky blue ones stare back at him in a ghostly pale white face. His heart skips a beat as he realises Patricia was no more.

Just as she lunges for him, he pushes back and she careens into the wall the bed is shoved against. Rolling out of bed, Merle grabs up his machete and swings it, severing her neck and spinal column, dropping her immediately.

"Fuck." He says again quietly now. Breathing deeply, he leans down and cleans the machete. Then he looks around the cabin. Shaking his head, he moves to the kitchen and takes up a rag and the metho.

Soaking the rag, Merle methodically wipes his cock and balls down, hissing at the burning pain it caused but continuing on anyway. Then he wiped the rag over his hands and the rest of his body.

He packed without thinking, without looking at her. Patricia, the woman he'd found in the woods and fucked to her death. It had been wrong, he knew it, but she had wanted it, desired it. Needed it.

Why, he didn't know, would never know. And why didn't matter now anyway. Wrapping her in the sheet, Merle took her outside and laid her on the ground. Pouring over the rest of the metho, he lit a match and tossed it onto her body.

Standing back, he watched her burn. When Patricia's body had burned down and the fire was nothing but a smoking mess, Merle shouldered his pack and walked back into the woods, headed back to Woodbury.

He did not look back.