AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! If you do, please don't forget to let me know.

111

Daryl hadn't seen Merle nervous in a long time. He'd only seen him nervous, really, two times that he could clearly recall—the day he'd married Andrea, and the day that their eldest child, Merle Jr., had been born.

After the first birth, for Merle, things had become somewhat "old hat," much like he'd treated his marriage. Once Andrea had walked down the aisle and said "I do," he'd seemed to get comfortable in the fact that she would always be there and life would always continue on just as he'd gotten used to it being.

While, of course, Daryl thought there was nothing wrong with getting comfortable in a relationship, and resting a little in the fact that the good thing that had come to you would be yours to enjoy for a very long time—at least if the universe was willing. Comfort and security were nice, especially when part of your life hadn't afforded you such things. Daryl did think, however, that some of that comfort and confidence was what had led to Merle's current predicament with his wife.

It was also important to remind the person who was making you comfortable that you appreciated that comfort. It was important, while resting, to invite them to rest with you in the security of knowing that they were loved and valued, too.

It wasn't enough just to love, Daryl figured—you had to let them in on it.

And he hoped that was what he'd imparted to Merle over the few days that his brother spent sulking around their house during the time when he wasn't at work.

Daryl let Merle witness the chaos of mornings, and how much better they were when spent together, sharing in the chaos. He let him witness the chores that he did because they needed to be done, but also to lighten Carol's load a little here or there. He spent time with his children, and he played with them, and he hoped that he'd shown Merle that he was no less a man for playing blocks with Jack and for cuddling June's baby doll at her request. He showed Merle what supper and getting the kids ready for bed looked like, and he showed him that you could be exhausted at the end of the day, but also invigorated because, no matter your chosen activity—be it sleep or something a bit more—you were going to finally turn the lights out and snuggle in close to the person with which you'd chosen to spend this life.

Daryl and Carol weren't perfect. Their children weren't perfect. Their marriage wasn't perfect. Their family wasn't perfect.

But it was close enough to perfect for them.

"What if I really just fuck it up?" Merle asked.

Daryl laughed and helped Merle to straighten the tie he was wearing for the night. Andrea hadn't allowed Merle back in the house, but when he'd called her about the date that he wanted to schedule—a date that he'd planned, from start to finish, all on his own…and, maybe, with just a little help—she'd at least agreed to talk to him, and she'd agreed to let him get a few more clothes from the house so that he could be dressed appropriately.

"Tell me this much, Brother," Daryl said, stepping back to examine his brother. "Do you love Andrea?"

Merle sucked in a breath. He held Daryl's eyes.

A few days spent in close quarters—physically and emotionally—like they hadn't done since they were boys had opened up a lot of things between them.

Merle was a product of his raising—just like Daryl was—but Merle's raising had been just a little different, given that he'd practically raised himself and, then, he'd practically raised Daryl before he was really far enough outside wild-born for the town to think him capable of not pissing on the floor.

Maybe, Daryl had realized, he could cut Merle just a little slack—especially when Merle was clearly trying to improve in some way.

Maybe Andrea felt the same.

"I do, Brother," Merle said.

Daryl smiled at him. Merle talked an awful damn lot, but it was hard for him to say the things that really mattered.

"You clam up when you're sayin' what you oughta shout from the rooftops, Merle, and your mouth runs like a busted water pipe when you ought to sit down and keep your thoughts to yourself," Daryl mused. "Always has been your problem."

"Don't I know it?" Merle said. "Too damn old to change now."

"You an' me both know that ain't true," Daryl said. "Not for a minute. You've changed in three days, Merle. Imagine how much more you can do if you set your mind to it—like anything else. Practice what's important to you, and you'll get better at it."

Merle laughed.

"How do I practice sayin' what I ought to say, Daryl, and not steppin' all in shit otherwise?" Merle asked.

"You just do," Daryl said. "You just—keep sayin' it. Over and over…the shit that matters. And the rest? You let it go. It don't matter no way. Ask yourself if it's really your never-mind, and go from there. Say to yourself—should I tell my wife that I love her? And if you say that to yourself? The answer is always yes, Merle. Even if you just told her ten minutes ago. If you think—right now…just right this very minute…the way that the sun is hittin' her hair and it sparkles like that…that's somethin' I like. Well, then you tell her that."

"I'm no poet," Merle said.

"And she won't care a lick," Daryl said with a laugh. He remembered some of the things that stuck in his mind because, after saying them, he'd had a moment of feeling a bit embarrassed. Carol, though, had made him feel better about it, and it had stuck with him. "You're probably gonna say I shouldn't say this, and maybe I shouldn't, but I'ma say it to prove a point. I remember—one time? I told Carol that I couldn't hardly keep control of myself when she was naked and…she was walking just…just to put her clothes on, I guess…and her thighs and her bottom were sort of moving with every step, like they do, and I just…I really like that. I really like the way they move like that." Daryl felt his face grow warm. "She looked mad enough to string me up at first, but then? She let me get a real good look at how much it could all move, if you understand me."

