Part Eighteen
Carol doesn't understand at first what she is seeing. Her hand is shaking when she reaches for Michonne, her stomach tilting dangerously toward the need to release this expanding ball of shock and disgust and the only thing that keeps her in that seat is the firm pressure of Michonne's grip. She can see her friend is furious, her eyes sparking with a murderous rage that Carol doesn't have a hope of matching and at first she doesn't quite understand it, but then she remembers Michonne's pets and the unspoken story of her daughters and she knows that Michonne feels as intensely for people as Carol does, she's just hidden it so deep she almost couldn't find it again.
When the show is over and she finally, frantically catches Merle's eye, something inside her splinters and she knows she can't resist this anymore. She more than cares for him, more than sees him as an attractive, available man. Now he's a living human being that needs care and compassion and she hates this place so violently that she can barely keep the bile down. He's gone before she can even say his name, disappearing from the crowds now falling out of the hastily arranged bleachers to swarm the fighters with something like pride, their eyes still shining with blood-thirsty excitement. They make her sick, make her shake and it all just confirms this desperate knowledge she has that they have to leave this town where everything looks perfect but is so, so wrong. One understanding glance between them and Michonne lets her go, lets her follow him and distracts Andrea and the Governor so they don't notice that Carol is gone. She knows she owes her friend big for this, and she knows that sooner or later the favour will be handed over without it ever having been asked for deliverance.
It's creepy wandering away from the crowd in the dark, poking around corners while her heart pounds with irrational fear. The Governor has brought walkers beyond the walls and while the rational part of her knows it was for the fight, Carol can't quite shake the fear that more could stumble out from every shadow while she wanders the streets without a weapon, hoping no one sees her making her way to Merle.
She hasn't even finished knocking before the door flies open and his hand clasps around her wrist, jerking her roughly, urgently into the room.
"The fuck are you doing here?" His eyes are wild, broken lips pressed together in a tight, bloodied narrow line and she's completely mesmerised by him, by this wild torment that seems to have him in its grip. He's been ravaged with fists and malice, with jeers and cheers and he's now an animal so high on adrenaline she's afraid she won't get through to him, that the beast will maul her before she can lay her calm upon him. It's different to the quarry, when he was high on his stash, unstable and angry at the world. His fury has more focus here, seems more dangerous somehow and Carol shivers in the face of it.
"I needed to know you were okay." The words are forced from her but they sputter in the air, stilted and careful and yet he catches them and the impact of them sends him visibly reeling. He stumbles back, away from her, his body movements abrupt as he commences a short pace before her. She doesn't need anything else to show her he's close to pushing her out, shoving her back out into the hall to find her own way back to her people and she's even closer to understanding that she could never belong here in this town than ever. His people aren't her people, but she's even surer now that they aren't his, either.
"Never better," he snarls through a busted lip and Carol huffs impatiently, trying to direct him to a chair at least. He swells in resistance, muscles flexing automatically beneath her palm on his arm, but she wins the battle of wills faster than she could have anticipated. He's covered in blossoming bruises and short cuts, blood that is both his and not, and she feels tears swell in her throat. He's so like Daryl, maybe worse, hiding his pain beneath bravado and denial and it squeezes her heart that he won't allow himself to reveal even a little bit of it to her. His vulnerability scares her, but not enough to send her running and obviously not as much as it scares him.
"Ssh, I know you're not—"
"You don't know me." His words bite and he sneers at her, but his eyes betray the truth, that he is fighting the need inside him for her presence. Carol stands back, startled at how ragged his denial is. How desperate he is to push her away, and then she knows what she is fighting, and more importantly, she knows how to fight back. He sits and glares at the wall as she moves behind him, quiet and careful not to spook him further. Her hand ghosts over his skin, feeling the strength in his shoulders as she fights the tremors the intimate act sends through her body. Feeling braver than she ever has in her life, she leans forward and presses a soft kiss between his shoulder blades, flinching a little as he almost jumps off the stool and right out of his skin.
"I do know you," she affirms quietly as her palms gently add pressure enough on those tense muscles to coax him still. Her hands back up the claim, soft and gentle as she skims across the bunched muscles, runs through the grimy sweat. He settles again, keeping his back to her, only now he's trembling and it doesn't make her feel smug at all to know that her knowledge has broken a little piece of him away, a piece he's clung to most of his life. It doesn't make her feel anything but sad that this man is destroyed because she shows him some kindness, that she is not afraid of who he is or even what he thinks he is, because beneath it all, she knows exactly who Merle Dixon is. He's just a man, struggling like the rest of them, only maybe hiding a few more ghosts that he's never stopped trying to outrun.
