Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.

...

"You know we have a perfectly good doctor here, Merle. Caleb is more qualified than I am." Hershel paused as he walked across his cell, limping slightly.

Merle sat on the old man's bunk, tugging his shirt off his one shoulder, "Ain't wanting to see him. You done jus' fine by me, I ain't seeing no reason to go see some other damn quack."

Hershel stared at him for a moment, "Well I suppose I should be flattered. But are you sure about this?"

"Told ya, you done alright by me," Merle grunted as he glanced around his cell. A large stack of books lay on the floor in the corner, and Merle was surprised to see that the volumes on anatomy were gradually being replaced by books on horticulture, farming and animal husbandry.

He flinched as he felt Hershel's hand on his shoulder, moving the strap of his wife-beater so he could look at the wound on his shoulder. The old man was so close that Merle could feel his breath on his skin, and it was all he could do to not push the old man off from him and dart out of the cell. Instead he sat there stiffly, gritting his teeth and angling his head away, staring fixedly out through the cell door.

"Hmm you're lucky," Hershel said as he moved his fingers, and Merle felt him poke at him with his fingertips, the old mans nails scraping at his skin. "The wound has been healing very nicely."

"Huh...so what's the verdict, Hershel? I get to wear my prosthetic?" Merle asked, hoping to fuck that he could. He was starting to feel stir crazy being stuck in the prison, and he longed to be out, even though Carol had been proving to be a damned fine distraction...Merle let himself contemplate that for a few moments as Hershel examined him. Yeah, she'd been more than a damned good distraction, and he wouldn't mind finding himself being distracted by her more. Alot fucking more if he had any damned say about it. Merle couldn't help but smirk at the thought. He had every intention of making that happen.

"Merle?" Hershel asked, as he moved away.

"What?" Merle said, breaking himself out of his reverie, twisting his head to look at Hershel, seeing that the older man was looking at him with a slightly mirthful expression.

"I was saying that yes you can wear your prosthetic, but just as long as you take it easy and don't over exert yourself. But you were miles away."

Merle narrowed his eyes at that.

"Do you want me to take a look at your hand, or do you want Caleb-"

"Ain't wanting no doctor fuckin' S to look at it. Told ya Hershel, yer fine," he glowered.

He watched as Hershel hobbled his way to the other side of the bunk, before sitting down next to him. "Your hand?" he asked, and Merle stiffened as the old man touched at his arm.

Merle sighed under his breath, then proffered his hand; the band-aids wrapping around his palm dirty and tattered. He felt pissed that he couldn't strip them off his hand himself, on account of only having one fucking hand, and he warily let Hershel peel them off.

"You really should have changed your dressings more often. I don't know how Merle, but you are damned lucky you didn't get an infection," Hershel chided him.

Merle shrugged. "Didn't want no fussing. The hand ain't been that bad," he lied.

Hershel had Merle's hand resting palm up on his thigh, and Merle tried not to pull away. He felt awkward and weird, like some sort of queer prison bitch faggot with his hand laying on another mans leg. He thanked God that Daryl couldn't see him now. Little brother would have found this shit as amusing as fuck.

"You done?" he barked, wishing that it was over so that he could get the hell out of the old man's cell and back into the open space of the prison block. He glanced at his hand, and sourly saw the semi-circular scar tissue banding to the side of his palm. Goddamned fucking Governor. He'd marked his hide good and well, and every time he would look at his hand-he'd have that constant reminder there on his skin.

"It's as well as it can be," Hershel said sadly, looking at him. "I can't help but be shocked by this Merle, by what that man did to you. I am sorry."

"Ain't nothin' to be sorry about. It happened. Can't change shit," Merle shrugged again, his gaze softening a little at the concern in Hershel's eyes. "I dunno if I said before or not, but thanks Hershel. Ya know, for taking care of me."

Hershel stood up and smiled at him, pausing before resting his hand on his shoulder. "Just take it easy, son. You will have to exercise that hand you know, keep the muscles in your palm from stiffening up. Any exercise will be beneficial to you and your hand."

Merle got up from his seat and moved to the cell door, looking back at him and smirking widely, and he saw the humor flash suddenly across the other mans eyes as Hershel laughed.

"Ain't no problem with that-if yer tellin' me it's doctors orders," he grinned as he stepped out of the cell, and into the prison wing.

...

"Where's yer ole man?" Merle demanded, watching as Carl jumped fearfully on his bunk at the sound of his voice, the comic book he'd been reading spilling out of his hands.

"My dad?" Carl sat up, his hand idly reaching out for his sheriffs hat, where it lay next to him on the bed. "He's out at the lower field," he said frowning. "What did you want him for?"

"Wanted the keys to the armory," Merle answered.

