crazstiz - I believe you asked for a Merle bit with Hot Dog!Daryl. Enjoy!
Brazen Hussy - I get a sense of satisfaction when someone reviews like they're yelling at their TV, because this show makes me do this all the time. I consider it a compliment. ^_^ *smug mode*
DarylDixon'sLover - I shall! In fact if you're reading this, I just did! XD
MollyMayhem84 - Let Andrea live, huh? Okay! Milton does need a hug, maybe from a nun, when they're nice they give good hugs (but when they're not so nice...well I saw The Magdalene Sisters, thems some fucked up shit there).
Merle's Right Hand - Your love of Andrea is not missed by me, babes.
HGRHfan35 - I agree. I think Milton is resigned to his fate because he knows that in the world they're in one has to be tough and brave and strong in order to survive and (as of that moment) he is not.
Ms Q - It is a hard decision to make, isn't it? Peace might be a nice thing, but if it's a trick then it's a very deadly wager you have riding on that theory of 'peace'. Poor Rick, no wonder he's cracking, he has some pretty hard decisions to make.
itsi3 - Yeah, we haven't heard from Alan in a while, have we? Also, it's not a bad thing to find Tyreese and Andrea's situation funny, it kind of is. Being stuck in a hole is kind of cartoony.
GG - HAHA! That title is magical! It gives me images of Milton and Merle frolicking in a field of wild flowers holding hands with huge, watery anime eyes.
BanannaFlvdSnow - Aw, welcome to the group then! ^_^ Milton = Prim, love that description, pretty accurate. Tough Glenn kind of does it for me, ain't going to lie.
Supfan - Well, somewhat lighter. ^_^
LL - Tyreese does have more sass, but then again he's in a shitty situation, I'd be sassy too stuck in a hole. What else is there to do?
Chapter Eighty-Five: Écouter
**Rick**
The Mall
"Alright, Glenn you want to go through with the plans, Beth doesn't, Sasha?"
The woman shifted on her feet for a second. "I think we should take them out, send a message to anyone else who wants to screw with us."
Eyeing the group, Rick sighed heavily, but nodded. "Okay, majority rules, we go through with the plan. I'll step out, you give me cover fire enough, when they start coming after me, you run and we'll drag them through the mall. Glenn, you're the fastest, as soon as I give the signal you run ahead and set the timers on the missiles."
Glenn nodded.
"Beth you stick close to Sasha, you get me?"
Beth nodded.
Leaning in Rick, gripped Beth's shoulder. "You need to stay with Sasha, understand? I can't be watching you and your daddy needs you back home, okay?"
"I promise," Beth said.
Nodding, Rick stepped away. "Okay," he moved to the doors, putting his pistol away so he made less of a threat. Giving Glenn a quick nod, Rick inhaled and shoved open the only door they left open, stepping out into the parking lot.
The remnants of the Governor's men were just reloading their weapons by the truck, using it as cover from the mall, but he spied a couple of them keeping watch. Around their truck was scattered about fifty walkers, all of them lying on the ground absolutely still.
Glenn and he had a hell of time making the vehicle out in the dark, but since the sky seemed to be getting a little lighter in the east, Rick could finally take in the amount of walkers the men had actually gunned down.
Didn't really impress him, with the kind of stolen firepower the Governor's men had, a good handful of his people could have done the same.
Breathing deeply, Rick walked as though he were heading for their own trucks parked on the far side of the building, pretending he didn't see the men and their truck, knowing full well that they could open fire at any moment.
Far enough from the door to make it seem natural, he glanced over and noticed a single man heading towards him, unarmed, hands up.
Rick froze, eyeing the man.
At that moment he could let them have peace or he could lead them towards the trap.
He hesitated.
Inside him was that cop who still wanted there to be good left in the world, but deeper down was that demon he felt growing and feeding inside him, that beast that brayed for blood.
In that split instant, instinct took over and he chose to survive by any means, turning tail and moving purposefully towards the man, cautiously keeping an eye on the others over his shoulder.
The man, a broad shouldered, powerful looking black man, stopped a few feet from him.
"I don't want trouble, man," he greeted.
Rick shifted on his feet. "You get your men out of here then."
"Can't do that. Too much blood's been spilled yours and ours."
Swallowing thickly, Rick glanced around, taking in the men by the truck. "Yeah and your leader started it all."
"We just want to talk."
Sizing up the man, Rick sniffed. "You want to talk?"
"The Governor's under control for the time being," the man said. "My name's Shumpert."
"Is that a first or last name?" Rick inquired, buying himself a little more time to take in the situation.
"Does it matter right now?"
