AN: Wow, can you believe it? A new chapter. Hello? Do I have any readers left for this fic? I'm getting to the good bits now, finally, and have most of the next chapter written. No matter what I will finish this story as I consider it one of the best things I've ever written. I would love to hear what you think of this chapter and if you have to read back a few to remember where we are up to, I apologise in advance but hope it isn't too much of a hardship.
~ Megan
Part Seventeen
She calls him a good man. All he remembers from his life before is dragging Daryl around, from one den of shit to the next on his mental list, burying pain he didn't even understand anymore beneath a hard line of coke, or whatever else happened to be on offer. He was so high most of the time that he didn't even know what Daryl did—whether he shared or if he just watched to make sure Merle didn't die. He sat back and without judgement, he'd let Merle just be, both of them tied up in a long commitment of not breaking free of their pasts. Burying the pain of it as deep as they could in whichever way achieved it the fastest. When Carol calls him a good man, he thinks of nights where he'd held a gun in his hand, thinking maybe he might've saved Daryl's life on occasion, even though his behaviour sure as shit put them in more tight spots than was ever needed to begin with. He's struggling to see where she grasped this idea from, this perception he is something he isn't when he's done fuck all in his life to deserve it. How can a woman like her see anything good in a man like him? The whole concept of it is wrong—it's downright indecent—but he lets the words turn over in his head anyway, lets them lighten his step as he stalks back to his home. Lets the possibilities run through his mind until, when he finally pushes open his door, he is caught up in the hope that maybe, somewhere down so deep it has never been explored, he finds a little spark of faith that she might be right.
His sleep is tortured. It's filled with good deeds and bad, and bad so far outweighs the other that he is sweating like a pig when he jerks awake, the last image of Daryl's blood on his hands one that is a figurative truth Merle can't shake. He knows he's been employed to do violence in this town, to keep secrets and take lives—not for the greater good but for an egomaniac to retain control. For greed. He doesn't know why he hasn't run. He knows enough of Phillip Blake to shit his own pants on the daily, but being scared has never stopped Merle Dixon from running. He wasn't some kind of pussy that bowed down to authority just to keep his pants clean and his head clear. Weren't one for not getting his hands dirty if the occasion merited it, neither, but lately the faces were piling up, forming a damn club to stalk his dreams. Didn't matter that he was keeping himself alive by doing what he was told, he knew damned well he could have slit Phil's throat one way or another. Taken him by surprise. No, he knows what he could have done, should have done, but the consequences have so far held him back. The lack of inspiration to do anything but breathe. He's never wanted to take over this town or have these people look to him to keep them alive—fuck no. As far as he's concerned they could all learn to keep their own pampered asses moving, scrounging for food, learn some goddamn skills instead of laying back and ignoring what the world was really like now. And, he has no idea where Daryl is. If he did, he'd have lit on out of there long ago. So, he's continued on, apathetic mostly, trying to find meaning where he can so that his own soul doesn't turn on him, and that was fine, until Carol came along with pretty words that painted different realities, providing hope for truly living, something he has never had in his whole life. Now the consequences are something he's going to have to consider, because there's no way he's going to kill those women, and the men he knows will be sent with him to carry out the task won't be coming back to tell no tall tales, neither.
It's still dark out when Merle drags his ass out of bed. He sits on the edge of his lumpy mattress, lost in contemplation, in images of Carol's sparse smiles and gentle, unexpected touches. Of the silhouette of her enticing curves he's so recently been a witness to. He's never really fixated on a woman before, never craved her softness, only the temporary heat of her pussy and he's never wanted one around for after. He's never wanted to wake up and start the day with a set of sleepy eyes smiling at him, not until he saw Carol's and the way they soak up every scrap of him and find no reason to criticise. He's obviously still caught in the dream because there's no way a woman like her'd want anything to do with a messed up piece of shit like him. Waking up to his ugly mug would not be what her dreams were made of, that's for sure, no matter how good a man she pretends to herself he is.
