Disclaimer: As always, I do not own The Walking Dead, nor do I own Merle, sadly.

a/n: Again, many many thanks to everyone who is still following this story, I hope it doesn't disappoint. I have included a few lines of dialogue from the series, (as much as I hate doing that) but I really felt no option but to include as they are quite relevant to this part in the fic. After this chapter everything will start to be going AU, although the main plot of the story will remain canon to the actual storyline. With one or two exceptions, of course.

...

He sat with his back to the wall, rifle propped next to him as he counted the moments that brought the light back from the dark. He was cold but unmindful, the early morning chill seeping through his bones, the light morning dew settling damply on his shoulders.

Shifting restlessly, he got to his feet and tugged the rifle across his back as the first tentative rays of sunlight broke out over the prison. He knew what he had to do-and as much as the thought appalled him, he would go through with it. No way was he going to let his consciousness prick at him now, that was crap for dealing with later. All that mattered right now was saving these shitty people, giving them a chance, because giving them a chance meant giving his brother a chance. And when it came down to it, to the bare bones of it-he would do whatever the hell he had to do to ensure his brothers safety. He smirked to himself, giving a soundless little laugh. Karma was a bitch, and this was his karma for being such a dick to Daryl over the years. All those times he hadn't been there, hadn't had the guts to stick around because of what his drug addled temper might have led to...and if he had known all this end of the world fucking crap would have happened, maybe he would have done shit differently. Taken Daryl from their fucked up home, killed that old bastard, given him the beating of a lifetime for all the damn hideous marks he'd put on the both of them, paid him back for all the abuse he'd given their dead momma over the years.

Merle pursed his lips into a tight grimace, running his hand over his forehead and over his hair, his palm fretting and clasping at the nape of his neck. None of it mattered no more. It was gone. Just sepia memories, but he now had the power to make things different. Maybe buy some time for him and his little brother both to make a few new memories.

He was stood at the metal door of the prison before he knew it, and he stepped out of his loosely knotted boots before opening the door cautiously, aware of the numerous squeaks of its un-oiled hinges. He knew at exactly what point that door would squeal, and he held his breath, little beads of perspiration forming at his temples. Holding the door firmly, he shifted his body sideways, taking care of his prosthesis, making sure that the metal of it wouldn't clang against the door. He stepped carefully through, his head poking around the corner, eyes wide and scanning for any occupancy in the room beyond him. Satisfied that he couldn't see or hear a single thing, he slid the rest of the way in, leaning back across to the outside and grabbing at his boots, placing them carefully the other side of the doorway. Standing still, he cast his eyes about the interior again, before gripping the edge of the door and for several long drawn out seconds, quietly pushing it closed behind him.

Michonne had chosen a cell as her abode right towards the back of the prison block, as far out of reach as she could have gotten despite the close proximity of the others. Merle knew she had done that to keep out of reach, unlike him who'd kept his original cell, even though it meant every single damned day he was on view. What the jackasses hadn't realized was-as much as he was on constant view to them, they were on constant view to him. He'd learnt a few surprising things about them that he'd bet his lily white ass on that they had no clue about.

Bet they didn't know that ole man Hershel mostly farted in his sleep, that the wholesome fucking chink kid had been taking 'matters' into his own hand, in Maggie's absence from their shared cell. That Rick sang soft little lullabies to the baby when he thought the rest of the prison were asleep-murmured his dead wife's name on occasions-Merle had always had to bite back that little laugh, the sound of the sheriffs pitiful little dream fueled whimpers. Yep, karma was a right bitch. Merle chuckled to himself. The whole lot of them, they truly were a bunch of clueless bastards.

He scooted across the dusty floor, his bootless feet shifting little dust motes that spiralled thinly in the wan light. Glancing up, he saw the doorway to Carols cell, and he idly mused that if he was of the romantic persuasion, he might have taken a few precious moments to leave some stupid shit like, a flower on her pillow, like the hopeless mindless pussies he'd read about in those crappy romantic novels he'd read back at the library in Woodbury. Bitches always liked flowers. It would have had to have been something small, delicate, a pretty shade of blue-it would have been a token to express all the things that he found beguiling about her, but wouldn't voice. But he wasn't none of that pussy assed shit, he was nothing more than a fucked up asshole who wouldn't know or want to feel emotions like that if it hit up him upside the head.

He smiled at himself, before a heavy frown drifted across his face. That annoying woman was distracting him, and he hadn't even so much as glimpsed her. Yet his feet stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes on the bars of her cell, and he allowed himself one more little moment, one more fleeting thought before he would banish all memory of her from his head. When he had kissed her, he had confirmed one thing to himself, and that was a question that had haunted his thoughts since their return from the woods. She had indeed tasted as sweet as she sounded. And if he was brutally honest, a few more snatched moments like that would make all this fucking shit all the more damned worthwhile.

