Surplus Imagination - Still, probably better than hauling that crap around in the Georgian heat yourself, yeah?
HGRHfan35 - Maybe it's Milton who has the sex appeal to walkers...ever think of that? ^_^
spygrrl99 - I'm glad you appreciate Milton's use of the term 'lady friend'.
Peta2 - I agree. I think he'd be horribly pleased to sit about and read all the books Grace has in her office.
MollyMayhem84 - You've never seen the rednecks in my part of the woods then...plenty of Daryl Dixon's to go around...only they're probably meth-heads and obviously not as hot as Norman Reedus...I agree with you on the way people think a ZA would be cool. Like really? REALLY? Come on now! People dying, dead people wanting to chew on your ass, living day-to-day? Yeah, real party central happening during the ZA...
Lilone1776 - I do wish he had a chance to interact more with Herschel on the show before they...you know? I'm just...bitter I guess.
SilverWolf84 - Milton is a basic nerd, I think. I'm just filling in his missing character with science, bookish types who like to observe and interpret instead of just hacking and whacking. You know? Thanks for the review though! Muchly appreciated!
Ms Q - Cha I watched Buffy! Spike was a babe.
Tigerlily xoxo - Thanks for the review!
skittletitz - You are love. ^_^
peonies01 - Meh, don't apologize. People have lives, I - apparently - do not.
AFishNamedSushi - Thank heavens! I was worried more than anyone about nailing the Gov's character...he is so hard to pin...I'm glad he seemed legit to you. (Glad to see you're okay...I get worried when my usual reviewer's don't review...)
Axelrocks - I agree! Milton's knowledge and thirst for knowledge can really benefit the group. Plus I'm hoping to make him the Jane Goodall of walkers...so he might know a few other good ways to confuse them.
Brazen Hussy - Agreed. Hope you enjoy this chapter...because of you know who...
GG - You wanted Caryl, well there's some lovely stuff in this chapter, so enjoy!
Okay, I'll admit this chapter was pretty pointless...but it was just one of those chapters that...well I'm not even sorry. Go read it and then hate me for this chapter later.
Chapter Sixty-Four: Rien
**Daryl**
Stepping out of the storage shed, Daryl squinted at the light. He hadn't realized the sun had risen, it seemed like time stood still inside the little shack. At least it seemed that way whenever Carol was with him.
Heading off to catch up on the work he missed, feeling a little pissed off at himself for missing the daybreak, he unknowingly passed by Merle and the Cajun the latter of which was up in the peach tree adjusting the sight on his rifle.
"For the record, Merle," the Lieutenant said, hopping out of the tree to stand beside Daryl's brother. "They had sex."
Daryl turned in time to catch his brother curling his upper lip at the Cajun. "Why the hell would you tell me that?"
"Some people need it spelled out for them." Grinning widely at Daryl, the Lieutenant shifted his weight from one foot to the other, leaning heavily on his rifle. "Good morning, lazy daisy or as we never said on the bayou, but I'm making up right now, heureux après sexe."
"Who you calling whore-o, dumb ass?" Sticking out his foot, Daryl kicked the rifle support away from the Cajun.
Recovering a little gracelessly, the Lieutenant frowned. "Could have shot my head off…"
"Unfortunately you didn't, what the hell are you two so gassed about?"
Merle grinned. "Ain't gassed, baby bro—"
"We found you something today when we were out hunting!" The Lieutenant exclaimed.
"Shut up, coonass, I was on it!" Merle growled slapping the Cajun upside the head.
"Merle, you get one."
"Or what? You'll horrify me with your dumb assed burnt food?"
"It's called blackened catfish and it's delicious."
Eyeing the two, Daryl sighed and started onwards.
"Hold up, baby bro," Merle shouted, catching up with him.
"Yeah, aren't you curious as to what we got you?" The Lieutenant asked, moving to his left side, opposite his brother.
Daryl tried to pick up his pace and lose them, but they kept pace with him. "A brother who isn't an idiot and a new Cajun who isn't a jackass?"