"Oh, well...Glenn's there already, he's doing a stock take of munitions-well, at least that's what my dad told me."

"Alright," Merle said quickly, "Thanks kid."

"Merle...is everything alright?" Carl looked up at him.

"There ain't no problem. Jus' got the all clear from the doc, so I can use my prosthetic. Need a blade for my arm," he explained. Merle didn't mind explaining shit to the kid-in his books, the boy was alright. He'd heard him sticking up for his worthless ass in front of his father- and to Merle, shit like that went a long way.

"Oh," Carl said, "That's good. I'm glad."

Merle moved away, but paused for a moment, looking at the boy thoughtfully. "Say Carl, yer dad said anything else to ya?"

Carl glanced at him, his eyes burning brightly, "I don't know what you mean."

"Ya know, what we talked 'bout before."

Carl hesitated before answering. "He wants me to hand my gun in. Dad wants me to farm with him, but I...I don't know. It doesn't seem right." He looked at Merle, his gaze fixed firmly on his. "I don't want to. I don't want to just hand my gun over to him, I think my dad is wrong. I need my gun, how can I protect him, or Judith?"

Merle sighed before answering. "Listen Carl, let me give ya a bit of advice. Ya listen to yer dad-you do as he tells ya. But ya don't forget what you've learnt, ya keep that gun of yours close at hand-you'll need it soon enough. Dontcha neglect yer skills. You're a damned good shot. Don't let this farming crap come between you and what ya gotta do out there, ain't nothing changed Carl. Them biters are always out there, waiting."

Carl nodded, "Yeah, you're right."

"Ya do whatever the shit you have ta do to keep yer family safe. Yeah? I'd do the same for my brother, for Carol. Just don't ya forget."

Merle edged away from Carl's cell, even as the boy looked at him questioningly. "Merle, I got a question for you."

He grunted, "What ya want to know, Carl?"

Carl held the comic book loosely in one hand. "Wolverine, or Cyclops?"

Merle bit back the laugh at the look on the young boy's face. He was all too aware that a lot of them in the prison still thought of him as some dumb assed ignorant redneck. He brandished his stump in the air. "Wolverine all the way, kid," he grinned as he heard Carl's sudden laugh.

...

"Ya got any bayonets in there with all that shit?" Merle asked as Glenn looked at him warily. He leaned against the bars of the cell that was now the armory, watching the Asian closely.

"I don't know. I was checking on the hand guns and the rifles, but not blades-"

"Jus' look will ya, Kim-chi?" Merle snapped irritably.

Glenn hoisted a large navy blue duffel bag to the table top, "That isn't my name."

"Wha'...Kim-chi?"

Glenn glanced at him. "Yeah. You know what my name is, Merle," he answered tightly.

Merle shrugged, noticing that the sneaky Asian was watching him out of the corner of his slanty eye. "Yeah, I know. Hell-keep yer cool, Jet Li," he smirked.

Glenn sighed, looking away from him and began digging into the bag. "Jet Li-he's Chinese."

"I know that." Merle couldn't help himself as he watched Glenn's shoulders stiffen. "So, John Cho? Ya found any yet? Time's a wastin' an' I got a lot of shit to do."

"At least he's damn well Korean," he turned to face Merle, holding out a blunted and rust covered bayonet. "This is it," he shook his head, watching Merle narrowly. "The best of what is here anyway."

Merle glanced at the blade, and grinned. He would have to clean the rust off the blade and sharpen it, but that didn't matter. It wouldn't be long until he was finally back in action. "Thanks man," he said taking the bayonet off him and slipping it into his belt at his side.

Glenn looked at him for a moment, then shrugged again, pulling at the duffel bag and zippering it shut. "Anything else?"

"No," Merle grunted as he turned back at the entrance of the armory.

"So, you will be coming on supply runs with us?" Glenn asked cautiously, his back to Merle.

"Ain't really thought on it." He raised his eyebrows, "I guess I will. Ya ain't gonna have a problem with that, huh, Jet?"

"As long as you keep your shit together Merle, I don't have a problem."

He huffed quietly. The cheeky bastard, Merle thought-he ought to pop him on his ass for that. He smiled at the mental image, before answering slowly. "As long as you can keep yer shit together, we'll be jus' fine."

"Good, we're agreed then," Glenn answered curtly, holding a pistol in his hand.

"Look Glenn. We ain't gotta be liking each other. An' shit, I got a whole lot more reasons to be liking you even fuckin' less," he stopped when he saw the hot angry look the Korean shot him, and edged closer, holding himself stiffly and squaring his shoulders. He knew damn well that he could appear intimidating, and he wanted Glenn to know that he wasn't going to be fucked around with.