She knows that now she has started, she cannot stop. The tips of her fingers run along his skin until they hit the edge of his shirt and with no excuse but the need to feel more of the heat of his flesh against her palms, she gathers the hem and lifts. He is surprisingly helpful, only emitting the softest grunt but it is enough to stir the flames of attraction and a grin fashions a subtle curl to her lips. His skin glistens with sweat and dirt, the texture gritty in places, and Carol leaves him in silence for a moment while she scouts out his bathroom and returns with a basin of clean water and a cloth to do some damage. The soap is a naughty afterthought, one that Carol surrenders to wholeheartedly. Something inside her has switched off, this caution she'd been so strongly convincing herself she needs to maintain, but now she wonders if the opposite is in fact true and what they both need is for her to show him he has a reason to leave this place—a reason that is more than just her vague word of life outside of these walls. What they both need is maybe some risk.
Her soapy fingers knead into the knots at his neck, and then she gentles to a caress, soaking up the shivers he can't quite control. She traces the scars that he doesn't flinch from and takes a deep breath, her heart aching with pride for him. He is a survivor, a strong man and she feels like she will burst into tears with how emotional she feels over the long, drawn out fight that has been his whole life. She kisses the edges of one while her fingers drift over the raised lines of scar tissue and she shows in that one moment that she can love his pain, love his past, and maybe, if she lets herself free, she can love him.
It's a wrench to let those thoughts go, but she does it, returning to the task at hand, finding it no hardship to let her skin connect with his with strong, confident strokes. Within minutes she has wandered all over his back, rinsed him off, patted him dry and then positioned herself between his legs so she can do the same to his chest. She soaps up again and as her hands cut through the air to lay palms flush against his chest, their eyes collide and the odd feeling in the pit of her stomach roars into life. Her muscles clench, those around her sex and as she combats the insane heat that has risen into virtual flames, her fingers part and she rubs the lather across his pecs. Her thumbs brush against his nipples and her own tighten, her mouth goes dry. She feels more of him, needs to know even more, the tingling in her fingers and the rapid breaths he's not even trying to control or hide, work their magic. Her touch explores all of him, almost distractingly attacking the grime that clings to his skin. The pads of her fingers stroke over the chords of his neck and this time it's Carol that can't hold back the trembling awareness of him, her body coiled tight for something she hasn't known in such a long time.
Merle holds on tight to the moment, his eyes searching hers for sincerity that he'd never seemed to doubt, and then it's all just a process, his renewed cleanliness just a by-product of how lost they become. She trails water and a cloth across his face, pats away the glistening streaks of blood at his mouth. The emotion fighting to be released from cool blue eyes makes Carol's throat hurt. She sees him, so much of Merle that he's kept hidden his whole life, and she can't help but wonder if even Daryl knows this man. As a brother he is a fierce protector, love burning bright and angry, but it makes her question if Merle has ever let himself be an honest man. If he's ever allowed the barriers to drop so that he can be seen, raw and beautiful and filled with courage. Until now. His silence is coated in a strange acceptance of her presence, his exhaustion beating blindly at his usual defences, and it gives her more. It gives her truth, and it makes her determined.
Once he is clean, she can't move. Her knees are locked, heart pounding as if she's captured in a trap. She feels heat everywhere, in her face, climbing up her neck, on her hip—imagining he is bold enough to place his only hand there and grip her with purpose. She knows he hasn't, though, that her mind is playing games of fancy. Carol releases a shuddering breath, moves a little closer, falls deeper into the strange heat his eyes promise her. Their attraction to each other is no longer a secret and they drift, commence that slow dance toward each other and Carol can almost taste him already, his breath huffing against her lips, reluctant but needy. Blustering but bold. He's not running away and for the first time in a very long time, Carol feels desperate to taste a man's lips. She's almost there, determination burning her from the inside out. Just one more inch and she will know. She draws in a breath, her lids heavy, fingertips heavenly light against the ball of his shoulders as finally their lips touch, finding each other in a brush of promise, in the momentary abandonment of the restricted worlds they've both been held prisoner for most of their lives.
The kiss is too brief, barely a meeting of lips before he herks away, stunned, and Carol feels cheated. There is something missing, the confidence, the reassurance of what she's already claimed but what Merle hasn't absorbed, or is fighting too hard to believe. An indrawn breath aches in her chest and as her eyes water and her heart pounds, as she makes the decision to break down every damn wall that holds them apart, she lets it go. A tremulous smile joins her teary gaze as she cups his chin with one hand, her thumb resting directly below the split of his lip. She is fearless in her decision, in her choice as she says it ago, determined that he will hear her and feel the truth of it right down to his soul.
"I do know you." The words quiver between them and his eyes glisten with shock. It's a statement of raw truth and this time he grunts in acceptance as his torn, swollen bottom lip seems to jut out a fraction and finally makes lasting contact with hers. Carol sighs as the kiss becomes real, falling forward just far enough to effectively be in his arms if he moved them around her, but she doesn't think about that and how much she wants him to touch her. Instead, she focuses on his warm lips, the gentle sway of his skin against hers, the building heat that demands to be answered. The softness only the roughest of men can shock her with, careful of his split lip and the tang of his blood as she is swept away in a blur of heat.