"No, dummy," Merle snarled.
The two of them sort of corralled Daryl in the direction they wanted him to go, heading for the area by the campfire where a swarm of women and nuns were hovering around something.
As they parted Daryl found himself looking at a lump of what looked like a pile of dryer lint.
The Lieutenant motioned proudly to the lump of trembling grey.
"You got me shag carpeting?" Daryl asked. "It'll look real groovy in the Mystery Machine."
"It's a dog," the Cajun pointed out. "We found him cowering under a porch at one of them abandoned farmyards."
Eyeing the lump, Daryl shook his head. "That ain't a dog, that's a giant matted rat," as he said this the beast got to its feet, shaking off the water the nuns were attempting on cleaning his mats and gack of his fur with. "It's a fucking horse." Daryl corrected.
Tsking, the Cajun moved forward to pat the thing's head, it flinched as though expecting to be harmed. "Poor chien gris, he had a hard winter…on the run all the time, being chased as food for uggies…scared and hungry and cold…he needs a home."
"Yeah, so you take him."
The Lieutenant scowled. "I already have a dog that sleeps on my neck, thank you. No, this one's yours."
"Looks kind of foreign."
"He's an Irish Wolfhound," Sister Mary Claire said. "My uncle had one."
"Yeah? And what does he eat? Small cars?"
Eyeing the dog warily, Daryl wasn't sure if he wanted to have to deal with another mouth to feed, especially one that big. Jesus it must shit Volkswagons!
"Aw, where'd the dog come from?" Carol chirped moving to join them, hands out to the mutt.
Daryl narrowed his eyes at Merle and the Cajun who were both smirking a little smugly. He subtly shook his head at them both in warning.
A flicker of pure evil crossed Merle's face and he beamed at Carol and the dog.
"Why, sister, this poor wretch has been thrown on the mercy of our group and my brother here wants to turn him out into the cold like some throwaway life-form…"
Daryl mouthed 'fuck you' to his brother, which only seemed to amuse Merle more.
"But he's such a big fluffy guy!" Carol exclaimed scratching the dog's head and kneeling to get closer to it.
"Probably infected with fleas and the dog equivalent of herpes, I wouldn't touch it."
The nuns tittered at the mention of 'herpes', silenced by a stern look from Grace, who pushed to her feet.
"Daryl, honey," she began. "Charity begins at home."
"Charity ends with being a mid-morning snack for a big assed dog," he countered stubbornly, trying hard not to eye Carol who was absolutely smitten with the dog.
"Proverbs 12:10; whoever is righteous has regard for the life of his beast, but the mercy of the wicked is cruel." She argued.
"Yeah, well does the bible say anything about making room in a tiny shed for a moose?"
"No, but it has a lot of passages about being a cold-hearted prick," Merle grunted.
Dropping to one knee at Carol's side, the Cajun beamed at Daryl. "Look at these sad brown eyes, couyon." Glancing at the dog, the Lieutenant quickly pushed back the fringe of fur that covered the beasts' eyes. "Look at them…he's alone and he needs love and companionship and someone who actually wants to take him in and love him and feed him. Plus Carol wants a companion to keep her company when you're gone on those supply runs we make…"
Daryl scowled at the Cajun rested his head against the dogs dramatically and gave him a puppy dog look. It wouldn't have worked if Carol hadn't done the same thing on the dog's other side, beaming up at him.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Daryl set his hand on his hip, toeing the ground. "Fine, I'll go build a goddamned stable for the thing," he growled, storming off.
If he thought his day started off poorly, it just did a fucking hyper jump into hell.
..-~-..
..-~-..
Later that afternoon, as he spent some of his rage and frustration into fixing the broke assed fan belt on the old Chevy truck they had Rick approached him, hesitant, quiet as he was as of late.
"Hear you have a brand new baby boy," Rick greeted calmly. The teasing words were there, but his voice was flat.
