Notes: I wrote three chapters up front because I knew I wouldn't be able to update frequently or consistently. But I did want to establish the tone and nature of the story. I can only hope that you're starting to see what I'm after in terms of aligning numerous kinds of layers. It might be too ambitious. But I'll try.

Disclaimer: Copyright for The Walking Dead belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.

Title: "Inventio"
Chapter: "3: Well-Timed Word"

Merle pulled open the door of the "riot room" and looked for a way to keep it propped. Like all the other doors in the prison it was heavy duty, and designed to require purposeful force to open, and to close quickly when left to its own devices. Reaching to a nearby shelving unit, he grabbed what looked like a cracked helmet and wedged it under the edge of the door, giving it a good slam with his boot to keep it lodged in place. That settled he cracked his neck as he moved into the room, his gaze sweeping the equipment that was piled around the space.

Carol had asked him to help her inventory the items of body armor and other protective gear that were stored. The group had made virtually no use of it, save for the vest Carl wore and the shield T-Dog had used for the first few days as they'd originally taken the prison from its undead tenants. However, they had kept what equipment seemed salvageable from the turned guards and added it and the discarded items they found to what was left of the gear in the storage room when they finally discovered it. Now it seemed that there was use for some of the Kevlar pieces and the shields, at least. They were hoping to reinforce the vehicles, and some internal positions inside the prison. Carol had said that his military experience would be the closest thing they had to an expert to tell them what was worth keeping and what would be more hazard than help.

Carol stepped in behind him and brushed her hands off on her pants. "So, how would you like to tackle this? Do you want to take a general look through first? Would you rather I sort things into piles for you? I'm at your service."

Merle turned his gaze on her. At his service? Seemed like she was at everyone's service, always doing everything anyone asked her to without a word of complaint. He'd never heard her protest a plan or put in a pissed off jibe the way the rest of them did, even the gun-toting kid and that jailbait blonde. No, she operated behind the scenes, and yet, Merle felt her hand wherever he turned. She'd been stirring soup when he'd tried to make peace with Michonne. Never said a word. He hardly realized she was there until after he left the room. He'd seen her lay a light hand on the shoulder of the old veterinarian and whisper a well-timed word, seen her sit next to the Asian kid at dinner and calm him just by being near. He'd watched her with the baby, and seen how she made sure the tiny bundle was there to soothe Father and son both. And he'd seen his own brother make eye contact with her, whole conversations happening across the room without a word spoken. Then he'd found out about her plan to get Andrea to murder the Governor in his sleep. That had warmed Merle's black heart. He decided right then that he liked her.

He knew she'd been at the Atlanta camp, but he'd be damned if he remembered her at all. He vaguely remembered the man that must have been her husband. "Let me do a little look-see first, then I'll know more." Merle moved to the piles and began to rifle through, getting a sense of what kind of equipment was hidden within. "So, you were at Atlanta? Can't say as I remember you. Were your husband the one who smoked? Might'a shared a light with him."

Carol's low laugh sounded a bit hollow. "Yes, he smoked. Among other things. His name was Ed. Peletier."

"Was he always fixin' on an old camper?"

"Ah, no. That would have been Dale...or Jim. Dale – ," she took a breath, "was older. Had a white beard and wore this silly sun hat all the time." Merle could hear the smile in her voice. "I'd imagine the two of you wouldn't have had much in common."

"Why's that?"

"Oh. Um, well...Dale was kind of a philosopher. He didn't want us to lose who we were – our civilized world. Back there, I think he would have disapproved of...hmmm...most of what you were all about." She laughed a little again.

Merle looked up from his pile, body armor mostly. "Are you sayin' I ain't civilized?" He thought he'd see if she'd tease with him a little.

She gave him an appraising look. "You are certainly better now that you aren't high."

"Huh! I'll give you that, peaches."

"Peaches? Merle, are you flirting with me?"

Merle looked back over his shoulder at her again. "Maybe."

She laughed. "Oh, Merle. Do you know how long it's been since anyone did that? Gosh, I was probably Beth's age." With that she moved and started sorting the items into piles, using the shelves for smaller things like gloves and helmets. She began to work at aligning the shields together so they'd take up less room and be easier to compare.

Merle squinted at her through the transparent top of a shield. "What?" he scoffed. "Looks like you're just a young, sweet thing, too, from where I'm standin'."

Carol laughed heartily at that and threw a glove playfully at him. It bounced harmlessly off the shield, and he smiled back at her. "Daryl was right. You do think you have a way with the ladies, don't you?" she asked, still chuckling.

"It's the end of the world, peaches. My charm's looking better and better." A laugh caught in his throat. "Hmph. Not so much competition now." He moved to the last pile as Carol continued to sort. He hadn't even asked her to. It seemed like she just couldn't keep still. "So, Dale fixed on the RV. Then you said Jim?"

"Oh, yeah, Jim. He was tall and really lean, with a close beard." She paused. She was quieter when she spoke again, "He died before we got to the CDC. He was bit the same night as Ed, but the walkers didn't finish him off."