He rest his stump against the cell door above his head, leaning in and touching the bayonet at his waist with his fingers. "Ain't none of us happy with this situation, but we gotta get along for the sake of the others. So yeah, you keep yer shit away from me, an' I'll do the damned same."

Glenn looked at him over his shoulder, his eyes meeting his, and they stared at each for a moment, before the Asian inclined his head in agreement. "Fine," he answered back icily.

Merle nodded at him briefly, before striding out of the armory.

…

He bumped and nearly tripped as he turned the corner in the corridor, and Merle lashed out instinctively with his hand, pushing and shoving abruptly. As Merle turned to look, he saw Scott and he stopped to glare at him angrily.

"What the fuck ya doin'?" he hissed. "Look where yer goddamned going, ya fuckin' idiot."

Scott gaped at him, pushing himself off and away from the wall where Merle had shoved him, rubbing one hand over the arm of his denim jacket. "Excuse me? I was looking where I was going. You came round that fucking corner like a blind assed lunatic."

Merle bristled as he paced nearer to Scott, leaning forward and thrusting his chin out. "You wanna watch yer damned mouth, boy. Or I'm gonna go an' knock your fuckin' teeth out of yer damn thick skull," he warned hotly.

"Like to see you try it," Scott goaded, even though he stepped back two paces. He held one hand out, almost appeasingly. "I don't know what the hell your problem is-"

"You are the problem," Merle sneered. He felt the anger suddenly beating fiercely through his veins, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to bash this fuckers face into the wall. Knock a few of those goddamned pearly white teeth from out of the cunts mouth.

"I haven't done any thing to you. Fucking hell, talk about overreaction. You paranoid or something?" Scott spat out.

Merle moved closer, his hand reaching out and grabbing at the other man's collar, twisting the material in his hand as he brought Scott's face close to his own. "You think I don't know jackshit. But I do, you asshole. I seen ya back at Woodbury, don't think that I didn't."

"Am surprised you can think. Thought the hired muscle wasn't even capable of that," Scott smiled, even though his eyes were fixed on the other mans. He tried to twist out of Merle's grip, but Merle only held him tighter. "I know what you did at Woodbury-"

"You know nothin' boy. I'm watching ya," Merle warned. "I ain't taking my fuckin' eyes off ya." He let his fingers loosen, and he wiped his palm on the other mans shoulder, pushing at him with the flat of his hand. He smiled grimly as he saw Scott take a few stumbling steps backwards. "Your little act might have washed back there, but it don't here. Ain't none fooled-"

"You don't know what you saw, Dixon. You think you do, but shit man...you really are deluded," Scott said a little too smugly."Besides-Andrea seems to think otherwise."

"That bitch ain't got two cents worth of shit for brains," Merle grated out. "She weren't nothin' more than the Governors little pocket bitch." He narrowed his eyes angrily, "Ya put one foot out'a step, an' I'm gonna make you wish you'd hadn't been fuckin' born."

Scott shook his head, stepping another pace backwards. He ran his hand through his hair, before looking at him carefully, almost appraisingly. "Say, she's a nice enough woman."

"Who?" Merle grunted. He knew that he should just walk away from this prick, but he was pissed as fuck.

Scott shrugged mildly, "I'm not sure of her name, but I've seen you with her, a lot. I even went on a supply run with her. She seemed nice enough, I think she kinda liked me." He scratched at his head thoughtfully. "Oh, yeah... I remember now. Yeah, I think her name was Carol."

The anger that was flowing through him started to turn into a full on rage, and Merle blinked rapidly as his head swam with sudden thoughts. "You go anywhere near her, and I will kill you," he hissed. "You'll keep the fuck away from her."

The other man edged further away, turning his head as he saw that they were not alone in the prison block. He laughed a little, "Ha yeah, just what I thought. And I bet she doesn't even know, does she? The way I've seen it, Dixon? You're not one of the most popular people here. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that your word means nothing, and nobody is really going to believe you. I can do what I like, say what I like-and there isn't anyone here that's going to listen to you."

"Ya little shit," Merle spat. "You ain't going anywhere near her, ya hear me? I'll be watching you, and when ya slip-'cause you will, make no doubt about it, I will be there."

Scott laughed as he stepped backwards, turning from Merle as he stepped into the small throng of people milling about. "We'll see about that."

Merle watched as Scott slipped into the background, watched as he turned casually and mixed easily with the newer residents. There was nothing he could do, not now. But he was going to watch him. And the first opportunity that presented itself, Merle was under no illusion on how he would deal with this situation. Scott was more than he seemed, and he was fucked if he would allow him to destroy any sort of fragile peace that he had found here. And he was damned to hell if he'd allow Scott anywhere near Carol either. He would kill him first damned opportunity that arose. It certainly wouldn't have been the first or last time that he'd considered, or done eliminating threats.

...