Feeling frustrated and hardly believing why, Merle stands and makes his way to the bathroom, content to wash the sticky sweat from his face and neck while he replays that kiss to his cheek from the night before. Her lips had been warm, moist enough to leave a print of a kiss on his skin to cool. He'd wanted to put his hand there, to keep it safe but he knew how that would look—reveal him as the weak asshole he was turning out to be around her. Weak enough to want a woman's touch just because it was the end of the world. He knows better, knows what that weakness can lead to, and he doesn't want either one of them to end up dead. He needs to keep his head, to stick to the plan and maybe he can make certain she sees through another day.
The streets are silent and the sentries on the wall are half asleep. Merle watches them with disgust, knowing that a herd could be close and the assholes would likely miss it until the hungry, growling masses were right upon them. They've been lucky so far—he's seen a herd or two when they've been beyond the walls, but nothing like that has found the town yet. He hopes he's long gone before that happens and at that thought he stops short, takes a breath as a surprised smirk settles around his mouth. He's never really considered being long gone, figured he'd be here until he died unless he chanced on finding his brother, but as the days had worn on, he considered that miracle less and less likely. Carol showing up seems to have been the key to unlocking all sorts of optimism in his cold, dead heart. The chance of seeing Daryl again lifts Merle, and he allows himself to hold it, if only just for a second.
He spreads out his day as close to normal as he can. He takes his turn on the wall, ribs Martinez about his latest pussy conquest, leers at Andrea and discusses her tits with the boys and then sneaks off to read to Mr. Richards. The man has faded near to his last, the cancer in his system run its course and Merle is shocked by the sadness that dwells inside him because of it. Didn't seem right to have survived this long only to kick it from an old world disease. Milton had been testing the man, trying to set up one of his many stupid experiments that will reveal to the fool everything Merle sussed out all on his own, all without the aid of his checks and columns to take data and collate it together.
Its late afternoon when he starts to feel even more fidgety than usual. The town takes on a new atmosphere, relaxation and a sense of fun found in the giggles of children and the smiles of the women as they flutter around and prepare for a good old-fashioned street party. Merle's jaw clenches as his body responds to the stimulus. He hates these nights of gaiety and irresponsibility. He hates that he's entertainment for the crowd but he's long used to it now. He's sure it's one of the reasons Phil kept him alive; surviving cutting off his own hand must have suggested to the man a side of Merle's personality he'd never been able to hide. He's been a brawler almost from the time he was in diapers—had to be or he'd a been dead by now. He was resourceful, powerful and a survivor and in order for Phil to keep his heartbeat, he needed to surround himself with power. That wasn't new to Merle, either. He's known plenty of men that threw their weight around, been the King of the castle while keeping his subjects on a short leash. He's known them and he's fought every single one to keep out from under their thumb, but the Governor is not someone he's been ready to cross, and in his dejected acceptance of this life, he's let it mostly wash over him. Now he doesn't feel like he can anymore and that frightens him. He has so few choices—he stays, or he goes. Going would mean death unless he was clever enough to avoid it, and at least if he got far enough away Phillip didn't have the resources to follow. Merle grunts as thoughts and plans start whirring in his head, and as he stands there, staring blankly as people flow past him toward novel cool drinks and party food, he feels the menacing presence he's been avoiding all day start to flow around him.
He jerks to attention as the Governor stops, staring at Merle with a look of amusement on his face.
"You look miles away, Merle. Shouldn't you be enjoying the festivities?"
There is a flicker of warning in the man's eyes that puts Merle's back up instantly. Andrea is standing at his side and Merle flicks a glance over her, wondering how she can be so stupid, wondering if she is so desperate for a man that she has to be fooled by this one. Her expression isn't as oblivious as he expects, though, when finally he clashes with her gaze. The smile on her lips is sad, accepting and he wonders if Carol and Darkie actually won and convinced the blonde to leave.