Daryl dropped the rag he was using to wipe the grease off into the tool box he found under the seat of the truck and scowled. "Yeah, well…thing best keep its distance from me." Eyeing Rick and the way the man seemed distracted by the world around him, Daryl shifted on his feet. "You alright, man?"
"Fine. We'll head out early tomorrow, plant the missiles at the mall, tonight I want to work on the ignition mechanisms, the Lieutenant said he might know a thing or two about rigging explosives so we'll get him to walk us through it. Figure we'll need about twelve, give or take."
"Alright. You need anything from me right now?"
"No, just…keep at it."
Without any further words, Rick wandered off.
Eyeing Rick's retreating back for a moment, Daryl wondered if the man was losing his grip again. Things could get ugly if that happened, especially with the shit that was about to hit the fan.
Speaking of fans, Daryl eyed the truck, kicking it with his boot, before deciding to head to the shed to pick up his tiny pocket knife from his pack. If he could slice the new makeshift fan belt he had down the thing might work, but he needed something finer than the big assed knife he carried at his hip.
Rounding the corner of the dorms, he nearly toppled over the Lieutenant and Grace who were standing just there in the shade, the Cajun's hand out, Grace reaching for something held in the palm.
Taking a step back, Daryl made to give them space, but the Cajun took notice of him and quickly tucked his hand into his pocket whatever held within it going inside the pocket as well. Clearing his throat, the Lieutenant shifted on his feet, the hand that wasn't in his pocket wringing at the strap of his rifle.
"I…ah…car keys," he muttered, eyes downcast as he sped past Daryl on the right.
"Looking for mousetraps," Grace explained nervously. "Mouse problem in the…vestibule of the…well the whole…entirety of the church…it's actually St. Luke's…the name of it…excuse me," she hurried past his left.
Squinting after the two of them as they both headed in the most extreme opposite directions Daryl had ever seen, he wondered if perhaps the day was just beginning to get maybe a little better.
After all, he had to get back at the Cajun somehow for the damned horse-dog problem and riding his ass about this seemed like it might ease the pain of consenting to ownership of a mule.
Of course he probably would never rag on the Lieutenant, Fay seemed awfully embarrassed about something and Grace was flushed bright red as she left the scene of the crime as well.
Heading into the storage shed, he found Carol sitting quietly feeding Judith, that behemoth of a dog crowding them on the bed.
"Hell no," he said. "That thing sleeps on the floor."
Carol frowned at him. "He doesn't have anything to sleep on down there." She said. "Besides, we washed him."
"So? He can like it or lump it," he growled moving towards his pack. "Ain't running a dog shelter…"
Tsking, Carol returned to feeding Judith.
Finding his knife, Daryl pocketed it and glanced over at the bed, studying the dog and how it's huge body seemed to curl protectively around Carol and Judith as it laid behind them.
Well, if anything the dog might be good protection for them from human threats, at least.
Standing, he ran his eyes over the beast one last time, before slowly approaching the bed.
Reaching out he ran his fingertips over the fur of the dog's head, it lifted its massive skull and eyed him quietly, before a large, long tongue lolled out and it began to pant. Whether nervous or overheated in the late Georgian Spring air, Daryl wasn't sure, but he offered it the faintest of nods, before resting his hand beside it to lean down and press a kiss to Carol's temple, giving Judith one as well.
The dog whined and nudged at his hand with his muzzle, hoping to get a petting.
Daryl fought a smile as Carol laughed softly.
"You're not as mean as you like people to think, Mr. Dixon," she said.
"Yeah, well, best not let anyone else know. I have a reputation to keep." He gave her one last kiss and the dog a quick stroking, before straightening up.
"What should we name him?" Carol asked before he reached the door.
Daryl turned around and shrugged. "Clydesdale?"
"I'm serious."
"So am I, that thing is a fucking work horse."
Carol laughed. "Clydesdale?"
"Yeah."
Turning gentle eyes on the dog, Carol smiled. "Clyde…"
"I will never call him that."