Merle laughed. His own cheeks pinked slightly.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah—I know what'cha mean. I mean…I don't tell Andrea this, because I know that I'm supposed to be all worried that she isn't as trim as some of the other women around. She don't keep her figure quite the same as them. But—really? I don't mind it at all. I like the way she looks, and she keeps talking about how she ought to have some waist like this woman, or that one, or whatever…and I just keep thinkin' that I hope she don't never take nothing off right here, you know?" He gestured toward his hips. "She's got these…well…it don't matter. Like the way it feels in my hands. That's all."

"Tell her that," Daryl said.

"I can't tell her that," Merle said.

"It's absolutely what you should tell her, Merle," Daryl said. "Instead of her goin' out and seein' all these women that don't have that, and worryin' that there's somethin' wrong with her, tell her that. Let her go out and see 'em and think…that's OK, 'cause Merle can't wait to get him a big ole good handful of this when he gets home from work. You tell her that and you see if she don't thank you, and then give you a little more opportunity to get your hands on things."

"I don't know, Brother," Merle said, laughing. "I go tellin' Andrea that I like the fat she's got on her hips, and she's liable to hit me with something. Throw me outta the house again."

"If she throws you out for taking my advice, we'll take you back in," Daryl said. "Because—she won't throw you out for tellin' her why you think she's beautiful. Best way to learn to stop sayin' what you ought not to say is to shut your mouth, Merle, when you feel like jacking your jaws. Best way to learn to say what you should? Is to open it when it's the hardest."

"Daryl…" Merle said, pausing and hesitating a long moment. Daryl waited him out, humming to press him when it seemed like he got stuck. "I got somethin' I been meanin' to say to you."

"Well—you better say it," Daryl said. "Because it's just about time for you to go get your bride. You don't wanna be late pickin' her up."

"It's not somethin' that's easy for me to say, Brother," Merle said.

Daryl's stomach did something of a flip. He nodded.

"Good practice, then," he confirmed. "Just go on and say it."

"I'm sorry," Merle said after a moment. "I never shoulda said that—Carol was makin' a fool outta you. I still don't really understand how the hell you two never got a kid before, but…after watchin' you two since I been here? I can't imagine she's going with nobody else, Daryl."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You'll get better at sayin' what you got to say," Daryl offered. "But—I'm happy to hear it, no matter how it comes out. Tell you the truth—we don't know why it happened like this, either. It's just how it worked out—how it was supposed to work out, I guess. I'm not one to look too hard at a miracle, though, and neither is Carol. We're just happy."

Merle nodded.

"You got reason to be," he confirmed. "And—I'm happy for you."

"Even if it's a girl?" Daryl asked.

"Even if it's a girl," Merle said with a smirk.

"Thought you said—girls ain't Dixons," Daryl said.

"Gotta be a first time for everything, I guess," Merle said.

"Like the first time I saw you actin' more like a human being, and less like a goat," Daryl teased. "Which was…" he looked at his watch, "about thirty seconds ago?"

"Gonna be that way, Daryl?" Merle teased. Daryl laughed.

"I accept your apology, Merle," Daryl said. "But—just so you know? You hurt my wife—even if it's just her feelings—or my kids again? And I'ma do more'n just throw you out the house."

Merle hummed and nodded.

"I accept that," Merle offered. "And—thanks."

"For?"

Merle shrugged and looked around. He was dressing in Daryl and Carol's bedroom so that he could use the mirror to examine himself—though, admittedly, Daryl had done most of the approving of his appearance for the date. Daryl supposed that Merle cleaned up nice enough—at least, Andrea seemed pleased with him, or she wouldn't have married him.

"For helpin' me not ruin my whole damn life, I suppose," Merle said.

"You just don't disappoint me and do it again," Daryl said. "Go. Take your wife out, Merle. Court her. And if you think she's beautiful, or you just randomly remember that you love her? Tell her, Merle. Just—tell her. But more'n that? Try to show her, every now and again. Remember, Brother, they gonna talk about you no matter what you do. Say you ain't a man or you're this or you're that. It don't matter. Even if they pretend they like you, they'll turn on you like dogs the first chance they get. But Andrea? She's been there, Merle. She's been somethin' you can count on. Give her somethin' she can count on, too."

Merle nodded and embraced Daryl, slapping him harder on the back than Daryl imagined he meant to and nearly knocking the breath out of him. Daryl starting walking Merle through the house and toward the front door.

Daryl glanced into the living room where Carol was sitting and watching both their children play while she half-heartedly looked at a book. She tracked Daryl with her eyes as they walked by, and he winked at her. She smiled at him and called out a wish of good luck to Merle, and he called back a thanks for everything that she'd done during his stay with them.

"What are you going to do tonight?" Merle asked.

"We're just celebratin' gettin' you out of the house, Merle," Daryl said with a laugh.

"What makes you so sure that I won't be back tonight, Brother?" Merle asked.

"You stick to what I told you," Daryl said, "and I've just got a hunch. Go on home to your wife, Merle—and show her a good time. It's about damn time."