"Where the hell ya think he's got to?" Merle finally asked the third time he and Sinclaire nearly collided. "And ya could go around Yank."
"You could veer slightly," she pointed out. "I'm the one carrying 5 gallon buckets of water. All you're doing is wearing a path in our lawn."
He grinned briefly at her phrasing and then resumed his frowning and pacing.
"Shouldn't be takin' him this long. I know he's in walkin' distance."
"I told you he drove his truck," she began but Merle interrupted her.
"And ya lied too," he said. "Two things ya wouldn't know about my brother: he wouldn't hunt real far off from anybody he's tryin' to keep safe and his truck ain't exactly quiet. Even if I'd been too far off to hear him come in, I'd have sure as hell heard him leave. Also, ya didn't leave till damn near noon and ya still got back before I did yesterday. I ain't an idiot."
"Well played," Sinclaire admitted. "Why aren't we fighting?"
"What's the point?" Merle asked with a shrug. "I know why ya did it. But I ain't gonna stand here and pretend I ain't hurt that ya didn't trust me."
He placed his left hand to his chest and gave her a wounded look.
"Well," she said, studying him with her head tilted. "At least you know where your heart should be."
"That's rough, Yank," he protested. "I ain't even killed nobody yet."
"Merle…" she began.
"Ya gonna stand there holdin' that or ya gonna take a bath?"
She sighed, knowing not to push the issue; she was shocked that he'd stayed in camp all night long when he'd known how close and even in roughly what direction the other camp lay.
"I'm going, I'm going," she answered, turning huffily.
She poured the bucket of water into the tub and tested the temperature. It was a bit chilly since she'd filled it mostly with cold water that they'd boiled a few days ago and reserved, but it was good enough and better by far than no bath at all.
Merle had started boiling another pot of water when Sinclaire called to him.
"What?" he asked, turning to see her on the back porch with her hands on her hips like he oughta be doing something.
"Are you coming?"
"Say what?" he asked in genuine shock.
"I need a bodyguard," she said impatiently. "I don't want to have to fight off a zombie hoard naked!"
"Yeah, I see your point," Merle agreed. "Just how close do I get to guard your body?"
"As close as you like…from the other room," she said with a smile.
"Ya did that on purpose," he griped. "I oughta let 'em get ya."
"Pssssh," Sinclaire waved her hand. "You don't want me."
"I'd take ya," he protested. "And ya'd be damn lucky to have me. Gotta start repopulatin' some time…and us Dixon's are made outta good stuff."
"That's a good point," she called back. For all his bluster, Merle had stopped at the door and turned his back. "Maybe I'll repopulate with Daryl."
"Ya got your eye on my brother?"
"I was just joking," she answered as she got in the tub.
Merle didn't reply. He couldn't figure out how he felt about the idea. On the plus side, to repopulate, people had to fuck and it was about damn time his little brother got laid. But then again, he wasn't sure he wanted Daryl practicing on Sinclaire. He wondered why he felt so possessive over her. They were only friends. Was this what it felt like to be friends with a woman? Maybe they fucked with your head no matter what kinda relationship you had with them. He had a sudden craving for his old life, enough drugs to keep him feeling good and a woman he could pay to make him feel even better.
"How long ya gonna take in there?" he barked.
"Longer than this," Sinclaire answered unrepentantly. "What's your problem?"
"Sick of standin' here starin' at the wall," he growled.
"So go pour a drink. It's a little early and I know people will talk…"
"Smart ass Yankee."
She heard Merle stomp away and smack a glass down on the bar. She wondered what his problem was as she shampooed her hair. He hadn't really bitched over nothing in a while now.
She frowned as a new worry overshadowed her wondering about Merle. She'd have to duck under the water to wash her hair. She hated being underwater. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her uneasiness and sank down. As luck would have it, as she rinsed, she remembered Merle's comment of, "I'd take ya."
A shiver wracked her entire body and she sat up with a splash and an involuntary gasp as her lungs spasmed.
"Ya all right?"
"Fine!" she called back, rinsing the last of the soap and shampoo bubbles from her skin and drying off quickly with one of the rough military issue towels she'd tossed into the crates she and Merle had take from her old base.
It wasn't personal. Waking up next to Daryl had produced the same feeling and, while there was nothing wrong with Merle, she thought Daryl had the edge looks wise. She'd still been just as terrified; maybe even more so because she'd never done that before. Not only had they been touching, her leg had been firmly wedged between his and, now that she remembered it, she recalled that her left arm had been around him as well and that his chin had been resting on her head. They'd been positively…cuddly. And then she'd practically crawled into Merle's lap in her hurry to get away from Daryl. All in all, a classy performance.
She dressed in clean fatigues and finger combed her hair. It was nearly shoulder length now, which was her idea of long. There didn't seem to be much chance of getting it cut and styled anytime soon, however.
She was still finger combing and frowning when she stepped into the barroom.
"Whatcha got that look all over your face for?" Merle questioned, knocking back a shot of vodka.
"Thinking about hair," she admitted.
"Hair?"
"Yeah," she sat down at the bar and raised an eyebrow at Merle. He poured her a shot of vodka and she ran her finger around the rim of the glass as she elaborated. "I want a haircut."
"Hell, you and me both," Merle ran his hand over his head and frowned as well.
They both drank morosely for a moment and then Sinclaire put her empty glass down purposefully.
"We need to talk about how this is going to happen," she said.
"How what's gonna happen?"
"This meeting. I meant what I said, Merle. I don't want any more blood on my hands."
"Hell, I ain't expectin' ya to do nothin'," he shrugged.
"Yeah, but if I stand there and let you do it it's just as bad."
"When did ya get so goddamn moral?" he snarled. "Ya didn't worry about leavin' your own damn troops to be eaten alive…"
"Leave them out of this," she tried to keep her voice even, but it shook dangerously.
"I don't see why I should. Ya can let people die to get what ya want but ya won't let me do the same damn thing? Who the hell ya think ya are?"
As he spoke he poured another drink.
"Sure, get drunk. That'll make the whole thing easier," Sinclaire muttered insolently, still trying to calm the rapid pounding of her heart. She never been angrier with Merle, but she knew it wouldn't help to show it.
He threw the glass and she flinched as it shattered against the wall into a diamond shower of futile rage.
"What the fuck ya think I'm gonna do Sinclaire?" he bellowed. "Just let 'em get away with leavin' me there to die? Act like it's all right that I cut off my own damn hand so I wouldn't get eaten or die of thirst? Do ya know what it felt like? Do ya know how long it took? How ya think it feels to saw through every nerve like that? What the fuck ya want from me?"
"I want you to understand that everyone has done something they never thought they'd do since this started," Sinclaire drew a painfully jagged breath and stood up. "I never thought I'd run to save my own neck when my men were dying around me. I guess Rick and T-dog never thought they'd leave a man to die on a rooftop. Glenn probably never thought he'd risk his life for a racist redneck. You didn't even call him by his name and he risked everything to go back for you!" her voice broke on the last word and Merle stared at her in surprise.
"Ya gonna cry?"
The same accusation he'd leveled at his brother. The only difference was the tone. He'd been mocking Daryl; he sounded gruff but worried when asking her.
Sinclaire shook her head and covered her face with both hands. She flinched when Merle's hand landed heavily on her shoulder.
"Calm down," he frowned when the words came out as an order rather than a reassurance. "I ain't gonna hurt ya."
"So many people are already dead," she said quietly from behind her hands. "Don't hurt anyone else. Rick Grimes may be the only person in the world with a family. God, Merle, don't take it away."