He tastes like truth, like hope and Carol needs it like air. He's straddling this fine line she can visualise—of hope and horror—and the fear that this is transient, that he might still throw the potential away stabs at her heart with vicious, painful thrusts. She understands pain better than most, has never shied away from it and she knows in her gut that they can share this. They both know this, have been scared to move beyond it. The urgency to make that connection floods through her, makes Carol flushed and desperate to know that Merle understands what she's never in a million years going to be able to explain. She sucks on his lip aggressively, needing more and at last his hand is at her hip, pulling her closer as he allows her to manipulate the kiss into something far less friend-like. He withstands the punishment against his tattered lip until she bites and he lets out a pained howl that makes Carol feel like the most selfish person on earth, but which sends a buzz through her blood. She rushes to repair the damage, the damp cloth clearing away the blood as she bleeds apology to him through an intent, sorrowful gaze. He doesn't seem to care, his expression one of shock as slowly he winds his fingers into the short curls at the nape of her neck and subtly coaxes her forward. His eyes aren't soft—they burn with this new knowledge. Carol isn't a wilting flower in need of protection, she's wild and wilful and right now, she wants him. He's accepted it and her heart soars.
She is more careful this time and while the kiss is heart-meltingly gentle, her body is engulfed with delicious heat. More than anything, though, she knows now that he gets it. It's more than attraction—they understand exactly who they are, what they can mean to each other, and for now, that's enough. It's a gift.
"How?" Merle blinks as he pulls back, shock and confusion at war as he fights to keep the sheen of tears from turning into a regular flow. "How…?"
Carol places a finger against his lips, her heart singing. This man, this brash, vulgar, horrible man from the quarry is not who she sees at all. This is a man who cares, perhaps too much for what he is able to release safely and who hides himself well beneath a veneer of savagery that this new world seems to embrace.
She shakes her head at him, unsure how it's happened but glad it has, glad she got to burrow beneath the surface and locate the treasure within. Her own eyes sting but she smiles, certain now that she has the hold she needs, the candy to offer that will convince him to leave this place. To turn his back on security and the Governor and come with them to find the others, to find Daryl and reunite the brothers.
He claims her lips, over and over and the heat builds, reality dropping away as desire quick and hot fans a once dead flame inside of her. The roughness of his fingertips brushing against her neck is both shocking yet welcome and a small cry of pleasure escapes her. He cups her face, nibbles at her bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth and Carol's heartbeat bolts out of the gate. She is lost to this new sensation, this desire she's not truly felt for a man in a whole lot of years. Over a decade if she's truthful. And that it's Merle Dixon that has called this inner vixen out of her seems a complex mystery that she has no hope of solving. Carol is caught and she thinks, slightly hysterically, that she never wants to break free. That all her problems and fears have melted away just in this one, truthful moment between a man and a woman and nothing else truly matters. Except that's not true, and the urgency of holding onto that niggles away in her brain. It harnesses that free spirit of youth that loves love for the sake of it and uses maturity to question the wisdom of allowing the act in such dangerous times.
Reality returns with a crash as the door slams open. Carol jumps and then her stomach drops at the expression of rage that threads it's reality through the body of the woman in the doorway. The intruder is gasping for air, her hands clenched at her sides, wounded betrayal taut in every muscle. There is a heavy coil of dread expanding in Carol's gut and she slowly disentangles herself from Merle, her body crashing instantly to cold. She'd been so close to being sure she could save him, have him choose to walk beyond those gates with them and in the blink of an eye that hope is gone. This woman, hatred and possession a storm gaining momentum in the brunette's eyes until Merle stands abruptly and orders her to get out.
She slams the door on her way out, her fit of temper reminding Carol of the first time she's laid eyes on her, during dinner at the Governor's home. It doesn't matter that she's gone, that she's made an attempt to make a claim on Merle without having the right to do so. The hope Carol had held in her heart has shrivelled, and there is a chill in the air as she backs away. Merle's jaw clenches and she can barely look up at him, knowing that if she does she might melt back into position, the taste of him still lingering on her lips. The craving swirling inside her, distraught at being prematurely thwarted.
The apology slips past her lips, though she has no idea what she is apologising for. The least she can do, as she scrambles to gain control of herself, is to close the door quietly as she follows Eva's retreat. The haunted betrayal in Merle's eyes stays with her all night.
AN: I know this chapter has been a very long time in coming. If you're still reading, you have all my gratitude. Last year was a very difficult one for me personally, but I am feeling hopeful that I can go back to my writing and at the very least finish outstanding WIP's. This one will absolutely be finished as I think it's possibly my most favourite thing I've ever written. Your support has been amazing. Thank you all for continuing to read. ~~ Megan