"I suppose not. You want to talk, talk about what? How your people pitted my man against his brother? How your people came into my prison and killed my people? How they unleashed walkers on us?"
"We want to talk peace."
"Where's the Governor now? Did you kill him?"
"We have him secured. He's yours if you want, but only if you'll consider peace between our groups. Do we have an understanding?"
"I don't make decisions without consulting my people," setting his hands on his hips, Rick eyed the man, stared him down. "I want to see the Governor, you have him with you?"
"He's somewhere nearby."
"Got him in that truck?"
"Let's talk first."
"Tell you what, you want to talk, I want proof this isn't a trick, you grab your Governor, bring him before me as a sign of trust."
Shumpert motioned behind him to one of the others.
"We just want an end to this," he said turning back to face Rick.
"Yeah, well your leader really opened up a bag of pissed off cats when he decided to mess with my people."
The other man didn't say anything and for a moment Rick almost considered hearing them out.
No, he decided, they'd die here, he was done being merciful.
Watching as the Governor was dragged out from the back of the truck by a large woman, Rick met his cold blue eyes with empty calmness.
"Okay," he began, "let's talk peace. Bring him inside."
"No, we talk peace out here."
Rick angled his chin. "You brought the Governor out of hiding as a sign of trust, now I'm inviting you and your men inside my people's home as a sign of trust, do you get me?"
Shumpert narrowed his eyes at Rick.
"You want peace talks, we'll talk peace, but after that display of cowardly tactics at the prison, you'll have to excuse me if I'm not willing to drag my people out into the open for us to take a vote on the peace talk thing. We'll go inside and you can plead your case to my men."
"Can I leave a couple of my men out here?" Shumpert asked.
Reworking his plans, Rick nodded. "Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, giving Glenn the signal to start the countdown. They'd just have to double back quickly after the explosion and get the leftovers he supposed. Would be far better than missing out on a majority of them.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Merle**
The Convent
There was no point in trying to sleep.
He was lightly dozing when Milton came into the frat house looking for something, only half paying attention to whatever the nerd was droning on about, until Merle realized that if the little twerp was out of the infirmary it meant Daryl was either dead or recovering from the surgery.
So, giving it about a half hour before he moved from the warm, dry cot, Merle finally decided to pop over to see his brother, who was apparently still with them.
The rain had finally stopped. Something he noticed when the annoying pitter-patter of drops on the roof of the shed ended, and outside the world was still.
Moving across the lawns he spied Michonne on the wall, Grace at the gate and not a single sign of those who had gone to the mall, no trucks, nothing.
Making sure to make enough noise so that he didn't catch anyone unawares inside the infirmary, Merle moved across the open main room, heading for the bed where his brother was still unconscious, Carol reading a magazine at his bedside quietly.
"I hear he made it," Merle greeted gruffly.
"Well, he's out of surgery, but we'll need to keep a close eye on him for a few days," Carol replied, pushing to her feet. "Are you going to stay for a bit? I want to stretch my legs."
Seeing through her weak excuse to give him and his baby bro privacy, Merle scoffed. "Yeah, I'll stick around for a bit, don't be long."
On her way by the cheeky woman reached out and gripped Merle's arm just above his heavy duty prosthetic and squeezed warmly.
He watched her leave with a quirked brow, impressed at how little fear she seemed to have for him suddenly.
For a few minutes after the door closed behind Carol, Merle milled about by his brother's bedside, eyeing him quietly, before he plopped down on the chair at the side of it, hefting his boots and dropping them on the bed beside Daryl's knee, crossing them at the ankles casually.
He eyed his baby brother's pale face, studying the way Daryl's chest rose and fell with a little difficulty.
"Shit," Merle began softly, not wanting anyone to overhear him, "you had your woman pissing herself with worry, baby bro. Shouldn't pull that shit with her, you don't want to wind up like me, old and lonely." Merle scoffed. "Needing some kind of brown liquor in me," he trailed off with a sniff. "Hell, I'll take some of that prissy assed holy wine they have stashed away somewhere around here. Don't tell me they don't have that crap lying about like water."
Eyeing his brother's face, studying the lines that were suddenly developing in the areas around his eyes, the grey that was peppering his scruff, Merle realized that neither one of them were young anymore. He scoffed again.
"I hope to hell we don't become those old assholes who remember nothing, but lived through everything," he mused. "You and me, baby bro. You and me."
He could hear the frogs through the boarded up window and smiled. "Guess the Dixon clan includes that woman of yours now. Don't matter if you're hitched up properly or not. I like her though, she ain't half as annoying as most of the tits around here. That includes your pal Rick and his weed sprouts." Merle chuckled at his own humour. "I'll keep an out for her for you sometimes when you need it. Maybe someday you might have to do the same for a woman of mine," Merle laughed out right, finding it wasn't so funny when it was just you laughing.