She beamed. "Clyde the dog."
"Hell no, woman."
"I like it, seems old fashioned."
"Clydesdale is not old fashioned," he argued.
"Clyde is," she replied.
Sighing, Daryl opened the door behind him and stepped out, keeping his eyes on Carol and the damned dog on his bed.
..-~-..
..-~-..
Heading back across the lawns later that day with his hands greasy from a hard day's work under a hot hood, Daryl prepared to wash his hands at the water pump before Carol gave him that look she had taken to giving him when he returned too grimy.
Approaching the well pump, he found his brother there doing his laundry in cold water, basically rinsing his shirts and socks. Merle was stubborn in that he hated people touching his things, preferred to do his own laundry, which meant he often just rinsed the things he was wearing that day.
It must have been something he picked up in the poke or maybe just some odd Merle thing he had going on.
Slowing his approach, Daryl spied that out of the group of five women who were weeding the garden, only one had her eyes on his shirtless brother and it wasn't any of the one's he would have ever expected.
She flushed bright pink when her eyes caught his and the nun turned back to her work quickly.
Smirking, Daryl sidled up to his brother and pumped some of the frigid well water onto his hands.
"Hey, Merle," he greeted.
"Baby bro, how's your adopted son?"
"Funny."
Washing the grease off his hands the best he could, Daryl motioned with his chin in the direction of the women in the garden. "You know you were putting on a show over here?"
Merle sneered in confusion at his brother. "What?"
"Sister Mary Agnes has eyes for you."
"What? The old fat one?" His brother demanded.
Daryl eyed the woman from where they stood at the pump. "I've seen bigger and she's about your age."
"Yeah, I'm old, so? Doesn't mean I want to fight my way through wrinkles and folds of fat just to poke a nun."
Narrowing his eyes at his brother, Daryl shook his head. "You really think a jackass loser like you should be so choosey about his woman?"
"Fuck you," Merle snarled.
Storming off, Daryl shouted. "Fuck you back!"
It pissed him off that his brother was such a dick sometimes. Daryl had never really understood why a person's appearance was what made them. Hell Merle looked like a washed out old drug addict and yet inside Daryl knew his brother was a very intelligent, highly observational man.
Recalling what Shane had said about him and how he probably scared Sophia with his own appearance drove Daryl into a deeper fit of unspent rage and anger.
He hadn't liked the idea of being someone who scared children then and he didn't like it now.
Daryl would never hurt a child, who was Shane to assume he was the monster in the night?
Stopping under the peach tree, Daryl rested his forehead against it and inhaled deeply, finding his inner zen.
It was such a small matter to get pissed off about, he needed to calm his ass down.
Straightening, he glanced behind him to seek out the nun who Merle deemed 'fat' and found his brother ambling towards the women in the garden, wet shirts slung over his shoulder.
Unlike Daryl, Merle often wore his own scars with pride, like a warrior who survived a gruesome battle and it always bewildered Daryl how the man could do it. They were such ugly things, bad memories etched in their flesh.
Still Merle approached the women, smiling that charming grin of his.
He said something to Sister Mary Agnes and held out his hand.
The woman smiled shyly and handed him the hoe she was using to cut down the weeds.
Daryl supposed he should have known Merle better to think the man was an absolute asshole. There were redeeming qualities to his brother that many overlooked because they were shadowed by the bad.
He saw them though. Every last redeeming quality Merle ever had. Perhaps that was why Daryl could never really hate his brother. Merle was many things, but deep down he had that seed of good that all men had.
Maybe Merle just needed the right gardener to nurture the seed.
And though he would never admit it out loud to anyone, Daryl knew that he would always love his big brother, he would always look up to him, to feel safe and protected by him.
Maybe he wouldn't mind looking after that big dog after all, not since it reminded him so much of Merle.
The Cajun Dialect
Rien - Nothing
Heureux après sexe - Happy post-sex. (literal translation is 'happy after-sex')
Chien gris - Grey dog