His heart suddenly thudded a little too heavily in his chest, his lungs tightening a little too uncomfortably, and he dragged his eyes from her cell, willing his breathing to slow, his heart to stop its odd little pounding. He tightened his grip on the boots in his hand, biting at the inside of his cheek as he edged away silently.

A few paces later, and he was stood outside Michonne's cell, and he saw with no real surprise that she slept with her sword close to her. It was tucked just under her bunk, and her arm was draped loosely over the side, nothing more than a fingers breath away. Merle placed his boots on the ground and dug his feet into them, swiftly kneeling to wrangle the laces single- handedly into a reasonable knot.

Stepping into her cell, he leaned across and drummed his fingers on her forehead. Seeing that she only mumbled in her sleep and turned her head to the side, he gripped her shoulder and shook her mildly. Her eyes fluttered open into an instant frown of dark dislike, and he had to bite back the silly little smirk that threatened.

"C'mon Michonne. Day's a wasting and we got shit to do," he growled quietly.

She pushed herself up on her bunk with one hand, and he was amused to see that she slept with those dainty little gloves on. "What the hell, Merle?" she hissed unpleasantly.

He chuckled quietly and watched her nostrils flare at him angrily. By fuck this one got spirit-he'd forgotten how much. "Thought ya knew. We gotta help Rick clear some of the tombs." He scratched at his head, stepping back as she shoved her legs off her bunk. "Shit girl, I'd thought he'd already been an' gone told ya. Told me late last night, an' I figured that you and me, well hell...we're both the same. We gotta make our mark here, earn our keep, help the greater good an' all that shit."

"We are not the same," Michonne growled back huskily. Her hand reached under her bunk and he watched as her fingers slipped around the leather bound hilt of her sword.

Merle grunted, "Whatever." He stared at her and shrugged, "But you and I both know that we ain't gonna fit in here unless we both make an effort, and the one we gotta persuade is that asshole sheriff-I mean, Rick. We gotta do whatever it takes darlin'."

Michonne grunted as she got to her feet, pushing past him to step into her boots. She glanced over her shoulder as she tugged them on, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, "You're not feeding me a line? You don't have an ulterior motive?"

He smirked at her, "Shit honey, if I was wantin' to fuck ya, I'd be thinkin' somewhere a lot more fuckin' romantic than a damned biter filled corridor. I ain't that much of an ass. Still, if that's what ya wanna do, guess I'm all up for it. I ain't never said no to a piece of action before."

She tugged the belt of the katana over her shoulder, a little look of distaste on her lips. She sighed at him, "Lead the way. And no. I'm not interested," she said as he gave her an almost hopeful little look.

He turned from her, stepping softly into the hallway, gesturing with his prosthesis. "You don't know what yer missing."

"Think I have a fair idea, Merle," she glowered, pushing past him.

…

He was glad that she wasn't the talkative type of bitch that he'd known from before, both at Woodbury and before the turn, it made the task in hand-he grimaced at that thought-a lot easier. The afternoon before, when they'd all been running around outside like headless chickens strengthening their pitiful fortifications outside by the gates, he'd at first, looked for a little something to help ease his mind into a more thoughtful frame, but had only made himself more angry by finding sweet fuck all. His thoughts of a dream little vacation in tatters, like the remains of a dozen or so grimy mattresses that had yielded nothing. Secondly, he had at least completed his stash hidden in the workshop near the edge of the prison block, everything he thought he would need to subdue and bind his little Nubian captive, carefully hidden away in a duffel bag. He had toyed with the thought that he might need a gag to smother her sweet little voice, but he had dismissed that the second he'd thought it. If anything, she was a woman of few words, and that suited him and his plan very well.

He'd nearly been caught by Daryl suddenly appearing there like a goddamned fucking ghost, and he'd had to suffer a little conversation that he didn't really expect or want to hear. He had refused at the time to acknowledge the tightness in his throat, the sudden tears that prickled at the backs of his eyes, when his baby brother had softly said the words, 'I just want my brother back'.

Merle shook the thought away angrily-it hurt too much to think about him. Focusing instead on the matter in hand as they stepped their way into the tombs, he remained stoically two steps behind Michonne, his eyes sharply watching her every single move, quietly anticipating. The katana was in her gloved hand, the wicked sharp point lowered to the floor, the thin morning sunlight bouncing off the bright blade, through the small narrow windows.

She glanced over her shoulder at him quizzically, "So where is it?"

