Thank to my kind reviewers. I am glad I have been able to convert people to a ship they might not have thought of/were a bit worried about. (Really, I'll ship Merle with just about anybody –and I intend to!). I hope the ongoing story justifies your faith in me, given the comments about wanting to see where I am going with this. I should warn you right now – it's not going to be anywhere too deep and meaningful!

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"You know, Ah know what you're up to," Merle said, his gravelly tones softer than usual. He gave Carol a knowing sidelong glance as she handed him jars of preserves to arrange on the top shelf of the galvanized metal rack. They were in the smallest of the rooms designated as a pantry, barely more than a walk-in cupboard, lit with a couple of candles. Merle had hung his shirt on a nail and was working bare-armed in a wifebeater that had started off as white.

"You do, huh." Carol wasn't so sure he did. She'd taken care to be on his left side so that she could use the curve made between his body and his arm as he reached up to the shelf. Gradually she'd made more free with his personal space, moving casually in and away, easy enough to do in the close confines of the small room, occasionally touching his arm lightly. But despite his gaze flickering once more down her top, he hadn't made any moves that might be considered out of line. Or promising.

"Hell yeah Mother Hen. Carrot and stick, darlin', carrot and stick."

"You're gonna have to explain that to me a little more, Merle."

He paused and lowered the jar of plums held tightly in his large work-hardened paw. "Ain't it obvious? Rick's the stick, always lookin' at me with that look on his face, the one that says if I don't toe the line he'll throw me out. Try to, anyhow."

"And the carrot?"

He lowered his head and gave her an indulgent look, as if she was being a little dim.

"Well that'd be you."

"I'm… the carrot?"

"Well yeah. Stuff ya do, anyhow. Git muh clothes washed and mended, coffee how I like it, when we got it… always finding things fer the crippled man to do," he nodded up to the top shelf," to make him feel big and strong… an' extra puddin' fer "helpin' out". Showin' me the ree-wards fer playin' nice. But let me tell you that shit don't fly with ole Merle sugar."

Carol looked up at him, a little amused. There was some truth in what he was saying, even if it hadn't been conspired at quite as deliberately as he thought.

"And yet…?" She replied, looking in turn at the jar of preserves, back at him, then slowly, airily around the small room. Her gaze went pointedly to the top shelf, and then just as pointedly back to him to rest expectantly on his face.

"Aw hell woman, I ain't had a plum in a year," he said, hefting the jar in his hand, "you think I'm gonna let someone else get that extra helpin'? Fuck no. Anyhow, like I said, didn't have nuthin' better to do, might as well spend some time alone with a goodlookin' woman than waste the evenin' listenin' to Daryl's bitchin'."

"If you say so," Carol replied smiling broadly now, tilting her head to one side, her blue eyes alight with merriment.

"I do say so, cos I know so," Merle answered, and nodded a little. He stared down at her, and as Carol smiled steadily back up at him there was an odd little moment between them. Carol had been aware of the slow build of tension within her throughout the evening, but now it suddenly turned into a small flare of excitement. Her lips parted and she found herself breathing shallowly, not taking her eyes from his face, not quite able to screw up her courage to make a move, waiting to see if Merle would seize the opportunity.

The focused expression on his weatherbeaten face intensified as he gazed at her, then he suddenly shook himself as if a goose had walked over his grave.

"Well this shit ain't goin' to rack itself," he said tersely, as he turned back to the shelf, thumped the jar into its spot and held his hand out for another, eyes fixed on the rows of preserves he'd been arranging. Carol automatically resumed passing up the jars and they worked together in silence for a while. It gave Carol time to castigate herself for wimping out and not taking the perfect opportunity she'd had to fulfil the purpose of getting Merle alone in the first place. Mental Daryl was not mute either. "Ah ya chickenshit. All ya had to do was put a hand on him. He woulda got the message. Not like he's gonna say no. This is Merle we're talking about." Oh shut up, she thought, people in glass houses….it's not like you've ever got around to it either.

Finally Carol came to the last can and Merle stretched over to push it into place at the back of the shelf, then dusted off his hand down his pants leg.

"Reckon that's done."

Carol nodded silently. Any moment Merle would be walking out the door and she would have missed her chance, but she was unsure how to go about naturally re-creating that moment earlier that had seemed so promising. It seemed too bald just to put her hand on his arm and look speakingly at him. She supposed she really was rusty when it came to this, after all. Disappointingly so.

"You'll be wanting to check that out, make sure I got it the way you wanted it."

"I'm sure it's fine, Merle. I trust you," she answered. Now that the task was done, she might as well just go, and escape the place that had proven to her that no matter how far she had come, there was still some distance to travel.

"Trust? Me?" He gave a short bark of laughter. "Hell baby, that'd be a first."

Carol smiled a little crookedly. She had really only been referring to trusting his ability to follow instructions, and she was pretty sure he knew that. But given his history, and how he had come to join them, his sardonic comment did seem fitting.

"Nope, you better take a look. I don't want you bitchin' later cos I didn't get it right."

"Fair enough." Carol ducked her head in a nod. "I'll get a chair."

Merle frowned quizzically at her, the lines on his forehead creasing heavily. "Shit, no need for that, I'll just lift you up."

Before she could answer yay or nay, he had bent forward and wrapped his good arm around her thighs, and she was still replying, "Oh… all right," in uncertain tones, when he seemingly effortlessly hoisted her up into the air. "Oh!" she said suddenly, grabbing on around his shoulders with one arm to help distribute her weight, and mentally kicking herself for sounding like a giddy schoolgirl. His shoulder muscles were bunched to take the load, and his arm felt like warm iron around her thighs as they lined his torso. It was ridiculously exciting.

Get a grip on yourself woman.

Merle put out his left leg, knee bent, to give her something to balance on, and once she put her feet along his thigh she found herself securely braced and able to see everything along the top shelf. Merle had arranged the cans and preserves exactly how she wanted them, large cans at the back, jars set out in date order, those labelled oldest at the front, and in columns according to contents. She couldn't fault it. She nudged one jar a little more into line and said, "It's perfect."

"Alright then." He wrapped his other arm around her, lifting her a little higher, and straightened up. As he lowered her, she somehow got turned around and slid down his front, their bodies pushed closely together, her arms around his neck. She had no time to politely turn her face away as it passed his. It was a long time since she'd been that close to a man. Even longer since she'd enjoyed it. And say what you like about Merle, he was all man. For once he even smelled good, no lingering stench of Walker, just shower soap and clean sweat, coffee and gun oil.

He took a small step, as if he was just shifting his weight really, and Carol found herself pinned between him and the storage shelf, his arms still wrapped around her waist, her hands flat on his burly shoulders.

Merle looked down at her, his face unreadable, set in harsh lines.

"Well now. Ain't this interestin'."

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To be continued…