"Phillip said you're going to be in some kind of show later," she says, making conversation and Merle laughs. A show, like he's going to sing and dance or something equally fucked up. Merle is many things, has become many things more, but a pansy ain't one of them.
"Yeah, somethin' like that." He stares at her intently, wondering if she's getting it yet, that this town is poison and that if she hangs around with its leader she's gonna go getting herself infected.
"I'll look forward to it, then." She's smiling and he thinks she probably won't be able to hang onto it when she sees the biters in the ring.
The dip of his head in acknowledgement is almost imperceptible as he starts sweeping the street, trying to see if Carol or Michonne are somewhere, too.
"Carol's resting. Michonne said she was going to stay with her for a while," Andrea fills in and again he gets the subtle feeling she's telling only half a truth, that maybe Carol isn't really resting, even though he knows she should. Or maybe it's the other one, the one that he knows is trouble. Phil senses something off about the conversation and his diplomatic grin is frozen on his face, his eyes gone dark and hardened. He knows the exact second their fearless leader has had enough. He's not going to continue the illusion today, grasping Andrea's elbow and guiding her on.
"Don't be late, Merle," he warns and the tone of voice sparks a clench of worry in Merle's gut. He can't help but watch their backs as the changes swirl around in his head, the risks stumbling all over themselves to warn him to be careful.
It's almost time for the showdown when he finds one of them. Michonne's slaughtered most of the biters with the sword that had been taken from her, so obviously she's been in Phil's apartment and reclaimed her weapon.
"Damn, you got some major balls on you," Merle tells her, and the approval leeches out into the air like a caress. She's so still but then there's a shiver, like she's allowed the compliment to soak into her skin, and while he's watching a very brief, secretive smile curls about her lips. He's not alone, though. He's got that boy whose name is a complete mystery to him flapping around all excited at his side. Merle's cringe is noticed and her eyes narrow as she looks at the boy with the curly-top. He likes her, he decides. She's ballsy and smart and she's dedicated to keeping Carol alive, and he thinks, under better circumstances, he could have looked past it all and called her an ally. Hell, maybe he can anyway. They were about to fight on the same side, she just didn't know it yet, and probably never would.
He knows that in the time it takes to lead her back to Phil's apartment, the boys would be out finding new biters for the games tonight. Merle knows that there's nothing that will stop the Governor from setting up the ring—the man is blood-thirsty and loves to see his men put on a believable show. So believable one or both usually have to report to Dr. Stevens for sutures or plaster. Merle's been lucky, only broken his nose once and his ribs twice and split skin is nothing he ain't been used to a time or ten before.
The Arena is vibrating with enthusiastic shouts. They know what's coming and when he bounces into the ring, flexing his biceps, grinning and laughing like he loves this, loves being used for the Governor's sick entertainment, the place roars with blood-thirsty cheers. With hungry glee to see Merle get his teeth kicked in, or for Martinez to spout blood like a fountain from his face. They both perform like they're expected, biters lurching through the blur of violence to snap at him with useless jaws and that's the one satisfaction Merle takes out of all this, the punch to head and the slick of their slimy blood as he keeps them away from him, keeps himself living for another day. This testing his mortality, though, reminds him that time is winding down and he doesn't know how much of it he's got left.
Martinez catches him daydreaming with a fist to the jaw and blood sprays from his lip as he wonders if a tooth just got knocked loose. It puts the rage of the beast into him and Merle lashes out, catching up and doing damage. He's slick with sweat, deaf from the rowdy onlookers and aching from bruised ribs when it's finally over. He's panting heavily when he chances to look up, and though he'd not managed to find her before, she's right there now, with tears in her eyes and horror and shock taking over her face. It slams into him then how much she cares, how much she both sees and doesn't, and as soon as Phil declares him the winner, he escapes. He can't stand the confusion she sets alight in him, and right now he can't handle the dawning compassion or the need in her to come to him. He sees her move out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't stop for no one.