"You remember when you were just a little snot-nosed fucker and you used to crawl into my bed when the old man was liquored up? I used to shove you out on your ass?" Merle smirked, "did that twice in a row some nights before you'd give it one more try, slipping under the covers like a cowering mutt. Third time was always the charm, wasn't it? You were so small then, just a little stick insect with a mop of hair that could never be combed back out of your eyes. Daddy used to threaten to shave you bald," Merle's grin faded, "he tried once. Don't know if you ever remember. I broke two of my fingers busting his nose, he whooped me so badly I couldn't even walk for two days. Laid up in bed, you would bring me a sandwich and a glass of water when you could, but daddy told you to leave me be, so you had to sneak them in. Just a pup and here you were making me sandwiches and taking care of your older brother. Then I left you behind first chance I got," he finished, feeling those sappy girl feelings tighten his chest. Before he could bawl like a little bitch, Merle pushed to his feet. "Fuck it. I'm going to tear this place apart for that wine."
Passing Carol on the way out of the infirmary, he hoped she didn't notice how weepy he was, moving quickly for the church, the first place he was planning on looking for the booze. First person who tried to stop him he planned on either fighting or fucking.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Tyreese**
The Forest (In A Hole)
The sun was beginning to rise in the east, he couldn't see it, but the skies were getting lighter, the forest becoming less like a spooky assed painting above their heads and more like something from a kids cartoon.
Half asleep after about an hour of leaping and scratching at the sides of their pit, Tyreese opened his eyes long enough to register the sound of something heavy thudding around the mouth of the pit.
Picking up his rifle, he stood up, eyeing Andrea who had passed out from the pain of her leg, he prepared to defend them from whatever was moving around up there.
Above him there was a rustling in the leaves of the forest floor.
Raising his rifle in the direction where it sounded like the rustling was coming from, Tyreese waited. His entire body tense.
"You're gonna shoot someone's eye out with that thing," someone growled from the opposite direction.
Tyreese whipped around and pointed his gun at a scruffy looking middle aged man who was peering down at him.
He wore a battered looking cowboy hat and jean jacket over a plaid shirt and a look on his face that was entirely unfazed by having a rifle aimed at him.
"Hey, Pace," the man grunted in an accent that was southern, but not at all from Georgia or the area anywhere nearby. It almost sounded Texan. "Looks like we caught us a couple of live ones."
Tyreese whipped around as the rustling of leaves came up from the mouth of the pit opposite of where his rifle was trained. He wasn't sure who to keep his weapon on, the grizzled looking old cowboy or the slightly younger looking cowboy who was just as grizzled and just as unimpressed by his gun.
"Put that gun down, son," the first cowboy said. "Ain't nobody made nice with a gun in their face."
"Except you and your first wife, Tucker," the other cowboy remarked. "As I recall that's why you married her."
The older cowboy chewed on a brown batch of tobacco idly, spitting on the ground beside him, before sniffing. "Well, get some rope, Pace. Don't just stand around like an asshole looking pretty."
"We don't want no trouble," Tyreese said. "Help us out and we'll just go back the way we came."
"Not making enemies here, son," the man said. "Hell, feel more comfortable if you did just head out on your own, but the boss always likes to meet and greet."
"Are you from Woodbury?" Tyreese demanded, suddenly unaware of maybe things didn't go so well for those at the mall.
The man – Tucker – chuckled. "Are you?"
"We keep clear of those idiots," the other man – Pace – replied, returning with some rope. "Weren't real friendly the first time around," he grunted as he heaved the rope down. "Kowalski put a round in the tailpipe of one of them from his perch, didn't hear a peep out of them since."
"That why you got yourselves a minefield?" Tyreese asked, assuming that since they weren't from Woodbury, they were the ones with the minefield.
"Boss man had extras kicking around," Tucker replied. "That your lady."
"She's one of ours, yeah."
The two cowboys hesitated, glancing at each other.
"There's more of you?"
"We aren't looking for trouble. Just had a bad night, want to get home is all."
Pace pushed his hat back and knelt down by the mouth of the pit, the cigarette dangling from his mouth ashing into the hole. "Your people know where you are?"
"They know we're in this general area," Tyreese replied, lying quite a bit because even he didn't know where they were.
The two men considered this for a moment, before Tucker sighed heavily.
"Well, we'd best get you out."
The Cajun Dialect
Écouter - To listen, to listen to.