"So, then, how would I have known Ed?"

Carol didn't answer right away, which got Merle curious. He was done with his initial perusal of the piles, and he walked over to her, waiting. She seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him, and was worrying her bottom lip. "Well, Ed was kind of heavy-set, with brown hair. He...tended to keep us – me and Sophia – away from the main group some. Had us tent up on the edge of camp. He didn't participate much in group things." She still hadn't looked up, and had lost focus in her sorting. She'd been handling the same helmet for several minutes, putting it down on the shelf, picking it back up, and putting it back down.

She cleared her throat. "The night he died, Ed, was the night Daryl, Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog came back from trying to get you off the roof." She finally looked up and startled at how close he was. She moved around him to get to one of the piles farther into the room.

"Sophia?"

She spoke quickly. "That's – that was my daughter. She was Carl's age. She got – got lost at Hershel's farm." She'd begun to sort the equipment rapidly. "Daryl searched for her even after everyone else lost hope." Merle heard her swallow, and then he barely heard, "Even me."

"So, you still miss him? Ed, I mean."

He was surprised at the harsh sound that came from her as she exhaled and turned to look at him. "God, no. Ed was the worst thing that ever happened in my life. I'd prayed for him to die long before he did." Her face that had been tinged with sorrow was now hard.

Merle didn't say anything, just looked at her for the answer to the question she had to know was there.

Carol cocked her head to the side and looked up at the ceiling of the room, her left hand on her hip, her right hand resting on the shield she'd been getting ready to move. "Let's just say, your brother isn't the only one with some nasty scars he'd rather nobody saw." She picked up the shield and started a new row against the wall. "At least he never touched Sophia. It might be the only thing I ever did for her, but it's something."

"Well." Merle really didn't know what to say. Hadn't expected any of that really. And she'd seen Daryl's scars? "Shit."

Carol looked over at him, then her mouth screwed up in a strange little smile, and then she laughed. It burst from her with a genuine guffaw, and she bent over a little at the waist, resting her hands on her thighs as she let out her hearty amusement. "You could say that, sure!" She stood back up and grinned, showing full teeth, and a near dimple on her right cheek. "You ever been married, Merle?"

"What? Me? Nah." He reached up with his good hand and rubbed his scruffy jaw. "Ya know. Too much man for one woman." He smirked at her, a little embarrassed.

"Well, I know you'd be too much man for me, Mr. Dixon. But...I might let you buy me a drink. You know, if we had any alcohol."

"Yeah, that' too bad, peaches."

"Stop." But she was still smiling at him as she stacked another shield. He had started sorting the equipment into her efficient piles, too. "Have you ever thought about making your own?" she asked.

"What? Like a still?"

"Yeah. White lighting, right?"

"Heh. No, I guess I hadn't thought about it."

"Have you had it before?"

"Moonshine? Sure! The old timers used to make it around my granddad's place. Have you?"

"Oh, my, no. From what I hear it'd either grow hair on my chest or singe it right off!"

"You got that right. Nothing smooth about it."

"Was it hard to make?"

"Not so far as I saw. My granddad showed me his still once. I could probably figure out the set up. Might fail a batch or two, but I'd work it out."

Most of the piles were sorted, and just a few pieces remained in the back corner where Carol was making quick work of them. She looked up at him where she was crouched on the floor. "You know, drinking wouldn't be the only use for alcohol." Merle swore she looked down right devious.

"Oh, yeah? What else you thinkin' 'bout, peaches?"

She didn't admonish him this time. Now he knew something was up. She scooped together the last few items in her arms and stepped over to deposit them in the right places. "Well, you can preserve some foods in alcohol. It's good for cleaning, as a solvent." Her arms were empty and she crossed them over her waist as she turned to him. "You can use it as a weapon, Merle. Instead of wasting gasoline on the Molotovs?" He raised his eyebrows at that. "And since it burns, of course, as fuel. For lanterns, for heat." She took a step toward him. "And eventually, if we could modify for it, for vehicles or generators." Her eyes were lit from within. "Think about it, Merle. It's renewable. I know moonshine is usually made with corn, but if we figure it out, alcohol can be made from anything that has sugar in it."

Now he understood her. He narrowed his eye and grabbed her arm. "Why you little vixen!" He smiled at her. "I heard about the plan you gave to Andrea for the Governor. That should have tipped me off about how sly you are." She had uncrossed her arms, and she was looking levelly at him. He had expected her to be frightened. He tilted his head and peered at her. "Was this whole thing a set up just to get me thinking about making moonshine?"

She didn't say anything.

"All that about your husband and your daughter?"

She still remained silent and continued to look him straight in the eye.

Merle closed his eyes and shook his head. He wondered if she'd done this before. He opened his eyes. "Why didn't you just ask me?"

Carol looked pointedly down at where he still held her by the arm, then back up to him. He released her and she stepped back. "You set me up to flirt with you, didn't you, peaches?"

"I asked you to stop. Remember, Merle?" Her lips held the tiniest hint of a smile. "And I'm not sly. I'm asking you now. Could you do it, and what would you need?"