Merle pursed his mouth into a tight thin line, then he sneaked his tongue out to wet at his dry lips, "Around the corner. We gotta clear some biters, then get the others down here to barricade it. A breach like this could be an open invitation to the Governor."

He smothered a grin as she stepped back abruptly in alarm as a biter thrust its hands out from between the bars of a locked down cell. She looked back at him with wide brown eyes, "He's not much for subtlety."

Low guttural groans chased across to them, and he saw a few undead assholes stumble gracelessly around the next corner. "You wanna take your chances?" he questioned.

She ignored him, choosing to wield her sword, hacking at a walker that got a little too close. Merle stepped next to her, thrusting the blade of his prosthesis into a sickeningly soft carcass. He shoved his foot out and pushed the corpse away from his arm, leaning down to push the blade through its pulpy forehead. His eyes widened as he saw his chance, and he knew that this was it, it was now or never. Regarding her with chilly eyes, he raised his prosthetic arm, before bringing it down with all his might on the back of her head. She fell face forward, prone -her body thudding to the ground and making a sickening dull heavy thump. Merle glanced at her for a few long seconds, waiting to see if she would move, then he stepped quickly over her body, meeting head long four biters that surged at him hungrily. Several thick bloodied spatters later, the biters felled to the ground, and an exerted soft little grunt from him-he finally nodded to himself as he saw the coast was clear.

He shoved at her with his foot, waiting a few seconds then taking her sword from her and heaving it across his own shoulders, the katana feeling odd and unknown against his back along with the rifle. He rubbed at his forehead with his palm, wiping at the sweat, then he leaned down, gathering both of her feet in his large hand, before dragging her the rest of the way in a grunt filled silence to the workshop.

He didn't allow himself time to pause or think, before smothering her face with a filthy pillowcase. Once her face was hidden, he worked on tying the strong wire about her wrists, carefully resting his prosthesis on her as he fumbled with the knots. For extra measure-it always pays to be safe, he thought as he concentrated-he bound at her hands with more wire, tugging at the knots to make sure that they held firm and true.

He knelt next to her, leaning across to the duffel bag and tugging out a longer length of thin wire. He secured it to the binding around her wrists, never smiling as he again tugged at the line of wire that now lay looped loosely in his palm. Whatever, it was enough to see this task through to the end.

Merle sat back on his haunches, waiting and watching for her to awake. It wouldn't be long now.

…

The sun was a little higher and Merle cursed the lack of a watch to tell him the exact time, but he knew that they must have been making good progress. All being well, he would be there just in time to surprise that fucking devil Philip Blake. He wondered how it would go down, would he take the bait that was offered? But he knew deep down that it wouldn't be the end of it, and now? Now he was in too fucking deep.

As they walked through a desolate ruined little suburb-broken homes and dust grimed wrecks of vehicles, he suddenly started to question what he was doing. The thought piqued at him urgently, did he really think that he could walk away from all of this? That giving the Governor his little prize would keep the devil off the doorstep? He of all people should know exactly what Blake was capable off-shit, he'd even aided him before now in a few jobs that others had found...a little too distasteful. Even Martinez had gone a pasty shade of white when he'd heard of a few of them.

It wasn't helping none that Michonne had started to be a little too vocal than he had originally thought that she would, and he felt a bitter surge of irritation at the memory of the gag he'd felt that he wouldn't need.

He had reminded her that it had been Rick that had originally come up with this little plan, all arranged and dealt with the Governor. She'd tried to turn the tables back on him, and since then, he'd kept his distance behind her, choosing instead to watch as she walked ahead of him, weaponless and powerless, her hands bound and him holding the wire like he was taking a prized thoroughbred bitch along for a walk on a pretty little leash.

He saw a lone biter and he smiled suddenly, pushing the gun in his hand to the belt at his waist. He dropped his leash, and raised an eyebrow at Michonne. "May I?" he smirked again at the frown she gave him as she saw her katana suddenly in his hand. "I'll take that as a yes," he said as he hurried across the grass to the biter.

He glanced back at her before holding his arms outstretched, then he whipped the blade suddenly, taking the biters head clean off at the neck, laughing again as he watched the head roll across the ground. "Heh," he grinned, turning back to her, his eyes dropping from hers to the thin wicked blade. He sheathed it and strode back across to her, wondering that she was still stood there, bound hands held awkwardly before her.

"Ah!" he smirked, "You know what? I'd figured you'd have run."

Michonne paused before grinning back at him, and Merle saw that the smile didn't so much as light those dark eyes that bored their way through him. "I wanted my sword back before I got away."

…

Merle slammed his hand heavily on the roof of the car they had found at yet another desolate house that stood mired in a years or so accumulated neglect and disuse. The fucking car had no chance, even its fucking tires were flat. His resolve was crumbling, constantly being chipped at by the dark skinned woman. Irritably, he dragged his hand off the car and swatted harshly at his cheek, his fingers rasping at thick stubble. He was getting downright fucking annoyed, he'd already told her that he was doing all of this for his brother, for those ungrateful asses back at the prison. Her only answer had been a sardonic, that's a whole lot of maybe's.

He glanced across and saw with ever increasing annoyance, that a few biters were straggling their way through the tree line. Sighing, he pulled at the leash, tugging Michonne along with him. She didn't say anything, just tripped over her own feet to keep up with his urgent pace.

"You know, I have watched you closely Merle," she said after a moment of silence, their booted feet the only other sound as they stepped out into the open road. "I've watched that woman too." He ignored her, watching as a slight breeze picked up, churning crisp dead leaves in its wake.

"I've seen how you look at her," she tried again. "And I have seen how she is with you. I get the feeling that she cares about you. God only knows why."

Merle felt his back stiffen, and he clenched his jaw tightly, refusing to take the bait. He didn't want to think about her-he wouldn't do that. She made him start to question all the goddamned things that he thought he'd ever known about himself.

"It's only my opinion," Michonne sighed then fell quiet.

"My only concern in all this, is my baby brother. Is Daryl," he hissed back, knowing that he was lying-it was more than that, but suddenly his anger was piquing at him, "I do this, the prison gets saved, and I get a little forgiveness."

"It wont play out like that, and you know it."

Merle shrugged, yanking on the leash a little to hard, narrowing his eyes at her back. He just wanted her to shut the hell up.

"I could help you," she said softly, and Merle thought he heard a little tremor to her voice. Like hell he was gonna let that happen. Before he'd know it, she would be high tailing her sweet ebony ass back to the prison and his plan would be screwed. If that happened...he could never go back.

"Not gonna happen sweet-cheeks. You know it and I know it, so why don't y'all do us a favor and shut the fuck up."

He watched as she shrugged, never breaking one single step. There was another long silence before she spoke again. "So you're just the guy that empties the piss bucket and begs for more dirty chores?" Michonne laughed shallowly, "They all respect your brother, Daryl. They need him."

"They asked me 'cause I'm the guy that always gets shit done. I don't see them asking my little brother to do this," he replied tersely, "'Cause they know I'll get the job done."

"You know your brother's got a whole new family? Ain't nobody gonna mourn you Merle, not your own brother, not even her. You're missing the opportunity. This could be your shot. "

"You don't know shit," Merle spat angrily.

"You have skills Merle, yet you keep yourself on the outside," she frowned at him. "This could be your chance."

He stood still, and she turned to face him. Her eyes shone darkly and Merle felt a weary reluctance seep through his bones. His eyes roamed across to where they now stood-he could see the battered single line of chalets, a motel. A few cars stood forlornly and his eyes settled on a Chevy Caprice black sedan, parked almost carelessly.

"Why the fuck do you wanna help me?" he asked suspiciously. "Helping me ain't got shit to do with you. You're only the prize that Governor wants, a bargaining chip, nothin' more darlin'."

"I want him dead," she breathed, and Merle felt his head snap back to her at the sudden vehemence in her tone. He watched as she stood there regarding him, her hand almost caressing the hilt of her sword. "So, you will let me help you end this," Michonne quietly insisted.

"Ain't nothin' ya can do," Merle answered quickly, twisting his eyes from her. What if she could though? He chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Maybe she could help him. It had never been in his plans, hell-it would be something that fucking Governor wouldn't expect.

He grunted softly to himself as he suddenly thought of his brother, and he longed for things to be different, for once in his shitty life he could have the chance to make things all right, make a little peace. Then he thought of her, the way her eyes had shone with bright tears...Merle sighed, maybe Michonne was right. And if she wasn't and shit went wrong, well hell, she'd just be yet another casualty.

Tugging the knife from his waist, he glared hotly at the dark skinned woman, before tugging the wire leash tightly in his hand. She stepped closer to him, uncertainty glowing in her eyes. "I ain't gonna bite," he rasped quietly as he took the blade to the bindings on her hands and wrists. She looked at him mildly in surprise, shrugging the wire away, letting it drop to the ground as she slowly flexed and coaxed the life back into her hands. He stepped back from her, tugging the katana off his back and holding it out to her, ignoring the soft little smile she gave as she took back her sword, hoisting the strap over her own shoulders.

Merle shook his head, not wanting to see the knowing look in her large brown eyes, the defiant smile pasted on her thick lips. "Alright," he replied huskily.

...